Cullen strode grimly towards the Harrowing Chambers, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. As he drew closer, he could hear the sound of swords clashing and the screams of his fellow Knights. His steps quickened, and he broke into a run as he saw the devastation ahead.
The scene was one of utter chaos. Demons were everywhere, their grotesque forms clashing against the armor of the Templars, who had lost their formation and were scattered across the battlefield in total disarray. Mages stood among them, casting spells with wild abandon. The air was thick with the stench of blood and sulfur, and Cullen could barely make out the forms of his comrades through the mayhem. He charged towards the fray, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of his brother-in-law.
"Where is the Knight-Lieutenant?!" he shouted, his voice lost in the din of battle.
No one seemed to hear him, and the man had to fight his way through the mass of demons and mages, bumping into other Templars and struggling to keep his footing in the chaos. Despite the confusion and lack of organization, Cullen's training paid off and he fought with skill and precision. He ducked and weaved, dodging lightning bolts and shards of ice. He swung his sword, his movements fluid and practiced, the blade biting through demon flesh and mage robes alike.
"Holy Maker!" he grumbled, barely evading a blast of fire that singed his helmet. "This is madness!"
As he fought, the young man's breaths became fast and shallow, his muscles burning from the effort of keeping his sword arm moving. His boots made a sickly smacking sound as he stepped through the blood, bile, and other fluids he didn't care to identify. Through it all, the Templar could hear the voices of his comrades, shouting orders and cries of pain. "Hold the line!" one of them shouted. "They're coming at us from all sides!" Another screamed as a demon tore into him, his armor no match for its claws.
Cullen felt his heart break as he saw his fellow Templars fall, their bodies crumpling to the ground. He felt a surge of anger rise within him, and he fought with renewed vigor.
Finally, he caught sight of Thomas, his armor dented and his face streaked with blood. He was surrounded by demons, his back against a wall. Cullen charged towards him, his sword singing through the air.
"Stand firm, Knight-Lieutenant!" he yelled, as he cut down one demon after another. "I'm coming. We can still win this!"
His words weren't just meant to boost morale; though disorganized and affected by poison, the Templars remained a formidable force. Gradually, the tide of battle began to turn in their favor.
He fought on, trying to reach Thomas, his body and mind consumed by the fight. For a moment, there was nothing but the clang of swords, the screams of the dying and the frenzied beating of his own heart.
And then they came.
Senior Enchanter Uldred and Lea Amell, the zealous leader of the rebellion and his trusted follower, walked into the hall with a menacing aura that reeked of blood magic.
Uldred's eyes were like two black pits, devoid of any light or color. His expression was one of pure elation, as though he were relishing in some sort of a triumph. He held himself with the confidence of a man who knew he was going to win.
Behind him, Enchanter Amell followed closely. Her once pristine robes were now tattered and torn, with the sleeves cut off, revealing thin, long cuts on her hands that glistened with small droplets of blood. Lea, without uttering a single word, spread her arms wide, her eyes flashing a deep, ominous crimson. The blood from her wounds began to rise, swirling and dancing in the air around her, slowly enveloping her body in a thick, misty sphere of bloody vapor. The sphere grew and grew, expanding until it filled the entire area, its crimson tendrils seeping into each crevice, nook, and cranny.
Cullen felt the mist creep into his body. It penetrated every pore, sinking deep into his skin. The chaos of battle raged on around him, but his focus wavered as his vision began to blur. His will to fight started to wane, as if the very air around him was sapping his strength. He tried to remember why he was attacking the mages, but those thoughts were slipping away like sand through the fingers.
The Templar looked around himself, and to his surprise, the demons had stopped their fighting, and the mages had ceased their casting. They were all looking at him with what he could swear were friendly smiles. Something deep inside screamed that this was wrong, that he was still in danger, but the thoughts of surrender were stronger, like a siren's song lulling him into a sense of security.
His eyelids grew heavy as if they were made of lead, and all he wanted was to rest, to give in to the overwhelming exhaustion that took hold of him. The weight of the sword in his hand became unbearable, and with a clatter, he dropped it to the floor. The Templar felt utterly spent, like he had been fighting for days instead of hours. As he sank to the ground, his mind foggy and his body weak, he succumbed to a deep, restless slumber.
Cullen slowly regained his consciousness, groaning in pain as he tried to sit up, feeling like he had been run over by a bronto. His head throbbed with a dull ache, his mouth felt like the inside of a desert, and a buzzing sound echoed in his ears.
Bits of ash and gore clung to the side of his face that had been pressed against the floor. The stench of sulfur was overwhelming, and he took shallow breaths, trying to push the bile back down. "What in the Maker's name happened?" he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and weak.
The Templar tried to focus his vision, but it was like looking through a thick fog. He rubbed his eyes vigorously, and slowly his eyesight cleared. As he inspected his armor, he felt a pulsating ache in his blistered and charred hand. The plate had dents and burns in multiple places, and his sword and helmet were nowhere to be seen. That was not the worst of it, however. With consternation, he found himself trapped, imprisoned within an ethereal prison, unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. The translucent barrier encircled him, and although it was transparent, it was made up of a mixture of colors, each hue morphing into the next, creating a sickening kaleidoscope of light. The horrible buzzing tune it was emitting started to get on his nerves.
With a trembling effort, the Templar tried to cast a Spell Purge to erase the barrier, calling upon whatever traces of lyrium remained in his blood. The attempt was futile, and the sphere continued to hold him captive in its inescapable grasp.
His mind raced frantically, desperately trying to recall the events that had led him to this moment. The maleficar Amell had cast some kind of wicked spell, that much he could remember. But after that, everything was a hazy blur. The memories of the woman filled him with a tumultuous mixture of rage and shame. He had been a foolish man, blinded by his passions, and now he was paying the price for his recklessness. He couldn't help but wonder if he could have avoided all of this if he had simply done his duty that fateful night.
Regrets, however, were a luxury he could ill afford at the moment. Cullen rubbed his throbbing forehead. The buzzing of the barrier was becoming relentless, growing louder and more insistent by the second. It turned into a jarring, high-pitched drone, like the whine of a swarm of angry bees.
It dawned on him that there was more than one source of the sound. With a sense of foreboding, he turned around. A chilling wave of fear gripped him as he took in the scene before him. The whole area was covered in sphere-like prisons, just like his, each one holding either a Templar or a mage. It was now that the full horror of the situation started to sink in. All of the prisoners were battered and bloodied, even the mages. Cullen could hardly believe his eyes, "These monsters show no mercy, not even for their own kind," he whispered, incredulous.
The young man grimaced as he pushed himself up, his muscles protesting with every movement. He wondered how long they had been imprisoned and why the Knight-Commander Greagoir wasn't coming to their rescue.
"Thomas, where are you?" He tried to call out in search of his brother-in-law, but his voice came out as a whimper.
"I am afraid he is no longer here, Knight-Templar Cullen." The voice was cold and mocking, and he recognized it instantly as that of the maleficar, Amell. He turned his body to face her, with his teeth tightly clenched, and launched himself forward; putting every ounce of strength he had into the attack. However, his attempt was interrupted by the unyielding force of the barrier. The Templar felt as if he had collided with a wall made of solid stone. The impact sent a shockwave through his body, and he collapsed to the floor.
"Thrice-cursed whorespawn, I will reap your heart out!" He growled, trying to sound threatening, but his voice betrayed his weakness.
The woman stood motionless on the other side of the translucent barrier, watching him with a look of indifference. It was clear that she had expected this outcome and was unfazed by his failed attempt to break through, "Oh, but I don't think you are in any position to threaten me, Chantry boy," Lea replied. With a grin on her face, relishing in her power, she added, "Uldred and I have big plans for you and the rest of your kind."
She summoned a sharp icicle, which took the form of a knife, and with a smile, she pressed her right palm against it, drawing a deep, crimson cut. Blood flowed freely from the wound, dripping onto the cold, hard floor.
As the icicle melted into nothingness, Lea rubbed her hands together, bathing them both in the thick, sticky blood. Then she kneeled and began to draw a pentagram on the stone floor with her hands. Each stroke of her fingers left a deep red trail, creating symbols of power that pulsed with malevolent energy.
Cullen watched in horror as he recognized the summoning circle for the demons. His voice trembled with fear as he muttered a prayer to Andraste, hoping for protection against the evil that was unfolding before him.
Lea finished the pentagram, standing up with a satisfied smirk. "Now, we just need the host," she said, her voice laced with a sinister edge. She strode over to one of the other spheres that held a mage, snapping her fingers to make the barrier disappear.
Cullen identified the woman immediately - the one who had been in the kitchen with Lea that ill-fated night. Her long, wavy hair was tousled and clotted with blood, and one of her eyes was so swollen it was barely visible. She looked dazed, unable to offer any resistance as Amell took hold of her hair and dragged her towards the pentagram.
"Even pathetic cowards who wanted to back out at the last moment have their purpose," Lea spat, dropping the girl on top of the pentagram with a cold, heartless thud. The girl could only sob and whimper as Lea began to chant, calling forth a demon from the depths of the Fade.
The young mage wailed, and her body started trembling uncontrollably as if it were being wracked by an unseen force. She cast a last, desperate glance towards Cullen, her eyes pleading for help before her lids fluttered shut. Suddenly, a ghastly, bloody froth burst forth from her mouth, drowning out her screams and turning them into sickening gurgles. Her body contorted in a grotesque, unnatural manner, emitting a series of spine-chilling crunching sounds. The girl's skin took on a sickly purple hue as if she had been dipped in ink. Her eyes, once bright and blue, turned a deep, demonic black, the pupils expanding until they swallowed up the irises. Then, two long, curled horns sprouted from the top of her head, adding to the horror of the scene. As if in some twisted, macabre display, the girl's hair began to fall out in clumps, leaving her completely bald. From her exposed scalp, purple flames leaped forth, flickering and dancing wildly in the air. The flames cast an eerie, ethereal light over the girl's face, illuminating her features with an otherworldly purple glow.
When the demon took full control of the mage's body and the possession was complete, her once gentle and innocent aura was replaced by a wicked, sensual energy that seemed to emanate from every inch of her being. Desire demon's figure was imbued with a sultry sex appeal that was utterly irresistible. Standing before the Templar, stark naked, was a being of pure desire and dark magic.
The maleficar let out a satisfied sigh as she completed her chant. She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and admired her creation. "There's nothing like the satisfaction of doing the Maker's work," she murmured.
Her attention then turned to Cullen. The young man was on his knees, his eyes shut tight as he prayed fervently. His brow was furrowed, and he clutched his hands tightly in desperation.
She turned to the demon and spoke with a hint of warning in her voice. "You can have your fun with this Chantry dog, but remember that I need him alive," she said, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. She continued, "Uldred needs my help to take on that bastard Irving, so I cannot stay here with you to enjoy the process."
With a final glance at the imprisoned Templar, Lea left, leaving the man at the mercy of the desire demon.
The creature cackled with delight as it approached the helpless prisoner. Cullen's eyes flew open in terror as he felt a foreign entity tentatively probing his mind. "Please, Maker, save me!" he pleaded.
The demon licked its lips as it leaned in close to the barrier and whispered, "Tell me, what do you dream of at night? What does your heart desire?" With a wicked grin, she began to push into Cullen's mind. The pain was excruciating like his skull was being split apart by a sledgehammer. His face twisted in agony as he struggled to resist the demon's advances. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't stop the creature. It felt as though slimy, cold hands were digging deep into his brain, leaving his most private thoughts and feelings laying bare before the black, soulless eyes of the monster. The desire demon shuffled through his memories, picking through them like a pile of drawings on a table. Her sticky fingers traced over every moment of happiness, shame, and grief, tarnishing each one with a layer of oozy black slime. It was a surreal experience, as though he was watching his own life being twisted and perverted before his very eyes. The man opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a weak, pitiful whine. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he tried to fight back against the demon's power, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with a single hand. The creature was too strong and too insidious. It was invading every corner of his mind, leaving nothing untouched. His ears were filled with an eerie buzzing of the barriers, broken only by the sound of his own labored breathing and the soft, wet noises of the demon as she rifled through his mind. It was a violation beyond comprehension, and he could feel the weight of it crushing his soul.
Searching for something in particular, the monster continued to sift through the Templar's memories. Finally, with a pleased purr, it found what it was looking for - Cullen's dreams of Lea Amell. All at once, the excruciating pain stopped, and the Templar vision was filled with an image so vivid that it felt real. Before him stood Lea, dressed in a white nightgown that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin. Her full lips were parted slightly as she looked at him with passionate hunger. Slowly, she began to unlace her gown, her eyes fixed on Cullen. She bared her breast and traced her fingers gently over it, her movements enticing and seductive. "You could have this and so much more," she murmured, continuing to caress her own body. Transfixed, the Templar watched her every move, unable to look away from the sultry display before him. He began to sense the touch of soft, warm palms on his skin, moving in unison with Amell's hands. His body instantly responded with a rush of blood to his loins.
Shame washed over him—a feeling of disgust at his weakness. Even after all that she had done, he still found the woman desirable, and it made him sick. His mind raged against the feeling of lust, but he couldn't control it. In a fit of rage, Cullen lashed out at the barrier, smashing his maimed hand against it with all his force. The burned skin ripped apart under the pressure, and he felt a searing, white-hot pain explode through his body. The shock of it cleared his vision, and he saw images of Lea disappearing. Blood filled his glove, seeping through it and staining the metal crimson. He clutched his throbbing hand and gazed at the desire demon with the eyes of a hunted animal. The creature regarded him with a mixture of amusement and malicious glee, "I do love breaking the feisty ones; it makes the final victory so much more… pleasurable", the demon said, emphasizing the last word. Cullen shuddered in revulsion and terror, the sensation of the demon's touch still lingering on his body. Feeling desperate for some form of safety, he began to pray, "Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder…"
A sly smile spread across the desire demon's face as it taunted him, "Let's see for how long you will be able to keep this up," it said. The creature gave him a wink and added, "I need to entertain my other guests, but I'll be back sooner than you think." As the monster slithered away to its next victim, Cullen's legs gave way, and he sank to the floor. He sat on the cold, dirty surface, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. His mind was racing with thoughts of what had just happened and what might happen next.
Time had become an abstract concept, meaningless and irrelevant to the imprisoned Templar. For him, the hours blended into one terrible nightmare that seemed to stretch on forever.
He saw Irving, the once mighty First Enchanter, being dragged to the Harrowing Chambers by abominations, his body leaving a trail of blood on the floor. He saw Uldred, the mad mage who had caused all of this, come for other prisoners, turning them into demons and abominations until Cullen was the only one left.
The man didn't feel much pity for the mages, but each dead Templar chipped away at his soul a little more. He had seen too many of his comrades fall to the enemy, their bodies torn apart by the very magic they had sworn to protect against. He tried to push thoughts of Thomas's fate out of his mind; he wasn't one of the prisoners, and that meant there was still hope that he'd somehow survived.
The desire demon visited him repeatedly. It mocked and tormented him, taking pleasure in trying to break him down and finding new and inventive ways to torture him until he was a shell of his former self. Visions conjured by the creature and reality blurred together, creating a disorienting and terrifying experience that left Cullen unable to tell what was real and what was not.
All he wanted was for his suffering to end, for the nightmare to be over. He would gladly give his life if it meant that he could escape the clutches of the demon and the horrors that surrounded him. The darkness was closing in, and he could feel himself slipping away into its embrace.
Cullen awoke to the sound of clanging armor and voices conversing, "Faren, look, I think this one is still alive." A female voice spoke with a strong Orlesian accent, "Poor thing, he must have suffered terribly." She continued softly, her voice dripping with sympathy.
The Templar slowly opened his eyes and surveyed the group before him, taking in the tattooed dwarf with a lush black beard and the hornless Qunari wielding a massive two-handed sword. A young woman with fiery red hair who seemed to radiate empathy was standing right beside them. Their armor had been marred by the ash and gore residue of a recent battle. They bore a few bruises and scratches, but there were no signs of any serious injuries. The young man winced in pain as he tried to sit up. His face twisting with agony, he pleaded, "Enough visions. If anything in you is still human... kill me now and stop this game."
The woman, sensing his delirium, reached for her waterskin in an attempt to offer him aid. But Cullen recoiled from her, his desperation evident. "Don't touch me! Stay away!" he cried out. "Sifting through my thoughts... tempting me… I am so tired of these cruel jokes... these tricks..."
"By the teats of my ancestors!" exclaimed the tattooed dwarf, "Leliana, leave the man alone; we don't have time for this. We need to deal with Uldred if we want that old fart Greagoir to help us."
Cullen's shock was palpable as he stared at the group before him, tentatively hoping that perhaps this wasn't a demon's trick.
The red-haired woman looked at Faren reproachfully. "I still think we should try to save the innocent mages," she said, her voice tinged with concern.
"To ensure this horror is ended," the hornless Qunari cut in with his own opinion, "to guarantee that no abominations or blood mages live, we must kill everyone up there."
Leliana was about to argue with him when Cullen spoke up. "Knight-Commander Graegoir sent you to deal with Uldred?" he asked, confusion etched on his face. "How are you going to do that? Those maleficarum control your mind and twist your thoughts with blood magic; they summon demons. You will perish!"
Leliana's delicate fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the scroll tied at her waist, her expression serene as she explained its significance. "This holy relic will protect us," she said, her voice filled with unwavering confidence. "While I chant the Litany of Adralla, my friends will make short work of Uldred and his minions." Her eyes gleamed with determination, convinced of their impending victory.
"And what has happened to the woman from whom you took it?" Cullen's voice trembled slightly as he asked.
A smirk played on the dwarf's lips as he chuckled. "She bit the dust," he said, relishing the memory. "I smashed her head so hard against the floor, her teeth fell off."
Cullen's fists clenched. "Good," he said, his voice dripping with venom. "Crush Uldred's head as well. Kill them all for what they've done! And to think I once thought we were too hard on them." Then he paused, his eyes searching for something else. "But before you go, I have one last question to ask. Have you seen the Knight-Lieutenant? He is a middle-aged man, tall, with red hair and green eyes."
Faren's expression turned incredulous. "Do you expect me to remember every damn person I met in this tower?" he snorted. "All I know is that, except for you, there are no more survivors on this floor."
Cullen's heart sank, his voice barely above a whisper. "Blessed Andraste, why should I live when my comrades lie dead?"
"I don't know, and frankly speaking, I don't care," Faren said bluntly. "Leliana, leave the healing potion for the Templar near this glowing thing, and let's get moving. Uldred is not going to kill himself." The dwarf and the Qunari strode off to the Harrowing Chambers, their weapons at the ready.
As they left, Leliana placed the healing potion on the floor near the barrier; her movements were hurried. "In the armory, there was a Templar under the control of a desire demon," she said urgently to Cullen. "He matched the description of your lieutenant. The poor man was convinced that the demon was his pregnant wife. We couldn't save him. I am sorry." Her expression was filled with pity as she rushed to her friend's side.
Cullen stared blankly into the distance. The news was too overwhelming.
Shortly afterward, he heard the sounds of chanting coming from the Chambers. Leliana's voice was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, pure and beautiful. Her singing seemed to wash over the floor like a spring of crystalline water, cleansing away the stench of sulfur and the dark, vile energy of blood magic.
As the chanting continued, the young man began to notice that the buzzing of the barrier was growing quieter and quieter. Soon the sound was completely gone, and his prison dissolved into the air.
The echoes of battle roared from the Harrowing Chambers; even without demons and blood magic, Uldred and his men were formidable foes, but Cullen's sole focus was the search for his brother-in-law. He crawled over to the bottle left for him and quickly downed the healing potion inside. The liquid burned his dry throat as it went down, but he could feel a little bit of his energy returning. With effort, he stood up and made his way to the armory.
With leaden feet, the man stumbled forward, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His healthy hand shook as he clung to the wall for support. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, every beat sending a fresh wave of pain radiating through his chest.
The sight that greeted him as he entered the armory was enough to make his stomach churn. The door had been ripped from its hinges, and weapons and armor lay scattered about in a chaotic mess. The racks that had once held neatly organized blades and shields were now a jumbled mass of splintered wood and twisted metal. Blood stained the walls and floor, mingling with the debris.
As Cullen stumbled forward, his eyes darted over the scene, taking in the carnage. Bodies lay strewn about, both mages and Templars alike. Limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, and blood pooled beneath them in a thick, sticky mess. Cullen tried to ignore the mutilated corpses as he searched for any signs of life.
His heart leaped at the sight of a familiar figure, the mop of red hair unmistakable even from a distance. Cullen's steps quickened, his breath coming faster as he drew closer to the fallen Templar. The man's chest plate had been hacked open, revealing the gory mess beneath. An arrow protruded from his eye socket, the shaft slick with blood.
Cullen's knees buckled beneath him as he sank to the ground next to the body. His hand trembled as he reached out to touch the man's cold, lifeless cheek. "There you are. It took me some time to have found you," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. The pain in his chest grew more intense, as though his heart were trying to burst free from his ribcage. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood and grime that coated his skin. He clung to the body of his brother-in-law, "Don't worry, brother," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "The healers will patch you up, and we'll go home. Mia will be so happy to see you again..." His words trailed off, his throat closing up. Through choking sobs, he continued, "I never told you, but your hugs always made me feel better. Thomas... can you... can you give me a hug?" There was no answer. The room remained silent; the only sound was the distant echo of battle still raging elsewhere. Slowly, Cullen leaned in and tightly hugged his brother-in-law. The grief and loss pressed down upon him, threatening to crush him under their unbearable weight, but for that one moment, he found solace in embracing the man he had loved like a brother, even as the world around him was consumed by chaos.