Blazing slivers of pain making him writhe in agony on the floor. How dare she!? A burning fire begins to build within Pentergost’s mind, one that rivals the pain he feels outside. How could he have not seen it!? Pentergost’s mind awakens in a body trapped in a prison of its own pain, unable to move from both the blood-loss and the cramped stab wounds. Pentergost thinks of Gith. The wound she delivered to his heart equal to the wounds she inflicted to his body. Hatred built inside of him. Hatred at that woman for betraying him. Hatred at this cruel world for punishing him for feeling love. Hatred at himself for being so stupid as to not see it. Hatred at the Gods. But most of all, hatred for that bitch. Pure, roaring hatred filled Pentergost’s thoughts as he internally screamed and overcame his body’s blocks like a heavy hammer smashing through a wooden shield. He snaked his hand out and grasped the floor, feeling his sharp nails cracking the stone, then digging in, giving him grip. He groaned in utter agony as he pulled his body along the slick ground with that one arm, the fire’s of pain reigniting with every small movement. But it did not matter to him. He was Pentergost, Emperor of the Illithid Empire, and he would have his revenge. He began to rely on the pain as he crawled. Relishing the spikes of pain coursing through his body with each push. They were there to remind him of his mistake, and how cruel the world could be. He deserved it, he had made one mistake and now he was suffering for it. He coughed up blood onto the stone floor as he continued to crawl, using the pain to stay awake. Fueling himself with pure hatred. He did not know where he was crawling to or how far he crawled. Only that he would not stop. This was not the end of his story, he was Pentergost and he would have his revenge, or so he told himself. He continued to crawl this way for what felt like years, and endless amount of time living in pure agony, refusing to die. 

What Pentergost misses as he crawls across the grounds of his Spire, are the dead bodies of his Illithid guards, littering the ground on either side of him. Roars of great fires and concussive explosions ring in the distance, blotting out the clang of swords and charging cries of fighting warriors, but Pentergost hears none of it. A concussive thud echoes throughout the hallway and dust silts down onto Pentergost’s crawling form. A sharp crack then echoed around him and a large chunk of the ceiling comes loose, a long rectangle of chipped stone. It falls from the ceiling and comes crashing down onto Pentergost, landing on his legs. They explode like bags of blood, completely shattered beneath the extreme and solid weight. Blood spurts out to either side of the fallen stone, and Pentergost’s body from halfway down his upper legs is utterly destroyed. But Pentergost did not even notice. He is too transfixed on hatred and revenge, ignoring any external pain and instead living in a world of red within his own mind with one goal, to crawl forward. He continued to force his way forward, crawling with one arm, and pulled himself loose from the stone. His legs ripped apart as he forced himself forward, the muscle and sinew slowly tearing apart as he peels his body off the flesh trapped underneath the stone. His bones snap as he twists his way free, ignoring all of his body’s urges to stop. More blood spurts out as he finally wrenches himself free, now with stumps of exposed bone that end above the knee instead of legs, constantly leaking his blue blood, Pentergost continues on. More unknown time passes.

“Sire sire! You are alive! O-oh my G-Gods what has happened to you?” The wobbly voice felt like it was miles away and barely an echo to Pentergost’s blood-filled ears. But he knew it was Ublux, he had made it to the laboratory. 
Pentergost opened his mouth, coughed up blood, then forced words out of his broken body, “The… Phylactery… on me, now.”
“But sire it is untested!” Although he could hear Ublux’s voice, his vision was black and he could make nothing out.
“Just… do it. My alter-” Pentergost hacked up more blood and felt his entire body contort in the worst pain he had ever experienced, he was slipping. “-ations. Apply them. The… runes.”

Then, Pentergost lost control of his body and spiraled down into darkness.