Freak of a man

Tyranny has been so very good. Wicander has seen her restraint, the pain and resolve in her eyes each time she left an opportunity to cause suffering untouched.

His Aspirant has clearly been eager to prove herself, and Wicander felt the shame of his initial reaction wash over him again.When she found the courage to confide in him about her cravings a week ago, he told her to push it down, how the self-restraint made her not like other demons. Of course, Tyranny got angry at him, but for some reason, she still followed his terrible advice. And now she was withering away before his eyes.

She had the others fooled easily, and yet Wick knew her just too well. Her smiles now reminded him more of the Tyranny he saw around her Sisters than the beautiful self she had been around the people that they could call their friends – until he ruined it.

Most importantly, he felt the way his most loyal friend shivered at his feet at night in a way she never did before. And Wicander never could stand by when he saw someone in pain, even if that meant getting hurt himself. He whispered a prayer to the light, a way to calm himself through familiarity, even if he no longer believed the creed. When he finally found the courage to go talk to her, the embers of the night's bonfire were already starting to fade. He cursed himself for wasting this much time. This was the first day they’d spend completely alone since their escape from Dol-Makjar.

He found Tyranny in their tent, staring at the knife she now always had with her. The way she scrambled to hide it made Wicander wince. Nothing could hide the pain in her yellow eyes from him, but what hurt even more was her showing shame. To know she wouldn’t come to him with her problems anymore, and to know that he deserved that. It only strengthened his resolve, possibly the only thing that was stronger than his desire to vanish right now.

“Ever bright, ever right! I was just reading some prayers, nothing important, what can I do for you Your Radiance?”

She did not even have the energy to lie convincingly, Wick noted.

“Tyranny… I’m sorry. I…”

“It's fine! I’m good, dude. Never been better.” Tyranny jumped on the pause, putting up a wall before she would get hurt again. To her horror, Wick looked her in the eyes. She saw his pain. Like a sweet drop of water in the middle of the desert, the momentary bliss just made her feel the thirst so much more. Almost pleading, she tried to avert her gaze, but even though she had just clearly failed to restrain herself, Wicks' gaze on her softened, and she already knew it was over for her. The compassion and understanding hurt her, hurt her more than the hunger and the cravings ever did. And Tyranny could never walk away from pain, no matter how much she tried.

“Tyranny.” His voice carried conviction now. Why? “I have been unfair to you. I thought less suffering would mean that good people would feel better, but I can see how bad all of this made you feel. You also don’t deserve to suffer and deserve to feel good...What I’m trying to say is, I noticed that you enjoyed my misfortunes-“

“Hey, low blow, dude, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

She did not like the way he said those things. Now he was back to his awkward self, stumbling over his words, which gave Tyranny a fuzzy feeling.

“Oh boy… I'm sorry! I did not mean… did not mean it like that. I was just thinking… You should not have to shoulder the… I should be taking care of my Aspirant. Yes, that is my duty.”

Now it was weird again. She did not like it at all. But his discomfort was like a little drip feed of suffering, and he was letting her enjoy it for some reason.

“Do you… think it would help you to like hurt me?”

“Okay, I don’t know what's gotten into you, but you’re being ri-diculous. Do you eat a picture of a filet mignon when you’re hungry? Not like I’m hungry or anything. This just sounds super stupid. If you are okay with it, how is that even suffering?”

Tyranny was not ready to hope yet.

“I don’t know! I don’t want to get hurt! I am actually really, really scared of pain. Like, really scared. But you have been so brave…” His face goes red. “I can’t let you suffer alone. We can make it as real as possible.” And yet she hopes. He really means it. She can’t do it, though, can she? She could never hurt him for real, right? The thought scares her.  “You could even bind me or… or make it so I don’t know what's coming.” Why did his heart skip a beat there? Why did she notice? And most importantly, did he just sound excited about it? The blush on his face contrasting his fillament tattoos. His pretty blue eyes looking at the floor when he said that. All of this is too much for Tyranny. There is no way she can say no to this, not if he wants her to. Tyranny never did believe, but she had prayed for a moment like this.

Her voice let the hunger slip through this time: “Are you SURE sure?” “As sure as I can be.”

---

Tyranny was awkwardly fighting with a knot in the rope while her young Lord did his best to hold his breath so she could have an easier time. She was fumbling it, her fingers shaking too much to do the simplest of movements, but there was no way she’d admit it, so she found it easier to blame Wick again. She finally finished tightening the rope around his arms, once again distracted by how firm and lean the muscles on his forearms now were. On his knees in front of her, hands bound behind him, his arched back showed off every bruise, cut and fresh scar, a sight that left Tyranny breathless. This was certainly not the first time Tyranny had made a rope harness, so it should have been easy, yet she fumbled around. “You moved!” she yelled in frustration, more to feel him squirm than for any other reason. Much to her surprise, he just blushed even harder. There was nothing for her to feed on there, but in that moment, Tyranny did not mind. From the side, she saw his eyes staring straight ahead, lips pressed together as if he was scared to make a sound that would embarrass him.

“Are you ready, Your Radiance?” She intended to sound mocking, and she failed miserably, her voice almost breathless.

“MHMm yes!” At least he sounded as pathetic as her, and that gave Tyranny some comfort. 

She kept her hands steady, putting on the blindfold Wick usually used when sleeping. What a dork, Tyranny thought. “Do you see how many fingers I’m showing?” She showed him the middle finger.

 “I can’t see anything. I can guess? If you want me to?”

 “No. Shut up!”

It wasn’t like Tyranny did it on purpose, but a minute passed, and she was still thinking about what to do first. Then she felt the panic in Wick start to creep in. Real, delicious panic, unmistakable. She licked her lips, which felt suddenly very dry, and with a mischievous smile, she slowly walked over to her bag. Of course, she knew where everything was. She still took her sweet time finding the candle she got in the last town to let him simmer just a little longer.

When Tyranny lit the candle, Wick let out a whimper. For an intoxicating moment, Tyranny imagined the sweet agony she could inflict by just gouging his pretty eyes out. She imagined the euphoria of seeing a person experience such a brutal betrayal of trust. The next moment, she was flooded with shame at even  thinking about it. This was the first time she had gone that far, even in her fantasies. She focused on what she knew always helped: His face. His beautiful face, blindly looking up at her as if in worship. Everything got even more confusing. Tyranny went back to her plan, do what you know to do. Still filled with this mix of shame and eagerness, pain and yearning, she moved the candle in her hand close to his naked chest. She listened to his scared, irregular breathing, bracing for impact. But nothing was going according to plan today. As her young Lords excitement grew, the sustanance of his fear was out of her reach once again. She pressed the burning candle into his chest, leaving a small mark where the wick touched his skin. Still pleasure, but this time the pain was real again.

Tyranny drinks in it in, an oasis in a desert. It feels like cold water in the middle of the night, a hearty meal after a long and perilous journey. It's only a sip, leaving her wanting for more. Her claws tighten around his neck and draw blood, giving her a new wave of pleasure as the sudden escalation makes Wicander tighten up before accepting what is happening. Every time Tyranny feels like she can finally enjoy her work, Wick lets go of control, and his suffering turns to ash in her mouth. Maybe she really is irredeemable. That thought haunts her, because why does it hurt her when he likes what she’s doing?  This is not how it should work. People love each other all the time; they want each other to be happy. She sees this every day, and she wants it so much. But his love hurts, and his suffering is sweet. She is a demon, and she will never be truly happy.

“Are you… okay?”

The worry in Wicander's voice cuts through her like a knife. How dare he? She is trying to torture him, and he asks her if shes okay? The audacity.

Tyranny has an idea. With a trembling hand, she cups his cheek, the blue filament shining against her pink skin. She wants to hurt him so much, and she knows it will hurt more this way. She doesn’t want to hurt him so much, and she needs him to know this. The way he presses his face into her hand makes her heart go wild, and using the momentum, she plunges a claw into his soft belly, the same spot the Knight of Seremai put his sword through Wick. Of course Tyranny only pierces the skin, even now having to exercise self-restraint. But this time, she does not let him adjust.  Instead, she goes all out, slashing the skin on his chest and arms with her claws, and not every time is she as careful as she should be. She bites down on his arm, leaving behind a bloody imprint before stopping herself again.

Through Wicks stifled sobs, she can hear both of their hearts racing, unable to move. Any weakness she might have had from the past weeks was gone now, and he gave her what he promised. She slowly moved her face away from his body, acutely aware of each droplet of blood on his biceps. Tyranny looked him over. Wicks' breath was stabilising, and his upper body was drenched in blood and sweat. So were her robes. She also saw the drying tears on his face. She has never seen anything as beautiful. This was his limit, probably even beyond it, as the suffering that sustained her was real and filling this time, and yet he did it for her. It made her sick to her stomach, which in turn just made her crave more pain. She felt the knife burning at her side. Love love love. The happy memories within the knife were mocking her. Why does everyone else get it? With no warning, she pushed the blades edge into Wicanders tigh. She looked at his reaction. He was on his last brink, scared and in more pain than he could handle, but he refused to stop her. How could she hurt him? How could she not.

There is something special about using her knife to inflict pain. Twisting an instrument of love for torture as she is twisting his love to hurt him. Using both to hurt herself. Each cut on Wick's body was the sweetest treat she could imagine and the worst thing she had ever seen. He doesn’t stop her. The knife still clutched in her hand, Tyranny sinks into the grass, crying.

“It’s okay.”

Once again, his voice is the only thing that can reach her. He still accepts her even now. Tyranny stumbles over to release him from his restraints, to nurse the wounds she inflicted. Kattigan's words run through her mind: “What you do matters a little bit more than who you think you are.”