The streets of Graglarox were littered with dead and dying Illithids. Fires roared throughout the city, spreading undeterred whilst black smoke filled the otherwise blue sky. Pentergost strode down an alley, his heeled shoes echoing through the street and cloak billowing behind him. He had found them within the laboratory, still covered in his own blood, or his former self’s blood he supposed, and littered with holes, but he wore it gladly. Within the left chest pocket, he felt the weight of the ring, his Phylactery, that contained his soul within it. A stab of sadness spiked through his mind as he thought of his research, and how he was going to share it with the Elthine people because of Gith, before the feeling was quickly overwhelmed by his tremendous rage. He could not afford to feel sadness, he was a being of pure hatred now, and he would have his revenge. Besides, he had people to kill. Pentergost calmly sent a pulse of psionic power out, registering his incoming assailants locations. Two were within the small house coming up to his left, crouched behind the window to pop up when he walked past and presumably attack him with some sort of a ranged weapon. Just pass that was a crossway intersection in the street, usually used as a marketplace for various brain chunks, and on both sides to his own street he detected four Elthine waiting, ready to pounce. Sneaking behind him along the rooftops, were another three Elthine, spaced out far enough to not give each other away. Pentergost pulled his power back into himself and prepared it, like a knot of muscle ready to flex outward with extreme force, and continued walking. He stepped past the house and into the crossway, and the Elthine pounced. 

Pentergost spun around in a flash, and threw both his arms out to the sides. He did not even glance to the side as he unleashed the knot of psionic power he had built up, split evenly between both hands, in two torrents of purple fire that leapt from his each of his outstretched hands. The fire created a concussive warp of sound as it left Pentergost’s hands and overwhelmed the eight Elthine warriors like a tiger pouncing on its prey. The warriors screamed as their flesh melted away in a flash and their bodies began collapsing to the ground engulfed in the purple fire clinging to them. Now that he was turned around, he saw the two Elthine warriors within the house had risen, their upper bodies visible now behind the broken window arms raised high preparing to throw their javelins. Pentergost widened his eyes, sending out waves of pulsing energy through them as a barrage of psionic blows into the javelin-throwers. Their bodies were hit with this force like it were a thousand powerful punches delivered within the span of a couple seconds. Lurching back and spraying blood with every hit, their bodies twisted and contorted, both going down in a pile, out of sight within the house again. Normally, unleashing this much psionic power at once would kill the Illithid attempting such a thing, and usually you could not turn it into such a powerful physical manifestation such as fire. But Pentergost had control, and an endless reservoir of energy. His eyes flicked up to the final three attackers, two on the rooftops to his right and the third on the rooftop to his left. All racing towards him across the rooftops yelling to each other in their cursed language, trying to coordinate some kind of attack Pentergost assumed. One of the Elthine on the right raised a javelin to throw as the other two pushed forward, brandishing shortswords, in a pincer movement, proving Pentergost’s hypothesis true. Pentergost sent a tendril of his soul’s power snaking towards the javelin-wielding Elthine and latched onto their soul like a leech. At the exact moment the attached Elthine threw the javelin, Pentergost twisted its soul and yanked the arm to the side slightly. This was enough for Pentergost to angle the javelin himself, and when the Elthine loosed it, unaware of the effect Pentergost had, it flew directly into the back of his ally who had run ahead of him on the same rooftop. The javelin shot through the running warrior’s neck, spurting blood and exposing the vocal chords of the Elthine, embedded on the end of the javelin, as the body collapsed on the rood and began to slide downward onto the cobblestones. The javelin-thrower stumbled, shocked at the manipulation, but before it could recover, Pentergost grasped the tendril connection he had to the Elthine and filled it with power. To Pentergost’s eyes, the part of the tendril directly in front of him swelled up like a bloated snake consuming an egg, and the swollen area slowly crawled up the tendril to the wide-eyed Elthine. When the bloated power reached the connected Elthine, his soul screamed from the overload of power and his body erupted like a fissure. Scraps of bone and flesh shot out in all directions, exploded from within and leaving no trace of the person who had been there other than small fragments of bone scattered nearby. The third Elthine was close now, rushing Pentergost from roughly ten feet away, a brave male Elthine that looked to be no older than a teenager. Pentergost created a new tendril of his power, and mentally threw it like a lasso around the approaching warrior. When it wrapped around him, Pentergost created spikes of power throughout it, covering the warrior in thousands of small stabs around his entire body, immobilizing him. Pentergost lifted him up off the ground with the tendril. The warrior was stuck in a position of being mid-run, frozen like a statue as Pentergost brought the warrior in front of him with a wave of his hand. Up close now, the Elthine was definitely young, and Pentergost could see the fear in his wide eyes. Pentergost picked up one of the Elthine shortswords left scattered on the street, and began to saw into the top of the young Elthine’s head. A scream of complete agony escaped from the warrior’s frozen lips but he was unable to move as Pentergost slowly cut open his head, revealing the brain after several sickening seconds of cruel scalping. When he was done, Pentergost gazed down into the bloody opening in the skull, and licked his lips, before lunging downward with his face and engulfing the brain, slurping up all the slimy texture and all the juice around it. The Elthine continued to scream unable to even writhe in pain, and as he died, losing complete control of his body, piss leaked out of his bladder and onto the street, but Pentergost did not notice for he was enjoying a delicious snack.

Once done feasting, Pentergost flung the body to the side, landing in a pile amongst the waxy, burned figures of the first group of Elthine warriors still alight with purple fire that lit the street with a supernatural glow, and looked up as he sensed a new group of Elthine approaching him. Pentergost pulled on his inner anger again, ready to unleash it and fulfill his want for revenge in a bloody massacre. But when he looked, he saw a small group of Elthine yes, but at the front of them was Gith. She was staring at him as they approached, herself covered in the blood of many Illithid’s and wielding her weapons naturally. He could see fright in her eyes, but also a determination to win that he had admired about her. She looked immensely beautiful even now, making the world around her seem dimmer, so Pentergost tried to draw on his anger to stabilize himself. He would not fall victim to Gith’s charms again. But as Pentergost stood there, he felt his anger begin to slip away, like water down a drain, and he tried to cling to it, to not let it go, but could not. Pentergost released a deep, pent-up sigh, empty of air, his heart feeling empty and hollow. Looking at the Elthine that he had loved, he did not feel anger, just sorrow. Pentergost thought of what it could of been like if she hadn’t turned on him, if they could of lived happily together. His anger was gone, replaced entirely by sadness. My Empire is gone, my people dead all around me. And the woman that I love, that I would of changed for, she hates me. She thinks I am scum, full of vile and corrupt thoughts. I was born as an Illithid, it is who I am. How could I have known better? Why does she not love me!?
His mind racing, overwhelmed with this sudden shift in emotion, Pentergost turned away from the approaching Elthine led by Gith, rushing towards him to make sure they kill him properly this time, and did the only thing he could think of at the time. He gathered his power around him and teleported himself as far away as he could. He had never been far from the Illithid Empire, but knew of a land far away made entirely of sand, which would have to do for now. So, he sent himself there in a flash of purple power, and left the world of Illithids and Elthine behind. 

Pentergost ran from his collapsing Empire, leaving it to be overthrown by the race of slaves led by Gith, the woman he loved, who led the race into a long age of prosperity and freedom. His sadness won over his anger that day, and he believed that his hatred was gone forever. But it remained, like a small ember within his heart that slowly grew and consumed everything around it until it would overtake his soul once again.