The Blasphemy

Kagha’s scream tore through the grotto like a blade. It wasn’t pain, not exactly—it was horror. She stood trembling, staring at her own hands as the youth potion’s glow faded from her skin. She was beautiful, gorgeous even—her face smooth, her hair full and shining, her body vibrant and strong. Yet something in her eyes was panicked. She wasn’t looking at me or Ethel or anyone else. Her gaze was distant, unfocused—as if staring at something invisible only she could see.

Then I realized, she was looking at her own skill tree.

I switched to my own vision overlay, scanning her stats. My stomach dropped.

Kagha – Level 1

Every bit of her power, her experience, her abilities—gone. She had been reset to nothing.

Her scream turned into a ragged gasp. “YOU!” she shrieked, spinning toward me with a dagger. It was slower, weaker than the Kagha who had betrayed and slaughtered the Shadow Druids the day before. She looked more like a **** novice than a predator. Before she could take another step, a hissed word cut through the air.

“Hold Person.”

Ethel’s voice, low and sharp.

Kagha froze mid-lunge, eyes wide and burning with fury. Her dagger clattered uselessly to the mossy floor. I turned, and saw Ethel in all her repulsiveness. Her skin had split and sagged into green, leathery folds. Her back hunched grotesquely beneath wiry hair, and her limbs were long and cruel. The warm grandmotherly face was gone—only a hag’s grin remained, sharp and triumphant.

Kagha strained against the spell, every muscle twitching. She couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, but her eyes said everything—pure terror.

“What the hell, Ethel!” I snapped. “We had a deal—a real potion, no tricks!”

Ethel threw back her head and laughed. It echoed horribly in the grotto. Then she sang my own words back to me, her voice lilting and mocking. “No tricks. No mental regression. no curses. Pure and clean. Brew a real one.”

Her yellow eyes gleamed with smug delight. “Use your eyes, petal. It’s a real potion. She’s all pure and clean now, eheheh! No curse to be a young pretty thing, and no mental regression—she remembers everything, just not the boring parts. You know, experience.”

“We agreed no tricks, hag!” I snapped again.

Ethel’s grin widened. “Well, I didn’t jump through any burning hoops, now did I?” she snickered. Then her expression soured, her voice turned wicked. “You thought you could hex little old me in the bog and walk away scot-free, didn’t ya?”

Ah. Right. I had.

I squared my shoulders, putting on my bravest smirk. “What’s wrong with making a good first impression? Isn’t your whole teahouse-grandmother routine the same little schtick?”

Her eyes flashed with ice-cold malice. Then, just as quickly, she burst into laughter—a cackle that rattled through the chamber like cracking bones. “Ooooh, I knew I liked ya, petal. You’re as crooked as they come. Truce, what say you? The elf got the shit end of the stick anyway. No harm done. I want to see what kind of nastiness you’ve cooked up. Just remember your end of the bargain.”

I hesitated, my gut twisting. She was diabolical through and through. But right now, I didn’t have a choice. I suddenly understood how Kagha must have felt—trapped by ambition and surrounded by monsters.

I **** my voice steady. “Let’s continue the Rite, hag. But just so you know, my reinforcements are outside. If you try anything—”

Ethel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, they all say that,” she muttered. Still, I saw the flicker of uncertainty in her face. Maybe she believed me. Or maybe she just didn’t care.

Mayrina’s voice cut through the tension, shrill and trembling. “Can we just get this over with? I want my husband back!”

Ethel and I both turned to look at her. The hag grinned wide, almost delighted by the impatience. Then she shuffled toward Mayrina, her steps uneven and predatory. I couldn’t help but flinch; I had dreaded this moment, uncertain what kind of carnage the execution of their twisted deal might bring. Ethel lifted one long, clawed finger toward Mayrina’s swollen belly.

She made a sharp snap with her fingers.

Mayrina gasped. Her belly returned to normal in an instant, the swell vanishing as though it had never been. At the same time, Ethel’s stomach ballooned grotesquely outward.

I stared—in shock, but not horror. Just disbelief.

“No blood. No pain?” I murmured.

Mayrina let out a weak, shuddering breath. Ethel looked down at her new distended stomach, almost proud. “What?” she asked when she caught my stare. “You thought it’d be bloody? Messy? I’m not a monster, petal—well, not that kind. You’ve got to be gentle with babes.”

“Riiight,” I muttered. For a heartbeat, she almost looked embarrassed—until her grin crept back in place. “Well, don’t just stand there gawking,” she snapped. “Get on with it.”

I turned to the dwarf statue. In all my playthroughs, freeing him had been a cruel joke. He died the moment the petrification broke, infected with a poison by Ethel herself. That was the true meaning of his fate—locked in a state of eternal dying, yet never perishing . Just having him here would defy the very concept of decay. I thought.

“Let him be,” I said.

Ethel tilted her head, confused, then shrugged. “Your rite, petal.”

I glanced toward the casket—the final tenet. ****. “Bring him back,” I said quietly.

“Yes!” Mayrina cried, her eyes bright again. “Oh yes, please!”

Ethel reached into her bundle and pulled out a crooked wooden wand, its surface etched with faintly glowing runes. She handed it to Mayrina with a mocking smile. “Here you go, dearie. Have him yourself.”

Mayrina took the wand with trembling hands, then turned toward the casket. A pulse of sickly green light burst from its tip. The lid creaked. Wood split. And from within came the sound of something moving that shouldn’t.