#anyways. jazz hands. barry bluejeans is tav au. enjoy.

[mantisgodsdomain]

The fight is going, quite honestly, utterly dog shit.

Astarion's promised backup has, predictably, fallen through, the elf who-knows-where in the goblin camp doing who-knows what as the massive bugbear bears down on them. Lae'zel is locked in deadly combat with said bugbear, the hilt of her sword still slick with Minthara's blood. Shadowheart is so low on mana that she's pretty sure screaming at people will do more damage than trying to cast a spell, and their leader is...

Kneeled on the ground, above Minthara's corpse, on the section of the floor utterly soaked in the mess from where she bled out.

There's magic in his hands.

Barry stares at her, wide-eyed, from his part of the room. Lightning sparks on his palms, and he flinches- then seems to steel himself. "I think- I think I can do something. Can you… stand back, please?"

It should be nothing. Just another command from their leader. Barry Bluejeans is hardly a competent fighter at the best of times - honestly, it's a miracle any of them actually follow him - but something about the way he says it gives her pause.

Shadowheart steps back.

Barry smiles, weak and wobbly. The lightning plays over his palms again, brighter than any electricity should be. He raises his hands over Minthara's fallen body. Lae'zel yowls in pain as the bugbear gets a lucky hit in behind them, and Shadowheart nearly turns to look- but something stops her. A magnetism, maybe, something in the air, something about…

"All right. Here goes nothing." Barry says.

And he slams his palms down on Minthara's chest.

The air.

Changes.

Something brilliant lights up in Minthara's chest, brighter than bright rapidly burning through to a darkness that casts on the walls like a light in and of itself. She can smell something burning, edged with a scent like an animal's fur that rapidly burns through until it's charcoal edged with something she can't identify. Magic like brilliant crimson threads weave around them, piercing through flesh and bone- a binding, she knows, as rock-certain in her soul as the knowledge that she is herself, stitching something deep and fundamental to this plane. She feels like her very soul is burning from exposure to it, scorched cleaner than the planes of lost memory left by Lady Shar.

Something burns. Something snaps, crackles, is forced together through what can only be equated to the will of a god. The thread pulls taut.

Minthara's corpse gasps to life, drawing itself from the floor, drawing a weapon from a holster that was empty only seconds ago. Her chest is open, scorched as if something had exploded from within it, and every inch of her is burning with godlight.

Barry points. Minthara looks up, and the brilliant light in her eye sockets flares. The bugbear looks from Lae'zel's downed body, and in the split second before it is split with steel, his expression is shot through with fear.

The raised body raises her mace against her comrades. The battle begins to turn very, very quickly.