There's nothing you can do, Solus. You are merely a construct, imbued with a semblance of life. While I… I have become a god!
Solus had little direct experience in using his psionic abilities in battle, but he had more than his own memories to draw on. He had the memories of his four creators, those who had designed and constructed the psi-forge and who knew the device far better than Galharath ever could. That knowledge would become his weapon.
He looked upon the crystalline structure-the main chamber, the struts rising toward the cavern's ceiling, the ones that reached down through the cavern floor to draw upon the thermal energies beneath the mountain. He saw the physical components of the device, but he also saw the intricate lattice of psionic power that made up the true heart of the psi-forge. He saw Galharath not as a being of meat and bone, but rather a luminous creature of pure thought… and what's more, he saw precisely how the kalashtar was integrated into the psi-forge's energy lattice, and he saw what he needed to do.
Solus focused the power of his mind into a single tight beam of telekinetic energy and sent it hurtling toward the crystalline ring clasped in Galharath's right hand. The beam sheared off a portion of the outer ring near the top, so small that it would've been impossible to detect with the naked eye, but it was enough to do the job.
The ring shuddered in Galharath's hand, and the kalashtar looked up at it in alarm. A memory came from one of Solus's creators-which, he couldn't say. The memory was of the way a glass goblet would vibrate when subjected to certain frequencies of sound… vibrate enough to shatter.
The ring in Galharath's right hand burst apart in a shower of crystal shards.
The kalashtar screamed.
Diran held out his hand and silver light flared to life in his palm. Makala hissed as the argent illumination poured over her, and she threw herself away from Cathmore, turned her back to Diran, and covered her eyes.
"Are you mad?" she screeched. "You're protecting a monster!"
Diran hated to see Makala in pain, but he couldn't let her slay Cathmore. "It's you I'm protecting-from yourself."
Cathmore laughed. "How deliciously self-righteous!"
Diran ignored the master assassin and spoke calmly to Makala, though he did not allow the silver fire burning in his hand to go out. "It's one thing to feed, quite another to kill. Cathmore may deserve to die, but I won't let you become a soulless murderer."
"Why not?" Cathmore spoke in a jovial tone, as if he were enjoying himself enormously. "That's what the Brotherhood trained her to be."
Makala continued to huddle on the floor, her back to Diran. "Put out that damned light!" she shouted. "Let me do what has to be done!"
Cathmore continued to grin at Diran, but his voice took on a cold edge. "You can't save her. She's a killer at heart… just as you are. No matter how much you try to deny your true nature, it will always come to the fore, one way or another. The Diran Bastiaan I trained as a boy was too intelligent not to recognize such a basic fact about himself. Forget your friends and your pathetic excuse for a religion. Become once more who you truly are."
Cathmore took a step toward him, and his grin fell away. His voice was completely devoid of emotion as he continued, almost as if Cathmore wasn't speaking, but someone-or something-else was.
"I'm old, Diran. Not many years remain ahead of me. When I die, the spirit inside me will need a new home. You gave up your dark spirit some time ago, Diran, but it's not too late to return to the way things were."
Cathmore took another step forward.
"You can become the new host for my spirit, and you don't have to wait for me to die… we can make the transfer now."
Confusion, fear, and anger warred in Cathmore's gaze as he spoke, and Diran understood what was happening.
"It's not you talking now, is it, Cathmore? It's your dark spirit, desperate to find a new host before you die and it's forced to return to whatever foul netherworld spawned it. How does it feel to know that at the end of your life, the spirit you've relied on for so many years cares no more for you than a sea rat cares for a sinking ship?"
A wave of vertigo hit Diran. The Proving Room shimmered and grew blurry before disappearing altogether. When the dizziness passed, Diran found himself in a large cavern, his adult self once again. Makala had also been restored to her true age, though she still crouched with her back to Diran to hide from the light of the silver flame blazing in his hand. Diran took a quick look around and saw his companions were present as well-Ghaji fought with Chagai, axe against sword, while Yvka looked on; Tresslar and Asenka huddled close together, as if to protect one another from some unseen threat; and Hinto and Solus stood before a glowing crystalline structure that Diran knew had to be the creation forge which had birthed Solus. Inside stood Cathmore's kalashtar ally, screaming as blood poured from numerous wounds to his face and neck. Crystal shards of varying sizes were embedded in the man's ravaged flesh.
Diran wasn't certain how they'd all ended up in the cavern. Perhaps the kalashtar had used his mind powers to direct them to come here, and they had no memory of doing so. It didn't matter. All that was important was that Solus had triumphed over the kalashtar and broken the man's hold over all of them.
All at once the kalashtar stopped screaming, his eyes went wide, and the light emanating from the crystalline structure began to fade. The kalashtar held onto a single crystal ring that hovered in the air above him, but he released his grip on the ring and fell to his knees. Diran thought the man was going to die, but he remained on his knees, staring blankly, a thin line of drool running from a corner of his mouth.
Diran turned to Cathmore.
"It's over. You've lost."
Cathmore's gaze was clear, and Diran knew his dark spirit had returned control to the master assassin. The old man looked uncertain, as if he couldn't bring himself to believe what had happened, as if he were hoping that this was another of the kalashtar's illusions that any moment would be dispelled to reveal that he, Cathmore, was the ultimate victor.
Diran closed his hand, extinguishing the silver fire he'd brought into existence. He then drew a pair of steel daggers and flipped them into throwing position.
"Surrender or die, Cathmore. Your choice."
Cathmore's uncertainty faded and was replaced with cold hatred. "I'll never surrender to you."
Makala grabbed Cathmore from behind.
"That's just what I wanted to hear," she said.
Before Diran could stop her, she bared her fangs and sank them into Cathmore's neck.
Diran had no choice. He hurled his daggers.
Ghaji ducked just in time to avoid Chagai's swing, though from the way Yvka gasped as the broadsword passed over his head, Ghaji had come within a few hairs of losing his scalp. Though he was in an awkward position, Ghaji swung his axe at Chagai's unprotected side. He knew his weapon probably wouldn't penetrate Chagai's enchanted mail shirt, but he hoped the impact would at least break a couple of the bastard's ribs.
Before his axe could hit Chagai, the night-shrouded valley vanished, and Ghaji saw they stood inside a large cavern. The sudden change of scenery distracted Ghaji, causing him to angle his axe head upward so that the flat of the weapon struck Chagai in the side instead of the edge. There was still plenty of strength behind the blow however, and the breath gusted out of Chagai's lungs as the impact sent him stumbling to his right.
Ghaji wondered what had happened to break the illusion of the night valley, and whether it meant good or ill for him and his companions, but he knew he didn't have time to be concerned with such matters now. Twenty years ago he'd allowed Chagai to live, and that was a mistake he intended to rectify.
He stood, willing his axe to ignite, and he was gratified to see flames flare to life around the elemental weapon.