In Baldur's Gate 3 With a Multiversal Gacha System?

The trio walked inland now, leaving behind the corpses of the devourers and the fractured coast. Fin led at a light stroll, flipping a pouch of gold into the air and catching it again with a practised flick. It jingled in his palm like a music box full of affirmations.

Many items and other remains washed up on the crashsite, leaving Fin with some time to scavenge, and with such luck, he'd managed to find a small pouch of gold. What a lucky guy he was.

"Ohoho… I love Marcus. May his sappy letters rot in the sea, but his gold? His gold had taste." Fin chuckled.

Shadowheart, following close behind, raised an eyebrow.

"You certainly recovered quickly."

Fin caught the bag again and grinned, tossing it once more.

"Gold heals all wounds."

She eyed him more closely now. Earlier—at her pod—he'd been dry and analytical. Then, at the crash site, something had broken through when he fought—the black flash. It wasn't magic she recognised, but whatever it was, it had lit him up like a lunatic. Now here he was: tossing coins and cracking jokes like a bard trying to land a free drink.

"You're very… changeable, aren't you?"

"What, me?"

"Mmhmm. One moment stoic rescuer, the next dark-and-brooding spell-slinger, and now gleeful treasure goblin."

She tilted her head, tone somewhere between teasing and clinical.

"Are you putting on some bad boy act? Is that for my benefit?"

"Gasp. Shadowheart, are you flirting with me?"

"Hardly. I'd just like to know if I should be worried you're building a whole personality out of mood swings."

Behind them, the Dark Urge remained silent, her gait steady and eyes fixed forward. She hadn't said much since the fight—still processing, maybe. Or resisting the next violent itch.

Ali's light projection flickered briefly by Fin's shoulder, whispering low enough not to be heard by the others.

"You are a bit all over the place."

"Oh not you too—"

GRGRGL

Fin's stomach protested loudly, interrupting him mid-banter.

"Ugh. Damn it. That gold's shiny but not edible…"

"Weakness comes in many forms. Hunger is among the most… honest."

"Thank you, dragon-fortune cookie."

He adjusted his haori and kept walking. That was when they heard it—

"Hurry!"

A voice, male, cut across the trail.

Fin froze, stepping slightly in front of the others, gold pouch vanishing into his inventory. Ahead, just beyond a clutch of burned foliage, stood a pale man with silver hair and red-lined eyes. He waved them over, gesturing with exaggerated urgency.

"Hurry, you've got to help me! One of those brain things—it's hiding in the bushes. I've got it cornered, but I need backup!"

The three exchanged a look.

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes. "...Something feels off."

Fin's expression had already gone flat. He wasn't even moving forward.

"Yeah," he muttered. "He's acting."

The pale figure ahead of them—an elf by the looks of it, gaunt and beautiful in that bloodless, uncanny way—beckoned again with false urgency. His eyes were too sharp, his hand too close to his belt.

Fin didn't step an inch closer.

"No thanks," he called, casually. "You're either a terrible actor or a really confident backstabber."

The pale elf froze.

He blinked once. Slowly.

Then he dropped the act with a small, theatrical sigh.

"Ah… pity," he said, straightening up. "I'd hoped to find someone a little more... pliable."

His hand darted to his dagger with vampiric speed.

But Fin was already moving.

The moment the dagger came up, Fin's foot slid back instinctively—eyes glowing faintly as Observation Haki flared. His body twisted, weaving around the lunge like water. Astarion's blade sliced nothing but air, his momentum carrying him forward past Fin.

Astarion spun to face him, blade now pointed directly at Fin's heart, frustration curling across his features.

"You're quick," he hissed.

Fin rolled his neck once, then his eyes. "And you're predictable."

Then he moved.

A flick of the wrist. A step forward. His hand clamped down on Astarion's wrist like iron. Before the vampire could react, Fin twisted his arm sharply, disarming him with a click of bone and steel. The dagger clattered into the dirt.

Then—

Thwmp

A lightning-fast strike to the throat.

Astarion gagged, breath caught mid-word, and stumbled back with a harsh wheeze. He dropped to his knees, gasping as he clutched his throat, red eyes wide.

Fin stood over him, relaxed but unblinking.

"Try that again and I'll break more than your windpipe."

Astarion coughed violently, trying to speak through the impact. His voice came out hoarse.

"Ghhk—gods, you hit harder than you look…"

Durge, still standing silently nearby, watched the exchange without blinking. There was no emotion on her face, just faint interest. Like watching a sparring match and debating whether to join in.

Shadowheart approached slowly, arms crossed. "You didn't exactly make a strong first impression. Pulling a knife on someone is rarely considered a greeting."

Astarion looked up at them, still kneeling. His expression was less composed now, more human. Tired.

Then—

Whmmmmm

The mind-link snapped open, sudden and unwelcome. A rush of sensation flooded through them all—disjointed images of the Nautiloid, of screaming captives, of eldritch tendrils piercing skulls. A moment of shared horror passed like a shiver down the spine.

Fin didn't flinch.

Shadowheart gritted her teeth.

Durge's nostrils flared, eyes sharp.

And Astarion… went still.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed himself to his feet with smooth, practised grace, dusting off his clothes like nothing had happened. His voice returned, cool and level.

"The worm, of course. That explains things. Somewhat," he said simply. "Apologies."

Then, with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, he offered a slight bow.

"Astarion. At your service, provided you're not currently planning to kill me."

Fin snorted. "Guess we'll see how the day goes."

He folded his arms. "I'm Fin."

He tilted his head toward the cleric beside him.

"This is Shadowheart."

Shadowheart made a noncommittal sound, arms crossed. She was still watching Astarion like she hadn't decided whether or not to cave in his ribs.

Fin gestured behind him with a thumb.

"And this one..." He glanced at the dragonborn trailing a few paces back, still silent and unreadable. "...She hasn't told us her name. Or if she has one."

He turned to her. "What should we call you, anyway?"

Durge shrugged, eyes half-lidded. "I don't care."

Fin nodded slowly. "Right. Very helpful."

He turned back to Astarion with a smirk.

"Call her whatever. Ice Queen, Murder Lizard, Karen. Dealer's choice."

Astarion blinked. Then gave a faint huff of amusement.

"This is already shaping up to be the strangest party I've ever joined."

Fin stretched his arms overhead, the movement casual, but his eyes never leaving Astarion's.

"You'll get used to it. Or die trying."

Ali's flickering projection whispered beside his ear.

"Should've gone with 'Scaley McStabs-a-lot.'"

Fin muttered back, "Still might."

And thus the Gay Vampire joined the party and the group continued on their journey.

...

The group ascended the slope of a hill. As they crested the top, the earth beneath their boots shifted from charred black to faintly glowing violet.

A shimmering sigil pulsed across the hillside, etched into the ground itself. At its centre, sticking awkwardly out of the stone like a misplaced plant, was a single hand.

It wiggled.

Then a voice called up, muffled but unmistakably articulate:

"A hand, anyone? I seem to be... temporarily inconvenienced."

The group stopped.

Shadowheart blinked.

Astarion tilted his head.

The Dark Urge simply stared.

Fin groaned quietly.

Shadowheart looked around. "Is that... is that a person?"

Astarion crouched slightly, squinting at the hand. "That sigil is definitely magical. The good kind or the exploding kind, I couldn't say."

"Could be a trap." Shadowheart suggested.

"Could be performance art." Astorian joked.

The voice below interrupted again, more insistent. "Hello? Yes—still here. Still stuck. Would very much appreciate a bit of help before the rock decides I'm a permanent fixture."

Shadowheart gave Fin a sideways glance. "Do you… Know what this is?"

Fin rubbed the back of his neck, eyes squinting toward the sigil. "Nope."

He didn't want to elaborate.

"That's a hand," the Dark Urge said softly.

Her voice had changed. It was low. Focused.

Fin turned.

Her eyes… were locked on the fingers poking out of the earth with the same intensity a starving man might show a roast chicken.

Fin's lips parted slightly. "...Here we go"

He stepped back, just once. One small shuffle.

The Dark Urge didn't wait.

Without a word, her fingers curled, and frost crawled down her arms. A dagger of translucent ice burst into existence in her palm.

The trapped voice called up again.

"Helloooo? I really am quite talented and worth saving, I promise—"

Thchkk

The dagger plunged into the hand. Once. Twice. Then again.

A sickening shluck followed as she began sawing with disturbingly mechanical focus, ice-blade tearing through skin and sinew.

The hand jerked.

The voice below yelped.

"OH SWEET GODS ABOVE—WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

Shadowheart recoiled instinctively. "Is she—she's not—oh, gods, she is."

Astarion, by contrast, leaned forward with evident curiosity.

"My, my," he murmured. "Now this is entertainment."

Blood pooled around the edge of the glyph, the once-waving fingers twitching madly. The ice dagger ground against bone, cracking it with a wet snap. The Dark Urge didn't blink.

She carved like she was slicing meat.

No expression.

No pause.

Just focus.

A final twist of the blade, and the hand gave out with a sickening pop, tendons snapping and knuckle joints splitting like dry twigs. The severed hand tumbled from the rim of the sigil, landing with a wet plop in a puddle of its blood.

The glowing glyph let out a final whmmmm—

And collapsed.

The rock sealed shut.

Silence.

Ali blinked into view beside Fin, still hovering cross-legged midair, expression halfway between amusement and honest curiosity.

"...Soooo," she began slowly, "why exactly did you let that happen?"

Fin didn't look away from the pool of blood. His tone was flat. Cold.

"Because that's Gale."

Ali blinked. "And…?"

Fin crossed his arms. "He's a walking arcane bomb with a smug face and a god complex. Needs to devour rare magic items just to keep from detonating and turning us into a crater. Powerful, sure. But annoying. Needy. Probably smelled like old parchment and self-importance."

Ali's projection raised a glowing brow. "So... you let him die because you didn't like him?"

Fin's eyes narrowed. "Sure, let's say that."

A pause.

Ali let out a long, low whistle. "Geez. That's cold, even for you."

Fin shrugged.

Shadowheart, meanwhile, had turned fully toward the Dark Urge, her jaw clenched.

"You do realise," she said icily, "that when someone asks for a hand, they're asking for help, not a dismemberment."

Durge looked down at the severed hand. The blood on her claws. The frost was still clinging to her fingertips. She blinked once. Slowly.

"...I don't remember deciding to do that."

Astarion stepped closer, hands on hips, smiling faintly.

"Oh, I liked that." He gestured to the bloodied hand. "It's quite the art, especially the bloody kind."

Durge still stared at what she'd done, head tilted slightly. Her mouth opened as if to speak… but no words came.

Fin exhaled and turned.

"Alright. Fun's over. Come on, we've got more important things and people to find, and I'd prefer the next one stay in one piece."

He walked off down the hill without waiting for their agreement.

The others followed.

Shadowheart muttering something about lunatics.

Astarion was chuckling softly under his breath.

And the Dark Urge?

Still watching her hands as the blood slowly dried.

...

Thud.

The second tiefling dropped like a sack of bricks, crumpling into the grass with a muffled grunt as Fin's elbow connected cleanly with the side of his skull. He hit the ground hard, unconscious, but breathing.

Fin straightened slowly, adjusting the sleeves of his white haori with a quiet breath. When those teifling didn't believe his cover about being a bounty hunter, he'd opted to just knock them out and apologise later.

"Alright," he muttered. "That's both of them down."

A few feet away, the first tiefling groaned weakly on the dirt. She was already out cold from the earlier strike.

Shadowheart stepped up behind him, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. She glanced at the bodies, then at the device hanging above them.

Her eyes narrowed.

"You really think she deserves saving?" she asked, voice cool.

Fin looked up.

Suspended in a crude wooden cage was Lae'zel. She was crossing her arms in frustration, her face twisted in barely contained fury. Her teeth bared, her eyes blazing.

The moment she saw Fin standing beneath her, her voice cut sharp and imperious:

"You. Outlander. Free me. Now."

Fin arched a brow.

Shadowheart muttered behind him, "Oh good, she's still pleasant."

Lae'zel thrashed in the cage, wood creaking.

"I will not be caged like an animal by these wretches. Release me this instant"

Fin tilted his head lazily, looking up at her as the sun caught the gleam of her yellow, burning eyes.

"...Nice to see you're still charming."

Lae'zel snarled. "Spare me your wit. Open this cage"

Shadowheart stepped up beside him now, clearly irritated.

"She's the one who left me for dead in the crash. Didn't even look back. And now we're going to rescue her?"

Fin didn't answer immediately.

He just kept looking up at Lae'zel. Calm. Quiet. As if calculating.

Lae'zel, bound and furious, locked eyes with him.

Fin exhaled through his nose.

Then stepped forward.

"Hold still."

He'd fire two small dismantles. 

Snap.

The bindings holding the cage aloft gave out.

Lae'zel dropped like a rock, landing in a controlled crouch with a grunt, her blade in hand, a second later, snatched from the dirt. She stood tall, towering, her chest rising and falling with restrained fury.

She didn't thank him.

Instead, she stepped forward with purpose and declared:

"It seems the tadpole scrambled some of your senses. No matter. The longer we wait, the more it consumes. My people possess the cure for this infection. I must find a creche."

Her golden eyes locked onto Fin's. "You will join me."

Fin raised an eyebrow. "...Will I now?"

Before he could say more, Shadowheart stepped forward, voice like stone.

"She's lying."

Lae'zel turned sharply.

"You will not speak to me, elf—"

"Half-elf," Shadowheart snapped, her glare sharp enough to cut. "I suppose the finer details are lost on a creature like you."

Lae'zel's lip curled in disdain, but she didn't rise to it.

Fin sighed through his nose, already regretting his life decisions.

Lae'zel turned back to him, ignoring the cleric entirely.

"The horned one spoke of a camp. One of them mentioned a man—Zorru. He claims to have seen other githyanki nearby. I will go there and verify his words. If he speaks the truth, then a creche may be close."

She looked back at the unconscious tieflings with contempt, then back to Fin.

"Come with me, and you will receive a cure for your affliction. It is your choice."

Shadowheart scoffed under her breath.

Fin said nothing yet.

Behind him, Astarion gave a casual shrug, eyeing Lae'zel with interest.

"Well, I do love a woman with conviction, preferably not aimed at me, of course. If she knows where to find a cure, I say we follow."

Durge, still staring off at the horizon, gave a single nod.

"It makes sense," she said flatly. "Better to walk toward something than rot in place."

Fin rolled his jaw slightly, watching Lae'zel with quiet calculation. She was relentless, proud, and guaranteed to be a headache. But she also had a direction, and, more importantly, that direction led to the Monastery.

The creche itself wouldn't help.

But the Blood of Lathander was somewhere inside.

He'd played the game. He mostly remembered that temple. If they reached it, he'd be one step closer to acquiring one of the most powerful relics in Faerûn.

So… for now?

"Fine," Fin said aloud, arms folding. "You can come with."

Lae'zel gave a short, satisfied nod.

Shadowheart made a sound between a scoff and a groan.

"Of course she can."

Fin turned his head slightly, already bracing for it.

Shadowheart stepped forward, glaring at Lae'zel. "I don't trust her. Not even a little. And if she so much as looks at me the wrong way, I will knock her flat."

Lae'zel scoffed. "You'd be dead before you even touched me."

The tension crackled.

But Shadowheart turned to Fin instead, her voice quiet but resolute.

"...But I trust you. If you think she's worth the risk, then I'll deal with it."

Fin nodded once. Nothing more.

Ali, still hovering behind him, murmured, "Great. Now we've got a volatile space-tyrant. You sure know how to pick a party."

Fin muttered back, "It's all part of the charm."

And so, the group moved on—one step closer to the Grove.

[End of Chapter]