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He reached out instinctively to burn the gnoll priest alive.
The image of Nott's so very small and so very bloody form painted the back of Caleb's eyelids, the memory of the manticore sinking it's teeth into the flesh of her tiny body made a sort of rage fill his chest and come pouring out of his hands like liquid heat. How dare it touch her? How dare it lay so much as a finger on his friend?
They would pay for hurting her, they would pay for trying to take her from him. The anger filled him, the heat clearing away the smoke.
But Caleb didn’t have that sort of rage and raw power and cool capability, no, he was small and timid and nervous- far too cowardly to do anything of the sort like putting himself in the line of fire. He stayed at the back because he was weak and pitiful and useless. He held only fear in his hands, he had no rage to call upon, no anger. No, Caleb Widogast possessed no such thing. But buried somewhere deep beneath the smoke and the fog and the horrified screams and the smell of burnt flesh and the voice of someone horrifying but long since lost was someone who could .
So Caleb Widogast let go of himself, he let go of that he had been made into, all that he had become, and pulled at his horrors of his past with a hysterical strength.
And Bren Aldric Ermendrud burnt the gnoll priest alive.
Bren stood, chest heaving, fury filling his throat as he turned to look on the manticore. Caleb Widogast may have broken at the sight of the burning corpse at his feet, his breath may have hesitated and his mind may have tried to hide, but Bren Aldric Ermendrud held no such qualms.
Bren was not so good a man.
He stepped neatly over the still smoldering corpse with its burnt crisp flesh, charred teeth, and boiled eyeballs and, as he heard the shouts and cries of the people behind him, he brought up his fist and rained fire upon his foes, just as Trent Ikithon had created him to do.
The manticore burns. He watches it, ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He is lost, for a moment, in what had once been. Bren knows what he has done. Caleb knows, must know, or else his mind has rebelled so throughly that he can longer truly grasp the gravity of what he’d done so long ago.
There are warm hands on either side of his face, the press of cool lips on his forehead, for a moment, it is Mutter , soft and fond and lovely, "There's time for that later.”
He blinks, choking, and then there is purple where there should red and red where there should be blue.
It is not her.
The Aftermath is strange and muddled.
The manticore is dead, burnt and crushed and mutilated by their combined efforts even considering how terribly their plan had failed.
Jester heals Nott.
Nott is fine. She is well. She is healed. She is his.
He does not know what to do or who he is, or how or why, or worse still, what next. Is he Caleb? Is he Bren? Had he ever really changed? Who is he? The fury still burns in his bones, the rage of a fire, the horror of what he was. He does not want to face it.
So Bren stayed.
He noticed the purple tielfing staring at him strangely and he lifted his chin, meeting him in the eye, daring him to say anything. Mollymauk nudged the green orc beside him. Bren's nose wrinkled as he watched them whispering to each other.
They leave the cave, and he walks back slowly with Nott at his side, letting the others take the cart ahead.
Nott reached for his hand and he lets her take it, small claws curling around soft flesh. He does not hold it in return. Bren would not befoul her with a returning touch. He knew what he was. This seems to set her on edge. She is silent and still and nervous.
Bren stays, knowing that the rest are coming.
And they do.
Mollymauk and Fjord and Beau trail back to stand beside him, Jester staying to drive the cart full of their rescued quarry which they had bought and paid for with their own blood and sweat and tears.
Beau bites her lip, beginning awkwardly, eyes flicking up and away, "Sooooo... Caleb. Um... how... how are you feeling, man?"
Bren speaks and he does not mean for his words to be as sharp and steady as they are, "As well as can be expected Beauregard. However, I suggest that you leave the forced amicability to Fjord, he is much better at it than you, ja?"
Beauregard opened her mouth, closed it, and then muttered grudgingly in defeat, "Asshole."
Fjord crossed his arms, something wary there in his eyes as if he knew- as if he could see his sins painted on him, "You’ve been acting a little strange Caleb, since the cave. Are you sure you’re alright?"
Every word is perfectly steady, carefully measured, "If you are worried that I will snap and kill you all, you needn’t be-“
Mollymauk spoke up abruptly, "You're making eye contact, Mr. Caleb."
Bren turned, fingers tightening imperceptibly around Nott's small hand as he studied the other man carefully, voice almost dangerously soft, "Excuse me?"
Mollymauk nodded, seeming to have decided that he was right, "Something changed back there with you. You can’t deny it. I’ve made a habit of studying people, Of learning body language so as better to read others. You’re almost acting like a different person."
Beauregard frowned, disbelieving, "Really?"
Molly arched an eyebrow, "Mr. Caleb, you don’t look me in the eye. Ever. You hunch, always, you worry your lip on your teeth and you shuffle. Nothing about you is confident in the slightest. You’re dirty, you’re shy, you’re nervous." Bren frowned, but didn’t correct him as he continued, "Ever since the cave your shoulders have been back and you stand straight up- a soldier's stance. Your hands always shake during and after a battle, but now..." he nodded towards his hands.
They were steady and sure and completely still.
Bren nodded in agreement, closing his eyes and humming thoughtfully, "You have a keen eye, Mollymauk Tealeaf."
Trent would’ve valued a keen eye, probably as much as he’d valued his keen mind. But Trent wasn’t here. Bren was. And Bren wasn’t needed here anymore. Bren didn’t belong here, in the after, only to be called upon in the midst of battle. The monster that truly lurked beneath the visage of Caleb. He hadn’t meant for them to find out so soon- or at all.
Bren sighed and Caleb opened his eyes.
He hunched, noticing Beau and Fjord and Molly all staring him, waiting, as if he had done something terrible, "I do not... I am not... there is... it is complicated. Who I was before, there is- who I am- I think is something not to be trifled with."
"Is that a threat, Mr. Caleb?"
Nott squeezed his fingers, and Caleb swallowed back wild terror and thick fear, skin itching, "It is a... it is a warning , Mollymauk. Not a threat, never a- a threat. I do not go digging there, and neither should you."
Mollymauk and even Beau seemed to understand. Fjord only seemed more confused. He spoke up, voicing puzzlement, "I’m afraid I don’t understand. What the hell was that?"
Beau nudged him in the ribs. Fjord hissed and glared, "I’m just asking."
Nott hissed, nails almost pinching the soft skin of Caleb's hand, "Well maybe you should go ask somewhere else."
The pain grounded him, "It is... it is no trouble, Nott, no trouble. I am Ah, I am... there are... it is-“ he huffed, frustrated, "I am, whoever I was, I did... something. And sometimes, just for a moment, the smoke parts and I can- I can see . And it is... it is terrible. But it is only for a moment. And that person, that person there behind the fire is more... capable. Is better, I think. But not. He is better and worse."
Caleb licked his lips, almost unaware that they were there now, "He is the part of the monster with teeth. And sometimes I can use them. But mostly I am what... what is left behind." He frowned, "I am what was left behind, after the fire."
He looked up and caught sight of Fjord's wide eyes and Beau's twisted lips and Molly's carefully neutral expression. He hunched further. Scheiße , he had not meant-
Nott pulled him back with a tug on his fingers and a soft, "You know, you saved my life, Caleb."
The event was a muddled memory in his mind, like so many others. He did... he remembered a protective fury but that was... "I- I did?"
Nott gave him a crooked smile, teeth yellow and sharp and dearer to him than anything else in the wide world, "Yeah, Caleb. You did. You saved me."
Caleb took a breath. If... if Nott was okay, if they were all fine, then it didn’t matter what had happened (did it?).
He managed a strained and tired smile, for Nott's sake, "That’s gut, danke Nott."