A Statement of a Soul - CertifiedDilfEnjoyer (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

You sit still, your eyes closed as you begin to slowly draw a breath into your lungs, feeling the expanding chest and belly, preparing to accomodate the oxygen inside. Your mind becomes clear, you listen to your body; how it exhales without any interruption. How it becomes a part of the song of a calm evening, adding new notes to the sounds of the flowing water, some distant chats of refugees gathered at Rivington and the scorching of the nearby fire and torches.

You know what you have to do. You have to make a decision that will solve a problem at hand, but the solution is something that everyone around you keeps presenting differently. So many motives, hidden agendas, allies and foes trying to convince you into cooperation.

Gale wants to have the Crown, to deliver it to Mystra. The same cruel goddess who not so long ago advised him to march into the heart of the Absolute and blow himself up. To Gale, it might be an honorable death, but to you it is a request from a god that a mortal, of whom she was once fond of, should take their own life. And just because she refuses to diffuse a bomb hidden inside his body, even though it's within her capacity.

Raphael, the very person who briefly explained the complicated history of the Crown to you and a few of your companions, wants the powerful item for himself. According to him, he is aiming to end the Blood War, raise as the Archdevil Supreme and also unite all of the Nine Hells under his banner.

His nature suggest that he is sharing only the beneficial knowledge, concealing the rest that might be truly worth your attention. You have a feeling that whatever it is that he doesn't share is the crucial missing puzzle preventing you from making a decision about the future of the Crown.

You draw another slow, deep breath in. Even though your eyes are closed, you can sense your surroundings, you can feel the life force of the nearby resting companions. It isn't late in the evening, but your team is regaining strength after a ruthless combat with the cultists of Bhaal.

You are one step closer to retrieving the Netherese artifact, but the situation still doesn't seem to clear up. You had faith in the Emperor, until Raphael made you realize that you might be just another of his puppets.

'You are much simpler,' he said to you, merely four days ago at Sharess Caress. 'The Emperor's words serve as both carrot and stick,' he spat out, not even hiding how repulsed the words made him feel.

You exhale, and rid your mind of all the thoughts, making sure that the very inhabitant of your brain, will not see through what exactly happened inside the Devil's Den.

Then, you open your eyes and slowly stand up. Usually your meditation practice is supposed to make your mind clear, unite it with your body and soul, however with so many complicated choices at hand - but with the tadpole squirming in your eyesocket, it became increasingly more challanging. So instead, you separate yourself from external stimuli in order to come up with the best plan for the issues at hand.

Still feeling the lightness of your steps, focusing your awareness on the ground below your soles and how firmly it felt when stomped upon, you let your feet carry you to Shadowheart's tent. She looks well given the recent events with her short reconnection with her parents.

'Do you need anything, Tav?' She is quick to notice you approaching.

'Your trust,' you respond and lower yourself to meet her face-level. You crouch in front of her sitting at a nice, blue blanket.

'I thought you knew that you already have it.'

You smile at her and nod.

'Just making sure,' you clarify. 'There is something I need to do alone. Something that I can hear is calling to me. I do not wish any of you to follow me, not because I don't want to, but because my intuition guides me, telling me that I need to be alone for it.'

Without focusing your mind on the actions of your body, you stare at Shadowheart and let your hands retrieve the Astral Prism from inside of your bag. You tap it a few times and continue.
'I do not wish to be under anyone's influence.'

A flash of understanding passes through Shadowheart's face. She understands that by saying 'anyone' you meant shutting down the mind from the Emperor. She is aware of your upbringing as a shugenja monk and has no doubt that only you out of your whole team are capable of silencing your thoughts to his constant invigilation. Even if it's just temporary.

'I'll make sure you have some privacy,' she gives you a meaningful look and you stand up again and soon turn around to walk from the camp.

'If something goes wrong and somehow I won't be able to return, I was looking for a diabolist in the city,' you inform her without giving any more of the details you keep deep inside your mind.

She frowns and studies you for a prolonged moment, but eventually, she nods and says she will ask Selune for your guidance.

You enter a rocky path, slicing through Rivington, leading all the way to the gate of Wyrm's Rock and then through the castle, to Baldur's Gate. You inspect your feelings as you stand in front of the Sharess Caress entrance and after a moment of consideration, decide to step inside.

As you push the door open and step across the threshold, a faint smell of incense as well as different scents of alcohol hit your nostrils. You approach the receptionist and glance around the first floor, past the nearest doorway. You catch a glimpse of a stage and people seated in front of it, as a small band plays songs to which mostly women dancers perform.

You turn your attention back at the receptionist and before she suggest you any of the activities for the rest of the evening, you nod at her in a simple greeting and ask.

'Is your special guest still in his room upstairs?'

She takes a glance at a note under the counter, checking the hours of Raphael's availability.

'It seems that he has ended for the day. Come back for his services tomorrow, dear. Unless, you would like to try something else,' she raises her eyebrows and her gaze softens.

'I might, actually. Let me look around and relax a bit,' you respond with a slight smile and she clasps her hands together in a warm gesture.

'Oh, please! It will be our absolute pleasure.'

You turn your attention towards the corridor and slowly start pacing deeper into the building. Your real aim here is to inspect Raphael's room, but before you do anything specific, you can hear a voice inside your head.

'Why did you come here to this place? Were you asking for Raphael?' the Emperor asks.

'I wanted to make sure he is not present. I'd like to get some more information about him and his schemes. I don't like how much attention he gives me and my companions.'

The Emperor is silent for a while and your intuition tells you to strengthen the believability of your last sentence. You hide your true doubts about the Emperor himself, and instead allow him to see the surface of your mind, where you expose the fear, the suspicions about Raphael, without allowing him to see the rest of the feelings you have towards him.

'You shouldn't be dealing with him at all. And inspecting his room might lead to unfortunate events.'

'He has proven to be useful. He has helped us tremendously.'

'How so?' The Emperor asks and you can hear the tone of disbelief in his voice, ringing through your head.

You begin to climb the staircase, passing a few tables with people sitting near them. A few visitors glance over at you and follow you with their gaze, as if admiring your presence.

'Did you not happen to spy on me when Astarion made a small deal with him? We kept our side, he kept his and we weren't even bound by his deal. He helped us figure out what the scars mean. Nothing bad came out of that, however his continuous attention is a bit worrying.'

'Even though what you are saying is true, I strongly advise you to be careful.'

'Don’t worry, I always am.'

Your mind goes silent as you push the door open just to find yourself standing on a balcony. You take a turn to the right and glance to the left, onto the street, trying to sense if anyone is spying on you. Well, at least anyone else excluding the Emperor. The people strolling alongside the street don't seem to be suspicious and there is no one in particular glancing your way.

You keep going further until you stand in front of the room where you met with Raphael. You take a deep breath smelling the humid, seaside air and knock on the door. After a few moments, you risk and open it. To your surprise, you are freely let inside.

You subconsciously take a whff, as if trying to sniff the devil out, but you cannot smell any fresh scent of cherries, musk or sulfur, so you assume that he really is away. You look to the left at the rose petals sprayed in front of a luxurious bath (or more like an indoor pool) and close the doorway behind you. Nothing has changed here since your last visit, but you've only been in the first part of the room.

As you step further, you notice a king sized bed with a canopy and red, velvet duvet set with a few pillows. There are a few small wardrobes, a cabinet and two nightstands as well as a small table with an armchair next to it. This is where you spot a book, adorned with red leather. You look behind you and listen to the sounds coming from the brothel below, then reach towards the book.

You quickly scan through the pages with your eyes, trying to rig out the plot out of story, with only some fragments of the paragraphs and dialogues. After a moment, you realize that this is some kind of an epic tale, where a man tries to win the soul of his lover, by challenging a devil to some kind of a contest. As you jump through the pages, you realize that the book has been written by Raphael.

A faint smile creeps on your face as you chuckle a bit at the ridiculousness of the item in your hand. You flip through the book, until a circle made of bloody red ink catches your eye.

'If the line doesn’t scan,' the devil sneers, 'you forfeit your soul and end in tears.'
'Ha! I'll keep my time and make my rhyme, with vim and snap and no "down came the claw" crap'

You frown and mutter a single, confused 'what' under your breath, before placing the book in the exact same spot and position it was in before. You glance at the still-empty-doorway and move to the other side of the room, going around the giant bed. There are some letters adressed to Raphael's pawns, without giving out many a details about their identity. Next to those, you find a map showcasing the invasion plans on Baldur's Gate - the very same map, you've spotted at Ketheric's Moonrise Towers and in some other places that you can't even recall. Seems like the man got himself a copy. From under the map, you spot a piece of paper, a letter from Korilla addressed to Raphael. It seems that she was present during your fight with Ketheric Thorm. How was this possible? Was she chugging invisibility potions left and right? You and your team had to jump down one of the towers in order to get to the Ilithids and the Chosen Three. How on Earth did she manage to follow you silently?

You quickly take a look inside the wardrobes, but find that they are pretty much empty, except for some brothel provided skimpy underwear, some leather leashes, cuffs and collars as well as a whip.

You turn around on your heel and just as you were about to leave, you decide to reach for the epic verse once again. You scan the pages a little bit slower this time and realize that the devil is most definitely based on Raphael. but the lover might actually be you.

You return the book back into its place and leave the room with a frown on your face. You hyperfocus your brain on everything that has happened including Raphael so far - everything that you know of at least - and allow your feet to carry you outside of Sharess Caress. The trip to the Devil's Den didn't prove to be fruitful, at least not in a way you hoped for. But the discovery of the weird book titled 'The Devil Don’t Rhyme' made you a bit uneasy. Your intuition gave you a simple answer to the question that appeared in your brain, an answer that you denied right of the batch.

You always assumed that the Devil-You-Know was interested in your entire group, but now that you decided to put more thought into that, you noticed a specific pattern. Each time you interacted with the fiend, he seemed to be interested mostly in you. Even when talking with Astarion, when he wanted to make a deal about his scars, most of Raphael's attention was fixated on you. Was it simply because you were the leader that your companions chose? Or was it something else? As a monk, your soul might be a bit more valuable than the ones of your companions, but that doesn't seem quite right. Is it… some type of an obsession? Your intuition screams at you once more, responding with a simple 'yes', but you wrinkle your nose, denying the answer again.

You turn to your right and continue your journey down the street towards the Baldur's Gate. You spot a buckboard heading in the direction of your interest and quickly catch up to the driver asking if he could spare you a seat. The man agrees and you hop onto the vehicle. You look towards the Rivington and try to recall the small details of Raphael's behavior.

You had no doubt that he was excelling at manipulation. All of his words seemed almost rehearsed, so perfectly put together, with just the right amount of charm. And right amount in his case means magnetic. The man commands your attention in a way that makes him almost irresistible. Compared to Mizora for example, who is extremely sassy, he is giving a much different impression upon each and every interaction.

You shift your sole and place it next to your dangling knee, then support your elbow on your leg.

The interactions that Raphael has with others, are different. When meeting him in the Last Light Inn, you recall Raphael taking off Astarion's clothes with a wave of his hand, you remember his amusem*nt at the vampire's humiliation. His behavior towards your friend left you furious and upon the next meeting with the fiend, you used the opportunity to jab him verbally. It made him annoyed, he called you a 'pipsqueak' but despite his annoyance, Raphael didn't cause any harm. It appears that his desire for the Crown grants him an almost angelic patience.

Thanks to the unexpected transport, the journey is much easier and it takes you only a few minutes to cross the Basilisk Gate.

'Excuse me,' you get up from your seat and get closer to the farmer holding the reins of his two horses dragging the buckboard forward. 'Do you happen to know where can I find a diabolist in the town?'

'A diabolist?' the man asks surprised and gives you a glance from above his shoulder. 'I know of an odd building which looks like it's straight from Hells, but I am not sure if that's what you are looking for, hun.'

'It's worth a try, where can I find it?'

The man pulls the reins of the horses, stopping them in their track. As the vehicle stops, you jump down to the ground and look at the man, pointing you in a general direction to the Northern-West side of the city.

'Somewhere there, from what I remember. Continue down this path until you see a forge and then it should be the building next to the forge. Or was it behind the forge?' The man's brows furrow and you can see the cogs turning behind his old, tired gaze. 'Sorry love, I really don’t remember.'

'It's ok, you've helped me a lot! Thank you for the ride,' you say and hand him over a few gold coins, which he accepts and takes off his hat in a thank you gesture.

You nod at him and turn around, quickly heading towards the smith where Dammon works. How could you have missed such a building, if it is so close to the forge - you wonder. But a few minutes later, to your pure disbelief, you really manage to reach your destination.

You read the sign next to the door: 'Devil's Fee'. You pout at the sign and slide inside the building, noticing a counter a few dozen meters in front of you. From behind it, you spot a dwarf woman with a uniform and stuff by the looks of which you are able to distinguish her being a warlock.

'Good evening,' you greet.

'Good evening, welcome to the Devil's Fee! Would you like to trade? I just got my hands on some amazing cloak, if you are an adventurer,' she continues as you approach her from the other side of the counter.

You look around the building, trying to show her admiration in the place and mouth a little 'wow', as you scan your eyes across the vast room, mainly covered with bookshelves, devil statues, some trophies of monstrosities from Hells and a few paintings.

'Are you, by any chance, a diabolist?' you shoot her a meaningful smile.

'I am one, yes. Helsik is my name, by the way.'

'Perfect! I am looking for information on a specific devil. I've heard that you might've been the one who helped a certain someone break into Mephistopheles' vault? That is extremely impressive.'

'Nothing I sale is free.'

You smile gently at her and reach to your pocket.

'Of course, of course! I understand that this is a profession, just like any other,' you say and hand over 200 worth of gold. 'Was it actually you, then?'

She accepts the money and gives you a look, clearly displeased by the amount of coins in her hands.
'It was. I helped our esteemed Lord Enver Gortash get into the vault. What was the other information that you needed?'

'Do you have any available books on cambions? I am looking for something specifically about Raphael.'

'Raphael?' she inquires and thinks for a moment. 'I do have books about cambions, as species in general, but I do not recall having any source material on him himself, other than him being a son of the second most powerful Archdevil - Mephistopheles.'

You raise your eyebrows. Son of Mephistopheles? You had no idea about that.'Is there any chance you could get me into his House of Hope?'

'It's also going to cost you, but it is doable. Before anything happens, though,' she takes a deep breath in. 'I do not assist with any ritual that has to be performed in order to get into his domain. You do everything yourself, I want complete deniability. After all, I am only a humble passionate of the topics concerning fiends, nothing more than that.'

'I understand,' you nod once. 'So what would be the price?'

'One thousand gold.'

'That's quite a lot,' you look at her with your eyebrows raised.

'It's to scare off people going for a clear suicide mission. If you seek a cruel end, I want to at least have something from it.'

'Fair,' you respond and hear confused voice of The Emperor, wondering what in the sweet hells you are planning on doing. You assure him telepathically that you haven’t decided on any course of action yet. You only wonder what your opportunities are.

'So, do we have a deal?' Helsik stares at you, as you fall silent, talking to The Emperor.

'I'll need to re-think this a few times, but I do want to take a book from you about cambions and Mephistopheles. Is borrowing a book an option?'

'Sure. I would like to get a deposit from you that I will return to you when you hand over the book to me again.'

'Would a hundred be enough?'

She gives you a blank stare again, but sighs and nods.

'What a greedy dwarf!' you think to yourself and smile as she leaves the counter and walks over to some bookshelf behind her, looking for two specific tomes.

After a few moments, she climbs onto a ladder and gets the desired books, then hands them over to you.

'Thank you so much,' you say and turn around towards the door. The sight of a few armchairs and a small table in the far corner of the room catches your eye. 'Could I possibly study over here?' you ask her, realizing that if you are in fact being followed everywhere, it might be safer to stay on the inside. Unless Korrilla was capable of passing through walls, while also remaining invisible and inaudible.

'Sure, but I will be closing in around an hour.'

'Got it, thank you. May I use your ink?'

'Sure!'

You make your way towards the furthest table and twist your bag around your hip, taking out your notebook, then placing it next to the two books you got from Helsik. You pop the lid covering the ink open and grab a nearby quill, then find the next empty page in your notebook. As you hover the quill over the paper, you wish Raphael was around to silence The Emperor from your brain again.

You take notes on your observations, but try to keep them simple and a bit vague, so that you will know what they mean, but it might be a tad confusing for unwanted attention of others. As you do your best at recalling the teachings of your monk monastery, you flip the page to the other side and continue studying your past experiences.

You straighten your back and close your eyes for a moment.
'Helsik?' you ask.

'Yes?'

'Do you know what's the whole deal with the Crown of Karsus?'

'Hmmm,' she walks around the counter and slowly heads towards your direction. 'I know it used to belong to a very powerful spellcaster. But I'm pretty sure you've heard of that part, right?'

'Yes, the Karsus' Folly, right?'

'Mhm. After the entire event the goddess Mystra has banned the use of magic greater than the ninth level.'

'But from what I've heard in my teachings, though they are most likely incomplete, as we do not use the Weave, but Ki,' you explain. 'I always thought that it wasn't the Crown but the spell that Karsus casted that lead to the Fall of the Empire, is that not correct?'

'From what I know, the Crown was created by Karsus because he wanted to rival the god of magic - Mystryl. He wanted him defeated to take his place, so he built the Crown and he very much succeeded, but the god reincarnated and Karsus was stopped.'

'Ooh,' you look towards the entrance door. 'But if it has been locked in Mephistopheles vault for so long and no of the gods took interest in it, is it really that powerful?'

'I don't think any of us has an answer to that question.'

'Hmmm,' you hum to yourself in thought and turn your head towards Helsik, slowly returning back to the counter. 'Thank you for the talk.'

'My pleasure. I'm closing soon, remember about it, will ya?'

You nod and continue scribbling in your notebook.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

You wake up inside your tent, clutching the two tomes and the notebook close to your chest. It seems you were so tired that the moment your body collapsed to the bedroll, you immediately fell asleep and snorted your way through the night.

As you carefully stretch your feet and slide the books from the top of your body, you push the blanket to the side and step outside the tent. The morning sun is already shining over the horizon, greeting your camp with a warm embrace.

You approach a drying rack with your shirt and spare underwear hanging from it and check if your clothing is already dry. It is almost ready to be put on again and you are happy to notice that the shirt doesn't have any blood stains from your recent combat.

As a monk, you prefer to avoid violence, in fact, one of the vows you take at your monastery, forces you to avoid it at all costs. With recent events, though, it was rarely possible.

You did your best to knock out foes who couldn't be convinced of letting you or your team fulfill their task. Sometimes, it also included tying them up, but other times - like with the goblins - the dangerous, bloodthirsty creatures wouldn't just listen to anything else, but their cult of the Absolute, so killing had been necessary.

You walk to a campfire and grab a few dry sticks, snapping them in smaller pieces, just to place them on top of a few cinders. You lean to the side and reach for a metal kettle, then approach a rain collector nearby your tent. You had a few water bottles already filled up, but you decided not to waste any drop of the leftover water. Your team will soon have to relocate this camp either way. All you had to deal with was Gortash and well… the Netherbrain.

When the kettle is set above the fire with some gorgeously smelling tea leaves inside, you rub your temples in a circular motion, trying not to think about Orpheus and The Emperor. You decide to focus your mind on a slight hunger that you feel and approach a bag with the camp rations.

'Up so early, soldier?' you can hear Karlach's voice behind you, her heavy steps marking their way through the grass.

You look at her above your shoulder and smile, happy to see one of your best friends.

'Hand me over some of those pork ribs, will you?' she requests and you do as she wishes, taking out her desired breakfast.

'How are you feeling this fine morning?' you ask, your face still turned towards the camp supplies. You manage to find the pork ribs wrapped in a preserving paper, a few bread rolls and a baked vegetables spread.

Karlach sighs and you look at her with a slight concern as she crouches down next to you, accepting the meal from your hands. In exchange, she takes the kettle from above the fire and carefully pours delicious green tea into a few metal cups, awaiting the rest of the team to join the breakfast.

'Like I'm running on fumes.'

The sound of her voice grasps your heart in the coldest of embraces. Your mind recalls how Yurgir, Raphael's minion himself noticed the poor condition of Karlach's engine - only by its scent.

'We need to kick Gortash's ass… I hope I will have the fuel to face the Netherbrain as well,' she chuckles a bit to reduce the dreadful tension hanging in the air. It doesn't help. Not really.

'Karlach, I know what you've told me and…'

'I am not going back there.' She looks at you seriously. 'That place… Tav, you have no idea. I swore to myself I will never place a foot in Avernus again.'

'I don't have to know from my personal experience to realize how important that decision is for you. I only… I wish there was something I could do about that.'

She places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it tightly.
'I want you to know that I appreciate your efforts. But even so, it's hard to talk about my engine, you know.'

'I'm sorry, I will be more considerate. I just,' you wave your right hand towards your tent. 'I got a few books from a diabolist and I know how the entire kidnapping or the forced recrutation for Blood War works. And I can never get over how much you went through, every time I think about it.' You look at her with puppy eyes, as she takes a bite of the pork ribs and nods to herself with her eyes partially closed.

'It's been going for so long, the Blood War, I mean,' Karlach sighs and takes a sip of her tea.

You slice the bun with a knife, spread the vegetable paste on top of it and sink your teeth in. As you chew on the breakfast, you can feel your mind attempting to slip out of your iron grip.

'If only there was no Blood War,' the tiefling mumbles.

A sight of Raphael chuckling flashes through your mind, making you swallow a big chonk of the bread roll, causing pain in your gullet. You slap your chest and reach towards the cup of tea with tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

'Whoa! Easy there!' Karlach reaches out to support you by firmly holding your arms. 'You ok?'

'Yeah,' you say breathlessly and nod once.

'Oh, pity! I was hoping for some fresh bag of blood to feast on this morning,' Astarion announces his arrival and stands behind Karlach, looking over you with a fake disappointment on his face. 'Guess I will settle on some other food this time around.'

'If Astarion is up, then the rest should be joining soon,' Karlach notices and the vampire gives her a glance.

'What's that supposed to imply?'

'Nothing, Karlach is just being observant,' you respond with a slight smile. Despite the circ*mstances, you are happy that this weird bunch of people from all over Fearun are capable of hanging out with each other so easily. 'I need to talk to Gale.'

Astarion steps aside, careful not to bump into you as you stand up and march to the wizard's tent. A few moments later, you watch the man holding a Githyanki enchanted sword in his arms, consuming the Weave from inside of the blade. That's surprising. Ever since venturing to the Moonrise Towers, he had no need for feeding the orb. Is it a stress reaction?

'Hi, am I interrupting?'

'Of course not.'

You nod and quickly glance towards Lae'Zel, sharpening her sword, wordlessly asking her if you can take her wooden stool for a moment. She agrees and you drag the stool to sit in front of Gale.

'We need to talk. Very seriously.'

'Something tells me that it's in regards to the Crown of Karsus.'

'Yes. I am still having second thoughts.'

'There really is nothing to think about, Tav. The choice is rather simple. Mystra is interested in the item, I can deliver it to her. I think it will be safest with her out of every possible party involved.'

'When you look at it that way, it surely is very simple. But let me paint a picture from my perspective, alright?'

You can see a flash of disappointment on his face, but it's gone as soon as it appeared. The wizard drops the eye contact with you and sits himself down on some kind of a simple chair to chat with you.

'We lack the information. Let's admit it.'

'What kind of information?'

'About the Crown, about what it is capable of, about Mystra, about The Emperor,' you can feel the rapid stir inside your mind, as if the tadpole feels offended at the mention of the name. 'And about Raphael as well. We are just the cogs of some mechanism we can't even fully see.'

'Is it you trying to tell me you have been considering his contract again?'

'How can I not, Gale? How can I not consider it?'

'Because it's madness!' he shouts and calms down a few moments later. Lae'Zel clicks her tongue on the back of her teeth, muttering something about 'loud wizards'. He sighs. 'You should never deal with a devil,' he clarifies in a calmer tone.

You tap your fingers on your knee and stare at him.
'As a monk, I would never deal with gods either. Especially the ones who can cure you and refuse to, just because of a childish tantrum, endangering not just you but thousands around as well. You don't think straight, Gale. Mystra, even though she is considered a goddess, doesn't seem to be fulfilling her god duties well. In fact, I'd go a step further and call her cruel,' you say and see Gale opening his mouth, but you continue before he cuts you off. 'And why the sudden interest in the crown anyway? She could have reacted when the Crown was snatched by Mephistopheles, could she not? Or when the Absolute was in its sprouting phase.'

Gale closes his mouth and frowns, looking away from your face for a second.

'The Crown got into Mephistopheles' hands. I have a theory, that maybe Raphael is giving too much credit to this crown. If it was oh so powerful, capable of making one into a god, like he himself stated, then why wouldn’t Mephistopheles use it? It doesn't make sense to me. I've read that his domain, Cania, is basically a gigantic arctic lab. He has researchers working on spells and he can unleash them safely there, as there is almost nothing but ice wasteland in sight. Wouldn't he use it if it was that powerful?'

'It's hard to say what stopped Lord of Cania from using it. Or maybe he did use it, but we just don't know how and what for. The Netherese artifact is a peculiar thing in itself. But you know what I have noticed?'

'Tell me.'

'The way you justify the entire perspective… it sounds like you have already made your mind. You will not convince me. And it's not why you are here. At this stage, you just want to convince yourself.'

It’s your turn to shut up. Gale lowers his voice and you can hear his words, coated in a concerned tone.
'I am worried that this bastard wormed his way into your brain, just as our tadpole friend did. You sound painfully similar to me from the past. When talking, thinking about Mystra.'

Your eyes shoot him a warning glance, but you see no malice on his face.

'You will not be able to convince me, but I trust you as a leader. I just want you to be careful.'

'What are you saying, exactly?' you frown, but your intuition knows the answer.

Gale looks to the side, as if checking how private that conversation is, then slowly his eyes return to your face.
'When one knows what to look for, it's hard to hide some signs of your… interest.'

You open your mouth, but just as before, its Gale's turn to speak.
'I know! I know! It's not simple, I am in no place to condemn you for it. After all, he's an awfully charming bastard. And the fact that unlike The Emperor, he sheds some light onto his motives, here and there, I know it makes you want to believe his words. Just, please. Do not let him influence your will in any way. Let your choice be your own. No matter what you end up choosing.'

You look at Gale silently, feeling a light burn on your cheeks, a burn of embarrassment. You know he is certainly right, everything about the Devil was appealing to you. His voice, his human form, hells, even his cambion form, it almost feels like he forged his physical form just to specifically appear attractive to you. You find all of the tieflings very attractive, even devils - Mizora and Yurgir - but Raphael? He is quite literally the best of both worlds. Sometimes you find yourself thinking that your whole party and so many friends or foes on your way are born supermodels. But the looks aren't everything. As much as you like to appreciate the aesthetics of Astarion's flamboyance, roughness of Lae'Zel, refinement of Gale, strength of Halsin and all the rest of your companions, with Raphael it has always been different. He commands your attention and laying your eyes upon him feels so natural, but also nerve-wracking. His eyes, voice, everything about his being from his complex mind down to the smallest details of his form - it ensnares you, fascinates you.

Your arms drop to your sides as the air leaves your lungs.

'Thank you, Gale. Thank you for understanding, more than in one way.'

'Anytime.'

'Aside from that. I wanted to tell you that I have some plans for today. Would you be interested in joining the expedition aiming to retrieve the Annals of Karsus?'

'Retrieve? It sounds to me like it's more of a stealing attempt, but my answer is yes!'

About an hour later, your team is gathered together to discuss the strategy. Usually you try to operate in a smaller group, but this time around, you will need more people involved. After Shadowheart casts the silencing dome covering your camp, you check every possible corner inside the area, while under the influence of a potion allowing you to see invisibility. Korrila doesn't seem to be present, but if she is, she is a damn good spy.

You sit down in the middle of your team gathered together around the food rations. You quietly inform them about your discoveries inside Sharess Caress, which immediately calms down confused Lae'Zel who wasn't sure what all the 'sneaky measures' were for. Karlach voices her disapproval of you going on a solo mission like this one, but you are quick to convince her that it was the right approach.

You inform your team about the conversation you had with the librarian at the Lorroakan's Tower, let them know that the Annals of Karsus are being held in a secure vault and you also share that the ground floor doesn't seem to have any staircase that would lead below, which means that either the vault is not kept underground, or there is some kind of a teleport which can take you there. You also inform that last time you were inside, the Lorroakan's clones were still in their rightful place and no one seemed to have noticed that the wizard is missing.

With all the members updated on your small side quest, you start laying out the plan for the theft. You pick Astarion, Gale, Karlach and Halsin and let them know about a curious thing you spotted the last time you and your team were inside the tower, fighting the wizard. You let them know about odd floating tables and disabled Arcane Turrets right below the floor on which the battle with Lorroakan took place. You ask them to investigate, as your gut tells you they might find a teleport to a vault over there.

You explain the choice of your companions. Astarion for his obvious talent of picking even the most complicated locks, Gale for his knowledge of the topic that could be useful in the adventure, Karlach for her ability to see in the dark as well as immunity to fire and overall battle power and Halsin for his vast knowledge but also necessary support.

'I thought that this time around I will get to stay at the camp for a while,' Astarion notices. 'My back wound still isn't completely healed, you know,' he protests.

'Astarion, please, you are irreplaceable when it comes to missions like this one.'

'Of course dear, I only wanted you to say that out loud.'

You smile and shake your head to the sides. There is only one last part of the plan that your team is not aware of. You let them know that you will enter the tower with them, but you will not be the one to enter the vault. The theft, although still necessary, is meant to also serve as a distraction to mess up Korrila's plans. You gently ask Dame Aylin, if she could possibly aid you with safely getting out of the tower, without the need of using the front door. The aasimar paladin laughs, but agrees to your request, spreading her wings as if to warm them up.

You go through the equipment of your companions and discuss if possibility of flushing one thousand gold down the drain would be a terrible idea or something that the team can allow themselves to do. It creates a bit of confusion, but you assure them that it has to remain a secret, as you have to venture out alone. Lae'Zel makes a request for gloves she saw at the Dammon's smithy the other day and you discuss with her the requested item, then give her the necessary gold from your shared stash. The one thousand gold is mainly from your own savings, you think that it is the fairest course of action.

Shadowheart addresses the lack of a few oils for coating weapons and Yenna offers to go look for the herbal ingredients, while Jaheira offers to keep an eye on the kid and help her out using her druid knowledge. Shadowheart then says that she will be able to brew the required potions. Minthara and Minsc stay behind to guard the camp and prepare it for relocation.

As every puzzle is in its place, the silencing dome is lifted from above your camp and all of the members stand up, their mind focused on the tasks before them.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Merely half an hour later after your team passes through portal in the Lorroakan's tower, you head towards the northern window, looking outside at the busy streets below. Gale leans over a safety railing to glance at the second floor.

'You were right, it does look like it might lead to the vault,' he admits and Halsin climbs over the railing with ease, jumping onto the first floating table.

'The turrets seem to be deactivated, we are free to proceed,' the druid comments and you can see his muscular arms reaching towards Karlach to help her onto the table.

You turn your head away from your teammates and look outside the window, seeing a glimpse of sunlight reflected in the sky. Dame Aylin is approaching.

'Tav!' Karlach calls after you. You shoot her a glance from above your shoulder as you stand on the window, grasping the frame firmly with your palm. 'If we spot Korrilla, we will try to catch her.'

You wonder for a moment, not entirely sure if it was a good idea. It could buy you time but only if the attempt was successful and she never revealed herself, despite following you and your group for months. Still, even if she were to escape, she would still most likely report to Raphael first, which is another outcome that will buy you more time.

'Fine. Just, please be careful, everyone.'

Astarion gives you a quick nod and looks at you with furrowed brows as you reach towards Dame Aylin, suddenly appearing in her full aasimar glory. The celestial planetouched picks you up with ease and you feel yourself flustered at her display of sheer strength.

'Buckle up, my non-winged ally!' she announces and the two of you disappear from the window.

Astarion smirks for a moment, before hopping down to the highest floating table. He follows Gale's footsteps, jumping onto the next furniture hanging in the air. The team quickly proceeds to find a button responsible for transporting them into the library's vault and from that point, the three of the groups begin their busy days.

'Thank you so much. I hope it wasn't anything inappropriate to ask of an assimar,' you say quietly when you are dropped off in front of the Devil's Fee.

Dame inspects the building curiously, but doesn't ask about the reason of you being here.

'It was a very unusual request, yes, but it's the least I can do for all you have done for me so far.'

You instinctively bow your head before her.

'At your service.'

She chuckles and jumps up, her wings immediately swinging in the air, making her float half a meter above the ground.
'Good luck on your quest. I hope that when it's all over, you will let me know why I carried you to this…' she waves her right palm at the building. 'establishment.'

'I will explain everything, I promise.'

'Very well. I shall now return to Isobel. It's time to indulge my lover in the pleasures of our bodies,' she says completely seriously and swings her wings again, lifting herself higher above the ground.

You chuckle and cover your mouth at the unexpected comment. Dame always seems so naturally funny and very straight-forward.

'See you soon!' you wave at her and she nods you a goodbye, before blending in with the cloudy image of the sky.

Without wasting another second, you turn on your heel, heading straight inside the Devil's Fee. You knock on the door, announcing your arrival, then step inside and rush towards the counter. You greet Helsik and quickly return to the business.

'I have decided to accept your offer,' you look at her meaningfully. 'Here's your payment, as discussed.' She accepts the pouch from you and weights it on her hand. She has clearly done it quite a few times, if she can tell the payment is accurate just by the weight of it. She sets the pouch down on the counter, then fetches some note and hands it over to you.

'Complete deniability,' she reminds you and you nod a few times, taking a look at the instruction.

Skull, diamond…

You begin reading and before you figure out if Helsik is expecting you to get those ingredients yourself, she hands you over a bag.

'In theory,' she winks at you. 'This should be able to complete the ritual. The blood circle is already prepared upstairs. Here's the key. Do not ask whose blood it is.'

You give her a slightly concerned look, but nod anyway.

'Can I ask a question? Um, non-related to blood that is.'

'Fine, I will give you a special offer and this one will be free of charge.'

'Thank you! Do you know if Potions of invisibility work in the House of Hope?'

'To my knowledge, not even Mephistopheles had such wards that would prevent invisibility. That is usually because the devils have a very keen sense of smell and some of them see through invisibility with their own eyes, so there is no need for additional security specifically aimed against invisibility. They can smell the so called, stench of fear on their victims. There is an entire book about that! By the way, did you finish my books?' she gives you a suspicious glance.

'No, I didn't. I only had a few hours to take a look at them. But they are extremely helpful, thank you. If I see the day after this escapade, you can expect me to bring them back to you in a day or two.'

'Sounds good to me.'

'If… well, if I won't be the one to return. My team shall return them to you either way. One of them, who happens to be a bookworm, knows about borrowed tomes.'

'Alright. Good luck.'

You nod and grab the bag with the ritual ingredients and proceed to climb the stairs.

'What are you doing?' you can hear The Emperor invading your brain. 'There is absolutely nothing you can gain from visiting Hells, but everything to lose!'

You take a deep breath in, feeling your heart pound with stress. Will you really do it?

When the key rotates in the keylock, you press the door handle and see the circular shape smeared with blood on the floor a few meters in front of you. The room is pretty much empty, excluding some bookshelves glued to the wall on your left hand side. Aside from that, you can see a small pedestal with a closed book on top of it. It looks a bit like your personal journal - it's most likely Helsik's diary. You resist the urge to take a peek at its contents and step in the middle of the circle, then open the bag, fetching the required materials and placing them in their designed places, as per the note.

Every time the item is put in its spot, a small flame emerges from an unknown source.

'I STRONGLY advise you against it.'

'You want my blind trust, don't you? It's time for you to trust in me,' you say telepathically and step inside the flaming portal.

You appear in an empty, gigantic room, looking like it belongs to a mansion. You notice the familiar color scheme - granite walls, dark marble floors - and you are immediately certain that the ritual was successful. The portal behind you is still open. You assume that it will not be closed, unless the items from the Material Plane are going to be pushed away from inside their respective runes.

You wonder for a second if Helsik ever met Mephistopheles; assuming that Enver Gortash also teleported from the top floor of the Devil's Fee. You find yourself wondering how Mephistopheles looks and only then you realize, that your brain is again your own. There is no voice whispering to you, no active telepathical connection. Your mind is clear. The worm is still there, of course, but it's suspiciously still as if it's connection with the Emperor was shut down.

You quickly reach towards your bag and fetch the potion of invisibility. As you are about to pop the cork open, you hear a weird swooshing sound, similar to a teleportation but not quite as loud, and you almost find yourself with your left leg inside the portal.

'Who are you? Turn around! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY! The chains, can you hear the chains?'

You stop with your foot in the air and slowly move towards the small figure of a dwarf woman. Her entire body is coated in some kind of a glow. It doesn't look quite like Karlach's flames produced by the infernal machine inside her chest, nor any kind of an aura like the ones around paladins or monks. As you approach her, you realise you've seen it before. It's the same infernal glow that embraces enslaved Prince Orpheus.

'I'm Tav. Is Raphael in his house?'

'His house? I'm Hope. It's the House of Hope!' she responds chaotically and you find yourself looking at her, clearly concerned. 'Oh no! When he finds you here, he will be mad. Turn around, while you still can!'

You open your mouth but Hope raises her finger, silencing you.

'Hush! Do you hear it? The chains… the chains,' her entire posture seems to crumble in front of you. You lean forward and crouch in front of her, extending your arms to help her regain her balance. 'Shh, shh. We need to be quiet.

The sound of chains rumbling across the empty room seems to quiet down and Hope lifts her head to look at you again. You can swear that apart from the chains, there is the sound of your heart snapping in two. This poor soul…

'It's quiet. We need to be quiet! Speak calmly and quietly! PLEASE.'

You draw a deep breath into your lungs and embrace her essence with a warm, soothing smile on your face. The Ki flows through your body and you do your best to contact with her life force, calming her incredible, uncontrollable stress.

'I understand. I will speak calmly,' you inform her and move to your knees so that your faces are on the same level. 'I came here to get information about Raphael. I think that you can help me with it.'

'He is very angry!'

'That I know of,' you continue speaking and notice a slight shift in her behavior. Good, your Ki is working. 'I came to seek some answers. I have been offered a deal, but I didn't accept it. Not yet, at least.'

'Decline. Decline!' she suddenly bursts with energy and calms down a second later. 'Do not give in,' she says completely seriously. 'I haven't. I will not.'

You blink a few times. Imprisoned soul without a contract? You didn't know it was possible. Or maybe it's not a direct contract?

'Can I help you? Can I free you?'

'Yes, yes, yes, yes,' she grips her fists tightly and leans towards you in clear excitement. 'No, no, no, no! You do not have the weapon.'

'What weapon? The Orphic hammer?'

'Yes, yes, yes! It can smash my chains. Smash them into pieces,' she informs with a wicked smile on her face. 'But it is kept in the Archive.'

With that, she disappears from your view; the only indicator that she was there are the slowly falling cinders. You open and close your mouth, then look behind you, checking if the portal is still active. Nothing seems out of place. It seems that the infiltration might be a tiny bit easier than what you prepared yourself for.

You stand up and approach the door, which opens on its own, welcoming you inside the dining room. The very first part of the house you have seen, months ago when Raphael transported you here out of middle-of-nowhere. Although the place is the same, you do not recall seeing a skeleton dressed in a robe, swiping the floor with a broom. With each step, you begin to notice an invisible strength pulling down at your feet. A feeling of dread attempting to stop you in your tracks. For a place so abundantly gorgeous, House of Hope fills your gut with ice, pushing your senses in a constant state of looming threat. It is quite interesting, how this place perfectly reflects its owner.

Suddenly, you hear another swoosh and Hope appears in the corner of your eye.
'I almost forgot. Your disguise, it's going to help you navigate around the house.'

You use the opportunity and move towards the woman, leaning towards her ear, so that no one else will hear you.
'Is there anyone else in the house?'

'Oh yes, yes, yes. The debtors, you are one of them now, haha.'

You blink at her, confused, but then you realize that she is referring to your new clothes.

'The Archivist, the Jailors, Korrilla - my sister.'

'Korrila is here?' you ask, fear creeping up your spine.

'No, she's not.'

'Hope,' you gently grasp her arms. 'Please focus, I need to know everything about this place and Raphael. I want to rescue you. But I need to have a plan first.'

'The Archivist is in the archive. You do not need to fear the debtors. And Haarlep is in his usual place, he also won't alert the master.'

'Perfect. Archive is where Raphael keeps his valuable stuff, right?'

'Yes! The contracts, the Orphic hammer,' she responds quickly, then makes a sudden move with her head, checking if anyone is listening to your conversation.

'Great. I am looking for information about the Crown. Do you know what Raphael wants to do with it?'

'Oh, the Crown! The Orphic hammer!' she whispers with excitement and then glances at you knowingly. 'I am aware of who you are, little mouse. Go to the Archive.'

She vanishes again and you can't possibly be mad at how chaotic she is. She has been tormented, tortured, enslaved for god knows how long.

You approach the dining table and suddenly the already thick, sulfuric air is filled with disgusting, sweet smell of decay. If it wasn't for the horrors you've seen in the Nauthiloid colony, the piles of corpses, pools of blood, you would find yourself gagging at the sight of the maggots crawling inside the rotting meat displayed all over the table. It seems to be the same feast that Raphael introduced you to upon your first meeting.

You cover your nose with your sleeve and approach the skeleton swiping the floor. He notices you and stares at you with empty eye sockets.

'A new debtor?'

'Yes,' you lie. 'Who are you?'

'I used to be an architect. My previous master had a name. Ketheric Thorm, was it.'

Your dots start to connect. Your mind flashes back to the Last Light Inn and the Raphael's mention of the 'contract that fed him for decades', something about an army, something about Ketheric being a fool. The letters you found in Mason's Guild when looking for a piece of infernal iron for Karlach, all of them mentioning the Selunite resistance against rising Shar army and a deal with a devil.

'An architect? Did you design the Moonrise Towers?' you ask the skeleton.

'Ah! So you've heard of my work. Yes, it fills my soul with joy. Tell me, what is left of my greatest achievement?'

You recall the giant ilithid tentacle and look to the side, not sure what to share with the debtor.
'They still stand and I think the better days are ahead. Myself and my companions managed to lift the shadow curse. When we were leaving the land, we saw some vegetation already coming back to life.'

'Ah… I thought I will never hear about that day. Thank you.'

'Also, your master is dead as well.'

'Ah, hah hah!' the skeleton chuckles. 'Great news, great news indeed.'

You nod at him and watch him return to his duties. You aren't exactly sure how, but you think that the aura around him has gotten less grim. Perhaps if he still had a mouth, he would be smiling.

You push down the hallway, watching the interesting design of the room. It seems like the dining area is the very heart of the building, connecting the foyer to the rest of the mansion with three indoor bridges. You find yourself wondering if Raphael had anything to do with it being built or if the building was stolen. It is called a House of Hope, but it might just be a mockery of Hope herself. It wouldn't surprise you. It sounds like something that Raphael would gladly indulge himself in.

The corridor ends with a door past one of the bridges. The entrance opens once again and as you pass through the threshold, you see a tall, but much smaller door leading to the Archive. Hope appears next to it.

'Should I drink my potion, Hope? The Archivist will spot the door opening, I need to sneak without any suspicions. I do not intend on stealing.'

'No stealing? But the weapon, the Orphic hammer, we need it to free me, to smash, smash my chains, remember?'

You go on your knees again, and gently grasp her hands. They are cold, despite the weird aura surrounding her body.
'I will come back for you. I promise on my life. I can't stand the sight of you enslaved. Every fiber of my body wants to free you now, but I can't. So please, trust me, I have a plan,' you say quietly to her and the sight of despair on her face, slowly threads its way back into resolve. 'I will come back for you.'

She grasps your hands in a short, tight squeeze and points at the door to the Archive.
'Archivist is afraid of Zariel's High Inquisitor, her name is Verillus Receptor. She can visit unannounced and she often takes a disguise of a human herself, because her form is… hard to explain.'

'Alright, do I have any chances of convincing the Archivist?'

'No, yes! You are a little bit shorter, but she also takes a female disguise!'

You breathe out and look up at the door. That's not enough details, but you have to work with anything you have. You fake your confidence and climb the few stairs, then push the door open, revealing the Archive. Hope must've disappeared again, because you catch a glimpse of the cinders floating in the air.

'Ah, the Archivist,' you greet as you march towards the center of the room. You obviously have no idea who out of the two skeletons and a tiefling is the person called the Archivist, but you decide that it's a safer approach to say a greeting in thin air, rather than into the face of someone who in fact is not the Archivist.

A tieflieng with two black horns and orange iris turns around and shoots you a confused look.
'A visitor… are you a master's client? Let me browse through the schedules for the day,' he says with a tone of an old man, but his features appear young to your eyes.

'That won't be necessary. Your master hasn’t been informed about my arrival, though I was hoping to see him here. Do you know when he will be back?'

'Master Raphael is off doing business in another plane, I can inform him however about your visit here, if I receive your name first?'

You shoot him your best Raphael impression, trying to mimic his expression when he is slightly offended. Your gaze turns cold and you raise your eyebrow just a tiny bit, careful not to look too much like Raphael.
'Verillus Receptor.'

If there is any blood swimming inside the tiefling's face, you are sure that it's gone now.
'A thousand apologies, oh majestic magistrate of the infernal court!' He stiffly attempts at a bow, before abruptly stopping. 'I would have bowed to greet you properly if my spine wasn't ruptured in thousand places. Oh, you know how master Raphael likes to play,' you attempt to nonchalantly inspect your nails, but the information about the tieflings state pours a bucket of ice on top of your head. 'Your mortal disguise is so vile, I found it perfectly convincing.'

'Happens often, worry not,' you recollect immediately and return your serious gaze back to him. 'Well, do you know when is Raphael coming back?'

'Unfortunately not, however if you wish, oh magistrate, I can grant you an invitation to his boudoir, where he conducts his most private business and relaxes to the pleasures of body and mind.'

You do your best to keep a serious face, though you have no idea what can he possibly be talking about.

'You can await his arrival there.'

'Thank you, I will gladly accept the invite. May I take a look at the Archive as well?'

He hands you over a sealed letter and you take it in your hand. The texture of the paper is thick and quickly warms up while touched. The envelope smells of palmarosa and pepper, a mix attempting to ensnare your senses. A shiver passes through your spine, but you supress it before the aphrodisiac takes any effect.
'Of course, of course! Master Raphael had me do some re-arrangements lately, so not everything is out here on the display.'

You nod a few times and think about the book you were reading. An idea comes into your brain.
'Will the soul quota be met at the end of the infernal cycle?'

'Yes, magistrate. Master Raphael is never late and is very serious about his contribution.'

'I'm glad to hear.'

It's possible that your overall kindness to the Archivist, makes him a tiny bit suspicious. Your brain works overtime and you come up with another perfect deception, as you use the obtained knowledge about the Hells and devil hierarchy from the books, conversations with Helsik and your experience.

'One of mine and Archdevil Zariel's very trusted sources, made me aware of some kind of a scheme Raphael might be coming up with. A scheme against Zariel. Does that ring a bell to you?' You fire another glance at the Archivist and the fake, cold rage in your eyes seems to be working, because the Archivist lowers his gaze and now appears to be much shorter than he was merely a second ago.

'Oh majestic magistrate of the infernal court, I am simply fulfilling the tasks that master Raphael gives me. I apologize, as I would like to be an aid in this matter, but he is not the type to share his plans with me.'

'At ease, Archivist. Time will tell. Thank you for the invitation.'

'Any time, magistrate.'

You slowly pace around the room and as soon as you turn your head away from the Archivist, you allow the mask to fall and you inhale quietly, trying to calm down your heart, flooded with crashing adrenaline. You are not a fan of deception and avoid it at all cost, so it's suprising to see it actually working in your favour. Maybe the terror which Verillius Receptor spreads is the only thing that successfully sells your guise. Nevertheless, the plan works. It really does.

You approach a table near the entrance to the Archive, taking a look at some weird scroll. It looks like a record of a conversation. You stop and read it carefully.

It's a conversation between Raphael and Hope. You suspect that Korrilla must've been the one writing. From the script you find out that Hope has been asked to sing for Raphael, it was probably a part of his torturing session or maybe just some kind of a conversation. The negative thought makes your guts twist. Korrilla, doing all of this to her sister. As your eyes drift across the transcript, a feeling of guilt stirs within. Are you any different? She is a victim of Raphael's charms and he has the same effect on you. What if just as she is hurting her sister, you will doom your companions to the same kind of torment?

'No,' you tell yourself and take another deep, controlled breath just to resume your journey towards a desk with some parchment on it. 'Korrila chose him as his patron. She's in his service willingly even though he is imprisoning her sister. Besides, every deal with a devil has some kind of a motive. Maybe Korrilla has one as well.'

As you approach the desk and a nearby cork board, you find exactly what you were looking for. His statement about the crown. You are not sure if it is a part of an unsent letter or him just transferring his thoughts onto paper, but it's enough to answer your questions.

'And after the Hells, the rest of the planes shall weep to witness my glory.'

You feel your heart sink inside your chest. Was it really possible? What exactly were his plans for other planes? As you ponder these questions, you walk all the way to the corner of the Archive, near a pedestal with Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength. You briefly glance at the piece of armor, feeling the pressence of the Archivist right behind your back. You redirect your attention to yet another desk in the corner of the wide room and flip through a book. It contains notes about Karsus Folly witnessed by Raphael himself. You can't help but wonder why is it the Crown specifically and nothing else in the whole world that has Raphael so obsessed with it.

You nod at the Archivist, bidding him a silent goodbye, then leave the Archive. You turn to your left, going down the hallway, gently rotating around the heart of the house. You notice various paintings, presenting still life, portraits of some nobles that you can't really recognise; people of different backgrounds and races. And of course, devils. Devil paintings, devil sculptures, devil-themed everything. All of that, surrounded by the red granite walls, with golden or brass accents, dark green arches and grey and black tiles. If there was any illustration that came to mind when one was talking about a mansion in the Hells, this is exactly what one would think of.

Hope teleports right next to you and looks at you curiously.
'Did you find out anything?'

'Everything I wanted to, but I feel like there is more. Can you sense if Raphael is coming home?'

'Oh, he will be soon. He will be very mad.'

Your heart jumps painfully in your chest, but then Hope clarifies.
'I don't know when is soon, though.'

'I almost died from stress, Hope,' you admit.

'Well, let's hope I will be more careful with my words next time. My prison is on the end of the hallway.'

You nod and pick up the pace, trying not to pay attention to various debtors walking around the hallway. There is one person, a man, rolling on the floor, crying, grasping his belly. He doesn't seem to be hurt, but the way he holds himself tells you that he is in deep agony. Another debtor looks fairly normal, and when you see him bowing to a bust of a devil, you are tempted to interact with him, but you decide not to attract any more attention. When you shift your gaze away from the unusual debtor, you can feel bumping into something soft. You look down and notice a young woman with curly hair, her neck decorated with a collar. She puts her hands close to her chest and raises to her knees, looking up at you pleadingly, then woofs.

With sheer mental resolve, you peel your eyes away from the debtor, giving her a gentle touch on the shoulder. You continue walking down the hallway and it takes you a moment to realize just how tight you grit your teeth.

All these poor souls. The iron grip on your gut tightens and for several minutes, you fight with yourself internally, being mad at yourself at how easily you believe in Raphael's humanity. His human form is so convincing, but it's simply a means to an end, a tool in his vast arsenal of manipulation. Still, despite the growing anger at his infernal roots, a hint of understanding washes over you. He isn't fully human. It's just how he is, it's in his nature to lure, manipulate, torture and seal with contracts. To venture into a devil's lair, not expecting to see horrors is like diving in the sea and not expecting the fish or the sand.

When you finally stand in front of a hatch leading to the prison, Hope gives you a last piece of aid and unlocks the hatch for you. The next doors on the floor below have to be lockpicked. You are not as proficient with lockpicking as Astarion, but after a few moments of careful fiddling inside the keyhole, you manage to get access to the prison. You hold your hand on the potion of invisibility, thinking if now is the good time to chug it down.

Carefully, you open the door and slide inside. The entrance is obscured in the dark, however you do recall that most of the creatures from non-material plane have darkvision, so you choose to step carefully, making sure you remain out of sight. Right in front of you, on a metal platform suspended in the air with chains hooked into the ceiling, you see enslaved Hope. Her arms are pulled to the sides and her body hangs in the air, her wrists bound to two crystals on opposite sides of the room. This is what she mentioned, that's what the Orphic hammer is for. The crystals binding her are the exact same ones that enslave Orpheus. You store that information for later, deciding to think about it during a more appropiate time.

You do your best to make a map of the room in your head. You see a few imps, but they don't appear to be very dangerous. Apart from them you spot two weird monsters, looking like floating tentacled eyeballs. You glance down and step a bit closer to the edge, noticing that the House of Hope is a floating building.

'That's where the weird humming is from,' you think to yourself, looking at a small part of some kind of an engine that you can spot from your current obscured position.

You frown and glance at Hope's weird bindings again. Raphael said that the Orphic Hammer can free Orpheus from his shackles. He was enslaved because The Emperor is using Orpheus, draining his power. And Hope's chains look shockingly similar to Orpheus' prison. Is Raphael somehow draining and abusing her power? Is it to make the house afloat?

You sneak outside and quietly close the heavy door, then start climbing the ladder, trying to sort out all of the information in your brain. It's time to inspect the Boudoir.

Hope doesn't teleport this time around and you can feel a punch of helplessness straight into your gut. She has to stay strong, to believe. You will come back for her, one way or the other.

A few moments later, you stand in between two gargoyle statues. You reach for the invitation that you hid in your pocket and present it to the energy field warding the doorframe. It lifts the protection ward a moment later.

Carefully, you step inside, looking to your sides first, checking your surroundings. The room is massive. Right in front of you, you can see a hexagonal indoor rejuvenation pool with two golden taps at the top, which constantly pour the water into the bath. You've seen one of those at your monastery before, so you knew that those waters do not appear in Hells naturally. It must be outsourced from somewhere else.

Around the pool, you see some comfy pillows and blankets with a few shishas here and there. At each corner of the hexagon facing the entrance, you notice a pillar. The columns on the opposite side of the room have been merged together with golden ornaments. You glance straight ahead and notice a huge bed on the other side of the room, straight ahead of the doorway. The air inside the Boudoir is nice, the steam from the rejuvenating water lifting some of the heaviness of the usual Avernus atmosphere.

You glance behind your shoulder and notice a debtor, hiding next to the statue. She covers her mouth and stares at you blankly. You decide not to ask her about anything and instead proceed deeper into the bedroom. Carefully, with a soft step, you ascend up the stairs leading to the master bedroom. That's when you notice a crimson figure laying on top of the bed. You quickly reach for the invisibility potion, feeling your heart squeeze in stress, but it's too late. A pair of orange eyes burns a hole right through you.

The figure shifts and sits on the bed. It's a cambion and… it looks a bit like Raphael's relative?
'A lost little mouse is running through the house! A thief in the night, greedy and here to take,' the cambion speaks with Raphael's voice, but the fact that you are still standing alive makes you convinced that it's not him. Besides, he looks… different. Your brain enters overdrive.

'Haarlep?' you ask, after it takes a moment for you to process the situation, you manage to dig out another name mentioned by Hope from your memory.

'Yes,' the cambion responds with a smirk on their face. Haarlep shifts on the bed and his movements are so smooth and fluid, they almost seem unnatural. 'I don't think I know you, little mouse.'

'Oh but you do. Verilius Receptor,' you try to regain your composure, but the sight of a skimpy looking devil makes it hard.

'Ha! No,' they chuckle, then grin. 'But I do like a cheater. Come here, little mouse. Why are you here, in this House of Hope?' they move their hands theatrically, mimicking Raphael's persona, exaggerating it to the last bits.

You approach the bed carefully, planting your feel silently on the tiles.
'Only for information.'

'Information? I have an idea, let's play a game. If you came here for some information, I will answer one of your questions, but you have to play with me.'

The slippery, lizard-like movements, smirks and modulation of Raphael's voice give you some very clear idea about the game in question.
'Are you an incubus?'

'Starting with questions? How boring!' Haarlep rolls from the bed and steps onto the floor seductively tracing their clawed hand on the wooden railing. 'But yes, I am Raphael's personal incubus. Transfigured and glamoured to look like him, a perfect copy.'

'You don't look like him,' you notice and your own voice escaping your mouth makes you a bit surprised. You did not mean to comment on that.

'Oh, if he only heard that, he would make you squirm and tear to shreds.'

As they approach you, you finally spot the details. Much smoother nose devoid of its signature bump, higher cheekbones, plumpier lips. Why was the incubus altered? Not only do they look younger, but also more conventionally attractive.

'But he doesn't, does he?' you ask the incubus and push yourself from the wall, as it slowly approaches you with practiced through centuries, seductive movements. 'He can't hear, right?'

'No, little mouse. Will you play with me?'

You wish you read more on incubi and succubi, not just cambions and Hells in order to know how to smoothly get yourself out of this situation.
'What do I need to do?'

'Take off your clothes,' Haarlep shows you their pointy teeth and their eyes burn intensely.

'I can't. It's against my vows.'

'Your vows? Did I just catch a pure, little mouse? What a treat! I can't wait to corrupt your delicious body and mind.'

'You are not corrupting anything,' you say, carefully choosing your words. 'As much as I do think you are very appealing, I will not break my vows.'

'I am excellent at many things,' they smirk. 'Keeping a secret is one of them. Your vows are safe with me. And Raphael… Raphael cannot hide anything from me.'

'Is that so?' you frown at incubus and do a quick calculation. You can knock them out, but then you won’t get any information in return. You can cast a Zone of Truth spell, but it requires a bit of time and concentration and time is something you cannot afford to lose.

You change the direction, almost ending up in Haarlep's embrace.

'You like being chased, little mouse? You are a pure little treat, but only on the outside.'

Something in your belly flips and you come to a stop. You have to do this.
'I will play with you.'

'Excellent. Off with your clothes!' they snap at you and sooth their voice immediately after.

You grimace but put the bag down on the floor, as Haarlep returns back to the bed. You take off your magically disguised shirt, then your pants soon join it on the floor.
'Good, little mouse. Keep going like this, and you'll get to live.'

You hate to admit it, but you would be in a much better position, if it was a voice of anyone else's but Raphael's.

'Keep going.'

You hear them breathe out and you close your eyes, embarrassed of the burn on your cheeks.

'Tell me about your vows. Before we begin, I want you to be very comfortable. Would you like me to switch to Archduch*ess form?'

'I'm a monk. When we have sex, it's like a prayer. I am not supposed to engage in it unless my soul is bound with my lover. And is Archduch*ess just a female Raphael?' you ask forcing yourself not to cover your naked body against incubus piercing gaze.

'Your soul bound to your lover? We can make that happen,' they smirk and chuckle with Raphael's voice. 'But what was I saying… oh yes, the Archduch*ess is a female version of Raphael. You see, sometimes when he's feeling adventureous, he will ask me to switch.'

'Then no, please stay as Raph.. I mean as a man,' you quickly look away from Haarlep and you can hear them chuckle.

'Hmm, most interesting. Very well. Climb the bed, little thief.'

It feels so inappropriate to sit down naked on Raphael's bed, on his usual love making spot, only to have a sexual encounter with his incubus yourself. It feels so wrong in every single way and the lurking dread of him coming back home early, prevents you from thinking straight, definitely working in Haarlep's favor. You know about the succubi and incubi charms and you also know that as awful as it might appear, this encounter can be fruitful. If Raphael really isn't capable of hiding anything from… well, a glamoured version of himself, then you are in the right claws.

'And you will answer my questions?'

'Only when we finish with our little game.'

'Uh-huh,' you say and frown, very aware of your current position.

'You are so deliciously coy,' Haarlep comments and crawls on the bed towards you. The air in the Avernus suddenly feels a lot warmer.

You push your feet onto the bed and slide to sit down with your back leaning onto the backrest. You try your best to remember about your teachings, but your eyes slide down to Haarlep's shoulders, onto their chest with the perfect amount of hair. Your gaze devours his leather harness decorated with metal spikes and chains. It's indeniable, they are absolutely beautiful and the ridges, the scale-like texture of their skin leaves you intrigued, wanting to roam your eyes around them to see more.
'You are so gorgeous. I wish I could also see your true, non-transformed form,' you look into their burning eyes.

Haarlep stops, with their claw next to your right thigh. You look into each other's eyes and for a moment something passes through their face, something not tainted with lust. They resume their advances a second later and you reach towards their face.

'Is it fine if I touch you?'

Another flash passed through their face. Something that made their mask of a skilled performer shift, a flash of surprise perhaps.

'You don't have to ask, little mouse,' Haarlep says a lot softer and you stroke their neck.

'What do you mean?'

Haarlep puts their hands around your waist and pulls you down, then covers you with their body. The wings on their back spread just a tiny bit, covering some of the feverishly red light sinking through the nearby balconies.
'I am here to please.'

'Shouldn't you be pleased as well?'

'Ha!' they chuckle while hovering above you, then look at you, as if a bit sad.

Their previously stretched wings now come back to their back, and they flip their tail uneasily. You transfer your hands to their cheeks, stroking them with affection, which you find out comes naturally. You use the opportunity to touch their horns, something you always wanted to do when you saw Raphael's.

'Can we play a different game?' you ask and watch the incubus' expression turn into anger. 'I am not going to escape from you,' you assure gently and put your left hand on their hip, pushing them to the side.

You trade places and the incubus is now below you.
'How did you want to play?' you ask them as they adjust you on their hips.

Haarlep stares blankly at you, then grips you firmly, their pleasantly hot skin burning into your flesh. It's rougher than it looks, but isn't too dry or uncomfortable to touch. The clawed fingers gently trace circles on your waist.
'It's your game now, little thief.'

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

'Devote yourself' You can hear the slippery voice of Raphael calling to you. You blink, the images around you completely blurred. You are unable to make anything out of it. 'To the pleasure… eternal.'

Your head spins, you focus your brain on the touch of your hands. You can feel the heat, feel the pulsating pleasure crashing over your body and mind like waves of the ocean. It feels as if you've reached your end, but no specific sensations are able to penetrate past the powerful incubi spell. You can't grasp a single thread of free will, can't focus on anything besides the deliciously sinful magic of your current lover.

You can feel your head falling, the back stretching, lips parting as the shaky breath escapes them.

Wake up.

Your own voice passes through the fog, attempting to bring you back to Earth.

'This can be forever,' you hear a breathless, seductive tone coming from below you. All of your senses work together with your mind trying to break free from the incubus charm. They are trying to fulfill the master's will. They are trying to protect the house.

'Give me your soul, little mouse.'

A cold sensation spreads from your scalp all the way to the base of your spine. The foggy, incomprehensible image of the incubus laying on the bed clears out and you blink furiously, fighting the spinning that sways your mind. You snap back from your trance, grasping the thin thread of control with all of your will. You feel the incubus inside of you, feel them around you, feel them lingering on and under your skin - their magic attempting to devour you whole. As the clarity comes back to you, you frown at the incubus. You are concerned about the temporary loss of your willpower and wonder how much time has passed since you mounted Haarlep's hips. You remember them wearing the harness back when this happened.

'You cannot have my soul, Haarlep,' you remind them. 'I can't stay with you.'

As you respond to the incubus, you can feel the last binding of their magic snap, breaking the charming spell. You can finally feel their firm, but not squeezing grasp on your waist, aiding you up and down his length. Now that the spell is gone, the sensation is odd to say the least.

'Then what will it be?'

'You can have my body, but not my mind or soul.'

'Ah,' they groan and push their hips towards you. 'A fine choice.'

Their burning gaze slides from your eyes to your lips and you meet them halfway, pulling your faces into a heated kiss. Their wings extend to the sides and wrap around you, squeezing you tighter, pressing you to their chest. Your fingertips trace the gorgeous lines on the sides of his chiseled abdomen, earning a nice groan from Haarlep's throat.

'You're gorgeous,' you repeat into their mouth and they roll you onto your back, kissing you with the passion sparked anew.

'Will you ever visit me again?' Haarlep pushes their hips to you one last time.

'I will visit again. But not for that reason.'

Haarlep lowers their face to you and hovers above you, supporting themselves on their elbows.
'I wish you would find some time for me.'

You raise your eyebrows surprised at their words, because you didn't sense any lie behind them. You cup their face and trace their glamoured cheekbones with your thumbs.

They inspect your features carefully, then lift their left hand and snap their fingers. Haarlep disappears for a moment in a cloud of cinders and a second later, you see yourself staring back at you. Your clone smirks devilishly at you and you realize that because of his changed form, they are no longer inside of you. You honestly aren’t sure if they ever were - you'd need to read about incubi and succubi later.

'Oh, what a delicious little mouse,' Haarlep says with your voice, then snaps back into Raphael's form. 'I can't wait to explore you, to experiment, see what makes you shiver and moan. And every time I make love in your shape, you will know. A passing shiver, a sudden wave of pleasure - you will know.'

You aren't very happy about that, but you observe Haarlep going to their knees on the side of the bed with a blank face.
'But now, my pet, what do you want to know?'

You peel your gaze away from their form decorated with alluring traces of sweat. Their muscular torso waves up and down in gradually deepening breaths, and their eyes never leave your face.

'How did you end up here?' you ask after a moment of consideration.

Haarlep tilts their head.
'You are a curious one,' they admit and move to sit next to you, just to lightly trace their claws on your skin. 'Are you sure you don't want to stay with me?'

'I cannot stay here, Haarlep.'

'Tut, tut,' they respond and you shiver under their hot skin. 'I was sent here to 'distract the naughty son'.'

You sit up and look them in the eye.
'By Mephistopheles?'

Haarlep grins, showing you their pretty teeth.
'A smart little mouse, not just skilled in bed - unlike Raphael,' they chuckle mockingly. 'But why would you ask that, pet? Out of all the questions?'

You wonder for a moment about their question as well as the uncalled for insult towards Raphael. Haarlep uses the few seconds of silence to snap their fingers. Suddenly, you feel your clothes back on your body and they are re-dressed in their harness, still sitting at your side.
'I just wanted to know. Thank you.'

They nod and slide from the bed.
'I cannot sense any contract biding you to this place. Good. You do not deserve to call such a man your master,' they confess and take a step backwards, then wave their arm, materialising something within their palm.

'Are you bound to this place by a contract?' you ask them and they shake their head.

'Only by orders,' they respond and hand you over a key. 'Oh and pet? You might want to take a closer look at the portrait of Raphael over there,' they point their clawed thumb at a tall oil painting, hanging on a wall a few meters away from the bed.

'That's Raphael? He doesn't look like himself.'

Haarlep swings their tail and grins back at you, as you accept the key from their hand. Instinctively, you place your hands on their shoulders covered with spiked harness and show your gratitude with a gentle, almost feathery kiss on incubus' cheek. Their wings relax and the tip of their tail raises upwards, similar to the one of a curious cat.

'Thank you for your help. Can you please be careful and not show Raphael my form? I was not invited to be here.'

'You are only mine to misuse. And I will misuse you well,' they respond and you aren't quite sure if that was an agreement or not, but the last thing you see is another Haarlep's cheeky grin, before they disappear in a cloud of cinders.

Despite how chaotic the entire encounter was, you can't help but think about how mistreated incubi and succubi must be. You never thought about this up until now and you definitely added another research topic to your list, all thanks to your experience here today.

You quickly get up and approach the painting, then spot a button below it. You press it and watch the painting slide up, revealing a wall safe behind. You mutter a quiet 'ohh' and use the key from Haarlep to open it. You see a few soul coins inside and wonder who they belong to, then you reach deeper into the small vault, fetching a piece of paper. It's another one of Raphael's notes, it looks like it might've been torn from a notebook or a journal.

You quickly read its contents, finding out about him fantasizing of you taking the contract, so that the Orphic Hammer can be traded for the Crown of Karsus. There is a highlighted sentence:
'Give me my heart's desire'

Something within you flips and fills you up with intoxicating dread, perfectly blending into a shiver of desire. You aren't sure if your mind and body suffer from some remnants of Haarlep's magic, but this definitely has an effect on you. You know your tastes, but each time you find out about something new concerning Raphael, you can't help but have an internal battle of mixed feelings.

You know that he is a bastard. A deceiving, cunning, charming, seductive piece of sh*t. But you also know that he is a cambion. A part-devil. It's in the nature of devils to be this way and it's how the world always has been shaped. It would be against your monk teachings to hate each and every devil you stumble across. And when it comes to cambions, they have traits of both humans and devils, but they are rejected by both of the societies. You can’t help but feel a little bit bad for their fate and you can't possibly bring yourself to hate each and every one of them. It may be wise to hate Raphael, especially after everything you have seen here today, but your stupid heart knows that not everything that he did turned out to be bad.

You recall meeting Yurgir in the Shar's Gauntlet, you remember the conversation with orthon, him telling you about his contract with Raphael. How the tricky phrasing of the contract made him stuck inside the Gauntlet, tormented by a song echoing through his brain, just because he was meant to slaughter every Dark Justiciar in the temple. At the same time, Raphael made some kind of a deal with one of the Justiciars and split their body and mind into multiple pieces, each taking a form of a rat. You remember how you and your team were confused as to why there are so many rats around the Shar's altars, up until you found a bloody pentagram, a piece of the Dark Jasticiar's helmet and a note signed with Raphael's name. The loophole trapped the orthon in the temple, but because he was trapped, he served as a non-official guardian of Dame Aylin, who Shar desired to kill and was attempting to convince your best friend Shadowheart to do just that. And Dame Aylin? God, you don't even want to think about what would've happened if she wasn't there to aid you while fighting Ketheric Torm and Myrkul. Not to mention the positive impact she had on Shadowheart afterwards.

You close the safe, slide the painting down and hide the key in your bag, briefly considering if you should take it or leave it somewhere in the bedroom. Then, you quickly run towards the exit of the Boudoir.

Raphael is clever, you know that for a fact. He has a certain proficiency when it comes to choosing the best phrasing of his thoughts; picking the most vague, detail-less, but still tempting promises, just to lure one into signing a contract. But the entire deal with the Crown… Even though you now know what his real plans are, it still feels like there is something missing. Something else entirely. And it's not directly about the devil himself. You have a hunch that it might be concerning just the Crown. It feels as if you gained awareness of being a pawn, but a huge part of the lanceboard remains hidden in the darkness. What other pieces are here on the board with you? Who else, apart from The Emperor, Raphael and the few gods messing with the Absolute or your companions, is pulling the strings from behind the scene?

You turn to your right and sprint down the corridor, not wasting any more second on sightseeing. You focus your Ki, entering a state of complete balance between the mind, body and soul and use the amplified life force to your advantage. You remember everything about the House of Hope and you know that the first thing you will do upon your return is drawing a few layouts of the place for preparations for your future plans.

Like the wind itself, you pass the dining hall and feel your heart race, as the distance between you and the portal decreases with each of your swift step. The skeleton, architect of the Moonrise Towers is gone and suddenly, you feel the shift of the air inside the House of Hope. An awful shiver of dread passes across your skin and you feel as if your hair was struck by a lightning.

You swallow through a suddenly dry throat, focusing all of your Ki into maintaining the Step of the Wind. You will not get distracted, your goal is right in front of you. Your muscles guide your feet, swiftly turning the corner, the last turn until reaching your destination. You pretty much jump up the stairs and dash to the portal room. In the same second, a flash blinds you and you turn your bag towards your belly, then turn your body to the ground, sliding with incredible momentum across the perfectly polished marble floor.

Before Raphael's head materializes fully from the flash, you are already back to the Material Plane. You swing your leg and kick the skull away from the circle, deactivating the portal. You lay on the wooden floor marked with blood, breathing heavily, feeling your body shake with fear.

Did he see you? Did he sense you? Did Hope know he was coming back and that's why she didn't appear in your last few moments there?

You carefully lift yourself up on your shaking legs, feeling the crash of adrenaline for the second time today.

'What happened there?' the Emperor asks immediately. 'Were you spotted? Or caught and escaped?'

'I'm not sure yet,' you respond to him in your mind and take a glance behind your shoulder, making sure that the portal to House of Hope is no longer active. 'I think he teleported just as I was halfway through the portal, but there is a chance he didn't recognize me. I also didn't take anything and didn't misplace a single one of his belongings. I should be fine, to some degree,' you convince him and yourself at the same time.

After a long pause of deep breathing, you glide down the staircase to meet Helsik.

'So you made it,' she comments. 'But from the look on your face, I would say it was a close call, was it not?'

'Yeah,' you respond with a sigh and move to the front of the counter. 'If I were to use it again, do I have to pay the same amount?'

'Go there again? Are you crazy?'

'I am not sure if I will need to, but something tells me that I will be back and next time not just myself, but the entire team of mine.'

'You really do have a death wish.'

'Please, Helsik..'

'No, no,' she swings her hand. 'You can use it again. Did you deactivate it, though?'

You nod and turn around to leave the Devil's Fee.
'Until next time.'

You break into a run, heading towards the Forge of the Nine and consider meeting up with your team at Lorroakan's Tower or heading straight back to the camp. Then, as you run across the cobbled path, you spot Lae'Zel coming back with her newly purchased gloves. She descends the stairs leading to the forge and looks towards you, alarmed by the sound of someone running her way.

'What's the rush?' she asks you and you take a deep breath in, before explaining to her everything that has happened. You walk next to each other, heading in a general direction of the camp. The githyanki listens to you carefully, her brows pulled into a frown.

'I do not care what means you wish to choose, as long as we get the Orphic Hammer, we need Orpheus. But if the devil saw you leaving his house, it is possible that he will no longer want to offer the deal to any of us.'

'Are you coming back to the camp now? Do you know if Karlach and the rest returned?'

'I haven't seen them since all of you left the camp this morning.'

'Alright, I will head to the tower then, I need to-'

Lae'Zel grabs your shoulder and pulls you backwards before you manage to turn fully towards your new destination.
'Listen to me carefully,' she says. 'You do not need to head over there right now. The place you should be in is Sharess Caress. Meet up with the devil. Negotiate with him.' You see the resolve in Lae'Zel's eyes as she continues to talk to you in a quiet, but stern voice. 'If you head back to the tower, you will need to consider opinions of all four of your allies. You are our leader. We knew who we are choosing and in a situation like this, there is rarely any good choice that you can settle on, a choice that would satisfy each and every one. I myself want you to get the Hammer, that is true, but I willingly submit to your command and will stay at your side no matter your choice. If you won't obtain it with a deal, there is still another way.'

'I can assure you, we are getting the Hammer. I just don't know if he will decapitate me if I show up at his door now.'

'He cannot afford killing you. He knows it, but doesn't want you to realize it. If he won't get the Crown from you, he won't get it from any of us.'

You look away from Lae'Zel's eyes. She is right. You are the leader and as much as you are aware that your companions are also your friends, you have to acknowledge that all of you bonded over the struggles that you have to push through together. This is a serious situation that can cost millions of lives if something goes wrong. It is time to minimize the possible casualties and gain new allies. Negotiating the deal with Raphael might be one of the ways of doing just that.

You nod and thank her, then turn around on your heel, this time running towards the Basilisk Gate. The guards try to stop you a few times, they shout after you, suspicious of you being some kind of a thief, but you focus the flow of the Ki in your body, maintaining a swift, stable run.

It doesn't take you more than twenty minutes to appear at the balcony of Sharess Caress. Your built up momentum prevents you from coming to a full stop and you chaotically smash on the entrance door to Raphael's room, the door slamming on the wall as you dash inside.

He is there, already turned towards the entrance.

You prepare yourself for any attack, shifting the Ki, changing it from the movement flow to strengthening your physical form, putting up your defences. When the shield goes up, you consciously ground your feet onto the floor, increasing the awareness of your body as a whole. You enter a stance: a manifestation of soul. The radiant energy coats your body in a faint, yellow light.

Raphael stands still and the first sight of rage on his face melts away the second he notices your guards up. He clearly revels in the display of your fear and hostility.

'Little mouse,' he greets, then switches to a nonchalant pose, allowing a small smirk to creep on his handsome face. 'You have some gu-'

'I know what you want with the crown,' you announce, interrupting him. You shift on your feet uneasily, positioning your back to the door. 'If you want it, we need to renegotiate the terms.'

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. You find yourself trembling at the bone chilling sound. Your aura explodes with a brighter light, as you try to balance your fear with the protection ward. He stops laughing and takes a step towards you, his face now twisted in cold fury.

'Stupid, little mouse.'

'Stay back,' you remind him and take a step backwards as he proceeds to walk towards you without a hurry. He swings his arm and you raise your hands, blocking any spell coming your way, but all you can hear is door slamming shut behind you.

'I should incinerate you right where you stand,' he says in a low, threatening tone. Your back hits the door and you lean forward, preparing to attack. 'You want to renegotiate your terms? Add demands on your side? Do you seriously think that the transaction of an unique artifact that Orphic Hammer is, leaves you any room for negotiations?'

'If the Crown is so powerful, that in theory you would be capable of achieveing your real goals, which is expanding outside of the Nine,' you say to his stupidly pretty face with a hiss. 'Then I think Orphic Hammer in exchange for it is not a fair transaction at all.'

'It’s the Orphic Hammer and the cure of your tadpoles, you fool.'

'What if the Elder Brain can destroy them? If it can use the tadpoles for the control, what if the tadpoles get destroyed when the Elder Brain is dead? If that is the case, then your deal is not fair.'

He slams his fist next to you, leaving a mark inside the door, making you jump. Your breath is uneven and when you look into his eyes from such a short distance, you can feel yourself shrinking with each passing second. The aura of this man is beyond describable.

You fake your confidence and ignore his punch.
'What I seek to gain from our deal is a cure for Karlach's engine. Curing tadpole won't do anything if she will die of the engine failure.'

'She can go back to Avernus.'

'She doesn't want to.'

'Then it's not for me to fix.'

'I want you to fix the engine, not her choice!'

He slowly puts his left hand on your other side. Your breath catches in the throat and you can almost feel your energy being sucked and soaked into the devil in front of you. He cages you between his arms, his eyes constantly shining, giving him a sinister look. His face is unreadable and you find yourself thinking that it would be better if he was openly angry. His proximity sends waves of terror clawing at the insides of your chest.

'Gale,' you say weakly and watch his lip unsheathe his unnaturaly white teeth. 'He is basically a ticking bomb. I want an amendment to the contract. I want it disabled for him.'

He remains silent, so you continue.
'And if there is anything that can help Astarion to walk in the sunlight again, I need to know.'

'Is it all, little mouse?' his face softens and he takes a step back, looking at you pleadingly. 'Or do you need something else?'

'Free Hope.'

He stops in his step, his cold gaze returning upon his face.
'No.'

'Then what do you need added on your side?' you ask him, frozen in your defensive position.

He closes his eyes, crosses his arms and puts his right hand up to stroke his chin in thought.
'What do I want…' he hums, almost purring at you. 'You had a chance to get rid of Astarion's... condition,' he waves his hand gracefully. 'And yet you decided against it, freeing seven thousand starved, murderous spawn into the wild instead.'

'Spawn, yes. But also innocent victims.' You move closer to him, pushing your back from the door. 'Don’t act like the fact that we didn't complete the ritual doesn't work in your favor.'

He raises his brows at you.

'As you said, it was a ritual bound to Mephistopheles. You don't strike me as the type who would want to strengthen the position of his father.'

This surprises him. He blinks and moves his head to the side, examining you with a curious glint in his eyes.
'Someone spent some time on their education!'

'Am I wrong?'

'You are many things, little mouse,' he smirks, his voice low, delivered almost breathlessly. He steps closer to you again and you go to the side instead. 'Chaotic,' he shoots you a disgusted glance. 'Clearly way too confident,' he uncrosses his arms and points his palms at you. You flex your fists in response and open your hands again, reading yourself in case of a strike. 'Arrogant. You come to my house uninvited and you think you are in the position to negotiate terms on your contract? If your soul was bound to me by one already, you would be hanging from a hook long time ago.'

'I had to know my business partner's plans. And after everything I know, I would still give it to you,' you confess. You do not believe the crown to be as powerful as Raphael is stating, but he does not need to know that. 'I just want a fair trade.'

'Ungrateful.'

'Please, Raphael,' he steps closer to you once again and you bounce to the side, avoiding a stone pillar of the indoor bath. 'Surely it's not such a big deal for you, especially once you get your crown.'

'Disingenuous.'

'Come on! Please! Karlach, Gale, Astarion and Hope. It's nothing for the Archdevil Supreme. You will be able to do all of that with a singular snap of your fingers.'

'Weak.'

'Listen to me, Raphael.' You stumble on a stone stair leading to the bath and immediately take a step to the side, changing the direction of your movements. 'I can assure you, if you will not get the crown from me, my team would rather die than side with you. I am your only ally.'

He chuckles.
'Amusing,' he adds to the list. 'Me, on the other hand. One of my many incredible features is that I am very patient. I waited millennia for the crown. I can wait more. But you…'

You dash backwards, seeing his eyes burn. For a second you feel as if he switched his forms, but there are no horns sprouting from his head and no wings stretching the muscles of his back. It's his eyes only, that could conquer the Hells themselves.

'You,' his voice is a quiet threat. Your heart pounds in your chest, pumping blood that rings in your ears. His words slice through the fog of the stress, remaining the only sound that you can hear loud and clear. 'You can be certain. That there will be no place on any of the planes, where I will not find you. I will tear you apart, piece by piece. Slowly, so that you will neither faint nor bleed out.' You can feel the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. 'I will keep you by my side, listening to you whine, beg, plead me to finally end your pathetic existence. And then, you will sign my deal and I will claim your soul to own you forever. You will be there to see and experience the true power of the crown once it lands right where it is meant to be - in my claws.'

Your hands tremble with terror and you fell the tear fall down your cheek. His voice freezes your legs, locking you in place, with your back near a desk and a standing bookshelf. He steps forward, invading your space and for the first time ever gets physical. He grasps your chin, earning a sharp inhale of fear from you. You can see his gaze, burning right through you. He doesn’t hide his cruel, sad*stic smirk, twisting his lips. Raphael takes great relish sensing your tension, seeing the single wet trail sliding down your face. You turn your gaze away and he squeezes his lips into a thin line, gripping your jaw painfully. You grasp the leather vambrace on his forearm and try to push his hand away, as your eyes dart back to him.

'I will simmer your mind in fear, making sure you live long enough to see the city falling to the Absolute, perhaps even beyond. Then, I will feast upon your flesh, devouring the robust taste of terror lingering on your skin, until everything that's left of you is a feeble essence you call your soul. I will claim it, making it mine for the eternity,' his hold on your jaw slides down to your throat and he raises his arm, forcing you to struggle for air and balance. 'Archdevil Supreme,' he says, glancing down at you with half-lidded eyes 'and his brand new plaything.'

He loosens his grasp and you turn your head to the side, suddenly aware of a new sensation settling in. His overwhelming display of power makes you small, weak; like drowning in a vast ocean with the sunlight cut off by a gigantic monster swirling around its prey. It shouldn't make you feel anything but terror and yet…

Raphael leans into your face, burying his nose in your hair. When you hear him inhale, you are certain he also sucks out the air from inside your lungs. Your limbs want to fall limp and allow you to collapse, the blood in your legs escapes, leaving a tingling sensation behind. The cold dread settles at the bottom of your spine, rendering you stiff, giving in to his power. He takes his time, enjoying the mix of jasmine and fear teasing his senses.

He suddenly chuckles once.
'You stench of it,' he says to your ear seductively.

His voice sends a wave of intoxicating pleasure and for a moment, the radiant aura drops. He grabs your neck and basically throws you towards the door simultaneously snapping his fingers to open it.

'See you soon, little mouse.'

You land at the balcony outside the room, unable to lift yourself up. Your head is spinning and your muscles are completely drained of their strength. You risk a glance at Raphael, feeling the sun rays kiss the traces of tears on your cheeks. His eyes glow in the dimmed room, matching the sad*stic smile resting on his face.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

'Can you, just once, reconsider helping everyone you just happen to meet?' Astarion asks you when your team gathered in the new camp around a happily cracking campfire. All of you are wearing clean camp clothes, sharing food and tea or other beverages amongst each other. The vampire stands above everyone else and a few people give him tired glances. 'First, refugees, then some gnomes in the Underdark, then some random stray kid,' he points his hand at Yenna, who tremendously helped them that day with gathering potion ingredients and cooking. For a second she looks scared at his comment. 'Just how severe your savior complex is?'

You stand up and walk around Jaheira and Halsin to place your hands on the elf's shoulders. You give him a gentle squeeze and look at him seriously, pleasantly surprised that he did not retreat from your touch. A few months ago, if you dared to be so affectionate, your hands would have been probably cut off.

'Astarion,' you start gently. 'I know that it's not the safest course of action, but we killed so many of our foes. We killed Orin, a literal champion of God of Murder. I know that compared to Raphael she was a small fry, but I think if we plan carefully, we will succeed. And I think we are more than prepared to obtain the hammer and free Hope.'

The vampire sighs and turns his gaze up to the sky.
'He used to like us, you know. I think it's no longer the case.'

'You are most likely correct,' you admit and look at Karlach pleadingly.

'Who cares! He's a devil. If he ever liked us, it's because he knew that there is a lot to gain here.'

'And dealings with the devils are never fair,' Wyll adds, supporting his seated position on his left hand. 'I think Tav did the best thing possible. If negotiations are not possible, then we can either put all of our trust in The Emperor, which I do not like, there is not a lot of differences between a devil and a mind-flayer, or steal the Hammer and free Hope,' the comment about not trusting the Emperor makes Lae'zel nod approvingly.

'But wouldn't it be safer to just steal the Hammer? Maybe we could actually buy ourselves time to escape.'

'No,' Karlach comments. 'Even if we will be able to escape with the Hammer and with or without Hope, we escape to the Material Plane. If you kill Raphael here, he just comes back. He will haunt us for the eternity. And then, you can be sure, soldier, that we run out of supplies, potions of healing, scrolls, Hells!' Karlach flexes her arms and makes a motion with her foot as if trying to kick a rock. 'Our own stamina, too! We either strike now, or just forget about it.'

You look at Karlach with admiration in your eyes.

'And as much as I don't like to go back there, because it is still technically inside Avernus, the engine is at home in Hells. I will be on my best performance.'

You look around your group, eyes setting on Gale.
'And then, it leaves us with the case of the crown.'

'Right,' he replies awkwardly, but shoots you a puppy-like glance.

'I don't think we should even consider taking it ourselves, as much as some of us really do enjoy the idea of having so much power,' you gently squeeze Astarion's forearm and he smirks. In the short moment when your attention darts to the vampire spawn, Gale shifts uneasily. After reading Annals of Karsus, Astarion is not the only one whose sight is set on gaining power. Your gaze returns to Gale. 'I think that if there is a chance, we should either destroy it or have it in some kind of a hidden, safe place, which would mean - Mystra's domain.'

'Great point!' Gale points his finger at you.

You take a breath in and look across the faces of your allies. After all this time there are still moments when you find it hard to believe that you have so much authority as their leader. All of the eyes are glued to you and no one is trying to cut you off or interrupt your speech. They just want to hear your plan and it seems like they really do have a lot of trust in you. You aren't the one to give yourself credit for some of your shotcalls that you in fact should acknowledge, even if some of more experienced warriors, such as Jaheira, actively complimented your tactic skills. Your fighting style was 'all means, no risk'. Well, when it comes to raiding a devil's mansion, it surely was anything but 'no risk' but you try to keep it to the minimum.

'To sum up,' you announce. 'We managed to complete all of the tasks for the day, our potion supplies are back on the track, we have more Giant Hill Strength potions for you Karlach and Lae'Zel and myself. We have a leftover barrel of runepowder and a scroll that is capable of protecting us from anything,' you list out and look around, making sure that the protection wards are still active and Korrilla isn't sneaking anywhere around. 'I also found out about something called the hellfire,' you look at Karlach to see if there are any reactions on her face. She lifts her eyebrows just a tiny bit and Gale nods vigorously. 'It seems that Raphael might be a wielder of hellfire infused magic and from what I understand, our usual potions of fire resistance will be of little help, as this is not just a simple protection against the fire element, it's literal infernal magic. However, on top of everything else, we also have very fancy arrows for Astarion, arrows which specialty is to slay fiends. I think it's about damn time we use them and it would be a good idea to dip them in that oil that could reduce some of Raphael's defences. With the runepowder bomb, protection dome, arrows of fiend slaying, potions of speed and strength, I think our chances are incredible,' you look around your team. 'Who is willing to go?'

'You really weren't lying, were you?' Helsik asks in a pure state of disbelief.

'Not at all,' you respond. 'Is there a way of telling if the master is in the house?' you ask without giving any particular details.

She waves her hand at you and you hand her over 200 gold coins.
'I was about to say that it's not enough, but I am starting to believe that you are going to be one of my very few returning clients,' she admits with an impressed nod. She looks at Karlach, grasping a runepowder barrel sitting on her shoulder. She looks clearly concerned at the sight of the flame aura dancing around tiefling's skin and the extremely powerful bomb.

'Don't worry, it won't light itself up,' you assure her, seeing the worried expression.

Helsik nods and then set her gaze somewhere behind your team. 'There. The orb of infernal envisioning. Gaze into it and say who are you looking for.

You follow her sight and notice an orb so dark, it looks like it's made of dark matter itself. It doesn't appear to be reflecting any light, despite plenty shining through the building's windows. You walk to the table upon which the device is set and whisper. 'Raphael.'

The dark cloud shifts, drawing the shapes of surroundings. The softness of the fog disperses, revealing angles of walls, some furniture and a figure of a man in the center. The colors flood the scene and you recognise Raphael. He swirls a goblet of dark, bloody red wine he holds in his hand, then catches your eye and smiles. You push yourself away from the desk and shiver involuntarily. Even though you wanted to check on him, you begin to feel as if you are the one being constantly watched.

'Could he see me?' you ask.

'Hard to tell,' Helsik responds casually. 'But I wouldn't put it past him. It's a cambion of much higher power, compared to rest of his kin.'

This doesn't help. Your teammates stare at you, patiently waiting for your order. You grasp your fist and breathe out.

'Alright. Let's go,' you command and shift towards the staircase. 'Oh and Helsik... if we are to explode the barrel, wouldn't the flames go inside your house?'

She opens her mouth and a cut of, shocked sound leaves her throat. She then nods, her eyes widening with anxiety.

'Will you close the portal after us, then?'

'But then we have no escape route!' Astarion reminds you. 'And then we will have to fight the devil.'

'We have to fight him either way, soldier, remember?'

The vampire straightens his spine and clicks his tongue but doesn’t say anything else. He is clearly throwing a tantrum out of fear and has all the rights to do so. Facing off a devil in his own domain has got to be one of the scariest things your team has ever done. But then again, seeing the Bhaal's Temple might have been just as terrifying.

'I know of a portal room inside Raphael's house. To my knowledge there is a permanently activated portal to Baldur's Gate over there, so if you don't plan on blowing up the whole thing, my advice would be to head back through there when you are done. If that's possible, of course.'

'Or,' Gale jumps in. 'I can use Sending to contact you so you will re-open the gate.'

'Perfect!' You show him thumbs up and turn towards the staircase, heading to the top floor.

Your team follows you, the sounds of metal, leather and cloth armors rustling behind you and various scents of potions and oils coating weapons begin to mix together. The realisation sinks in. It's really happening. You are about to raid a devil's domain.

'Such a glorious battle ahead. Beheading the devil in order to free the enslaved prince Orpheus. It will make a fine tale for the young githyanki if we live to tell it,' Lae'Zel says passionately.

As you push the door leading to the closed portal open, all of you ignore The Emperor voicing his concerns and cautions about your mission. You really do not like how ever since Raphael planted a seed of doubt in your brains, the ilithid started sounding a lot more desperate than usual.

You lean towards the skull which you previously kicked and place it in it's designed place. The skull bursts in flames, simultaneously tearing a passage between planes in the middle of the bloody circle. You jump in, leading the way. Shadowheart, Lae'Zel, Astarion, Karlach and Gale follow you. The second you step inside, Hope materializes again.

'You are back! I hoped you would be. You didn't lie! You are back! Hope is back! I mean my hope is back.'

You slide across the floor to the dwarf woman.
'We are back. And we are back for you.'

She brings her fists towards her torso and jumps up once with excitement.
'I knew this day will come!'

You smile reassuringly and twist your body to point at your team, briefly introducing her to your companions.

'The one with the runepowder bomb, the gorgeous tiefling woman is Karlach. The pretty-great warrior, I mean both pretty and great warrior next to her is Lae'Zel. She's the best githyanki I've met. The sweet white-haired rogue is Astarion, he will support us with his bow today. The one casting a Mage Hand spell is Gale, very handsome as you can see. And the gorgeous cherry on top, another cleric just like you, is Shadowheart, she will aid us with protection today.'

Gale picks up the runepowder barrel with the Mage Hand, lifting it from Karlach's shoulder towards the ceiling.

'Do you know if Raphael always appears in this room when he teleports in?'

'Most of the time. We can be sure that he will not appear anywhere else today, because he will want us to believe that we can escape, just so he can enjoy our fear when he cuts off our exit route,' Hope explained in a chaos-less moment.

That does make sense. And that does certainly sound a lot like Raphael.

'Is Korrilla home?'

'In the Archive.'

You scratch your neck. If Raphael really cuts off the theatrics and goes all out and ambushes you the second you lift a hammer, you will be done for. This is the only thing that you are not prepared for and by all means have to avoid.

You push yourself to your feet and turn to your team. All of them are ready, waiting for your signal.
'Hope, please unlock the doors for us. I head straight for the Hammer, my team goes straight to the prison to take care of the imps guarding you,' you explain quickly and pop the cork of a speed potion. Your heart begins to race at an impressive pace. 'Good luck, everyone. Let's do this.'

As you draw a few controlled breaths inside your lungs, you connect your mind, body and soul once again. The years of practice under the keen eyes of your monastic teachers and something that they recognized as your 'natural talent' allow you to enter the state of flow and tranquility almost on command. You acknowledge the physical form of your body, how terrified it is of your approaching encounter, but you utilize the fear to heighten your senses.

One of the greatest monastery teachings is to acknowledge some of our inner demons, while not attempting to get rid of them. Only a fool is not scared in the face of grave danger. Only a fool ignores the warnings of other ineer demons. But at the same time, you would be equally foolish to let them fully control you, rendering you defenceless.

When you enter a state of balance, ying-yang, all of your body, mind and soul become one again. The breath has a rhythm, matching together with hastily beating heart and the soul hums quietly with them. In a matter of seconds, you enter a state of overflowing Ki, focusing on your Step of The Wind stance. You launch yourself forward with incredible speed, your mind set on your first, clear and simple goal. Go to the Archive.
Your team can't keep up with you, but then again, they are not supposed to. The second you dash to the Archive door, they turn to the right, continuing down the corridor, towards the prison.

The door slams open and for a second you get a flashback to your chaotic entrance to Raphael's room. The flashback goes away the moment your eyes are set on Korrilla.

'You were given a chance,' she comments, but your muscles propel you forward. 'You could turn away and live. When Raphael catches you, you will never enjoy anything again.'

The Archivist takes a few steps back and disappears in a cloud of cinders, clearly spooked by your arrival.

'Give me my heart's desire!' you say to the protection ward surrounding the Orphic Hammer and watch it drop down. Then, you grab the heavy weapon and turn around, amplifying your strength with Ki to aid you on your swift journey to the prison.

Korrila says something to your back, but you don't stop for chatting. When you leave the Archive, the debtors try to catch you, to attack you and each time one of them gets in your near proximity, they explode with flames smearing all over the floor, covering the marble tiles with infernal fire.

Your focus doesn't shift even at the sight of a massive orb rolling towards you. You simply switch the weight of your body to one of your sides, then leap towards a barrier and jump on top of it. You squeeze the muscles of your core and thighs maintaining the perfect balance and quickly step on the railing before jumping down, just far enough to bypass the orb covering your path.

As you pass the boudoir, you take a glance inside, noticing that the protection field is lifted. You take no time in wondering the reasons behind it, instead you dash to the end of the corridor. When you see the open hatch, you practically jump straight into the hole and land immediately into Karlach's arms. You throw the Hammer to Lae'zel and the sight of some burns and blood tells you that they smashed some of the imps to pieces.

Karlach sets you down and both of you run inside the prison, then jump on the metal platform with Hope suspended in the air, seeing Gale and Astarion fight the floating eyeballs you've seen before - the spectators. Astarion is clearly using his usual arrows, only relying on the radiant aura from the bow he is wielding. Although he likes to get the job done fast and efficiently, he is not wasting the Fiend slaying arrows on a small fry. A fantastic choice of action.

Lae'Zel smashes one of the crystals and you catch Hope's feet, as she suddenly hangs suspended on just one of her wrists. You make a quick mental note to use the open boudoir to your advantage after you've dealt with the defensive system of the House of Hope.

'Gale!' you shout to the wizard as soon as he finishes one last imp with a Witch Bolt spell. 'We need two water elementals on top of the hatch. There are some Infernal spheres rolling around the corridors.'

'I'm on it!' he responds and uses a Misty Step to teleport himself out of the prison.

'Astarion, are your arrows coated?'

'Coated and ready!'

Perfect, everything is going just as planned. Karlach and Lae'Zel were already oozing with the strength, so you don’t feel the need to confirm if they drank their potions.

Lae'Zel jumps from one platform to the other - the sight of githyanki psionics always leaving your mind blown - then shatters the second crystal. Hope lands in your arms and you jump toward the exit with her, afraid that she might be too weak to do that on her own.

'I can't believe the day I am free is today,' she admits to your ear.

Your two warrior companions join you and Astarion with Gale lead the way up the ladder. When you climb to the top of the hatch, you notice that some of the fire has been put down and the rolling spheres are already taken care of. The two water elementals swirl around the place, making sure no other orb rolls into your team.

Hope stands on her feet and you command your team to push forward. Astarion spots a few debtors hiding in the corners, trying to ambush you, but before they have a chance to do that, an arrow is sent their way and they explode in a wall of flames. The moment you approach the gargoyle statues, you tell your team to step inside and you yourself dash forward. You have taken no damage, but you've seen some burns on Karlach and Lae'Zel, so you let them know with a quick command to splash themselves with water.

You dash to the top of the bedroom.

'Haarlep!' you shout and the devil sits on top of the bed, tilting their head curiously. 'Please, get out. We are bringing hell to Hells.'

'Are you going to play here?' they ask.

'No, but I just wanted to warn you before you could get hurt,' you say.

'What in the f*ck am I seeing?' Karlach asks, suddenly spawning next to you.

Haarlep grins but you gently grab Karlach's arm and lead her away.
'I will tell you everything later, I promise. Are your burns alright?'

'Only the internal ones left!' she says, referencing her engine.

You nod once and you notice that Hope also decided to use the rejuvenating pool to her advantage. You gather your team around the entrance, scanning them wordlessly with your eyes, then burst into run heading to the foyer. Hope is right, Raphael does not interrupt you until you are a few meters away from the exit. Except that the exit is not there, Helsik deactivated it as the two of you established.

The air grows thicker and you can hear a sound similar to a distant explosion. A split second later you are blinded by a bright light and the master of the house steps from the beam onto the floor of his mansion.

Lae'Zel and Karlach step towards you, guarding your both sides. Hope is behind you, Astarion next to Karlach on your right and Gale is next to Astarion, closing the circle around Hope.

Raphael materializes and looks at all of you gathered in front of him with rage in his eyes. His brows are furrowed and you know that despite your recent meeting, he still didn’t expect you to have the audacity to waltz into his house again and this time take his prisoner and his Orphic Hammer.

You start switching your Ki stance, using the moment that is going to be spent on his theatrics, to enter a state of amplified defense and offense. You attempt to mix all of the auras together, balancing the radiant, necrotic and psychic force alike. It's now or never. Your last will.

'You.'

Raphael is most definitely displeased with every single one of your companions, but his words are aimed at you, slicing the space between the two of you like a spear. His invasive gaze never leaves your eyes. He snaps his fingers and your heart drops to the floor, but jumps right back up, as you realize that he just summoned Korrilla. The dwarf joins him at his side and Raphael snaps again, this time summoning Yurgir.

That does leave a bit of a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

'Korrilla, tell our unwelcomed guests about their upcoming tragic downfall.'

'You were given a choice,' she says obediently. 'Twice. You could have turned around and follow your senses, but instead you chose to face him. Master doesn't usually give second chances. And despite your priviledge you still made a fool out of yourself.'

'The only fool in the room is the one facing off her own sister,' you say and the glance you give her could turn her flesh into stone. 'I've seen the transcripts. It is time to beat some senses into you, Korrilla.'

The radiant aura explodes from your body as the words leave your mouth. For a second, the light covers your eyes entirely. Raphael stares at you and chuckles, then claps a few times, so clearly amused.

'SISTER OH SISTER! I've wept and cried but all would be well if you were just there by my side.'

You tighten your fists, fury taking control over all your senses. You would do everything to smash her dumb face onto the floor, punish her for doing all of that to Hope. How could she be so vile to do this. What was it that possibly made her a servant of Raphael?

Despite the rage, you still know this is not the right course. Your seeping energy quickly threads an armor of resolve and you set another clear goal. Korrilla must not die. Not here. Not by your hand. Not like this.

'Hope, you are such a piteous thing. All it takes for you is a crumb from the table and you forget about the centuries of starvation. This insolence has earned you centuries more,' Raphael states, his lips pressed into a thin line, brows drawn, deepening the wrinkles at the bridge of his nose. 'I might even forgive your little rebellion once you are suitably chastised,' his cold facade drops to reveal a hint of a dreamy, cruel expression.

'This is NOT a rebellion. It's a revolt. I am REVOLTING!'

'Ha! Ha! Then HOPE dies today!' his smile fades away when he turns your head towards you. 'Commander, you can salvage the trophies from these insects once I'm done with them. But make sure that this one sees everything.'

You grit your teeth and look deep into Raphael's eyes. If there is anything that disturbs your balance today, it's the sight of him. You are still not sure. You still want to allow yourself for hesitation, but you know you can't. It's not about your life now. The fates of Hope, Gale, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae'Zel and Astarion are in your hands. You lead all of them over here so you cannot allow your resolve to waver.

'These insects,' Yurgir says quietly. 'Struck me down beneath the Shadowlands. They are worthy opponents.'

'Yurgir!' you call to the orthon, looking into its burning snake eyes. 'Don’t you want to face a real challenge as a fellow warrior?'

The devil smiles and you are shocked by the amount of softness suddenly visible on his face.

'Facing a devil in his own domain. That takes courage, little rabbit. I am with you.'

Your heart squeezes at his response.

'How tiresome. Am I to understand that you wish to die with them?' Raphael asks, not even looking at Yurgir, his eyes never leaving yours.

'I do not wish to die with them. I wish to fight with them!'

'It’s all the same in the end. So be it,' Raphael pauses and traces his thumb on his fingers, dropping the eye contact with you. 'If you have any last words, make it quick. It will only take a moment to finish you.'

You stare at him and strengthen your aura. You open your mouth, but the words can't leave your throat.

'Some part of me will miss you,' is all you want to say, but the reveal will not do any good. It won't soften his anger, but it might shatter your resolve.

You shake your head once instead and hear him say:
'No words? No matter. You will scream before the end, little mouse. Now… down come the claws.'

He takes a half step backwards, raising his hands towards the ceiling. The second he does this, you can hear a dreadful sound of the organs, booming across the halls of the house. His amused, toothy grin vanishes from his face as he notices the barrel suspended in the air. You launch yourself like a torpedo towards Korrilla. She manages to cast two Eldritch Blasts which sting your skin, burning the first layer of your light armor. A few cambions materialise, summoned by their master. One of them throws a tridant your way, but you manage to avoid it. Simultaneously, Gale casts a gust of wind attempting to push Yurgir to the side. The orthon is too heavy, but gets a hint and begins moving to one of the four shining pillars. Shadowheart casts the Dome of Invulnerability around your team and when you manage to grasp Korrilla, you can already see the shield hiding your teammates.

'Stupid DWARF!' you shout and toss the warlock towards Lae'Zel, who throws her inside the protection spell.

Raphael leaps towards you and you duck low to the ground, but his claws slice through your back. The pain is burning, but you know that your life depends on you pushing forward. You rotate your leg, sliding across the floor and Karlach leans forward, grasping your ankle just to jerk you towards the protection spell. Once the two of you are about to be enter the barrier, Gale releases the Mage Hand and Astarion sends a Firebolt igniting the barrel.

In a moment of improvisation, Karlach manages to throw a void bulb to the center, targeting some armored cambions that appeared in the room at Raphael's command, pulling them all except Yurgir to the centre of the explosion. You get back to your feet and guard Lae'Zel and Karlach with your spread arms, as the explosion takes out every single one of Raphael's minions.

You can feel Hope casting a spell on your back to stop it from bleeding, while Yurgir chuckles a few times, clearly amused by the plan you came up with.

The smoke from the explosion falls down surprisingly fast and you can see an outline of Raphael's cambion form as he is struggling to regain his balance. You expect that his ears are ringing but he takes surprisingly little damage from the explosion itself.

Karlach, wielding the Orphic Hammer again, dashes to one of the four pillars emanating with odd, greenish energy, similar to the souls you've seen floating around the corridors in this house. You and clearly the rest of your team suspects that their aura might be powering him up. You've seen enough of similar things to this one to know better than to ignore them.

'Astarion!' you shout and the elf jumps up to the pedestal, getting a better angle as he releases an arrow of fiend slaying.

He pins Raphael's foot to the marbled floor and you open your hands, dashing towards the massive cambion. He snaps the arrow while the head is still stuck inside his flesh and reaches his claws towards you. But dealing a blow is not your real goal here. You know he is going to be hyperfixated on you during this combat and you plan on exploiting that weakness.

You generously bend your right knee and aim at his belly, but your punch doesn't earn any reaction from him. He reaches to you, grabbing your head and in the same moment, Lae'Zel's sword lands on top of his scalp. His focus shifts and he uses his horns to slide the blade away from his skin. He continues to grasp your head, but you can feel the shift in his strength. Sensing your only opportunity, you amplify the Ki aura swirling inside your body and touch his belly, interrupting his own life force flow - a special shugenja monk technique.

Lae'Zel rotates her sword and slices him across the torso. The devil groans and throws you at Astarion. The momentum of his throw overwhelms you and you are unable to cast any spell that would nullify the impact. Astarion catches you but falls to the ground and both of you smash to the deactivated pillar behind you.

Raphael casts some infernal version of Burning Hands, leaving scorching marks on Lae'Zel's skin. The githyanki goes on her knee and Karlach jumps in, quickly engaging the opponent. Yurgir smashes a pillar closest to him and fires a massive crossbow bolt at Raphael.

The master of the house burns the projectile before it hits him, but it buys you and Astarion just enough time to join in. Korrilla either gave up or has been knocked down, as you do not recall her casting anything besides the Eldritch blasts.

Raphael blocks the Orphic Hammer with his forearm but grins in pain, the legendary weapon capable of smashing a soul prison is clearly infused with enough power to hurt even a devil in his own domain.

Suddenly, a wave of bright light passes through the room and you can feel your Ki accumulating a newfound power from the aftereffects of the spell.

'Divine Intervention!' Hope shouts, raising her staff, her eyes glowing with light. Your skin covers with goosebumps and you dash to Raphael, engaging him in a ruthless battle.

Although it's completely unfair, the battle is going in your favor.

Gale casts a Cold Shield on you and when Raphael's fist meets your jaw, you only feel it bounce back as the Weave releases a freezing shockwave. Your Furry of Blows targets his throat, jaw, eyes and throat again. You can hear a swoosh and in the next moment an arrow pierces through his flesh.

His eyes are filled with infernal rage. He blocks another strike from you, knocking you down with a swing of his tail. His foot presses to your leg and emits an infernal fire, that burns away your pantleg and attempts to melt the flesh. Then, he grasps Karlach's horn and leaps forward, smashing his knee into her torso. She coughs out blood and is sent flying across the room a second later. Lae'Zel slices through the skin on his feet, knocking him off balance and Astarion adds another arrow, piercing through his left calf. Raphael smashes githyanki's vambraces, crushing her bone underneath the steel armor.

You grab his horns and pull him towards the ground, as Yurgir charges in, smashing the back of Raphael's head. The cambion falls down and you roll away, then pull him again, twisting his body towards you. Shadowheart casts healing spells at Lae'Zel and Karlach, then sends a Guidance Bolt Raphael's way and your blows land on Raphael's vital points as you sit on his torso.

You can see the blood covering the floor below him, mixing up with his crimson shade of skin. You keep punching, staggering him, dealing relentless blows, feeling the tears of frustration and mental exhaustion gather in your eyes.

'Sign it!' you shout at him, as his body rests below you. 'Sign the deal!' his eyes keep staring at you, reaching your soul. 'SIGN IT!' He grabs your throat but with another arrow piercing his shoulder, his arm falls limply to the ground. 'SIGN IT WITH ME!'

'No more deals, little rabbit,' Yurgir says above you and you raise your hands, trying to stop him from dealing the final blow.

He doesn't. The orthon's fists tear through Raphael's skull, breaking his horns, smashing his face into pulp. Some of the blood lands on you and you feel the exhaustion taking control over you. Your shoulders fall to their sides and you can't help but release a quiet sob, feeling the Ki - the life force - leave the cambion's body forever.

No more deals. It's over. The house of Hope is now a tomb.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The smiles, laughs, all the sounds of the celebration seem distant. The tadpole swimming behind your eye is no more. It's a curious thing, really, how one can find themselves used to the feeling of a constant intruder, yet feel odd once it's finally gone. But the tadpole is not the only factor leaving a sensation of hollowness within. There is a much bigger void which yearns to be filled.

The Dead Three - Ketheric, Gortash and Orin have been defeated. Alongside them, the elderbrain, the soldiers of the Absolute and most of your companions, who have already parted their ways. Karlach and Wyll returned to Avernus, Astarion was forced to run away from the sunlight and didn't return to the camp. Gale was also missing, stuck in the docks, trying to retrieve the crown which apparetly landed into the river. And Lae'Zel flew off at the back of a red dragon, heading straight to her next objective - an uprising against the queen Vlaakith.

You pull back from your thoughts and return to the present. As your eyes dart away from the cracking campfire, you realise that the sadness gnawing at your very soul has a very clear root cause. You never wanted to kill Raphael, that much was obvious from the start. But you would never have suspected it to affect you so heavily.

You turn your neck to observe Halsin, Jaheira, Minsc and Shadowheart winding down from the exhausting battle that concluded only a few hours ago. Minthara seems to be missing, but it's not a huge surprise considering her lack of satisfaction at your decision to let go of the control of the Absolute. Perhaps she needed some space and air to collect her thoughts, you don't blame her.

As your nearby companions yawn loudly a few times, you decide to go on a walk. Your body wants to rest, but the mind remains restless. Something is terribly off, your intuition guides your feet forward. And as you attempt to ground yourself in the present, trying to focus on anything but the raging guilt, you find yourself traversing the city until you stand in front of Devil's Fee. Without knocking on the entrance, you peek inside and are surprised to see some bedrolls splayed out on the floor. It seems that Helsik decided to aid the struggling city and lend the available space to the temporary homeless. You find it to be a kind gesture, despite a possibility of her hidden agenda; the diabolist might want to keep herself on the low and having the building locked out in the times of such need is bound to attract all sorts of attention.

You smile gently at the people reaching out to you with gratitude, trying to make themelves noticeable as you pass by their beds and stand in front of the counter.

'Ah! My returning client, the devil slayer!' Helsik smirks, but her comment only makes you feel worse. 'How can I be of aid? If you came to buy some potions from me, I'm afraid I ran out. Especially on the healing solutions.'

'No, it's nothing like that,' you admit quietly. 'May I use your Orb of Infernal Envisioning once again?'

She regards you for a moment, tilting her head curiously.

'Choosing your next target already?'

You give her a small smile which doesn't reach your eyes.
'Nothing of sorts. Just... closing a chapter.'

The dwarf frowns. After several seconds she motions her chin towards the table near a statue of a cambion holding a hilt of a sword to their abdomen. 'Go ahead.'

You nod and push yourself from the counter. As you stop in front of the Orb, you gain awareness of your own nervousness. Your hands sweat, fingertips twitch - hesitant to brush the surface of the glass orb enchanted with infernal magic. With eyes closed, you draw a deep breath in, placing your palms on the counter on both sides of the device.

'Raphael,' you whisper and open eyes.

Just like before, the impenetrable darkness inside the orb sweeps to the sides, painting a picture. A shiny, giant structure appears in view and soon a gentle touch of cool blue saturates it. A glacier? Two skew lines run down the ice block, reflecting a fragment of the light coming from somewhere outside of the field of your vision. Chains? You lean towards the orb, trying to see the picture more clearly and the moment your eyes connect with the one you seek, your heart freezes.

Chained to a glacier, hangs Raphael. Bloodied, broken, ragged. His flesh is torn, bleeding, his claws ripped out, head - usually held so up high - now falls limply onto the chest. The very few inches of his body that remain unpainted with his own gore look ill in colour, drawing a drastic difference between the rest of his form. The moment your eyes connect lasts merely a second, before his gaze drops down, exhausted. Below him, a pool of hot blood melting away the ice covering the floor tiles of a cell. It's hard to say where he's being held, but the longer you stare into the orb, the more horrified you become. There is a looming presence, something dreadful, freezing you in your place. Devil's Fee remains filled with chatter, occasional sobs, sounds of people gathering around for a small evening meal, but you are disconnected from it all. There is a monster lurking behind your shoulders, sucking your energy out of your limbs. The light inside Raphael's cell falters and you jump back, cutting off the thread of terror, before it weaves it's way to ensnare you for what feels like eternity. Just a moment ago you felt... you felt as if something was there, trying to catch you in it's jaw and consume you.

'Tav?' you hear a voice next to you. You turn your head towards the warlock and look up at her. You fell onto your back. 'Are you alright?' It's Helsik.

'I'm...' you start and turn back to the orb. 'Not sure.' You blink and dart your eyes around the place, convinving yourself there's no need to feel endangered.

Helsik observes you carefully, watching how you brush the dust off your comfortable robe and stand back on your feet. She can't be certain who were you trying to see through the Orb and she finds herself unable to verify, as the image inside the sphere managed to darken.

'I'll be leaving. Thank you for your time, Helsik,' you give her a quick glance to which she nods.

Your feet carry you back through the city, across the cobbled street filled with debris from the elder brain assault. Your eyes look to the river Chionthar, it's surface reflecting the moon shining above your head. A few autumn clouds fight the stars for dominance on the dark night sky, protecting the ruined city from their cold glow. Several destroyed nautiloids peek above the surface of the water, faint smoke escaping from inside the ships.

How long has it been? Exactly ten days and seventeen hours since you returned from the House of Hope, victorious. You try to understand how is this possible. Was the vision inside the sphere a fabrication? Was someone in control of the Orb of Infernal Envisioning? If yes, was there a way to verify it?

You ponder for a moment and decide against it. No. You can't really do that. It might be worth asking Helsik about it, but she is most likely going to demand a payment for her services and you can't afford any more of unnecessary spendings - the city and people around you are in much higher need of resources.

You let your legs carry you back to your camp, allowing yourself to enter an autopilot mode while you keep wondering about your options. If the vision is true, what is the reason behind Raphael being held alive? And howwas he still alive to begin with? You watched as Yurgir slammed his fists into his skull, turning his once handsome features into a bloodied pulp of red flesh. There was no life in him anymore, none that your Ki would react to, anyway.

Suddenly, you smell a hint of sulphur, the very essence of Hells. The closer you get to your tent, the more intense it becomes. As you round a corner and step closer, you recognise Mizora. She is standing near your campsite, staring at a stranger with a neutral, unreadable smirk. It appears that she brought some infernal company.

'Oh there she is, my dearest pet,' the stranger says. When you approach the devils, you notice the newcomer's features; they are masculine, but not rough. Extremely, undeniably pretty, almost doll-like, giving an impression of a masculine trophy wife. Their skin looks like dark steel, kissed by a gentle tinge of blue. But the horns - that's what's truly alluring - they hug the sides of their head like small, delicate antlers peeking out of the short brown dreadlocks, some falling towards the thick brows and purple iris burning on a black background.

'I'm sorry? Do we know each other?' your eyes glance to Mizora, who remains silent; her lips curved in a slight smile, but the eyes remain expresionless. Great, just as you thought that current state of Raphael will be your one and only infernal-concern.

The stranger stretches their lips in a seductive smile, baring sharp fangs teasing the edge of their bottom lip. The devil's eyes turn red as his whole form glows. A moment later, you can see glamoured Raphael in front of you. 'Haarlep?' you ask surprised.

'Me,' they bow before you, mimicking their previous master.

'Who would have thought that the hero of Baldurs Gate had such acquaintances,' Mizora teases. 'And here I was, thinking that all you sleep with are your monastic vows.'

'You wouldn't be entirely wrong,' you counter. 'I wasn't given much of a choice at the time with Haarlep.'

'Wasn't given a choice?' they muse in Raphael's voice. 'As if a little thief such as yourself deserves one.' They step closer to you, wrapping their arm around your shoulder. The grimace on your face makes them pull away before merging back to their own form. Haarlep attempts to embrace you again, but you shake your head to the sides. The incubus stares at you irritated.

'Mizora,' you address the cambion. 'I wanted to thank you for your help with the Netherbrain. We might've ended up losing more allies than we did if it weren't for you.'

'Oh, not a problem, really,' she responds sweetly, batting eyelashes. 'I wouldn't miss such an opportunity. Not when my favourite pack of strays has a high chance of a miserable failure. You can always count on me being in the front row seat when that happens.'

You stare at her blankly. 'Of course...'

She bites on the sharp claw of her index finger and gives you a smirk.

'And you? Why are you here?' you address Haarlep.

'Why, to visit you, of course,' they respond, tilting their head. 'I thought the little thief might want some comfort after all the... difficult struggles,' Haarlep slowly steps behind you, their claws just barely hovering above your shoulders. 'A little treat.'

'I am not interested, Haarlep,' you admit gently.

'With no room to be convinced?' their breath brushes the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You shake it off. 'No, thank you.'

'I wanted to express my gratitude,' they move their wings forward and you spot them in the corners of your vision. Haarlep tilts them further, hinting that they might embrace you at any given moment. You make eye contact with Mizora, idly observing Haarlep with a weird expression on her face; it's not quite certain if she is deep in thought, disgusted or taken aback. Perhaps her face shows a little bit of everything. 'Ever since your heroic adventures in Avernus, my business has been flourishing.' They raise their head and hands towards the sky.

You look up, tilting your head enough to see them. 'What do you mean?'

'Well,' they stroke their finger across their lips, taking a pause for the effect. 'It's been a long while since I was allowed out of the House of Hope. And now that I'm back, it appears I was dearlymissed. And believe it or not, it isn't just me, but my brat as well.'

You turn around to face him, frown on your face. 'What about him?' you ask, a cold sensation spreading from your neck and onto your shoulders.

'How to quite put it...' Haarlep draws circular shapes in the air with their claw, avoiding your gaze for a long moment, taking their sweet time to answer. 'I'm making a fortune selling evenings in his form. Mephistopheles' court is rather happy about his demise and they are very keen to celebrate it behind closed doors. Rather tasteless to desire a dead man's body, even for hellspawn, isn't it?'

You feel as if the time stopped for a moment, before the initial shock passes and a familiar feeling stirs within.
'Except that he isn't dead, is he?' you ask, gritting your teeth.

Haarlep glances your way, their purple iris piercing you with curiosity.
'If you want to know Cania's dirtiest secrets, there is a way of...'

'No,' you interrupt him, balling your hands into fists. 'I've seen him through an orb of infernal envisioning.'

'Then why do you ask, if you already know? Were you expecting me to lessen the pain, put a sweet, deceiving vision in your head?' they ask and take a step closer, sliding their hand to your waist. 'I can make you forget of all the things bothering you, if you just give me a chance,' they look at you pleadingly.

'What do they do to him?'

'Oh, plenty. The unsated fantasies of residents of Hells reach far and beyond. Mostly, it's rendering me into a sobbing, aching, whining mess while I wear his form. The devils do love a good performance and Raphael's misery seems to be stroking their nerves just right. They are so eager to have their fill.'

You gently brush their hand off your waist and step outside the ring of light cast by the campfire. Guilt, now amplified by the recent revelation, weights you down until your shoulders fall limply at your sides. Was there any way this could've been avoided?

'But why is this allowed?' you ask, your voice high pitched. 'Is Mephistopheles not doing anything about that? Or is he-?' when your eyes meet Haarlep, they shrug.

'He keeps the real thing inside his dungeon. I can't say I ever ventured down there and I'd like to keep it this way.'

'And you?' you address silent Mizora. 'Don't you have anything to say?'

'Me?' she points at herself, raising her eyebrows. 'I can say whatever you want me to say, if that's your preference. Just don't delude yourself I'll mean any of it.' You narrow your eyes at her. 'Look, he got what he wanted, didn't he? This is not an uncommon occurrence in our world. It's all Raphael's fault that he didn't realise who he's going up against.'

'Not an uncommon occurrence for a father to torture his own kin?'

'Well, that's not quite what I meant,' she responds unbothered, even slightly amused.

The anger inside of you turns into rage.

'You have some infernal law, do you not? The one you're supposedly so serious about?'

'Oh yes, we do,' she shifts into a more tense pose, her eyes turning into slits. 'One that isn't all that kind to traitors.'

'Traitors? He had been defeated in battle!' you counter. Haarlep watches the both of you, lazily swooshing their tail back and forth, left and right.

'But he was actively scheming against his father,' Mizora explains with annoying smirk on her face. 'And not just him, for that matter.'

'And the plan hasn't been fulfilled. Does he have no laws? No way of... I don't know, demanding a swift death at least? Can you not help him in any way?'

'Why in the sweet hells would I do that?' she tilts her head to the side.

'Because you're one of his kind.'

'Ha! Ha! Ha!' she laughs hysterically. You recognise that sound. It's the same type of fake laughter you've heard from her when she ordered Wyll to free her from the nautiloid pod. 'What a shameless, sheer display of pure idiocy! How glad I am to have stumbled upon your group, you've proven to be a reliable source of entertainment - time and time again. Ah!' she breathes out and meets your unyielding gaze.

A moment of silence falls upon the camp. You take a deep breath into your lungs, awareness spreading as your chest expands. You take back your emotions under control, reaching out to calm resolve.

'You, on the other hand,' you begin coldly. 'Almost sold me on your performance. However, I have some feedback I'd like to share. The laughter wasn't quite believable,' you state and notice a small spasm of tension in the muscles of her jaw. 'It gave me an impression of a desperate attempt at concealing something. Fear, perhaps. You're scared, Mizora.'

'I think you took us on an expedition today. One venturing deep into the depths of your stupidity,' she announces with venom dripping from her voice.

'You are aware that one day this might very well happen to you. If, one day, your infernal nature, triggered by the never-ending pursuit of power, will incline you into going against Zariel.' You step closer to her and notice her impulse to put more distance between the two of you. 'You know you might be the one dangling inside some filthy dungeon.'

'You're such. A. Fool,' she recollects. 'You've read a few mortal books about Hells and you deem yourself worthy of forging an opinion?'

'Then tell me where in my conclusion lies a mistake.' She looks at you with a mask of disgust. 'Tell me,' you repeat quietly. 'Or get your sulphur-reeking-self out of my camp. Now.'

You take a half-step backwards, giving her some space in case she chooses to teleport. Mizora examines you for several seconds before turning on her heel and covering herself with the curtain of her wings. She proceeds to walk away without a word, until she freezes and turns her head, allowing you to look at her profile.

'Thanks for keeping my favourite pup on his leash. I have a feeling we will talk again.'

With that, she is gone, leaving naught more but floating embers behind.

When last one of them fades away, you are already on your way to a small crypt, pushed by the impulse of your very intuition. You knock on the entrance and inside, you find one of your oldest companions (both literally and figuratively). One, who carries himself with a certain aura of mysterious divinity.

'Withers, I need your guidance. I know you aren't exactly the type to talk, but I would greatly appreciate if you could help me figure something out.'

'Ask freely,' he responds, his voice slicing through the stagnant air of the ruined chapel.

'Do devils have souls?'

'They do indeed. Yet, instead of the soul existing as a distinct entity, it materializes in the guise of their corporeal vessel,' he responds.

His eyes never leave yours and a feeling of calm embrace washes over you, as you hesitate to ask another question. Withers waits patiently, floating steadily just a few centimetres above the ground, holding a heavy, dusty tome in his hands. You look around the wooden benches in the chapel, glance towards the green flames of lit candles. The companion's gaze remains free of judgment, but you can't help but feel ashamed at the prospect of him knowing who exactly you might have in mind.

'When we first met, you asked me a question. 'What is the worth of a single mortal's life?'' you quote him, looking back into his pale eyes. 'But the answer I am looking for is the value of a half-mortal, half-devil's life. A soul of a cambion.'

Despite the dimmed light inside the chapel, you can't shake off the feeling that there is a smile lurking on Wither's face. A few seconds pass before he responds in a kind tone.

'For months have I observed thee, and thy judgment is known unto me. The gleam in thine eye speaks volumes, yet be aware that the path thou dost tread may lead thee to an end.' You lower your head at his words. 'But the answer thou dost seek already lies within thee. My response shall not alter the course, for the wheel of fate hath begun spinning anew. Trust thy calling, for it shall guide thee to the one thoust seek.'

Once you return back to your camp, Haarlep is still there, patiently awaiting your arrival. You pull them inside your tent, hating the shameless excitement when you ask them to change to Raphael's form.

'What are you doing?' they ask, surprised, when you push Haarlep back onto a bedroll and crawl on top of them, hiding your face in the base of their neck.

'Hopefully transferring some body warmth to him. Will you help me free him?'

'Why would I?' Haarlep asks and the question stings your chest. You can't imagine just how difficult it is to live in a society where everyone turns their back on one another. The incubus senses your sorrow and adds: 'I am still bound to Mephistopheles. Besides, I don't own my brat anything.'

'What can I do, then?' you ask pleadingly, but the question is rhetorical. What does one do with the devils, really? Strike a deal, of course.

For the longest moment the incubus remains silent, wagging their tail with a loud thud like an annoyed cat.

'Little thief?'

'Hm?' you hum, covering as much of Raphael's impressive body as you can. You consider stroking his wings for a while, but decide against it. It might be a too intimate of a gesture.

'There are better things that can raise the body temperature,' they lift their hips teasingly and you can feel claws on your waist. You sigh into the incubus' neck. 'And you can keep me sated, fed.'

'Maybe another time.'

'Naughty liar,' they coo.

You lay down in silence, grateful for Haarlep's lack of further attempts at persuasion. There is almost no sound of the wind coming from the outside and all you can hear is Haarlep's breathing and the hiss of the campfire, slowly burning out.

'Little thief?' they prompt again. Despite your face pressed into their neck, you can almost see their smirk in front of your closed eyes.

'Yes?'

'I'm sure your dear Raphael could use some co*ck warming.'

Your eyes roll behind the eyelids. 'Shame then, that he's not getting any.'

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

It has become a sort of a ritual.

You get up early, continue reading on an empty stomach while sitting outside in cold, maintaining a careful flow of your life force within the mind, body and soul. Eventually, you get up completely ignoring the snow pile that has gathered around your seated body, then enter a small shack where you light a happily dancing fire, allowing yourself the joy of cooking a nice, filling meal.

It's been months since you left Baldur's Gate. You sometimes wonder how the city looks after all those days citizens spent rebuilding it. You hope that most of the work is done, now that the winter has started. You would hate to see families trying to survive on the streets in such cold.

You moved out of the city with Shadowheart and Halsin. The new Selune's cleric accompanied the two of you for most of the journey back to the Moonrise Towers before partying ways just to head towards the city of Waterdeep, seeking some answers in the famous wizarding town.

You are truly grateful for Halsin. Although you consider yourself to be close with most of the so-called Heroes of the Baldur's Gate, the old and wise druid understands you on a completely different level. After all, a monk and a druid are a much closer neighbors than a githyanki fighter and a monk, or a wizard of Waterdeep and a monk. No. Halsin has the insight and the knowledge of the nature's laws beyond measure and he is never a type of person to judge.

That is why you found support of your manic plans in his presence.

With your belly filled with delicious carrot soup full of root spices, you stand up to your feet and walk around the open fireplace, removing some of the bigger branches, throwing them away from the flame. Then, you grab your previously prepared bag and leave the shack once again. There is a heavy leather pouch placed next to the doorway and you shove it into your bag.

You glance behind your shoulder one last time. There is a high chance that this is your last time ever seeing this place. You smile to yourself, taking a great relish in the appeal of the simple hut you helped to build on those lands.

As you turn to your right, walking through the piling snow, you stop nearby one of the naked trees, taking a glance at the effuse branches spreading above your head. You reach with your hand towards a small bird house, brushing off the snow decorating the top of it.

'You will bloom soon again,' you say under your breath, then continue towards the building towering over the horizon.

Once inside, you head over to the prison, climbing down the stairs, pushing the heavy door open. Not much has changed inside in here, except for the lack of the nautiloid colony, that is. You step onto a bridge leading to a fortified tower, which once served as the heart of the prison, controlling the mechanism of each cell doors and providing a passage to the now dormant offering altar.

You enter the tower and pick up a human skull from the table, placing it on the North-East side of the bloody circle. Just like back in Devil's Fee, the skull bursts into flames and a portal to a different plane is being torn open. You brace yourself and step inside, just to appear in the familiar, yet changed mansion you and your team once raided.

'Tav!' you hear Hope calling to you. The door to the portal room opens with a sinister sound of the hinges and you see the cleric, looking better than ever. 'Wow, I need to get that door fixed.'

You smile and greet her kindly.
'How are you? How is Karlach and Wyll?'

'I'm great! They are currently resting, I will send them your greetings if you want.'

'That would be awesome. I missed them so much, but we might see each other again,' you say, but you aren't convinced of the words leaving your mouth.

Hope is quick to pick up on that and wraps her arms around her body, looking at you with a focused frown on her face.
'So today is the day then, huh?'

You nod.
'Yea.'

A moment of silence washes over you, interrupted only by the sound of the wind constantly swirling through Avernus.

'You don't have to do this, you know,' she says finally.

'I know. But I set my whole being into it a long time ago. It's been months,' you say plainly. 'Months full of preparations.'

'Is he even still there?' Hope asks quietly.

'Unfortunately. I managed to reach Mephistopheles only last week and confirmed that Raphael is still alive.'

'Huh,' she says simply, not quite sure what else to add.

'Hope?'

'Yes?'

'Will I ever receive your forgiveness?' The look on your face is sincere.

You are very much aware of what the dwarf has gone through when Raphael was around, but you are now bound by a verbal oath, that you will put him back in the dirt if he ever dares to hurt her again. Or her sister. Or any of your companions for that matter. As for the rest of the people? Well, it was inevitable. You know that everyone is a master of their own fate and the devil deals are meant to appeal to mortal temptations but it is up to the mortal to decide if the deal is worth taking or not. After all, even if Raphael stays in Cania, just to eventually die by the hands of his father, a new devil will find its way to his previous hunting grounds. And what is better than a devil you don't know? As much as it is a bittersweet situation, you are now sure that you are capable of defeating him if such need arises again.

Hope studies your soft, concerned look for quite a while, then responds, her face relaxed, soothed out of any wrinkles.
'You had it the second you stepped through my door.'

You go to your knees, place your palms together and press your thumbs to your forehead, bowing your head before her. It is a gesture you were taught at your monastery, a gesture of appreciation for one's wisdom and compassion.

'I am in your eternal debt.'

'Do not speak of such things within these walls,' she jokes but then grabs your forearm, gently pulling you so that you will stand back on your feet. 'No more eternal debts.'

You smile and nod slowly.
'No more.'

A few moments later, the two of you disappear behind the door, heading straight to the portal to the Baldur's Gate, which takes you to the main hall of Wyrm's Rock, from where you go to the Basilisk Gate and head to the Devil's Fee.

When you meet with Helsik, everything is in order. Her portal upstairs is already prepared to take you to Cania. The two of you, as well as an anonymous source of help (you expect it to be Korrilla), are in touch ever since your departure to Moonrise Towers. Helsik keeps you up to date with the state of Raphael and you often venture to the House of Hope to use Wyll's connection to Mizora to seek out guidance from her. Surprisingly, each time this takes place, she is more than willing to answer some of your questions and clarify the things you couldn’t quite grasp. You suspect that she has some hidden agenda with her efforts, but you can only guess up until she herself decides it's time to reveal her plans.

'Are you dressed well? Cania is very cold, the temperature can reach up to minus fifty Celsius degrees,' Helsik reminds, eyeing your neat, long-sleeve black monastic clothing.

'I will maintain my Ki aura to protect the warmth inside my body. I practiced this for weeks. I know that Cania is a lot colder than our climate, but I know I will be fine.'

'Ok, then. What about your offering?' she asks.

You reach to your bag, twisting it towards your belly, then you open the lid and show Helsik the gauntlets that used to belong to Gortash, Orin's dagger and a heavy leather pouch with a… different kind of trophy.

Suddenly, you spot a cloud of cinders burning next to the closed portal and you see a familiar feminine figure.

'Mizora,' you greet her with a gentle bow of your head.

'I have a favor to ask.'

'Go ahead, you've helped me a lot.'

'That's right,' she points her slim, clawed finger at you. 'I want to eavesdrop.'

You frown at her and think about it for a second. Could it be Zariel, interested in what Mephistopheles is up to? You feel yourself grasping your own chin, descending deep into thoughts.

Raphael wanted to take the Crown and with that, he would go against Zariel. You want to bust him out of the prison, so it might seem like you are trying to bring her old enemy back, but this is not the reason behind your journey at all. Or could it be Mizora herself trying to get whatever knowledge may be of interest to her?

You exhale slowly and nod at her.
'What does that involve?'

'I will leave my mark on you,' she says in a low, seductive tone.

'A permanent one?'

'No, pup. Don't get too excited,' she teases and approaches you, taking your arm in her hands. Her touch is surprisingly gentle and you can feel the heat of her palms as if she was touching your naked skin.

'Is it safe for you to do this?' you ask her and she gives you a blank, emotionless stare. Her hands land on your shoulder and you feel a slight pain, as if someone stuck a needle inside your body. 'Like, won't the Lord of Cania notice?'

'No,' she simply says.

'Is this working against me in any way, shape or form?'

'Endangering you? Not any more than you already endanger yourself,' she responds with a smug smile. 'Let's say that there might be something of value for me to see.'

'I thought you wanted to eavesdrop?'

'Both.'

You glance at Mizora suspiciously, but the cambion in front of you doesn't concern you at all. A place you will soon find yourself in does.

'Ready?' Helsik asks and glances at the clock. 'I can't imagine Mephistopheles allowing you to not show up on time.'

'Ready,' you lie to yourself and the two around you. Nothing can prepare you for what is about to happen. And nothing ever would. Even so, there is no coming back now.

Helsik places the last ingredient - a hardened ice shard - in one of the corners of the pentagram and the portal opens. You glance behind your shoulder and nod at Helsik and Mizora. This might very well be a 'see you soon' or your last 'goodbye'.

The second you step inside, your Ki becomes visible, covering your body with a faint, foggy aura. You find yourself in the main hall of the glacier citadel built for or by Mephistopheles himself. The hall is unlike nothing you have seen before, so tall that it makes you wonder if there is a creature big enough to reach the ceiling.

The gigantic metal gate in front of you pushes open, welcoming you in and with it comes the uncomfortable shift of icy air, gnawing at your Ki-protected skin. When the door parts entirely, you notice a slender, uncanny looking silhouette taking many small steps to approach you.

'Welcome to Mephistar. The master is expecting you,' the figure speaks with a quiet voice of an old man.

You bow your head before someone - something - you suspect to be a butler and follow them outside of the room in which you have appeared. Their body is covered in a long, wrinkless robe and it gives an impression of both frozen and being made of light fabric.

The inside of the citadel is nothing like the House of Hope. You cannot see any furniture, any sources of light other than the hollow windows placed high above your head, letting the freezing howling wind inside the castle. It's just a long, plain corridor with ice covering its walls and a thick layer of snow spread across the floor.

The butler leads you across the entire hallway and stops at another door. Just like before, the metal gate opens and this time, you can actually see a high-quality golden carpet decorating the middle of the corridor, going all the way to the depths of the room, eventually stopping at the base of a pedestal leading to a massive ice throne.

As your eyes follow the gold path, your gaze lands on a huge devil. He is unlike anything you have seen before and certainly not someone you expected to see. Towering, nearly three meters tall; his body and spread wings seem to be enough to cover the rest of the world from your view. His skin is that of a bright crimson shade, with sharp, fiendish claws but his eyes are nothing like Raphael's. Whilst the cambion's eyes burnt with lust for power and passion, his father's iris were cold, dead, void of all feelings and terrifying to look into. They are blank, white spheres without any pupils or iris that could indicate which direction they are glancing to. From afar, you note his handsome features, similarly sharp nose to the one of Raphael's, and a charming, but arrogant smile stretching his lips. You quickly cut the eye contact, recalling everything you have read about the Lord of Contradictions.

Mephistopheles' gaze lands on you and you feel your adrenaline spike up, feeling as if the strength left your muscles. You are quick to regain composure, shifting the anxiety into a stronger Ki aura instead.

'The hero of Baldur's Gate!' he announces, his voice echoing through the throne room, bouncing off the transparent ice pillars. It's silky smooth, rich, with a different timbre compared to Raphael's.

The butler stops and so do you, then descend to your knees at the bottom of the stairs leading to Mephistopheles. You bow your head and say nothing, following the tips that Haarlep gave you.

'How are you enjoying Cania? Speak, dear mortal.'

'It's quite unlike anything I've seen before, Lord of the Eighth,' you respond clearly, addressing him politely. 'Your palace is marvelous.'

You can hear him purr in thought, the rumbling sound vibrating the insides of your lungs.
'Hmm. I take it must be quite cold for you? Your surface level flesh must hate the temperature down here.'

'Thank you for your kindness, my lord, but I am able to remain unaffected by the atmosphere here.'

You can hear him shift from his throne; his lazy footsteps ring in your ears, as the fear slowly starts creeping back to your spine, making you want to shiver under its influence.

'You know, it has been a while since I had a chance to postally conversate with a mortal.'

You say nothing, awaiting for his verbal allowance for you to speak. You've read so many things about Mephistopheles that you know that a single mistake might cost you your head, if not the years of torture and torment.

'I was hoping that someone of your reputation is interested in… something of value,' he continues and you can feel him slowly walking behind you, making every hair covering your body stay on alert, trying to pick up on any sort of incoming danger. 'Instead… you are only interested in the half spawn.' You close your eyes, using all of your will not to grit and grind your teeth. 'I could use a warlock of such influence. Pray tell, are you not looking for some additional skills on top of your current repertoire?'

He comes back to the front of you and you can glance at his legs. He is not wearing armor, nor any kind of metal elements for that matter. His entire body is covered in expensive wizard robes and matching, elegant leather shoes. You know that Mephistopheles is the Archdevil most famous for his magic and he certainly looks like someone troubling themselves with sorcery.

'With all due respect, Lord of Cania, I am bound by my personal vows to follow the way of the Ki. As much as your offer is very tempting and I am totally smitten by the perspective of our possible warlock pact, I must stay true to my current path,' you choose your words very carefully.

'Hmmm,' he hums again and you can feel the sound creating a weird sensation of something crawling from your ears to your shoulder pads. The tone is very rich and pleasant to ears, but the incredible cold emanating from it is beyond measure. 'Very well. We spoke about some of your gifts in exchange for the half-breed. I wish to see them.'

'Of course,' you say and push yourself a little bit further from the throne, still remaining on your knees, not daring to look up on Mephistopheles' face. With trembling fingers, you reach to the bag and slowly open the lid.

Anything can be a trigger to this devil. You pay extra attention to your movements, to the pattern of your breath, forcing yourself to withstand the discomfort of having your knees buried in ice and snow, ordering your heart to maintain a steady rhythm. Nothing is allowed to go wrong.

You reach for the Gortash's gauntlets and place them on your arms, extending them forward. 'My lord, this used to belong to a man who dared to break into your vault to steal the Crown of Karsus. He is now dead.' You can hear the fabric of his robe rustling and feel his massive hand reach for the item. Despite his crimson color of skin, there is no heat radiating off his body. You are quite surprised that he didn't order the butler to retrieve the item for him, but then again heisthe Lord of Contradictions for a reason.

You await his further instructions, as he examines the golden, heavily decorated gauntlets with his cold, lifeless gaze.

'Next.'

You reach to your bag again and take out the soaked leather pouch.
'This is the person who helped Gortash break into your vault, master. I have managed to find some information about the second thief. He was a Bhaal-spawn and a chosen of his to become a slayer,' you unwrap the pouch and touch the frozen, white Dragonborn head.

'A Bhaal-spawn?' Mephistopheles accepts the head from you and watches it carefully like a statue at a museum. He sounds genuinely surprised.

You return to your previous position, bowing your head before him, ignoring the crippling pain in your bent spine. The Ki aura is enough to keep you warm, but the prolonged exposure to the glacier wasteland is slowly taking its toll on your physical health.

You don't like the silence that suddenly falls upon you and Mephistopheles and the butler - if they are still there. Unlike in the hallway, there is no wind dancing around the throne room. Everything is stiff, frozen. Not just from the overwhelming, harsh weather, but the foul pressence of the Lord of Cania himself.

'It was already dead before you cut off the head,' he says matter-of-factly and you feel your heart sink.

Should you say something? Should you stay quiet? Is it his observation? Does he demand an explanation?

You swallow your fears and keep quiet, awaiting his instruction, but it is not until the cut off head lands in front of you that the words leave his mouth.
'Explain, little one. Why did you bring a trophy of someone else's hunt?'

'The Bhaal-spawn has been killed by Orin, another chosen of Bhaal, whom I have defeated. Here is her favorite weapon,' you reach towards a dagger in your bag and extend your arms to Mephistopheles' who doesn't accept the gift. 'I simply wanted to show you the face of the second fool who dared to raid your house.'

'What about the Crown?'

'It has been destroyed during the battle with the Netherbrain, Lord of the Cania. One of my comrades decided to deliver the remnants of it to the goddess of magic, Mystra.'

He huffs, walking right next to your left side. You can feel your skin go numb just by the close proximity of the Archdevil.
'Very well. Walk with me.'

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Mephistopheles leads you to the back of the throne room, where another heavy metal door swings open, revealing an ice covered staircase. His massive devil form is used to the ice around him, but you make sure to be careful with your steps as you do your best to keep up with him, while also staying a few meters behind, letting him be in the lead.

Soon after placing your foot on the top step, you hear echoes of groans, screams, yelps, all full of agony, carried across the vast Citadel. You know exactly why he insists on leading you to Raphael's cell instead of teleporting the two of you there. You know what it is. A display of power. A non-verbal, indirect promise of pain.

You find yourself swallowing quietly, your mind panicking, the only thing keeping it in place being your iron resolve. You will not back down. You will not leave until Raphael is still a tortured prisoner.

'Tell me, small fry,' his voice is quiet, but slices through the screams from the depths of the dungeon. 'Who taught you the infernal communication spell?'

You can feel a slight pinch on the skin where Mizora placed her mark. She does not want to be discovered.
'I have some infernal contacts, my lord.'

You risk a glance up at him and when your eyes met, you are certain that all blood has left your face. There is a hint of rage that flashes through his features, but he does his best to calm himself down, putting on a charming smile instead.
'Ah, I see.'

The two of you continue walking, his expensive robes sliding across the permanent layer of snow with a quiet rustle. You have no idea what kind of material is this, but it looks like the value of it could keep an entire city fed for at least a week. The black robe is embroidered with red thread which seems to glow despite the dimmed light of the dungeon. You are not certain, but it makes you think of the infernal ruby that Helsik told you to use as one of the ingredients of the portal to the House of Hope. You wonder for a moment if devils have some kind of infernal fashion designers for such quality to be accessible to the Lord of the Eighth.

When you fully descend the staircase, you appear on a narrow, but tall corridor with multiple cells on both of the sides. You see weird creatures, some magical monsters hidden behind the bars, but then there is a gap between one section of the prison and the other.

For some reason, your gut twists and you find yourself strengthening your Ki aura, earning an amused chuckle from Mephistopheles. Before you have a chance to think about the reason behind your survival instinct suddenly kicking in, you see the answer right in front of you.

The second sector of the prison can only be described as pure nightmare fuel. You've seen what Raphael did to his infernal debtors, but this… This was an image of unspeakable cruelty.

You force your gaze forward, feeling Mephistopheles' eyes curiously inspecting you, as one of the prisoners appears in your sight and falls to his knees before the Lord of Cania. You don't want to see this. You don't want to have the image burnt inside your brain, but your efforts are futile.

From the corner of your eyes you see a moving mass of maggots covering the debtor's skin as he falls to his knees in front of the master of the Citadel. You take a step to the side, careful not to step on his body, but then a freezing hand catches the back of your neck. Mephistopheles' palm is big enough that a squeeze would snap the top of your spine like a dry twig.

'Walk over that worm,' his voice is still quiet, but the cold threat is obvious. You do not have a choice other than obedience.

A gulp suddenly forms at the back of your throat and you force yourself not to throw up. You follow his command and ignore the slippery, gushy sensation under your feet as you step on debtor's leg.

The person yelps and sobs quietly, but doesn't move away. Mephistopheles' takes a step forward with you and you hear a sound of a shattering bone, a sound that you are convinced - is now forever engraved in your skull. The debtor doesn't even dare to cry out in agony. You want to close your eyes, turn around and run away to the portal that will take you to Baldur's Gate, but you keep going, feeling your bottom lip tremble in terror. Your face feels cold, as if you began freezing just from the crushing fear.

You do everything not to see the details of the cells around you, but the sight of red spilled on the blue and white ice is hardly possible to go unnoticed. The debtors rolling on the floor, the awful smell of decomposing flesh, the sounds of concealed agony, the wet noises of worms digesting the skin. It's all around you, it consumes your sanity, trying to make you bow down, to kneel, trying to crush your very soul.

Mephistopheles grins to himself and places his palm between your scapulas, gently pushing you to the left.
'Here we are,' he announces.

He raises his right hand towards the cell door and it opens without him ever touching the bars. The Lord of Cania stands in the threshold and bows, inviting you with a gesture inside.

You do your best to wipe the images of horror around you and thank him politely with an equally kind bow, then step inside the small room.

The first thing you recognize is the glacier you've seen through the Orb of Infernal Envisioning, but Raphael is nowhere to be found. As if reading your thoughts, Mephistopheles' voice raises above the screams and yelps of prisoners:
'On the other side.'

Just like before, you let him lead the way and quietly follow behind. You stop yourself from grabbing a handful of snow into your fist and pressing it to your pulsing temples. You follow the master of the Citadel and when you circle around the glaciers, your breath catches inside your airpipe.

Raphael, or rather what is left of the form you normally associated with the name, remains chained to the giant ice blocks. He is completely naked and his skin is much paler compared to how you last remember it. But the sight of his state makes you turn your head for a second as a single hot tear escapes your eye. You are glad that Lord of Cania is now hyperfocused on his prisoner, because you use that moment to wipe the sign of sorrow out of your face.

'Worthless, pathetic half thing,' Mephistopheles growls quietly and approaches his son suspended in air at the height of his chest.

The strength leaves your spine and you want to collapse and dissolve into void as your eyes witness the amount of dried blood covering the cambion's body. There are cuts upon cuts, bruises upon bruises, pilling up on Raphael's body, fighting for a millimeter of free space on his skin, as if his flesh was a canvas to the insane artist that his father is. The claws from his right palm have been torn off, dripping bloody trails down the glacier. His left shank is so damaged, that you can see a bit of his bone and the right foot looks as if a frostbite started to form.

You want to look away, you want to cry, but you know that you can't. Not in front of this monster. Not in front of this tyrant. Not in front of Mephistopheles. You cannot allow yourself for a sign of weakness, you cannot trigger his sad*stic side, you cannot show how shattered your entire being is, because you know that you will be made to watch him inflict more damage on the cambion before you.

There is not a single part of Raphael's body that hasn't been cut, bruised, damaged, torn or ripped apart. Even his genitals bear signs of abuse and there is a wound spreading from his outer thighs that leads all the way back to his tail.

Your brain buzzes, sanity on the edge of destruction as you keep your emotions on a tight leash. Emotions that so desperately seek to flow out and escape. It is then, when the sound of the tyrant's voice snaps you out of the trance of your despair.
'There is one minor detail.'

Oh no. A blood freezing sensation eats its way from inside of your gut all the way to the first layer of your skin, putting your body in a state of high alert.

'You seem to know a lot about the Crown.' Your brain immediately enters overdrive. Mephistopheles steps backwards and turns towards you, your eyes glued to the bloody snow below Raphael. He begins to stroll towards you, his footsteps crunching the snow below him. Your legs are petrified and the eyelids dart open, the life inside your eyes temporarily dying out. 'It would seem that the half breed wanted you as his associate, did he not?'

Mephistopheles goes silent, taunting you, trying to make you speak without his permission. When his efforts are futile, he stops behind your back and breaks the silence:
'Speak up.'

'Yes, he did offer me a deal, but I never ended up taking it.'

'You did, however consider it, correct?'

What is he getting at? You try to lay out this conversation as if it was a game of chess, but your brain halts. What can he ask about next? What does he want to hear?

'Y-yes,' your throat goes dry and voice hitches mid-way. 'I was between the hammer and the anvil. His proposal was very promising, oh Lord of Cania.'

'Still, you knew what his plans for the crown were. He told you, didn't he? His wet dream about becoming the Archdevil Supreme,' Mephistopheles comes back to Raphael's body and brings his index finger towards his right shoulder, his claw digging right through his skin.

Your heart begins to pound fast but the fear freezes your blood, making your head spin. Your entire body is suddenly void of all the energy.

'And still, you DARE to seek an audience with me,' he drags his claw across Raphael's chest and a sudden wave of heat erupts from Mephistopheles' body. 'Why are you here, small fry? Answer me!'

You go down on your knee and bow your head. You are surprised when you hear your voice, entirely convinced that the lump in your throat should prevent you from speaking.
'I am fulfilling my vows. If I break them now, I will not be given a chance of ascending to a Greater Monk at my shugenja monastery.'

It is not a lie, but not a full truth either.

'Mm,' Mephistopheles purrs and removes his claws from the cambion's torso, the condensed, unusually cold blood dripping down from his claws. He quickly approaches you. 'Such devotion. Going all the way to Cania to rescue a worthless half thing. Will monks ever learn where to draw a line when it comes to compassion? Or is it something else, little one?'

It's not a question. Is it a question? Stay silent. Answer him. No, he is only taunting you.

'What assurance do I get if the crown is in Mystra's domain? What if Raphael will come back and plot against his creator again? No, I must prevent this from happening.'

Your heart drops down and you feel as if your soul gradually began leaving your body. Your senses tell you that Mephistopheles is right behind you. The same sensation of jaws slowly closing in on you traps you in place.

Suddenly, his claw cuts through the skin on your back, mixing Raphael's blood with your own. His cut feels deeper than it really is and the pain is amplified by the burning sensation spreading inside the wound. You feel as if your skin is going to scorch off, melt, become liquid just to evaporate in the freezing atmosphere of Cania.

'I must… make sure,' he says quietly, indulging himself in the long scream leaving your throat. He loves it so much, he can't stop himself from a gentle roll of his lifeless eyes, going back towards his skull. Oh, how ecstatic this makes him feel.

He removes his fingers from your skin and through the blurred vision, you see a glowing mark on Raphael's chest and feel a sudden heat on your back. You can tell that your wound is glowing in the exact same way.

'Very well, take him away,' he says after what feels like eternity.

With a snap of his fingers, Raphael's chains disappear and he slides all the way to the bloody snow pile below him. You crawl towards the wounded cambion and gently grasp his freezing cold skin, pushing your warm palm underneath his neck, carefully keeping his head off the icy ground.

'See you soon, hero,' Mephistopheles sneers with sheer malice and laughs coldly, then snaps his fingers again and you re-appear in the smaller room of the Citadel with the active portal behind your back.

You grit your teeth and focus your Ki on amplifying your strength. You take off the first layer of your damaged monastic robe and wrap it around his waist, granting him the decency of privacy, before grasping his armpits and sliding him towards the portal.

When the two of you materialize inside Devil's Fee, Mizora and Helsik are still there, waiting beside the portal. You look up at them and notice the third person - Korrilla.

The tears blur your vision, but you have no time to wipe them away from your face.
'Mizora, please transport me back to where I showed you.'

'Fine,' she says, not even daring to look at the cambion in such terrible shape.

'Wait!' Korrilla interrupts and you sit down on your knees, after pulling Raphael's entire body out from the portal. She approaches you in a few rushed steps and puts a bag stripe over your neck. 'Potions. You will need them,' she informs and then Mizora transports herself and the two of you back to a room inside your shack.

The second you appear inside the building, you get up and walk out of the room, then outside and allow yourself to collapse to the snow, as your body twists in an awful gag reflex. Your vision blurs further and you grab the snow with your fist, then press it to your eyes and forehead, feeling an awful headache forming inside. There are no words, no insults in any of the languages known to you, that you could use to accurately curse Mephistopheles.

You quickly push yourself from the wet ground and go back inside the shack. You enter your main, multi-purpose room and collect previously prepared supplies. You grab a wooden bowl, the entire pile of clean, disinfected rags and bandages and a few towels. Then, you pass through the threshold leading to a separate room where you left Raphael. The room is a lot smaller, with only a bed, a desk, a cabinet and a bookshelf in it. The cambion is now taking most of its space, lying lifelessly in the center of it, his fresh blood staining the wooden floor. Mizora is still there, standing idly in the corner of the room.

You walk around Raphael, careful not to step on his broken wings and reach to the cabinet, from which you pull out a single soul coin. You approach Mizora and hand it over to her.
'You don't have to stay. Thank you for your help.'

She accepts the payment and says nothing. You grab the bag Korrilla gave you and set it near the door, then place the towels and rags on the ground near the wounded cambion.

'Do you even think he can be saved?' Mizora asks, surprising you.

Without paying attention to her, you grab the big wooden bowl and leave the room again, then walk to the adjacent doorway, entering a bathroom with a huge, steaming pool. You lean towards the ground, filling the bowl with the hot water, quickly turning on your heel to go back to the guest room once again. You make a mental note that you should create a doorway leading directly from the guest room to the hot spring pool.

'I have faith,' you respond to the devil.

'I'll be in touch,' Mizora sighs and disappears, her body melting into a puddle on the floor.

Raphael's damaged body makes you want to cry. Not only because you can’t possibly imagine how much agony such state must inflict, but also because you have no idea what to take care of first. Following your medical experience, you decide to focus on the freshest and most severe injuries that are life-threatening. You touch his bruised skin, assessing the temperature of his body and the coldness of it makes you decide to close the door of the guest room, cutting off the heat coming from the lit fireplace. The transition from freezing Cania to a warm, cozy shack should be as delicate and mild as possible. With that in mind, you even decide to create a small opening in the window, letting some of the chilly air inside the room.

You glance at his bruised face, scanning his closed eyes, cracked brow ridge and collapsed cheekbone. It seems that one of his horns has been partially severed off, but fortunately it's just the smaller, side part of it. For a moment, you wonder if it will ever grow back to its original state, while simultaneously dumping the first clean rag inside the pleasantly warm water. You twist the rag and spin it in the chill air a few times, careful not to give his flesh a temperature shock, before gently cleaning the area around his damaged shank. When the tiny part of his body is clear and disinfected, you reach to the bag Korrilla has given you and almost gasp with relief, seeing three potions of superior healing.

You grab one of the big potions and pop the cork open, then pour a few drops of the liquid on the open, dry wound, watching as the flesh slowly begins to mend, the fibers of muscles and skin coming back to cover the bare bone. The process is much slower than usual, but it definitely works, so you move to the next part - the chest.

As you shift your left arm towards Raphael's torso, you feel the pain on your back and you are suddenly reminded of your own wound. You take a quick sip of the potion of healing and proceed to take care of Raphael's body. You damp the same rag in the wooden bowl, flushing some of the blood away from it, then squeeze the excess of water from the fabric and clear his bruised chest. The amount of shallow and deep cuts is excruciating to look at.

You end up emptying the whole bottle on his torso alone, before removing your monastic robe out of his waist and clearing his thighs and hips. After some time you glance at the big pile of bloody cloths and stretch your spine, then go back to your work.

Nearly an hour and a half later, you are able to flip Raphael onto his side to access his broken wings. His damaged claw is already safely bandaged and a clear, warm towel wrapped around his waist. His close-to-frostbitten foot is slowly returning back to its normal crimson color and the deepest wound on the shank is now completely sealed, leaving a smooth spot of fresh, hairless skin as the only sign of previous damage.

You secure his wings with a few bandages, wrapping them around the wings' joints and his chest, knowing that you will have to support yourself with a Ki healing spell in order to put the bones back into their place. Raphael is still unconscious and you anxiously check his pulse again - something that you've done at least ten times in the past forty minutes. It is still there, beating very slowly, but it's detectable.

You stand up, rotate your wrists to decompress the pressure inside the joints, then close the window. You come back to the cambion and look at him for a moment before leaving the room to go to the basem*nt hidden near your alchemy station. You open the hatch and jump down the ladder, retrieving a potion of great cold resistance as well as a salve that is perfect for speeding up healing of bruises.

You come back to the guest room and set the medicine on the floor, then grab the pile of blood stained rags just to transport them to the bathroom. You fill another wooden bowl with snow from the outside and set it near the fireplace inside the main room, waiting for it to melt. When the cold water fills the vessel, you throw the bloody rags inside it, adding a few drops of cleaning solution to it, letting the dirty fabric soak.

When you come back to Raphael's side, he is just as lifeless, but looking much healthier than before. You take a moment to inspect his form and place your palm gently on his frostbitten foot, noticing that there is some warmth coming back to it. You nod to yourself and leave the room, taking a break for some tea. While the water keeps boiling in the kettle, you transport a few small embers into a metal diffuser, then pour a few spoons of hot water on top of the lid and add two drops of a pleasantly smelling healing lavender oil. You grab the handle of the diffuser and transfer it to guest room, setting it not too far from the bed.

You go back to the kitchen and take a few minutes of a break, sipping on some black tea, before returning to tending wounds of the cambion.

After another forty minutes, you can feel his skin return to normal human temperature, still below the regular cambion state, but much better than before - good, the cold resistance potion was a useful idea. You carefully lift his torso from the floor and slide him towards the bed, then grab the pillow and set it behind his back, as you allow his body to rest against the bedframe. Then, you grab the rag dumped in the hot water and very gently clean his crimson skin from the dried out, brownish blood. You are certain that at least the cheekbone is cracked, and before moving on to cast a Ki based healing spell, you reach towards the small jar with salve inside. You twist the lid open and take some of the paste on your fingers, warming it up by rubbing your palms together, then very gently applying it to Raphael's feet.

Before you have a chance to reach for the second portion of salve, you hear a swoosh and Haarlep appears in the room. You glance at them in their true form and watch the incubus sit on the floor beside you.

'You were busy,' Haarlep notices.

'I haven't stopped tending to his wounds since I appeared here. I think it might be two hours or more since when I started,' you respond and apply the gel to Raphael's left leg.

Haarlep watches your efforts without uttering a word.

Moments later, they move behind you and tug on the fabric of your shirt.
'Do you ever take care of yourself? Or is it all about others?'

You roll your eyes, hearing their unconsciously seductive tone.
'Haarlep, I don't have time for your games right now.'

They pull on your shirt again and bring their face closer to your ear.
'You are bleeding.'

'What?' you ask and twist your head to look over your shoulder.

Haarlep shows you the freshly stained shirt and you move to your knees, grabbing the shirt and pulling it over your head. You hiss at the pain of your movement.

'Uh-oh,' Haarlep purrs.

'What?' you ask, but they do not respond. 'Please tell me, is it bad? It was burning me when I was still in Cania, but it stopped since then. Please tell me how it looks.'

'Well,' they scratch their face with their claw. 'I'm not sure. Not… normal.'

You frown, feeling anxiety creep at your core. Then, your mind flashes with a memory of Raphael's blood dripping from Mephistopheles' claws before he moved behind your back.

'Is it the same as this?' you ask and lean forward, unwrapping Raphael's torso from a comfy towel, revealing a deep, not bleeding but weirdly fresh mark spread all the way from his right shoulder across his pecks.

'Yes.'

You look at them like a beaten puppy and Haarlep grabs an almost empty potion of superior healing. They grab your waist and slide you towards them across the floor, then bend you over just a tiny bit and pour some of the mixture onto the odd, burning scar.

'Hmm,' Haarlep hums in thought. 'Doesn't work.'

You turn towards the grey devil and plant a smooch on their cheek. Haarlep grunts happily and pulls you onto their lap, then reach your mouth and seal it with a kiss. The intoxicating sensation begins to wash over you and you place your hands on their neck to gently push them away.

'Thank you. Are you not in danger by being here?'

'Maybe not,' they put their clawed finger on their mouth, smiling at you devilishly. Their true form looks much younger than Raphael's, but you know that Haarlep must be in fact older than his previous master.

'Don't joke around, get out of here if it's not safe for you.'

They shoot you a glance and grasp a handful of your hair, pulling your head backwards. A moan escapes your lips, making Haarlep rise to their knees, using their height advantage to kiss you with passion.

'You are… so lucky… I like you… my pet,' they say between kisses and bring your hips to theirs, teasing you with their obvious arousal.

'Haarlep, not in front of the patient,' you say in a protest, trying to push them away, but that only makes their kisses more violent. The allure of magic washes away as you make sure to keep your senses on a leash and the kiss becomes... painful.

'Oh, a tiny bit of voyeurism never hurt anyone,' they kiss you one last time and you collect yourself from the ground, returning back to your knees. 'Tut-tut.'

You lean forward with a frown on your face and caress their cheek instinctively.

'You were rubbing his feet a second ago and now you touch my pretty face,' Haarlep says and sticks out their forked tongue.

You slap their thigh and push them away from you.
'Don't endanger yourself, go back to Cania.'

Haarlep brings their two fingers to their mouth and licks the space between them before disappearing in the cloud of cinders. You give the incubus an unimpressed stare and sit still for a moment, looking at the now empty space. Several seconds later, you reach to your back, carefully touching the skin near the scorched mark.

You turn around and finish applying the salve to Raphael's legs (respectfully not prying on the most private area), then prepare yourself to amplify his body's healing capabilities. You take a few deep breaths in and out, focusing on your entire form, trying to control the flow of your Ki, which suddenly feels very thin and fragile. It feels as if you tried to grasp something which is made of liquid. You frown and shift onto the cross-legged position then attempt to amplify your aura again, only to discover that you cannot fully grasp the presence of your soul. Something is terribly wrong and before your mind comes up with an explanation, you decide to not waste a single moment, so instead you leave the shack. You pick up the speed, running across the snow covered ground, heading straight to Halsin's house.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Void. Darkness. Floating in an endless, empty space, without a single sensation in his body. He doesn't feel his horns, doesn't feel the wings on his back. Did Mephistopheles take them away? Was his torture finally over? Was he granted a relief of death, a relief of finally being devoured by his sad*stic father?

'What do you mean, something is blocking you?' he suddenly hears a soft, worried female voice.

Curious. It sounds oddly familiar, but so distant. It feels as if it's been millennia since he heard it. Yet, it fills him with something. A sensation… How to quite put it.

Suddenly, another voice echoes through the endless abyss he seems to be drifting in. It's much deeper, with the same hint of concern.

'In my opinion, this has all the symptoms of a curse. I am sorry, I won't be able to help. It's nothing quite like I witnessed before, my usual magic will not lift it.'

The voices are now a bit clearer.

'I could heal his cracked skull, but it took a lot more of my energy than it should. I think the healing is delayed because of the curse. I might come back to treat the wings later.'

'If it's outside of your power, then there is no need for you to be sorry. You shouldn't focus on something you can't affect,' the same female voice says. He wants to frown, but he doesn't feel like he owns a physical body. 'Besides, I think Raphael might have some knowledge of that curse.'

Raphael? How familiar his name sounds when rolling off that woman's mouth. He tries to look around the dark void, but there is no light or image in sight.

'It wouldn’t surprise me. And it seems that he might awake soon,' the man notices. 'Have you received the invitation from Withers?'

'I did, will you come to the meeting?'

'Of course! I can’t wait to catch up with everyone.'

'Same, I want to hear everyone's stories. It is so crazy, isn’t it? How we all met, bound by the threads of fate and how we all just continued our personal adventures, separately, but not lonely.'

'Have you ever felt it?

Raphael listens in carefully, the voices finally sounding like they are right next to him. The void is still there, but the darkness gradually disparses and he gains awareness of lying on some sort of a disgustingly cheap bed in a dimmed room.

'The fate threads?'

'Yes.'

'I might sound like a lunatic,' said the woman. 'But yes. You know how shugenja monks take vows, undergo training and then lead a lifestyle of a wanderer, helping wherever they can? I was only a year into my lonely journey and then all of that happened. I am beyond grateful for every single one of you. I hold you all so very close to my heart.' There is a rustle of fabric and a small happy sigh leaving the woman's mouth. The man chuckles. 'I've grown so much from having the honor of sharing each and every one of your experiences.'

'You always sound like you owe us, well… everything,' the man responds softly.

'Do I not?'

'We owe you just as much, if not more. You were put in a life threatening situation and did everything to pursue the cure for yourself and the team, while still finding time to help me, help us out with our own goals. You are a born leader.'

'I always preferred to be on receiving end of orders.'

'A one cannot lead if one doesn't know how to follow.'

There is a moment of silence and then the woman huffs with laughter.

'Thanks, Halsin. You are such a big teddy bear.'

Halsin? An image of a druid started crawling its way back to Raphael's memory, but before it finished assembling, the man laughed and responded:
'Anytime, Tav. Anytime.'

Raphael manages to open his eyelids. He is looking up at the ceiling, while lying on an awfully stiff bed. It's almost as stiff as his own bones and limbs. The room he finds himself in is very small, and has a surprisingly pleasant scent of freshly cut wood, but that's about the only positive thing that he can muster.

'You know where to find me if you need anything else,' Halsin responds from somewhere behind the closed door.

A short while later, he hears careful footsteps and the door slides open just a tiny bit. He recognizes the person walking in - the little mouse - and the second he does, the mysterious sensation resurfaces, but this time, he is able to name it very well. It's rage. Overwhelming, all consuming rage that wants to have its fill.

On your way back to the room, you grab a cleaning brush and a little bit of cold water inside a metal bowl. You add a few drops of lemon juice inside and stir it with your hand. Then, you head towards the room. You carefully open the door and step inside, leaving just enough of the light sinking in so that you can take care of the bloody stain in the center of the floor.

You glance at Raphael and set the bowl down on the floor and just as you are about to start your task, you catch a glimpse of his muscles tightening in the dimmed light. You turn your head towards him, observing, but for a long moment nothing happens. It is then, when you notice the tip of his tail moving uneasily.

'Raphael?' you ask gently, then lift yourself up and stand next to his bed. His eyes are partially open.

You gasp at the sight, immediately moving back to the living room to grab a candle. You come back to his side and gently cup his now completely healed jaw, moving it just a tiny bit while bringing the candle towards his face. His pupils don't seem to react and you place your palm on his forehead. You wonder if cambions can have a fever.

You set the candle aside and return to his face, staring into his half-lidded eyes. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his pulse is finally stable and a lot stronger than half a day ago.

Suddenly, his pupils focus on you, making your heart jump with anxiety, but before your muscles have a chance to react, he grabs your throat and rolls to his side. He knocks you to the ground and for a brief moment you feel your breath hitch inside your throat at the sight of sheer fury burning his gaze. You wrap your legs around his neck, locking your ankles together to choke him and trying to push his hands away.

'Let. Me. Go.' you struggle and roll your scapulas on the floor, crawling on your back to attempt to shift your position.

When you feel the support under your soles, you let go of him, then reach to his horns and pull him down towards your chest, while swinging your body and pushing your legs on the near bedframe. You roll him over your head and land on his torso. As you feel his fingers trying to dig into your skin, you suddenly realize how smart was it to have Halsin skip healing his claws and let them regrow naturally.

'Raphael!' you snap at him and he uses your own move, lifting his legs to kick you all the way to the doorway.

You smash your knees on the floor and crawl deeper into the living room, hearing him standing up behind you.

'You,' he simply spits out, gritting his sharp teeth. He takes a woozy step towards you, supporting himself on the wall, but proceeds forward.

Something tells you that he feels the same way about you as you feel about Mephistopheles. There are no curses known to him that would be sufficient enough to describe his current hatred.

You lift yourself to your feet and jump above the smoldering open fireplace and look at him, still near the doorway.

'Is this how you greet me after I rescued you from Cania?' you ask with anger in your voice.

'Rescued me?' he regains some composure but his low voice trembles with hatred. He starts walking around the fireplace, the two of you eying each other with sheer fury. You can tell that he tries to flex his broken wings, but his futile efforts make him glance at his own back with annoyance. 'Do you have any idea what you've done?'

You stop and pretend to think for a second. 'I don’t know. Maybe… Saved you?'

In a one big leap, he pins you to a wall and grabs your face, pushing it to the wooden surface. 'You humiliated me!'

He throws you from the wall to the fireplace. You burn your palms on the smoldering wood and roll to the floor next to the guest room doorway, quickly taking off the shirt which caught on fire. You throw it to the bowl with water and feel Raphael's leg push you down. 'You pathetic, disgusting,' you punch his calf with your elbow. 'Revolting, meaningless, worthless, weak, slimy insect.'

That's a handful…

'How dare you open your mouth to address me,' he tries grabbing your head and smashing it to the floor, but you resist him in his weakened state. 'You took everything from me. You dare break in, plunder my house. Delay me from getting what is rightfully mine,' he grabs your right shoulder and tries to dislocate the arm, but you manage to angle yourself to decrease the tension in the joint. His clawless palm starts bleeding again and you can feel the burning liquid smearing your back. 'How dare you disturb and flaw the order of my life with your chaos. You disgusting creature.'

You manage to free yourself from beneath him, enough for you to swing your open palm straight at his vital point - throat. The punch isn't amplified by Ki, so it doesn't have any lethal effect, but it is enough for his weakened form to let go of you.

You switch sides and you grab a kitchen knife from the top of the table, threatening to stab his neck if he tries anything funny.

'We could have had an agreement, but you, being the proud narcissistic bastard you are, didn't want to take it,' you say to his face. 'And I humiliated you? Do you even hear yourself?!' you can feel tears of anger blurring your vision, as you fight with him for the knife. 'When did I humiliate you? When I blew out a literal bomb on top of your stupid head? When I had my team fire multiple fiend slaying arrows at you? When we outnumbered you because I never dared to think of you as a weak enemy?' He squints his eyes but doesn't say anything. 'When Yurgir, mad at you for keeping him away from his beloved Blood War, dealt the final blow? I would humiliate myself and give you the crown knowing exactly what you were planning to do with it,' you can feel his grasp loosen up and you subconsciously start to relax your wrists in response. 'But you know why I didn't want to give it right off the batch? Because I knew there is no way in hells, that you will unite the Nine!'

He throws you again and you smash your back on the near table, immediately standing up to your feet.

'You would have died yourself!' you shout at him, tear rolling down your cheek. 'You'd go against all Archdevils? Asmodeus? Are you out of your f*cking mind?!'

He is back on his feet, glaring at you with the hellfire fueling his eyes. The both of you pant heavily and you throw the kitchen knife towards the front door and wipe the tears off your eyes. You take a shaky breath and bend forward, supporting your weight on your knees. The mix of a sudden adrenaline shock caused by his assault and the things the two of you said during the argument is making your body tremble. You glance back at him, his damaged claw now relaxed next to his side, as drops of blood fall to the floor.

'Switch your forms, your wings are still broken.'

'Don't you dare order me around.'

You take a deep breath and straighten your back. You suddenly realize that you are shirtless and so is he, standing with only a towel wrapped around his hips. His intense eyes don't leave yours but a cloud of cinders covers his body and before he fully appears in your vision, the towel drops to the floor and you turn your head away from him. There is a moment of silence, when you just wrap your arms around your torso and stare at a wall opposite of Raphael, doing your best to keep him out of your vision. You know that it is not exactly smart, but you are also aware that he no longer wants to fight you, at least not in this exact moment.

He snaps his fingers of the non-damaged hand and for a second you are tempted to look if he is still there. He snaps once again and you can't help but look around your body, as if looking for any new signs of damage. In the meantime, he sneaks behind you and pushes your chest to the table before you.

'Raphael!' you shout at him.

'Hush now, don't get too excited,' he replies quietly and you quickly realize he is checking the scar on your back. You move your right arm to swipe your hair away from your skin.

He is silent for a prolonged moment which in this suspicious position feels like eternity.
'And, what is it?'

'A scar.'

You roll your eyes and keep lying patiently on the table.
'Can you be less vague this time?'

'Cursed one.'

'Raphael.'

'I told you not to speak to me.'

'Then what, would you rather communicate in a sign language?'

'I'd rather rip out your tongue,' he says slowly, his words gentle like a touch of silk despite the awful meaning behind them.

He lets go of you and walks around the living room and pushes the door to the bathroom open. You have no idea how he guessed that the bathroom is going to be behind that specific door, but you don't care enough to want him to elaborate. Not that he would anyway.

'Get me my clothes,' he says from inside of the room.

You wonder if it is worth replying verbally and pissing him off even further, but you decide against it. Instead, you enter the guest room and slide open the drawer. The clothes are already there, prepared for him. You took them some time ago, when Hope wanted to throw away all of the Raphael's silks.

You pick up the burnt shirt from inside the bowl and notice that the water dripped from the fabric, wetting the floor around your feet. A sigh leaves your mouth and you suddenly feel nervous, knowing that you will need to enter the currently occupied bathroom.

What a ridiculous situation one can find themselves in, you think to yourself as you fetch some simple, fresh shirt and put it on.

You take a deep breath in and courageously march towards the neighboring doorway. When you step inside, Raphael stands in front of a mirror, assessing his state while cupping his chin in his usual Raphael-style-pose. He no longer seems angry and most definitely got back to his schemes. You tear your eyes away from his hair, nicely falling down towards his muscular back and walk to the other side, just to grab a cloth. You leave the room, then go to your knees in order to scrap off the blood stains you initially wanted to remove.

A few long minutes later Raphael returns to the room and purely on purpose stands in front of you. You avoid looking anywhere else besides the stain.

'My, my. If I had known that the sight of my glorious unconcealed body is enough to bow your head and keep you on your knees, I would take my pants off long time ago.'

'Get dressed or I will bite it off,' you snap and point your left hand at the open drawer.

He extends his stay but eventually moves towards the other side of the room, muttering something about humiliating mortal tasks. You are not sure, but you suspect that he might be referring to the need of dressing himself instead of just snapping his fingers.

'Well?' you ask after a moment as he covers his body in some pretty black nightgown. 'Did you figure something out with the scars?'

'I know everything there is to know about them!' he announces with a chuckle. You definitely do not like where this is going.

You risk looking up at him, comfortably seated on the floor and immediately notice that he has now shifted into a very good mood. You can feel a claw of dread, slowly closing in on your sinking heart.

'But, how to quite put it,' you look at him, clearly in his element. 'Oh, it must have left my head.'

'Raphael, don't play with me,' you warn him.

'Why, are you not entertained, little mouse?'

You stand up to your feet and regret it a moment later, feeling your head spin. 'No? Are you?'

'Very much, I am so delighted you asked,' you try to see any signs of deception on his face, but it is as unreadable as ever. His big brown eyes, framed with perfect eyelashes burn right through the dimmed room, straight into your soul. 'I think I might even forgive you for your little… improvisation on your part. As a display of my boundless generosity, of course.'

'What happened?' you ask, feeling the fear settling in at the base of your spine. 'Please tell me, Raphael, don't play games, it's important!' You begin to panic. First, the scars you both share, then the sudden inability to channel any of your Ki auras. Now, Raphael expressing his amusem*nt, letting you know that he has the upper hand?

'Tut-tut. Don't raise your voice at me,' he raises his finger warningly. 'Are you ready for the grand reveal? Tune your ears to hear the drum rolls echoing through the stage.'

You look at him, knowing damn well he is relished to see the expression on your face. Oh hells, if he could just freeze you in time he would, just so that he could revel in this moment for the rest of eternity.

'My dear little mouse,' he generously bows before you, then tilts his head to the side, examining you with a malicious glint in his eyes. If you weren't so terrified, you might have looked dreamy at how gorgeous he looks in this low light. 'We are now soul bound.'

He grabs his chin and can't help but smile. He studies your face with a keen eye of someone who has done it for literal millennia; there is not a single micro-expression that would slip past his notice. But he doesn't need to try too much, because you were never a person trying to conceal your feelings.

You put your hands on your knees and exhale, trying to calm your heart. When you speak, your voice sounds so distant to your own ears.

'What does that mean?'

'That we are bound to each other,' he grabs your palms into his strong, warm hands. 'Like eternal lovers.'

'Can you please be more specific? Can we not lift the curse?' You jerk your arms away from him.

'We can,' he nods and keeps smiling. 'It's quite simple, actually.'

You can't help but swallow and hate that he notices that as well.

'All we need to do is perform a simple,' he waves his right hand in the air a few times. 'Transaction. I lend you my power and you obey my command.'

His piercing gaze returns to yours. You keep studying him, feeling your brow muscles tense in deep thought.
'Become your warlock? I'd rather die.'

You turn around and begin walking away.
'A-a-a,' he pulls your back towards himself and places his hands on your shoulders. 'I'm afraid I have bad news for you, my dear,' he purrs the last part almost directly to your ear and you allow yourself for no other reaction than a slight twitch of your fingers. Your instinct or sheer paranoia tells you that this also didn't go unnoticed. 'If you take your own life, your soul goes to Mephistopheles.'

'To your father?' you glance at him above your shoulder. The disgust spread all over his features is unmistakable. 'Why would- Wha- How could,' you grasp your forehead with your right palm and descend down until you crouch. 'I don't believe you. It doesn't make sense. You know what?'

'What's on your mind, little mouse?' he asks and sits on the bed, then grimaces briefly again, clearly displeased by the quality of the furniture.

'I think you are just lying.'

'Lying?' he raises his eyebrows, disguising himself behind a puppy-like expression. 'I am so deeply wounded. Have I ever lied to you?'

You open your mouth and then close it, looking away from his smug face. No. He really never lied to you. Sometimes he even warned you or shared something that seemed personal to him, like the history of the Crown, for example.

The realization hits you like a bull, almost knocking all of the will to live out of you. You find yourself unable to reconnect with your constantly shaky, uneasy breath. You grasp the roots of your hair, feeling the cambion's eyes burning a hole through you. You don't even care anymore how much satisfaction you bring him in this exact moment.

We are soulbound. I cannot wield Ki. We are soulbound. I must become a warlock. I can't become a warlock. I won't have any Ki until I become a warlock. I won't have any of it even if I do.

This is awful. Terrible. Helpless. You feel like a cornered animal without the ability to flee from the predator. But then again, has your mind ever worked in such a simple way? If there is no way of going left or right, you either jump above the obstacle, climb it or dig under it. You always went against the current and you always will.

Suddenly, a spark of hope slices through the darkness and the helplessness rocking your crumbled body back and forth goes away. Your head shoots up as if you were a rabbit leaving it's hole.

'HA!'

Raphael watches you with passive curiousity as you stand up with a victorious expression on your face.

'First of all, I have to piss,' you announce and leave the room. It takes you a few minutes, but when you return every single one of your thoughts is already back in its place. 'Second of all, you do not lie, that is true. However you are not very descriptive and share things that only benefit you, my dear,' you retort with the same nickname. 'I have learnt at least that throughout all of our interactions. And knowing your loving father Mephistopheles,' his eyes dart away from you and his nostrils flare, 'and having the displeasure of meeting him personally I know that he would not want to benefit you.'

'What makes you so sure of that, little mouse?' he asks with a velvet voice, the nickname so breathy that it takes a moment for you to regain your composure.

'I do not trade valuable information to someone who won't provide me with any. I will keep that to myself this time around.'

'What assurance do I get that I am not being the one deceived?'

'The same one you provided me. A confession. I never lied to you, Raphael. And as a matter of fact, I don't lie at all, because I follow my vows.'

He glances at you, unimpressed and spreads his legs just a bit. A part of his silk gown slides to reveal his knee.

'Now that we have that established,' you say and glance at the now stainless floor, before returning with your gaze back to his face. 'Halsin didn't manage to treat your wings today.'

'I've noticed as much.'

'Well, then can you share your knowledge and tell me what can I do to treat them? Or should Halsin visit tomorrow?'

'You already know.'

'I am not signing a pact with you. I will ask Ha-'

He leans forward, eyeing you carefully.
'Why the concern? Why do you want to see me back in my previous shape, little mouse?

You duck down and fetch the bowl with dirty water inside. You think for a long moment, your face completely neutral, as you place the bowl against your belly and allow your shoulders to relax. You wonder for a bit if that slice of knowledge in his hands possesses any kind of threat to you or your allies.

You look at the bowl, then back at him.
'Do you want to know why I specifically want the wings to be back or why I went to Cania to get you?'

'Both.'

'You're so greedy,' you notice.

'It must be the devil in me,' he responds with slightly lowered eyebrows. Raphael notices the bright, unjaded sparks in your eyes - a sight, he convinces himself, he hates to see. Then he watches you turn towards the doorway. The amusem*nt quickly vanishes from your face. You stare into the distance.

'Something pushed me to check the orb of infernal envisioning.'

His face turns blank, expresionless. A several seconds of silence fall upon the two of you. You tighten your palm around the bowl and stare distantly into the fireplace. A shiver passes through you at the memory of the coldness of Cania and the void, lifeless eyes of Mephistopheles. It effectively breaks your trance and you step forward, reaching for the door.

'Sleep well,' you utter, grasp the handle and freeze in your step. 'Oh and about the wings. I have noticed that all of the paintings in the House of Hope that supposedly portray you are of your cambion form. I thought,' you stop for a moment, considering how to properly phrase the sentence to not step on dangerous grounds. With everything that you witnessed near Mephistopheles calling him a 'half thing', it appears to you that Raphael takes more pride in his winged form than the surface one. 'I thought that it would be just sad if the prolonged treatment would result in a permanent injury, and have such a huge part of your body, literally, no longer bring you joy.'

You glance at him staring at you with an impenetrable mask, seemingly void of any emotions.

'They are quite pretty indeed,' you add and leave the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

You open your eyes, yet see nothing. The ground under your feet is crunchy and a bit slippery. The air is extremely cold, penetrating you all the way to your very core. Are you… in Cania?

You look around as some shapes start to manifest from the void. Weird figures you cannot recognize lay all around you. Then, you look down.

Blood. Gore staining the fresh snow. An awful shiver crawls up your spine as your eyes get used to the darkness and you notice that the figures around you are in fact torn, dead bodies. You find yourself in the sea of detached limbs, corpses piling up to cover the frozen floor. Suddenly, a sickly, nauseating smell hits your nose and you attempt to stop your gag reflex but when you look down, your feet are submerged in blood and guts. You throw up, your eyes watering with tears, the hair on your skin stands on its ends, as if trying to warn you from something else lurking in the room.

A weird, impossible to ignore sensation splashes on the back of your neck, ordering you to move forward. You are scared, terrified and feel another wave of nausea quickly forming inside your stomach. You pinch your elbow to ground yourself in the sensation of pain instead.

'The hero of Baldur's Gate,' a deep voice rumbles and suddenly you dash forward, fear pushing you past the piles of the dead bodies.

You sob and sniff, trying to get away from the danger but despite seeing so little, you feel as if the monster chasing you already spread his claws to each of your sides.

You slip and crawl past a body, until a hand grabs your forearm. You look towards it with terror and see Karlach's body in ruin, next to her - Wyll. Their eyes are on you, but there is barely any life in them. Another hand grabs your left forearm and then you see Gale, Lae'Zel. Astarion grabs your leg.

All of them lock you in place and as the beast approaches from behind, hiding itself in the darkness, you can instinctively feel a blade aiming straight at your neck. When it lands, you open your eyes for the second time, seeing two burning iris piercing right through you.

Your heart pounds like a heavy hammer and your sleepy, weak body pushes you to the farthest side of the bed.
'God!' You shout and blink away the aftershock of your nightmare.

'A devil, rather,' Raphael says and leans back, examining your state with a small smile.

You try to relax and reach with a shaky hand to your forehead, suddenly noticing how drenched in sweat you are.
'Did I wake you? Was I saying something?' you ask him in a quiet voice, slowly getting yourself up to sit on the bed.

'Just tossing and turning, with an occasional fracted breath,' he responds. 'What was the dream of, little mouse?'

You look up at him while examining your soaked back. You desperately need a relaxing bath. As your gaze returns up to the cambion, you also notice that he is no longer wearing a black night gown, but something similar to his usual attire. Actually, it looks almost the same, excluding the lack of golden stripes in place of a floral golden pattern spreading from his shoulders towards the center of his abdomen. The attire is as always perfectly tailored, emphasizing his luminous silhouette; strong and wide shoulders, slim waist and muscular arms.

'I think if I were to tell you, I might end up throwing up.'

'That bad? Ohh.'

You narrow your eyes when all you see is his satisfied grin, exposing his pointy fangs.
'It's not your doing, is it?'

He places his bandaged claw on his heart and his wings retract just a tiny bit towards his back as he makes a sad expression.
'Mine? I would never.'

You glance at his wings and the realization hits you.
'Wait!' you point at the previously damaged joints. 'Was Halsin here? How long was I asleep?'

'It's still early in the morning,' Raphael says.

'Was Halsin here?'

'At some point.'

'Raphael,' you glare at him. 'Was it at some point today before I woke up?'

'Forgive me, little mouse, for my state seems to have affected my sense of time.'

You cover your face with your hand and sigh deeply.
'You are so awfully unbearable at times.'

'I am glad to inform you that the feeling is mutual.'

You spread your fingers and shoot him an annoyed glance. He furrows his eyebrows just a tiny bit, casting a shadow on his already darkened features.

You slide yourself from the bed and turn around to strip it from the wet bedsheets. After a few moments of Raphael idly standing near, you turn your head towards him, but his attention is elsewhere - he is glancing outside the closest window watching the snowflakes lazily fall from the sky onto the white horizon, gently stroking his chin. You take a few extra second just to look at him. When he is relaxed and not frowning, this is when you truly realize how incredibly handsome he is - in both of his forms.

You exhale and grab the drenched fabric and make your way to the bathroom, then drop it into a big bowl. You will wash the bedsheets later, after you've done a few things planned for the day. You go back to the main room and prepare a set of your monastic clothes. You grab deep, dark blue harem pants, a long stone-grey sleeveless robe made of slick fabric and a pile of bone-white bandages.

Raphael is still standing in his previous spot, but you do not want to bother him with a question about his plans. You suspect that he is already playing his usual mind-chess, so he wouldn't elaborate on anything unless it would benefit him greatly.

You return to the bathroom, close the door, set the clothes neatly near the constantly steaming pool and begin to strip down, throwing the removed garments to the big bowl with dirty bedsheets. When you finally soak inside the water, you let out a satisfied sigh and start cleaning your body and scalp, using your favorite delicate jasmine soap.

A few minutes later, you kneel near the pile of your clothes, dressed in your undergarments and harem pants, with bandages wrapping the bottom half of your calves and around your feet. You proceed to wrap your torso in the rest of the gentle, cotton fabric, creating a secure layer of protection from the frost that won't obscure any of your unarmored movements. After a moment of hesitation, you decide to make an improvised turtleneck from the bandages, pleasantly hugging your neck. You finish the process by putting on the robe and wrapping the rest two swathes of fabric around your forearms.

You stand up to your feet and examine yourself in the mirror, striking a power pose, as you approve of what you see in the reflection. You grab a brush from the near drawer and braid the hair from your sides, tying it on the back of your head, leaving a few longer strands of hair on the front for face framing. In the last moment before leaving the bathroom, you smear a bit of a rose-cedarwood smell around your wrists and neck.

With that, you leave the bathroom and find yourself feeling a stab of disappointment at Raphael's absence. You make your way towards the fireplace, quickly and efficiently setting up a kettle with water in it. Instead of idly waiting, you walk to the other side of the room with an alchemy lab and a hatch, which you open and descend down the ladder.

Inside your very well equipped storage, you retrieve the Orphic Hammer mounted on the wall, then remove Raphael's heavy armor from a rack next to Ketheric's armor.

Most of your companions have either received some other type of equipment as they ventured forth on their own, or returned the goods to you. And because of your inner codex, you don't want to sell any of your teams' temporary belongings. Temporary, because you are planning to return almost all of them.

You glance at the wooden chest, then open it to look for the Gauntlets of the Hill Giant Strength. After some time, you gather all of the items and transport them from the basem*nt to the living room. Raphael is still absent and you wonder if he left or if he's still somewhere inside.

When you knock on the door to the guest room, there is no response. You gently open the door and hold it for a moment, but as no complaints come from the cambion, you push it further and inspect the empty room. He really seems to be gone. You transport the Orphic Hammer, Helldusk Armor and the Gauntlets and place them in the middle of the room so that they are impossible to be left unnoticed. Then, you make yourself some tea and go outside.

The air is getting warmer. In a month and a half when you will meet up with your friends thanks to the summoning of Withers, you expect to see some green grass instead of a snowy landscape.

Late in the day, you find yourself sitting in front of your house, trying to reconnect with your Ki. You can feel it, but it is very weak, distracted, as if flowing away from you, not inside of you. It's the first time you have ever experienced such sensation during meditation. You know for a fact that this is caused by the Mephistopheles' curse, but you have no idea what exactly can be the source of it; what is the exact goal of the spell?

You do your best to recall everything that happened when you travelled to Cania. Your brain replays the scene: Lord of the Eighth dragging his claw across Raphael's body, then slicing through your back with the same claw, his words 'I must… make sure'. What is he making sure of? That Raphael will no longer plot against him?

Ki requires a balance of body, mind and soul. According to Raphael you are now soul bound with him, whatever that even means. You cannot seem to fully dial in with your soul through Ki, which may mean that the soul is missing. But at the same time it seems that your soul will land in Cania only if you die. Yet, somehow Raphael has not killed you either. Which is to say the least odd, considering his initial reaction to you when he regained consciousness.

You think about the time when Raphael was naked and snapped his fingers a few times but nothing changed. What was he trying to do? Was it teleporting? Or putting on clothes? Can he use his magic at all? Is he suffering the same fate as you with your Ki? What about the wings this morning, you asked Halsin and he did not visit the patient himself.

You shiver on the cold air, but stay on the ground surrounded by snow, desperately trying to manifest the aura you were training for months before venturing to Hells.

'How long do you plan to keep up this nonsense?' Raphael's voice suddenly joins the symphony of the howling, chilly wind.

'Until I get it back,' you respond.

'The Hero of Baldur's Gate,' he starts theatrically and you can hear his footsteps on the snow, as he slowly paces towards you. 'Found frozen to death.'

'I wouldn't push myself that hard,' you counter and readjust your stiff knees, trying to hide a shiver from his watchful eyes. 'Why won't you tell me more about the nature of the curse?'

'Sign the pact with me and I will add every single detail about the curse to your debt.'

'There is no pact, I won't sign anything.'

He chuckles a few times. 'You will.'

'Leave me to my practice, please,' you request. 'I need to focus.'

'Am I occupying too much of your mind, little mouse?'

You sigh and lift yourself on your hands and rotate yourself away from his gaze. There is a little bit of warmth on your cheeks.
'I try to be a kind person, so when someone talks to me, I try to partake in the conversation. And I need to be focused.'

He responds with silence, but despite your closed eyes you can tell that he is still there. The weight of his gaze starts to feel very uncomfortable, but you sit straight and continue to focus on your breathing. The warm air escaping your nose wets your upper lip, making you scrunch your nose. A few moments later, your elegant pose is interrupted by a violent tremble of your shoulders. You frown, annoyed that after around half an hour there is no progress at all.

'Aren't you cold?' you ask randomly.

'I thought you wanted me to let you focus.'

'Then stop burning a hole right through me,' you turn your head above your left shoulder and open your eyes to look at him.

His left arm is tucked around his waist and under his right elbow and he traces his thumb across the nails of his right hand. When he shoots you a lazy glance from the corner of his eyes, you can feel your heart skip a bit. You suddenly realize that maybe he wasn't looking at you at all, yet your body tensed just by his proximity.

As the two of you stare at each other, you make yourself aware of his lack of response to your question.

'Raphael?'

'Yes, dear?'

You turn your head away, returning to your meditation. A few moments later, you can hear a crunch of snow. He shifts his foot, annoyed. Good.

'Speak.'

You smile to yourself and continue to be silent, while lazily brushing off snowflakes from the top of your head, making sure he notices just how completely unbothered you are. You expect him to rather walk away than act in any other way, that's why you are surprised when he grabs the collar of your robe and drags you towards the small hut. You tilt yourself just enough to grab a handful of snow, then throw it at him. The snow melts immediately on his hot skin and his face twists in annoyance.

'It's not nice when one doesn't respond to questions, is it? I asked if you were cold!'

'No,' he snaps and opens the door, then attempt to throw you inside, but you manage to climb to your feet and brush of your robe.

When you lift your head up towards the living room, you notice a third person inside, lying on your bed; their tail occasionally swinging like that of a cat.
'Haarlep!' you smile at them as they wave at you invitingly with a grin. 'Are you risking your safety again?'

Raphael stands proudly next to you, not looking at either you or Haarlep; there is an awfully tense aura around him, as if he is stopping himself from snapping - which is probably what's going on inside his head.

'Pet, don't forget I'm not a devil. I have a bit more freedom, than those boring all-about-law-hell-inhabitants.'

You make your way to Haarlep and take off your robe.

'Undressing already?' they ask and shift on the bed, spreading their legs for you.

'I was sitting in snow, silly.'

'So are you wet?'

'I-' you open your mouth to respond but notice their innuendo and give them a warning look. 'Is this a coincidence that Raphael shows up after being mysteriously away for a whole day,' you look back at the cambion on the other side of the room 'and you are here at the same time?'

'I'm not tied to my previous brat anymore,' Haarlep coos.

'And my business is none of your concern,' Raphael's voice raises as he begins to speak, his tone stern and a bit threatening.

'I was just wondering why you showed up again. I am not signing anything with you. I already told you,' you approach the table and look at the cambion above the smoldering fireplace. 'Though, maybe it's better you showed up. Have you been inside the guest room?' you ask and push the door open and point at the Orphic Hammer and his armor. 'Please take your belongings.'

There is a flash of anger on his face and he takes a step forward, his left arm still tucked under his right elbow. You now have a theory that he is trying to hold himself from going into a physical fight with you.
'And where would I take them, little mouse?'

You shoot him an honestly shocked look.
'Surely someone as resourceful as you can find some new mansion, no?'

He unfolds his arms, then reaches towards a handle of a frying pan, which happens to be in his way. He powerfully slaps it away, releasing some of the built-up anger. The pan lands on the wooden floor with a loud thud.

Uh-oh. You think to yourself and slowly start walking around the table. Everything looks so similar to the moment he first woke up, but he is definitely in a much better, stronger shape now.

'If I wasn't… bound… to the Material Plane, then I would.'

You stop in your track, standing on the opposite side of the table. Haarlep watches the two of you very carefully, flipping onto their belly, with their chin supported on their right hand.

'Bound to the Material Plane?' you repeat. 'What does that mean?'

'That I have been exiled from Hells, stupid mouse!'

You unconsciously mimic his thinking pose, stroking your chin in thought.
'Uh. So that's what Mephistopheles meant,' he raises his eyebrow at you and you use your hands to draw a quotation mark in the air. 'I must make sure - that's what he said and then he marked my back. It was after he marked your chest.'

'So you got chest and back shot?' Haarlep asks. You turn your head towards them and feel your arms drop to the sides with sheer disappointment. They smile cutely and swing their feet.

You turn your attention to Raphael and start:
'Is there something I can do about it?' He raises his eyes to the ceiling and gives you a dramatic eyeroll along with an exhale. 'Except for being forever in your service,' you mock him, leaning forward a bit.

Raphael grits his teeth and tenses his fists, before allowing his shoulders to relax again.

Suddenly, you can hear Haarlep chuckle and they say something in Infernal. Raphael's eyes shot to them and you are certain that if it was within his power, Haarlep would lie dead.

'What was that?' you ask curiously, but Raphael glares at Haarlep again and resumes his stride around the table.

You start backing away, watching half-fiend very carefully.
'So, why not just settle somewhere here? I don't mean Moonrise Towers, but Baldur's Gate? You were conducting business there anyway.'

He can't stop himself from a taunting chuckle.
'In this filthy, chaos consumed world?'

You stare at him blankly.
'Why do you hate the Material Plane so much, Raphael?'

'For very obvious reasons,' he responds, rolling the last word off his tongue. 'I loathe the litters of kittens, chattering children, the noise and the absolute lack of order of it all. And my House of Hope, the one you and your spineless worms of companions took away from me, was ruled efficiently, with laws and rules in place, all kept in place by a firm hand. My hand.'

'But it was only your house,' you notice. 'You said yourself that you want the Crown of Karsus to expand that order all over Hells. It implies that the Hells, as of now, are in disarray, yet you miss that environment so much.'

'You want me to bask in the social scene of mortals?' he spits out with disgust, as you turn a corner around the fireplace.

'Is it truly that much worse than Hells?'

'Well, obviously' he swings his arms dramatically, raising his eyebrows.

The two of you approach the table again and you click your tongue on your teeth.
'You really do think of mortals as lower beings, don't you?' He doesn't respond but his look is enough of an answer. 'I'm sorry Raphael, for saving you from a highly sophisticated society of devils who are so incredibly lawful and in order, that they torture their own family members over the course of months whilst spreading humiliating news about them. Because apparently there is something wrong with dying in a battle when you are at a clear numerous disadvantage… And,' you pretend that you suddenly recall a detail in the story. 'Oh and yes, also sexually abusing and raping your body ever since a spy of your-f*ckING-father, an incubus with a claim on your form, returned from his service to Cania. What a truly fantastic society one can find themselves being a member of! You keep saying that mortals are so disgusting and simple and whatever-else and the truth is, that you guys are much simpler!'

'Oh, do enlighten me, little mouse,' he stops at the opposite side of the table once more.

'What new can I tell you?' you raise your hands in question and slap them on your sides as they fall. 'Devils operate in literally only a few keywords. The everyone's favorite: manipulation,' you wave your hand at him. 'We also have, torture! Murder! Mischief! Misleading mortals! There is quite a lot starting with an 'M' apparently. We also have…'

'Depraved sex!' Haarlep joins in from the bed.

'Thank you! Depraved sex, seduction, lust, and even more sex and more lust. Top all of that with disgusting, vomit inducing levels of luxury built on the suffering of infernal debtors and an endless hunger for power. You guys are so boring it's crazy.'

'And what does the astounding Material Plane,' he swings his right hand in the air a few times, while looking away from you for a brief moment. 'Have to offer?'

'Something that your hellish half will immediately reject,' you point your accusive finger at Raphael. 'Variety, Raphael. Joy, happiness, all of which can be received from the simplest, most basic things in life, but also the opposite. Sorrow, pain, hunger for power and all of that stuff. There's so many things here, it's not so one sided.'

'And yet we wouldn't exist if it wasn't for the cravings of the mankind,' Raphael notices and takes a step closer towards your direction, wrapping his left elbow around his belly again, sensually tracing his thumb on his fingers. 'We are simply,' you watch him slowly circling to your back. 'embodiments of the true human's desires.'

'You make it sound like there are no other desires, which is wrong.'

'All the sinful fantasies, all the delightful desires, the unsatisfied urges… all condensing over the millennia until eventually taking the form of the first devils,' he purrs to you, slowly, lazily walking around you. You shoot him a bored glance, hoping that the tingling on your cheek is not visible in a form of a blush.

'Don't put me in that group,' you request kindly and place your palms together, then bring them to your heart. 'I follow my vows of purity,' you say in a slightly joking manner, trying to release the tense atmosphere which seems to be so thick you can cut through it with a sword.

Then, Haarlep bursts into the cloud of cinders, emerging as you. Completely naked. They seductively bite on the nail of your right index finger, slowly positioning themselves in a very revealing pose, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

'Wow, ok. First of all, this is extremely embarrassing, but I do appreciate the comedic timing,' you say and wrap yourself tightly with your arms, feeling awfully unwell. 'Second of all, which side are you on?'

'The side of entertainment,' Haarlep responds. 'In my expert opinion, you should just settle it by f*cking.'

'Can you please at least put on the pretty harness? I don't…' your arms slouch to your sides and you readjust your weight on your feet. The moment of your weakness is immediately engraved in the memory of Raphael, his eyes inspecting you, taking every single twitch of your muscles in. 'I don't really enjoy the view.'

'I couldn't agree more,' Raphael nods and you don't even turn your head to look at him, feeling a sting inside your chest.

'Please, Haarlep,' you say quietly. They prolong the moment, but disappear in the cloud of cinders and appear in their true form. 'Thank you.'

This definitely destroys the fire you had for any kind of conversation. You exhale heavily and turn around, avoiding Raphael's gaze.

'If you will excuse me, I have some chores to do,' you inform and make your way to the bathroom, where you take care of your laundry.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

When you are alone with your thoughts, you allow yourself for a moment of vulnerability. You subconsciously move towards the tall bowl with the dirty bedsheets and fill a nearby bucket with some water from the hot springs pool, then pour it inside and start doing the laundry.

You can feel a discomfort at the back of your throat, a grasp, not too tight, but enough to be noticeable. You readjust your neck, but you know that the sensation is caused by the anxiety and your rampaging mind. Following your wisdom, you decide to give into your thoughts and become an observer, trying to find the root of the crippling discomfort. Your hands continue to work on a scrubbing board as you venture deep into the depths of your mind.

Almost immediately, you are greeted with memories from the last few hours spent at your monastery. You can feel the trace of a man's fingers on your chin and without even realizing it, your face twists with disgust. You tense for a moment, and wipe the water from your cheek, then continue scrubbing the bedsheets.

The shadow trace on your jaw vanishes and you see three old monks in front of you, the one in between them, the oldest and most experienced one, pointing his veiny but strong finger at the door.

You huff and bring a hand to your neck, rubbing the top of your spine. You acknowledge the reactions of your body, the lump at the back of the throat, the rising feeling of anger inside your chest, making a mental note of all of them. Then, you allow your mind to alter the course of your thoughts and soon you observe your thoughts showing you the memories of Haarlep - them standing in front of your tent, telling you about them making fortune with Raphael's body. You immediately notice how your body responds in the same way, the same anger starting to boil deep inside your chest, tightening your ribs.

You move to your knees and take a deep, controlled breath inside, allowing it to expand your stiff chest, push the ribs and travel down to the belly. The muscles retract as you exhale and you consciously start synchronizing your body with your mind, as you now managed to address the issue at hand.

There is a small cracking sound and the door to the bathroom opens. You glance above your shoulder and see Raphael in his human form. You twist your body to face him, while comfortably sitting on your knees.

'Do you wish to use the bathroom?' you ask him.

He looks around the steaming pool and cups his chin with left hand.
'It will need to suffice,' he responds.

'Alright,' you say and lift yourself up to your feet. 'I know for a fact that this is not what you are used to, but I promise the quality of the hot spring will exceed whatever low expectations you've set for it.' You stand by his side and point to a drawer mounted on a wall opposite of the door. 'Bottom drawer has fresh towels, upper one has some soaps and scents.' You glance at him, his eyes bearing into yours. 'No cherries and musk, though.'

You turn around to leave the room, but he grasps your wrist and pulls you back where you stood.
'What?'

He stares at you with a smirk on his face, before slowly raising his right hand to your eye level. You follow his palm with your gaze and allow your eyes to settle on his torn nails.

You frown.
'You need my help?'

His eyebrows angle slightly, emphasizing his sharp face and eyes.
'I do not require any assistance.' You raise an eyebrow at him. 'However, it is my wish to be bathed, rather than doing so myself.'

'Who said I am obliged to fulfill those wishes?'

He chuckles once.
'You are not, that is true,' he nods and allows his eyebrows to relax as a satisfied grin tries to twist his lips. 'I thought you will need further persuasion,' he drops the eye contact and looks somewhere above your head, pretending to wonder about something. 'Hmmm, a small curious detail, really. How many of the refugees and other inhabitants of this fine settlement use the local source of water?'

When his eyes return back to yours, the contrast between the romantically dimmed lights, the steaming pool behind the handsome man and his burning, malicious eyes is insane. Is he threatening to poison the village you and Halsin built? All the blood, sweat and tears the two of you poured in this place would go to waste.
'You wouldn't,' you say quietly.

'Would you rather have all those innocent people find out?' he fakes innocence and you close your eyes for a moment. In a way, you already bathed him once. This is just another case of taking care of your patient. It's just that the patient continues to be an awful asshole.

'No. What do you need he-' you catch yourself and he raises an eyebrow at you.

'Close call, little mouse.'

'What would you like me to do?' you ask and trace your thumb on your fingers, feeling awkward.

He closes his eyes and raises his chin, tilting his entire body backwards just a tiny bit, clearly enjoying the change of dynamics. He moves his palms like a bandmaster, satisfied with orchestra's performance. 'Was it so hard, dear?'

You stare at him for a moment and sigh.
'It's not hard. It just feels wrong. So? What do I do?'

'Undress me.'

You tense your jaw, but then become conscious about it. You move your palms to the front of his doublet and grasp the material around the buttons, quickly untying them. He chuckles a few times, clearly amused, then raises his hands defensively.

'Are we in a rush? Control your eagerness.'

You follow his command, avoiding his penetrating gaze. You roll your shoulders, releasing some of the built-up pressure, then shift your awareness to your footing.

'That's it,' you think to yourself. 'Do not allow him to worm his way into your mind. He already took your soul through the curse. The body and mind is mine to keep.'

You stop and close your eyes for a moment, expanding the awareness of your body. With closed eyes, you render the image of the room inside your head. You are standing in a bathroom; you ground your feet by shifting the weight of your body from the toes to heels, then to full soles. You are standing near the hot spring pool, fingertips tracing a very expensive fabric. You take a deep breath, separating yourself from emotions the cambion is trying to stir. You exhale slowly, relaxing the muscles on your youthful face, then take a deep breath once again and open your eyes.

When your eyes meet, it feels like a raging inferno meeting the calm waves of the ocean.

'I know what you are doing, Raphael,' you say and stare into his eyes, still feeling the gentle sting of your blushing face, but it's not as severe as before.

He raises his eyebrow at you and remains quiet for a moment. You take off his doublet, fold it and set it aside, then move your hands to his collar again, untying the buttons from the top to bottom.

'And what is that, my dear?'

'You abuse your power.'

You peel the shirt off of him, then look down at his pants and back at him again, while folding the white fabric. He nods slowly. You try really hard to not have your eyes lingering on any part of his now half-exposed body, despite the task being difficult. A part of you would want to see all the smallest details of his entire being, but the wise part wants to treat him with the same respect you would want to be treated with.

You go down and place your right knee on the outer edge of his right shoe. He has some decency to not be completely idle, and soon after both of his boots stand near the pile of his clothes. You lift yourself back again, then grab his belt, untying it - not too fast, but not too slow either.

'Are you fully healed? Besides the claws?' you ask him.

'Yes.'

'Do you want me to brew a healing potion?' you throw the belt at the pile, earning an irritated look from him that you don't acknowledge. 'It should speed up the regrowth of the nails.' You glance at his damaged right palm.

'I don't need your pity,' he spits out, eyebrows angling sharply once again.

'Then you won't receive it,' you reply simply. 'Do you want it or not?' You unbuckle his pants.

'Yes,' his response came out in the tone of a command.

Hells, how annoying you are! Every single time, every single interaction he has ever had with you - you always end up introducing improvisation to your role. How he contemns such behavior! He is the one who is the director! He is the one preparing the stage for the prologue, for the main show and for the epic finale. He is the one pulling the strings of his puppets, making them dance exactly as he wishes them to.

No matter. He always comes out on top when the curtain falls. He will find a way to grasp you in his claws and wipe the bright sparks from your eyes forever. Oh, how he deeply desires to see them fade away. He knows the values of souls and yours has always been on the spectrum of his interest. At first, he was not paying a lot of attention to it, but ever since defeating the Chosen Three, your soul was like a treasure desired by many. And he is going to be the one to claim it.

You glance at his unreadable expression, after you think you heard a sound of grinding teeth. You gently grab the fabric of his pants and descend to your one knee, helping him step out of the pantlegs. You add the pants to the pile and stand up before turning around towards him. Even from the corner of your eyes, you notice how beautifully the lights of the lit candles lick at his muscular, perfectly hairy breast.

'Let me guess, you want me to do the honors?'

'Absolutely.'

You stand in front of him, the two of you staring at each other. You have no idea how, but you can smell cherries and musk on him, but you are certain that he has no way of re-applying his fragrance. It's either your own brain fabricating his smell, or it's permanently engraved in his skin. The air between the two of you is so tense, that the steaming pool suddenly feels like a breeze in the summer.

'I hate you,' you say quietly to his face, taking off his underwear.

'We both know it's a lie.'

'Not entirely.'

He steps closer and out of his underwear, invading your personal space. You move to the side, allowing him to enter the pool, turning your head away to give him some privacy.

'Oh, little mouse,' he says almost affectionately. 'Is my sight so unwelcome to your eyes?' You can hear the gentle splashes of water and glance behind you, relieved to see him submerged with only his shoulders above the surface. 'But do not fret, you will have an eternity to get used to it.'

You start unwrapping your bandaged feet and calves.
'I adore your wet dreams, Raphael. But there will be no future in which you and I are stuck together,' you approach the side of the pool, then pull up your pantlegs just a bit above your knees and sit down, transferring your unclothed legs into the warm water.

'You are surprisingly correct. There is no such future, because it is me who will come out on top,' he says confidently, keeping his right hand above the surface.

You smile faintly to yourself, thinking of a stupid joke. He watches you carefully, a bit tauntingly even, but you don't fall into his trap. The surface of the water dances around the both of you, glistening in the candlelight.

'How does that work, the warlock pact?'

'I lend you my power, you become my servant.'

You swing your feet inside the pool and lean backwards, looking up at the ceiling.
'Hmmm, then something doesn't add up.'

He turns towards you and takes two steps forward. You could probably kick him from your sitting spot if you wanted to.

'As of now, you are powerless, aren't you? What kind of power are we talking about? Power to grow out horns and wings?' you ask sarcastically, dropping your chin a few centimeters to look askance at him.

'You're an icon of comedy, dear,' he bows his head gracefully.

The two of you fall silent for a minute.

'Will you tell me or not?'

'Such impatience and demand. Convince me.'

You wonder for a moment, then look at his hand, hanging above the bath's surface. You stand up, spraying a few drops of water on the floor behind you, then circle around the pool and reach for the top drawer. You pull out two bottles, one with soap and one with shampoo, then close the drawer and reach to the other one, preparing three different towels.

You return to your previous spot and set the bottles next to you, then move your feet to the side, making some room for him.

'Very well,' he tilts his head, his gaze darkening just for a moment, like a flickering light. Despite being in a pool, he approaches you with cat-like gracefulness. His left hand wraps around your right ankle and he pulls your leg apart from the other, his eyes capturing yours. He then rotates himself and stands in between your legs, not touching your skin any longer.

You lean backwards and fetch a brush made of wood and boar coat. Then, you gently slide your hand on his dark hair, guiding the brush, careful not to pull on his roots, but you soon realize it barely requires any brushing. You set the item aside. You push his head just a tiny bit and he takes it as a signal to submerge his head underwater. When he straightens back up, you brush the wet strands from his face with your fingers and pour spicy smelling shampoo on your dominant hand. A few moments after you begin scraping his scalp from the bottom of his hair, he breaks the silence and his voice is raspy, sending shivers even to your submerged calves.

'I haven't been rendered powerless. Not completely. Robbed, rather. Twice now,' he tries to pin you down with his intense gaze when you tilt his head a bit towards you.

'I returned your items.'

He moves away and laughs coldly.
'I'm sorry, are you serious?' he stares at you in disbelief and the next words are spat out with arrogance and venom. The foam stuck inside his hair greatly works against his menacing image. 'You compare the two items from my Archive and my own, personal armor, to centuries of my work? Gathered souls and contracts? The lavish House of Hope itself?'

You look at him seriously and shake your head to the sides. He glares at you but turns his back to you again and you begin to massage his scalp, making sure the foam reaches all of his roots.
'No. I am aware that the value is not the same. Can we discuss the situation to settle on a ground where both parties are satisfied?'

'You found out first hand what is my greatest desire, you know what will satisfy me.'

'The Crown is outside of our reach now. There must be something else.'

'Your service.'

You brush the strands past his ears, scratching his sides a tiny bit.
'You'd send me on an impossible mission, just so I would die and you could toy with my soul for the rest of time.'

'Foolish mouse,' he retorts. 'You've proven yourself to be a valuable asset and I excel at putting those to the best of uses.'

You go silent for some time, tilting his head backwards to rinse it. You watch the foam fall to the surface of the water, slowly drifting away from the two of you - a small island floating on the waters of the ocean. It always blew your mind how amazing this hot spring pool is. Beneath you, there was Underdark and Grymforge - area with high volcanic activity and thanks to your efforts of lifting the Shadow Curse, some of the refugees appearing on the now cured lands happen to be gnomes, who know how to put such volcanic energy into a good use.

'Even if you don't plan to send me on a suicidal mission, I would bring you many souls, many debtors,' you respond, observing how his shiny hair falls towards his back.

'You will, little mouse,' he corrects.

You reach to the basket with various bathing supplies, taking out a small bottle of hair oil. In the same time, Raphael moves away just a tiny bit and switches his forms while inside the pool. The water hisses, steaming away from the top of his infernal body. He stretches his wings and you catch yourself staring at the way the joints flex, pulled by strong muscles of his back. When he turns towards you and steps forward, you notice that he is now eye level with you, but you feel a lot smaller than you actually are. His intimidating aura is much more noticeable in this shape.

'Besides, I will not allow you to come back to House of Hope. I won't stand seeing Hope imprisoned again. There must be another way,' you say silently. 'I always find a solution.'

He looks at you pitifully.
'Not this time.'

'You don't know that.'

He chuckles again, clearly amused by your hopefulness.
'I beg you pardon, are you suggesting that you have grander knowledge of aninfernal curse?'

'No,' you shake your head. 'I am saying that there are things that even you are not aware of. This might be one of such cases,' you hand him over a bottle with soap, but he steps even closer and you roll your eyes, popping the lid of the bottle open.

You go silent, trying not to look into his blazing eyes, instead focusing on the skin of his neck, that you wash with confident moves, not allowing your palms to stay particularly occupied with any of the parts of his hot skin. You are careful to avoid getting the soap on his cursed scar.

'Indulge me, little mouse,' you shoot him a glance saying 'Again?', but he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head before continuing. 'And tell me… you didn't think this through, did you?'

'What? If I were to think my plan of going to Cania through too much, there was a chance that the voice of reason would become much louder than anything else.'

'Than anything else,' he echoes with a low, deep voice. 'Define those 'elses' for me, little mouse.'

'Why do you even want to know?'

'Because, truth be told, you were always a puzzle to me. Much like Hope. And if there is one thing you should know about me, is that I adore puzzles. I adore examining each of their pieces, but…' he furrows his eyebrows, unsheathing his sharp teeth. 'In reverse, if you will. Taking them apart, rather than putting together.'

'You make me sick,' you say quietly and frown yourself.

'So tell me, my dear,' he ignores you and continues. 'What were the puzzles that snapped together and led you to Cania?'

'I already told you, I looked into the orb after our fight.'

'And yet, I recall you sitting on my body with tears staining your cheeks during the fight. You,begging the commander-'

'Yurgir,' you remind and he squints his eyes dangerously.

'-to stop. Begging me, to take your altered deal. A deal, shall I remind you, that would have entitled me to the Crown, even after you discovered what my plans are.'

'I also told you why. I never believed you would be allowed to rule over the Nine. You would make so many enemies for yourself that you would fall. It is a very mortal trait of yours. Setting yourself up for an ambition you aren't quite capable of fulfilling.'

The fury inside of him bursts ablaze, but he doesn't show it in any way except for the inferno inside his orange iris. For a brief moment, his gaze lands at your neck secured with a bandage, as he feels a sting of metallic taste on his tongue - his brain wanting him to sink the teeth inside your flesh, give in and tear it apart or at least pierce it enough to make it bleed. How he would love to savior the taste.

But he knows he cannot do it. He cannot hurt you physically. Not yet. Not now, when his claws are wrapping tighter around you than ever before. He is so close. So close to achieving his goal. So close to fulfilling his revenge. So close to seeing the bright sparks disappear from your eyes, perhaps forever. There are only two puzzles he has to peel away.

'I wanted to give you the Crown, but I wanted you to be smart about it. If it is half as powerful as you describe it to be, you could maybe take the throne of your father and pledge your loyalty to Asmodeus. I wanted you to have it, so that the Blood War could end and no more people from the Material Plane would ever be sold or kidnapped and be drafted to join the war. I've seen what Karlach felt. She was ready to die, she was ready to burn alive if it meant not going back to Avernus,' you look into his eyes and wave your hand for him to turn around. He hesitates, just to prove a point that he is the one in charge, and turns on his heel. You begin to wash the base of his wings. 'For some time, our goals aligned. In one way or the other, at least.'

'You knew I would invade Material Plane.'

'My gut knew it when you first told me about the Crown,' you admit. He raises his eyebrows, amused and a bit… proud? 'It was the way you phrased it. I remember it clearly, much like other things you told me.'

'Would you mind quoting the sentence, little mouse?'

'Raphael, if you want to stroke your own ego and make you listen to what leaves your own mouth, I know of a nearby cave with great reverberation. I think it would suit your needs.'

'I am much capable of appreciating a conversation partner.'

'You literally told me not to speak to you the second you woke up.'

He huffs out a breath of amusem*nt, the anger inside his heart calming down just a hunk.
'Repeat the sentence, dear.'

You sigh and look up at the ceiling, taking your hands of his back as you think. You reach for the hair oil and apply a tiny amount of it to the tips of his hair.
'You said this,' you shift in your seat, preparing for a performance. He turns around just enough to look at you. 'With the Crown, I would impose perfect order. Unity. Efficiency. Control,' you count the nouns on your finger just like he did, moving your head in sync with the words. Then you make a pause and raise a finger as if trying to grab his attention. 'And this one: 'My kingdom would control its borders and stay within them.' You never specified what you consider as your borders. You also didn't say a word about how long does the contract last, because if I were to complete it by handing over the Crown, it might as well be no longer valid,' your eyes return back to his. 'You don't lie, but play with words, Raphael. And this is precisely why I think there is more to what you are telling me about the curse.'

'I was always fond of your intellect.'

This catches you off-guard. You take a sharp breath in, as if trying to say something, but you stop to stare at him. He smirks knowingly, aware that he knocked your defenses. You fall silent for some time, your thoughts rampaging through your mind. The words start to push against the root of your tongue, desperately attempting to escape. You tense your jaw and pour some soap onto your right palm and stroke Raphael's left wing.
'I hate being fond of you.'

A burning sensation fills his chest. Triumph, satisfaction, the feeling of a definite victory after a prolonged struggle. He chuckles, catching your attention.

'Is that it, little mouse?' he asks and registers the micro expressions of your entire form, trapped in a moment of vulnerability. This is it. The last, final piece. How beautifully unaware you are of the tight leash about to be put above your head and tightened around the neck. 'The final piece of your puzzles?'

'The final piece was compassion,' you admit. 'Your… fate,' you say quietly, your gaze dropping to the surface of the pool. 'Reminded me of someone, of something that happened in the past.'

He uses the moment of your lack of attention to allow his lips twist into an awful smirk. It vanishes a moment later.
'Compassion. Such a pure, undiluted emotion, isn't it?'

Your sharp eyes snap back to him. He submerges his left wing under water and turns towards you.
'Aren’t you just an icon of compassion? Maybe your deeds and contribution will finally be enough for you to return back to your monastery.'

The top of your head turns cold and the freezing blood spreads across your entire body, all the way to the tips of your toes.
'How do you know?' you inquire, stunned.

'I know everything there is to know about you, little mouse. I know of your swift progression within the ranks of monks, I know of your mentor and of your exile,' the glint in his eyes tells you how delighted he is.

'I never told anyone,' your voice trembles and your heart starts beating faster. 'How could you possibly find out about those things?'

'My insight reaches far and beyond, dear. There aren't many spellcasting monks in the West of Faerun. And certain attributes of your very being almost immediately made me think of the Order of the Yellow Rose,' he smriks knowingly. 'An exile from the monastery.'

You try to abruptly stand up and leave, but he grabs your calf, securing you in one spot. His claws almost dig through your skin. You stare at him, heart pounding like a hammer. You grit your teeth and furrow your brows, your intense gaze challenging his own inferno.
'If you know so much, then surely you must be aware of why I was exiled.'

Oh, he is so ecstatic, he could sing from joy.
'You attacked your master,' he says only the half-truth, tossing the bait that you immediately swallow. 'Disrespected your teachers, defiled your god.'

'No,' you snap, the familiar flames of your destructive anger rising again. It's been so long since you felt it. So long since you allowed yourself to fully relive these memories. 'My mentor, the one I entrusted my very life with, he promoted me to a Guardian. I was to take care of a group of younglings at the monastery, I was to introduce them to our traditions, teach them the ways of living off the land, respecting the nature, respecting one another. I saw him as my idol, someone I wanted to become, my true and only father figure I had ever since my own family abandoned me. He was a wise, greater monk, a disciple of the Open Hand,' you grit your teeth until they grind, looking somewhere above Raphael. You try to stop your fury, but when the words leave your mouth, you can barely recognize your voice, full of rage and hatred. 'And a pedophile.'

You set aside the bottle with soap before you crush it into pieces, damaging your skin.
'The whole group under my care… They were all beaten to keep quiet. Every. Single. One. All punished for looking up at the master, when he chose his victim, a boy or a girl, he didn't care,' a hot tear dwells inside your eyes and you look down, feeling your lips tremble. You push your mouth into a thin line, fists flexing unconsciously. You take a deep breath, bringing your opened left palm to your heart. It takes you a moment to calm yourself down. 'One's body is a temple, Raphael. It's just as sacred as the mind and the soul,' you breathe out and he loosens the grip on your calf. 'And a body of a child? Only a demon could ruin it, shatter its curiosity, confidence, corrupt its development,' you quickly wipe the tear escaping your eye. 'I cut off his dominant hand. I would have gone for his dick as well, if there was no one to stop me. I'd cut it and I feed it to him.'

Raphael watches you carefully, suddenly noticing a faint red glow coming from somewhere on your back. He knows its already too late, so he allows himself for a small smile, curving his crimson lips.

'My wards were terrified. Both of me and of him. Of him because of obvious reasons, of me because my rage would bring more punishment to them. I got thrown away, they told me that my heart is poisoned with hatred, that I couldn't make logical decisions because of the revenge taking control of my mind. It took me a few weeks on exile, but I eventually recognized that there was truth in that. The Order of the Yellow Rose serves Ilmater. The god of compassion, amongst other things.'

You go quiet for a moment, taking deep breaths into your lungs, feeling the back of your throat burn from sorrow.

'So I left the surroundings of the monastery, I ventured wherever my feet and intuition would tell me to go. I helped a few, then I landed in the nautiloid. You know the rest,' you glance at him, his expression now unreadable. 'When Haarlep told me…' your voice cracks and you move your head to the side, trying to hide from his gaze, but your effort is futile. 'That your own kind… Your own kind rents out your form,' you close your eyes and tighten your fist. A small, red, flaming aura suddenly bursts from your body, but you are unable to see it. Raphael smiles again. 'I wanted to tear the place apart. I would impale your father all the way from his asshole to his throat. Or kick his ass and leave him to you, whatever you'd find more appealing. But I knew I couldn't. In the best outcome, I would die,' you breathe in and glance at him being suspiciously quiet. 'I know you are partially a devil. Incinerate me if you want, but I saw and I still see humanity in you. I probably shouldn't, but I see my wards and,' the tears fall in your eyes again. 'I see myself, in a way. I would leave you alone, if you were to die peacefully. If one of the sacred three - the body - remained untainted.'

He hesitates. As the tears flow down your cheek, he hesitates. Something deep within responds and he wants to tear it out of his own body. The sight of your tears - flowing for him - somehow too much, but too little at the same time. The inferno in his eyes flickers brightly again.

'I expect many things from you, but I have never witnessed such a level of sheer hypocrisy,' he states somehow distantly, shaking his head slowly to the sides. You raise your chin to look into his eyes. 'Compassion? Please, don't make me sick. You did what you deemed most suitable for your state when that happened. Compassion?' he huffs coldly. 'You were simply plagued by the dreams of guilt. Did they stop, since you ventured to Cania, little mouse?' your face twists, as your eyes burn with tears. 'Was the compassion what you had in mind when you rampaged through my house, seeking my private information and once you did, what have you done, little mouse?' You stare at him through tears. He shoots his hand and tightly wraps it around your throat, bringing your face closer to his. 'You indulged yourself with my own body. You keep speaking of Haarlep, selling evenings in my form, but how are you any different? Do your vows have a closure on how to justify your actions when it comes to cambions?'

Your thoughts try to defend your actions, but you know that he is right. You convinced the Archivist to give you the invitation, because he thought you were Verilius Receptor, a person he is terrified of. Then, when opportunity arised, you didn't stand your ground, but continued the interaction with Haarlep. But on the other hand, you didn't know. Your knowledge of incubi and succubi prior to the encounter was very limited.

You swallow your anger and open your heart, taking in Raphael's perspective. He is right. In no way, shape or form, were you ever granted consent for his body.

'Or, will you just return to a different monastery and conveniently retake them? Answer me!'

You shake your head.

'Look me in the eye,' his voice is a quiet, bone chilling command.

The fiber holding your resolve snaps and suddenly, the bright sparks of your eyes are replaced by an empty void.
'I don't deserve to.'

When he finally lets you go, you leave the bathroom, feeling your body being absolutely drained from any energy. The second the door closes behind you, Raphael leaves the pool and snaps his fingers, curing his right claw and drying his body.

Oh, how ecstatic he is. The only thing missing now is a goblet full of his finest wine. One that has been ripening for centuries, enriching its savoury flavors. It would help with balancing the sweetness of your misery, which he can almost taste on his tongue.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

The next few days are very difficult. You don't sleep well, haunted by the nightmarish images of your friends' faces twisted in agony every time you allow yourself to close your own eyelids. It makes you tired, almost feverish. The situation with Ki doesn't seem to be getting any better and on top of that you now feel a heavy weight of sin pinning you down to the ground, undermining your genuine belief in the good intentions of your choices.

You keep fighting with yourself, one side justifying your actions, trying to tell you that this is not right, this is not what you did and what actually happened. But every time you catch yourself finding a new explanation for the course of your past doing, you realize that this is the signature work of one of your old times companions - a permanent part of you, which doesn't hesitate to hop on the main stage to try and get your full attention. An intoxicating anger.

You crush dried Rogue's Morsel in a mortar and look up at the wooden ceiling with a small sigh. It is early in the morning and the horizon outside begins to change. Here and there, you can see a few snowdrops desperately seeking their way out from underneath the fluffy white cover.

Ever since you remember, even before you were drafted to join the monastery, all the people around you - guardians, adults and even your peers - they never seem to treat you seriously. You always find yourself taking a spot somewhere at the bottom of the hierarchy of priorities, always being perceived as a listener. People like you, or at least they always say they do, always cherish you for your kindness and open heart. But in reality, you are rarely or never given an opportunity to be listened to, so you settle on listening to others.

You look at the alchemy table in front of you and reach for a long wooden spoon to swirl the water in a metal kettle, set on a small burner. You grab a vial of previously prepared suspension of Bullywug Trumpet and empty it, throwing all its contents to the water. After a few more swirls, you add the crushed Rogue's Morsel and set the wooden spoon aside, returning back to your thoughts.

The Order of the Yellow Rose follows the teachings of Ilmater. A god of compassion, kindness, selflessness. He teaches that if possible, one should save another from suffering, by carrying the burden on their own shoulders.

You recall times when you were angry at being exiled. Moments in which the phantom of that anger comes back, haunting, poisoning your heart. But you have learnt to recognize how it feels, how to address it so you are aware of the presence of a much more dangerous inner demon - pride. The one who at times happens to be very attention-starved.

Pride is a close friend of anger, or rather, they often times seem to be happy bedfellows. And you know the two of them all too well. When looking back on the last events in your monastery, you are presently able to address the emotions that guided your actions. It was mainly anger, yes. And a justified one, at that, but there is always more, there is always the tip of the iceberg and what is hiding underneath. It takes a lot of time to see those things, but time is the greatest teacher and never fails to show one's mistakes and progress. Now, you are able to say that beneath the anger, there was also an ambition; a wild dream of being the protector of all the sexually assaulted victims, a desire of being the hand of justice, punishing the abuser and earning respect of your elders, so that they will finally cherish your mind and soul just as much as they cherish their own.

You know that at the time, you had no idea why The Three - the oldest, wisest monks from the monastery - decided to banish you. You remember threads of hate, trapping your heart in a tight net, unconsciously pulling you away from the Ilmater's teachings you really wanted to follow. But since then, so many things happened. Even before the kidnapping by mind flayers, you got to see how different folks carried on with their lives, what struggles they faced on a daily basis. However, it is after the nautiloid ship crash when you truly started to grow. You finally understood that each and every one carries some kind of a burden, has some kind of a complex story and your willingness to lend a hand and help someone should come from a loving heart, not one poisoned with hatred, anger and pride.

You deactivate the burner and stand up from your seat, then walk to the tall shelf hanging on your left hand side, right next to the hatch leading to the basem*nt. You grab three small vials and transfer them to the table, then look outside the window, idly watching the horizon, waiting for the earthy smelling liquid to cool down.

After about a minute, you decide to better manage your free time and head over to the guest room. You knock on the door, but just like the day before - there is no one inside. You step over the threshold and strip the bed from the bedsheets, examining some small smears of blood from when Raphael was still injured. You throw the dirty bedsheets to the tall bowl, soaking them in cold water, then approach one of the cabinets inside the bathroom, taking out a clean set.

Few minutes later, the covers are already changed, and you pour the warm potion into three vials. You take one and leave it next to the bed Raphael is occupying. Or was occupying - you still aren't sure if he is planning to come back.

When you finish some minor tasks around the small house, you get dressed in your robe, wrap bandages and metal weights around your ankles and wrists and head outside, grabbing your staff as you leave. With recent changes to your Ki-abilities, you think that it is better to practice defending yourself with a staff. Should such a need arise.

You quickly check on the birdhouse, brushing off its roof covered with a thin layer of snow, and after realizing that the birds have both feed and water, you begin your exhausting training session. Your body is used to harsh conditions and the feeling of burning muscles. Your monastery is known for rigorous training that each monk has to go through, even the ones who later specialize in arts.

Two hours pass in a blink of an eye and you return back to the house to bathe, dress in fresh clothes, prepare a meal and bake some bread, as well as do the laundry while the food is cooking. Afterwards, you quickly head outside and jog all the way to the Last Light Inn, where you meet up with Halsin and ask him if he received any letters for you.

'There is one,' he says and jumps across the counter that the two of you were standing near. 'I think it's a response from the Dawnmasters, judging by the look of the seal,' he informs and his head disappears behind the furniture. 'Here you go.'

Halsin straightens his back and hands you the letter with a small smile. You examine the seal and nod, then open the letter.

'Oh, you don't want any privacy?'

'Please, I trust you with my life. Besides, this is not just for me, but for our entire community.'

'Right,' he nods and places his muscular forearms on the counter, raising his eyebrows just a bit.

You scan the letter and smile widely, but the joy barely reaches your eyes.
'Yes!' you glance at Halsin. 'They want to meet up. In a tavern, north west from here. It's around two days of journeying from the Moonrise Towers.'

'Do they say when?'

'By the end of this week.'

'Oh, in such weather conditions?' Halsin asks. 'I don't think the Dawnmasters took into consideration that we do not own even a single horse.'

'That's not a problem, don't worry. I am used to travelling on foot.'

Halsin humms and looks at you cautiously.
'Have your powers returned?'

You tuck the letter inside your monastic robe.
'Unfortunately not.'

'Do you want me to accompany you on the journey? Or should I delegate someone to help you?'

You smile and Halsin straightens up once again, looking at you concerned.
'This will not be necessary. You are needed here, as the leader of the establishment and any capable hands should be delegated to help with our Underdark business. In fact, I should apologize for not being of any help with that lately.'

'Nonsense!' he raises his eyebrows in disbelief. 'You've done enough. And truth is, we are almost set up - all we need now is to wait for the first warm embrace of the spring and the farms will be up and running, growing our food for the community.'

'Do we need anything as of now?' you ask. 'I think the Dawnmasters might offer something in return for their relic. I was thinking that we can always use clothing and more bed covers and sheets, maybe some medical supplies?'

'Clothes, shoes, or just fabric. We will be able to make our own clothes, but we might need help with getting the supplies. Bed sheets are always welcome, too.'

'Perfect, I will see if I can get us something.'

Halsin smiles softly. He turns around and reaches for two wooden mugs and sets them in front of you. You wave him a 'no, thanks' when he offers some beer, but he pours himself a little bit of the beverage.
'So,' he starts, takes a sip and looks away from you. You fight a smirk, knowing exactly what is he planning to ask about. 'What about your other matters at hand? The infernal ones?'

'I wish I could tell you,' you respond and play with your right sleeve. 'Raphael was not in the house when I left. Has he been causing any troubles around?'

'Not that I'm aware of. I haven't seen him anywhere else besides your house.'

'I see, good.' You wonder for a moment. 'Anyway, I can't stay for long because I am making some soup and baking two loafs of sourdough bread.'

'Oh, your sourdough bread,' Halsin hums dreamily. 'Will you bring me some?'

'Of course! I am baking the second loaf specifically for you. I will make sure to bake you a lot of bread before I leave permanently.'

'You know that you don't have to,' he looks at you like a big puppy, or more like a teddy bear. 'Both bake and leave, I mean.'

'I know,' you nod. 'But it's kind of what monks do.'

'I used to consider myself the same. See myself as a wanderer, being the one with the nature. Appreciating its gifts. Not to say I don’t do it now, but my perspective has… changed.'

'Do you think it's for the worse?'

'I'm not sure yet, time will tell,' he makes a pause for a moment, hooking his meaty arms around his belly. 'What do you think about it?'

'About you embracing such change?' you clarify and he nods. 'I think you answered your calling. In times where neither Emerald Grove nor Baldur's Gate accepts refugees, settlements like the one you established are much needed. Even if at some point you decide that it is too much of a responsibility or not really something you were hoping it would become, I still believe it can spark inspiration into hearts of others and possibly lead them to build more places like this one.'

Halsin chuckles joyfully and spreads his arms, as if presenting his surroundings to you.
'All of the labor we put in this place already seems to inspire. It's rare to see folks work in unison quite like they do in here.'

'And it's only a start!' you remind him and he grins happily. 'I need to go now, thank you for the letter and the chat.'

You turn around and sprint outside the tavern, heading straight to your house, built on the farthest side of the settlement. As you run down the bridge, you glance at the abandoned hut built on the other side of a small river cutting the main land from the isle the Last Light Inn stands on.

When you come back home, your food is ready, dangerously dancing on the edge of getting burnt. You remove the kettle with the soup from the fireplace and grab a glove to lift a metal cover of a rectangle pot with two sourdough loafs of bread inside. You stick a long wooden needle inside the bread and remove it a second later, checking if the dough is raw inside. You grab the pot and set it aside, then push the burning wood around the fireplace reducing the heat of the flames.

It's too early to eat a bread like that, despite it being extremely tempting, so you pour yourself some soup and enjoy your meal in peace, staring outside the window in thought. After some time, you look inside the guest room and notice the absence of the Orphic Hammer and the Helldusk Armor. You look towards the entrance door, wondering if Raphael will show up today at all, feeling a weird stinging sensation on the scar in your back.

Raphael doesn't show up, so at the end of the day, you decide to write him a note in case he returns when you aren't indoors.

The week passes by surprisingly quickly, however you are barely aware of the time passing, because of your severe issues with sleeping. You decide to use your sleep deprivation to help around the settlement. When the time finally comes, you grab your loaded backpack, making sure that the relic is secured, then you fetch your staff and a smaller bag with food rations. You make sure to stop at Halsin's door, informing him about your departure and handing him some more sourdough bread that he so dearly enjoys. In return, you ask him to check on the birdhouse outside of the house that you temporarily occupy.

When you finally stand at the road overlooking the previously Shadow-Cursed Lands leading to the Mountain Pass, you take a generous breath inside your lungs. You close your eyes and rub your temples, then turn around on your right heel and begin your journey.

Once you enter the Mountain Pass, you notice that not many things changed since the last time you and your companions were here. You make sure to stay away from the creche, now that you don't travel with Lae'Zel. You aren't certain if you would be attacked, but the githyanki warriors are skilled opponents, so it's better to be safe than sorry.

You check the weights on your wrists and begin humming a melody, glancing at the sun high in the zenith. A few hours into your trip, you take a small sip of water from your canteen and produce two onigiris that you chew on, continuing your journey. At some point, you fetch a folded map from between the layers of your monastic attire and check your coordinates. It seems that you have generously estimated the time it would take you to appear at the meeting point.

You huff in thought and look around the bare hill covered in snow and glance towards the raided Lathander temple, still visible on the far horizon. You read a sign near a crossroad and turn left, noticing a broken cart laying on the side of the dirt path.

You take out your staff and approach it with caution. These areas are known for occasional appearances of gnolls or some less threatening undead. One of the cart wheels has detached and rolled to the other side of the road. Some burlap sacks lay on top of the cart, soaked from the snow. You use the bottom of your staff to tap on the cargo. It feels hard and frozen, almost like a bag of rocks. You brush the snow away to look into the burlap sack - it's full of potatoes.

You let go of the fabric and walk to the front of the cart; whatever horse used to pull this thing had to run away the second it saw the danger. You look around again and swipe your feet across the ground, trying to look for some clues. In the grass behind the flipped cart, you find a brownish trace of dried blood, climbing up a small hill which you are currently facing. You adjust the collar of your robe and carefully walk to the top of the rise. It doesn't take you long to find a mingled corpse, abandoned by either a gnoll or some other creature, be it a beast or a humanoid. The body doesn't have an arm and you have a hard time telling who it could belong to, because it's face and clothes are covered by snow.

You sigh and make sure that there is no danger around, then wish you had your Ki back to cast a Speak with the Dead spell. You take your backpack off and untangle a small shovel from a rope that secures it on top of your baggage. You look up at the sky, roughly estimating the time. You will not be digging a very big grave, because you plan to secure it with rocks, so by the time you are going to be done, you will need to find some peaceful spot suitable for a camp. Without wasting any further moment, you begin digging a hole next to the corpse.

Sometime later, you wipe the droplets of water from under your nose and rub the dirty shovel on a nearby pile of yellow grass. You put it back on top of your backpack, then fetch all the bigger rocks you can spot nearby.

'Good thing the ground isn't as stiff as around three weeks ago,' you think to yourself, looking up at the sky to see the position of the sun.

Halfway through covering the grave, you can feel a stray drop splash on your neck. You place the three smaller rocks firmly on the fresh ground and straighten your back. You then extend your arm, waiting to feel another drop of water on your skin. When it falls, you curse under your breath and quickly finish lining up the stones. It takes you around twelve minutes to finish covering the grave - enough time for the rain to get stronger. You bow for a few seconds before the grave, paying respect to the unfortunate traveler. Just as you are about to turn around and leave the hill, pain slices through the scar on your back, as if someone landed a painful strike with a whip on your bare skin. You hiss and blink away the blurred vision, then watch yourself approach the grave, reach towards the waistline of your pants, preparing to slide them off.

You blink furiously and stumble a step backwards, losing a bit of your balance. You still stand in the exact same spot, you haven't moved any closer to the grave, if anything, you moved backwards. Why did you see yourself trying to… piss on a grave just now?

You stare at the rocks and for a second you think that they frown back at you in confusion. You look at your hands to check the amount of your fingers. Everything looks normal.

You hesitate for a moment, checking if the weird experience will return, but it doesn't, so you begin climbing the hill to descend down to the dirt road and resume your previous journey. You fix the straw hat on top of your head, guarding you from the rainfall, then hide your hands inside your sleeves, coating them from a chill wind, carrying the scent of fresh, spring air and the song of some small birds.

You enter a cobbled bridge and guided by your instinct, you slowly approach a puddle. As you put your left foot near the edge of the reflective surface, you lean your body towards it, for some reason actually afraid of what you might see. When your regular self looks worriedly back at you, you sigh with relief and blink. The split second your gaze focuses again, you see an image of a devil. Your heart jumps into your throat and you step back. Cold adrenaline washes over your body before vanishing into oblivion, once you calm your confused nerves. You risk another peek at the reflection, and it's the same monk in a neat monastic robe as before.

Was that Raphael? No, the horns weren't quite right. Mephistopheles? It could have been, but you are not entirely certain.

The rain is presently drumming around you, hitting the surface of a small stream and the ground covered with half-melted blanket of snow. In a few seconds, you decide to make a stop and find shelter, preventing your cargo and yourself from getting soaked any further.

You basically slide down the hill, careful to halt before landing with your face in the cold stream lazily swimming under a bridge. You adjust your backpack and practically sigh with joy when you spot a big rock and one smaller one next to it. It will be more than perfect to protect you and your backpack from the muddy soil soaked with the first spring rain. You take off your backpack and set it aside on the smaller rock, making sure it's dry first. Then, you sit cross-legged on the bigger stone and look at the flowing water a few meters in front of you. Soon, your sleep deprived body commands you to close your eyelids, so you allow your head to fall closer to your chest, while you support your back on the stone wall behind you. Before you attempt to drift away, you pick up the staff and set it on top of your legs.

It's a beautiful, bright night. The stars generously decorate the cloudless sky and the moon casts a cold glow on the rain-soaked hills, trying to peek under the bridge, where a well-dressed man looks very out of place.

Raphael stands still, his left hand tucked under his right elbow with the right palm sensually stroking his chin. Despite the deep shadow he's standing in, his eyes slice through the darkness, intensely watching your resting form. He has read your correspondences and journals - a personal revenge for you prying into his own private belongings - so he knows about your meeting with the Dawnmasters, the upcoming catch-up with your companions as well as your plans for your next quest.

He smiles to himself sad*stically. You should not be deluding yourself into believing that there is any time for you to start another quest. After all, you are bound to him now and sooner or later, you will be forced to take the pact with him, or submit to him differently. Either way, he already knows that he is going to be the one having the last laugh, no matter how full of hope you might be, wishing for another ending.

He takes a soundless step forward, eyeing the top of your left shoulder where the Hellfire Curse begins. He can't wait to see how much of a bloody mess you will become once you start to realize that your loss of Ki is going to be permanent unless you get rid of the curse. Can't wait to have you bound to him by an exploitive contract with some… details in the fine print. You are a clever one, though. This is something he is and always was aware of. You are as sharp minded as you are talented and as talented and sharp minded, as you are kind-hearted and naïve.

'Ridiculous followers of Ilmater,' he thought to himself. 'Wasting precious time to bury a worthless, mangled corpse.'

How sensitive, how absolutely, indescribably…

'Raphael,' you say quietly, the tiny movement of your head towards him proving that you are fully aware of his presence. If it wasn't for the fact that you have his undivided attention, your weak words would have been lost in the wind. 'I was thinking about our conversation from around a week ago.'

He doesn't like the situation he is in. He should be the one to deal the cards, not the one to receive them. He should deliver the memorable opening for the conversation of which the outcome he planned and pondered multiple times before appearing beneath this very bridge.

He brushes invisible dust off the front of his beautiful, smooth dark teal doublet, embroidered with thin golden thread, seemingly glistening in the moonlight as he steps closer to you.

'My, my. The little mouse perks its ears, wary of the dark and her lurking fears,' he recites, rolling the words out of his tongue as if they were practiced a million times. 'Quite the hearing you have.'

'It was the perfumes,' you admit and stretch your legs, holding them mid-air in front of you.

'Hmm, do carry on. What thoughts occupied the poor mind of yours since we spoke last time?'

You pull your legs back towards your body and sit cross-legged again. You briefly glance at him, but the sight of his burning eyes makes you drop the eye contact to the muddy soil, which somehow doesn't seem to stick to his gorgeous, knee-high dark leather shoes.

'I was considering your perspective and my initial response was to justify my actions.'

'Who would have expected.'

'But I do understand your feelings now and I want to apologize,' you shift your legs and slide down from the stone to stand before him. You tremble a tiny bit in the cold, but your attention is currently fixed on the half-man before you and the ache in your heart. You bow your head before him. 'I apologize. I will understand if I will never be granted your forgiveness, but I will live hoping to receive it one day.'

He clenches his fists at his side, looking down at you willingly bowing your head before him. Something odd and unnatural sprouts within him and he immediately sheds his human form, hoping that the familiarity of his infernal skin will help purging it before it blooms into… whatever that mortal emotion may be.

'Forgiveness?' he spits out with venom. 'You can only dream of it once I personally see that you are adequately chastised,' he says firmly, but the words are supposed to sound more like a promise of a threat; a promise that seems to have died somewhere while leaving his mouth.

'I see.'

He grits his teeth, hearing your unbothered, even perhaps slightly grateful tone. What a stupid little mouse you are, running around his feet like that. And him - instead of pushing forward without a care about your pathetic form - he finds himself standing still, afraid that if he steps any further, your fragile existence will shatter under his feet.

He wants to open his mouth and say something, lead the conversation to his desired outcome. But for some reason, he (out of all people and infernal creatures!) has issues finding his words. Instead, he watches you slowly lift yourself up and return to the top of the rock, your body shaking in the cold due to lack of the Ki aura you used to usually maintain.

'This is all I need. Thank you.'

The words snap the thread of his resolve and he takes a step forward, outstretching his claw towards you, but then realizes that you are already in pain. A pain coming from a different source than his doing. You hiss and reach with your small hand to your back, the sudden movement knocking the straw hat off your head.

Raphael watches the red glow sinking through the fabric of your robe as you try to strip yourself, the burning sensation so unbearable, despite the otherwise chilly wind howling all around you. When you manage to slide your left shoulder pad out of the robe, he can see the traces of blood decorating your toned body. You carefully inspect your own skin, pulling your hand from your back towards the rays of the moonlight, watching in shock the deep tint of red smeared on your fingertips.

'It seems, little mouse, that the dearest father Mephistopheles is growing impatient.'

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

'What does it mean, that he is growing impatient?' you gasp, feeling another sting on your back as you clean your hands from your own blood. You make sure not to touch the bleeding wound with the hands you sink inside the cold stream, avoiding any infections.

Every tree in the nearby area is soaked by the rain, so there is no way for you to start a fire and purify water. Not without magic, at least. You glance above your shoulder, looking up at Raphael standing in a shadow, leaving only his burning eyes visible.

You consider for a moment if he will tell you anything at all before slowly standing up and averting your gaze away from the cambion.

'It seems that he might have misjudged your stubbornness,' he says vaguely. 'And because of that, he is… influencing the process.' You raise your eyebrow in an unspoken question. 'The clock is ticking, little mouse,' he announces in a quiet, threatening voice and takes a slow step forward. 'Tick.' Another step towards you. 'Tack.' His figure now appears in the moonlight, the cambion towering over you. He raises his clawed finger, tilting it to the sides as he speaks. 'Tick.' You look at his hand and furrow your brows. 'Tack.'

'Process?' you ask simply.

He brings his hand to his chin, glaring down at you.
'You ought to know by now, that I never surround knowledge for free.'

'Is this not beneficial to you if I know about the nature of the curse?' you counter.

'Not particularly. It's neither beneficial, nor damaging.'

'Then why not share, if it's not going to do anything bad to your plan?'

'And spoil all the fun?' he asks, raising his eyebrows in a mock disbelief.

'It's not fun, Raphael. We are both cursed. I don't understand how you are so casual about it. We are both in the same boat.'

'How disgusting of you to even suggest that.'

'What?' you ask, then shoot him a confused look. 'You are bound to the Material Plane, aren't you? Surely that must be annoying? You said so yourself.'

'It's mildly inconvenient, correct, but don't forget that I am a patient man,' he grins. 'And at the grand finale of this endeavor awaits nothing else, but your misery and my triumph. It's worth all of my wait. You haven't realized it just yet, because you keep shoving away my gracious offer. But soon... you will face the music,' he tilts his head to the side, his eyes burning right through you. 'And the dreadful melody of it is going to reach your very soul.'

You sigh.
'Cool,' you turn away from him. 'I told you I will not sign a pact. It will put my friends in danger.' You walk outside from underneath the bridge.

He laughs, exposing his pearly white, sharp teeth.
'Do you really think I'd indulge myself in such a savage form of revenge?'

That stops you in your tracks. You give him a quick glance above your shoulder.
'Would you not?'

'What is the point of such revenge, if I will have you completely?' he said, finishing the sentence breathlessly.

You move your head to the side, focusing on his words instead of his little games.
'To break me? Punish me for what I did?'

He walks towards you.
'The longer you refuse me, the more broken and desperate you will become. I will not need to do any additional work, little mouse.'

'Let me make this more clear,' you say. 'You no longer wish me to sign the pact as fast as possible? What has changed since the last time you were trying to make me sign it?'

'I wasn't trying to do so!' he raises his eyebrows again. 'I was merely enlightening you about your unfortunate situation and showcasing my boundless mercy. I would have, of course, accepted your eagerness if you chose to subjugate yourself to my whims and desires, but I had an inkling this wouldn't be the case,' he looks at you intensely.

'This doesn't add up, Raphael. You literally said that your father misjudged my stubbornness. What are we talking about? What stubbornness? Did Mephistopheles think I will end myself just because I got cursed and I wouldn't want to sign a deal with you?'

'You sound as if there are no side-effects, dear.'

'What? Insomnia? Nightmares? That won't push me off the edge,' you respond and walk towards the shore, fetching a stick from the cold water.

'And your only power? The now lost monk teachings and techniques?'

'Ki?' you ask and he nods, but you can't see him anymore, with your back turned to the cambion. 'After defiling your body, I am not sure if I'm worthy of wielding it either way.' He narrows his eyes. You stand up with a stick in your hand and kick a few rocks away from the soft, wet ground. 'It's not the end of the world.'

'Let's say that in theory, you were to lose Ki forever, then what?'

You exhale slowly for a moment before answering.
'I always thought that tailoring is incredible. If I wasn't drafted to monastery, I would become a tailor. Maybe I will still have a shot at it… You keep saying you're a patient man, surely you wouldn't mind waiting until I die naturally, would you?'

Out of nowhere, he grabs your forearm and jerks you closer to him. His eyebrows are angled, casting a long shadow across his face, despite the moonlight shining on his skin.
'I would choose my next words very carefully, if I were you.'

You slowly remove your forearm from his claw, saying nothing. Instead, you turn towards the ground and start drawing a roadmap, transferring your thoughts to the muddy ground in front of you, avoiding a meaningless argument with the man.

You start with the word 'curse', drawing one arrow to the left side of the key word. Then, you hum something under your breath and erase the arrow, instead drawing a line above the word 'curse', connecting it with scribbled 'Ki'.

'Can you tell me if you can use your magic, please?' you ask him in a soft tone, trying not to push any of his buttons. He taps his fingers on his arm, wrapped around his belly. Then raises one of his hand, conjuring a flame in his palm. 'Thank you. I appreciate it.'

You start to pace around the written words, consumed with your own thoughts. You try to remember everything you have read about Mephistopheles and cambions as well as come up with some logical explanation as to why your Ki is blocked, but not Raphael's magic.

'It was blocked at first, was it not? He couldn't snap his fingers to get dressed and he couldn't heal himself. But then again,' you glance at his wings wordlessly, furrowing your brows. 'His wings were healed the second day. And he never said what happened. It wasn't Halsin who helped, either. I did close the wounds, but it wouldn't be enough to put the broken bones back in their place. Can cambions heal their wings just like that?' you tap your bottom lip in thought and walk around the scribbled letters and Raphael. 'No, that's not possible. Let's assume that he had his magic from the start, but was too weak to use it. That was most likely it. Halsin had issues putting Raphael's face back together, so maybe the wounds inflicted by Mephistopheles were just more… severe. Maybe they are more draining? Maybe it has something to do with hellfire?'

Suddenly, you feel a tingle in your brain.
'Don't probe my mind, Raphael,' you say out loud, a bit annoyed. After a few attempts of protecting yourself from his invigilation, you fail. It is hard to shield one's mind without magic. You sigh and return to your thought process.

'It also doesn't matter what kind of a curse that is, because I lack the power to lift it. And if there is anyone who can identify it's nature, chances are, they can also lift it.' You stop in your tracks and snap your fingers. 'Exactly! Can Raphael lift it? But why would his father bestow a curse that the victim can lift? It doesn't make much sense. He does say that all we need to do is sign a patron pact. Hmmm.'

You crouch and groan with annoyance, rubbing your tired eyes.
'Gods… my brain could melt at any moment,' you think and stand up carefully. 'Let's approach it differently.'

You walk to your improvised road map and draw three arrows, each pointing in a different direction. You fill each of the spots with words: 'Soul', 'Mind' and 'Body'.

'The three ingredients of Ki. I was able to wield it in Cania, the second I free Raphael, I am no longer able to. What was taken away from me?' you let out a tired exhale, but force yourself to stay on your track of thoughts, barely caring about Raphael's presence in your own mind. 'I am here. I have a physical body. Is it being controlled? I don't think so?'

Raphael watches you with pure curiosity and amusem*nt, his eyes following you as you pace around the words and occasionally also walk around him, carried by your thoughts.

'Let's just assume, that it is not being controlled. Raphael's blood got mixed with my own and the outcome is that we are soul bound. How does soul land in here?'

You close your eyes and walk around more vigorously, occasionally murmuring under your nose.

'Devils have souls, Withers confirmed it for me. But in their case, the very soul is the image of the body. It's as if the soul and the body were already one, in unison.'

You suddenly realize a crucial fact and look at Raphael with parted lips. When you speak out loud, your voice is excited from your very obvious discovery.
'But you are a cambion!'

Raphael fakes shock and leans backwards with his whole body, eyes wide. He returns to his previous pose a second later saying: 'Brava', but you are already dragging the stick across the ground, writing a new thought.

'If he is a cambion, he is half a man. So maybe, maybe…' You grasp the top of your forehead again.

'Be on your guard so that this juicy brain of yours won't leak out of your ears, dear.'

You ignore him, even though you really want to snap back.
'Maybe Raphael currently has half of his power? Or maybe not half of his power, but half of his magic… potential? Does that make sense? By not being in the House of Hope, he has no access to restoration pool. And the pool doesn't just heal the wounds, it helps with casting spells, too. The man travels across the planes so often that it has to be exhausting. We are not talking about the lack of magic, we are talking about the magic being a lot more draining than usual, because he is not a full devil, so he needs to replenish himself just like wizards in the Material Plane. Not to mention that the curse itself may impose some limitations,' you cup your chin and stare at the ground. 'But at the same time, mortal half serves as an advantage. Raphael is only able to have some powers due to his mixed origin.'

Raphael relaxes his face to a surprisingly soft expression that you can't even see.
'Smart little mouse,' he thinks to himself.

'Where is the logic, though? Why would Mephistopheles allow Raphael to still have so much power? Why not, though? It's not like he is concerned about me or scared for safety of the citizens,' you stop once again, feeling another piece fall into place. 'And rendering him defenseless makes it harder to…' you look at the cambion again and allow your thoughts to leave your mouth. 'kill me. It's not just me taking my life that will transport my soul to Cania. It will also happen if you choose to end me. It seems that the dear Lord of Cania misjudged both of us, didn't he?'

The devil disappears in the cloud of cinders, embracing his human form once again. The unusual glint still in his eyes.
'It would appear so, my dear.'

'Ohh,' you notice the softness of his features and frown, taken a bit aback. You turn your gaze away a second later. 'Wow… Your father is such a piece of sh*t. I'm sorry.'

'Indeed he is.'

'But why is my Ki being affected?' you ask yourself and return to the word 'soul' written on the muddy soil. 'Your blood was mixed with mine, shouldn't that affect my body somehow? Could the insomnia and nightmares be an outcome of a cursed body? But that sounds more like something mind-related.' You sigh again and crouch. After a few deep breaths, you decide to wipe the roadmap from the ground and try to get some more rest, feeling absolutely exhausted. You know you won't be able to solve the puzzle in your current state and without any kind of inspiration for the problem-solving.

'It appears to me, that you will find an answer in due time,' Raphael informs. At first you think that he is being sarcastic, but after a short analysis of his voice, you know that it's not the case.

You put your left elbow on your thigh and turn towards him. It's incredible how divine he looks in the moonlight, the cold light dancing on his handsome features, looming over his wrinkled cheekbones. You raise an eyebrow, quickly glancing into his eyes.
'Are you amused?'

'I am,' he admits. 'I don’t usually indulge myself with detecting thoughts, but I must say, I am quite pleasantly surprised. I've always known that there was a reason for your little wandering troupe to label you as the leader and I am delighted to see some of my theories confirmed.'

'Are you complimenting me?' you ask, completely confused.

'You sound like it's the first time I ever did, little mouse.'

You stand up and face him, still taken aback.
'I always…'

'Thought of it as a method of manipulation?' he finishes for you and lazily begins to close the space between the two of you. You don't respond but nod, carefully observing him with your head tilted just a few degrees. 'I never considered you to be a type to fall for flattery, thus it was never my intention to exploit that side of yours.'

He looks at you from behind his gorgeous, dark eyelashes, his thin lips curved in a slight smile.

'What do you exploit, then?' you can't help but ask.

He tilts his head in an angle opposite of yours, gazing upon you with a spark in his eye that is downright sinful.

'Hmmm,' his voice is low and makes you want to move to the side, but you force yourself to stand your ground. He lazily strolls next to you, slowly circling around you like a cat considering what to do with the mouse that it caught. You hate how well-tailored his doublet is, highlighting his broad shoulders and the torso sliding down to a nice, narrow waist, further expanding to muscular thighs and long legs. 'Other…' when you hear him behind your right ear, the tips of your fingers tremble and you feel an electric sensation firing from your neck across the back, all the way to your toes. 'Things,' he extends the word, rolling it out of his tongue with ease, the sound of his voice reverbing in your skull. You wrap your arms around your belly and look away from him as he appears back in your view. 'I am not blind, little mouse,' he says, making you shoot him a glance from the corner of your eyes. 'I've lived long enough to interpret… some signs.'

'Alright, that's enough,' you stop him with a gesture of your palm and watch his satisfied smirk spill across his lips.

'Am I mistaken?'

You take a breath in, ignoring the light feeling inside your chest, putting your body in an alert mode.
'You know damn well that you are literally and figuratively… hot as hell. It's really nothing special to feel coy around you. And I hate how you use that to your advantage.'

'Oh do you, now? Hate is such a strong word, my dear. And I don't think it's quite adequate here.'

'Do I like looking at you? I enjoy gazing upon everything that is gorgeous, may it be a marble statue or a timeless painting. You happen to be comparable to those. Do I like your voice? Just as much as I love listening to a fine piece of music. What I don't like, is how you use those two to worm your way into my brain.'

He smiles, clearly satisfied.
'I wasn't expecting you to be so open.'

'We always had a common trait when dealing with each other. No lying.'

'Still, aren't you worried that once my theories have been so eagerly, willingly confirmed,' his carefully crafted words make you take a step back, as you suddenly become aware of his proximity. 'I might use that knowledge against you in any moment of the eternity you and me are bound to spend together?'

'Let's not pretend like it wasn't the case up until now. How many times did you address me in a way that could potentially raise many eyebrows? You always knew what to say to convince me into a deal. And it's not like lying will get me anywhere. Not with you, at least.'

'Not to mention you wouldn't be capable of lying to me,' he lazily walks to the side towards the shore of the stream.

'That as well. Besides, I trust in your… interrogation skills,' you say blankly, feeling a slight lump at the back of your throat.

'You are hoping to get along peacefully with me, then? After everything we went through?' he looks upon you almost pleadingly, before turning away from you. 'Pity, I was anticipating a more reliable source of entertainment.' You look at his back, watching the healthy, shining strands of his hair licked by the moonlight. 'Is there anything duller than a loyal dog?' he asks turning his body just enough to look at you. The outline of his form is kissed by the cold light and the reflections of the moon, dancing on the surface of the small river. He raises his right hand and makes a short movement. Suddenly, the lump at the back of your throat gets tighter and you are pulled by an invisible string or rather - a leash - towards Raphael. You take two woozy steps in his direction, cringing at the sensation. The magic disappears, but his hand remains raised, demanding your attention. 'I much prefer a cat. Meow.' He claws the air, his eyes burning right through you. For a moment, you fight the urge to slap his face.

Neither of you say anything for a prolonged time, the only sound is his controlled, calm breath, the shimmering of the stream behind his back and the pounding of your heart. You are certain even he can hear it.

'I think it's best if you get some sleep. There is a long, long' he raises his chin and slowly shakes his head to the sides, extending his neck. 'long day ahead of you,' he tilts his head to the previous position, raising his right eyebrow a little. 'I will see you soon.'

His sly eyes don't leave you for a single second. Not even when a burst of light envelops his body, teleporting him away to an unknown place.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

You get almost no sleep this night, plagued by the nightmares filled with the visions of your dead comrades. You try to keep your head up high, but in truth, the insomnia is getting a lot worse and you realize it when seemingly out of nowhere, you appear in the middle of the cobbled path with the backpack straps wrapped around your shoulders.

You rub your eyes and try to recall your journey from underneath the bridge all the way to this moment, but your efforts are unsuccessful. Instead, you fetch the map from your robe and check your coordinates, making sure that you are indeed on the right course.

After a few minutes, you resume your journey, taking a sip of water from the canteen before putting it back inside a bag wrapped around your waist.

You look around the road seeing nothing besides the muddy, soaked dirt with brownish grass and hearing just the wet splashes of your shoes sliding on the terrain.

You close your eyes and focus on your footing, shifting awareness to the way your soles sink into the soaked ground and your muscles tighten, preventing your body from losing balance. It is very rare for a monk to disassociate so badly that you find yourself unable to recall events from the last hour.

'Was I dreaming of Raphael or was he actually there?' you think and rub your neck, reminding yourself of the sensation of him pulling on a leash.

You sigh, realizing that this was not a dream and the devil really was there. You look down on your marching feet for some time, before straightening your spine and raising your chin elegantly.

The last words you've heard from the man are making you a bit anxious. What is it about your near future that he already knows and you yourself aren't aware of? You are certain that he read your note and possibly all of the letters you received from the Dawnmasters if not more, yet you can't help but think the meeting is not what he was referring to.

You nib on your bottom lip in thought, adjusting the backpack on your shoulders.

'Dear father is growing impatient,' you quote him, sinking back to your thoughts.

You now know that Mephistopheles suspected or maybe even counted on Raphael to take you down the second you rescued him from Cania. But this is not what happened. Although, all of your encounters with Raphael so far left you a bit confused and usually frustrated, you are aware that the man definitely doesn't want to kill you. It is interesting to know that his father misjudged him in this way. You'd think that the Lord of Cania, being a literal ancient creature, which probably remembers the dawn of time, should know his own son well enough to use the whole situation to his own advantage. But then again, knowing someone implies that the person A puts time and effort into getting to know the person B, and you know damn well that Mephistopheles doesn't treat Raphael with any kind of respect. Respect? That's an overstatement. He doesn't treat him like an actual living, separate being. All he sees in Raphael is possibly a botched extension of himself. So, on a second thought, such thing being overlooked doesn't seem so unnatural or unique.

Your gaze drops subconsciously as your mind wanders to Mizora. What about her relations in the society of devils? She seems to have pledged her loyalty to Zariel and as of now it seems to be working in her favor. You find yourself wondering what is Raphael up to and how in the sweet hells was he able to teleport to you so casually without Korrilla around. He must have known your exact location. Is he himself spying on you? Could it be also connected to the curse?

'Must be,' you think to yourself as your eyes find a settlement lurking far on the horizon.

Your shoulders tremble and you change the course of your thoughts, deciding to reschedule theory-making about the curse and take care of that later. For now, you need to focus on the dealings with the Dawnmasters. Judging by the nature of your correspondence, it seems that the meeting will go smoothly and pleasantly, but Raphael's words keep you on the highest of alerts.

You pass an open wooden gate and enter a medium-sized settlement, heading straight to the center of it. The mud seems to be everywhere, so you decide to stick to the side of the road, avoiding the deep and thin trails of a horse carriage decorating the soil.

The village is peaceful, basking in the simmering light of the cold rising sun. The air around you is a bit heavy with the scent of the dirt, but the thin fog hanging in the air leaves your nostrils feeling refreshed. You brush your hair to the side, feeling tiny droplets of water on the strands and glance at the houses you pass. Most of the windows are covered, signaling that the home dwellers are either absent or still asleep. You let your gaze fall to the short wooden and stick fences surrounding some of the buildings in town; to the dog and hen houses, as well as the household animals looking curiously at you as you pass by.

It's quiet, but not unsettling. Following your usual custom - you find the biggest building in the town made entirely out of stone and take a look at the noticeboard in front of it. It's mainly filled with offers of food for sale - eggs, local pastries, cow and goat milk, ale and cheese. But there is one piece of paper that catches your attention. You carefully remove it from the noticeboard and read the words filling the page.

It's a fragment of the most famous newspaper from Baldur's Gate. You smile to yourself, finding out that the city has been completely rebuilt and the dock is active again, allowing the citizens and verified vendors to sell their goods across the sea. Some experts also share tips on a promising future for cotton trading. There is a small paragraph about Balduran farmers discovering that the Ilithid remains make a perfect fertilizer.

You pin the fragment of the newspaper back to the noticeboard and turn on your heel, heading back to your course towards the tavern. When you finally see a signboard with a dancing halfling dressed in a skimpy green outfit, you know you made it to your destination.

You carefully wipe your dirty shoes on the worn-out rag placed in front of the entrance, making sure to bring as little mud inside as possible. You place your hand on a simple metal doorknob and push the door open to peek inside. The indoors are surprisingly crowded, particularly one of the far corners of the vast, open room.

You freeze for a moment, inspecting the group gathered inside the tavern, but after making sure that this is some polite gathering and not a brawl, you step inside and stand in front of the bar.

'Good morning. I am looking for one room for just one night. Have you been notified about the Dawnmasters visiting today?' you say, getting attention of a big, kind-looking man with an impressive beard and a bald head. He turns around towards you and his eyes immediately sparkle with recognition.

'I have been, yes. I assume that you are the famous monk, who saved Baldurs gate?' he asks excitedly.

You press your finger to your mouth, curled in a small smile.
'It wasn't just me, but yes. I like to keep it low, though, so please try not to announce that to everyone.'

He grins widely, exposing his one missing tooth. You take a moment to take in his form and realize that he is emanating kindness but there is also a lot of strength lurking beneath the big surface.

'I'll do my best, but I can't promise a thing. And the room… I have a few available, what ya need?'

'Just a single bed, do you have any access to a bath?'

The owner of the tavern nods and points his thick, hairy finger at the roof.
'In the middle of the corridor upstairs there is a door leading to a shared bathroom and another to a toilet,' he informs and turns around to fetch one of the keys hanging on a wall behind him, before handing it to you. It has a number six engraved on it. 'Here. It's an honor to have you here. On the house!'

'Oh no,' you protest and reach to your pocket. 'I insist.' You place a few gold coins on the counter and smile as the host accepts the payment.

'So you're here for the Dawnmasters, huh? I think one of them has arrived earlier.' He moves his chin, pointing towards a chattering group gathered in a corner. 'He's playing chess or somethin'.'

You follow his gaze and feel your intuition spike for a moment. You take a generous whiff of the dusty tavern air and smell a tiny notch of brimstone, though you aren't certain if it's really there or if it's your own imagination.

'How about your appetite? You hungry?' the host snaps you back to reality and you tear your eyes away from villagers' backs hiding the supposed lance board enjoyer from your view.

'Depends. Do you serve something without meat?'

He wonders for a moment.
'My chef just finished mashin' some taters. I could get ya some pickles on the side, that's fine?'

'Sounds delicious. I'll be back in twenty minutes.'

'And a drink?' He asks as you head towards the staircase on the opposite wall.

'Just some tea or hot water, please,' you respond turning your head towards the man for a moment before vigorously climbing the stairs.

You are quick to find the room number six. It's almost right in front of the shared bathroom door, closer to the staircase than to the window mounted on the end of the corridor. You push the key into the lock and access your room, giving it a short glance before setting your heavy backpack on the floor. You approach a window facing the doorway and take off your food rations bag to assess the state of your provisions. It seems that it will be enough for you to go back to Moonrise Towers, but you definitely need to refill your canteen with clean water.

You close the bag and set it aside, then without standing up move to your backpack and open the lid. You retrieve the mace, the Blood of Lathander, wrapped around in a simple cloth securing its spikes from biting into your back while carrying. You place the relic on the bed and fetch a bar of soap and a big towel, then leave the room to take care of your hygiene.

A few minutes later, you pat your feet and legs dry and put your monastic clothes back on. You leave the door slightly parted, making sure not to trap the steam inside and quickly grab the shining mace before locking your room and heading downstairs.

The people are still gathered in the same spot as before, but it looks as if at least a few of the villagers have left. You decide to ignore that for now and forward your attention to the host of the tavern, pointing his chin at a lone table in a dimmed part of the room with a big plate full of mashed potatoes on it. You eagerly take a seat and put your hands together in a gesture of gratitude. Then, you begin your feast, relishing in the perfect amount of butter and salt and a strong kick of a fresh chopped dill, sprinkled on top of the meal.

When you are done, the sun is visible from above the roofs of the houses on the opposite side of the road and the tavern starts to fill with even more people. Truthfully, you did not expect the place to be so lively.

You pick up the plate and cross the room to set it on the counter, then return to sit at your table, placing one of your hands on the Blood of Lathander's handle. You shift in your chair, sitting straight and more comfortably and close your eyes, intending to get some rest through meditation as you wait for the Dawnmasters.

You can hear the talking, laughs, smell the thick dusty air sprinkled with some scents of cheap ale, you feel the shift in the air every time one of the tavern's guests moves somewhere near your table. You idly stroke the decorations of the mace's handle, immersing yourself in a peaceful trance.

Suddenly, the door swings open and some of the air enters the room, swiping through it in a chill embrace before blending in with the warmth inside. You hear a middle-aged woman panting heavily, as if she just finished running. She sniffs a few times, before taking shaky, hurried steps to the other side of the room. Your ears focus on her. If you are not mistaken, she walks all the way to the crowded part of the room.

'Please, you have to help me,' she begins.

Her voice is laced with fear and desperation. Something tells you that she might be a mother worried about the safety of her child. You can't pick up the voice that responds, but you already have a theory as to who this might be. There is a scratch of a chair being pushed on the floor and a small crack of wood as the woman sits down.

You open your eyes and stand up, picking up the mace. You don't want to appear hostile to anyone in the tavern, so you do your best to carry it in the least fear-inducing way possible. You stroll towards the common folks near the place where the woman disappeared and climb your toes, trying to glance above a tall man's shoulder. After a few attempts, you gently tap him on the arm and almost jump in surprise and shock as he turns to you with completely hollow eye sockets. His face wears signs of struggle. You scold yourself in your mind for such an unkind reaction and ask him nicely about the gathering.

He steps aside and whispers to you, his voice filled with hope and a bit of excitement.
'There is some generous nobleman visiting the city. Look.'

As he steps to the side, allowing you to take a peek at the hidden corner of the room, your eyelids fall in a blank and unimpressed expression.

'That's a self-proclaimed generous nobleman,' you comment so that the blind man hears you, but some other guy next to you shoots you a slightly angry glance.

A few meters in front of you, sits Raphael. He pretends he didn't catch your eye or didn't acknowledge your presence nor hear the comment. His attention is fixed on the woman before him. Just as you established from the weight of her footsteps and the aura of her body, she is around forty-five years old and something about her just screams 'I have three lovely children.'

'Saer, I beg of you. My poor little son is in danger. I can't play lanceboard with you, we need to act fast.'

'If time is of the essence,' Raphael said, raising his one eyebrow over the lance board. 'Then best start praying for the visitors to make a swifter appearance.'

You push the Blood of Lathander with your foot and swipe it in the air before landing it in your other hand. The villagers around you take a few steps back and one of them inhales sharply before whispering: 'It's the hero of the Baldur's Gate.'

Usually, you don't enjoy being in the center of attention, at least not when the attention that is given to you comes from complete strangers. But in this particular case, it turns out to be extremely useful. You strike a power pose, spreading your right foot further from the left and raise your chin proudly, before adjusting the volume of your voice.

'The gathering is over, no more dealings with the devil.'

'A-devil?' the blind man spits out quickly, suddenly scared. He takes a few steps backwards, bumping into a wooden pillar, but before you can reach out to help him, he is heading towards the exit, knocking an empty mug from one of the tables on his way.

A few villagers stay in their spots, but some leave abruptly, as if struck by a lighting. Raphael leans back in his chair and you are almost certain it's not a chair from this tavern, but one that he summoned for himself. It's padded and very pretty, definitely extraordinary in comparison to the plain, simple stools and seats around you.
'My dear, you are interrupting my business,' he says without a rush in his voice, completely unaffected.

You place the spiky head of the mace back on the floor and put your hands on the other end of it. 'Oh really? How so incredibly unfortunate.' You might regret your decisions that you made during your visit in the House of Hope, but you still stand by your true nature - you don't turn your back to the face of cruelty. You turn your gaze from his devilishly handsome face and focus on the woman on the other end of the lanceboard, currently avoiding your eyes in embarrassment. 'Lady? What's the matter?'

Her scared eyes snap to Raphael who allows her to speak with an alluring gesture of his right hand and a small nod.
'My son is missing. He is gone for a few days now.'

You place the mace on the floor and crouch in front of the woman, taking her palm inside your hand to calm her down.
'Where did you last see him?'

'I was at our home, baking his favorite tart. He was supposed to ask Ms. Poulrey for some pears, but he never,' her voice cracks and she hides half of her face away from your sight. 'He never returned back. It was three nights ago.'

'Do you have any clues at all as to where he could go?'

'No, no! He didn't go,' she sobs. 'He was taken, I'm sure of it.'

'So what did the devil-man propose?' you ask and briefly glance at Raphael, who shots you a warning glance at the nickname.

'He- Master Raphael,' she corrects herself and your eyes almost leave their orbits. It blows your mind how quick common people are to fear him or treat him with respect. But then again, the woman in front of you most likely doesn't wield any magic… Just like you. At least not for the moment. 'Master Raphael said that he knows where my son is.'

'And how did you acquire such information?' you ask Raphael and he chuckles.

'My dear, I assume that to be a rhetorical question.'

You look back at the woman, who hides from your sight once again. You quirk your eyebrow, examining her form. Raphael turns his head towards the entrance and smiles in satisfaction. You stand up, feeling confused.

'Did you sign something already?' you ask the woman. After several moments of staring at her knees, she nods. 'What?!' Your head snaps towards Raphael. 'And you didn't even offer saving her son, just giving the information where he is?'

'Ah, my service cannot surpass what I'm being offered,' he informs. 'A mere trifle in exchange for a simple favor.'

'Like her soul?' you widen your eyes and gaze into his own, leaning towards the man. He slowly shakes his head, prolonging the moment. The woman sits quietly and still, but you can see her shoulders shaking even from the corner of your vision. 'Can she tell me what it is, without it breaching the contract?'

Raphael pretends to wonder for a moment.
'Hmmm, why not. Please share.'

You look at the woman, who slowly pulls out a dagger.
'I am to cut myself.'

You stand upright in disbelief.
'Cut yourself?'

Raphael looks at you, his features angled just a tiny bit, hiding his dark eyelashes in a shadow of his brows. He examines your focused face and for a moment he can swear that he sees the cogs inside your brain turning furiously.

'Can I examine the dagger without it breaching the contract?' you ask and he permits it with a nod.

The blade is simple. Weights just the same as any ordinary dagger. You toss it in the air a few times, checking the swooshing sound it makes. There are no runes craved on it and when you sniff it and examine the metal under the sunlight, there is nothing unusual about it. 'You need to harm yourself in any particular way, like in a shape of runes or the goofy infernal letters?'

The woman glances at Raphael with worries filling her eyes. The cambion smirks and traces his thumb across his fingers of the right palm. 'No. Just a simple cut. Across a finger, across the wrist or across the throat. Whatever is her preference, really. It only has to bleed.'

You sit on the floor and hand the dagger over to the sobbing mother. You don't understand. You not only fail to see the point of her harming herself, but also can't wrap your head around why Raphael would want something of sorts in exchange for his part of the deal. As you ponder about the woman's contract, trying not to be bothered by Raphael's eyes burning a hole through you, the woman begins quietly:
'Master Raphael, please. I will do it, I swear to you, but my son is in danger. I need to know where he is.'

The man's eyes widen and he pretends to be a tiny bit offended.
'Section 21, closure F of the Infernal Law. The contractor is to fulfill their side of the deal first.'

'What are you plotting, Raphael?' you ask.

'Plotting? I am conducting an experiment.'

'Can I help you with it?'

His eyes brighten up and for a second you forget that he is a half-devil; his face softens, brows no longer emphasizing his sharp features and he looks at you, his thin lips twisted joyfully.
'Of course! How kind of you.'

'But me instead of that woman?'

'I'm afraid that's not possible.'

'Alright…' you rub your chin, frowning. 'So if I help, what do I do?'

'Oh, you're always in such a rush, aren't you? Your role will soon be revealed. Have a seat, maybe grab yourself a drink to relax?' he suggests, waving his hand towards the nearby chair and the bar.

'I don't drink,' you remind him, staring blankly in front of you. Your attention turns to the woman, slouching on a chair. 'Madam, I assume that you have to stay here for some reason. Would you like me to keep you company until someone I am to meet up with arrives?'

'Yes, please,' she responds immediately, her eyes gazing at you like a hurt puppy. 'If it's not a problem to you!' she adds immediately.

'Not at all.'

You stand up with an intention to pull the nearby chair closer to the lanceboard, but before you do so, you look briefly at Raphael, curiously watching you with bright eyes.
'Mind if I join?'

'I will be pleased if you do,' he responds with a low voice. You nod and place the chair near the middle of the board, but before you get a chance to sit down, the door to the tavern opens and you hear a few people entering the room. Their footsteps are heavy, making their armor clank with every move. 'But it seems like there will be time for it later,' Raphael clarifies and you follow his gaze to the entrance. The woman behind you shivers and grasps the dagger, whitening her knuckles.

'Dawnmasters,' you say quietly before turning your face to nod at the mother and Raphael, bidding them a silent goodbye.

You pick up the Blood of Lathander and make your way across the room, careful not to bump into any table as you go. You hope that the meeting will be devoid of any unnecessary formalities and the leader of the Paladins will go straight to the point.

You watch as a tall, muscular man with a horizontal scar on his forehead masking quite well with his wrinkles, swipes the place with his pale eyes. He scrunches his nose a few times, moving his impressively thick moustache. Is it the brimstone he smells or just the scent of the dust and sweat, you wonder.

His eyes meet yours and he takes in your form, perhaps a bit surprised at how non-threatening you look for someone who managed to retrieve a sacred relic from a temple raided by a garrison of githyanki. His gaze settles on your face and he pushes his lips into a thin line as you smile gently at him. The villagers around you glance at the scene with a sprinkle of suspicion, as if preparing to flee if any conflict erupts.

'Dawnmaster Keith,' you bow your head politely and watch his paladins join his side. One of them is a very young human male with blonde, curly hair falling lazily on his right eyebrow and the other is a broad, female half-orc, with gorgeous white and green braids sprouting from her scalp.

Keith acknowledges you with a nod and extends his armored palm towards you. 'Tav.'

The woman paladin approaches the host of the tavern while you shake your hands with Keith. They exchange a few words before she comes back and forwards all of you to the biggest table in the tavern which was kept unoccupied specifically for the visit. The bald tavern owner places a few mugs of his finest ale on your table, but you pay little to no attention to the beverage.

Keith keeps his sharp, judgmental eyes on you for a longer moment, before finally speaking up.
'I must apologize in advance, but how in the sweet hells were you able to get your hands on the relic?' he asks, and his hostile expression melts away immediately. He playfully slaps your shoulder and you tighten your muscles for the impact, earning a pleasantly surprised look from him. 'Ha! So it's only the first impression.'

'I wasn't alone, Dawnmaster Keith.'

'Please, spare me the title. Just Keith. Shall I address you per your name as well or do you have any preference?'

'A gentle giant,' you think to yourself before smiling at the man and the two paladins sitting at his side.

'Just Tav is fine, thank you.' You step closer to the leader and hand him over the Blood of Lathander. He bows upon accepting the sacred relic and you notice that the two of the paladins close their eyes in a silent prayer. You let them finish patiently, while glancing at the door as it opens once again.

When you recognize the monastic robes, your expression shifts and Keith smiles at you knowingly.

'Sister,' a kind, soft voice comes from the doorway, after a pair of lively green eyes lands on your face. 'It's good to see you in such a great health.'

For a moment, you are taken aback. Your eyes snap to Keith and you find yourself unable to phrase a sentence, but only briefly. You recover and bow generously before a fellow monk from the Order of the Yellow Rose. 'Brother, I apologize for my lack of respect,' you keep your head low, your heart accelerating as the man stops in front of you.

'Nonsense. Stand up, sister.'

You meet his eyes, feeling like a small girl at the monastery awaiting her evaluation. You acknowledge your insecure thoughts and shove them aside, allowing yourself to take in the man's kind gaze. Nothing about the person in front of you says that he is judging or criticizing, in fact it's quite the opposite.

Keith hands the Blood of Lathander over to the female half-orc and she leaves a moment later, most likely delivering the relic to a carriage. 'Well,' he claps his hands, interrupting the tense and confused reunion with one of your former superiors. 'Let's discuss your reward. Is there anything you need? That relic is quite literally priceless for the Dawnmasters.'

'There is something I could ask for, actually,' you respond, glad that you can turn your thoughts to the settlement that Halsin established.

As your conversation enters a different field, the woman bound to the contract with the devil, looks over at Raphael. The man leans back in his chair, putting his right ankle on his left knee. He closes his eyes for just a moment before raising his eyebrows and widely swiping his right arm in the air, encouraging her to begin.

She stands up to her feet and stumbles towards the nearest wooden pillar, taking out the simple dagger. She looks worriedly towards your table, not understanding even one bit as to why she is supposed to hurt herself, other than that being a part of her deal. The cold blade touches the inside of her palm and she hesitates, preparing for the burning pain. When she closes her eyes, remembering the last time she held her precious youngest son in her arms, she drags the blade across her hand, opening a wound. Her eyes snap open and she tightens her fist, then looks at Raphael, trying to see if he is satisfied with her actions.

The cambion looks at her, a sly smirk creeping onto his lips.
'Your son is in a cave thirty minutes to the south-west from here.'

'Thank you!' she shouts and presses her bleeding hand into her wide chest, staining her dust-grey scarf decorating her cleavage.

She passes the room hurriedly, racing for the door as a lazy drop of blood soaks from under her tightened palm swinging at the edge of her hand in hesitation before finally dropping to the floor. The rich red liquid splashes on the worn out wood and suddenly you stiffen, Keith's words blurring out in your ears.

You blink a few times and the monk from your monastery looks curiously at you, inspecting your sudden change in behavior.

'Keith…' you breathe out, pushing yourself from the table.

The gentle giant asks you about something, but the meaning of his words vanishes inside the ocean of the stimulus. Your body crashes to the wall behind you and you can feel your brain pulsating in a very odd, yet familiar way. It feels as if it no longer was just your own, as if an invisible mindflayer infected you once again and the voice of the elder brain was trying to get through.

'Stay back,' you fall to your side, swiping the air with your left arm. 'Something is off.'

You tear your eyes away from the floor and notice the monk crouching near you with a concerned expression. His mouth moves, but you don't understand anything that leaves it. What language is he speaking? No, why do you suddenly have issues comprehending the common speech?

A devastating pain slices through your back, pushing you to the floor. Despite the agony, you find yourself grinning, feeling a small amused chuckle brewing in the depths of your throat. The woman with the bleeding hand reaches the door and the dagger slips from her grasp, landing with a loud thump on the floor.

The heightened senses pick up on the metallic scent oozing from the stained blade and you tighten your muscles, fighting an unknown battle with your own body. You grit your teeth, swallowing down a groan of pain at the burning scar. Panic starts to settle in your skull, speeding up your heart, the sound of your own rushing adrenaline ringing inside your ears.

The entire room's attention is fixed on you. You drag your fingers across the flooring and make eye contact with Raphael, casually leaning on the wooden pillar, pushing his hips to the side, striking a pose that exposes his lean waist. Your face twists with a sad*stic grin and a single, hot tear flows from your eye, leaving a wet trail all the way to your jaw. Raphael tilts his head, watching your struggles with a patience of a fisherman awaiting his first catch of the day.

You grunt and push your feet on the floor, dirtying your monastic robe, trying to get away from the people around you, but you only manage to slide your tense body a few centimeters forward.

With all of your might, you relax your jaw and let out a bone-chilling command.
'RUN!'

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

The tiny thread of your control snaps, leaving your vision blurred, covered with red. Your senses work in overdrive, everything around you becomes too much and too little at the same time. You feel a wet splash across your face, but can't distinguish what it is. You no longer seem to be laying on the floor, but if that is not the case, what is happening? Are you moving? Or are you standing up, trying to fight whatever force is invading your brain?

No.

You have already lost.

'TAV!' Keith shouts and casts Hold Person on you, which disappears the second it lands on your body.

You watch the scene through your own eyes, but not actually seeing or registering anything that is going on. The sounds coming to your ears are foul but somehow they are not affecting you even in the slightest way. What happened to the spell? Did Keith stop the cast?

The tingling sensation in your fingertips manages to bring back a part of your consciousness. You realize that you cast a Counterspell against the Hold Person. But, this can't be. This is a Weave-based spell and a demanding one at that; you've never used it before.

A flash of light appears in your vision and you try to blink away the blurriness, only to find out that your own eyelids won't listen to your command. Your arm reaches forward on seemingly its own accord and tilts backwards under some unknown force.

Keith grits his teeth, pushing the edge of his enchanted great sword across your right palm. Your skin is covered in scales, protecting the hand from getting damaged, but the radiant light breaks through the barrier, burning it away and allowing the blade to reach the flesh. A trail of blood runs down your forearm, sending an awfully cold shiver down your whole body.

Keith pushes your arm away and hits your head with the blunt handle of the sword. You stumble backwards, hitting a nearby table.

'What's happening?' your own thoughts echo around your skull.

The overwhelming mixes of overstimulation, complete numbness, dizziness, clarity, darkness and dancing lights suddenly make you recall your experience in the House of Hope.

'Is this incubus magic?' you ask yourself as if you were a spectator of your own actions, unable to understand any of them. 'No, it's too strong.'

Your body falls and gets back up immediately after, resuming its assault. For a brief moment, the light is gone from your vision and a tingling sensation appears once again. Your muscles push you forward, dashing ahead at a ridiculously high speed, as if chasing after someone.

You manage to furrow your brows, finally feeling a single clear sensation - the tension of muscles around your eyes and forehead. You focus all of your attention and as the precious seconds pass, you feel it spreading down, towards your nose and your whole mouth. You can sense your tongue moving, chanting some kind of a spell in a foreign to you language. Split seconds later, the hearing comes back and you are capable of distinguishing your own voice amongst other sounds around you. The words leaving your mouth are sinister, unknown, filled with malice, but none of them make sense. You've heard sounds like these before, when Mizora summoned the Sisters of Justice.

'Cleave her head off her body!' the young paladin shouts at Keith. He is crawling away, pressing a deep wound marking the base of his neck.

'Master Keith!' the half-orc woman calls.

As you manage to blink on your own accord, a blinding pain slices through your back. The scar is scorching hot, like a molten lava poured slowly onto your flesh. The agony clouds your vision and despite having your eyes open, you feel as if there were some blind spots covering your eyeballs.

You want to groan in pain, feeling the bleeding wound on your right hand, the reopened scar on the back and your skin burnt by the divine, radiant light. Tears flow into your eyes as your muscles command you to dash towards Keith, all without interrupting the casting of some infernal spell. The woman, who you manage to notice just now, is standing in the ruined doorframe to the tavern, the wood around her scorched and emitting a faint thread of smoke.

Your gaze clears out and not just snippets of visuals, but the whole scene in front of you emerges from the shadows of your own mind. The young paladin is hiding behind the counter of the tavern, a wide trail of blood smeared across the floor all the way from under your feet to his current position. Keith is getting back up to his feet, guarding the doorframe from you. Most tables around have been either burnt, snapped or smashed to small pieces. There is a scent of smoke in the air, sprinkled with metallic tinge of blood and the unmistakable, suffocating hellish reek of sulfur.

Before you have a chance to test if you can move on your own, a Thunderwave sends you flying to the other side of the room, where you slam your bloodied back on a wooden pillar next to where Raphael was.

'Raphael!' you realize, but no words leave your mouth as your tongue continues to change its position, pronouncing the infernal spell. You dart your eyeballs to the sides, desperately looking for the man anywhere in the field of your vision. But all you can see are the spilled drinks, shattered bottles, smears and drops of blood and debris of furniture scattered around the place.

Your head pulses, blood rushing through you at an accelerated rate, as you fight for your body to become your own again. The unknown force lifts you up to your feet and swings your bleeding palm around, emphasizing the spell it is casting with your body.

For a long moment, all you can do is panic as you continue to watch the foreign gestures performed right in front of your very eyes, hear the mysterious and terrifying words slipping past your own lips. All that, while the blood collects on the edge of your massacred palm, falling to the floor like droplets of rain during a thunderstorm.

If this doesn't stop, you will not be able to stand for much longer. Not to mention, that the young paladin set his mind on beheading you.

With all of your sheer will, using all of your might, all of your rigorous years of training and battle experience, you reach with your mind outside of the pain your body is feeling, desperate to get rid of the sinister influence ordering you to its will like an obedient puppet.

You manage to close your eyes, shutting down the visual sense to pull even more focus on regaining your control. In comparison, the incubus charm feels like a walk in the park next to what you were going through in this moment.

You hiss and a second later, your own lips twist in a sad*stic, amused grin before a small chuckle escapes your throat, accompanying the increased agony of the wound on your back which now begins to glow in a flame-like aura.

Keith stands still, ready to react at any moment, ignoring the pleas of his wounded paladin, begging him to take you down once and for all. As the bleeding from his wound is stopped by the magic of the monk travelling with Keith and the rest of the paladins, you take a step forward, but the rest of your body is trying to protest. Your head shakes once to the side, the face twisting and the lips pushed into a thin line.

Keith has been in the business for too long to not notice the obvious signs of struggle you are showing. To his collected and calm despite the circ*mstances mind, you are under some sorts of an infernal influence. Could this be that one of the heroes of the Baldur's Gate became a warlock? A pet of a devil? A destruction device dancing to a fiend's whim?

No, he is familiar with your group - your team and companions. The news about the Netherbrain and the whole story of Baldur's Gate struggles reached far corners of Faerun. Keith is aware of one warlock in your team, the famous Blade of Avernus, so he quickly draws the conclusion that it is not a patron pact that you are fighting against.

'Keith! I can cast Hold Monster while she is distracted.'

'End this!'

The voices of his paladins reach his mind, as the precious seconds slip away like smooth sand in between his fingers. For the first time in a long while, he hesitates, unable to make a decision worthy of a leader. Behind him - a whole village full of men, women and children. Dozens of occupied households not just by people, but by animals alike. In front of him - a dangerous monk, possessed by some kind of a infernal influence of a powerful origin.

He shifts his grip on the great sword, ignoring a long line of sweat falling down his forehead, tickling as it threatens to slide into his thick, dark eyebrows.

Your gaze meets Keith's and you bite on your tongue, forcing the infernal incantation to stop. Deep red marks your lips before escaping to fall down your chin. The pain grounds you further and you can feel your body slowly giving in not to the curse, but completely - the evaporating strength rendering your limbs limp. You gaze in the focused eyes of the Order of the Yellow Rose monk and spit out the blood as you manage to say.

'Mind… Ki.'

His eyes widen and he immediately assumes a different stance. The monk orders the female orc to guard him while he collects his focus to form a spell.

Your vision flashes for a moment, showing you a an image of Mephistopheles. It's so fast that all you manage to register is his frozen throne and a rapid movement of his right arm, as if he was cracking a whip. And maybe that is exactly what happens, because in the next moment a new wave of agony marks your blood soaked back, making you stumble and tremble on your feet.

'No,' you shake your head, the force pushing you forward once again. Terror slices through you at yet another perspective of losing control over your being.

Your body bends against your will and launches forward, fingers curled as if they were claws, ready to tear out flesh from their victims. Keith braces himself and just as he is about to aim a clean strike at your neck, the monk brings his thumbs to his forehead, finishing the spell. A wave of psychic energy passes through his body, concentrating inside his palms which turn towards you. The flash of pink lightning slices through the room, illuminating the blood and shards of glass scattered around the tavern, before hitting your body.

The presence of Mephistopheles is gone momentarily, but along with it - your consciousness. The legs give up under your weight and your body collapses forward. You try to nullify your fall with your right hand, but you end up overestimating your weakened state, breaking your fingers as the ground comes up to meet your face. The world fades away and the darkness consumes you.

He watches, standing near the entrance to the cell, as you slowly gather the strength over the course of a few days to finally be able to lift your eyelids.

The air inside the prison is cold and stale. One's nostrils immediately get assaulted by the lingering stench of moldiness and the sharp smell of rat droppings. Raphael - as always - looks completely unnatural in such scenery. His dark leather boots bear no signs of overwearing, looking freshly cleaned and polished. His perfectly tailored doublet the only splash of rich color on the otherwise dull and greyish-green surroundings.

You slowly raise your head, bringing your chin away from your chest where it was resting. Your neck aches, but so does the whole body. The feeling in your mouth makes you want to spit out, but there is no moisture that could allow for that to happen. Not to mention the heaviness of a dry, swollen tongue.

You manage to move your head just a few degrees, before a painful headache cracks your skull open, making your muscles spasm in protest. It is then when you hear a sound of chains and realize your numb limbs are not just awfully cold, but also tied to some kind of shackles.

Raphael stands in front of you, enjoying the view before him. His gaze lingers on your weakened form, on your blood stained chin and tired, almost life-less pale face. It has been only a few days since the last… incident, but you look a lot worse than that. Some aspects of your poor condition are merely an illusion amplified by the melancholic lighting in the cell, Raphael realizes.

You manage to raise your head up, the back of it leaning onto the brick wall behind you. You hiss and lift your eyelids with extreme caution, careful not to ignite your already protesting senses, fighting against the powerful migraine. You inhale sharply through your nostrils and your eyes water, blurring the figure of Raphael, blending it into an incomprehensible mess of colors.

The devil traces his shapely fingernails on the bottom of his chin, chuckling softly. He takes his sweet time to switch into his rehearsed pose, taking a bit of air into his lungs as he prepares to start a conversation. A conversation he has been planning at least past twenty-four hours, with all the possible outcomes and your responses as well as emotions accommodating a mortal such as yourself.

When his muscles move to stretch his lips into a satisfied smirk, his eyes scorch through the dimmed light of the cell. Your head falls back to the chest and you lose consciousness once again.

A small sound escapes his lips, as he cuts off the sentence he was about to greet you with. He stares at you in silence, watching your lifeless form before rolling his half-closed eyes.

'Never sticking to the script,' he thinks and sighs.

Sometime later during the same day, your eyes open once more. Your body aches a lot worse that the last time you woke up and you think it might be because of the senses that finally fully returned to you.

'Are you here?' you rasp out, exhausted gaze inspecting the cell around you.

Silence is your only answer, but there is an inviting note of cherries and musk hanging in the air around you, teasing your nose.

'I'm here, little mouse,' you hear his voice as he steps from behind you.

For a moment your brain sends a wave of fear across your body at the unexpected place he emerges from - you didn't even know there is a way to get behind you, as all you thought you saw was a wall you've been chained to and the entrance to the prison in front of you.

'What ha-' the words get stuck in your throat and your efforts at swallowing are futile.

'Happened?' Raphael finishes for you and stops right in front of your face, blocking the light from outside the cell with his broad form. 'As the hourglass emptied, the role has been revealed. The corruption consumed, unleashing a beast whom all feared.'

You raise your chin, trying to look at him from under your heavy eyelids. The silence falls upon the two of you. Your tongue feels far too wounded for you to have an active conversation with the devil. Besides, even if you were to ask, chances of his further elaboration are quite low. Instead, you just try to keep your eyes on him, allowing him to take the stage. If he is taken aback, annoyed or satisfied, he doesn't show it in any way.

'All that hard work put into building up your reputation, just to see it withering away before the very eyes.'

You drop your eyelids for a moment, recalling the memories from the tavern, trying to remember anything before you blacked out.
'Are there… victims?

'Of course! A wide variety, at that,' he announces, spreading his arms to the sides, moving his head in sync. 'Do you want me to list them, little mouse? It will be my absolute pleasure.' Your head falls towards your chest, a tight grip squeezing your trembling chest. You nod, the movement barely noticeable, but no detail escapes him, not Raphael's keen eyes. 'The lovely owner of the tavern, the young paladin of the Dawnmasters, a local law enforcer, a woman travelling with her husband and the worried mother of the three beautiful children.'

His words hurt, wrapping tightly and coldly around your pounding heart. You can assign only some faces drawn from your memory to the whole list he mentioned.
'Dead?' you rasp out weakly.

Raphael shifts his weight to his right foot, pushing his hips to the side. He inspects his fingernails for a moment, letting you dwell in the sorrow, like a soup left to simmer. He swiftly hooks his left palm underneath his right elbow and traces the bottom of his jaw with his elegant, long fingers. 'Eventually, as all mortals. But not yet,' he responds then raises his eyebrows innocently. 'Although, the mother lost some precious time she could have used to attempt the rescue of her son.'

He watches you in a hidden satisfaction as you wriggle in the shackles, the rattling of the metal echoing through the cell. You raise your head and he watches a single tear making its way across your dirty, blood-stained cheek.
'What happened?' you ask with a hoarse and dry but surprisingly loud voice.

He smirks, not wanting to hide his small triumph anymore. He loves whenever he tosses some crumbs during the conversations that you sniff out, eat and allow him to lead you onto another upon another, all the way to the final snack filled with poison.

'I'm afraid that the mother won't be baking the son's favorite tart for a long while,' the words fell from his mouth lazily, but with carefully measured intent. Fear and sadness twists your bruised features and he steps forward to admire the fruits of his efforts from up-close. He doesn't clarify, awaiting your verbal response.

'She…' you try to swallow again. 'Did she not make it in… time?' the voice hitches halfway through your throat and for a moment you can taste your own blood.

'Those who went to look for him, found the boy dead.'

You tighten only your left fist, the right palm failing to respond to your command. An awful sob convulses your whole body, shaking it inside the shackles. Your splitting headache flashes your vision with a blinding light, a wave of pain beginning anew. Your chin drops to your chest as more tears flow from your eyes. Raphael watches you, realizing that its bringing him less pleasure compared to his initial estimation. You don't say a word, trying to fight back the tears to prevent any further dehydration.

He gently pushes past your shattered, fragile mental defenses, detecting your thoughts. They are full of sadness and self-blame. But there is also a hint, just a little sprinkle of regret. A weakness he will now exploit.

'You have it in you to choose an end to these people's sorrows. Be neither a burden nor danger. Restore the blissful peace in their everyday life.'

You stare at his shoes, trying to find words entangled somewhere around your dry, wool-like tongue.
'I will not. Become your warlock,' you spit out and he raises his chin, looking at you with longing and hatred. 'There must be another way.'

'You still haven't lost hope, have you?'

You shake your head to the sides. Silence falls upon the two of you, interrupted only by some distant footsteps amplified by the bare, stone walls of the prison. To your surprise, a small smile creeps onto your lips. You look up at Raphael.
'She is actually doing quite well, since the last time you saw her.'

He wants to conjure a whip laced with Hellfire which would decorate your whole skin beyond recognition. He slowly closes his eyes instead, moving his head to the sides, relaxing the tension built up at the top of his neck. He knows your body wouldn't take it and he can't allow himself to lose the composure like his father would.

'Did you do it?' you ask, bringing back his attention to your eyes. 'Did you trigger… whatever happened to me in the tavern?'

'Finally,' he thinks, allowing your aching, overthinking head to fill the silence. 'We move on to the next act.'

He waves his right palm in a hypnotizing manner, angling his eyebrows to give himself a particularly sinister look.
'The blood did. And any blood will trigger it again.'

You glance scared at your ruined right palm, but his gaze doesn't leave your face; it only slides down looking at his favorite color staining your bottom lip and chin.
'Any but yours,' he clarifies and makes another pause, observing your obvious mental struggle. 'I must admit, I was impressed when you stopped the incantation.'

'The inca-' you start but then struggle against your chains. 'Raphael, tell me what is going on,' you plead, the new tears making their way down your cheek.

He takes a breath in, completely unaffected by the heaviness of the air and shifts into his next pose.
'My dear father is somewhat in control of your soul,' he begins. 'But that you know of, don't you? The scar is keen to remind you of its presence. Have you ever wondered when you feel it's pain?'

Your mouth opens and closes again. Your eyelids fall heavier from exhaustion and the constant headache.
'Ra- randomly,' you manage.

'It seems that the insomnia has dulled your wit,' he leans forward and turns his head so that you can meet his gaze. 'Every time you resist, every time you decide to follow the calls of your kind heart, it will punish.'

A wave of realization crushes through you, pushing your eyelids wide apart. Raphael is right. It started when you tended to his wounds, when you buried a mangled corpse of a lone traveler, when you resisted the curse's influence while in the tavern… When you bowed before Raphael, grateful for the perspective of his forgiveness.

He watches your chest raising up and down in increasingly shallower breaths. You are delightfully startled by the revelation, but the expression he wants to see on your face, in your sparkless eyes, is not yet there.

'What does- this mean?'

'Many a things, little mouse,' he straightens up, watching with hidden satisfaction as your gaze tries to follow his face. 'Your unusual balance and connection between the mind, body and soul, makes you a prime target for my father's specialty of a curse. The influence of your soul, as you might already understand, is capable of spreading across the rest of you,' he waves his palm. 'Thus rendering him capable of taking control of not just your very essence, but also the shell that holds it,' he draws lazy shapes in the air, outlining your body. 'All of that to carry out his whims. An almost perfect puppet.'

Cold terror eats at your exhausted skin, sending a wave of goosebumps to cover your warmth-deprived flesh. No words escape your mouth as an invisible grip tightens your throat.

'Almost… Because you have proven yet again to be as stubborn as you are foolish. Tell me, dear, what is it that you anticipated before venturing to the Mephistar? What possible logic sprouted inside your hollow brain to give birth to such an absurd idea? To make you want to seek an Archdevil? Did you not expect a backlash?' he keeps tormenting you with questions, savoring the sobs and whines escaping your pathetic, damaged form. 'Or was it perhaps the eternal companion of mortal struggles, guiding you to the Eighth layer of Hells - your favorite hope? Did you hope to come back unharmed?'

Your chin attempts to fall, eyes wanting to burst from the overwhelming pressure of tears and the splitting headache. He catches your jaw in his warm hand, forcing it up so you meet his molten-bronze-like eyes.
'I am your only way out of this.'

The inner corners of your eyebrows raise and your eyes stare at him, completely void of any malice or ill intentions.
'You told me the same last time. And there were other ways,' his grasp tightens, holding your jaw; warning that he can draw more blood at any given moment.

'You refused to cooperate.' - is all your eyes tell him.

'Your friends will not be of any aid. Not in this scenario. But maybe the two of us should pay them a visit, hm? Would you want to be the one to tear your druid friend apart before moving on to slaughtering the rest of the refugee camp? Wouldn't that be exquisite? Sheltering the masses of defenseless, lost beings just to lure them into the maw of a much worse, lurking beast.'

A spark appears inside your eyes before turning into a raging inferno. He detects no hatred, but sheer resolve oozing from your body and for a moment he catches himself wanting to step away.
'You can't threaten me into signing away my soul.'

'No? And what will you do? Chained to a stone wall, powerless, without the abilities that make you a monk?'

'It's the resolve that makes me a monk. Not the Ki,' you snap from behind your teeth. He pushes your head to the wall, breathing heavily. 'I am not scared of death, I will bite off my tongue to choke on my own liquids if that is what will protect my friends.'

He chuckles darkly, baring his pearly white teeth.
'It is not the death you should fear, but what awaits after.'

You swallow and attempt to change the angle of your neck, but he is holding you firmly. The rest of your body doesn't even have the strength to shiver anymore.
'If I sign the contract… How does that benefit you?'

'Isn't it obvious? I own you.'

'And the… curse?' you rasp out, determination pushing you past the fog of the throbbing pain.

'How many times do I-'

'I don't give a f*ck!' you snap before he manages to finish. 'Tell me! You want me to sign it, tell me what there is… to know! If you are so ce-certain it's my only way out, prove it to me. Let the knowledge sink me to the bo-ttom.'

He grits his teeth for a moment, his mind wondering if he should reopen the wound on your swollen tongue. He slowly breathes out, releasing the hot air, scorching his nostrils like the atmosphere of Avernus itself.
'It is based on the greatest Mephistopheles invention. The hellfire. Power I am capable of controlling,' he says in a low tone, clearly annoyed but at least cooperating. He looks away for a moment before adding. 'To a certain extent, at least.'

You try to raise your eyebrow in question, but the numbness prevents you from finding out if it works. Nevertheless, he continues.

'I can reverse-corrupt it, in a way. Gain control over you through it, without it disappearing completely.'

'But his presence will still- be there,' you point out in a much quieter voice.

He hates to admit it, but it's true. The prospect of sharing you fills him with anger and disgust, but it is the more desired outcome compared to having your soul travel to Mephistar.

'He wants us to think there is no other way,' you rasp out.

His eyes look deep into yours, still burning with resolve. He steps away and a mocking huff escapes his throat. Your head falls forward, muscles unable to keep up the whole weight upright.
'There is no other way.'

'How can you be so sure?' your voice barely a whisper.

Raphael's brows curve, displaying his boiling anger. His blood rushes through his veins and he realizes how despite you being chained, he is the one who feels cornered. How dare you react this way, keep being stubborn when he shows you nothing else but the reasons to crumble. You should whine and squirm, beg him to save you from the terrors of Cania, the terrors that you yourself witnessed, yet here you are. Asking him foolish questions, looking for even the smallest of holes inside a towering defensive wall, trying to squeeze inside of it like a little mouse you are. All of that to find a solution that is not there, that simply doesn't exist.

Or does it?

For a moment he can't believe that his own brain really asked him this question. It makes him relax the muscles flexing inside his jaw, but then a flash of a memory comes crashing through his mind.

'Because I've seen the curse at work before! I've seen what it's capable of!' he yells in a blood-chilling tone.

Raphael never really shouts. He doesn’t allow his temper to get the better of him, even if he happens to be displeased or annoyed, he always keeps his voice on a lower volume.

Except for the times where his weakness shows. You recall his rage in Sharess Caress where you asked him about the chances of him successfully wielding the Crown. 'I AM NO MORTAL!' - he had screamed back then. At the time, you had no ill intentions, your question appeared out of sheer curiosity. Something had to happen in his long past to make him react so furiously again.

You stare at his shoes from underneath heavy eyelids, unable to keep the eye contact anymore. His form begins to fade away, blurring along with the cell. He smoothes out his doublet as if any wrinkles have appeared, then turns his head just a bit towards the entrance, hearing someone approaching the prison door. He glances one last time at you and contemplates if he wants to just teleport away or cast an invisibility spell. After a few split seconds, he decides on the latter and soon watches your lifeless form being unchained from the bindings that hold it.

You drop to the floor, your mind dancing on the edge of consciousness. The jailor is here with the task of getting information out of you, but Raphael is able to smell the sad*stic intent on his skin. He decides to stay near, either to watch or… yes, definitely to watch, he decides in his mind.

Your honesty will be the end of you, he realizes, watching you idly, chained back to the same spot again. He will never understand the ridiculous vows you took at the monastery and the fact that you decided to keep following them, despite no longer being a member of the Order of the Yellow Rose.

His gaze takes in your tormented form, inspecting your ruined right hand. Maybe you could have kept your fingernails, if you didn't admit to the jailor that you were possessed by Mephistopheles, the Lord of Cania.

Your druid friends are already in the village, looking for you. But no one will tell them what is happening, perhaps not even at a generous gold price.

Raphael watches the chains easily holding all of your weight, before sliding his eyes down your body, watching your left shank bearing a deep wound from the paladin's great sword.

He compares his own right palm to your own, then his leg, the memories of his sealed wounds treated by you coming to his mind.
'How poetic,' he hums quietly for no one to hear. Then, he sighs and steps forward, morphing into the cambion form to slice the chains off with his claws.

You weight nothing in his arms, but the lack of warmth of your skin makes him want to check your pulse. He adjust you in his arms, caring very little about the possible pain he would be causing if you were conscious. It is then, when he freezes, as if struck by a spell or a lightning from a clear sky. It's not the coldness of your form that renders him speechless, but the familiarity of it within his arms.

It was you.

He places his palm, huge in comparison to yours, on your back, bringing your face to the base of his neck. A foreign feeling clutches his lungs, but this time, he cannot shed into his infernal form to dismiss it, because he is already embracing it. Your body isn't as warm as he remembers it, but the way it fits inside his arms makes him remember the only warm embrace he felt during his time in Cania. The only sensation which didn't end up in soul-shattering agony or an assault on his body, blending the border with the unwanted pleasure and the unwelcome pain.

As several moments pass, he collects himself and teleports away, quickly finding Halsin and Jaheira talking to some villager, leaning onto a wooden fence serving as an enclosure for sheep, happily trotting behind his back. The druids are immediately alerted to the sound of the teleportation, but they are too slow to react in any way. Raphael teleports all of them again, this time spawning the group inside the Moonrise Towers, where he located an active portal to his House of Hope - most likely created by you.

Jaheira is the first one to take action, pulling out two of her longswords, before recognizing the dirty, bloodied mass of flesh in his arms. Raphael steps forward and plants you inside Halsin's arms. He nods once to both of them and without any explanation, he is gone.

The two druids exchange glances and start a heated discussion, all the while not wasting any more time. They step through the portal and are greeted by Hope and soon after you are surrounded by your friends, watching over your recovery inside the rejuvenation pool.

Chapter 16

Chapter Text

You wake up feeling suspiciously warm, refreshed and less fatigued. As your heavy eyelids slowly lift, allowing your blurry vision to focus, you realize that you are somewhere else. You make a small motion with your arm, feeling the featherlight fabric slide on your warm skin. As you slowly inhale, the moist air fills your lungs pleasantly, until a weird stench stings your nose.

The smell of sulfur. Your vision immediately clears out and the sleepy haziness wears of, revealing familiar red walls adorned with golden decorations and dark floors.

'Wakey-wakey. I thought you are done for,' you hear Korrilla and turn your head to your left, looking at the woman examining you. She looks just the same as you saw her the last time; her sharp eyes are emphasized with a bold dose of dark eyeshadow and her lips are tinted with a violet matte lipstick. 'No rest for the wicked,' she adds and you aren't sure if it's a taunt or a friendly banter.

You carefully lift yourself on your left elbow and place your feet on the cool floor, before sitting on the bed. It is one of those placed near haxagonal rejuvenation pool.

'What happened? Did I die? Is Raphael here?'

'Hells, how many questions are you planning to ask?' she raises her eyebrows and tilts her head towards the entrance of the boudoir. You look to the other side, checking if the giant bed between the balconies is occupied. 'You were trying your very best to die, but the pool did you wonders. As for Raphael, he is not here. I was honestly hoping you will tell me why.'

You place your elbows on your knees and support your head on your hands, covering your ears for a moment. As you try to sort out everything that happened, your eyes dart around the gorgeous fabric of the light beige nightgown you are dressed in. You aren't really used to wearing expensive clothes, in fact, your monastery encourages you not to spend money on lavish garments, so it's hard for you to decide if what you are wearing is made of silk or satin.

Korrilla keeps her eyes glued to the entrance until Hope passes through the threshold; Jaheira and Halsin following right after her.
'Tav!' Hope calls out and sends you a bright smile. 'So good to see you awake.'

You slide to the edge of the bed, trying to get closer to your friends.
'Good to see you, too. You look wonderful.'

'And I feel quite nice, as well!' Hope admits.

There is a moment of silence during which the group gathers around you, making you feel a tiny bit overwhelmed. You nod at Jaheira and Halsin; there is a hint of unspoken tension hanging in the air.
'What happened?' you and Halsin ask at the same time, making you chuckle.

'Ladies first,' Halsin raises his meaty hand with a kind, encouraging smile on his face.

You open your mouth and close it the second your eyes fall on Jaheira. She is not smiling, but looking at you quite intensely, clearly expecting an answer.
'I owe you an apology, first and foremost,' you admit after a moment, feeling an uncomfortable sensation setting in your gut. 'For not informing you about what has been going on,' you address the ancient half-elf warrior directly.

'It's alright, Halsin let me know about your adventures since we parted ways.'

'But there is only so much that I'm familiar with,' the man states, gently inquiring you to lift the veil of secrecy.

'Right,' you clasp your hands together on your belly and look at them blankly. 'I have been cursed by Mephistopheles.'

Silence falls inside the room and for a moment you are convinced that everything ceased movement, even the ever-raging wind carrying the sulfuric scent of Avernus. The lazily floating steam from the pool, dancing behind the silhouettes of your companions tells you otherwise.

'Yea. There's… There's that,' you say and glance around their faces. Korrilla is the only one who seems to be picking up on the comedic aspect of the scene.

'Cursed?' Halsin asks, spitting the words out in shock.

'Yes, so remember the scar on my back? It's actually how I got cursed. Raphael has the same one, which spreads across his chest. And only yesterday… Hold on, how long am I here?'

'Two days,' Hope informs.

'Two days?' you ask, taken aback.

'You slept like you haven’t rested for a month,' Korrilla adds.

'That's actually very accurate,' you admit and take a deep breath in. 'So I know this only for two days… Wait, how long was I in the prison?'

'You were in a prison?' Hope asks, her eyes wide open.

'Never mind, last time I was conscious,' you settle for the safest way of describing the events on this chaotic timeline. 'I remember talking to Raphael and it turns out that I can become, possessed in a way?' you say, but there is uncertainty in your voice.

'Oakfather bless us,' Jaheira murmurs and shakes her head to the sides in disbelief.

'By Mephistopheles?' Korrilla asks and Hope looks at her worriedly.

'Apparently so,' you sigh and hide your face behind your hands. 'I can't go back to your settlement now, Halsin.'

'We need to figure out what this means, first,' he advises and crouches down; there is a deep frown on his face as he processes the information he was given.

'What abou-' you begin but Hope cuts you out.

'How did you end up in prison?'

'Oh, right. So I met up with the Dawnmasters and there was a woman that Raphael spoke to, they made a deal and when the Dawnmasters came, I think she just cut her hand and the scent of blood did something to me and I started attacking people around. They threw me in jail after.'

Korrilla's eyebrows travel a little bit further towards her hairline.

'You most definitely cannot go back to Moonrise Towers,' Jaheira admits and Halsin lifts his head to look her in the eye. 'What have you gotten yourself into?'

'Some deep, vast, stinky sea of sh*t,' you groan and hide your face from Jaheira's sight. You were always a bit smitten by her presence. Despite her years, she always radiated a wise, incredibly strong aura and as a leader you really enjoyed hearing her input. After a moment, you decide to break the silence. 'Where is Wyll and Karlach?' You part your fingers to look at Hope from behind your hands.

'They had to leave a while ago. Some of Zariel's devils were trying to snuff them out and Karlach decided that they should leave before they attract a bigger threat,' Hope states.

'Really? Why would Zariel bother with this place?'

'What do you mean, why? Isn't it obvious?' Korrilla comments. 'Owning the House of Hope is an advantage in itself. It is a mobile base with vaults, rejuvenation pool, portal room and a prison, it's a miniature, less conspicuous version of the flying fortress.'

'That does make sense, actually,' you say more to yourself and nod. 'What about your plans to reshape this place? I haven't seen anything besides this room yet, but boudoir looks the exact same.' You let your hands fall from your face as your eyes dart towards the other part of the room, where the huge portraits of glorified Raphael are still occupying the space on otherwise empty walls.

'They turned out to be quite impossible,' Hope admits, a little bit annoyed. 'Sweet Raphael made sure no one else will be the master of the house. His magic sealed the portals in a way that absolutely no one can change them. And the spells also cannot be lifted, not by me at least.'

'Not to mention that the House stays afloat. The infernal engines are powered up and we can't control them,' Korrilla joins in. 'Not even enough to safely bring it down to the ground. It will crash when it runs out of the lifeforce fuel.'

You see Jaheira make a movement with her hand, trying to get your attention before she speaks up. All of the heads glance at the woman as she begins:
'Let me make something clear. You fought him inside these walls, right?'

'Yes.' You nod.

'And you vanquished him, did you not?'

You stare at her for a moment before affirming again.

'How in the Nine Hells is he still alive?'

You shake your head and open your mouth to respond, before the realization hits you. You tilt your face and slide your hand across your mouth.
'Gods… I don't know,' you whisper and quickly recover. 'Haarlep mentioned something about Mephistopheles pulling strings to bring him back,' you recall and look back at Jaheira.

'Who is Haarlep?' Halsin asks, getting your attention instead.

'Um, it's mine and Raphael's common… acquaintance,' you wave your hand dismissively.

'That's very odd, nevertheless. In my long career as a Harper I've never heard of anything like that before.'

'Really?' you ask and she nods. Your eyes jump back to Korrilla, who stays suspiciously quiet. 'You know something, don’t you?'

'What makes you think so?' she taunts.

'Just a hunch.'

'Mhm,' is all she responds and drops the subject. You let the disappointed look in your eyes speak for itself before turning your attention to her sister.

'How was I transported from the prison?'

Halsin and Jaheira exchange glances, then inform you about the missing part of the story. How Halsin was worried about your prolonging journey, how he sent a letter to the tavern asking about you and the meeting and how the response never arrived, which led Halsin to contact Jaheira and together they ventured out to look for you. But despite their best efforts, they were unsuccessful with their search and when they found a local farmer who was willing to share some information, they found themselves snatched back to the Moonrise Towers. Left with your bloodied, almost lifeless body. Raphael didn't offer any clarification and he disappeared just as fast as he showed up.

After their story, you ask to be pointed to a bathroom, which happens to be near the portal room. It is just as opulent as the rest of the mansion. You take your time and wash your face and floss your mouth, while admiring the masterwork of the golden mirror frame, depicting devils struggling in the never-ending Blood War. Then, you join the group and Hope reminds you of another one of your basic needs - food. With hunger now taking over most of the attention of your mind, all of you are led to a kitchen to share a warm and delicious meal.

'You seem a little bit tense or angry maybe?' you try to strike a conversation with Jaheira. The half-elf looks at you askance before rotating on her chair to face you fully. You sit down next to her at a long, almost empty table.

'I will be open with you. I think what you did was foolish and I am disappointed with your decision.'

'Oh,' you weakly breathe out and turn your gaze to your almost empty bowl.

The woman inspects you for a moment and places a hand on your shoulder.
'But even the greatest warriors have their weaknesses. What you have done is already behind us and being mean about it will not change a thing about the past. Though, I should tell you right off the bat, Iwill be mean about it,' she chuckles and squeezes your arm. 'What was even your motivation?'

You brace yourself and look at her like a puppy facing a disappointed master.

'I see. I won't push any further,' she responds blankly. 'Well, as much as I dislike that you didn't let me or the others know about your plan before going to Cania, I do appreciate you sharing the details of the curse. I understand that the backlash is very complicated and not something you have expected. But I want you to know that this does not change my opinion about you,' she shares honestly and you look at her with immense gratitude.

'Thank you, Jaheira, you have no idea how much it means.'

'You gave me the impression that this is the main thing bothering you,' she admits. 'I was watching you when you were telling us about what happened since we last caught up and you could barely meet my eye,' she places her right elbow on the table and tilts her head a bit, inspecting you again. 'You are ashamed of it, aren't you?'

You look away from her, then trace the edge of the bowl with your finger and turn your attention back to the woman sitting next to you. On the other side of the kitchen, Korrilla, Hope and Halsin are engaged in a casual conversation about the settlement in the Moonrise Towers. It seems that Hope might be inclined to joining it. After all, she wants to have some kind of a contribution to the community of refugees of the Blood War and there is quite a lot of tieflings appearing at Halsin's door.
'I am, yes. But it's more complicated than that. I am ashamed because I know how repulsed I should be by him, but I am not. I've been to this place before. I've seen my share of horrible things, but I still look past it, trying to see some humanity within a half-infernal creature and… Maybe I am not ashamed at all but just…' you trail off, feeling even more uncomfortable. Your lips twist downwards and your palms fall to your legs, shoulders giving up under the sudden weight in the joints.

'Afraid of being left alone with it?' she asks gently.

You nod once.
'That and also being a danger to the people I love. I am afraid of losing myself. I've only felt like this once before the curse. It was when we were facing the Netherbrain and when Orpheus was finally free and we heard that one of us has to become an ilithid.'

'I can imagine.'

'It was soul-shattering. I was scared out of my mind. I wanted to do everything I could to support Lae'Zel and her cause, because of everything we found out about the githyanki people and their queen's oppression. But I just couldn't force myself to transform.'

'Do you feel guilty?' Jaheira asks.

'Of course I do!' you say a bit louder and Hope glances your way. 'It should have been me. I should be the one to do it.'

'Why?' She leans back a bit, watching you with a keen eye. When you struggle to find an answer, her features soften. 'You can't possibly be mad at yourself for not wanting to lose your soul, that sounds ridiculous.'

'I just wish there was another way,' you rub your knuckles, looking down at your knees. 'But I will not make the same mistake twice, no matter how scary it may seem. I will not let any of you get hurt.'

'So you would rather be hurt yourself?' she inquires.

'Absolutely,' your determined gaze meets up with her cautious one.

'Ah, with your amount of self-sacrifice one could become a chosen of Illmater,' she chuckles and points her finger at you with a smile, before her face turns grave. 'Let me give you a piece of advice, little cub. Do not make assumptions that you are going to be a burden to someone, allow the other party to make that decision themselves. In the times of the greatest crisis, only the true lifelong companions answer. Tomorrow, we are going to meet everyone again,' she reminds you and your brows relax. 'And it would be best if you sorted some of your feelings inside before that happens,' she points at your heart. 'All of the ones you fought alongside with are adults. Let adults make their own choices. If they turn your back towards you, allow them,' she makes a pause and takes a breath in. 'And in the end if there will be no one beside you, it means that I have fallen.'

You look away from her face, feeling a sting of tears in your eyes. Your breath catches in your nostrils and Jaheira makes a loud 'aww' noise before pulling you in for a hug.

'There, there. I will still jab you occasionally, though.'

You smile above her shoulder, allowing a happy tear to fall across your cheek.
'Thank you so much, Jaheira.'

Chapter 17

Chapter Text

'Do not think of what you have lost, do not dwell on your debts. Set your mind on higher things - set your mind on me.'

You stare at the profusely decorated pedestal with a bronze bust depicting a two-horned devil. You aren't exactly sure if it's supposed to be Raphael himself or another devil that you haven’t personally met, or just a general image of an inhabitant of Hells. The matching metal plaque underneath, however, most definitely refers to the master of the house.

You remember preciously little from the items and information you previously looked for inside the House of Hope, as the issues at the time - the complicated choice regarding the Crown of Karsus - took most of your attention and brain power. Now, with almost two full days left to spare, you find yourself wandering on the corridor around the main dining room, peeking inside the Archive, inspecting every corner, taking in every detail of the place. And - gods above along with the lords below - this house truly is a sight to behold. Without the lurking dread in the back of your mind, the threat of being caught by a displeased owner of the house, the tormented debtors dwelling within these walls, you find yourself able to fully appreciate everything surrounding you.

You hear someone approaching you, but you allow your eyes to travel up a green basalt column, decorated with spiraling brass ornaments, ending in a nice ionic design. A sudden air of uneasiness hits you and you have a feeling that it's not Hope but Korrilla who has joined your side.

You slowly move your head to look at the entrance to the Archive.

'Learning commandments?' she asks as your eyes meet. The bronze bust of a devil stares at you menacingly with unblinking eyes.

'Sort of,' you respond and point at the plaque. 'I am trying to... figure out Raphael. I guess', you wave your right hand and look away from her for a moment, attempting to find the correct words.

'I see,' she responds dryly.

Silence falls upon the two of you and you have a feeling that there is some kind of tension hanging in the air. You move away from the nearest plaque and take a few steps forward before standing in front of a matching brass figure. The plaque underneath this one says:
'I am the architect of destiny, I am the purveyor of hope. I am the future.'

You pout and look up at the ceiling, watching the green basalt arch connecting with the red granite walls. Korrilla appreciates that you do not keep a direct eye contact with her, as she tries to release the discomfort from her suddenly heavy shoulders. You can almost sense the need for a conversation oozing from her, but you are insightful enough to understand that she cannot be forced into spilling what's on her mind.

As a few more moments pass, you move away from the busts towards one of the wings of the Archive, staying close to the bookshelves that you try to examine. Most of the titles of the books you cannot even read, they are probably written in Infernal. There are some, however, that catch your attention.

You approach a table beside a red leather armchair and bend down towards the floor to reach for a book which was disregarded and forgotten. A few loose pages decorate the floor around your feet and for a second you wonder how unusual it is to see such detail in an otherwise well-kept place. But then, your mind reminds you of the table full of rotting food and you find yourself thinking that maybe the son of Mephistopheles is too, a being of contradictions.

You brush off the dust from the thick cover and flip the book open before noticing that one of the corners of the pages has been folded. Your fingers slide against the paper, and you hold the tome while examining the text.

'And with the downfall of Sarevok' the page begins and you feel your brows furrow in revery at the mention of the familiar name of the infamous Bhaal cult leader.

You reach for the armchair and pull the backrest closer to sit on the cushioned seat, your eyes never leaving the text.

'The demonstration of Iron Throne (…) 48 hour long ritual that concluded by levitating the Iron Throne (…) deepest channel of Grey Harbour, where it was plunged beneath the waves.'

As you read the whole page, you place the open book on the table, suddenly feeling a weird sensation stirring in your gut. Why is this page marked?

You lean back in the armchair, staring straight ahead at the pedestal where the Orphic Hammer once was.

'Oh gods…' you whisper quietly, at the sudden shiver passing through your body.

The months you spent under the influence of The Emperor's tadpole, the stress of possible ceremorphosis as well as all the other dangers you had to overcome were occupying all of your attention. But now, after your mind finally became your own once again, you find yourself capable of seeing the bigger picture.

Gortash was held inside House of Hope - a lair of a devil absolutely obsessed with getting his hands on the Crown of Karsus. Gortash, who managed to escape from where he was sold to, found a Bhaal cult in which he met a Bhaalspawn, his previous associate who was murdered by Orin later on.

Could it be that the folded page was Gortash's bookmark? You certainly can't imagine Raphael folding a corner of one of his precious books like that.

If that is the case, doesn't that also mean that whilst Gortash was in prison, he had a chance to look at the infernal engines keeping the House of Hope afloat, which in turn could have inspired him to find out what else the infernal iron was capable of, thus leading him to the idea of the Steel Watch?

A few meters away, you spot another pile. Is this supposed to draw one's attention? Because it certainly works. You quickly approach the other discarded book and flip through the pages, hungrily following the text with your eyes, while returning to the table. The volume explains the master craftsmanship of Gondians and their High House of Wonders, the place you and your team discovered while looking for the source of Steel Watcher's powers.

You freeze in your step, not realizing that you hold your own breath. It is Korrilla who reminds you of her presence and as a consequence, pulls you out of the overwhelming noise of your own thoughts, allowing your lungs to fully expand again.

'How are you doing this?' she prompts with a sigh.

You turn your head towards her and raise your eyebrows, allowing the wrinkles between them to relax. You sit down at the table.
'Pardon?'

Korrilla eyes and approaches you carefully before taking a seat in front of you.
'Why won't you just give in?'

After you support your chin on a palm, Korrilla takes a more comfortable position, shifting her knees towards the center of the chair.

'If I agree to become his warlock, I am convinced that he will phrase the infernal contract in a way that will prevent my insubordination, or in case of my resistance, my soul is going to be claimed. It will be more than enough for him to want to punish me further and because of that I would be worried about my friends' safety. If I do as he pleases, I also cannot guarantee safety of anyone dear to my heart, you and your sister included.'

'But you would be free of the curse,' Korrilla reminds you.

'It would only be dormant, not fully gone. I don't think Raphael would want it gone.'

'So what is your plan then?'

You look above the woman's left shoulder, staring at a mosaic decorating the center of the floor in the Archive. You admire the masterwork that went into creating the complicated and perfectly symmetrical layout of the marble and granite tiles and the brass ornaments twisting and curling around towards the center, forming a skull of a creature with three mouths and an usual crown of horns.

'In my current state, I am a danger to people around as long as there is no one strong enough to stop me. I should most likely retreat away from the civilization and make sure that I am far from any settlements to not cause any trouble,' you rub your knuckles in thought.

It is a grim perspective. Definitely not what you imagined when entering the portal to Cania. Your eyes dart away from the mosaic and back to the surface of the table, where you subconsciously focus on the pattern of the knars of mahogany table in front of you.

'Working for Raphael isn't half bad,' she says, tilting her head to the side. You catch her eye and see no desire to taunt or offend. 'He was the best master I had,' Korrilla drops the eye contact to quickly glance at the entrance to the Archive. She shifts uneasily in her seat and looks back at you.

'Do you have… other comparison?'

'I do.'

'I'm sorry you had to go through that.'

There is a moment of silence, after which you decide to slowly nod without pushing for more information. Korrilla seems to have returned to her previous state. There is still something hanging in the air, something heavy and laced with guilt that you sense in her presence, but you stand up and wave your right hand towards the busts of the devils.
'Could you show me the rest of the plaques? I didn't have enough time to read everything when I was in here for the first time.'

'Sure,' she answers simply and slides off to her feet. She leads you away from the bookshelves and the armchairs, towards the opposite wall of the entrance. On both sides of the display where Orphic Hammer once was, there are two doors leading to a roof-less balcony, overlooking the burning river Styx. Korrilla pushes open the door on the left and leads you towards another set of expensive furniture, placed in front of a big bronze statue. 'Here.'

You place your hands on the heavy wooden table supporting your body weight, as you lean in towards the bottom of the figure, trying to read the text. The plaque says:
'Vengeance. The most delectable of poisons.'

Your mind immediately thinks of Raphael's debtors. Is vengeance a common goal amongst them? You wonder for a moment, your mind reminding you of the Infernal Mason, the head of the Mason's Guild who stroke a deal with Raphael in order to slaughter the Dark Justiciar's army. It was most definitely a response to Ketheric Thorm turning his back to the goddess Selune, whom the Infernal Mason stayed a faithful servant of. But for some reason, your gut whispers to you that this is too simple. Raphael seeks any who are desperate and could be beneficial to him - of course, almost every soul is of some kind of value, especially when one considers that the House of Hope used to be equipped with soul pillars, empowering the master. Even someone of his charm and persuasion would not be able to harvest this many souls if he was to choose only the ones driven by vengeance. This… this feels personal.

Once again, Korrilla brings you back to the ground after you submerge yourself in your own thoughts. She raises a silver chalice filled with bloody-red, aromatic liquid - some high quality Amniam dessert wine.
'Want some?'

'No thank you, I do not drink.'

'At all?'

'Well, I did have some after defeating the elder brain, that's about it,' you clarify, looking at her with a slight smile.

She gazes at you, clearly judgmentally, before shrugging and taking a sip that stains the inside of her full lips. You turn around and notice a telescope placed close to the stone balustrade hugging the balcony. You take a few steps to glance through its lenses and rotate the device horizontally to inspect the dry, sharp rocks and the scorching hot, red liquid of the river Styx. You aren't exactly sure if it's molten lava or some kind of blood, but the sight is repulsive enough for you to straighten your back and take a step backwards.

Meanwhile, Korrilla refills her chalice, feeling the pleasantly warming sensation sliding through her body to the pits of her stomach. She glances at the plaque and a flash of grimace passes through her face before giving in to a neutral expression. You turn around, seeing her swirl the red liquid inside the silver goblet. She raises her chin, looking at you with a sudden challenge gleaming in her eye.

'I liked working for Raphael.'

You blink and frown, not quite sure what that statement was supposed to achieve. You take a few sweet seconds to think before responding.
'I had a feeling you did.'

She takes a quick sip from the chalice, attempting to give herself more courage. When her lips part ways with the brim of the goblet, she pushes them in a thin line, slightly twisting them downwards.
'Is this all you have to say?'

'What would you like to hear?' you ask softly, finally witnessing that your intuition was right about assigning an aura of guilt to her current mood.

'Will you not condemn me for what I just said? After everything you've come to learn about me?' She makes a pause and grips the slim handle of the chalice. 'You know what I've been a witness to and yet you come here after everything that has happened, after you have been beaten, unconscious, on the edge of death. And the second you are healed you decide to just… separate yourself? Decide to seek solitude to protect your friends, protect everyone, protect even me?' her voice falters at the end of the sentence and she hastily masks it with a generous sip of alcohol. 'I would still do it, you know?' she stares at you angrily, but the soft expression in your eyes melts her fury away and a glistening line of tears gradually appears in her eyes. 'He kept me well-fed, dressed… I had a warm bed to sleep in, but her?'

You raise the inner corners of your eyebrows, not daring to interrupt her monologue. Korrilla's iron restraint on her voice tells you that she is well versed in concealing her deeply hidden emotions.

'She would never break, no matter how sweet the deal was. And by the Nine, were they sweet!'

'Did you wish that it was you who received these offers?'

'Of course I did!' she raises her voice and turns around abruptly. You stand still, following her with your eyes, allowing her to put some space in between the two of you for her comfort. After a few tense moments, you hear her whisper. 'It's always been this way, you know. She was a cleric and I was a servant to a dwarven master. He would beat me for anything. Threw me scraps from the table, mocked and disrespected me.' She tilts her head to the side once, trying to release the pressure building up in her throat. 'She was always so strong,' the words are so quiet that you have to try your hardest to separate them from the wind. 'Not even a devil could break her.'

You take a careful step towards Korrilla. She looks down at her own reflection inside the goblet.
'And then you came. Leading your friends, inspiring them to stand tall in Raphael's domain, to risk your own life for strangers. Why did you even save me?'

You descend to your knees some distance behind her back. You take a breath in and exhale with control before responding, your voice soft like a warm embrace of a guardian.
'I didn't want any of the violence to happen in the first place. Raphael gave me no choice, but you did not deserve to die there. Not because of his own pride. Throughout my entire journey I did as much as I could to take as little lives as possible. We are all a part of the whole, we are all connected. I used to think otherwise, but now I know it is not up to me to set a verdict and take a life because my true purpose is to protect.'

'And you would do so even when I tell you that I want to come back to work for Raphael?' She raises her head to stop looking down at the wine.

'I would and I will,' you respond with certainty.

She risks a look above her left shoulder.
'I was too scared to even say something, you know? I didn't want my sister to suffer, but above all I didn't understand why she kept refusing him. I was scared of getting hurt… I,' she looks away for a moment. 'A part of me even enjoyed the suffering, because for once it was her, not me.'

Something in her face tells you that she still expects you to lash out, show your anger, condemn her to give her a reason to validate her guilt or to shield herself with more argumentation. Korrilla's eyes search yours for disapproval, disgust or fury, but instead she finds compassion.

You shift on your knees and look down at your hands, recalling the events of your raid on House of Hope.

'Right before we faced off Raphael,' you inhale. 'I remember calling you stupid.' You meet her gaze and notice her slightly raised eyebrows. 'IT was said while I was under the influence of heavy emotions. I was draining strength from my anger. And I want to apologize. You made some mistakes, but there is a part of you that is guilty, otherwise we would not be talking about this. I will not judge nor condemn, all I ask of you is to take that experience and learn its lesson.'

Korrilla stares at you blankly and after a few moments you extend one of your arms towards her.
'Do you wish to be comforted?'

Her lips twist, as a sudden urge to laugh shakes her shoulders. She huffs once and turns her head away from you, quickly wipes her right cheek with her sleeve and walks to the table to place the goblet with a loud thud.
'Huh! As if we were close enough for such a gesture.'

You can't stop the chuckle at the immediate relief as the veil of sadness is lifted from the air around the two of you. You push yourself back to your feet and find yourself feeling a tad dizzy, but you manage to follow Korrilla back to the Archive.

'You wanted the tour, didn't you? Let's finish it before tomorrow, there is quite a lot I can show you.'

As the hours pass, you realize that Korrilla was nowhere near exaggerating. The study of the plaques piques your interest, giving an insight into the owner of the House:

'Flock to me, all who are burdened, and I will give you hope, for my house is yours, and the door is always open,' - says the bust near the entrance to the dining hall opposite to the Archive.

'Do you know what did Raphael want to do with your sister in the first place?' you ask Korrilla, inspecting the curved horns of a bronze cast of a devil.

The woman moves her chin to point to the second bust placed symmetrically on the right side of the descending staircase, past a massive standing chandelier.
'There can be no hell without hope,' she quotes.

'So it's just… symbolic?' you ask and frown.

'I would say that the symbolism gave my sister additional appeal, but the main goal was to harness her power. She has the mastery of the house, because Raphael wanted to convince her to join him. But after a while, when the carrot didn't work, he settled for a stick,' she finishes sourly.

You nod and look to your left, deeper down the corridor.
'Where is she now?'

'She spends a lot of time inside the portal room. She used to go there often when Raphael was away, it might've given her some sense of comfort.'

You wish you could do something about her current state, but the best thing she could possibly do is leaving this place behind and joining a community of people who care for her - like Halsin's settlement. At some point the house will hit the ground either way.

'Was the palace afloat when the two of you got here for the first time?'

'Yes,' Korrilla says. 'And the infernal engines were hard to sustain just with any soul. They consumed too much of Raphael's time. And he never wastes it. He is patient, but utilizes everything he has.'

You lazily rotate on your heel to approach a statue deeper down the corridor. You stand in front of it, looking at the devil with spread arms; flames escaping from the inside of its palms. The devil's chest is bare and muscular, with a belt decorating its waist. Korrilla chuckles once as she follows you to the base of the statue.

'There used to be a special offering here,' she informs and you look at her, raising your eyebrow questioningly. 'A chamber pot, we called it.'

You look back at the statue and manage to recall a foul stench you smelled when passing through this particular spot on both of the times you were inside the House.
'There was also a debtor in here, wasn't there? What was the offering?'

'You better not ask,' she glances at you from the corner of her eye. 'Nothing pleasant.'

You step forward and read the plaque:
'Hellfire. The great gift of Mephistopheles.'

Suddenly, a sense of clarity washes over you. Your mind marks down all the dots and connects them together; the plaques aren't just commandments for the debtors, nor they aren't there just to represent the severe narcissism of the cambion. Those are also values he stands by.
'Vengeance. The most delectable of poisons.'
'Wrath. The purest of all things that burn.'
'Hellfire. The great gift of Mephistopheles.'

Korrilla nods at you to follow and shows you to the door at the top of a small staircase right behind your back. The steps lead to a balcony overlooking one of the two interior bridges connecting the dining hall with the rest of the house. Apart from yet another mahogany table with a set of two comfortable armchairs, you find a bronze bust which says:
'Guile. The face that masks a thousand lies.'

Something about this particular plaque makes you anxiously run your fingers through your smooth hair. Were you ever granted the free will? Have any of your choices been your own or was it always just an illusion?

You close your eyes for a few long moments, thinking intensely, while Korrilla leans on the railing, glancing at the part of the dining hall she can see from such angle. Her eyes idly follow the folds of long, crimson curtains decorating the ceiling above the giant, hexagonal table, illuminated by a few suspended ever-burning chandeliers.

'Have you dealt with any other cambions or devils, Korrilla?' you ask, still deep in thoughts.

'I only had one patron, but the scale of Raphael's operation allowed me to meet a few. Why?'

'Is he different from the others?'

'I thought you knew that already.'

'I think I do, but I would prefer to either confirm or deny my conclusions,' you stroke your chin and open your eyes to turn towards her.

'What's on your mind, then?'

'Many things. I don't know what to tell you first,' you admit and lean on the railing next to her. You impatiently tap your left toes on the marble tiles a few times, before settling on one question. 'Before we freed Gondians from the Iron Throne, Mizora, Wyll's parton visited us. She said that his father was taken somewhere and that his life is in danger. She said that he can either be saved or not, but it depends on what choice Wyll makes. It turned out that he was not up for any execution, Gortash held him in prison along with the families of Gondians. At the time, we thought that this is our only option, but now that I think about it, Mizora didn't do anything to ensure his safety. The Duke was just there. Waiting to be rescued. She lied to us, but Raphael doesn't lie, does he?'

'He doesn't have to,' Korrilla responds. You look back at the nearest plaque, as if checking if what you read a few minutes ago is still there. 'When you ask another devil to help your family to never be hungry again, you will most likely see them dead. Dead people cannot get hungry, right? But with Raphael? He will grant what is being asked of him. Have you met the theologist debtor?'

'No.'

'It's exactly what his request was. 'Please, Raphael, help out my poor, starving family.' So he did.' Korrilla makes quotation marks with both her hands.

'But why would he? Was the theologist some kind of a cleric?'

'No, just a regular townsfolk.' You frown and rotate your hand in a gesture of non-verbal question. 'Raphael likes indulgence. He will not only make the decisions that benefit him, but the ones that also bring him some kind of enjoyment. And look around you,' she tells you and you do as you are told, looking at the expensive construction materials that create the floors and walls, the lavish furnishing and the generous amount of art decorating most of the free space. 'Isn't a theologist praising a devil just poetic? Raphael loves art.'

'You are right about the previous thing, how he doesn't have to lie,' you wave your finger approvingly and peel your gaze from a portrait of a tiefling noble, then twist your bottom lip, thinking of your discoveries inside Shar's Gauntlet. 'I remember the book we found that split a soul of a Dark Justiciar into hundreds of rats. I was considering helping Yurgir with his deal, but Astarion wanted some information from Raphael, so we had to do as he said. But now, it makes so much more sense. Yurgir was never lied to, his quest to slaughter every Dark Justiciar within the walls of the underground temple was very much real. Raphael just made sure that he would not find the last soldier.'

You huff and shake your head in disbelief as a scene flashes through your brain. A gleam in Raphael's eyes as he says: 'Mortals trifle themselves with free will. As if their better's have not molded every potential ahead', 'The unconditional freedom to choose the only option left.' The scene vanishes and you trace your bottom lip with the tip of your finger.

'But for some reason, I thought that the theatrics and whole poetry and everything else might be just a persona he puts up to lure people in,' you confess. 'I never actually thought that this is an expression of his true self.'

'Tav, he wrote a song for your demise!' Korrilla rolls her eyes.

'He what now?'

'We had rehearsals, a ton of them.'

'Was he expecting me to fight him?'

'The second you stepped through the portal and he felt your presence, he knew what you are going to do. But before that happened, he was prepared for anything. Every single outcome. Well, almost every one of them.'

'I do remember hearing organs when he finished his little monologue. You mentioned rehearsals, does he sing? Do you sing? Tell me more about it,' you request, very intrigued.

'I was opening the song and he had a few lines as well.'

'I almost wish I lost so that I could hear it.'

'Maybe there will be another occasion,' she shares and you shoot her a concerned glance.

'Of my demise?'

'Of him singing to you,' she answers with a playful glint in her dark eyes. 'After everything you did to him I was not expecting you to last three days. And yet here you are, safe and sound. Well, more or less at least,' she glances meaningfully at the top of your shoulder where the cursed scar ends.

'I am surprised myself,' you admit quietly. 'And he hasn't really made an effort into being a pain in my ass. Excluding the tavern incident, that is.'

'And he brought you and Halsin with Jaheira here,' she reminds, raising one of her fingers as if to prove a point.

There is a moment of a comfortable silence between the two of you.

'That, I actually fail to understand,' you clasp your hands on the railing and frown.

'Hm?'

'It's not like I want this to happen, but I just fail to understand why he won’t reach to use the stick on me. He knows how I function and I know for a fact that I have a tendency to annoy him with my decisions, but he still didn't do anything that serious. He could leave me in prison to rot, checking on me occasionally to make sure I don't die of starvation or dehydration. He could trigger the curse to make me hurt my friends. I'm sure there are many options here.'

'I won't delude neither of us and attempt to reach some conclusion here, because boss operates on a level that is beyond my comprehension. But what I do think is important here, is that you just vanquished him. Not once in his god-knows-how-long career did a single mortal prove him not just of their strength, but also his weakness.'

'But it wasn't just me,' you defend, but she cuts you off.

'Your friends wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. Your githyanki friend would just take the deal and no one would dare to pass the portal.'

You close your half-open mouth and nod after a while.

'I can't possibly imagine what goes on through his brain after such events happened. Especially,' she emphasizes. 'When you are now rendered powerless. Imagine seeing yourself as invincible, outwitting everyone for millennia and then not just getting defeated, but also being rescued. All that by a single human not expecting anything in return, becoming almost defenseless and still tending to his wounds with a compassionate heart? Out of all things, he has to be confused. It's easier to try to justify one's demise if your opponent is still strong. And you manage to keep hold of him just with pure determination,' she sums up. 'I don’t wish this fate upon you, but it seems that you might be his next Hope.'

You trace your jaw and hum in thought.
'Maybe in more ways than one,' you add and the two of you go quiet once again.

Chapter 18

Chapter Text

The sky in Avernus neither darkens nor brightens. The horizon is covered with bloody red clouds, flawed by occasional stroke of dark, almost black volcanic fumes constantly erupting into the sulphuric atmosphere. There is no trace of sunlight or the moon and the only light sinking inside the floating House of Hope is sickly, feverish red. Despite being in the place only for a tad more than a day, you find it hard to suppress the urge to just leave; but you know that the portal inside Moonrise Towers which you've drawn with blood, has a high chance of reawakening your fiendish possession and thus making you a threat to everyone in the closest proximity.

Instead of leaving, you try to memorize everything you've learnt about Raphael, but reading the same plaques and notes is bound to get boring at some point. After sharing a surprisingly vulnerable moment with Korrilla, you notice that the sisters spend more time together and you try not to interrupt them, especially not since you've heard Hope shed a few tears after Korrilla joined her in the portal room.

To show your gratitude, you prepare a hearty meal from the well-supplied kitchen in the House of Hope, finding a surprisingly big stock of spices like cumin, ginger, rosemary, saffron. You wonder for a moment if Raphael dines with his guests or if everything inside the kitchen is for the mortals to enjoy. Quite frankly, the presence of the kitchen is a big surprise. You always thought that the food was either transported from somewhere else or simply conjured. But then again, if it was conjured, it would not be rotting away on the table, it would simply disappear - you realize.

At one point during the day or night - it's so hard to tell the difference in this place - you get a chance to catch up with Hope and realize that she is growing more and more frustrated at the lack of progress with lifting Raphael's seals and spells. You delicately try to suggest leaving this place and to your positive astonishment, she approves of this particular advice.

Not long after that, the exhaustion graces your eyelids, weighting them down, commanding you to seek a comfortable surface to lay on. You head back to the boudoir, quietly hoping that a splash inside a rejuvenation pool will help you ease the sleepiness, but the healing water can only do as much.

With a sigh, you seek the single bed placed near the hexagonal pool and change into a soft night gown before slipping underneath the sheets. Almost as soon as you lay down comfortably on your back, you feel your body weight sinking into the lush, heavenly mattress and your breath evening out. The second your consciousness leaves the refreshing surroundings of the boudoir's pool, you find yourself transported somewhere else again. A part of your mind is prepared to see the horrifying images of your fallen companions, but you realize that the usual feeling of dread is not weighting down your shoulders.

As your eyes get used to the dark, you eventually notice tall stone walls, effortlessly blending with shining, icy ones connecting some kind of a building to an enormous glacier. You aren't sure where the walls lead to, as you can only see an insignificant fragment of them compared to their real scale, so you find yourself placing your left hand on the nearest flat surface and following it for some time, which in the dream feels like eternity. You can't feel any cold and there are no sounds coming to your ears. You even try to glance down, but your wish is not granted; instead, your dreaming form keeps following the curving and descending corridor, leading somewhere deeper. At this point, a part of your consciousness suspects the place to be some kind of a building inside Cania, if it's not the Citadel - Mephistar - itself, that is.

The scene melts away as if you used a misty step spell, blinking some distance up ahead. Suddenly, a weird sensation passes through your skin. It's similar to a pressure, as if the air around you turned into water, making every movement slower and heavier, straining your muscles as you try to move forward. It must be some protection magic, you realize as your form is guided deeper into a dimly lit room until a massive door materializes in front of you. A shiver passes across your back and for a moment you think that you see someone's outstretched hand casting a shadow on the door. It swipes across the room and you can hear a few different clicks before the door slowly swings open, revealing another room and an opened vault.

You are confused, but intrigued. Your dreaming body steps inside the newly revealed space, then your head turns to the right, pointing your attention towards a big, decorative desk. Out of nowhere, you feel as if some other being emerged from your own body and turned straight to the right. A sudden wave of terror passes through you and you try to touch your own torso, but there are no hands you can command. The shadow figure morphs into a humanoid shape, before a pair of impressive wings grows out of its back. A crown of four, sharp horns sprouts from its head and you recognize that shape immediately. You are looking at Raphael. The cambion approaches the desk and plucks something perfectly in the middle of it, before leaving hastily, his form dissolving into the same kind of dark mist just like when it first emerged. You look towards the entrance, but after seeing nothing but darkness, you approach the desk, soundlessly gliding across the snowy ground. Only when you are around a meter away from it, you notice a book and can distinguish the letters on the cover.
'Accelerated Grand Design.'

You reach towards it and flip it open, but the pages turn on its own, showing you only glimpses of detailed sketches of the elder brain, the dormant ilithid colony underneath the Moonrise Towers and the three netherstones. You can feel your heart speed up and for a moment your dreaming body allows you to snap your head towards the looted vault. This is most definitely Mephistar - you realize. But how in the Nine Hells are you seeing something like this? A place you have never heard nor seen before? This is Mephistopheles' vault.

Your attention returns to the book. The three powerful stones capable of dominating the crown-wearer, the influence of the netherease magic that can evolve the tadpoles. The domination of the elder brain allowing for the suspension of the process of ceremorphosis.

Before you manage to see any other details, the book shuts, sealing it's knowledge between the leather cover. You try to protest, but no sound escapes your lips. You are instead pulled backwards as the whole scene melts away. Your body feels like it's about to fall into the void and the horrible sensation is enough for you to lift your real eyelids.

The boudoir materializes before you as you lean onto your elbow and breathe heavily. You glance outside the window, used to checking the time this way.
'Bloody Avernus,' you curse and wipe your sweaty forehead before sitting down at the edge of the bed, collecting your thoughts.

The chilly, spring wind swipes across the land, carrying the metallic smell to his nostrils. Raphael inhales, welcoming it with a sly smile gracing his lips. The scenery in front of him brings back a sour memory and instead of relishing in the landscape, he steps forward, making his way across a field of debris. He navigates between the pieces of walls, roofs, furniture, torn limbs, wet and red splatters with ease, looking completely out of place for such a grim surroundings. He allows his senses and the attraction to the powerful magic to guide him through the annihilated town. When he gets closer to the epicenter of the explosion, a glint appears in his eyes and a cheerful smirk stretches his lips. As if responding to his joy - a shining piece of metal flickers in the dark, awaiting patiently to be picked up by its new owner.

Finally! After more than a thousand years, he finally has exactly what he wanted. Oh, how he wants to thank his little mouse for aligning herself so perfectly on his lance board, allowing all the rest of the pawns to follow his desired order. But, the time to celebrate will have yet to come. For now, his favorite figure on the lance board is trying to come up with their own maneuver, which is of course inevitably bound to fail.

Raphael stretches his wings, flexing the strong muscles of his back, before allowing them to retract and relax. He traces his clawed fingers lovingly across the metal crown imbued with three nether stones. He realizes that the design of the Crown might prevent him from wearing it in his cambion form, thus he decides to swap with his mortal flesh and only then, the impressive Karsus' handiwork graces the top of his dark-haired head.

With a trembling heart, he feels the surge of power dwell into his veins and he focuses, ignoring the destroyed landscape around him, attempting to open a portal between the planes. But the moment he does so, nothing happens. A tinge of anger poisons his otherwise joyful mood.

The Crown allows the wearer to amplify their magic output, command the magic as if it was your own inseparable limb and achieve the mastery of oneself. But how could he grasp his full potential, if he isn't even whole to begin with; a part of his soul branded onto that of a mortal. As long as that condition is met, he will not be able to utilize the Crown to its full extent and any attempt of harnessing its power will be futile.

Raphael traces his slender fingers on the bottom of his jaw, pondering about the possible strategies with closed eyes. The initial anger slowly fades away, as he realizes that his little mouse might've granted him a surprising advantage, at least in the grand scheme of things. No access to House of Hope is a slight inconvenience, that is true, but lack of access and banishment from Hells also means keeping a low profile. No one is going to send a High Inquisitor after him, because he no longer spends time in the devils' domain. There is no Haarlep and their incubi magic that he needs to shield himself against, no personnel he has to chastise to keep on the straight and narrow. It almost reminds him of a time from around two hundred years ago, when the House of Hope did not exist yet.

Of course, there are some disadvantages, too. Whether it is the lack of access to the portal room, or safe and guarded space to keep his contracts. Be it absence of storage for his harvested souls and the acquired valuable treasures. There is also no access to the wine cellar, to the library, to the rejuvenation pool and finally to Haarlep's services.

He sighs deeply and opens his eyes to look around.
'This would certainly be enough to break her spirit,' he thinks to himself, his gaze tracing the torn apart pieces of a once familiar human, scattered across the field of ruins and debris. 'The presence of gore will surely trigger the curse,' he states under his nose and barely brakes a chuckle at the savage image appearing in his mind. 'But it can prove to be a two-edged sword. Hmmm,' he hums. Soon, he will have various opportunities to verify his inklings.

Raphael believes that his humiliation might have dulled the precaution of his enemies; Zariel will most definitely not go as far as to send Verillius Receptor to the Material Plane to check on him and his schemes, nor will any other Archdevil for that matter… except the dearest Lord of Cania. Tav's foolish plan provided him a piece of entertainment that is bound to satisfy him for some time, but Raphael is certain that he will turn it into a competition.

'He already did,' Raphael realizes, thinking about Tav's scar, planted right on top of the scar she initially received when the two of them faced off. Mephistopheles wants to claim everything that is Raphael's as his own.

The very thought of it makes Raphael clench his jaw in annoyance, but he knows that the little mouse won't yield. It will not be Mephistopheles, the Lord of Cania who claims her soul, but Raphael, the Archdevil Supreme. He smirks to himself, as his eyelids fall just enough to darken his malicious eyes.

Now that the motion has altered and he secured the Crown, he has to either cause a commotion which would attract a desired pair of eyes back to him and at the same time keep up the delicate mask of vengeance; in order to keep his father's wit dormant, his eyes cannot leave the fake persona that Raphael cautiously creates.

A shiver of ecstatic thrill passes through Raphael, tickling him across the spine. He hooks his left hand underneath his right elbow while gently stroking his clean-shaved chin.
'A sudden change of warmth towards the little mouse will surely not remain unnoticed. She is gifted with perception, but her loyalty doesn't lie with me, but her own untainted morality. Breaking her is bound to force her into making a move I so desire, but will risk the backlash from her caring companions,' he thinks then ceases his movements and frowns. It would be the wisest decision to push her away from them, if he was to take her away, simply transport them hundreds of kilometers away he could proceed with his plans as he desires, but the artificial separation would certainly strengthen the bond. The friends, at least the ones who spend time on the Material Plane, would come seeking her.

Suddenly, his lips stretch, revealing pearly white, sharp teeth. He grins, clearly self-satisfied. It's almost like he doesn't even have to try, you somehow managed to help him in his own plans. Ah, if only you came around thousand years ago, maybe he would already have the Crown back then.

Raphael's smile immediately drops as he puts on a mask of determination. He secures the Crown on top of his head with a little bit of magic and conceals it, making it invisible.

He releases the pressure inside the joints of his shoulders and fixes the sleeves of his doublet, as if they weren't aligned perfectly. With one last look at the rather amusing scene, he is gone.

As the time draws near, you feel increasingly more enthusiastic about meeting your companions. You try not to think too much of what everyone has been up to, instead allowing yourself to be surprised by the stories you will definitely get to hear. But along with the excitement, comes the feeling of dread. A sensation nibbling at the back of your neck, preventing you from fully relaxing. Fear is a gift and you are wise to not shove it down into the depths of your consciousness, rather choosing to stay alert.

You bid your goodbyes to Korrilla and Hope, promising both of them to send them a message the second you stumble upon a Scroll of Sending or come up with some other means of communication. To your surprise, Hope shares a decision she has made over the course of a few days about leaving this foul place behind and joining Halsin. You ask her if she wishes you to share this information to the Archdruid, but the woman assures you she will contact him herself. With that, you feel the familiar shift in the air as a portal between the planes is being opened. You move towards it and with one last look at Hope, standing in front of the house's entrance door, you are gone.

The sensation of being transported back to Material Plane is uncomfortable and unnatural, but fortunately brief. When the dizziness finally steps away and merges into clarity, you feel a solid ground beneath your soles and the white noise of teleportation quiets down, revealing a pleasant hum of a nearby stream and a gentle plucking at the lyre's strings.

You blink a few times, taking in your surroundings. You are back at one of your favourite camping spots, somewhere in between the Emerald Grove and the Mountain Pass. The rock formations and the nearby hill guards you from the wind and the night sky is clear, leaving no clouds to cover the shining stars above your head. You notice a nice tent near a dining table full of wine and simple, but inviting food and before you have a chance to take in any other details, more portals spawn near you, bringing your attention to them.

You see Wyll and Karlach jumping from the blazing circle tearing a hole between time and space; they come straight from Avernus, just like you. Your heart leaps inside your chest and you launch yourself towards the muscular tiefling woman, who spots you immediately and catches you in her arms, picking you up from the ground with ease.

'YOU'RE HERE!' she yells straight in your ear, rendering you deaf for a short moment before setting you back on the ground.

You attempt to crush her between your squeezing arms but her hold is much stronger and soon the tears of pain join your joyfully glossy eyes.

'Sorry!,' Karlach says and let's go of you, blue flames licking the surface of her skin. 'Gods! You look…' she trails off and purses her lips. 'A bit tired, soldier.'

'Oh yea, a lot has happened,' you respond as Wyll approaches her side. You smile brightly at your friend and take in his new armor. 'The Blade of Avernus!' you announce and he smiles back.

'It's good to see you, Tav,' the man says.

All three of you watch Astarion casually emerging through the portal, as Jaheira, Halsin and Shadowheart all join the party seemingly from the same location. Three seconds later, Lae'Zel's Astral projection appears between the two of the remaining portals and with her, two more blazing gates open, one for Minsc and one for Minthara.

The vampire eyes you up and down with a mocking brow.
'Oh darling, where are your usual rags? Has your quality of life improved since our heroic shenanigans?' he asks, his eyes half-lidded and a bit challenging.

'You look well, too,' you smile at him gently and shake his cold hand, the other palm unconsciously gliding across the simple, dark red shirt you are wearing. The lack of temperature of the man's skin reminds you about the absence of your usual monastic robes.

The two of you join the group just in time to see Karlach jumping with joy because of Jaheira's pressence. You glance at Halsin, who makes eye contact with you and moves his chin to the side, asking you to follow. You take a few steps towards the Archdruid, to separate yourself from the chatting group and stand nearby a rock formation in the center of the cozy camp. Halsin slides a backpack off his muscular shoulders and hands it over to you.

'Dawnmaster Keith delivered the goods you have requested from him. Your backpack was retrieved from the tavern and handed over to me two days ago. I'm not sure if everything is there, but at least the travelling robes are safe.'

'Gods above, thank you so much,' you say and hug the man. 'I was literally thinking just now that as much as the shirt that Hope gave me is very pretty, it might not be enough to keep me warm without my Ki. I highly appreciate the gesture.'

He nods once with a smile. You look inside the backpack and notice a small item. You reach towards it, feeling the smoothed out texture of willow wood under your thumbs. 'Ha, what's that?' you chuckle and raise your eyes to meet Halsin's.

'I know that with your current state you will not be able to come back to the Moonrise Towers, so I was hoping that this little parting gift will ensure that you won't forget about the community you helped to build,' he waves his right palm slowly, emphasizing some of the words.

'I will never forget,' you respond, placing the backpack on your feet and straightening your spine. 'This whole group made memories that will last our whole lives and beyond. I wouldn't just forget you or anyone else from our team.'

'I'm glad to hear,' he rubs his hands, slightly hesitant before spreading his arms with a questioning look on his face. 'Another hug, then?'

You grin and wrap your arms around his upper torso, squeezing him in a friendly embrace. When the two of you part, Halsin lowers his voice to a whisper.
'Have you made contact with him since your time in Avernus?'

'No,' you reply simply. 'No letters, no messengers, no signs.' You turn your head towards the group of friends standing near a stream and a shore of a shallow river. 'Did Shadowheart return from her journey, I saw all three of you stepping from the same portal?'

'Yes, she came to Moonrise today with the first rays of the sunlight,' Halsin informs and glances at the cleric.

The two of them catch each other's eyes and for a moment you sense a wave of pleasant, almost intimate energy coursing through both of them. Your face relaxes before an elated smile graces your lips. It's not the first time you see the two of them making the similar kind of connection. Shadowheart even stated once that she finds Halsin very attractive and you are certainly delighted to see that her feelings are mutual.

You turn your head back to Halsin and move your chin towards the group, suggesting that you should join the rest. He chuckles once and steps forward, while you close the lid of your backpack and set it safely aside before joining others. Despite the great mood that everyone seems to be in, you can't help but feel anxiety crawling its way to the forefront of your thoughts.

'Where is Gale?' you ask, looking around the faces. Karlach frowns and looks around with you, but you are already glancing above Shadowheart's shoulder, looking right at the very being who summoned you all this fine evening. You approach the mysterious creature whose divine aura never ceased to intrigue you and look at him questioningly. 'Is Gale late?'

'Thy companion did not answer,' he responds in a deep, resonating voice, moving his right boney palm slowly across the air.

You frown and feel your throat grow dry. You try to shake of the uncertainty, looking for an answer in Withers' eyes. But they are as stoic and expressionless as ever. The cool, but not cold blue iris move to the side, away from your gaze as if sensing something before anyone else around you does. There is a snap of teleportation somewhere behind you and you turn around rapidly with your eyes widened, hoping to see the wizard, but the sudden commotion within the group covers the visitor from your sight.

'WHAT?' Karlach snaps and makes a motion as if to pick up her battleaxe, which fortunately is missing.

Your heart drops inside your chest and you dash towards the group and in between the person you correctly assumed to be Raphael.

'Tut-tut. Is this how you treat your guests, Karlach?'

The tiefling takes a step forward but you appear right in front of her, gently placing hands on her tense shoulders.

'It's ok, soldier, stand down,' you say softly, but the look she gives Raphael could kill.

'What is he doing here? How is he alive?'

Raphael raises his eyebrows and moves closer to you, clearly without intentions to help you extinguish the crisis before the flames of it burst any further.
'You haven't told them?' he raises his eyebrows surprised.

'Oh, Raphael! Boo was hoping you didn't die,' Minsc joins in. 'He was so disappointed we didn't fight you last time.'

'There will be no fighting,' you raise your voice just a tiny bit. Karlach takes a few steps back, still looking at Raphael with pure anger in her golden eyes.

'What the f*ck?' She leans forward on her left leg and moves her right foot uneasily across the moist grass. Her fists clench at her sides. 'What the actual f*ck, soldier?'

Lae'Zel looks at you intensely, then wraps her arms around her belly, raising her chin. Her gaze is judgmental and she is clearly expecting a satisfying answer. Astarion pops a bottle of wine open (when did he get it) and smirks at you before taking a sip of the alcohol. Halsin and Jaheira exchange knowing glances, before stepping to the sides of the group, as if trying to ensure that they will be able to react to any hostility if necessary. Shadowheart stands firmly on the ground, looking at you expressionless, while Minthara sneers. Even the misterious bard, hiding somewhere in the background of the scene, decided to stop the repertoire for a moment.

'Let me explain this, guys.' You raise your hands defensively, making sure your right arm is in front of Raphael. You take a step back, forcing him to do the same and to your surprise, he obliges.

'You better do,' Wyll joins Karlach's side and you realize that unlike the woman, he can attempt to cast a few spells at Raphael, however foolish it could be.

'As you can see Raphael is alive and,' you glance at him and your eyes meet. 'To a certain degree well. I brought him back from Cania.'

Lae'Zel's face drops and she facepalms herself moments later, shaking her head to the sides.
'Oh, istik,' she says quietly and gently, despite the offensive meaning of the word. You expected her to be a lot more hostile, though, so this behavior is most definitely appreciated.

'And in doing so,' you continue, focusing back on Wyll and Karlach. 'We were sent back with a farewell gift from the Lord of Cania.'

Suddenly, Karlach tilts her body backwards, looking at you like you are the most astonishing creature in all of the realms. Her face is twisted with shock and disbelief, spiced with a pinch of terror. Wyll, on the other hand is just as tense as before.

You open your mouth to elaborate further, but the tiefling woman turns her head to the side and you are certain there is no way for a human being to paint a clearer image of devastation than this.

'Are you…' she whispers. 'Pregnant?'

Astarion huffs and Shadowheart curves her eyebrow. Jaheira, thanks to years of experience, maintains a stoic face, but a glint appears in her eyes; she clearly wants to burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Your head jerks backwards and your eyes widen despite your furrowed brows. After the barely noticeable, initial surprise passes through Raphael's face, he melts away into a mask of amusem*nt.
'What? No!' you say and frown your brows even harder.

'Then what is it?'

'Why did you think I was pregnant?' you ask Karlach, who returns to her previous position, but with slightly less tension stiffening her form.

'What did you mean by a parting gift?' she ignores your inquiry.

'We are cursed, but not with a baby.'

'You are cursed, darling, but with a hero syndrome. And this,' Astarion waves his right palm to Raphael. 'Is the greatest proof of it.'

Wyll ignores the comment of the vampire, recognizing the seriousness of the revelation. Karlach folds her arms on her belly and looks at you, unable to decide if she is sad or disappointed. Most likely both.
'What is the nature of the curse?' the warlock asks, his voice laced with concern.

You glance at Raphael, hoping to receive some support. His smirk is all you have to see to know that he has no such intentions. You sigh and turn your head back towards your friends, lowering your arms slowly back to your side.

'It's a hellfire curse, inflicted by Mephistopheles. It allows him to control me under certain conditions and Raphael is bound to me and thus to the Material Plane as long as I am alive. Or at least that's what I think,' you say and scold the cambion with your gaze.

'And what if he dies?' Lae'Zel asks.

Silence falls upon the group; the only sound being the flow of the nearby water, calming cracking of the torches and distant song of crickets, relaxing in their small dens under the night sky.
'I die as well,' you blurt out.

There is another moment during which all of the eyes are evaluating you. The harshest of the gazes belongs to Jaheira.

'Ha ha ha,' Minthara chuckles coldly and it's all it takes to regret your words. 'You are lying, pretty flesh-thing.'

Raphael glances at you pitifully, condemning your attempt at the foolery.

'Really, Tav?' Karlach asks.

'What, I don't want you to start killing each other,' you explain, raising the inner corners of your eyebrows.

'Not each other,' she corrects and points her chin at Raphael. 'This motherf*cker.'

'You don't even have a weapon,' you notice and take half a step to the right, shielding Raphael.

'Oh trust me, I won't need any.'

Both Wyll and the barbarian step forward, but before anything goes out of control, the thick, tense air is sliced by a calm, but commanding voice.
'I have bidden thee to rejoice in thine company. Doth a trifling dispute cast a shadow upon thy bonds and accomplishments?'

The camp freezes at Wither's words. Raphael looks at the being and you search his face for any sign of a surprise, but of course he already knows about Withers. More than that, he probably knows who he truly is.

'I was called to lend aid on your quest when the wheel of fate teetered on halting its spin. Thou didst fulfill thy duties and uphold the balance. For this, I shall be eternally grateful, yet I shall not tolerate bloodshed.'

'The bone man is right,' Jaheira says and moves towards Karlach and Wyll, gently plucking a hand on the barbarian's shoulder.

Karlach nods, but her face sheds the anger to morph into disappointment. She turns away to walk towards the camp and the table, escorted by the leader of Harpers. Astarion rotates on his heel, continuing to savior the wine. The rest of the group follows, except for Shadowheart, who approaches both you and Raphael.

She looks at him cautiously and says.
'I'm surprised to see you being so quiet, Raphael,' she teases him. 'Can't say it's a change for the worse.'

'One must be naught more than a spectator, when the need arises,' he replies vaguely.

Shadowheart doesn't say anything to you, but the glance she gives tells all you need to know; 'We will talk later.' - is her silent message. The Selunite cleric brings her palms together and closes her eyelids, drawing from the power of the Weave. White light surrounds her palms and soon envelops the rest of her body and as it does so, she moves her hands towards you and Raphael. She mouths an incantation, casting a Remove Curse spell.

A tickling, almost electrifying sensation passes through you, before finding its target and then settles on your back. It is then, when it starts to feel like a cooling salve poured on a scorching wound. You sigh in temporary relief and the cambion next to you closes his eyes, clearly feeling the same sensation. A few seconds later, the light disappears but the same cannot be said about the curse.

'It was worth a try, I guess,' Shadowheart sighs.

'Thank you so much,' you clasp your hands together and bow your head to her in a gesture of gratitude. For so many people present this evening she is the very first one to actually attempt to solve the problem.

She gives you a quick smile and turns to walk away towards Halsin. As the group leaves and you are left alone with Raphael, the sound of crickets is joined by the bard's music. You stand still, looking towards the long table with food and drinks, placed around thirty meters away from the two of you, feeling sudden tension at Raphael's proximity.

Your mind reminds you of Gale and you look to your left, towards the shore, to see if there are any more portals, but all you can see are the reflections of the moonlight across river's surface. You turn your head the opposite side and notice a faint blue light sipping from in between two rock formations, near the foot of the hill. You frown and break into run, feeling a cold grip tightening around your pounding heart. When you come to a stop right behind the giant stone, you find yourself unable to speak. The blue light shines upon your face as you stare at a projection of one of your friends.

You stand in front of him and only then, the knot inside your throat unties, allowing you to whisper.
'Gale?'

Chapter 19

Chapter Text

'Well met! I am a magical projection of Gale of Waterdeep,' the figure of wizard enshrouded with violet and blue light waves at you. 'And if you see this manifestation, that means I have prematurely perished.'

'WHAT?!' you jump closer to the hologram, not quite registering the information yet. 'What happened? Gale, I- How did, what happened to you?' you try to turn your head towards the camp to call your teammates, but your breath hitches inside your throat, tightened by a sudden wave of grief.

'I am unfortunately unable to provide the details about the perish of Gale of Waterdeep, as I am a carefully crafted spell that have not witnessed the situation,' the hologram responds. 'I recall fetching the crown from the muddy floor of Chionthar. The task was surprisingly straightforward, even given my newly acquired tentacled form,' he says. 'I recall standing on the riverside, the icy chill of Netherese metal in my hands, and then… Nothing.'

There is a moment of silence before the projection speaks again.
'The good news is, I am here to assist in cushioning of heavy feelings that might emerge at the sight of me. Of course, I am not the great wizard Gale himself, but I can deliver his written words. His last letter. I was entrusted to deliver it to the one who cared most for me in life.'

The image of your friend waves his hand and soon a hard case containing a letter materializes. He hands it over to you. You accept it and grit your teeth to not burst into tears.

'Is there anything else I could assist with before I blink out of existence?' the projection asks.

You tilt your head and feel the tears making it's way down your cheek. You take a step forward and try to embrace the projection within your arms, but the magic surrounds your limbs, dodging you like something unwelcome. Cold tingling sensation dances on your skin before you pull away to look at the image of Gale.

'How fortunate I was to know someone like you,' the projection says and then disappears in a silent explosion of light.
You make your way to a dry, fallen tree log and sit on it, allowing your tears to fall freely.

You aren't yet ready to open the letter, so instead you breathe deeply, trying to calm yourself. There is a sound coming from the other side of the log and you tilt your head to look at a fluffy, winged cat.

'Tara?' you ask weakly. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'

'Oh, yes. I'm certain it is. And you must be Tav? The one who helped Gale save Baldur's Gate?' you nod and the cat continues. 'Oh… How much would I give to snuggle up in his lap once again.'

You put your elbows on your knees and lean forward, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. 'Yea.'

'Maybe you would like to come meet Gale's mother one day? It would delight her to speak to someone who knew him for how he truly was.'

'I'd love to,' you sob quietly. You look at the cat, staring at you with wide pupils accustomed to seeing in the night. 'May I scratch you?'

Tara sits down and wiggles the tip of her tail with interest.
'I suppose Gale would be pleased to know we've made friends, wouldn't he?' she approaches you and you scratch her on the side of the neck, your fingers sinking inside soft fur.

As you pet the cat of your fallen friend, you open the case containing a letter and read it. Gale asks you to live your life to full extend, not allowing the grief to poison your heart. There is no explanation as to what happened after the defeat of the Netherbrain.

You sigh and spend some time with Tara, before standing up to your feet and joining your companions at the table. At some point, you look for Raphael, who skulks somewhere outside of the ring of light cast by nearby standing torches. You turn your attention elsewhere, glancing up at a rock in the very center of the camp with an unknown bard playing on top of it. The man is surrounded by spiritual instruments and plays a very nice, soothing tune.

A grasp around your wrist stops you from admiring the song. You turn your head to meet intense, red eyes.

'What's wrong?' you ask.

'You tell me, what's wrong,' Astarion sneers and you can tell that his previous light-heartedness was merely a façade. 'What is the devil doing here?'

'I don't know. He teleported where I was. I think he can locate me because of the curse.'

'That is not what I mean,' he says from behind his gritted teeth. You free your hand from his grasp and look at him intensely. Lae'Zel appears in your field of vision and you look at her briefly from above Astarion's shoulder. 'How did you bring him back? After we killed him, risking our lives and most importantly why have you done it?'

A few dozen meters away, Raphael watches the vampire spawn invade your private space; taking in the pale man's tightened fists, a clear sight of contrary emotions. It's a very interesting development - Raphael saw how the vampire tried to shove away his feelings and drown them with medium-quality wine, but it appears that the efforts were futile. The cambion knows that the sight of him was like a blow to Astarion's gut, though he certainly is surprised to see that it's vampire's bitterness, and not Karlach's, taking the lead.

'I did what I thought was the right thing to do,' you respond simply. 'Throughout our journey I was always doing that, wasn't I? Following my gut?'

'Helping the weak and poor beggars, yes,' Astarion leans backwards a bit and nods to the left and right as if agreeing with his audience. 'But the devil?'

You notice that there is something else lurking within his eyes. The man is hurt and… jealous. Suddenly, you connect the dots. Lae'Zel looks at the vampire spawn coolly, evaluating him from behind his back.
'It was never my intention to kill Raphael. It was unnecessary violence, which in the end was the right way, because not only we got the Hammer, but also freed Hope from his clutches.'

'Yes? And what did I get for risking my life for you?' Astarion asks, furrowing his brows. 'I am forced to live a life in shadows, perhaps to never see the sunlight again, all because you decided that performing the ritual was morally incorrect. But somehow bringing back the devil is something I should applaud?'

'I never asked for your applause, Astarion. And just so you know, I tried to negotiate a cure for yours and Karlach's condition with Raphael before we ventured to his house,' you raise your voice, but deep inside you understand his perspective. 'Ritual would have corrupted you. You wouldn’t be the same anymore.'

'You have no idea who could I be,' his voice is quiet, but intense. 'What was Cazador's ritual compared to a scale of Raphael's doings, hm? Do you think he will step away from his evil, wrong doing path,' he gesticulates mockingly. 'Just because you saved him? No!'

You raise your head, feeling your blood simmering within your veins. Before you respond, Lae'Zel steps between the two of you, forcing some space, peeling you away from each other.
'Enough!' she snaps. 'No post remains empty for long. If Raphael didn't return, his reign of the nearby area would be ensured to someone else. Out of all possible devils, he might be the least threatening. He is no worse that the Reigning Serpent, or Mephistopheles whose own experiments threaten to melt his ice throne.'

'Thank you,' you say to her but she frowns at you.

'I didn't state I'm approving of such decision. But I am capable of seeing your reasoning.'

'That's all I can ever ask for,' you bow your head to her.

Lae'Zel takes a step backwards and looks somewhere in the general direction of Raphael. 'The only thing I fail to grasp is how you were able to get him back. He was slaughtered in his own domain, he should be rotting under the toxic Avernus sky long time ago.'

'That is something I want to discuss,' Jaheira's voice comes from the other side of the table and all three heads turn towards her. 'Do you remember our moment of departure from his house in Avernus?' she inquires and you nod. 'We should step to the side,' she suggests and all of you move towards a small stream cutting the ground leading to a restored chapel lit with green candlelight. 'I managed to find out a few things about Raphael's visitor, the one from the guest book.'

You remember the surprise and shock on Jaheira's face when her curiosity lead her to the book standing near the entrance to the foyer of the House of Hope. At the time, she didn't elaborate on anything specific, other than expressing a feeling of uneasiness; but now her gaze is serious, so you make sure to perk up your ears and remember everything that will soon be revealed.

'The Blackcloak person?' you ask.

'Halaster?' Lae'Zel raises her eyebrows and looks at Jaheira who nods.

'I had a feeling you might know.'

'Of course!' the githyanki says. 'A true warrior is as proficient with their knowledge as with their blade.'

'But can you explain for the non-true warriors?' Astarion sighs, annoyed.

'Halaster Blackcloak is a madman of a wizard, who is rumored to be older than one of Gale's acquittances, Elminster,' Jaheira says. 'And the secret to his long life is his ability to clone himself.'

Your eyes widen and you glance towards Raphael, then towards Halsin, Wyll and Karlach, gathered around the nice tent you've seen before. You look back at Jaheira.

'And his name in the guestbook suggest that…'

'He must have succeeded in cloning someone else. Raphael,' Lae'Zel finishes solemnly.

Astarion looks across your group, his gaze suddenly distant, with a mischievous glint.
'You are already immortal,' you remind him and his red eyes go back to focus.

'But vanquishable,' he smirks and makes a motion as if he was about to head over to Raphael.

'It should stay a secret. It's not yet certain how crucial this information is. Don't get your thirst for power get the hold of you, Astarion,' Jaheira warns, stopping him in his tracks. Lea'Zel's astral projection scolds him with a look.

Astarion scoffs but returns to his previous position, tracing a thumb across his fingers, contemplating. After a moment of silence, you comment:
'It seems that Raphael was, and most likely still is, very serious about his conquest in Hells.'

'So we know how he survived, but what happened later?' Lae'Zel wonders.

'I used the Orb of Infernal Envisioning and it turned out that Mephistopheles was torturing him. Then, from another source I found out about his constant sexual abuse,' you explain quietly. Astarion briefly glances your way at those words.

'Ah,' she rolls her eyes. 'How painfully predictable.'

You frown and look deep in her lizard-like eyes. 'What do you mean?'

'Do you, humans, get no education?' she asks harshly. 'Lord of Cania is known for devouring his children.'

'What?' you ask, shocked.

'I've heard of at least two cases of him making a meal out of his offspring,' she adds.

'A weird option on menu, even for my liking,' Astarion joins in.

You fold your arms and stroke your chin, unconsciously mimicking Raphael. The vampire spawn notices, but he says nothing, allowing only for a meaningful smirk to form on his lips. Your mind wonders for a moment, as you consider something that the cambion mentioned days ago.
'I have seen it before',he said, when you asked him about the curse.

Jaheira addressing you directly pulls you back from your thoughts.
'That's all I was able to gather. If your curse has been inflicted by Mephistopheles, then I'm afraid you might need to cooperate with Raphael to increase your chances of removing it,' she states plainly and adds with a small smirk. 'You two seem to be getting along, somehow.'

'Far from it,' you counter, shaking your head to the sides.

'Well, you are not jumping to each other's throats. That's somewhat of a start.'

'I guess,' you scratch your cheek, feeling the course texture of dried tears beneath your fingertips. The sensation brings you back to Gale's letter and you inform the team about his demise.

Sometime later, your small group disperses and you enter the tent that caused so much commotion within the rest of your companions. Inside, you find a small, decorative chest - a container for letters to the saviours of Baldur's Gate. You engage in a conversation with Shadowheart and Karlach and disappear inside the tent.

Ever-watching Raphael sneers, his brows darkening the intense eyes, as his slim fingers outline the curve of his jaw. The pieces of the grand lanceboard are set in motion and he is ready to respond, no matter the movements of his opponent. He sensed the shift in the mood within Astarion a few moments ago and acknowledged his willingness to speak to him.

'Interesting,' he thinks to himself, predicting what the topic of the conversation could be. It involved Jaheira, which means…

His train of thoughts gets interrupted as the divine being, Withers, soundlessly glides towards him across the grass. The devil turns his head to look at him cautiously. Withers. The Archivist. The former god of death, Jergal.

Wither's pale irises contrasting with the dark sciera look deep into his eyes, as if trying to see everything unseen that's hidden behind them.
'Thou no longer walketh alone. Thy path connects thee and can be set to accommodate two.'

Raphael considers his words, weighting them like a careful alchemist measures his ingredients. He remains quiet for an unnaturally long moment before speaking again.
'She is not to walk it as my equal.'

'No?' His dried lips curve just a tiny bit and a shadow of a smile shrouds his face. 'Yet alive she remains.'

'Have you changed your professions, Jergal?' Raphael sneers, his brows angling. 'Perhaps to a path of divination?'

'Saying such words doth lie well within my domain,' Withers' pale eyes travel up Raphael's face before glancing at the top of his head. He looks him back in the eye. 'Thou was a catalyst. The initial piece setting the dominos of the events into motion,' Withers looks towards the tent which you exit a second later and approach the table, engaging in a conversation with your companions. 'Thou have been granted another chance. Use it well.'

He steps away towards his restored chapel, leaving Raphael with irritation and confusion clawing the inside of his chest. The man observes the camp from outside of your field of vision and waits for the perfect moment to approach. It baffles him, how much effort went into setting up this place. There are many lit torches, casting a warm glow at the camp filled with barrels with wine and tables covered by trays of food. The rocks are decorated with festive banners and chains, as well as pots full of flowers. All of that accompanying the bard, whom Raphael recognizes as a minor diety of song, Milil. The musician changes the tune and the cambion peels his gaze away from the dancing spiritual instruments. The air fills with sensual and soothing music; a tale of two lovers dancing beneath the moonlight. Raphael smirks and checks out his nails, before shifting his body weight onto left leg and approaching you like a cat.

The moment he steps into the light, Karlach gives Raphael a warning look, but says nothing. Shadowheart, who is talking with you, points her chin towards Raphael and you turn around to face him, cutting the conversation short. He smiles and bows gracefully in front of you.

'May I have this dance?' He asks, extending his right arm towards you.

You take a step forward, but don't accept his hand. 'Raphael, I think it's highly improper,' you remind gently. 'It feels very wrong considering what happened between us,' you add in a quiet tone.

Raphael takes another slice of the space separating the two of you and lowers his voice sweetly.
'My dear,' he looks at you with half-lidded eyes and you can feel your heart skip a beat or two. 'Whatever's wrong is right with me. Come and indulge me.'

You gently place your left hand on his right arm, making him smirk. He leads you closer to the source of the music, but outside of the hearing range of your allies. You look down at his feet, trying to find your own, comfortable place on the improvised dancefloor. Your right hand settles on his broad shoulder and his ventures down to your waist. The fabric of your shirt – a borrowed shirt from his House of Hope, to be more precise – is thin enough to let his searing palm lick at your skin. You gasp, feeling the difference between his body heat and the cool, but pleasant air of the spring night.

He waits a few moments, no doubt measuring the rhythm of the song and leads you perfectly, making the two of you join the melody with the dance. His eyes are intense, never really leaving yours and you find yourself looking back at your feet again.

'Oh, come now,' he says with a note of condescending. 'Have you got no manners?'

You meet his gaze. 'Didn't you say a moment ago that what's wrong is right with you?'

He chuckles at your little jab and spins you once, pulling your arm behind his back to decrease the distance between the two of you. You involuntarily place a hand on his chest and look away, intoxicated by his proximity. Suddenly, you become aware of the pleasant texture of his palm, holding your hand in his. It's so big, he could wrap your whole fist, you realize, as he returns his palm back to your waist. The notes take a more intense turn and in a surprising wave of courage, you push him on the chest, sending him back a few steps. He makes you follow.

'Getting too comfortable, it seems,' he warns, but his eyes are melting a hole right through you.

As the string bass plays its last sharp note, he slides his leg, knocking you down from the ground. Your eyes widen in a mixture of shock and fear, but his hold on you is firm, allowing him to tilt your body towards the grass. The music pauses.

'Asshole,' you remark, filling the silence. The instruments resume, so he pulls you up and leads you again. If the two of you were dueling, you would be currently on the defense.

The flame from the torches sways in his eyes, igniting the amber irises, bringing forth the dangerously captivating red hue. Your gaze slides across his sun-kissed cheek darkened with the facial hair lurking just beneath the surface. He's beautiful, you have always known that, but rarely you have a chance to admire him from up close. The smell of cherries, musk and your own scent of jasmine, lingers in the air between the two of you, ensnaring your senses.

He spins you one more time but you slide away from his grasp and circle around him, tracing your fingertips across his muscular arm and across his broad shoulders. You stare at his neat, wavy tips of dark hair and as your hand quickly glides across the back of his neck, you extend your thumb hoping to brush his strands. He turns his head away from your hand, as if sensing your intention and shortens the distance between the two of you. His hands land on your waist and he half-turns your body, positioning you against him. You are surprised at how intense, yet respectful the dance is. Neither of you cross each other's boundaries, because neither of you want to admit that they are gone. Your bodies are in sync, pushing and pulling like two magnets changing their poles.

'What did Astarion want with me?' He asks, abusing the charm of his voice to his advantage.

'What makes you think he wanted anything in first place?'

He spins you to face him, so you push his chest and tighten your grasp on his shoulder, sending him back again.

'Do not attempt another forgery. You've already made a mockery of yourself,' he covers your hand pressing his chest, but you grasp his fingers and raise his palm, inviting him for a spin. You smile, but the attempt is unsuccessful. He raises his arm and presses his elbow to yours and begins to circle around you. You mirror his steps, unable to look away from his face. The moonlight dances in his slick-back hair.

'It's a secret amongst friends,' you explain with a glint in your eye. 'Not meant for your ears.'

'You wound me!' He gasps. 'Who will be there, if not me, watching you draw your final breath? Who will accompany you in your last journeys through better or worse? Maybe even hold your hand in a gesture of friendship, if you ask nicely,' his eyes glint with malice.

'You only speak of friendship when it yields you some benefit.'

'Isn't it how all friendships are?' he asks, raising his eyebrows, the previously evil gaze dissolving into innocence. His chest tightens with excitement; he is a leader both in the grand lanceboard and during the dance.

'Not necessarily,' you look away, considering your words for a few seconds.

'No?' His tone has an edge and suddenly your whole body reacts, letting you know you've crept into dangerous waters. You suppress a sudden shudder of your shoulders. 'All it took for Astarion to wipe the guilt in your face was the sight of me.'

You frown and tense your jaw once before speaking.
'He has all the rights to be disappointed. I can't imagine myself living outside of the daylight, possibly for the rest of my life.'

'Would you still make the same choice knowing how much he suffers?' the venom seeps from his tongue.

'I made the right decision. And I know that Astarion knows it, too. I remember how he thanked me for saving him from corruption. He just needs more time. So, yes. I would do the same.'

He interlaces his fingers with yours and you reconnect again; the rhythm of the song guiding your dance to the side. The sweet invite of cherries is suddenly soured by the harsh note of sulphur.

'What about Karlach? Wyll? Shadowheart?' he lists and you feel your heart race, because of stress and hidden feelings - both of which he's the center of. He pulls you closer and lets go of your hand, settling it on the side of your face. His fingers dive into your hair, while the thumb traces the invisible paths of the previously shed tears. 'What about… Gale?'

You tighten your jaw, fighting with your own anger. You are aware of his technique, of his strategy to push your buttons. But you will not yield. If Raphael hasn't fully understood that already, it's time to show it to him more deliberately.

The music stops, fading away into the darkness of the night, blending into the static sound of crickets. You inhale with an intention to provide a counterargument, but an unexpected wave of emotions flashes through his face. It's so fast you could miss it if you were to blink. He lets go of your hands slowly, gracefully, holding onto his carefully crafted mask.

'Thank you, my dear,' he bows deeply and all you can see for a moment is the top of his head and not the thin line of his lips being pressed together.

'You good?' you inquire.

Raphael straightens up and his response is a mere, condemning glance, before he walks away towards the shoreline. You squint your eyes and follow him silently.

'Raphael?'

His eyes lit up with anger. It seems that the more time you spend with him, the more flawless his façade has to become. Otherwise, your keen eyes are quick to pick up on all the inconsistencies.
'Go back to your companions, you intrusive ro-' A grunt cuts him off and his posture wavers, loosing it's beaming gracefulness.

You stand behind him, evaluating his state with a cold look. He clearly doesn't want his vulnerability to show, whatever its source may be.
'Why will he not teleport away? Surely he hasn't wasted his last bits of magic to teleport here, has he?' you think to yourself.

'Is it the curse?' you ask in a neutral tone.

He brings his hand to his mouth and bites onto it, muffling a sound. He hisses a moment later. You don't want to cross the fine line of his patience, so you stay a few meters behind him.

'No,' he responds quietly.

You frown and open your mouth, but then you realize.
'Haarlep?'

When his eyes meet yours, you can swear you ought to turn to stone. Beneath the obvious pain and discomfort, lies something else. A note of fear. Fear or showing ones vulnerability. Fear of you using it to your advantage.

You turn on your heel to walk back to the camp, but he launches forward and grabs you on your arm, transferring some of his pain onto you with a bruising grip.

'Don't you dare,' he growls from behind his gritted teeth.

You look at him calmly, not reacting to his grasp in any particular way. You peel off his fingers and look at him seriously, but with a hint of gentleness.
'To go get you a painkiller?'

He raises his eyebrows just a tiny bit.

'I'll be back shortly,' you assure and break into a trot towards your backpack. You flip through the layers of baggage before finding the right vial and returning to the devil, who in the meantime sat on a fallen tree near the river. 'Here.'

He accepts the bottle, not really meeting your eye. You sit around a meter and a half away from him. You grant him more personal space, turning around, your back facing the direction his eyes gaze upon. For a few moments, he says nothing, so you shift as if trying to stand up.

'Stay,' he orders.

You glance at his profile and comment.
'I will ignore your tone, just this once.'

Your voices die out, replaced by the rustle of flowing water. A sudden wave of wind hits the two of you, carrying all of his scents to your nostrils; the cherries, the musk and the sulphur.

Chapter 20

Chapter Text

You turn your head away from his profile and towards your feasting companions. The evening is very pleasant, but the unexpected situation and the company is slowly cloaking you in stress. It's the very first time that Raphael has such response to… well, anything that has happened between the two of you. At first, right after Cania, it was his anger that woke him up and pushed him from the bed. Then, the desire of vengeance, to break you to his will.

You sniff as a nervous tick shoots through your face. You try to glance at him from the corner of your eye. He is staring into the distance, somewhere above the glistening river, with the fingers of his right hand wandering across the bark of the log. When his knuckles whiten, you turn to his side profile. You would appreciate such view, if it wasn't for the rather unfortunate circ*mstances.

You turn back away from him, suddenly feeling confused and uneasy. What about the dream? What about Jaheira's research? This devil is a master manipulator, he can be faking his pain, can't he? If he is putting on a performance now, what about everything else that happened?

You rub your knuckles, feeling as if his presence was slowly crushing your side, even though the man remains sitting on his previous spot.

After several moments of hesitation, you decide to look at him and to your surprise – meet his eyes. They are unreadable, same as his face. Nothing in his behaviour could tell you the answers you seek. You are desperate to know the truth. If it was really him with the Accelerated Grand Design, then everything was just a part of his game. Are you ready to hear the answer?

'Can I ask you something, or would you rather sit in silence?' Your voice is quiet, with a gentle note. You tilt your body to face him.

'Ask,' he responds simply.

This is certainly a surprise. You were prepared for his usual 'I don't surrender knowledge for free', but it seems that now is not the time. Maybe his discomfort is real, after all.

'Do you think that dreams have meanings?'

His eyebrows angle, focused. He is trying to read you, trying to sense your intentions, while suppressing a hint of concern or anger. You wonder for a moment if you used incorrect phrasing, but then he responds:

'What inspired your question? Discoveries you've made, while rummaging through my things?'

A blush forms on your face and you look down.
'Not really, but yes, I'm sorry. I had issues keeping myself occupied and the Archive looked very intriguing.'

'Ah, the books, then,' he thinks to himself, but doesn't show any of the relief on his face.

'I only looked at a few,' you admit and risk a glance at him. 'I knew the portal to House of Hope is made of blood, besides it's located in Moonrise Towers, near the now dead colony... I was worried it would trigger the curse. There was so much gore at the time, it's hard to say what would have happened,' you explain to him. 'I couldn't leave before Withers transported me.'

You turn your head away to stare at the grass, lazily swaying in the wind. Before the silence gets a chance to become more uncomfortable, he decides to answer.

'They do. On rarer occasions, when it comes to mortal dreams, no doubt, but they do nevertheless.'

You roll your eyes at his comment.

'Why?' He inquires.

His gaze attempts to burn a hole right through your side profile, all the way inside your skull, trying to melt away the tissue of your brain to see what might be hidden there. There is no point in lying, besides, as Jaheira suggested, it would be best if the two of you finally started getting along. Dodging an answer seems inefficient in achieving such goal.
'I had some kind of a vision. I think I was in Mephistar, but I can't say for sure.' You glance at him and watch his form return back to his regular intensity with straightened back, chin held high and a neutral focus laced with curiosity on his face. There are no more signs of his previous discomfort. 'And I was showed something, that's... unsettling, to say the least.' His expression doesn’t change, encouraging you to continue.

Your gaze travels back to the camp, towards your companions sharing laughs, feasting on delicious and hearty meals. The group managed to overcome so many obstacles constantly being thrown under their feet. Some of those obstacles cost lives.

You spot Wyll, embracing his devil form; notice Karlach, trying not to think about the time slipping through her fingers, time until she has to step back through the portal to Avernus. You look at Jaheira, who lost so many fellow Harpers in yet another conflict; Shadowheart, now liberated from her abusive goddess, but without her family. All of them gained and lost something else, but neither of those things happened out of anyone's sheer will. It was fate, throwing you into the jaw of a carnivore beast, pushing you off a cliff so that maybe, just maybe you will find a way to crawl your way back up.

So much blood, gore, so many shed tears; sorrows blossoming like snowdrops whatever way the Absolute crossed. All of it because of the gods meddling with mortals! All of it because of... The Crown.

'Mouse?' Raphael's voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

The curse must be affecting your exhaustion again. It's second or third time someone had to bring you down to the Earth.

You turn your head towards not just the man, but the devil sitting beside you. You search his eyes for affirmation.
'Will you answer me truthfully? No matter how painful it may be? I'm willing to discuss the value of my question and consider my options to pay for your answer.'

He gives you a short nod.
'Let's reveal the subject of the transaction, then.'

'Did you put notes about accelerated grand design inside the vault in Mephistar?'

Raphael tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows, his dark eyes evaluate your face and a moment later they appear to be distant.
'No. But I would prefer to hear all about this dream of yours.'

Your body twists towards him and you put your right knee on the log, leaning your body weight onto it. 'I was inside some kind of a building, which reminded me of a fortress. I had no body, no limbs, no form. I was only made to watch. Something carried me around a glacier, making me follow the path of the nearest wall and eventually I found myself inside a vault. I saw the crown,' you gesticulate to paint the image of space inside the room. 'And there was an empty desk. Then you appeared, it felt as if you were inside of me,' you explain and watch him curve his eyebrow tauntingly. 'Hey, not like that! I mean that I was here,' you point your hands to your feet and then to your chest. 'And you left me, like, split out of me.'

'So what happened after the splitting?' His smugness rubs the blush onto your face. You desperately try to ignore his gaze for a moment, but it seems that your coyness makes him all the more complacent. You settle your eyes on a distant tree somewhere next to his head.

'You step into the vision and put the book on the desk. I follow you behind and see what the title is. But your form was just as misty and unstable as mine. I only saw the horns,' you put your hands above your head and try to sculpt the shape of them in the air. Raphael's gaze ignites further and he tilts his head. You straighten your back and point your finger at him. 'There was nothing dirty about it!'

He fakes offense.
'I'd never consider such a foul thing, little mouse. Perish the thought.'

You lean back to sit on your bottom and wrap your arms around your chest.
'That's all... So, was it you?'

'I have no such memory.'

In your mind, you pull apart his words and examine them like an archeologist uncovering an ancient vase threatening to shatter. After you establish that there is no room for a word play in his answer, you clarify:
'Could it be you under some kind of an influence?'

'By the time the Crown was held inside a vault in Mephistar, I was already busy planning ahead of the future itself.'

'Was it your father, then? But the horns do not match.'

'To forge such vision is to forge a lie. My dear father is no fabricator,' Raphael responds with confidence.

'Hm.' You turn away from him and stare at your feet covered in tall monastic boots with long pieces of fabric wrapping around your calves. The cambion next to you shifts uncomfortably and then an idea sprouts inside your head. 'Haarlep! What if it was Haarlep?'

He grimaces at the reminder of recent unwelcome sensations, but strokes his chin in thought.
'Not impossible.'

You sigh with relief and bring a hand to your heart.

'It wasn't Raphael...' You repeat in your mind. 'Good. I'm glad' you mumble under your nose.

He stares at you in disbelief, while you fix your pantleg, tugging it back underneath the wrappings.
'You are the greatest puzzle I have yet to solve,' he states in a low voice, making you stop.

'What do you mean?'

'Merely moments ago, your heart was pounding with fear, at the very possibility that the devil next to you might have schemed everything that you and your lovely friends were made to endure,' Raphael explains with a touch of annoyance. You shoot him a questioning glance, which says – how could you tell? - but he taps his chest with his long, index finger. 'As the scar's influence grows, the connection seals.'

'Why am I not able to feel your emotions, then?'

'Because I make sure they are squirreled away and out of your reach.'

'Unfair,' you notice. 'Tell me what number I'm thinking of,' you add and cover your ears as if his mind could probe you through them.

'Six hundred and sixty six,' he answers blankly. It was a guess, but it's more amusing to not let you realize.

'Noo,' you whine quietly and sit cross-legged at the log, while holding your head. 'That's even worse than I thought. And you said that the influence grows? Am I to understand it hasn't reached its final stage?'

'I think you are getting ahead of yourself,' he grins maliciously. 'You've racked up quite a debt by now.'

You look at him unimpressed.
'Right, because one simply cannot enjoy a conversation with you.'

'My time is far too precious for it to be enjoyed for free, little mouse.'

'Of course,' you murmur, but after a short moment, you realize this is not the usual model of his transactions. If he really, truly, was seeking benefit out of this situation, he would have demanded a deed beforehand. Not after he already clarified some of your doubts and concerns.

He turns his head away, eyes closed, while stroking his chin. He takes a theatrical inhale, preparing for his next performance.
'Fortunately for you, I am feeling extremely generous this evening. Even to those I don't deem my allies.' Raphael turns his attention back to you. 'Because of that, I have a humble proposal. For every question you have asked, I will name one of my own. How many questions were there, little mouse?'

'I didn’t count,' you admit, frowning.

'Eight,' he smiles.

You lean onto your right thigh and point your finger at him.
'During the conversation you asked me about something, as well. Be fair in your dealings, devil.'

He smirks wickedly, amusem*nt glinting in his dark eyes.
'Very good,' he purrs, and somehow it feels as if his voice was rumbling your own chest. Suddenly, you are aware of how little remains of the initial distance between the two of you. You move your body back to sit on your feet. 'Seven questions it is, then,' he adds, watching you escape his proximity.

You put your hand on your chest and look at him imploringly.
'Oh please, don't keep me waiting. I'm anticipating with bated breath.' A part of you mocks his theatrics to get an illusion of having an upper hand in this conversation. The other part tries to fuel the amused flames you see dancing in his eyes.

He tilts his head. 'Why did you just hand over the painkiller to me? You could've seized the opportunity, exploit your opponent. Maybe even force me into a deal.'

'Why would I do such a thing?'

'Do not respond with questions. It's not a valuable answer. Try again. Why did you not play your cards?'

'I just didn't want to,' you say simply, feeling a bit confused. Raphael looks at you, clearly unsatisfied. 'I mean, what do you want me to say? I just didn't want you to feel the way you felt.'

'I want you to be open as a book,' his voice is carrying a threatening edge.

'You literally said you can detect my thoughts, you can tell I am not deceiving you!'

He leans forward and grabs you by the collar. He stands up, imposing terror upon you. His eyes glare at you with such menacing void that liken the deepest depths of Hells.
'What are you planning to achieve? Why did you stand in my defense? Surely you had numerous advantage, having your allies on your side. You know the other way of breaking the curse. Why do you refuse to play your cards?'

You stare at him with wide eyes, your arms trembling, heart pounding at the ribcage.
'I don't plan anything, but lifting the curse from us both,' you answer with a weak voice. 'Most of my allies here don't have any equipment. We are at a party, not battlefield. We wouldn't stand a chance. Besides, I just don't want you dead. Is it so hard to understand?'

'Yes. Yes it is! Who are you siding with, what benefits were you promised?' He jerks you once and you are finally able to see through his mask.

Raphael is terrified. Mephistopheles knows about your fondness of his son, and thus he knew you will inform the cambion about your dream. This was not a message for you, this was a message to him: 'I see you, worthless half-thing. I see your futile attempts at besting me.'

Risking everything, possibly your life and soul, you place your palms on his. Your cool skin collides with his hellfire infused one. You look up at him, devoid of any hatred or malice, praying he will see through his fury.
'Raphael, I haven’t sided with anyone. What are you thinking about? That I would stand by your father's side? If I wasn't completely powerless, I'd prefer to help you destroy him.'

His eyebrows rise a tiny bit, pulling his eyelids to reveal a soft, almost puppy-like expression. In a blink of an eye, the spite returns, poisoning his handsome features.

'Do you want me to be open?' You ask him rhetorically. 'I am fond of you, Raphael. As much as I dislike it and as hard as it makes me confused. I really do. I was ready to give you the Crown, despite what I discovered in your house,' tears gather at the edge of your waterline and your voice weakens. 'I am vulnerable to your charm. And it annoys me that you made your way inside my brain so easily, but out of the two worms that infested my mind throughout my life, yours was the most welcome one. I admire your determination and intelligence and if I was Asmodeus, I would put you as the ruler of one of the layers. Shall I keep going?' An invisible grip tightens your throat, and a burning sensation tries to melt the back of your tongue.

He stays silent, but each passing second wipes out the anger from his face.

'I know I shouldn't feel this way, but I just can't. I sympathise with you, just as much as I sympathise with the people you've hurt. It's just how I naturally am, in the same way as you naturally lean towards evil. But you are a child of a mortal. Maybe a part of you knew love, maybe not all is corrupted.'

'Please!' He huffs with disdain.

'It's true,' you counter weakly. 'I know how it is to not be taken seriously. I know how it is to want to prove yourself. But I am a small grain of sand in the desert of ambition compared to the dune that you represent. I've read about your kind, the cambions that no societies accept. I cannot fathom how difficult it is to grow up like this.'

He clenches his jaw and chuckles coldly.
'You are insane.'

'By some standards, I am. But I know exactly how far it goes. Far enough to want to show some kindness to everyone, even a devil and a man alike,' you finish in a whisper.

A tear escapes your eye and you bring your palm to your cheek, but before it reaches its destination, you feel the much hotter, soft, yet firm texture gliding beneath your eye. Raphael strokes his thumb across your skin, drying the wet trails from your face.

He lowers you so that you can sit back on the log and steps away. You wait for his next move or for him to break the silence, but long moments pass by the time either of those happen.

'What's your next move?' He inquires in a quiet tone.

'I wanted to bury the ones I've slaughtered to avoid gnolls or disease spreading from the corpses. But because of the curse,' you look down at the grass. 'I will most likely seek solitude.'

He nods once, eyes fixed on the river. He moves graciously to the shore and says:
'I'll see you soon.'

With that, he teleports away, leaving nothing else but the floating embers behind.