Rule of Three

"-. .-"

His first sensation was of floating in frigid, dreadful blackness.

Ah.

His second sensation was of drowning.

Entertainment returns.

Memories bombarded him of the first time this happened, when his throat closed up while spasmodic breaths dragged blood into the mouth and windpipe, triggering an immediate contraction of the muscles around the larynx in an attempt to keep his lungs stoppered. The agony, the confusion, the total terror. The resulting spasms suffocated him, sending him to flailing death throes that drowned him without actually drowning.

Yes. You were a defiant, pugnacious little thing as a babe, unlike now.

Every night after the first, his lungs were already completely flooded when he awoke to that abyss of nightmares. The shock inevitably sent him struggling and flailing helplessly in the depths of that blood ocean, scared out of his mind and not understanding anything. At least for the first few hundred of the 6,937 times that his soul awoke in that abyss and drowned to death without passing on.

Even those hopeless throes of agony that came after were a sight more attention-worthy than what you can muster now.

Now he drowned again as he always did once he fell asleep, but it had been long since he managed more than the barest of flinches before his whole frame shuddered and slackened, drifting aimlessly through the lightless abyss where his soul was still somehow perfectly visible, the little of it he still had left intact. He never saw much of himself, given his inability to move or even tense any part of his soul-self. He beheld his right hand now only because his head was turned to that side, just a tad. It was pale but marred by criss-crossing, bulging veins shining a greenish, sickly unlight.

You finally committed your first kill against a thinking being, bothersome little vessel.

Semaj. Dead simply because a young man had needed to make room in his pocket for something else while saving his Father from the death he'd been trying to deal in turn. The wizard's face and whole frame flashed before Cyrus' eyes, for a moment.

I've been waiting years for this.

More years than he'd have liked.

All this time you've defied me. I am in you yet you've denied me.

Terrible visage amidst the darkness of the death-like ocean that had slain his mind and will nearly beyond recovery after the temple, when death gained a foothold in him the moment he looked upon and understood everything about the woman who fancied herself good at killing children but really wasn't. Understood and contemplated how he would perform the same tasks in turn.

For months upon months you disbelieved me, hid behind flimsy walls of self-delusion and false hope.

Months upon months of keeping his eyes shut against the bloody depths that had drowned him and filled his lungs, telling himself over and over that this wasn't real and he only had to shut everything away until he was back in the other place, the place with air, light and Father.

For years you've denied me, fought me within your own mind.

If using every speck of will to cover his eyes and shut out the terror could even be called that.

But even that obsessive fool that fancies himself your parent could not keep you from your nature forever.

A playful cat clawed and bit at him only to be torn apart limb from limb at his hands. Not enough of an unwitting and unintended homage to the dead God of Murder to have any lasting repercussions if the essence alone was what the young dwarf had to contend with. But the active will of a god was not as easily defied, even a Vestige drifting as a corpse in the Astral Sea. The averted sacrifice when he was an infant had failed in more or less every way, but by Fate or Fortune his moment of near-total resonance with the Concept of Murder sent a ripple through the Astral Plane. One that the remnant of a dead god had seen – focused as he was on the place of his power where the ritual was occurring – and decided to turn into an opportunity.

Opportunity he could capitalise on when he killed his first living thing.

It was the first moment when you did as you were meant to. First time that you honoured me, as well you should.

The ocean of murder had cut into him like razors, somehow, skewered him and dug and ripped until it tore out a piece of him, leaving a dagger-shaped hole at the core of his soul. Somehow, even after that he still managed to persuade himself back into total disbelief of the horrifying dream states he inevitably found himself in every night. Bhaal did not find that any more pleasing than being kept at bay by the unformed will of a babe, but BELIEF was a true force in the Planes. On and on things went from there, even as Cyrus himself never remembered the night terrors upon awakening, until the day when he turned five.

You became mine, then, though to this day you refuse to admit it.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it was suspicious how easily the essence within allowed him to see into the past and witness that conversation. For all that he didn't feel anything about the balcony scene while awake, asleep was an entirely different thing. He wasn't emotionless here, though he often wished otherwise.

How ironic, that your sharp mind would break your shield of self-delusion through simple insight into your situation, even if you refused to acknowledge it with your waking mind for years after.

His waking half-self would likely appreciate the ingenuity of Bhaal melding his splinter of a soul with his own essence, such as it was. Of the nature of that Dagger of Bone that enabled the usurper to sever the silver cord connecting his soul to his body.

That self-deluded fool who fancies himself your parent will suffer first and longest for his unwitting interference.

If Gorion hadn't held him through the night back then, if he had been less than totally devoted and determined to live by his words, if he hadn't said I won't let him have you, Cyrus would have been cast out to drift helplessly in the Astral Sea and Bhaal would have taken his body then and there.

What would he say, I wonder, if he knew you were using him as a soul anchor?

He would praise him, no doubt. He was selfless like that. To know that his love and devotion had reached him all the way into those depths. Allowed the young boy to instinctively anchor himself into the world, to find his way back to his body and reconnect his Astral Cord. It had been a reflex, but for all that Bhaal claimed he entirely owned him, Cyrus thought and willed at the same level as he did, there in the middle of essence divine, however twisted. And what he willed for was to stay unseparated from Father, so as long as Father refused to let Bhaal have him Cyrus' soul wouldn't be going anywhere.

He will have far different thoughts once he realizes what you truly are!

His dead soul-self jerked in remembered pain. The memory of the knife sinking into his chest. It hadn't managed to kill him any more than drowning in an ocean of blood did, but it wasn't supposed to. The real goal was to corrupt, to slowly overtake him from inside. Replace him from within bit by bit, flicker by flicker, Bhaaltaint pushing in and building up while his emotions and memories of emotions bled out of him along with bits of soul, literally. They drifted like drops of quicksilver through the vastness of those bloody depths even now, joined by new ones as all he felt since waking up to that ever-returning nightmare seeped out through the stab wound the Dagger of Bone stuck out of. Drops of soul floated away as his being was steadily replaced over the years by red/dark/green otherness that shone with sickly greenish bleak/dark/nothing unlight through veins that weren't veins.

Would he still be so eager to die for you, I wonder, if he knew half of you was you no longer?

Would Gorion still be eager to die for him if he knew his continued breathing was the only reason Cyrus hadn't been separated from his body already?

Such a shame that he will never know, since you never truly do either.

Mockery. Not surprising from so evil, debased a dead god. He was right, though. Deadening his emotions came first and was easy to pass off as normal, since Cyrus had only just begun to gain ground in that area when the dagger was made back when he turned five. To feel strongly enough for him and others to notice in the waking world. It never occurred to even him to wonder if it was stranger than normal to actually feel things only for the emotions to disappear as soon as he thought about them. Moving on to his mind was the natural next step afterwards, and though his perfect memory meant Bhaal could not take too much without causing suspicion, it also meant that there was never a reason Cyrus or others would assume he had forgotten anything of what had been taken or replaced. Bhaal couldn't do too much from across the planes and Cyrus pitted his own will against the depravations as well as he could, when he was aware enough to do it – this was his soul and his body – but steadily the Vestige managed to affect him even in the waking world, making him forget things big and small.

Like the fact that Khelben Arunsun had cast Mind Blank on him minutes after he first mentioned the compulsion earlier in the day. Or the fact that he'd forgotten about that spell entirely some time later, the same moment that death ripped apart the protection without his say-so, sending him stumbling only for Gorion to call a halt, 'provided that 'disaster of a conversation' can be considered to have been sufficiently walked off by now?'

Like the fact that he'd worn an Amulet of Protection from Evil since he was five.

Like the fact that Cyrus' will was just half of what commanded wards, spells and other magics still. Every time he called on his inner power to do anything without completely understanding it or setting precise parameters, he was effectively inviting Bhaal to use his will as he deemed best. And what he deemed best was to nullify the effect of said amulet the first chance he got, then go from there.

Not that the pendant would have worked much against something inherent to his nature, but since it wasn't just the essence involved there the Vestige had to be more proactive. And the dead god did enjoy the irony, even if not quite on the same level as Myrkul did.

You should have accepted your fate as an infant. Then, at least, you would have merely been replaced, rather than assimilated.

The voice had grown steadily closer since his awakening in that dream. It came from all around him now.

But I shall be the one to benefit in the end. You certainly proved quite creative with your use of my power, and the connections you've formed during your life will make my ascension infinitely easier.

Blood pulled on itself and solidified in the form of a corpse-like male humanoid. The hideous apparition settled to drift above Cyrus' still form, secure in the knowledge that the dwarf was completely paralysed, if it even felt there was anything to be threatened by at all. Skeletal fingers grabbed the young soul by the chin and forced him to meet lidless eyes. "First came the Decision. Then came the process. And now, finally, the results."

Decision-Process-Results.

So he wanted to use the Rule of Three to empower this, was he?

Bad move.

A will secretly marshalled over many years seized the essence all around them, forced the blood grip-tight around the dagger handle and violently yanked.

The Dagger of Bone wrenched out of where it was embedded in his heart – the Bhaalblood burst out to follow, easing the pressure that had built up inside in all that time – and flew to his hand before Bhaal's projection could get over his shock.

Decision-Process-Results, was it?

Decision-Process-Consequences, maybe.

Decision: An ideal. A star known as Hope. A father's wholesome reason. I want to live.

The ocean of death and blood expansive enough to span the world shuddered utterly as a moribund soul ignited with the light of life. Fire bright and hot enough to send the manifestation of dead madness scuttling away, alight.

"You are a remarkable lad, Little Prince. You've given me much and showed me even more, all the while labouring under limits I would not wish on anyone." Khelben had told him that the first time he visited Candlekeep after that 12th birthday. One more thing to add to the long list of memories that Bhaal had taken from his waking mind. "I place my faith in you. I only ask that you do all you can to find a way to live. Live and be happy."

Process: Change. Emerge in light and flame from the depths of clotted bloodshed, just like his teacher's grey/dark/clotted self once erupted like a star, never to again go out. Use the ocean of divinity around to command reality. Call the Tides that Moved the Planes to help him over his bastard of a godly father because this was his soul and his body. Call on JUSTICE. Call on CHARITY. Provide BELIEF to complete the triad and speak aloud as the light of memory enveloped him and consumed the blood around him in fire. "Screw you! This soul's my own and I'm keeping it!"

The Slayer recoiled with an enraged howl as it burned.

The multitude of memories lost in the waking world, the drops and shards of soul bloomed in the dwarf's mind and around him alike, quicksilver drops lighting up like a field of stars throughout that blood abyss. "This life is mine." The Plane Tides enveloped the ocean of death at his words, then flowed over and through it, reaching the both of them, evaluating, then wrapping around Cyrus Anwar like diaphanous halos that whispered miracles, showed him possibilities and spoke of fate fairly inflicted on the greatest of the multiverse's sinners. It almost overwhelmed him with visions of great dominions, acts of hopeful change and images of an undying hell-bound man so scarred that his skin was grey and hard as stone.

Then feeling returned to him and allowed him to move his body under his own will for the first time since his never ending nightmare started, that same will that allowed him to claim this moment.

That exact will which allowed him to lift the Dagger of Bone and drive it right into the Slayer's ugly skull.

The dead god's projection dispersed with a scream of rage.

Consequences: Victory. Freedom. Peace.

For a moment.

But only a moment.

Divinity had been created precisely to direct and override the cumulative thought waves and tendencies of mortals, to control the Tides of all levels of Realmspace and the Planes, whether they liked it or not. Already the blood abyss was settling, forcefully brought to heel by the will of an angry god, even dead as he was. The Tides were banished, not easily but banished nevertheless for the simple reason that Bhaal had never renounced claim on his essence, even as he passed it to others for his own ends.

That was fine. He only needed a moment.

He was aware of everything within the ocean's bounds at all times as well. He had claim of his own and his will held sway here, however much Bhaal hated it. Cyrus Anwar gathered every scrap of new knowledge and ideas that could be of use, added them to the steadily growing pile of stolen memories and understanding he'd recreated in the depths of his soul that Bhaal didn't know of, arranged it mentally in the form easiest to enable the informed decisions he'd been denied all this time, then ripped the connection to his waking mind from Bhaal completely and used it to send everything on just as the Dagger of Bone came hurtling through the semi-darkness and stabbed him in the heart again.

In the depths of the abyss, a newborn light winked out along with all the other drifting stars. But his veins no longer glowed with sickly unlight, his link to his mind was his again – would stay his for a time – and his soul was no longer hollow.

He smiled grimly even as the fury of a mad, dead abomination descended on his nightmare once again.

He'd done it.

He'd figured it out.

He'd even jolted himself awake before it was too late.

Next time his waking half-self fell into slumber he may never wake up even if his body did, but at least now his fate was no longer hopeless.