Prototype's Gate

Alex waited, biding his time until he sensed the adept's presence fade from the proximity of the tower. With the coast clear, a grotesque transformation began. The warden's back split open, revealing a writhing mass of flesh devoid of any organs, just slick, slithering tendrils that slowly crawled out from within her. The revolting creature, a twisted mass of flesh , hit the wooden floor with a silent thud. It reformed itself, growing to the height of a child before its appearance shifted, taking on the guise of a deep gnome woman.

Alex glanced at the puppet of flesh that mimicked the warden. The disguise was flawless; no one would guess the truth until it was far too late. He reached for the warden's neck, plucking the necklace from her neck . The trinket would prove useful for Gale.

Satisfied, Alex walked out of the tower and headed back to the torture chamber where Minthara still lay unconscious. He knelt beside her, checking her vitals. "She's stable," Alex thought . The procedure had been a success, but the damage inflicted by the sadistic sisters was severe—parts of her brain that held her memories had been irreparably destroyed. Memories she would never regain.

As Alex contemplated the warden’s memories, a vision of Ketheric Thorm’s orders surfaced: in two days, the prisoners were to be taken to the stone platform where the iron funnel was—to be disposed of.

Suddenly, Alex felt a cluster of minds approaching the room. Acting quickly, he dropped to the floor and lay still, feigning unconsciousness. The door swung open violently, and a group of adepts stormed in, weapons drawn and eyes scanning the room for any threat.

"Someone go check her," one of the adepts ordered, his voice laced with authority.

A nearby adept knelt beside Alex, checking his vitals with a hurried hand. "She's unconscious," the adept reported.

Alex slowly opened his eyes, blinking as if in a daze. He let his gaze sweep around the room, finally settling on the adept beside him. "My sister... it took my sister," Alex whispered, his voice trembling with well-acted fear.

"Where did it go?" the adept demanded, his tone urgent.

Alex pointed with a shaky hand toward the opening in the room that led to the chasm from which the tentacle had emerged. "After it grabbed my sister, it jumped down the chasm."

The adept exchanged a glance with the leader, who nodded in silent agreement before leading the others out of the room in pursuit of the false lead.

The adept who had inspected Alex began to rise, intending to follow the rest, but Alex’s hand shot out, grabbing his arm firmly. "Do you have a healing potion?" Alex asked, his voice weak.

The adept, still oblivious, handed over a potion before leaving the room, unaware of the thin layer of slime now coating his robes.

A smirk crept across Alex’s face as he felt the psionic connection establish between him and the unwitting adept. "Spread the disease to everyone you can find. Don't try it on those you know have tadpoles," Alex commanded mentally. He wasn’t sure what would happen if both he and the tadpoles’ controller vied for dominance over the same mind, and he wasn’t keen to find out.

"Yes, master," the adept responded obediently, his voice echoing in Alex's mind as he left the room to carry out the order.

Alex waved for the patrolling adept to come inside. The moment the door closed, Alex advanced on him, smearing his face with the same slime.

"What th—" The adept’s words were cut off abruptly as his mind was enslaved.

One by one, Alex systematically enslaved every adept within the prison. The patrolling scrying eyes posed a potential problem, but Alex knew it was only a matter of time before he dealt with them as well.

With the number of absolutist under his control steadily growing, Alex walked confidently towards the docks. It was time to secure the escape path . The deck was made of solid stone, with crates and barrels scattered around, ready to be loaded onto two ships that swayed gently, their hulls creaking as they floated in the dark waters tied to the two wooden docks on each side.

Patrolling cultist ,those few who were still outside his control and ghouls moved around the area. Up ahead, a man stood out from the rest. Dressed in light clothing of a dark blue hue, a hood obscuring the upper part of his face. A short blonde beard covered his jaw, giving him a rugged, weathered look.

Alex approached the man, his steps confident, his mind already formulating his next move. "Enjoying the view? Feels like it stretches all the way to the Sea of Swords on a clear day—if this place ever gets a clear day," the man remarked casually as Alex drew closer, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Alex's.

"I'm Investigator Jasin," Alex began, his voice steady and authoritative. "One of the individuals I interrogated confessed to hiding a bomb in the cargo you're preparing for the ships. I require your help to find it so the cargo can be delivered safely."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, but he nodded, stepping aside to let the deep gnome woman—Alex’s current disguise—pass.

As they walked together, Alex allowed himself to wobble slightly, feigning weakness. The man was quick to react, catching him before he could fall.

"Thank you," Alex said, his hand brushing against the man’s arm in what appeared to be a gesture of gratitude. But it was far more insidious—a thin layer of slime transferred from Alex's hand, forming the connection he needed.

The man’s fleeting look of disgust at the touch didn’t go unnoticed, but Alex ignored it, focusing instead on the newly formed psychic bond between them. They continued their search among the crates and barrels, carefully avoiding the silvery metal barrel that sat ominously in the middle of the deck. The man warned him about it, stating that it was a very important delivery, with strict instructions not to open it. The lid bore the symbol of a winged serpent—the mark of the Zhentarim.

"Where are the ships heading?" Alex inquired telepathically, not bothering to speak aloud.

"Baldur's Gate. The army marches overland, but we've sent some friends ahead to smooth the way," the man responded mentally, his thoughts clear and unguarded.

"And why does the Absolute want to make war with the city?" Alex pressed, curious to see how a brainwashed follower would justify the impending bloodshed.

"Locals need to see Her truth—take their place in Her design. Or they don't, and we send them to meet the old gods they cling to. Doesn't matter much either way," the man’s response was chillingly detached, exactly as Alex expected.

"And what cargo are they bringing?"

"Nothing of note. Just supplies for the battle ahead—I’ve already checked it twice over."

"And what’s in that barrel?" Alex asked, his gaze sliding over to the silvery container.

The man’s mind went blank for a moment, an unusual response that piqued Alex’s interest.

"Hey, you! Come over here!" Alex suddenly shouted, calling over a patrolling cultist follower.

"What’s the problem?" the duergar asked, his tone gruff.

"Help us move this big crate. I think I saw something suspicious underneath it."

The duergar complied, gripping the crate firmly. As he did, Alex moved in quickly, pressing his hand to the duergar’s face. The thick slime seeped into his skin, and within moments, the duergar's mind was enslaved as well.

"Move the crates to block the view so I can see what’s inside that barrel," Alex ordered.

They worked quickly, positioning the crates to create a makeshift barrier, shielding their actions from prying eyes. With the coast clear, Alex popped open the barrel, revealing a mass of squirming tadpoles, swimming lazily in a clear, viscous liquid.

"There must be thousands of them here," Alex murmured, more to himself than anyone else. An army of future ilithids.

Ensuring no one was watching, he dipped his hand into the barrel. Tendrils sprouted from his fingers , wrapping around the tadpoles as he consumed them all in one swift motion. A vision formed in his mind, disjointed and strange—a pattern of blank minds, newly born, carrying only the barest shred of memory inherited from something ancient. He saw a sleep of centuries, the birth and destruction of a settlement above, all reduced to background noise in the dream. And then, something descended into the darkness... and the dreamer awoke.

The vision snapped away as suddenly as it had come, leaving Alex dazed for a short moment.

"These tadpoles came from beneath the tower, where their are keeping their progenitor... The elder brain. " Alex thought, piecing together the fragments of memories he had just absorbed , but that wasn't all . Each tadpole was holding fragments of a ancient psionic power , that power was now in his possession , slowly settling inside his mind , creating a vast reservoir of untapped potential. This immense power, and now that it was his, it hummed with a quiet intensity, ready to be wielded at his command.

"This will make my work a lot easier. " Alex tough . It was more than just raw energy—it carried with it knowledge and techniques that were from eons ago.. Concepts of mind control, telepathic dominance, and even the bending of reality itself began to take shape in his thoughts. Each fragment was like a piece of a puzzle, gradually revealing an ability far beyond anything he had known.

The adepts he had already enslaved , their connection to him growing stronger as his psionic abilities deepened. Their thoughts were now more transparent, their minds more susceptible to his influence. But Alex was not one to act impulsively. He understood the value of patience, of letting this newfound power fully integrate before wielding it to its full potential.

Straightening, his mind clear and focused, Alex dismissed his minions and turned away from the barrel as he walked back to inside the tower.

"Master , Katheric Thorm retreated to his chamber in the upper lever of the tower . " A thrall informed him trough his telepathic link .

"Keep looking around and report immediately if his coming out . "Alex ordered .

"Do you having him in sight ? " Alex asked another thrall located in the upper levels of the tower .

"Yes master . "

"Proceed," Alex commanded as he glanced at one of the floating scrying eyes. Moments later, the scrying eyes began to drop from the air, their surveillance cut short by his thralls. Alex knew he had little time; the tower would soon erupt into chaos as the remaining cultists realized their eyes had been severed.

Alex's form began to shift, his body stretching and growing in height. Dark bluish plates of armor formed over his skin, with faint, fiery light glowing softly beneath each one, like embers smoldering under the surface. A short hood materialized over his head, leaving his featureless face clear and stark—a haunting visage in the dim light of the prison.

As he moved to the first cell in the row, the adepts around him remained oblivious, their eyes glazed over as if he were invisible. Inside the cell, the prisoners recoiled, their eyes wide with terror at the sight of armored figure before them.

Without a word, Alex raised his hand, and a golden light enveloped the prisoner inside, healing their wounds and washing away the grime that clung to their bodies. The prisoners stared at themselves in disbelief, exchanging confused glances as they marveled at the sudden restoration.

Alex grabbed the iron bars of the cell and bent them effortlessly, as though they were made of soft clay. The prisoners watched in awe as he repeated this for each cell, freeing them one by one. Though he could have commanded the puppet warden to open all the cells using the lever in the tower, Alex chose this method deliberately. It was a display of power meant to instill both fear and loyalty, to ensure the prisoners would follow him without question.

"You’re that guy, Zeus. What are you doing here?" a tiefling asked hesitantly as Alex bent the bars of their cell.

"I’m saving you," Alex responded quickly, his gaze sweeping over the other prisoners as they rushed out of their cages. Some bolted for the stairs in a blind panic, while others hesitated, their eyes darting nervously between the unmoving adepts who stood like statues.

"Stop," Alex commanded in a grave tone.

The prisoners froze in their tracks, turning to face him with expressions of fear and uncertainty. Alex strode forward, and the murmurs that had filled the room fell into a heavy, expectant silence. All eyes were on him now, filled with both dread and the faintest flicker of hope.

"We need to reach the docks," Alex instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Once there, everyone will board the ship on the left. When everyone is aboard, we leave."

"Don’t trust him!" a man shouted from the side, his voice tinged with hysteria. "He’s another abomination—just look at him!"

Alex turned to the man, his featureless face trained on him . "Then what are you doing here? Go, rush upstairs and get yourself killed by the cultists. Or head to the docks, sneak around the tower, and escape into the cursed land beyond. Maybe you’ll be free for a moment—until the cultists or undead find you. Or until the curse consumes you." His words cut through the air like a knife, leaving the man speechless. The defiance drained from his face as he looked down at the floor, cowed.

Through the psionic link, Alex's thralls fed him continuous updates. They had just discovered the fate of the scrying eye operator. Time was running out.

He swiftly hoisted Minthara's unconscious form over his shoulder and headed for the docks, the prisoners following closely behind, casting wary glances at the unmoving adepts littering the floor like discarded dolls.

At the docks, Alex pointed to the ship they needed to board. The prisoners scrambled up the ladders, their fear driving them onward. Alex phased aboard the ship, gently laying Minthara in a corner. "Take care of her," he instructed a group of prisoners before phasing back onto the dock, his gaze scanning the area with cold calculation. He glanced up at the tower just in time to see a group of winged horrors descending upon them.

"They've realized the prisoners have escaped," one of his thralls informed him.

Alex looked back and saw that the last of the prisoners had boarded the ship. The lower part of his armored face cracked open, revealing a row of obsidian teeth that gleamed like a shark's.

"They’re heading for the docks!" a thrall warned through the psionic link.

He waited until the door to the docks burst open, revealing a wave of cultists and flying horrors swooping down from above. With a deep, guttural roar, Alex opened his mouth and unleashed a torrent of fire. The flames spewed forth like a dragon’s breath, engulfing the entire area in a sea of fire. The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the flying horrors plummeted from the sky, their bodies smoldering as they hit the ground. The cultists screamed in agony, those who survived the initial blast, frantically trying to extinguish the flames. Some cast spells to summon water above themselves, while others threw themselves into the dark, murky waters surrounding the tower in a desperate attempt to douse the fire.

With swift, precise movements, Alex severed the ropes holding the ship in place and leaped into the water just as the cultists reached the dock. A massive figure emerged from the depths, rising from the water with the ship held high above its head. The ship was enveloped in a bluish-white light, and in an instant, it vanished.