"I know not of this world's legends, light or dark, but I look forward to learning them and of how they match up to reality," the image of Xir'ain said, his voice fading into the dark water. "Your first order," the copy's golden eyes faded slightly, the golden storm it held in its hands growing, "is to die."

The stone ceiling transmuted into a gigantic skull once again, jaws closed around Balon's thick leg. Arms and hands of solid rock took the giant's arms and pinned them back. The small, next to a giant at least, figure floated up to Balon's mountain-like chest and pulled off a few shards of what had been incredible bronze armor. Xir’ain looked through his construct’s eyes down at the giant’s one good eye as he pushed the golden storm against Balon’s chest. The boiling black water and arcs of golden lightning ripped through the giant’s chest, leaving a smoldering hole through it that black water rushed in to fill. Xir’ain pushed the storm into place where Balon’s heart had been and then stepped back to asses his handiwork. 

“And now, your reward of continued life.” The storm reshaped into a black beating heart, tendrils of black water forming arteries and veins, then muscle, tissue, fat, bone, and finally skin. The only sign that anything had changed was that the skin was slightly darker. The black water swirled around the stump that was Balon’s torn leg and made it anew, a perfect recreation of the original, but with smoother, darker skin. Everything Xir'ain created seemed to share that trait.

The skeletal arms of stone released Balon’s arms and settled back into the tunnel wall, as did the stone skull. “Welcome to my world, Balon of the Legends. I look forward to speaking to you directly, next we meet.” The black waters of the tunnel seemed to calm slightly, their master gone. The shape of his form fell from Enly’air’s frame in layers of black thread that disintegrated in the water. Her own cover of black water remained though, to shield her from Balon’s gaze.

Her mind had unconsciously fought Xir’ain’s control the entire time, but as she was his construct it had been futile. The strain had been entirely hers, and the mental strain manifested as physical weariness. Enly’air stumbled in the water as if in a haze. Even when she gathered the strength to stand, it was on unsteady feet.

With the aid of a manifested black spear, she stood and began walking along the bottom of the dark tunnel. “Come, the master is this way,” she beckoned the rogue being. As if in an afterthought, the sent out tendrils of black water to coil around the bodies of the dead runners and dragged those along behind her. She assumed Xir’ain would want them, either for some strange use or simply to dispose of them.