Thane staggered backward, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. His body trembled as he felt the sharp sting of the cuts and slashes across his skin. Blood dripped from his wounds, a thick, dark red that sizzled and evaporated into the air, his regenerative powers struggling to keep up with the onslaught.
His mind raced, trying to comprehend how things had gone so horribly wrong.
He had embraced the demonic power, surrendered himself to it fully, expecting to become invincible—yet here he was, beaten and broken, overwhelmed by a foe who should have been long dead. Anger surged through him, hot and furious, a wildfire burning through his veins. His face twisted into a snarl, his teeth clenched so hard they threatened to shatter.
"Why?" he screamed, his voice raw with frustration. "Why am I still losing? Why am I still so weak?" He looked down at his hands, at the dark veins that pulsed beneath his skin, the corrupted energy coursing through him.
"I took in the power of the demons! I should be unstoppable!" His voice was rising, cracking with desperation and fury. He had believed this power would make him a god, a conqueror beyond mortal limits, but it had failed him—betrayed him.
He roared in frustration, his voice echoing through the ruined landscape. With a sudden, violent movement, he clawed at his own face, his nails digging deep into his skin.
The flesh tore away in long strips, the sound of it ripping like paper in the silent air. He clawed again, harder, his fingers sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, dragging down in jagged lines, peeling the skin away in thick, wet chunks. Blood poured from the open wounds, dripping onto the ground, a dark, oily black now, corrupted and unnatural.
The sight was horrifying. The more Thane tore at himself, the less human he became. His face twisted and contorted as the flesh fell away, revealing something else beneath—a grotesque, malformed creature, its skin slick and black, its eyes glowing a sickly yellow.
His features were a horrific mix of human and demonic, a creature that should not exist in any sane reality.
He thrashed about wildly, swinging his newly formed claws in frenzied arcs, slashing at the air as if trying to tear apart reality itself. His movements were erratic, but the power behind them was undeniable. Each strike sent waves of malevolent energy rippling through the air, distorting the very fabric of existence around him.
But even in this monstrous form, there was no mistaking the underlying desperation—the sense of a man who had given everything for power and found himself lost in the abyss. His screeches were no longer words, just garbled sounds of torment and fury, his mind slipping further into madness with every passing moment.
Lord Varric watched him, his breath steady, his axes at the ready. He did not flinch at the sight of Thane's transformation, nor did he show fear at the monstrous entity before him. Instead, there was a grim determination in his eyes, a quiet resolve. This was no longer a fight against a man—it was a battle against a monster, a corrupted soul that had lost its way.
"Look at you," Varric muttered, his voice steady and cold. "Consumed by the very power you sought to control. This is your reward, Thane. This is the price of your ambition."
Thane lunged at him with a furious, ear-splitting roar, his claws swiping through the air with deadly speed. But Varric was ready. He sidestepped the attack, one axe coming down to parry, the other swinging around in a wide arc to strike at Thane's exposed side. The blade bit deep, cutting through the corrupted flesh, and Thane screamed, the sound echoing like a thousand tortured souls.
But he did not stop. He could not stop. He was beyond reason, beyond sanity, a creature driven only by rage and hatred. He lunged again, and again, each strike more desperate than the last, each scream louder, more horrifying.
The battle against Thane had become a battle against the darkness itself, and he knew he had to hold his ground. The corrupted form of Thane raged before him, Varric axes gleamed in the evening light, and he prepared himself for what was to come.