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starstruckyouthmikely · 8 months ago

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Azure Flame. Том 3

Отель Хазбин, Адский босс (кроссовер)

Смешанная

NC-21

В процессе

21❤

_Candy_Flame_

автор

Пэйринг и персонажи:

Физзаролли/Блиц, Столас/Асмодей, Луна/Октавия, Лилит Морнингстар

Проблемы доверия

Психологические травмы

Счастливый финал

Упоминания смертей

Упоминания убийств

Другие метки:

Hurt/Comfort

Ангст

Дарк

Драма

Мистика

Приемные семьи

Психология

Романтика

Стёб

Флафф

Юмор

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— Луна… — Вия с сочувствием и состраданием продолжала гладить её по спине. — Расскажи, что случилось? Я попытаюсь помочь тебе…

Гончая долго не решалась отвечать ей. Совушка лишь чувствовала, как горячие капли мочат её фиалковую пижаму на месте правого плеча, но, в данный момент, это нисколько не смущало.

— Луна, пожалуйста. — Октавия не могла видеть её такой, намерения помочь и скрасить жизнь другой хотя бы на немного нарастали с каждой секундой.

Резкое молчание, прерывистые вздохи, всхлипы…

— Б-Блиц мёртв… И твой отец убил его, я знаю это! — В этих словах прозвучали все негативные чувства, какие только могут быть, но гнев выделялся больше всех… — Почему?

От подобных заявлений бывшая принцесса озирается на Луну с волнением и замешательством, взглянув ей в глаза… Её мохнатая морда полностью промокла от слёз, чёрная стёкшая тушь наводила жути…

— Блиц мёртв?! — Для Октавии услышать нечто по истине печальное было шоком. — Н-но с чего ты взяла, что мой отец причастен к его смерти?

— Кроме него никто не находился с ним рядом в последний раз, вот почему! — Казалось, речь Луны возвращалась в норму и, находившись в ��бъятиях милой совушки, она наконец-то стала восстанавливать рассудок.

— Наверняка это мог быть кто-то другой, мой отец не может! Он бы никогда! — Стала защищать его Вия, стараясь убедить раннее обезумевшую гончую, что она не права.

— Думай, как можешь, видимо ты не шибко то и знаешь своего папаню… Я даже ничего сделать не успела, как он спустя секунду сам набросился на меня! Спасибо Асмодею, что он не дал ему разорвать меня. А это наверняка входило в его планы…

Хотела уже было Вия что-то возразить, как быстрые шаги в спальню отцов отвлекают её. Голова совушки разворачивается полностью назад, рассматривая дверной проём. Силуэт показывал обоих демонов, чьи-то большие рога и шутовские хвостики, явно выдающие их всегда и везде. Но кто обладатель третьего? Шерсть Луны вздыбилась на спине, уши настороженно торчком приподнялись, когда она почувствовала родную энергию. Гончая стала принюхиваться, из любопытства вытянув свою красивую и тонкую шею.

— *нюх* *нюх*. — Луна привстала на ноги, опираясь об стену и держась лапой за Октавию.

— Что с тобой?

— Мне кажется или?.. — Гончая заинтересованно наклонила мордашку в бок. — Погоди-ка, быть этого не может…

Луна сорвалась с места и помчалась к выходу из комнаты, как вдруг нечаянно врезается во что-то металлическое, после удара которого раздался трёхэтажный мат и высокочастотный звон:

— Блять! — Заорал рогатый, упав задом на пол. — У вас что, в этом особняке из-за каждого угла какая-то залупень вылетает?!

— Бли… П-папа?! — Гончая заорала от шока и не понимания, узнав своего приёмного опекуна по внешнему виду. — К-как?! Как вы это сделали?! — Девушка взглянула на высших демонов, а её красивая и прелестная мордочка расплывалась в широкой, почти сумасшедшей улыбке.

Слегка испугавшись реакции Адской Гончей, Столас редко поморщился и распушил перья на шее и плечах. Он всё ещё чувствовал, как она пропитана злобой…

— Что сделали? Кто сделали?.. Чт… Да блять, я нихуя не понимаю!!! — Блиц негодовал от того, как всё запутано, а амнезия только больше подливала масло в огонь.

Луна и Октавия были в замешательстве. Одна не понимала, почему Блицо в робо-теле, вторая не понимала, как им удалось это провернуть и не искусственный интеллект ли ей подсунули вместо живого отца? Хотя чувство присутствия живой души внутри конструкции сама выдавала очевидный ответ на вопрос.

Вия потупила взгляд и обратила внимание на позади всех стоящего Физзаролли. Его лицо, казалось, было переполнено негодованием ещё больше, чем Блиц, и даже слишком… Виднелись острые клыки, будто беззвучно рычал. Хвост бесёнка-шута тревожно извивался из стороны в сторону подобно обозлённому коту, которого схватили за шкварник. Его яростный взгляд был нацелен на Столаса…

— Физз? — Совушка обратила внимание на его поведение, но тот отреагировал на её зов не сразу.

— Советую не допрашивать меня прямо сейчас… — Физз резко шлёпнул хвостом по полу.

Он не хотел грубить ей… Правда не хотел. Октавия сразу поняла, что бесёнок точно что-то знает, но не намерен делиться информацией.

— Луни! Луни, как ты?! Что помнишь именно ты, расскажи мне?! — Наёмного убийцу распирало до невозможности, он поскорее хотел узнать правду.

— Столас, он… — Громкий топот внезапно заткнул гончую…

Демон подобным жестом хотел попросить её, подумать, прежде чем сказать и раскрыть бесу истинные воспоминания. После этого конферансье взглянул на него с ещё бо́льшим осуждением. Металлические протезы сжимались в кулак, царапая друг-друга.

— Господа и дамы, не соизволите ли вы мне кое-что уточнить с Блицо, пока вы выясняете тёрки между собой? — Гневно рыкнул шут, резко взявшись за меха-руку наёмника. — И желательно без подслушиваний…

Все настороженно взглянули на полностью изменившегося в настроении Физза и приняли решение промолчать… Особенно Столас, который находился в полном понимании произошедшего и в том, что ему придётся объясняться перед гончей… Правда больше всего он боялся пасть в глазах своей дочери…

________

— Физз? Физз, ты хочешь поговорить? Почему мы от всех отдаляемся? — Потеря последних воспоминаний, казалось, сделала его слегка дегроидным, но шут надеялся, что это легко исправить.

— Нам просто нужно поговорить… Не задавай лишних вопросов.

— Хах, а я помню то время, ��огда ты был любопытным. — Посмеялся роботизированный, после чего невольно сжал руку в ладони Физзаролли.

Этот негромкий и добрый смех… На личике шута всплыл пунцовый румянец, а на губах растянулась лёгкая улыбка. Хоть что-то он помнит…

Бесы остановились рядом с уборной поодаль от остальных, да так, чтобы их точно никто не услышал. Шут всё решил — лучше подыграть на благо всех, чем рассказать страшную правду. Иногда случается так, что ложь спасает положение, но не всегда…

— Блицо, ты помнишь наш последний разговор? — Поинтересовался конферансье, посмотрев второму в глаза.

— Нет… Но мне кажется, между нами было что-то очень важное…

— За секунду до того, пока тебя не зажевало в той машине смерти, ты признался, что всё это время любил меня, не смотря ни на что… Это правда? Или ты на эмоциях выдал свои последние слова?

— Помню, что-то действительно было… Сука! Я ничего толком не могу вспомнить! Что мы делали в ТЦ? — В груди наёмного убийцы просочилось некое тепло и странный трепет.

— Шли за брачными кольцами…

— ЧТО?!

— Мы планировали тихую и не столь шумную свадьбу… Но эти ебучие кабели испортили наши планы, напав на меня. Однако ты помог спастись, угодив в механизмы эскалатора! Блици… Ты же мой герой! Ты помнишь хотя бы это!!!

— Эа… А… Стоп! А как же?..

— Всё, что было в прошлом, останется между нами в прошлом. Блиц, я давно простил тебя. Не смотря на то, что тогда мне было больно и страшно, это самое лучшее, что со мной случалось…

— Ты сгорал заживо! Почему ты так говоришь?

— Если бы не этот инцидент… — Физзаролли отвёл в сторону печальный взгляд. — Если бы не… Не важно! Главное, что мы снова вместе… — Металлическая рука внезапно коснулась щеки воскрешённого беса. — Знаешь? Было бы замечательно вернуть тебе тело…

Неожиданно щека Блицо стала обретать живые кожные ткани… Подобная трансформация стала молниеносно распространяться на всё тело.

— Что? Что за хуйня? — Наёмник был и без того до беспамятства хероват, а теперь с ним происходи�� ещё какая-то бурда.

— Сам в шоке… — Физзаролли никак не ожидал, что его мысли способны к материализации.

_____________

Королева Ада, притаившись во мгле, сотворяла сея этот процесс.

Лилит Морнингстар, будучи супругой одного и страшных смертных грехов имела одну из самых важных обязанностей, включавшихся в часть её совместного правления преисподней. Поскольку именно Лилит была любовью всей жизни падшего архангела, ей была доверена одна из самых важнейших тайн этого прогнившего мира — использование душ на благо всего, что могло бы помешать из-за доставленных в дальнейшем проблем. Ведь не дай Сатана, кто разузнает об этом — жди беды! Никто не должен заподозрить о переселении душ, взглянув лишь на эту ходячую робо-копию… Это слишком высоко для уровня искусственного интеллекта, чтобы казаться типичной подделкой… Не все демоны так глупы и наивны, как кажется на первый взгляд.

Её задача заключается в скрытии истории переселения. Поскольку данная способность впечатана в её разум, подобно подсознательному инстинкту, Лилит сразу узнаёт, когда и где произошла трансформация или воскрешение. Узнав о возвращении в Ад наёмного убийцы, она незаметно и без подозрений на себя вновь чётко и блестяще выполняет свою работу. Лишь её кроваво-красные склеры с ядовито-жёлтыми зрачками глаза блестели в темноте, медленно моргая длинными, роскошными ресницами. На её чёрных губах всплыла мягкая и утончённая улыбка. Превосходства и величия у Лилит не занимать, всегда гордится выполненной ею работой. Когда при перевоплощении в живую плоть у беса появился хвост, она негромко хихикнула, растворившись в пространстве и сладко прошептав:

— Никто не узнает~…

____________

— Ты это слышал? — Физзаролли обернулся назад прямо в темноту, как только услышал спокойный, слегка низковатый женский голос.

— Отлично, значит шизой болею не я один, верно? Ты про этот смех?

— Я как раз о нём! — Шут передумал отрываться от Блица, поскольку что-то внутри подсказывало о тревожной опасности и нужно уходить отсюда подальше.

Сжав в руке его живое запястье, Физзаролли быстрым шагом увёл его подальше, вновь к остальным. Они явно не собирались в дальнейшем обсуждать то, что произошло… И трансформацию в живое тело тоже. Но как на это отреагируют остальные?

— Надо было и тебе воспоминания стереть… — Раздражённо произнёс Асмодей, массируя пальцами виски. — Хотел как лучше, только больше проблем создал. Ох Сатана, Лилит, где же ты?

— А при чём здесь Лилит? — Задумался Столас, стоя в стороне и придерживая Луну подальше.

— Сейчас это не так важно… — Отнекивался смертный гре��.

Все разом перевели удивлённые взгляды в сторону подходивших бесят. Те, сами по себе, были не шибко спокойны и крайне ошарашены тем, что произошло.

— Теперь объясните мне, как получилось, вот это!!! — Негодовала гончая от вопросов, ответов на которые она толком не получила.

— Хватит!!! — Заверещал Асмодей, воспламенившись розовым огнём. — С меня довольно!!! — К его крикам подобрался многоголосый бас и шум. — Забудьте обо всём, что было! Живите блять дальше и прекратите сраться между собой! Пока я здесь хозяин, я не потерплю в моём особняке ссоры и скандалы!!!

Все в один миг заткнулись, даже не на шутку испугавшийся Столас, почувствовав свою вину в этих спорах с гончей.

— Прислушайтесь к здоровяку Оззи, если не хотите стать жертвой его гнева, сопляки… — Подключился Физзаролли, злобно смотря на Стэлара и Луну. — Слушайте меня сюда, блять… Я и Блицо должны обвенчаться в течение этого дня. — Потом посмотрел на Оззи, подмигнул левым глазом, чтобы подыграл. — Где там наши кольца, которые мы купили в торговом центре?

— Ты хранил их у себя всё это время под фактом моей смерти? — Блицо был тронут данным заявлением, он и не думал, что его всё это время с трепетом и болью вспоминали, хотя порой раннее он задумывался о том, что однажды он помрёт где-нибудь под забором, где о нём подавно и темы не поднимут.

В пространстве образовались брачные кольца, телепортировавшись из своих вельветовых шкатулочек прямо на их безымянные пальцы.

— Ну нихуя себе, чё так можно было? — Удивился Блицо, с искрящими глазами глядя на золотой предмет для венчания оказался на его пальце.

— Если вам надо в течение дня, то я готов свести вас, прямо сейчас. Не злите меня лучше!

— Здоровяк, ты чего? — Насторожился Физз его агрессивной реакции.

— Меня достали эти ваши разборки. — Взглянул на Столаса, недовольно нахмурившись. — Если вы сейчас же не прекратите этот шумный балаган, то клянусь своим сигилом… Я!.. — После вовремя остановился, осознав, кому он угрожает смертью…

— На деле я был бы не против сказать, какой Столас всё-таки ёбаный му…

— ФИЗЗ!!! — Синхронно прокричали все, заткнув беса.

— А я что, не прав что ли? Я то знаю, где тут собака зарыта…

Лютая тишина, давящая на нервы. Даже Луна больше не желала встревать в разговор, который в любой момент мог бы возобновиться…

— Знаете, что я понял? — Внезапно промолвил наёмный убийца, выйдя ко всем. — Каждый из нас дорожит тем, что не каждый способен иметь самое дорогое… Любовь! Любовь к семье, к близким… Не все могут похвастаться тем, что не имеют. Ребят, давайте забудем все ссоры и обиды, чтобы там ни было и… Начнём с чистого листа и с самого начала! До поры своей смерти, вспоминаю, насколько скуп, жалок и уёбищен я был… Но обстоятельства свели меня к одному важному в моей жизни выводу — я не должен жить лишь ради славы и бизнеса… Я должен жить так, как не живётся нигде так прекрасно и весело, как в этом замечательном месте под названием «Оззи»… Раз Столас сказал мне, что за ту ночь произошло многое, так не грех же осознать и переосмыслить свои взгляды на жизнь? Я могу сменить профессию, зажить по новой и слажено, иногда не вести себя подобно тупорылому барану и, по возможности, идти на уступки тех, кто может быть относительно прав. — Его взгляд был настолько печальными, там выражалась вся боль, грусть и тоска, никто не мог не обратить внимание на эти щенячьи глазки! — Ну же, миритесь! Прекратите эти разборки, впереди нас может ожидать столько всего, что мы можем пережить все вместе! — После он отвёл взгляд на свою приёмную дочь. — Луни, ты же вроде говорила, что встречаешься с Октавией? Не так ли? Помню, месяц назад ты планировала тоже сделать ей предложение, спустя три года доверительных отношений… Хе-хе.

— Блиц!!! — Проскулила гончая, прижав уши к голове и раскрасневшись до предела. — Какого чёрта тебя тянули за язык?!

— Луна, это что, правда? — Совушка округлила свои малиновые глазки, залившись алым румянцем по всему белоснежному и прелестному личику; Столас пребывал в удивлении и полнейшем охренении не хуже, чем его дочь.

— Блять, пап, ты мне всю малину испортил! — Пожаловалась Луна, чутка приуныв.

— А откуда я знал, что это был твой секрет? — Потупил на месте он пару минут. — Надо было так и сказать: «пап, это мой сюрприз типа! Молчи и никому не рассказывай»… — В ответ на это Адская Гончая сделала фейспалм…

— Я так понимаю, у нас двойная свадьба? — Подколол Физз, дёргая бровями.

— Поправочка — тройная! — Внезапно заявил Столас. — Мы с Асмо на деле знакомы очень давно. Наши взаимодействия были что-то вроде деловых или партнёрских. Пока я не понял, что это самый замечательный мужчина всей моей жизни… Я приготовил кое-что для тебя, Оззи! — В третий раз за пару мгновений появилась ещё одна пара брачных колец.

— Так не честно! Я хотел сделать его тебе буквально следующим днём! — с наигранным капризным тоном проговорил смертный грех.

— Ты опоздал, сладенький~. Я всегда расчётлив наперёд… Смирись!

— Редкая картина, однако, наблюдается… — Заявила гончая. — Где в Аду ещё бывало такое, что в один день сразу три свадьбы, и в одном месте, и в одно время?

— Я бы не сказал так. На деле я уже разослал пригласительные письма всем принцам Ада рода Арс Гоэтия. Именно тем, кому я могу доверять, поскольку… Сами понимаете — есть исключения. Хе-хе…

— А почему ты не предупредил меня, Стэлар?! — Ошарашил��я Асмодей, услышав эту новость. — Почему ты не оповестил о приглашении?!

— Хотел устроить сюрприз, но раз уж обстоятельства решили иначе, пойду по их принципу. — Совершенно спокойно ответил совиный демон.

— Стэлл… Ты же понимаешь, что подобное халатное отношение к аристократским кровям не сулит ничего хорошего? Обязательно среди них найдутся и мрази, допустившие сплетни!

— Не волнуйся, я всё предусмотрел…

— Как именно?

— Не важно. Чем меньше знаешь, тем крепче спишь, милый. — Подмигнул он, явно скрывая нечто страшное в своём шкафу.

На каждого приглашённого заранее наложено проклятье: кто попытается распространить информацию, руки и язык будут периодически отрываться и не важно, сколько раз они будут регенерировать… В случае телепатической передачи, подобная способность также будет заблокирована…

— Как-то неудобно получится… Я с Октавией планировала только расписаться, без лишней суеты и тем более расходов.

— Полностью солидарна дорогуша. К чему нам всё это, когда сразу после заключения союза можно спокойно жить? — Согласилась Вия.

— Что ж. Если вы так хотите в тишине и уюте… То Король Похоти может позволить вам такое! Похоть хоть и отдалена от любви, но всё же… На мне лишь только это клеймо и оно практически ничего обо мне не говорит. Так что… Официально благословляювас зарегистрированной гражданской парой! — Восхищённо пролепетал Асмодей.

— А что насчёт нас? Нам вообще-то такая поебучка с лишними затратами тоже не в тягость! — Предъявил Блицо.

— Так я только что коснулся всех вас. — Щёлкнул пальцем. — Держите эти важные документы. — Снова щёлкнул пальцем. — А вот ручки. Подпишите их и живите спокойно. Я внезапно проявляю ко всем вам милосердие, друзья мои низшие! Неужели не удивительно?

На что Столас мило хихикнул, придерживая клюв кулаком, дабы не разразиться звонким смехом.

— Я так понял, теперь дело брака осталось лишь на нас, да? — Расслабив веки промолвил принц.

— Всё верно. Главное, что я разрулил ситуацию, как положено. На самом деле я заключаю браки в редких случаях и то, если только между голубыми кровями. На данный момент с моей стороны, это по праву реально милосердный поступок…

Столас ничего нему не ответил. Демон медленно приблизился к Оззи и ласково потёрся об его мускулистое плечо подобно коту. При всём при этом, из его уст вырывалось мелодичное и трепетное совиное уханье. Дружно расписавшись, адская гончая, совиная Гоэтия и двое бесов наконец-то одновременно вздохнули с облегчением и счастливой улыбкой.

— Рад, что я помолвлен с таким расчётливым и умным совёнком, как ты, Столи… — Асмодей невольно принялся за взаимную ласку нежно обняв принца и аккуратно схватив его своими крепкими руками.

— А можем ли мы позволить Блицо и его дочери переселиться к нам. Помнится, мне, на днях, ты искал себе в «Оззи» новых сотрудников.

— Чур я буду официанткой! На этом ебучем пилоне-вертеле, как сосиска, я крутиться не буду. — Наигранно раздрадившись фыркнула Луна, но в тот час улыбнулась.

— А я был бы не прочь срубать бабло на охране. — Подключился Блицо. — Поскольку гримуара больше у меня нет, кристаллов асмодиан получать нет смысла, я буду рад согласиться на такое!

— Ну… Смотря на то, как в прошлый раз Стэнли обошёлся с тобой… — Напомнил Физз.

— Да не парься, всё пучком. Разъясняю как надо и уже скорешимся, увидишь. — Довольно подмигнул он, трубой выставив свой хвост, выражая мельком проявляющееся самолюбие.

— Имей в виду, он парниша слаженный и физически тебя превосходит. Даст пизды, и долго будешь кости восстанавливать… — Уточнил шут.

— Да я ему быстрее колени прострелю, чем он надумает пускать в дело свои навыки секси-качка. — Рассмеялся Блицо, слегка сгорбившись.

— А вот этого, пожалуй, делать не стоит. Я вычту подобный случай из твоей зарплаты. Если кого-то отстреливать, то только из снотв��рных дротиков! Напоминаю, пока я здесь хозяин — насилию в моей обители ни за что не бывать! — Пригрозил Асмодей, слегка смутившись легкомыслию наёмного убийцы.

— Я помогу тебе с работой официантки, Луни. — Вия, не обращая внимание на спор бесов, приобняла уже официально свою жену за талию. — Когда я была в старом доме, на каждое день рождение моей «матери» я наблюдала за её прислугами, которые тоже работали официантами. Память у меня хорошая, так что подскажу, где да как.

— Ого, благодарочка, зай. — Луна крепко обняла её, словно плюшевую игрушку.

__________

После, как все а спокойной и счастливой ноте разошлись по комнатам, Луна и Октавия неплохо утроились в комнате совушки, поскольку её кровать была двуспальной и отлично пригодной для них обеих. Лёжа в постели и крепко обнимаясь, даря друг-другу тепло и уют, Октавия внезапно задалась вопросом.

— Луни?

— Что-то не так?

— Нет, всё как раз таки отлично… Спонтанный вдруг вопрос тебе — как ты относишься к приёмным детям?

Гончая обомлела, не в силах подобрать нужные слова. Ей предстоит хорошенько подумать, через пару минут, волчица улыбнулась,

- Думаю, я непротив. - потянулась за поцелуем к любимой совушке. Впереди их ждала свадьба.

#stoladeus #Asmodey #helluva boss #fanfiction #ficbook #old fanfiction #stolas #Ozzie #kanon_ozzilas #canon_ozzilas #stolust

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pengychan · 7 months ago

Text

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 37

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** That awkward moment when the CEO you tried to terminate shows up, asks you WTF were you thinking, gives you a gun, and offers you a job if you kill a senior manager. And that senior manager is also your dad. #justevilcorporationthings ***

“So, you met Asmodeus.”

“An avatar of him. But yes.”

“The Asmodeus?”

“Must have been. I am not aware of other Asmodeus-- Asmodei? Asmodeuses?”

“Well, there's only one. Several avatars, only one King of the Hells. Thank fuck.”

“And you can tell us nothing of what he told you?”

“Not unless you sign the pact of silence. From this moment forward, I may only speak of the matter to those who signed the same pact as me, far from any others’ ears.”

Several pairs of eyes shifted to the parchment on the table. Several pairs of eyes - well, several pairs of eyes, plus one eye and a sending stone - shifted back to Raphael.

To them, the Infernal script glowing on the parchment looked much like the contract Raphael had once proposed to them, exuding a power one may almost choke on. It looked menacing and, of course, unintelligible. They had no idea what was truly written on it; it may indeed be a pact of silence, or it may be something else entirely.

They could only take Raphael’s word for it, and Raphael was well aware of it.

“... A pact of silence - that’s all it is?” Karlach asked.

Raphael nodded. “Yes. I have gone over every word, every footnote. That is indeed all it is. If you choose not to sign, you must leave the Hells at once. Once all of us have signed, and those who have not have left, I may talk - and we’ll receive boons to help in the fight.”

“What sort of boons?”

“Some resistance to hellfire, however limited; even the Lord Below does not have enough mastery over it to grant immunity. An amulet which will allow one of us to counter one of Mephisto’s most powerful spells, just once. An artifact which will make it impossible for him to summon help, as long as one of his opponents has it on them.” A wry smile. “And a spear which will end him for good, once brought low.”

“And in exchange…?”

“Our silence. And our oath to kill Mephistopheles, or die trying.”

“If we die--”

“Your souls would not be bound to Hells. To die trying is still enough to fulfill the deal, if not the ideal outcome. I did go through all the fine print, believe me.”

There were a few moments of silence while they mulled over the terms. Raphael did not seem surprised by the reticence; no one would sign an Infernal contract lightly. He had simply placed it down on a table they were now all standing around before he’d taken a quill, put his name on it first, and explained what it was about.

That quill was now on the table. No hand reached for it just yet; Durge was not looking at it, but rather at Raphael. He was quiet, mouth pressed in a thin line and brow creased. Whatever Asmodeus had told him seemed to be… quite a lot. Durge sighed, and reached for the quill - only to pause with the tip barely above it.

“... Will Durge cut it? Is it considered my name, for the purpose of-- this?”

“Yes. Whether imposed upon you at birth or claimed later in life, your name is your own.”

A nod. “Very well,” they said, and signed the contract without a second thought. They heard Raphael breathe out when they went to put the quill down, only for Astarion to take it from their hand. He gave an exaggerated sigh, before signing his name with exaggerated flourish.

“You’re lucky I love you, bhaal-babe. And you are lucky you have such delectable blood. Once this is over, you’ll owe me a few bottles.” Astarion turned, quill in hand, and Halsin stepped forward.

“I’ll require no bottles of blood,” he said, smiling at Raphael, “but I must confess I’m curious.” His signature joined those on the contract, and he looked back.

Karlach was hesitating, biting her lower lip bloody; she glanced at Wyll, who smiled faintly. “Well, my soul is spoken for. It cannot get much worse,” he joked, and Raphael glanced over.

“... Your soul will be yours again, if we survive this,” he said, causing Wyll to blink.

“What? Is that in the pact?”

“No. It is a promise on my part.” A faint curling of his lips. He still looked so oddly distant, so oddly absent. “If we do survive the battle, of course.”

“Ah, of course.” Wyll seemed to steel himself, and finally took the pen. His signature was a quick scrawl, and he did not turn to hand the pen to Karlach. He set it down next to the contract, and stepped back. For a few moments, no one spoke. No one turned to look at her, either. The last thing any of them wanted was for her to feel pressured to do this - sign an infernal contract, after being sold to a devil before.

Whether or not to trust Raphael to be truthful was up to her now, and no one else; and that decision came after a few more moments of silence and then, finally, a groan. “Ah, fuck it. I’ll break your damn spine over my knee if it turns out you just sold me off to Asmodeus.”

She took the quill and, without allowing herself to think further, she signed her full name beneath all the others. The letters glowed and that was that; the moment the tip of the quill was lifted from the parchment, the very ink seemed to catch fire.

Instants later, the contract had burned itself out; it was somewhere in Nessus, no doubt, where Asmodeus would keep a careful hold of it. That was probably a stronghold Durge would not be able to steal from… but they did not think it would be needed.

They did not believe, even for a moment, that Raphael had lied to them.

They watched the contract disappear, and a mere instant later there was indeed something - like a being covered by a very heavy blanket of darkness, suffocatingly so; not quite blessing, not quite curse. It lasted only for a moment.; then the sensation was gone, and they all breathed in. On the table where the contract had been, as promised, there were three objects; an amulet, what looked like a round stone, and a spear of infernal iron whose tip seemed to be fashioned out of… of…

“Is that…?”

“A snake fang?”

“A big ass snake, that.”

Raphael nodded, and reached to take the spear. He held it up, looking closely at the fang. It was easily the length of his forearm; even from a few paces away Durge could sense something emanating from it, like venom so powerful it could poison the very air around it.

“... Asmodeus’ own, I suspect. I’ll handle it with utmost care. One touch of this may be lethal even to a god, if they are brought low enough first.”

“What, you mean-- a big shot of a god? You know, not like Bhaal-- no offense, Durge--”

“None taken.”

“But more like… I don’t know, Mystra? Shar?”

Raphael hummed, and caused the spear to disappear in a burst of flames - ready to reappear in his hands, Durge was certain, when needed. “I’d assume so. Gods can be and have been killed, after all. But we should probably focus on killing an archdevil first, and from personal experience I do advise strongly against killing the goddess of magic. Both times that happened, the consequences were dire. To say the least.”

Durge chuckled. “Fair enough. Gale may not appreciate it either, even if their relationship is more distant these days,” they said, and looked at the table.

On it was a medallion of black metal, both icy cold and burning hot to the touch; nine circles were etched on it, one for each layer of the Hells, with some lettering in Infernal which shone at their touch. At the very center of the ninth something shone bloody red - a small ruby.

The power of Nessus, to hold and use for a fleeting moment and then never again. They looked up at Raphael, who in turn just nodded. “You should have it. It will let you counter one of his spells with certainty of success. I’d recommend keeping it for his Wish spell.”

Durge nodded back, and put the amulet around their neck. A Wish spell was dangerous as few others, as it allowed its caster to alter the foundation of reality as they… well, wished. It would take much out of the caster - in some cases, even the possibility of casting it ever again - and even the most powerful mages hesitated to use it unless cornered.

Yet Durge had little doubt that Mephistopheles could withstand the drawbacks, and would use it against them if they held up against him long enough. That amulet may very well save all of their lives. “I see. Any other particularly powerful spells we ought to be aware of?”

“He can call down a meteor swarm. We need a globe of invulnerability. More than one, if possible - although I believe you’re the only one among us capable of casting it.”

Wyll grinned. “I don’t know how to cast it, but I have bought a few scrolls. I figured it helped to be prepared.”

“Believe me, it will.” Raphael turned back to Durge. “... He can cast Geas. I am rather certain he will try to cast it on me, to have me turn on you.”

“How can you--”

“It’s what I would do,” was the response. Matter-of-fact. Unsmiling. Something about it was unsettling, but Durge chose not to question that. For now.

“... I understand. And if he does…?”

“Fortunately, I need no help from Asmodeus to protect myself from it.”

Durge stared a moment, then grinned. “Mind Blank. Of course. It is a powerful spell.”

A twitch of Raphael’s lips. “I have been told I am a powerful fiend.”

“Yes, yes, congratulations. We’ll pat you on the back once we’ve won,” Astarion spoke up, and he took the third object on the table. “Well. I’m guessing this is the artifact to stop summonings, right?” he asked.

It did not look like much; a small stone which seemed to hum if one listened very closely. Faint, barely audible… and yet there was power to it, Durge could tell. Enough to disrupt any attempt at calling reinforcements. That, too, had a small ruby at its center.

“I see how it’s useful, if it stops him from calling in whole legions,” Halsin said. “Although I was rather hoping we could use Zariel’s feather to summon her and Lulu for help.”

“That would not be possible either way. We no longer have that feather.”

Raphael’s words caused everyone to fall quiet and turn back to him, rather taken aback. He held their gazes. “... I happened upon it after borrowing a book. The feather was stuck between its pages,” he said, causing Durge to almost groan and make a mental note to make a little bit more of an effort at inventory management.

“I see,” they sighed. “And where is it now?”

“In the vaults.”

Durge nodded. It was all rather clear, now that they thought back of how Raphael had grasped both of Haarlep’s hands, talking to them in a low voice before they fled from Mephistar. “You gave it to Haarlep before we left. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I was not certain you’d be willing to allow it, and I had no intention to find out with so little time to argue over the potential benefits and drawbacks. Not with both Haarlep and my mother there, risking discovery at every turn. If they’re unmasked, at least summoning Zariel to fight in their stead would give them a chance to flee.”

“None of us would have argued,” Halsin spoke, and it was true. How could they have, after watching him bury his sister, knowing that his sire was next? If Raphael had asked them to leave that feather behind with his mother and his lover, they would not have denied him.

And the long look Raphael gave them told them rather clearly that he knew. When he cleared his throat, he even sounded a touch embarrassed. “I appreciate it. I suppose I would have realized it was a non issue, if I’d gone over the matter with a cool enough mind.”

“Well, no harm done,” Karlach muttered, and shrugged. “Not gonna lie, the idea of summoning Zariel for anything was not loads of fun. I don’t want to see her ever again. And we wouldn’t be able to either way, right? With the stone blocking all summons, it’s all of us against Mephisto. No reinforcements on either end. We’ll make do with Asmodeus’ trinkets.”

“I am not certain I’d call any of these boons mere trink --”

“Infernal trinkets,” Karlach cut him off, grinning. The grin widened at Rapael’s long-suffering sigh. Astarion laughed and pocketed the stone before he sat on the table.

“... Well. Now that all of that is out of the way, spill the beans,” he said, and grinned, leaning forward. “What did the King of the Hells himself have to tell you?”

***

The first time Raphael had caught a glimpse of an avatar of the Lord Below - the only time, until that day in Nebulat - he’d been very young.

He couldn’t recall his exact age, but it wasn’t too long after he arrived at Mephistopheles’ court; he was still in the process of learning all he could of the laws which governed Baator and, of course, the types of contracts one may forge with mortals.

He was leaving magistrate Bele’s private library with several tomes in his arms, Bele’s hand on his back while he said something about new clauses that were not yet enshrined but may be soon, and how he had made notes of such clauses on the margins of the books in the relevant sections.

“No one but magistrates and of course Justiciar Sytry are meant to know of these clauses yet, truth be told, but an exception can be made for you, little prince,” he had said, his left hand smoothing down his own robes before he brushed the back of it over Raphael’s cheek. “Just remember to share them with no one else.”

Raphael did not recall his answer as they walked down a corridor. He’d given the bastard his thanks, most likely, and agreed to keep it to himself; at the time, he’d clung to his attention like a castaway holding onto a piece of driftwood on a still, empty sea with no vessels in sight. He recalled that much.

And he also recalled how words died in his throat when he’d felt something - a sense of dread he hadn’t felt since he stood in the presence of his sire a few months prior, only somehow stronger, sinking its claws into the very core of him.

He’d stopped in his tracks and so had Bele; his pale face had turned, somehow, even paler than before. Ahead, through an open doorway, Raphael had only just seen someone stepping past; a fiend, taller than his sire and clad in rich red and black robes, walking down the main hallway towards the spire where Mephistopheles himself resided.

He did not have wings; he may have found it odd, had he not been horribly transfixed by the apparition. Raphael caught a glimpse of four massive horns, of a closely trimmed black beard, of shining red eyes… and most of all of the rod he held, with the gleaming ruby on top he’d only read or heard about.

The Ruby Rod of Asmodeus.

Then it was gone in the flutter of a red cape, followed by huge Nessian hounds and what was probably some sort of honor guard, as though an avatar of Lord Asmodeus would need anyone to guard him.

He’d remember the sense of dread slowly receding as the fiend moved farther away, and he’d never seen the Lord Below again in any form - be it avatar or projection or any other means. The closest he ever got was speaking with Martinet, the Constable of Nessus, when he'd been Steward of Avernus. While never not aware of Asmodeus’ sheer power, in time he’d begun to wonder if his young age had contributed to the sense of foreboding he’d felt being just a mere few paces away from the Lord of the Hells’ avatar.

Now, as he stood even closer than he’d had then - a devil of eighteen centuries, not a boy of four-and-ten - he knew that was not the case. The sense of foreboding remained, powerful as he recalled.

The only reason why he did not fall onto his knees in fright, he suspected, was Zariel’s blessing warding him against the most devastating effects of fear… and that, of course, was something the Lord Below picked up.

“Ah, I see you maintain the celestial gift bestowed upon your human half, even now.” Asmodeus spoke pleasantly, a smile tugging at his lips. “I did wonder if that would be the case, and this seems to answer my question. Unique, I must say - a fiend with a celestial boon. It will serve you well.”

Raphael recoiled, as though just now realizing he was supposed to answer, to greet him - to do something, anything. He finally sank on one knee, and bowed his head, knowing full well it would take Asmodeus but a blow to end him.

“Lord Asmodeus.” It took all his willpower to keep his voice firm, but he did. He would show deference; he refused to cower the way Bele had that day. “I am yours to command.”

“You are indeed.” A gesture, for him to rise. He sounded faintly amused. “Now, let me have a look at the would-be archdevil supreme.”

Zariel’s boon shielded him from utter terror but not, it seemed, from utter embarrassment. Perhaps he should have let Mephistopheles devour him after all. Raphael stood, mindful to keep his gaze respectfully low. He knew better than to try uttering excuses - Asmodeus would see through each of them as clearly as one may see through clear glass, and frankly, he’d rather hold onto what dignity he had left. Asmodeus let out a hum.

“If I may enquire, how were you planning to take over the Hells? You cannot have thought the Crown of Karsus, however powerful, would allow you to march on Nessus and claim it.”

“... No, my lord. I intended to take over Avernus, first.”

“Hmm.” A hand went up to rub the bearded chin. “Feasible. A show of power which, all going well, would have prompted other archdevils to support your claim. Am I correct?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Not an overly foolish idea. It would have ultimately failed, mind you, but it may have gotten you as far as the doors to Nessus if you played your cards well enough. But you’d have fallen there, and we would not be having this conversation.” A pause, as if to entertain a stray thought. “Mephistopheles would have fallen too. Other archdevils would never have supported his claim, and the Lord of the Seventh would have declared war on the Eighth the instant Mephisto attempted to breach Nessus. He did not make many allies among his peers, your sire. He realized that - or at least, his consort made sure he realized that. It’s part of the reason why he never used the Crown. Did you ever wonder how come he didn’t?”

“... I thought him a coward.”

A scoff, as though he’d just heard the most asinine statement ever uttered. “Mephisto, a coward! Your sire’s problem is that he never feared anything enough, whilst Dispater fears too much. He looked at me in the face and told me he’d have the throne one day.”

There were steps, the sound of the rod tapping on the ice; Raphael swallowed, staring down at the hem of Asmodeus’ robes as he came to stand only a couple of paces away, towering over him. Then the handle of the ruby rod was beneath Raphael’s chin and tilting his face up. Asmodeus’ eyes, too, were like rubies. “Mephistopheles is many things, but a coward was never one of them. Do not call him such. He would not avert his gaze as you’re doing now. He would look me in the eye while telling me how he sought to steal my throne.”

Raphael swallowed, and struggled to meet his gaze. “My apologies, my lord. I am not my sire,” he said, and he found the thought of that - he would never compare, no matter how many times he had Haarlep call him archduke - sat heavy in the pit of his stomach.

It truly felt as though he’d just confessed to a grievous failing. For a moment, Asmodeus stared, gaze unreadable. In the end there was only the barest twitch of the corners of his lips before he pulled the rod back and spoke again.

“Mephisto and yourself are more alike than either of you would perhaps like to admit. But no, you plainly are not your sire. It is no reason to apologize, however. As a matter of fact, it is the entire reason why you’re here, alive, right now.” A pause, and Asmodeus turned back towards the side of the mountain, the passage leading to the hidden courtyard Raphael had come from. “... And the mortals aiding you. Including the bhaalspawn who is bhaalspawn no more. Are you aware of all that they stole that day, in your sire’s vaults?”

He was. That day, Enver Gortash and the Chosen of Bhaal had taken two things: the Crown of Karsus, and a folder containing details about a very specific scheme, dreamed up by one alhoon a very, very long time ago. Mass control, through magic and an enhanced Elder Brain. A plan to make their own and the means to make it come to fruition, right within reach.

“... The Accelerated Grand Design.”

“Yes. Putting those together nearly brought disaster on all the Planes. Including the Hells.”

“It was the banite to take that folder, my lord. Not the bhaalspawn,” Raphael heard himself saying. If Asmodeus thought anything of the rather transparent attempt at shifting blame from Durge, he made no mention of it.

“Yes. The banite you had a hand in raising, before he escaped your House of Hope. It was careless of you, to let one bound to you slip away from your grasp - and with such important connections in Avernus, too. But not as careless as your sire, putting the Crown and a document with such dangerous ideas right next to one another, in such a way that a common pair of thieves could snatch both at once. Not as careless as your sire was in letting his obsession with hellfire run unchecked, melting his layer and the very throne he sits on… when he’s not locked away in his tower for the Pit knows what experiments, that is.”

Asmodeus turned his gaze outward, across the frozen wasteland, in Mephistar’s direction. It was not visible from there, at the very outskirts of Cania, but Raphael could imagine it easily, the tall spire of Mephistopheles’ palace against the white sky… surrounded by clouds of vapor, by the fumes spewing from the School of Hellfire.

“Is this why he has to go, my lord?” he asked, and Asmodeus nodded without looking at him.

“Yes. Yourself and your sire both had a hand in creating the circumstances which nearly brought doom to entire Planes and which may have cost us untold numbers of souls - the very life force of Baator. But you had a hand in its solution as well, your defeat notwithstanding; it did not go unnoticed. Be part of the solution to this problem, too, and your unfortunate scheme concerning the Crown of Karsus will be forgotten about.”

“That’s generous of you, my lor--”

“If you fail, at the very least I shall no longer need to concern myself with punishing you.”

“... Of course,” Raphael replied. To be entirely honest, he had yet to completely dismiss the possibility that the entire affair was a very elaborate scheme to send him to a painful death.

Unaware of his thoughts - or was he? - Asmodeus turned, and snapped his fingers. An Infernal contract hovered in mid-air before him, the letters glowing. A pact of silence. “You and all your companions are to sign this. It is a pact of silence, as you certainly can tell, in case Mephistopheles captures you alive and seeks to gain information from you. Signing it will grant some boons as well, of which you’ll have need. But I trust you won’t sign until you’ve read through every word; contracts are a specialty of yours, after all.”

It made sense, that - to seal their lips so that they could not reveal who sent them, no matter how brutal the torture. Raphael nodded, and took it. “Of course, my lord. I’ll make sure everyone signs it, once I’ve read it.”

“See that they do, or leave Baator immediately. If they refuse and yet remain in the Hells, I’ll know - and the consequences will be dire.”

“They won’t, lord Asmodeus.” He considered adding that none of them would be so insane as to challenge the will of the Lord of the Hells, but truth be told he could not stake his honor on that assessment.

Another nod, and the Lord of the Nine turned back towards the spot where, a long distance away, Mephistar stood. “I have extended him grace many, many times,” he spoke. Raphael had a distinct feeling he was not speaking to him, not quite. “I cannot do so any longer. Demotion is not an option. He would fight it, wage war before he yields, and time is short.”

“... Forgive me, my lord, but I have been away from Cania for a very long time save for a few rare visits. Is the situation truly so dire?”

Asmodeus chuckled. “You’d never think so looking at this, would you?” A single, wide gesture to the frozen wastes before them. “Yet, beneath the surface, hellfire weakens its very foundations. There is nothing beneath this ice but more ice - or there was, before hellfire ate at it. No earth beneath as you may find in the Material Plane. And not a day passes without a glacier collapsing; a throne of ice, now barely a throne of frost. A layer which might crumble onto itself, and onto mine. I am the ruler of this Plane, and rule it I must - protect it, too, by all means necessary, even if the order I give is one which gives me little joy in return.” A pause, and he did turn back to Raphael at last. “No more than you felt receiving it, I suspect.”

Raphael did not waste time wondering how would the Lord Below know that - how despite everything, he did not wish to see his sire’s life extinguished… even supposing that he could, somehow, walk out of that fight as the victor. He only nodded. “Whether the notion pleases me is of no relevance, my lord. I’ll serve you to the best of my abilities.”

A hum. “That is indeed progress. Surely now you see why you’d have failed as archdevil supreme, even if we pretend for the sake of argument that you could somehow have unseated me. You never intended to rule. All you wanted was a throne to sit upon so that all would need to crane their necks to behold you, and sing your praises. There is little pleasure to be found in true rulership, Raphael - while all you ever did, all you ever built, was for your pleasure alone.”

Raphael did not argue that point. It was not only knowledge that contradicting Asmodeus would be extremely unwise at best: it was also the realization that everything he had just said - each word of it - was true.

“... Yes. I understand,” he replied. He fought back the instinct to avert his gaze, and saw the Lord Below smile faintly. It was almost easy to forget how terrible his wrath could be, how fearsome his power… but only almost. Something about those eyes, about the mighty hand holding the rod, was a powerful reminder indeed. “I only have one question, my lord.”

A laugh, deep and pleasant. It made the hair on the back of Raphael’s neck stand on end.

“Ah, it does no good to lie to me, Raphael. You have many more questions than that.”

Raphael bowed his head. “That I do, my lord. If I may - you have might enough to strike Mephistopheles down by your own hand. Zariel, too. Why are you giving this task to others?”

Asmodeus rested his chin on his hands, which were folded over the ruby at the handle of his rod. “It is bad form to answer a question with another, but you force my hand. Why ask a question whose answer you already know?”

It was not untrue; Raphael had his suspicions, just as he suspected he’d chosen to aid Bel’s claim on Avernus covertly so he would not need to publicly go back on his own choice. Still…

“I have theorized, yes. But I do not know for a fact whether I am correct. I cannot presume--”

“Oh, by all means. Go ahead and presume.”

It took no great effort for Raphael to guess he was being tested. “... I believe you’re tasking others with this mission for the same reason why my sire did not admit that the true reason for my punishment was not my attempt at getting the Crown, nor the fact that revealing a deal of his cost him seven thousand souls.”

“Both are excellent reasons for punishment, one may argue.”

“Yes. But what he truly hated was the fact that Enver Gortash would have never known where to find the Crown if not for me,” Raphael added. He had mentioned the Crown - monologued about it, to be frank - more than once in the young man’s presence. He could have not imagined the consequences of that, but his intentions never did matter to Mephistopheles.

“He claimed otherwise,” Raphael continued. “Because he did not wish to draw further scrutiny into the theft in his vaults, lest someone find out the plans for the Accelerated Grand Design were taken from there as well. And I suspect that you, too, do not wish to draw attention to it.”

“A sound reasoning, as far as Mephisto is concerned,” Asmodeus conceded. “But why would I wish to hide the true reason why he can be Lord of Cania no longer?”

“Because it would mean admitting to all of the Hells that you did not know such dangerous items were kept within your realm, in such close proximity, without your knowledge. Not until it was almost too late. And,” Raphael added, gesturing at the mountains around them, “you do not wish anyone to think you were mistaken, giving Mephistopheles grace so many times. If someone else ends him, then no one will question your motives. And if that someone is me, no one will ever wonder why I did it. Mephisto gave me every reason to want him gone.”

For what felt like a long time, Asmodeus just looked at him. Around them, the wind howled. “Yes,” he finally said. “He did give you every reason to wish him dead. Yet you do not.”

Raphael swallowed. “Would it be arrogant of me to say that in this, we are alike?”

“It would. You and your sire certainly share arrogance, as well as power and features. But it would not be untrue either.” Asmodeus sighed, and took a step closer. “You may think destroying Mephistopheles is an insurmountable task for you, and perhaps you are not wrong. But should you succeed, your work would be far from over; one may argue that is when the most difficult part would start. That too you must have guessed, child of Mephisto.”

He had not guessed, precisely. He’d thought about it distantly, vague thoughts of his sire’s slowly melting throne. It was nothing like the clear, vivid visions of himself ruling over all the Hells and beyond with the Crown of Karsus gracing his brow; rather, it was the vague knowledge that nature abhors a vacuum and so do the Hells. The vague notion that someone would need to rule a layer that had been Mephistopheles’ own since the creation of Baator.

Now, as he stood before the Lord Below, the image of it came into sharp focus. Himself, sitting on the throne of Cania as he’d once imagined himself on the throne of Nessus. But the vision of himself as the King of the Hells was one of triumph, a conqueror. The archdevil supreme, smiling down at his new kingdom in a blaze of glory. The Raphael on the throne of frost did not smile.

And before him, neither did Asmodeus.

“Should you prove yourself capable, of course. By now you must have learned enough to understand that. I am not handing you a gift, nor am I doling out punishment.” A step closer, those terrible, burning red eyes bearing into his. Raphael did not avert his gaze when Asmodeus spoke again. “I am giving you a duty.”

***

“You’re telling us he offered you to become the Lord of Cania once Mephistopheles is gone?”

“Not offered. Commanded.”

“Well, it’s a command I wouldn’t mind obeying, if I have to be honest.”

“... That is a rather bold statement, from the vampire spawn who was one step away from becoming the first ever Vampire Ascendant and chose otherwise.”

All right, Astarion supposed he had to concede the point. Still… “I turned away because the price was too steep. I don’t see a downside he-- what’s with the head shaking, love?”

Durge gave him a long look. “It was part of the reason. Not the only one.”

Ah, yes. That. The other reason. The one he didn’t really want to think about at all anymore, now that everything was behind him… but it had been all that he could think of then, as he stood above his tormentor with a dagger in hand.

Would I still be Astarion, or just the new Cazador?

“... Right. Yes. I suppose I see the point,” Astarion sighed. How annoyingly sensible. And there he was, ready to celebrate the convenience of being in the good graces of an archdevil. It wasn't as though having friends in high places - or very low ones, when it came to the Hells - had ever hurt anyone. Unaware of his thoughts, Raphae gave a soft scoff.

“Well. Whatever your reasons were, your experience is not relevant to my circumstances. I have been given a command. It is not one I may walk away from without consequences.”

Karlach, who’d been staring at Raphael with her mouth hanging half-open for several minutes, seemed to recoil. “Hey, you can get away from this shit. I got away from Zariel. Not Asmodeus, all right, but if Durge could get away from Bhaal, and Shadowheart from Shar--”

“It is a bold assumption of you to make, that I would wish to walk away from what I am being handed.” Raphael turned to one of the walls of ice, polished into a mirror. For a moment, the Lord of Hellfire sneered at him from it. “I’d be lying if I said I would not enjoy looking down at the Canian upper crust, and seeing their faces when they realize who their new ruler is.”

“Ah, spite. Truly an excellent reason to do anything,” Astarion muttered, and that got a chuckle out of Raphael at last before he tore his gaze from his own reflection.

“Yes, I do agree.”

“It still sounds daunting, to rule… well, anything. Let alone a layer of the Hells,” Wyll spoke, frowning. He seemed concerned, but Astarion was not surprised to hear that coming from the son of the Grand Duke who’d rather hunt beasts and demons across the Hells and back than become a duke himself. “Is this truly what you want?”

“... I’m not certain I can answer that question just yet. If you’d asked me what I wanted months ago, I’d have said I wished I was powerful enough to destroy you all and take the hammer back from your lifeless hands. Or never attempted to gain the Crown of Karsus in the first place. I’d have said I wanted things to go back the way they were then, in the House of Hope.”

“But?” Durge asked, their voice quiet. Raphael returned their gaze.

“You already know the answer. I cannot wish to go back any more than you could wish to go back to serving Bhaal as his Chosen. No one took a dagger to my brain matter, but the change was just as irreversible. I am not the devil I was then, but I am a devil still. I see no future for myself outside of the Hells. I thought serving Bel once more was my only option; I was not expecting to be told I am to take a throne alongside my sire’s life. Perhaps the fact I have no solid plans or wishes going forward is a blessing after all, as those would hardly be a factor. The throne of Cania is a duty, not a prize. Asmodeus spoke, and so it must be. It’s death at Mephistopheles’ hands, or his throne. At least I know what I’d choose out of the two.”

“A throne that might change you yet again,” Halsin said, only for Raphael to hum.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Every layer is an extension of its ruler, after all. Cania is unstable and burning itself out because my sire is.” A pause, a chuckle that did not truly sound amused. “The more I learn, the more it feels like we’re being sent to put down a diseased beast out of its misery rather than kill an archdevil. Is that what facing Orin the Red felt like?”

A sigh, a nod from Durge. “Yes. Very much so.”

“So, Cania may be different once you rule it?” Karlach asked. Surely, she must be thinking, the devil they knew could not be worse than Mephistopheles. “How different?”

“We won’t know until I’m ruling it, I suspect, and even then the change won’t come all that quickly. I’ll have to see.”

“You’d still be using people’s souls?”

“Yes. Mortal souls are what Baator always relied on, the only possible source of its power as per the Pact Primeval. I cannot change it. Asmodeus could not change it, even if he wanted to. Which he does not.”

“Couldn’t you find-- I don’t know, an alternative source of power?”

Raphael raised both eyebrows. “And pray tell, what would you suggest? Children’s laughter?”

“Ugh.” Karlach made a face. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d just let this place burn itself out and crumble on Asmodeus’ bald head.”

“Heh. I am certain you would, but the effects of that would ripple throughout all the Planes.” A wide gesture of his hand. “Baator is a place of evil, torment and suffering beyond measure - I shall not deny that. But it is the bastion which stands between the Abyss and all other Planes, that too as per the Pact Primeval. Demonic hordes running amok across the Planes would bring about just as much evil, but to many more - and chaos alongside it. The Hells have their place in the universe, and their role in the order of all things. That cannot be denied, either.”

“The definition of a necessary evil,” Halsin said, his voice grave.

Raphael nodded. “You could say that. Baator will continue existing, and its layers with it; as long as they do, those layers will need rulers. I suppose one of them may as well be me.”

Astarion laughed. “Hah! ‘May as well be you’ - turning humble on us, devil?”

“Perish the thought, vampling.” This time, Raphael actually smiled like he meant it. “But it does make sense to rule a layer before taking over the entirety of the Hells.”

“Oh, now I recognize you! Shall we fetch you a crown? We do owe you one,” Astarion said, with an exaggerated bow. There was laughter, and some of the tension eased.

Still, even afterwards, Durge looked… thoughtful. Astarion took notice, of course - how could he not? He knew his bhaal-babe like the back of his hand by now - and he approached them outside, while they leaned over a railing to look at the howling wind and ice. “Worrying that beautiful head of yours, aren’t you, love?” he asked, leaning against Durge’s shoulder.

They smiled faintly, and tilted their head to rest it against Astarion’s own. “Am I that obvious?”

“Oh, not really that obvious. I think a blind kobold may have failed to notice that you’ve become almost as much of a mother hen as Halsin-- don’t snort in my hair, I did say almost!” Astarion grinned, but it died down quickly. He followed Durge’s gaze, and watched the ice storm outside. “... It would have been fun to keep traveling with a devil, not going to lie. And his blood does taste amazing. But I don’t think it’s for him, wandering around the Material Plane or even settling down there. They say that cambions are out of place both in and outside of the Hells, but who knows - getting to mold a layer to his image might do the trick.”

A sigh, a nod. “Yes, perhaps it is so. I suppose I always knew he’d return to Baator. But to rule Cania, amidst the scheming of the Hells-- it seems a dangerous position to be in.”

“And he’s a dangerous devil, with dangerous friends. If we destroy Mephistopheles, other bastards will think twice before they challenge him. If we don’t destroy Mephistopheles… well, then we won’t have to worry about anything else. I guess there’s that.”

This time, Durge laughed. “That’s one way to look at it. But we won’t die here. I promise,” they said, putting an arm around his shoulders, and Astarion was all too happy to lean into it.

***

“You must be mistaken.”

Mephisto's voice reverberated through the throne room, a low and dangerous snarl even through the surprise, and something that felt like concern. No, Mephistopheles told himself, there could be no concern. There was no reason for concern, not for him. The cowering imbeciles before his throne, however, had every reason to be concerned. To put it mildly.

And they were well aware of it, trembling before him, so very close to falling to their knees.

“Forgive us, my lord, but would that we were wrong,” one of his spies, marginally braver than the rest, spoke. “We have searched all of Malagard, and Lady Antilia is not there in either form. We got one of the guards to talk, and he said he saw her a she-elf leave over a fortnight ago, alongside several other mortals. He did not know where they were headed, but--”

He has her.

The spy who’d been speaking let out a scream when hellfire engulfed her utterly. The cries did not last long - they never did - but they were agonizing; truly music to any archdevil’s ears. This time, however, Mephistopheles hardly even heard any of it. He just turned to the others, snarled as they cowered away from the body crumbling to nothing onto the floor a few steps from them. “The guard who saw them leave - bring her to me. Immediately. ”

“I…” Terror, unspeakable, deep as the Abyss. He knew what they were about to say before a single sound left their trembling lips. “We cannot-- she tried to raise the alarm, we had to ki--”

Hellfire flared, and more screams rose in a cacophony of agony. Again, Mephisto enjoyed none of it; it was not the music he longed to hear again. He stared ahead, jaw clenched. He had no heart nor heartbeat, but there was something beneath the skin all the same, the steady pulse of fire which had now turned into a roar.

Something else entirely gnawed at him, a knowledge he could no longer ignore - something was wrong. Perhaps Raphael had gone to Maladomini escaping even the notice of Baalzebul, knowing full well he could not shield him with lies if aware of his presence. Or perhaps the Lord of the Seventh had somehow found a way to lie to another devil with impunity.

But that did not matter: all that mattered now was that over a fortnight earlier, Antilia had left with Raphael and the mortal rabble he traveled with, and was not seen nor heard from again.

He has her. He knows who she is and he means to spite me, or use her as leverage. My High Cantor for an ascended fiend. A worthy daughter, whole, for the one worthy half of a son.

He’d often mocked the tendency of many, mortals and gods alike, to close their eyes before possible truths for no reason other than that they could not bear the thought, pretending there was a logic to blind denial. Now, he found himself doing precisely the same: they did not call him the archdevil of contradictions for nothing. The possibility that Antilia may have been killed floated through his mind for a moment, and was promptly pushed down into the depths at the edge of that strange madness which seized him more and more often as of late.

Unlike Dispater, who saw things which were not there, making enemies out of shadows, Mephistopheles chose not to see what he did not wish to see. What he did wish to see what his daughter returned to him, and the whelp who’d dared challenge him dead at his feet. He almost saw him now, broken a pool of freezing blood, eyes wide open and unseeing - his own eyes, swirling white mist, from his own face--

Mephistopheles snarled, and turned to the only spy left alive, cowering against a wall. Two orders struggled to leave his throat-- let all of Cania know, he will be spared if he returns her alive bring the half from my vaults, so I may destroy it first -- but he silenced both. There was a middle ground to be found, certainly… and he knew just what it was.

“Tell my high court that they are summoned, all of them. Now,” Mephisto snapped, and the spy obeyed, leaving behind the smoldering corpses of his companions.

***

Haarlep knew they were in a lot of trouble when they heard Barbas’ call.

While Mephisto had granted the chamberlain the power to control Raphael’s fiendish half, Barbas was still so obviously scared of it, it was almost hilarious. For all the time Haarlep had posed as him, the chamberlain had never come anywhere close, nor called for them to approach. The fact he was doing so now - and at a time when no servants were meant to be in the vaults under his watch - was really concerning.

Still, they had no choice but to obey if they were to keep up the ruse. So they followed the call, stomping over the icy ground in their best impression of an ascended and very pissed Raphael. The good news was that both Barbas and Hutijin, on account of not being experts of all things hellfire, were none the wiser. The bad news made itself clear the next instant.

“Very well,” Hutijin grumbled, standing in the doorway. “Make it follow me to the throne room.”

Haarlep barely heard Barbas’ order over their own rushing thoughts, most of which could be summed up as ‘oh, fuck’ . That was not good at all, because Mephistopheles would immediately be able to tell who they were not, and could force them to reveal their true form to him with just a wave of his hand. And then… well. It would be bad.

Summoning Zariel right there and then would have been great, but of course they had given the feather to Dalah - they could not be certain the flames that form was wreathed in would not damage it - and she was nowhere in sight. Just their luck.

Well. No reason to let them find out right away. Best to play along. At worst, I can make a run once in the upper palace.

So they did follow, taking care to move just as they’d seen Raphael do in his ascended form… and most of all, taking care to make noise as they traversed hallways and halls, attracting whispers and gazes from each passing fiend. After all, Raphael’s ascended fiend half had been long known for being temperamental; no one was too surprised to hear it let out a few roars.

Just in case a certain human soul holding onto a certain feather was around to hear and felt inclined to help out.

***

“It has to be now.”

It took several moments for those words to even sink in. Several moments in which everyone stared at Adonides as though they had no idea how he’d come to be there, as though he had just spoken in a language none of them could understand.

Standing in the middle of the courtyard, Adonides’ cold fingers grasping his wrist, Raphael couldn’t even bring himself to scowl at him. Something had happened, and it was not good.

“Adonides?” Tuncheth spoke, taken aback. “What has happened?”

The Steward of Cania swallowed, and let go of Raphael’s wrist. “The Lord of the Eighth is about to discover our ruse. He thinks Raphael may be holding Lady Antilia captive, and that he may intend to exchange her for your other half. I have just now returned from a council meeting.”

Of all the children he sired, I killed the only one who may have meant anything to him.

It was a bitter thought, and it caused something in his chest to clench painfully even now. Unaware of his thoughts, Adonides was speaking fast.

“He ordered a message to be spread across all layers - that he is willing to exchange your fiend half for his High Cantor, as long as she is returned alive and well. He ordered the ascended fiend to be brought to his throne room, so that you’re forced to come face to face with him to claim it. He means it to be a trap, surely, but--”

Haarlep. Mephistopheles will know it’s not me the instant he sets his eyes on them.

Raphael clenched his jaw, and he grasped Adonides’ arm in turn. “Take me there. Now.”

“What-- no!” Tunchet snapped, stepping forward. “Are you insane? You are not ready to--”

“I said now!”

“Don’t be foolish! It makes no sense to risk it all for an incubus. They are under a pact of silence either wa--”

“Be quiet, Tuncheth!” Adonides snapped, causing the gelugon to trail off. He seemed none too pleased about it, but said nothing more and Adonides spoke again. “It’s not only about the incubus. If the ruse is found out, Mephistopheles will know something is off, even if he cannot make the incubus talk. He will increase his defenses, seek to root out traitors, send more spies out looking for him. We have few chances now, yes, but we’ll have none if he’s on high alert.”

There was truth to his words; Tuncheth’s grim scowl made that much clear. Adonides turned back to Raphael. “Your father is unprotected now, expecting to face your human half and nothing more. Duke Hitijin is not at his post. If we go right now, we can get into the throne room before he returns, and one of Asmodeus’ boons will keep him out. Mephistopheles is a fearsome opponent by any measure, but not having to contend with his most fearsome general as well may make a difference between life or death for us all.”

“Then why are we still here talking?”

Raphael turned to glance over his shoulder. It was remarkable, really, how quickly every single one of his companions had reached for a weapon - be it a bow or a rapier, a halberd or a mace or a staff. They looked tense when they met his gaze, but none of them faltered. And, as had been the case ever since they had first met, Durge spoke for all of them.

“We’re ready,” they said - and that, love, was that.

***

“What is happening?”

“They’re taking it to the throne room.”

“Do you know why?”

“I only heard whispers…”

Busy as they were muttering amongst themselves, watching from a distance as what they all believed to be an ascended fiend was walked towards the stairwell - which led up to the grand hall and then the throne room several floors above - no member of Mephistar’s court paid the slightest attention to the human soul weaving among them, rushing to catch up. Nor did they notice the faint glow of something held tightly into her fist.

No one ever took notice of indebted souls. It was a fatal flaw of most devils that had served Lady Baalphegor well for a very, very long time.

Dalah knew she may be terrified, if she allowed herself to think of what she was about to do; too terrified to go through with it, perhaps… and thus she avoided thinking at all. All she focused on was Haarlep, and the huge pit fiend leading them towards the stairs. All she knew was that she could not let him take Haarlep further up into the palace, to the throne room, to Mephistopheles.

It would spell their end, and she could not bear the thought of relaying such news to Israfel, after seeing how concerned he was when he’d left them behind in the vaults. She’d felt that fear too, once, with Rahirek off to war; each day stretched on into eternity, not knowing whether he’d live to see that sunset. It had been unbearable enough she had turned to a devil.

Now, it seemed, she’d have to turn to a celestial.

“Who-- what do you think you’re doing?”

There was annoyance in Barbas’ voice, and anger in Hutijin’s scowl, when she stepped in the middle of the hallway to block their path. It was enough to strike terror in any soul, including her own. She forced herself to ignore it, and lifted up the feather.

Haarlep looked at her through her son's visage, and they knew; the next instant they broke away from Barbas, and ducked into the entrance to a different hall, trampling a couple of devils just as Dalah spoke.

“Zariel,” she called out, and for a moment there was nothing but light.

***

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#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the dark urge #raphael bg3 #halsin bg3 #haarlep #raphlep #wyll ravengard #karlach bg3 #haarlep bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 astarion #baalphegor dnd #durgestarion #wyllach #mephistopheles dnd #asmodeus dnd #hell to pay

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