Chapter Text
1465 DR
Standing at the precipice of a cliff, gravity was eager to make its presence known. A young dragonborn faced the waxing crescent of the moon, daring the howling wind to push him into the angry waves below. His feet wanted to run and back down; could feel the adrenaline pumping in his blood to do just that. He clenched his jaw. Do I feel guilt or remorse for my actions? If not, does that mean I’m a bad person?
Approaching footsteps brought him back to the present. Heavy yet hesitant. “It was you, wasn’t it?” The voice was quiet, but the accusation lay heavily between the two boys.
The dragonborn turned his head to look at his potential adversary, crimson eyes critically assessing the horror-stricken blue ones staring back. He held up his hands in lieu of an answer, warm blood dripping from white claws. A strangled cry was buried by waves pushing up against the steep cliff.
“How could you?!” Hands came up to wipe away the tears that flowed freely from deep blue eyes. “They were our family, Ivan!”
The boy in question stared blankly at the sight of his once-brother sobbing uncontrollably. I should probably feel sad. He stepped away from the cliff’s edge. They said I was lucky to find such a loving family. Bloody hands wrapped around his brother’s the boy’s throat and squeezed. Yet, how could I ever belong to a family who hesitates to fight for their own life? Under his unrelenting grip, he could hear the sound of breaking bones, and beneath it, a frantic heartbeat ever increasing.
Against his ear, a malicious voice whispered, “Tear off his head, child.”
Unrivaled strength and power surged throughout his body, and it was with a sickening crunch that the dragonborn twisted and pulled his head off. Blood splattered in his eyes and covered his white scales in a dark red. Wicked laughter echoed in his ears but all the boy could think, could feel, was love.
“My purest creation.”
The dragonborn lost his footing, and the ground beneath him was swept up into a cold and almost familiar darkness. Looking up, a face with red skin and sunken black holes for eyes stared back. Unimaginable power radiated from the being, immobilizing the young boy by presence alone. Yet, despite all that, the boy only felt devotion. He didn’t recognize who or what towered over him, but he was certain it was no stranger. The blood on his skin became a loving embrace. It was absolutely terrifying, truly malevolent, and undeniably beautiful.
“Sacrifice is what conjured you and so it is a sacrifice that you will offer me.”
Flashes of horror-stricken faces entered his mind. The deaths he subjected his household to weren’t quick or clean. His hand was untrained in the way of slaughter, forcing him to rely entirely on instinct. How many had he killed that night? How many would still have to die to sate the hunger stirring within him? The answers to his pondered questions would remain unknown as the familiar being demanded his attention.
“Come, child.”
Without hesitation, the dragonborn rose to his feet, following the entity to the edge of the tree line. Beyond the constant fog of Tumbledown, a few houses lay near the bottom of a hill.
“The mortals in this plane are yours to kill, to murder.” A hand touched his forehead. Moments passed where time was nonexistent.
A second heartbeat suddenly thudded within his chest. It grew louder and louder until the original was almost completely mute. His hands came up to claw at his chest, wanting to tear and break whatever was wrong inside of him.
“Don’t resist yourself.”
A moment of clarity washed over his panicked mind. The second heartbeat was strong but not overpowering, the dragonborn could break out of it if he wished. He closed his eyes. It's asking for acceptance, not demanding it. Seconds of inaction turned into hours. White claws dug into his palms, blood rising to the surface. Do I want this? Will the guilt of my actions haunt me forever? Vaguely, he recalled the incredible feeling of joy seeping into him when he tore into his foster mother’s stomach; when he ripped out the tongue that used to sing him soothing lullabies. The two hearts began to beat in sync. Why would I shun away my greatest moment of happiness? Why would I hide in shame when it is I they should be cowering away from?!
When he opened his eyes again, there was only one strong, steady heart beating inside him.
“Rise, Dark Urge. Fulfill your purpose. Complete your destiny.”
The darkness withdrew. His senses were slow to come back and his breathing even more so. The Dark Urge stood up slowly, overlooking the body of a blue-eyed boy. Already dead . A row of lights flickered in the distance. His head pounded with the urge to act, to kill. His claws itched to rip into flesh, his mouth yearned for the metallic taste of blood.
He would not deny himself.
The Dark Urge came upon them like a plague.
Vaulting into an open window, he followed the sound of his resting prey in a single bed. Grabbing one of the bottles strewn about, he raised it high and broke it on the human’s head. The man shot up but before he could yell, the Dark Urge drove the sharp glass into his throat. What was to be a cry for help turned into a sob as he choked on his blood. In the quiet stillness of that moment, the light in their eyes dimmed, leaving behind a chilling emptiness. An incomparable bliss settled over the dragonborn’s body. It was pure euphoria. He needed more.
Searching the house for a weapon, he eventually found a dagger hidden in a chest, made of steel and well-taken care of too. It will do. He climbed out of the open window, leaving how he came in.
Sharp eyes surveyed the small area, looking for any stragglers of the night. The fog made it difficult but behind him, he could hear footsteps getting closer. Pressing himself close to the wooden structure of the dead man's house, the Dark Urge gripped his dagger tight. The person was almost upon him now. With a quick dash, he left the shadows and aimed high. A scream of pain as steel met flesh, the splattered blood coating his hands. He tore his dagger free but before he could mutilate the body further, something pushed him to the side. “Stop hurting him!”
A second person?!
The Dark Urge was quick to recover and wasted no time. Rounding on the second target, he pounced on their back. A startled shriek escaped the girl as his sharp teeth sank into her throat. Moving his head back and forth, he ripped flesh from bone. A pair of arms hooked around his torso and pulled him away. “Help, anyone!” The Dark Urge willingly went as the dying girl crumpled to the ground. Turning his head, the dragonborn breathed pure frost into the man’s face. The arms withdrew from him as the man scratched at his frostbitten face. Using his dagger, the dragonborn cut through the man’s thin shirt, lacerating the soft flesh beneath like butter. It wasn’t long before the man fell, never to get back up again.
The Dark Urge couldn’t take in the beauty of his work though, not yet. Too much noise was made in the kill, there would be others coming to investigate. Moving a distance away, he blended into the shadowed fog and silently observed as a torchlight came sprinting toward his victims. There were at least three people. He sneered; I won’t be able to take them down with a dagger alone. Electricity danced atop his knuckles, eager to soar through the air.
Taking a deep breath, the Dark Urge fed his energy into a sphere of lightning. It trembled with barely contained power, its glow pulsing in time with the beat of his heart. The familiar being’s words echoed in his head, ‘My perfect creation’. Extending out his hand, the Dark Urge whispered his command. “Perurē.”
A bolt of lightning shot out at the torch holder, turning his insides black as it shocked his core. The other two turned to the dragonborn, their faces set in pure rage, and rushed him. The Dark Urge made to dodge the first swing, but exhaustion weighed him down, allowing the guard’s sword to cut into his shoulder. His scales provided some resistance, but it still slashed through. Slamming a palm into his opponent’s armor, he let the lightning loose. The man scrambled to get out of his iron cage, but the electricity paralyzed his bones.
Suddenly- an intense pain spread across his back. Spinning on his heel, the Dark Urge wasn’t prepared for the twin daggers intended for his chest. Panic overwhelmed him, and falling back on pure instinct, he closed his hands around the blades, dropping his own in the effort. The rogue cut into his skin and threatened to take off his thumbs. Biting down on the agonizing pain, he forced the daggers apart before butting his head against the rogue’s.
“The fuck-?!”
With the immediate danger out of the way, he let go of the blades and kicked the man straight in his chest, granting himself some space. His hands ached with the deep incisions, but he couldn’t stop now. Forcing himself to pick up his dagger littered on the ground, he held onto it tight. Blood dripped down to his elbows and he knew his back was an ugly sight. The guard in iron armor was about to get up when the Dark Urge used the last of his magical reserves to cast a ray of frost. “Glacies!”
Once the chant was uttered, he raced back over to the rogue. A slash of piercing steel greeted the dragonborn as he leaned in close, courtesy of his prey. Light green eyes widened as they saw the glint of the Dark Urge’s dagger, aimed directly at their head. Another cut across his torso but it was barely felt as he pushed the dagger deep into the man’s skull. Struggling arms fell limp once the brain was pierced.
The Dark Urge had never felt this exhausted, yet the feeling that came with killing was enough to make him rise to his feet once more, eager to take another life. Walking over to the armored guard, he watched their body endure the elemental magic forced upon them.
The dragonborn sunk white claws deep into their eye sockets. He didn’t stop tearing at their face until the screams stopped. In the silence of the night, he felt a twitch in his hand. A whisper of an idea came to him and fueled by curiosity, he stomped on their ribs until the telltale crack of bones was heard. With that out of the way, the Dark Urge forced his claws through the man’s chest and for the tiniest millisecond, felt a beating heart.
He pulled it out. It wasn’t clean.
His grip had left impressions on the organ, leaving it bruised and bloody. Drawing it closer to his face, he inhaled the dark scent. Nothing but that distinct metallic smell. But perhaps... Overcome with a concerning amount of curiosity, the Dark Urge opened his mouth and closed sharp teeth around the tough muscle. The texture was dense and hard. Rolling the chunk over his tongue, he let the rich and gamey taste saturate his mouth.
Instead of the guilt he had been suspecting would overtake him, the Dark Urge felt satisfaction. Satisfaction for embracing his true self, for ridding himself of the useless chains of morality, for giving in. A deranged smile twisted his features. He decided he quite liked this feeling.
“You show great potential, spawn.”
The world around him darkened and grew in intensity all at once. The heart fell from his bloodied hands, left forgotten in the dirt. He turned to look backward.
The being with the red skull stood there amidst the corpses. Droplets of blood danced around their head like a mocking halo. A shiver raced down his spine, a visceral response to the ominous presence before him. His heart was a drumbeat of dread that harmonized with the crooning of his soul. The being stepped closer and with a flick of their hand, summoned silver daggers out of thin air, encircling the ring of blood. A red cloth hung over their lower body, rustling as they moved.
At the puzzlement in crimson eyes, they spoke. “Know me, bhaalspawn. For I am your lord and father. My unholy blood flows through your veins and taints your very essence.”
Clarity struck the dragonborn like lightning, stopping his breath and forcing his heart to pound against his ribcage.
BHAAL.
‘A dead God,’ The preachers cried out. ‘Effectively a mortal,’ The scholars proclaimed. Fools, the lot of them. The Dark Urge now saw the truth. For what stood before him was nothing short of a divine. The power radiating from the God of Murder was insurmountable to the young dragonborn. The divide between them could not be greater.
Hands stained in blood - much like his own - grabbed his chin, forcing crimson eyes to meet Bhaal’s mirrored ones.
“Do you see yourself, bhaalspawn? Do you recognize the path destined for you?”
The Dark Urge trembled before that gaze, answering, “Death, death and death.”
Pain radiated from where the Lord of Murder touched. “You offer homage to my name and kindle the flames of your ascent. Yet, heed my words: murder is valued only in reach and number. Embrace the shadows that dwell within, for they are the marrow of your strength. Follow my will and the world will drown in blood.”
Tears fell from his eyes in joy. Never before had he felt so fulfilled. His father had blessed him to be brimming with power, with bloodlust. He had given him a purpose, a chance to prove himself worthy. Has anyone ever given him that before? He couldn’t think, his mind was too overwhelmed with the presence of Bhaal. To kill was his purpose, he was made to do so at the very starting point of his creation. How could I have not realized it sooner?
“I will do so, father. Everything I do, all of it will be in your unholy name! I will fulfill the path you have laid out for me!”
A hand cupped his face and he leaned into the cold touch. “Then slaughter them all.”
Who was the Dark Urge to deny the wishes of his father?