S. Serpente

Your heart sank when you read the name scribbled on the slip of paper you’d drawn. BILLY HARGROVE. What the hell were you supposed to get someone like Billy Hargrove for Valentine’s Day? You should never have agreed to participate in this silly new Valentine’s Sweethearts event or whatever the hell the school counsellor had called it. It was to make sure no one would feel left out again, but to be honest, you had a hunch people would abuse the system, swap paper slips or get their crush a secret gift anyway.

Billy Hargrove was far from what you’d consider a crush, though. He was handsome, sure, but he knew that. He changed his girls like underwear, and God, he was obnoxious. A classic school bully, cruel and mean, that you’d grown to hate back when you were at the receiving end of their attacks. Today, as a graduated teacher’s assistant and luckily not a student anymore yourself, they left you alone for the most part, if anything, because you couldn’t give less of a shit if someone called you a freak behind your back.

But there was something different about Billy. Something vulnerable that ran deep. You found out by accident just how torturous his life was, what made him behave the way he did. After you’d witnessed his own father strike him across the face in the hardware store you jobbed at on weekends, he’d made you swear not to tell anyone or else.

It wasn’t like you had any interest in revealing his family situation or the domestic abuse anyway, even though it itched you to report it to the police. So, you’d assured him not to worry about it. You hadn’t blabbed until this day.

You hadn’t spoken since, save for the occasional wordless glance in the school hallway. After the fire at Starcourt, Billy disappeared for a while. Rumour had it he was there when the fire broke out. If he had to recover from burns, there were no signs anywhere on his body, though. You’d know—he loved showing himself off shirtless during basketball training. So, whatever caused him to miss enough school time to be of legal drinking age in the US by the time he returned, you didn’t know. Come to think of it, he and you, and perhaps Eddie Munson, must have been the oldest not-quite-adult-people at Hawkins High.

You sighed. It didn’t matter that you disliked Billy’s attitude. You wouldn’t want to receive a shitty gift, or let alone be the only one without getting one, when Valentine’s Day rolled around either. Unfortunately, you very much doubted that Billy would appreciate a flower bouquet and some pralines along with a rose-scented card. You’d come up with something good because you were too good-hearted for your own good.

You hurried to close the window when the first raindrops came flying into your bedroom, almost ripping the phone cord out of the wall in the process.

“This weather fucking sucks. It’s been rainy for days. I’m so sick of getting the books in my locker wet with my umbrella,” you grumbled.

The woman on the other end of the line laughed. “Swap your problems with me, please, I beg you,” Paige said. She was an old friend of yours working in the music industry, and quite frankly, you envied her. You couldn’t wait to finally finish your teaching apprenticeship and follow her suit. Maybe you’d go to California. Hawkins was way too bleak for your taste.

“This’ll cheer you up, though. Guess who’s coming to play a concert in Indiana next week!”

You sat up. “Oh, tell me!”

“Drum rolls… Metallica!” she blurted out. Your jaw dropped.

“Shut. Up. No way!”

“And I’ll do you one better. Guess who can get you a free ticket!”

Metallica was one of your favourite bands. Needless to say, your heart started racing at the idea of finally seeing them live. “When is it?”

“Fourteenth of February,” Paige announced proudly. “Talk about one hell of a Valentine’s Day gift.”

You blinked. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

Billy loved Metallica—you heard him blast it in his car in the school parking lot all the time.

“Paige…would I be greedy to trouble you for three tickets? I can pay for them.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’d go myself if I had any leave to spare. I’ll drop them off at yours on Wednesday when I pass through Hawkins for that music video project, so you better have some coffee ready for me.”

“I’d buy you the whole damn coffee shop for getting me to see Metallica for free.”

“Why do you need three tickets anyway? Do you have any new fellow Metalhead friends I don’t know about?”

“No…it’s a present for someone. Long story, I’ll tell you everything on Wednesday.”

She snorted. “Okay, that’s cool. For a second there, I was worried you started dating Eddie Munson or something. You know…”

“No exes allowed. I wouldn’t dream of it!”

It was still raining on Friday morning. California honestly couldn’t come soon enough. How were you meant to be happy and spread love if heavy rain clouds darkened the entire city? Hopefully, tomorrow, the weather would improve—you had absolutely zero desire to queue for Metallica in the rain and get soaked before the concert even started.

The air was still icy, biting into every inch of exposed skin it could find. God, winters in Hawkins were cold. Digging your hands deeper into your pockets, you kept your eyes glued to the pavement to avoid the puddles.

A car approached behind you. You paid it no mind, casting your eyes down once more to avoid the bright lights, realising too late that it didn’t slow down. On the contrary, it seemed to speed up. The engine roared as it soared past you, spattering the water on the side of the road all over you. You gasped for air when the cold water soaked your hair and clothes, stopping dead in your tracks. The car disappearing in the distance, its taillights glowing in a mocking orange, was a blue Camaro. Billy.

Your stomach twisted.

By the time you made it through the day and stalked past him and his friends on the way to your locker, the concert tickets in your bag felt like heavy stones with a start.

Tommy called out for you. “What happened to you, ey? Did you get caught in the rain?”

“You know what, Tommy? One day, you will realise just how pathetic and embarrassing your behaviour really is. And by then, it might be too late.”

He grinned. “Hey, I wasn’t the one driving.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. You weren’t.” Your gaze met Billy’s, who stared at you without a single apologetic word. You’d let it slide—if he wasn’t blocking your locker.

“Could you step aside at least?”

His expression was smug, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging on his lips when he took a deliberately slow step to the side.

You didn’t expect much for your own Valentine’s Gift. A card, maybe, or a chocolate bar wrapped in pink paper with hearts. Nothing prepared you, however, for what you saw when you opened your locker and were met with a withered rose. You swallowed. Well, that stung. Whoever had drawn you must not liked you, or at the very least your teaching style, very much. Not that you cared…but still.

“Oh, yeah, my bad. I forgot to put it in water when I bought it last week,” Billy said. His friends, including Tommy, of course, began to yowl and cheer for him. Oh. What were the fucking odds?

What had merely stung before like a vexing mosquito on a summer holiday now turned into a giant, squeezing your heart until it bled out. He’s the school bully, and you’re a nerd. What did you expect? Why did you care anyway? You had half the mind to tear the Metallica tickets into pieces when you pulled them out of your bag. But you didn’t. Instead, you took a deep breath and a step towards him, your expression as calm as you could muster, and shoved the envelope against his chest.

“Yeah. No worries. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too, Billy.”

“Wait, you drew him?! That is fucking hilarious!” Tommy bellowed. You didn’t hear the rest. You stalked off, but not before taking the withered rose out of your locker and slamming the door shut with a loud bang.

It didn’t bother you. It shouldn’t bother you. He was a jock, an arsehole. So why the hell were the tears pricking at your eyes?

You disposed of the flower as soon as you stepped out of the building. The rain had not let up since you’d walked into school this morning, but at this point, you couldn’t even be bothered anymore. Tonight, you’d curl up in bed with a bottle of wine, some chocolate and cheesy romance movies.

To make matters even worse, though, your umbrella broke the moment you left the school grounds. Just great. Your clothes were still damp from when Billy’s car splashed you, and now, after his stunt with the withered rose, you longed to throw a brick at that stupid blue Camaro whizzing past when it suddenly slowed down next to you. The girls around you threw you jealous and flabbergasted looks.

“Get in, I’m driving you home,” Billy called out over the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the asphalt. They caught on his face and hair as soon as he cranked his car window open. Yeah, right.

“It’s such a lovely day today, I’ll pass.”

“Just get in the car.” Your heart skipped a beat when he said your name. You stopped dead in your tracks, contemplating. How high were the chances that he would pull another prank on you and abandon you somewhere in the woods? You sighed…and then walked around the car to open the passenger seat door.

Billy waited until you were seated with your seatbelt on before he hit the gas again, staring straight ahead with his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. They were bruised. He must have gotten into a fight again recently.

The interior of his car smelled of cigarettes and leather. You didn’t like it. But you didn’t hate it either.

“Listen…about the tickets…” he started.

“You’re welcome.”

“I was a dick, alright?” Huh? What was that? Billy Hargrove apologising?

“Correction: You are a dick.”

“Yeah, I know, alright? I don’t give a fuck about what other people think about me.”

“I noticed. That makes two of us.”

“It’s a date then,” he said, glancing over to you at last.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, there’s two tickets, aren’t there? How’d you even get them?”

“Through a friend. And I’ve got my own ticket. It was meant to be for you and a friend.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven then.”

You blinked. “No.”

“No?” His dark and amused voice sent pleasant shivers up and down your spine.

Billy Hargrove. Apologising. You sighed. “I want barrier. Make it four. We’re queueing to get to the front.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

You smirked to yourself.

There was a forty per cent chance he wouldn’t show up. Sixty per cent of you were hopeful he would. Maybe… just maybe you had a crush on him after all. But was it real? Or was it merely flattering that he wanted to go on a date with you of all people?

Billy didn’t do nice, and you doubted he felt genuinely bad for his shitty Valentine’s prank after finding out what you’d gotten him. He could have gone to the concert with Tommy or any of his other hooligan friends. But he hadn’t. He’d insisted on taking you home and…

The doorbell rang. Four pm. He was punctual. You shot one last taxing glance in the mirror before you headed downstairs, grabbed your bag and opened the door.

Billy stood before you wearing a white shirt, his leather jacket and black biker gloves and… holding a small bouquet of red roses. Your lips parted. No…fucking…way.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, doll.” Doll. Fuck.

“Help me understand and I won’t.” Because if there was even the slightest chance that he was still messing with you, you’d kick his arse. You had absolutely zero interest in a broken heart.

“What’s there to understand? It’s Valentine’s Day, and I got you flowers. And I’m making up for yesterday.”

You would have loved to see his reaction when he pulled the Metallica tickets out of the envelope.

“Yes, but why?”

“What do you mean, why? Isn’t it obvious?” His smirk made your heart stutter. God, damn it. You shouldn’t have agreed to this.

“I know you, Billy. I just…wanna be clear on your intentions. I don’t want to become another notch in your belt.”

“Well, it’s not a marriage proposal.” He scoffed, but you accepted the flowers regardless and popped them in a vase before you headed to his car. You weren’t sure you liked his answer despite the fact that it made you chuckle.

Either way, you were looking forward to this concert.

Silence followed. Awkward, uncomfortable silence. Billy turned up the music. Ain’t My Bitch by Metallica started playing. The irony wasn’t lost on you. You sighed.

“How are you, Billy? Really? I mean, since…”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off. “Just don’t bring him up, alright?”

“Okay.” This was the first time you noticed how differently he treated you from the other girls. You didn’t know why, but you weren’t imagining it, not since he’d practically threatened to fuck you up after seeing his dad whack him at the hardware store. But you weren’t “different”. Niche hobbies aside, you were just like all the other girls, save for the fact that Billy had never tried to woo you. Not until today, anyway.

“Why now? Because of the tickets?”

Billy sped up as if to make a point.

“No.”

“Then why are you—”

“Shit, what is this, a hearing?”

“Well, never mind then,” you snapped. “I was under the impression that this is a date.”

“It is a date. Shut off that pretty head of yours for once. I know it’s flattering for you because I’m way out of your league, but you’re overthinking this.”

Your jaw dropped. Out of his league? “Excuse me? I don’t think…”

You paused when he started laughing. Oh. He was joking.

“I’ll be the perfect gentleman, I promise. Now, are we gonna have some fun or what?” You grinned. Fine. Yeah. Perhaps you were overthinking it.

“Indiana! Do you want one more song?”

Cheering, you jumped up and down to the beat of the intro of Battery. Billy was right behind you, shielding you from the stage divers and the mosh pits as the crows freaked out again. His body heat against your back did…things to you, felt just a little too good. He kept you trapped between his chest and the barrier, his hands wrapped around the metal bars on either side. You’d both lost your shit when Metallica came on stage.

And now, Billy looked absolutely delicious with his dark blond hair clinging to his face from sweat, and his singing voice wasn’t half-bad, if a little too aggressive. By the time the lights went out after the encore, you leaned against him, exhausted and out of breath.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom before we head off,” you said as the crowd began to disperse. Billy nodded. When you came back and found him leaning against his car, smoking, he tossed you a shirt. It was one of the tour shirts you could buy at the merch stall.

“Here. You’re sweaty. Gonna get sick.”

Fuck. Me. You smiled. “Thank you.” You didn’t tell him you weren’t gonna get one yourself because you didn’t have a lot of money to spare on clothes at the moment.

“At least it stopped raining!” you said when you pulled it over your head. “But it’s still freezing.”

“Why didn’t you bring a warmer jacket?” He took another puff of his cigarette. Next thing you knew, he peeled himself out of his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders with his cigarette still between his lips.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll take you home then.”

His gaze lingered on you for just a little too long.

“I had a great time tonight, you know,” you admitted when the car came to a stop in front of your house half an hour later.

“Earlier tonight, you asked me why now.”

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

“It’s because you’re too damn perfect, that’s why.”

“Huh?” You unbuckled your seatbelt and turned to face him.

“You’re not the type of girl you fuck and be done with after. You’re a good girl. You’re the type of girl serious shit. What I’m trying to say is… I respect you, alright? Too much to try and get in your pants.” Holy fuck. Your heart skipped a beat.

“And that’s why you gave me a withered rose?”

“I don’t do serious, doll, okay? Why do you think I kept avoiding you?”

“I am far from perfect, Billy,” you said after a moment of silence. “But you’re right about one thing. I don’t do casual.” He was scared. Scared of what feelings a real relationship could bring. You couldn’t even blame him after what you’d learned about his dad. “You know, you’re not the only one avoiding. I want to hate you, actually. You’re everything I stand against. Mindless partying, smoking, sleeping around, and, quite frankly, Billy, you’re an arsehole. You’re a bully, and you’re mean, and you’re—” You didn’t get to finish. Not when he pulled you close and wrapped his hand around the back of your neck.

His lips came crashing down on yours with so much force you gasped. Fuck, he knew what he was doing. Each lick, each stroke of his tongue had you addicted and longing for more.

You were both out of breath when you broke apart again. When exactly had you dug your fingers into his shirt?

“I guess we both failed then.”

“You’re not even denying anything of what I just said. Jerk.”

He laughed—and you couldn’t help but join in. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school. Actually, scratch that. I’ll pick you up at eight and drive you.”

“Focus!” The rut cracked over your outstretched palms, sending an echoing, slashing sound across Gortash’s chambers. You flinched, moments before the searing pain spread all over your hands. The Banite Cleric’s face was half-masked, with only a scowl visible at all times.

“I will hardly be able to if you keep on hitting me!” you spat, drawing your trembling hands back.

It was supposed to be an easy incantation, a ritual spell creating a bright orb of light in the palm of your hands. Enver had ordered you to learn the ways of Bane worship, if you were to stay with him, to devote yourself to the Black Lord and…him. You were trained as a cleric now, to serve Enver with healing, guidance and powerful evocation spells. But you were very far away from that. Something was blocking you. You were. You were blocking yourself.

Having to worship a deity whose values you so fundamentally disagreed with—even if it was the very god Enver had chosen—and who he claimed saved his life, there were bound to be consequences. If anything, you were doing this for him, not for yourself. Enver was all you had left, someone you didn’t know was still in your life until your greedy landlord dragged you to Wyrm’s Rock to receive his due all those weeks ago. Your lost childhood friend you’d missed so very dearly. But as long as you were rejecting the power Bane trickled into your veins, you wouldn’t be making any progress, and instead…end up with more and more red streaks all over your palms.

“Making progress?” The man in question came strutting in like he owned the entire Sword Coast already. His footsteps on the cold stone floor reverberated through his chambers until he stopped in front of your kneeling form.

“She’s pathetic. Unskilled. And useless,” the Banite responded in your stead.

You scoffed. “Well, fuck you too.”

“Watch your tongue, girl, or I’ll cut it out.”

“You will do no such thing. She is training to become my right-hand cleric. She ranks higher than you. And that means you will show her proper respect,” Gortash said. You swallowed hard. Yes, that. He’d promised you would be under his direct command and protection if you agreed to this. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter. It was either stay with Enver and do his bidding or, quite literally, live the life of a beggar under a bridge.

“In that case, should they be allowed physical punishment? In fact, I am extremely tempted to hit you for not teaching me properly.” You didn’t mean it. Of course not. You had no reason to harm another for the mere sake of it.

Enver laughed—a deep, guttural and highly amused chuckle sending surprisingly pleasant shivers down your spine. “Oh, you’re learning the ways of the Black Lord fast. You’re a natural, my dear. They are your teacher. If you aren’t satisfied with their way of teaching, you should indeed be the one scolding them in whatever way you see fit.”

And that was that. From that day on, the now pale Banite did not dare touch you again—but your difficulties with casting spells remained.

With a sigh, Enver peeled himself out of his adorned coat and stretched. A steaming mug of coffee sat before him on his document-cluttered desk. His evenings usually looked like this. Paperwork, war plans, invasion tactics, and what he called “insignificant citizen escalations” that need his attention. For all the tyrannical tendencies he had, he was still overworking himself, and part of you couldn’t bear to see him suffer like that. Back when you were children, things had been very similar.

Enver had fought for his parents’ approval day in and out. But it was never enough. He always remained the strange child, too clever for his own good. This constant stress and pressure were taking a toll on him. He looked a lot older than he was, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke volumes.

Despite everything…you still cared about him. And it pained you to see him punish himself so much. First, because of his parents’ dismay, now because of Bane’s. For all the power he granted him…was it really worth the terror and the constant fear of failure if it was followed by death and an eternity of suffering? He’d made you read enough books about Bane worship by now that you knew well enough what awaited if the Black Lord was disappointed with your actions.

“Enver. You should go to bed. It’s past midnight already.”

“These documents need tending to. Do you need me to tuck you in?” he mocked.

“You are very clearly tired. You need rest.”

“Stepping into your role as cleric diligently, I see.”

“No. I’m not telling you as your cleric, I’m telling you as your friend.” You almost said it. Lover. Enver and you had only kissed once. He was maybe ten at the time, and you were eight. You’d both been curious about what it would be like, so you clumsily put your lips together, hidden away in a shed near the Counting House.

You’d believed it to be meaningless back then, mere child’s play. But now that Enver was back in your life for good, day in and out…your feelings for him kept on growing. Perhaps they’d always been there, hidden away somewhere deep inside you. But it would be ridiculous to assume he would reciprocate those feelings. At least there was an ounce of kindness left inside of him. If there wasn’t…you wouldn’t be here now.

“Your care is touching, truly,” remarked dryly, without looking up from his papers. “But alas, I have work to do regardless.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

When you headed to bed, Gortash moved the lit candle on his desk over to the other side so that the light wouldn’t keep you awake.

He returned to his chambers with an injury the next evening. An accident at the Steel Watch Foundry, he’d said. And that the Gondian who caused it had paid with his life.

“How did it happen?” you asked, undoing the makeshift bandage he’d wrapped around his wound. It was a nasty burn stretching across his palm.

“That pathetic gnome placed a metal hammer to close to the kiln. It was hot to the touch when I picked it up.”

“Hmm…” Tracing the lines of his palm, you could have sworn you saw him shiver. “Te Curo…” you whispered then, willing Bane’s energy, for once, to flow through you to heal him. The burn looked painful to say the least, and you did not fail to notice how he winced when your fingertips brushed over the wound once more. Much to your surprise…it worked. His flesh mended before your very eyes, the aggressive red making way for a healthy fleshy pink. His hands were rough, marked by years of tinkering and building his clever machines. But there was more to it than that. Enver’s hands told a story of hard labour that went beyond a complex hobby.

“I’ll get you some healing potion just to be sure.”

“You’re improving. Well done,” he said. You took a step back, his praise catching you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat.

“My, you look positively shocked.” He chuckled.

“I just…I’ve never heard you compliment anyone before.”

“Obedience and success are…?”

“Expected,” you whispered. “Not requested.”

“Indeed. Good girl. But…I am no monster, my dear. A bit of praise here and there does wonders for compliance.”

“So it’s a form of manipulation to you?”

Enver leaned forward, a shy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Everything is a form of manipulation, my dear. Every relationship, every interaction, is a transaction.”

“Is it really? What about the music box you made for me when we were kids, then? Was that a transaction too? Because you never asked for anything in return.”

“Oh, I did, my dear. I asked for your company. And bringing and making you gifts was a sure way to keep your attention. Besides, things were different back then.”

“I…I never saw it that way. I…I liked you because you were smart, clever, and so creative. I liked you for you. Not for your gifts. I would have spent time with you regardless.”

Enver scoffed.

“What happened, Enver? At the House of Hope? Talk to me about it. Maybe I can—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice slicing through the air like a knife.

“But I’m your cleric now! If anyone could help you work through your childhood trauma, it’s—”

“I don’t have any childhood trauma. My past made me who I am; it made me strong and resilient.”

“It made you cruel,” you mumbled, barely trusting your own words. “But…you’re still in there, aren’t you? If you weren’t, you would have let me rot somewhere hungry and homeless when my landlord dragged me to Wyrm’s Rock. Or you could…you could have sent me to prison for not paying my rent. Now I’m here. With you. I have food, a roof over my head, a bed…”

“Because I still have use for you. It’s a lucky coincidence you’re a token of my past.”

“I don’t believe you. You…do you have any idea how relieved I was when I saw you? That you’re alive and well? I cared for you, Enver. I still do, I…” There. You’d said it. None of this was about compliance to you. Had it been anyone else…you might have chosen a bridge yourself.

“Fuck…” You swept at the tears wetting your cheeks, anger at your sudden display of emotion coiling around your gut. “When was the last time someone hugged you, Enver? The last time someone showed you affection for the mere sake of it?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he snapped. Only he didn’t sound so sure anymore. There was an almost foreign hesitation in his voice.

“I fucking missed you. I was so blind for not realising this new archduke of Baldur’s Gate was you all along. I should have sought you out sooner, talked to you.”

It was he who took a step back this time, his dark brows furrowing slightly. “If you believe you could have saved me from whatever evil you think Bane is, you are direly mistaken.”

You shook your head, tears now freely streaming over your face. “Maybe I secretly think that. But I’m telling the truth. Enver…”

You moved towards him, wrapping your arms around his middle. Right now, you didn’t care about the consequences anymore. You didn’t care about the disrespect this surely was considered. You had missed this man so much; it was like a flood gate finally broke loose, your emotions exploding and burying him under them.

For a moment, Gortash did nothing. He simply stood there, frozen in time. You pressed your face against his chest, against that black shirt he always laced incorrectly, hugging him tightly as if your life depended on it. Gods, it felt good. Right. Like you were becoming his anchor in a stormy sea.

Maybe this was why becoming a cleric was your calling. Perhaps he really did need you.

“Enver.” You didn’t know what to say exactly. It was hard to put your emotions into words, knowing that whatever was growing in your heart, he wouldn’t reciprocate it. At least…at least until his arms suddenly came up to embrace you and pull you further into him.

“You silly girl….” He muttered, lips buried in your hair. “If you tell anyone about this…”

“Don’t. Don’t threaten me. I know. I won’t say a thing.”

That evening, something between you…changed. Enver behaved more…softly around you, like he was walking on eggshells. He got more considerate, too, and his patience with you grew instead of shrinking. It was almost like he had quietly admitted something to himself. Something he hadn’t yet shared with you. Or perhaps he just really needed this hug. You did it a lot now. When he go thome, when you both went to bed, when you woke up… and every now and then, he even initiated it. Demanded it, even. He’d reach out with one arm, beckoning you towards him as if your body was his right. So he did now, too.

Enver pulled you down on his lap in front of the fireplace, nearly spilling the wine in the goblet in his hand from the impact. You eyed it, gaze fixed on the red liquid as you settled on top of him as if this was the place you belonged. Enver cuckled.

“Wine?” He handed you the goblet but didn’t let go when you took a big gulp and then licked your lips with a moan.

“I’m making progress,” you said. “I cast spirit guardians today during practice.”

Marvellous, my dear.” His clawed hand came up to gently scratch along your back, eliciting goose bumps in its wake. He did this a lot, too, now. Touching you, exploring your body, absentmindedly, if anything.

Never in inappropriate places, of course, but…the more time passed, the more you wished he would. What in the hells was wrong with you? You should hate him. Hate what he’d become and what he was making you do. And yet…you spent every waking moment thinking about him and those vexing emotions that had long gone beyond friendship. Perhaps that was the reason your spells and rituals finally improved. By accepting your romantic feelings for Gortash, you were accepting Bane’s powers too.

You nestled your head against his neck and closed your eyes. “How was your day?”

“Tedious. The Fist are growing more useless every day. I ought to replace the lot of them.”

“Hmm… And… what of those assassination rumours?”

“Oh, pay them no mind. Even if someone did make it into Wyrm’s Rock, they have a legion of Steel Watchers to answer to. And a minefield of traps, too. Why? Do you fear for your life?”

You shook your head. “No. But I fear for yours.”

“You shouldn’t be so concerned with me, my dear. It won’t do you any favours.” Oh, but it did. In fact, it did right now when his fingertips began to trace your collarbone, wandering up your neck and finally, caressing your cheek.

“I can’t exactly help it.”

Enver chuckled. “And I didn’t even have to put a worm in your brain. You are fully devoted to me, aren’t you?”

“I’m your friend, Enver. I have been for a very long time.” You knew what he was referring to, though. Over the last few weeks, you had learned a lot about his plans for Baldur’s Gate. Though truly, ever since you’d learned he was a Banite, there was little that remained that could still shock you. “Have you ever considered it? Tadpoling me?” Enver remained silent for a moment, his hands ceasing their tender touches.

“I did. Multiple times, in fact. But I won’t. I don’t need to, now do I? You are loyal to me either way.”

“It’s not my fear of him that makes me loyal to you.”

“Yes, yes, you’re my friend. You have no idea what that word truly means.”

“Enver.” You sat up, locking your eyes with his. “If there is one thing you don’t get to tell me, it’s how I feel towards you. You can’t control that. No one can.”

“Then you are gullible. Stupid even.” His grip on you tightened. “Don’t you ever stop.”

“What—” You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Not when he wrapped his clawed hand around the back of your neck and pressed his lips on yours. The kiss was brutal, hungry and demanding. It was everything Gortash embodied when he was with you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, asserting dominance where it was freely given. He was aiming to claim you, body and soul. And you…you leaned into him, reciprocating his advances as if your life depended on it. Perhaps it did. With a start, you felt like you would die if you didn’t kiss him. Your palms came up to press against his chest for support, your eyes falling shut for you to revel in your bliss.

“You’re mine,” he mumbled against your lips when he pulled away, long enough for you to catch your breath. “Say it.”

“I’m yours. Enver, I always have been. You didn’t have to win me over with gifts when we were kids. And…now…you don’t have to demand obedience and force me into Banite worship for me to be with you. Call me insane, but you have a place in my heart. You always had. I just…I think I didn’t realise until we met again. I’ve told you before. The shock, the evil, the plotting…the undoubtedly morally deprived things you do…they’re shadowed by the relief and happiness I felt when you stepped into my life again.” You missed your calling as a bard, truly. But it was the truth. And it felt so damn good to confess that you were in love with him despite his choice of deity.

“You are too soft for your own good.”

“Maybe. Enver…”

“How many times have I told you to use my title, hmm?” You ignored him. He hadn’t complained about it for weeks. “I love you.”

You didn’t expect him to say it back. Not after everything he’d shown you he’d become.

“Well, I love you, too.” His lips brushed against yours in confirmation. Your heart thumped against your chest.

“Can I believe you? Can I trust this isn’t yet another transactional manipulation tactic?”

Enver chukled. “Smart girl. But no. Your life here would be very different if I didn’t. I realised that a while ago.”

“A while ago?” You shifted slightly on his lap, getting more comfortable.

“I have always viewed love as a weakness. A weapon to use against someone. You better prove me wrong. Now. Up you go.” Gortash gently but firmly nudged you off his lap. He stood and stretched while your gaze found the wine goblet that had spilt on the floor. He must have dropped it when he kissed you.

“Come.” He took your hand before you had a chance to approach him again, and pulled you along with him towards his bed.

“What are we doing?”

“You’re no longer sleeping over there.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Do you remember when we were kids and we decided to smuggle you into my bedroom so you didn’t have to go home to your parents?”

“I do.”

“The bed was way too small for us both, but we made do and hid under the covers together. Then the next morning, I stole a breadroll from the breakfast table to bring it to you.”

“I remember that too. It was my first meal in two days.” Gortash kicked off his boots and stepped out of his trousers. When he got comfortable in bed, he pulled you straight with him, embracing you from behind as if you were a stuffed animal that brought him comfort.

“It was a breadroll with chocolate chips.”

“The best kind,” he confirmed, his arms tightening around you. “If you tell anyone about this…”

If you were part of the Vivianite Guild, you were one of two things: You either had a shit ton of money to spend on letting people disappear, or you were desperate enough for money to turn into an assassin yourself. Most jobs were easy enough. A little bit of poison here, a hidden dagger there…it wasn’t the most honourable profession, truth be told, but you had bills to pay. Your qualms had flown out the window like a wild crow a very long time ago, and lately, your moral compass wasn’t spinning as fast as it used to.

The mages you’d worked with in the past were too arrogant for their own good, megalomaniacal, even. Subjugating the entire Underworld was an absurd concept if anything, but…they took it. Fiend after fiend after fiend after fiend. Lesser demons had died by your hand before, as long as the payment was right. After all, you had greater ambitions and the skill to show for it. There was one bounty within the Guild that would make you not only one of the wealthiest women on Philos but a legend. There would be no more getting your hands dirty, no more assassinations, no more plotting, no more killing. Your job was a tedious, messy one—especially when it came to murdering monsters.

Sylus. The silverwing fiend who had conquered the Underworld in his sleep. The one demon whose very existence terrified the mages enough for them to hire bounty hunters like you to skewer him permanently. Some were after his powers, others after the triumph his death would bring, and some bet on the bounty as if the fiends were horses, and you their trainer.

But so far, everyone had failed. Summoning a powerful fiend like Sylus was near impossible as is, and killing him had a high probability of resulting in your own demise. Oh, no. You would be smarter than they were. You were smarter than they were. You watched. Lurked. Observed from the shadows, diligently did your research and used your brain rather than mere physical strength and cheap tricks. So, you bided your time, testing your own patience to wait for the right moment.

Ironically, most assassins had a very loose tongue when they were drunk—and you were skilled enough to blend in and go unnoticed if you so wished. A few days ago, one of them let slip that they were planning on summoning Sylus using the blood of a legendary late mage whose blood, preserved in a vial within the cold rock of his coffin, possessed unfathomable power still. Combined with their own, they were confident it would be strong enough to drag the fiend from the Underworld to Philos near the abandoned ruins in the city suburbs two nights from now. You’d heard them brag about their weapons, their technique and tactics. They truly believed they stood a chance. You almost pitied them.

For the past six months, you had been devouring tomes like a man gulping down fresh water after weeks in the desert. Sylus was impossible to kill the conventional way; you’d gathered enough knowledge to come to that conclusion. So your approach would have to be different.

There was only one place where a fiend like him would let his guard down, and that was his very own home. The Underworld. After all, even monsters had a place they called home—and you would slay him where he lay. Alas, humans could not enter the Underworld. Not without some modifications, anyway.

Just two weeks ago, your research had paid off and led to a marvellous breakthrough. An ancient tome you had stolen from a mage revealed how you would get to Sylus:

…And so it is written that a mortal who shall feast on a fiend and thereby mirror their most carnal desire shall be rewarded for their hunger and freely enter the Underworld at their whim and will…

It had taken you a moment to decipher it. At first, you believed all it took was to kill a fiend; to match their bloodlust. But then again, you had slain dozens of them already, and none of their deaths had granted you free passage to a world you didn’t belong in. Hence, ‘mirror their most carnal desire’ could only mean one thing: blood. Fiends feasted on blood. In order to enter the Underworld, you had to drink a fiend’s blood.

So you did. It had taken you a lot of willpower and determination to lick your blade after your latest kill. A price you had been willing to pay. Now, all you had to do was to let those reckless bounty hunters lead you straight to Sylus—and follow him back into the Underworld after the undoubtedly unsuccessful attack.

Unfortunately, once that step was done, you’d have to rely on your improvisation skills. Wherever you’d land once you jumped into the portal he’d create to return, you had to keep your head clear. You might fall into the void if you were unfortunate, high up in the air, where you’d fall to your death while he soared into the skies with his silver wings. Or…or you could get lucky and come out wherever Sylus called home. In any case, it was now or never.

Sylus tore through the assassins as if they were mere flies vexing a lion. His low laughter rumbled across the ruins like thunder as he cut through flesh and bones. Agonised cries echoed through the cool night air, body parts were hurled over blood-stained rock. It was a gruesome sight, truly. But you couldn’t let yourself get distracted, not even when Sylus buried his fangs deep in their necks one by one. It was an almost fascinating aspect of fiends, you had to admit that much. The idea of living off of living creatures’ blood to ensure your own survival… Sylus pulled his head back, fresh red glistening on his lips. He licked over them, dropping the drained assassin to the ground. Only one remained standing now, and he was trembling in fear, evidently regretting his actions. But it was too late for that now. Sylus chuckled, and before the assassin could even lift a finger, red and black mist curled around him, choking him to death—slowly.

Any moment now. You dug your heels into the dirt, ready to jump after him. Sylus took his time with this last bounty hunter. He didn’t even bother speaking with him. And as soon as his body went limp and he dropped it to the ground, that same black and red mist unfurled in a whirlwind behind him—opening a portal back to the Underworld. He brushed invisible dust off his shoulders, turned around and…now!

You hopped over the fallen pillar you’d been hiding behind, sprinting after him. Then, at the last second, right before the portal closed behind him, you forced yourself through.

The sensation was unlike anything you had ever experienced. Cold air wrapped around your limbs, the space around you feeling empty, unreal. You shouldn’t have been surprised about that—after all, the path you were walking was a mere linkage between two worlds rather than an existing place. One heartbeat later, as if you’d never stepped into a portal at all, it was over.

You opened your eyes, not realising until now that you had closed them and found yourself standing in a gloomy, dark castle stuffed with keepsakes and relics. It was…beautiful. Beautiful, lethal…and lonely. No wonder fiends took so much joy in killing. You would be too if you had to live this isolated and alone.

Luckily, Sylus was nowhere to be seen anymore for now. This was his domain, that you were certain of. All you had to do now was slay him where he lay and bring back his head as a trophy. Easy. Simply. Right?

Tiptoeing forward, you made your way through a hallway with a seemingly endlessly high ceiling until you reached dark mahogany double doors. His bedroom, no doubt. You pressed your ears against the smooth and cool wood, listening for movement. It was quiet, eerily so. He didn’t look injured when he left, so even if he wasn’t trying to recover from the battle, he was probably resting. Good. That meant he would be playing right into your hands. But patience was a virtue. You knew better than to barge in and risk your life like those amateur assassins by the ruins. So you waited. You waited, waited and waited until your gut told you that it was time.

Finally, with a deep breath, you opened the door and pushed yourself through the gap.

Sylus was indeed sleeping—in a coffin. You swallowed thickly, inching closer, your breath catching in your throat. He was…beautiful. With his eyes closed and his outrageously handsome features relaxed, he resembled a fallen angel rather than a fiend. Innocent, almost, like he hadn’t just drained half a dozen humans to satiate his hunger… Stop. He was a demon. He was evil. Right? You’d seen him kill. You’d watched him squeezing the life out of mortals for sport and drink their blood and… well, you too had murdered a fiend for the sake of their life fuel to enter the Underworld… Wait, no, stop! Why on Philos did your moral compass have to start spinning now of all times? Think about the bounty. Think about never having to freeze in a cold home again, about never having to go hungry again… and that you’d go down in history as the first human assassin who entered the Underworld and killed the most powerful fiend in existence.

One step closer, then another. You raised your dagger, ready to plunge it straight into his heart. One well-placed thrust was all it would take for your new life to start…so why were you hesitating? You didn’t even know him. You’d never even spoken to him. It was now or never. With a silent scoff, you lifted your arm holding the dagger and…a gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing it so tightly you dropped your weapon. Shit.

“I have to admit…I’m impressed. Not many would dare venture after a fiend. Tell me, did you set those assassins on me on purpose, or did you simply seize the opportunity?” He didn’t even give you a chance to respond. “Alas, your courage may be admirable, but you’re a fool if you thought you would make it out of this encounter alive.” For the briefest of moments, something akin to recognition flashed in his crimson eyes. But it was gone again before you were able to grasp it.

“You’re arrogant,” you stated, your heart pounding in your chest. “That’s gonna make killing you easier.”

Sylus scoffed. “Do you truly believe that? I take it you’re an assassin too. Part of the Vivianite Guild, perhaps? You march into the wolf’s den…and you expect to leave in one piece…it’s almost admirable. Very well…”

He rose from his coffin without releasing your wrist, pulling you flush against his body. Heavens…he was so big. How on Philos were you going to kill him now that you didn’t have the element of surprise on your side anymore? “Then let us play. Let’s see how long you last. I don’t mind another snack. Perhaps you’ll surprise me and put up a proper fight. After all, you did manage to chase me all the way to the Underworld. Tell me…how did you figure out how to do it?”

You yanked back your wrist, but he didn’t budge, causing you to lose your balance instead. You reached behind yourself, your free hand wrapping around the second dagger you carried with you on your belt. Sylus’s low chuckle sent shivers through your entire body, and you couldn’t quite decide whether they were pleasant…or unpleasant. With but one casual movement, he flipped you both around, forcing you into his coffin. Your hand on your other dagger slipped down the hilt, the blade slicing across your palm. You cried out at the burning sensation and gritted your teeth. Blood pooled in your hand, and Sylus inhaled sharply. “You smell…delicious. But your lack of resilience is a little disappointing after all.”

He’s…too…strong. Damn it, you’d gotten too cocky. You should have brought your poison or dropped some paralysing snake venom on him first.

“So? Tell me. How did you figure out how to enter the Underworld?” he asked again. “If your answer satisfies me, then perhaps I’ll let you live a little longer.”

Clenching your jaw, you decided to play along. “I…I… found…stole…a rare tome.”

“Hmm…”

“It said to drink a fiend’s blood to gain entry to the Underworld.”

“And so you did? You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, do something! Struggling against his steel grip, you tried, with all your might, to push him back. It was hopeless. Sylus was way too strong. You were trained in stealth and cunning, not brute force.

“Be a good girl and don’t move.” He lowered that stupidly beautiful face to your neck. “You know…” he whispered against your skin. “I’ve never had my food walk straight into my home before. It’s less of a thrill than hunting, of course… But I can’t deny I’m still enjoying it.”

A rush of adrenaline pumped through your veins, filling you with a new survival instinct. You were not going to die today, not by Sylus’s hand…or fangs. Directing all of your strength to your core, you hugged your knees to your chest and angled them to kick him in the chest. The forceful impact was enough to catch him off guard, enough to snake out of his grasp, pick up your dagger from the ground and flee his bedroom, back into the seemingly endless hallway.

“You can’t escape,” he mused. His steps and voice approached mockingly slow. “Even if you did manage to kill me, you’d remain trapped here in the Underworld. Without a fiend opening a portal back to Philos, you have turned yourself into a prisoner. My death will do you no good down here.”

“Oh, no? You’re the fiend of fiends. You have many enemies down here. Perhaps they’ll worship me like a goddess if I present them your head on a silver platter—and then one of them will be kind enough to send me back so I can collect my bounty!”

He charged forward, feet lifting off the ground as his wings carried him in your direction. You ducked behind a vase, kicking it into him to expand the distance between you. This was a cat-and-mouse game now. And unfortunately, as of right now, you were the mouse.

The vase burst into pieces when Sylus blocked the attack with his staff, shards flying through the air and scattering across the marble floor. You reached for two of them, hurling them at him. Your eyes widened when they evaporated in a cloud of red mist moments before they could lodge themselves deep in his chest. Oh-oh.

His dark chuckle had you reel back. You didn’t know where you were running. You had no idea how many rooms this castle had. For all you knew, it could be endless, and any exit would lead straight into a void. Dizziness whirled up in your body as you rolled to the side just before the butt of his staff slammed into the ground right where your chest had been mere moments ago. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat. This fight, it was…like a joke to him. He almost seemed bored, and the rage flooding you because of that had you see as red as his magick. Gritting your teeth, you feigned an attack to his left only to roll backwards, sit up on your knees and throw the small, hidden dagger behind your back at his right side. Dark mist enveloped the thin air where he assumed your weapon to hit.

Yet another wave of dizziness rolled overwhelmed you right when the blade dug into his hip. He groaned, removing it swiftly and tossing it to the side as if it were an insignificant splinter. Your eyes widened. The wound mended, the cut flesh healing without him so much as batting an eyelash.

Shit. Your vision went black when you tried to stand back up to run.

Sylus chuckled. “Finally. So you do have some bite.” What…what was he doing to you? Why were you feeling so dizzy? Your grip loosened around your other dagger. It clattered to the ground, announcing your reluctant defeat. Was he enchanting you somehow?

“What…what are you doing to me?” The pain came before you could properly register the slight furrow of his brows. Hot knives pierced your stomach, acid burning in your gut.

“No… s-stop! Stop!”

For a single heartbeat, Sylus hesitated. It would be even easier for him to kill you now, you were very much aware of that. So why didn’t he?

“The fiend’s blood you consumed, how much did you drink?”

You coughed, fighting the growing nausea. “W-What?”

“How much did you drink?” he repeated, his sharp voice cutting through the air like one of your daggers.

“I…I…I licked the blade when I killed him.” Your stomach churned, and you curled up on the stone ground, sweat pooling on your forehead.

“You fool…” Sylus darted forward, all but throwing you over his shoulder, carrying you back into his bedroom. He placed you in his coffin. This was it. This is how you would die. Your biggest triumph had turned into your biggest demise, and it was entirely your fault. Any moment now, his fangs would pierce your neck and steal your life.

“What…what’s happening to me?”

He breathed out audibly, his eyes briefly closing as if he was trying to remember something. “…And so it is written that a mortal who shall feast on a fiend and thereby mirror their most carnal desire shall be rewarded for their hunger and freely enter the Underworld at their whim and will…” he recited.

“The…the book?”

“You didn’t read all of it.”

“W-What?” Another wave of pain rippled through you. It was as if your stomach was burning you alive from the inside out.

“And as their humanity dwindles and they turn into that very mirror image of their foe, they shall perish among them once eternity has claimed their soul.”

“I did read that…I…I thought it was about turning into a monster figuratively. Am I…dying?” you choked out.

“You are transforming.”

“T-Transforming?”

“You are transforming into a fiend. What did you think was going to happen upon drinking their blood? There is a price to pay to gain entry to our domain. Humans do not belong here. So, in order to venture to the Underworld, you have to become a fiend yourself. But…” He paused, bending down and observing your twitching form in his coffin. “You didn’t drink enough blood. Your body is fighting what little amount you swallowed like poison and trying to reject it. So yes. If you don’t feed more…you will die.”

Ice-cold shards of fear buried themselves deep in your body. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. “How…how do you even know that?”

“I wrote the book. Decades ago.”

“W-What? Why would you do that?”

“Well…perhaps I wanted someone to find me. Someone who would be able to…match my intellect.” His dark chuckle made you shiver. Pleasantly. Definitely so. “It looks like the tables have turned, my dearest assassin. If you want to survive…you will need my help now.”

You’d tried to kill him. If anything, he should watch you squirm and die slowly because of your incompetence in understanding the tome you’d read properly.

He smirked. “Beg me.”

“W-what?”

“Beg me to save your life.”

Save your life…and become the very thing you had dedicated your life to killing. If you transformed into a fiend…you could never return to your old life. You’d be trapped here for good, and all the killing would have been in vain.

“N-no…”

“No? Is this truly the time to be too proud to accept most-needed aid?”

“I don’t…want…to become…like you…”

For the first time since you’d broken into his home, anger flashed in his crimson eyes. “So you give up? Just like that? You are the first human to ever venture into the Underworld, you sneaked into the most feared fiend’s home…and now you mean to tell me you’re going to welcome death?”

“I accept my fate,” you breathed out.

Sylus scoffed once more. “I don’t believe in fate. I only believe in actions. But perhaps your ‘fate’ meant for you to live beyond a mere mortal existence. After everything you did to hunt me down, your willingness to perish is almost comical.” He tilted his head. “Tell me. Why did you go after me? Was it glory? Arrogance? What is it you’re looking to receive once you return to your world?”

“M-money…” You curled up. Why was there so much saliva in your mouth? Shuddering, you spat it out. It was pink, mixed with blood.

“Money? You put yourself through this for something as shallow as wealth?”

“You…don’t understand. My l-life is an endless cycle of freezing and starving and starving and freezing. I joined the Vivianite Guild because I was desperate to survive. You…the bounty on your head could have finally ended it. And if I don’t die now…I’ll never be free.”

“On the contrary, my dearest assassin. You’ll be free from human hunger, free from offering coin to quench your mortal needs and free from the cruelty of the guild. Live. Drink my blood.”

Sylus bared his fangs, pulled back his sleeve and bit his own wrist. Blood poured from the self-inflicted wound as he offered it to you.

“Why would you help me? I came here to kill you.”

“Drink,” he repeated. There was an almost unruly urgency in his deep voice—but his patience did not waver. He was still giving you a choice.

“Sylus…” Could you truly? Become a fiend, forsake your old life and make a name for yourself here? Who were you kidding? You had nothing back home. A drafty roof over your head, a near-empty pantry, and a lack of friends and family were all Philos had to offer to you.

Here, in the Underworld, you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with Sylus. Or would he, too, send you away once you’d had your fill and completed your transformation? Either way, however, he was right. Why were you giving up? You had managed just fine on Philos; who was to say you wouldn’t here as well? There was no rent in the Underworld, no greedy landlords paying no mind to the black mould spreading in your bedroom. Yes. He was right. You wanted to live. Even if that meant that you had to become the very thing you had dedicated your life to killing.

You drew in a sharp breath, ignoring the pain in your stomach and pulled Sylus’s wrist towards you. Your lips closed around his bitemark, sucking the blood into your mouth. This…it was delicious. Warm, savoury, filling…like spiced mulled wine at a Yule market and so unlike the vile blood of the fiend you had forced yourself to swallow before. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and then closed entirely as you drank and drank and drank and had your fill of him. And then…everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, a pair of strong arms was caging you in, holding you close against a broad chest. His warmth eased the relentless trembling of your limbs. You were so…tired. Too exhausted to open your eyes. But you felt…safe.

This…this was ridiculous. Or it should have been, at least. How could you feel this protected and cared for? In the embrace of a fiend of all people, sleeping in his bed, his coffin.

You stirred, incredulous towards the fact that he was so caring, almost like a lover. Almost like his subconscious recognised you from a former life.

“Shhh… take it easy. Let your body adjust.”

“Why are you being so gentle?” you croaked out. “I tried to kill you.”

“So you keep saying. And I commemorate your courage. I told you before. You are the first to truly match my intellect. That deserves a reward. I’m keeping you.”

“You…what? What do you mean you’re keeping me? I’m not a pet!”

Sylus’s grip around you tightened. “Well, do you have somewhere else to be? Or will you wander around the Underworld aimlessly in the hopes other fiends won’t smell the novelty on you and kill you for sport? You’re mine now, my dearest assassin. What did you think I was going to do? Send you your merry way? Now that you have tasted my blood? We are bound to each other. That is the price you paid for going after my head.”

Your heart jumped. He wanted you to stay. He wanted you to be with him. Why did that make you so happy? “Is that the real reason you wanted me to turn then? So you’d have some company?”

”No. The choice to complete the transformation was all yours. And it was mine to…take you under my wing. You and I, we’re the same now.” He chuckled, his hot breath ghosting across your neck. You flinched when he bit down without any forewarning, his fangs boring deep into your skin and drawing blood. He made you a feast right there in his arms, but strangely…you weren’t afraid for your life. If anything, his bite felt like a promise, like a vow he’d now sealed. His tongue leapt at the blood pouring from your neck.

“Two vampires. You’ve got to be joking.” Shadowheart’s voice pierced through the cosy darkness at camp. Eerie shadows danced across their faces as they sat around the campfire, tired, exhausted and worn out from a long day parading through the wilderness in search of help.

The truth was bound to come out one way or another. And after Astarion had become overwhelmed by hunger and tried to bite the Sharran cleric, you’d hesitated telling them about your own sanguine affliction.

“You’re…not a spawn?” Astarion asked. Wariness reflected in his crimson eyes, along with a hint of curiosity. Of course—he must have never encountered a vampire who wasn’t under their master’s control or obsessed with power, even less a bard.

“I am a spawn. Technically. My ‘master’ was killed in a massacre half a century ago. I’ve been a vagabond ever since. Getting abducted by mindflayers was simply unlucky, although I won’t lie…feeling the sun on my skin again…it’s a gift like no other. I’m gonna enjoy it for as long as I can. And if you still trust me like you did before…I’ll keep watch tonight,” you concluded matter-of-factly.

“Well, I'd better not wake up with two fangs buried in my neck. I’m gonna get some rest.” Shadowheart rose, dusting off her trousers before heading over to her makeshift tent. One by one, your companions settled in for the night until only you and Astarion remained.

The flames of the bonfire danced between you, taunting you both for your uneasy silence.

“What do you feed on?” he finally asked.

“Humanoids. I tried the vegetarian diet. Hunting deer and boars and all that. It makes you weak.”

Astarion scoffed. “So you’re…free? No one tells you… commands you?”

“Free? You could say that. After everything I learned from you about Cazador, I feel like you’ve never met another vampire who isn’t after world domination.”

His gaze drifted off. “Isn’t that what all vampires want?”

“Is that what you want?”

His red eyes darted back to you. “I…I don’t know.”

“I don’t want power,” you said. “I love life. I love music. I love alcohol. And dancing! What in the hells would I do with power? I’m immortal. I have endless time to explore Faerûn, endless time to explore all the planes, even. I’m trying to make the best out of every situation, Astarion. Perhaps it’s time for you to do the same.”

The vampire scoffed once more. “You don’t know anything.”

“You’re right, I don’t. But it sounds like all we have to do to grant you your freedom is to kill Cazador. We’re strong. We can take him.”

“You don’t know Cazador like I do.”

“But I’m a vampire too. His usual tricks won’t work on me. We will kill him, Astarion. I promise.”

He remained unconvinced but gave you a charming smile regardless. “Thank you…darling.”

You tilted your head. “It’s settled then.”

“Yes…” He trailed off, almost as if he was trying to figure something out for himself. You let him. There was a lot he had to ponder over. Been there, done that.

You still remembered your own master. Arrogant, cold, cruel, selfish…and yet, he was a pet bunny compared to Cazador. You couldn’t even begin with imagining what Astarion must have been through.

You started humming a melody, a song that your muse had been cooking up since before the Nautiloid. All of a sudden, words came pouring in, overwhelming you with the urge to sing.

There were rumours. Rumours that Cazador meant to ascend—to become the most powerful vampire in existence. And all he had to do to achieve that was…to sacrifice his spawn.

You sighed. You may have been younger than Astarion, but tonight, you couldn’t help the gnawing feeling of wanting to protect him bubbling in your gut. Perhaps it was about time somebody showed him what life as a vampire could truly be…

The lit campfire threw eerie shadows across Astarion’s face. Poetic, really. He truly was beautiful.

You couldn’t stop the smile creeping up on the corners of your mouth even if you wanted to. You hadn’t sung since those mindflayers had put a tadpole in your brain. You missed it. And your fellow vampire spawn was…inspiring.

“Here we are, so what you gonna do? Do I gotta spell it out for you? I can see that you got other plans for tonight…But I don't really care…”

“What?” Amusement mixed with confusion. You grinned, standing up from your dusty bedroll.

“Size me up, you know I beat the best. Tick tock, no time to rest. Let 'em say what they're gonna say… But tonight, I just don't really care…”

You reached out for him, offering your hands. After only a moment of hesitation…he took them, and you pulled him to his feet.

“Come on, baby, we are gonna live forever… Let me show you all the things that we could do… You know you wanna be together… And I wanna spend the night with you…”

“Oh?”

“With you…yeah yeah… Come with me tonight… We could make the night last forever…”

Astarion opened his mouth, quite possibly to object. He wasn’t a big music guy; you’d figured that much. But you were in your element now. Only now that you started singing, you realised just how much you’d missed it—and how much it filled you with those fuzzy feelings from head to toe.

“I've seen it all, I've got nothing to prove… Come on, baby, just make your move… Follow me, let's leave it all behind tonight… Like we just don't care…”

Ignoring his ongoing protesting sounds, you pulled him with you towards the woods, away from camp and into the darkness of the night, embracing you like a loving mother.

The dark brought you comfort; it was in your very nature…but that did not mean that it had to be evil. You could just…be.

“Let me take you on the ride of your life… That's what I said, alright… They can say what they wanna say… 'Cause tonight, I just don't even care…”

You were being ambiguous. Of course you were. Astarion was one of the most beautiful male elves you’d ever seen. He was charming, cocky, a tad sarcastic…just your type, come to think of it. Besides, you were a vampire too—one of the most beautiful and yet most lethal creatures in the world—you enjoyed the hunt and flirting more than you liked to admit.

Repeating the chorus you had come up with, you ignored your heart skipping a few beats when Astarion’s expression darkened his usual cheeky demeanour.

But even though the darkness was your friend, it betrayed you tonight. Before you had even a chance to evade your own clumsiness, you lost your footing, tripping over a dry root protruding from the earthy ground and went tumbling down the small hill leading towards the small lake you’d settled next to. You took Astarion with you, refusing to let go, making you both turn into a mess of rolling and intertwined limbs, and you…laughed.

You had him now. Enchanted, that was. Any objection he’d had up until now, it blew away like the rustling dead leaves in the wind. Yes. You’re safe with me. Believe me, Astarion.

He wasn’t quite as happy about the fall, though. His beautiful features distorted slightly when you landed on top of him, giggling as if you’d downed a bottle of ale.

“And I wanna spend the night with you, yeah yeah… with you… Yeah, yeah… Come with me tonight We could make the night last forever…”

“Are you quite done now, darling?” he asked. You grinned, shook your head and kept singing.

“Let's pretend you're mine… We could just pretend, we could just pretend, yeah yeah… You got what I like…”

You hadn’t exactly worked on that part of the song yet. The tune and the lyrics came to you regardless, effortlessly, like a feather gliding through the air.

“Oh, come on… Just one taste and you'll want more… So, tell me what you're waiting for?”

Then, you paused. “Astarion?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever tasted…vampire blood?”

He almost jerked back. “Vampire bl—no.”

“Would you…like to try? It’s not as filling as blood from, well, not undead creatures, but it does the trick.”

“You…are you sure?”

You nodded, rolling off of him with your arms wrapped around him so he came to rest on top of you. Astarion propped himself up with his elbows against the cold ground to either side of your head. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked…innocent, insecure even.

“Feed on me. I promise you’ll like the taste.” Baring your neck to him, you bit your lower lip and dug your nails into his clothed back. “You won’t hurt me.”

Well, that was a lie, you thought, as you mentally prepared for the sharp pain. It wouldn’t last long, at least, and make way for this almost trance-like state that you’d come to enjoy so much. You’d only ever fed on a vampire yourself once. The pleasure was incomparable, like liquid power running down your throat like sweet, sweet honey.

Astarion’s warm breath ghosted over your bare neck, another bout of hesitation adding to the growing suspense, the burning tension heating your skin from the inside out.

At last, Astarion bit down, his soft lips pressing against your neck, his fangs impaling your aorta. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he started to suck the blood from your veins, a moan escaping his lips.

Oh yes. There it is. Vampire blood was invigorating. If he liked this… then you would gladly offer your neck to him more often in the future. In a way… this was even better than sex. More…fulfilling, more… enrichening. But then again, you hadn’t had sex in so long, you could be wrong.

Astarion didn’t stop for a while. You let him have his fill. It was rather easy for an undead creature to recover from blood loss, and you wanted him to fully revel in this experience—the first of many, you’d make sure of that.

When Astarion released you, licking the small trickle of blood from the right corner of his mouth, followed by another series of moans, his red eyes were so full of life and energy you longed to cup his face and kiss him. Perhaps you should. But you didn’t want to scare him away. Feeding was intimate in itself—something he was still in the process of learning in this very moment, so it seemed.

“What…what are you doing?” you breathed out. Astarion’s smooth hand slid under your shirt, caressing your waist.

“I… isn’t this why we’re here, darling? There’s no need to play coy now,” he purred.

“What? Wait, no, Astarion…”

He paused, tilting his head in what could only be visible confusion.

“I didn’t offer you my blood because I want sex. I mean, you’re hot. Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I am attracted to you, but… I know my song was a bit misleading in that aspect, but… I really just want to spend some time with you. Let’s…talk? Cuddle? I want to teach you how simple and peaceful life as a vampire can be. I… I just…I really feel like you could use that.”

“You want to talk? That’s…cute.” He paused, amused. After a few heartbeats, he snorted. “Fine. You’re not gonna sing again, though, are you?”

“Think about it, Gortash. The Elder Brain resisting and trying to break free now is only the beginning. Even if you do succeed with your ‘Grand Design’ now and rule the Sword Coast under the farce of the Absolute you created, there is no guarantee the brain won’t try to break free again. A Nether Brain, Gortash. The threat is too big; it’s not worth your tyranny. Sooner or later, you’ll too bend to it—and I doubt Bane will take kindly to that.” You ended your speech on a gasp.

Karlach was fuming, gnashing her teeth and clenching her fists. She was burning up—the carpet to her feet was already smoking. Gortash shot her a taunting glance before redirecting his attention back to you.

When you first arrived at Baldur’s Gate and received an audience with the city’s first archduke, you expected carnage, insults and murder. Instead…instead you’d found yourself getting pierced by fragments of your past. You knew this man. You shared a past—and after he explained to you just what you had done to achieve the panic you now saw in the streets…you shivered.

Bygones. This you was in the past. Bhaal had no more control over you. Orin was dead, and so was any remaining linkage with the God of Murder. You had helped them all to be better: Gale, who had realised that taking the Netherese Crown for himself would result in corruption rather than pure godhood, Astarion, who had relinquished all the power the profane rite of ascension would have bestowed upon him, Shadowheart, who had forsaken Shar and turned back to the light, Karlach…

Yes, Karlach. She hated this as much as she hated Gortash—and you couldn’t blame her for it. She deserved to cleave her axe into him, but something…something had made you hold her back.

You needed him. If you were going to stand any chance against the brain, Gortash and his Banites—and his Netherstone—were crucial in its defeat. Whatever would happen after…well, that’s what you were discussing now.

“Say I am swayed and agree with you. Then what? All that work for nothing? All the planning, all the schemes, all the hard feelings? What shall I get in return?”

“You get a head start before I kill you,” Karlach spat through gritted teeth.

Gortash put up a finger. “Ah-ah. The adults are talking, Karlach.”

“If you don’t start treating her with respect, we might as well just kill you now,” you said. And…you weren’t quite sure if you were bluffing or not.

“Alright, alright. We destroy the brain for good, and Karlach goes her merry way. I shall never bother her again—although I could use a skilled bodyguard by my side once more. In any case, this bargain is still more one-sided than anything, my dear.”

You sighed. He was right, of course. You wouldn’t want to end up with the short end of the stick either. “Fine. You’ll be granted immunity. Thanks to you, Ravenguard and his son and Florrick are dead, and there is no immediate successor. Keep your damn throne. The city won’t find out about your involvement with the Absolute, and you can remain archduke. But there will be conditions. No more Steel Watchers. If I catch you enslaving innocent gnomes again to build any monstrosities for you, the deal is off. You rule this city as you should—as a just and fair leader, not a tyrant.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you even hear what you’re saying? This is insane. This is Gortash we’re talking about!”

“Karlach… Karlach, I know this, alright? What other choice do we have? It’s either him as archduke or an Illithid empire, and thousands of more innocents die.”

The Tiefling growled.

“And go against my very nature?” Gortash said then as if she wasn’t even here.

“The teachings of Bane don’t follow a strict protocol. You’re a clever one, you’ve long figured this out. As long as you come out on top, it doesn’t matter how you achieve leadership.”

“I see not all knowledge of your past is lost on you.” Indeed, it wasn’t. You somehow still recalled the tenets of Bane and all that came with worshipping the god of tyranny as if he’d explained it all to you before—which, to be fair, he probably had.

“The citizens of Baldur’s Gate can fear you and rely on you for leadership all the same,” you continued, disregarding his words. “The only difference will be their freedom of speech and the right to question your methods. It’s not ideal as far as the definition of tyranny goes, but it’s all I can offer.”

He paused. For a few heartbeats, Gortash simply…stared at you with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. “I have one more condition,” he finally said.

Did you have him? Would you strike a deal? Forcing your excitement back down, you rolled your eyes regardless. “What?”

“You stay behind. With me. When all this is over, you return to my side. Permanently.”

“R-Return permanently? What? What are you talking about?”

“We used to be quite close, you and I. You must have caught on by now that we were more than mere…partners in crime. You gave me a promise before Orin snatched you away, and you lost your memories. I intend for you to still fulfil that promise to me.” Gortash’s mouth twitched. “You see, it’s quite fascinating that you’re still wearing the ring despite not knowing its true meaning.”

He glanced down at your hand, and your gaze followed his. A delicate golden ring wrapped around your left ring finger, adorned with a black onyx and an intricate embellishment in its centre. You’d never taken it off—and never wondered where it might have come from, either. Not until now.

Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined that it could have been an engagement ring—a promise to marry…to Gortash, of all people.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Karlach’s voice cut through his chambers like a sword.

But this time, Astarion too commented on the revelation. “Oh. Oh dear.”

Tense silence spread around you like poisonous fog. The Banites guarding Gortash to his left and right kept on looking straight ahead, seemingly minding their own business. Karlach was still heating up and about to combust, and you…you just couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

There was something there. A feeling, a tingling sensation, an itch you couldn’t scratch. An itch that had you stop Karlach from launching at Gortash before you’d even blown up the Steel Watch Foundry. You…liked him. At least, in the past, you did. You weren’t so sure now. But whatever there was, it wasn’t pure hatred or disgust.

And…if agreeing to this meant saving the lives of thousands of innocents, this was the only right thing to do. After all, you’d played a huge part in creating this monster you now called the Absolute.

“You’re not…seriously considering this, are you?” Shadowheart’s voice reached you from behind, worried and suspicious. You shook yourself, snapping yourself out of your mental misery.

“If you give me your word…and no harm comes to my companions, or the Baldurians—or any folk for that matter—and you help us… Then I will stay with you.”

Gortash smirked. “Then you have yourself a bargain, my dear.”

One month after the Elder Brain’s demise, the destruction of the Upper City and the deaths of hundreds of innocent citizens, Baldur’s Gate was finally on a journey of mending. Gortash had held his promise. He organised the rebuilding of houses, shops and monuments, and, in the same breath, quietly passed laws that put such high surveillance and control over the city’s inhabitants that you longed to wipe that damn smug smirk right off his face. He, of course, claimed it was all under the act of safety and protection—but for now, you were oathbound. A Nether Brain turning the entire Sword Coast into soulless mind flayers was the lesser evil than Bane. Perhaps not all hope was lost just yet. You’d come around, after all. You’d turned your back on Bhaal; maybe Gortash could as well. This man wasn’t evil for the mere sake of it. He was suffering just as much as you were. The shock of what you’d learned when you found his parents’ home in the Lower City by pure chance and the things Nubaldin had told you of Gortash’s life at the House of Hope…those strokes of fate bore scars.

And just like he had held his promise, so had you. After a heartfelt celebration and too many drinks at the Elfsong, you moved to Wyrm’s Rock Penthouse to fulfil your vow to Gortash.

Karlach hadn’t spoken to you since your departure. She ignored your letters too, worrying you more with each passing day. Her engine wouldn’t last much longer—and, according to Astarion’s updates, she only pretended to be fine and thriving. Shadowheart had promised to keep an eye on her too, and use all her clerical knowledge to stall the inevitable.

“Still brooding, are we?” Gortash’s steps were surprisingly quiet, but you had long gotten used to him sneaking up on you from behind. He dropped a handful of scrolls on his desk and joined you at the windowsill where you’d been people watching for the past hour.

“I don’t think they’ll ever come back, G-Enver.” He’d asked you to use his first name when you were in private, multiple times even. You still hadn’t quite gotten used to it. “My memories. At this point, I’m not even sure I want them to. So much more than just…what we had has been lost. All the murder, the carnage, the bloodshed…perhaps it’s for the best they’re all gone for good.”

“It is remarkable how you have become an entirely different person. So…good, and selfless. When you first returned to me and I saw you alive and well, I was overjoyed. Happy, even. Then you pulled the rug from under my feet with your hostility and this persistent amnesia of yours. We are truly no match by any rate anymore. Unfortunately for both of us, that doesn’t change a thing. I still want you by my side.”

You pressed your lips together into a thin line. Gortash had never directly said it, but it wasn’t exactly hard to tell that this was his way of saying ‘I love you regardless’. As he spoke, his hand came up to stroke your hair using the golden claw jewellery adorning his fingers. He often did that—he claimed he’d always like your hair. The first time it happened, though, you swatted his hand away, stunned at how he would dare touch you like that. You’d grown to enjoy it now, somehow, for beyond this surprisingly tender gesture, Gortash had never touched you against your will.

He might not have been an empath, but even he could tell how deeply unhappy you were about this arrangement. Engaged to a stranger, a tyrant who’d attempted to enslave an entire city, the tormentor and nemesis of one of your closest friends… Gortash knew you’d made a sacrifice for the greater good, and he was selfish enough not to care. But there was something else, too. There was hope. Hope that you might come to reciprocate his affections again. Hope was the cruellest tyranny of all.

“You’re wearing the dress I ordered for you,” he suddenly said.

You were. It was a long black leather dress, tight and smooth, its wide, deep and daring cleavage and sleeves adorned with real gold accents and embellishments. They were his colours—but you liked it. Very much so.

“You look ravishing.”

Your head whipped in his direction at the unexpected compliment. Perhaps you were a little too flabbergasted, even.

“What? I recognise beauty when I see it, I am a man of taste, after all. Only you could combine pretty looks with bloodlust. You used to like it, you know. The compliments, the sweet nothings, the flattery…” He paused, the tips of his claws wandering over your cheeks and leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Last week you asked me for more honesty, and who am I to deny my Bhaal-defying fiancé her wishes?” Another pause, more deliberate this time. “I do miss your warmth, you know. Your body pressed against mine, your even breath against my neck…your lips around my—”

“Enver, stop.”

“My patience is running thin, dear. That look on your face? It’s the same look you gave me after our second night together. You were utterly shocked at the pleasure my dominance could give you. I believe that was the night I realised I liked you more than a mere colleague, too. I realised you were perfect for me. Strength, dominance and submission united in a single stubborn mind.”

“Enver…” The regretful tone in your voice did not go amiss. You almost pitied him.

His dark eyes fell to your lips. He was close enough for you to smell the Wyvern Whiskey in his breath. Gortash’s next actions came too fast for you to process, let alone protest again. With but one firm motion, he wrapped his clawed hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in for a kiss.

Fire. Your mouth was set ablaze, a delightful burning sensation overwhelmed your senses and forced your eyes shut. His lips felt…good. Familiar. Right. Passionate—and they tasted like so much more.

You expected disgust, repulsion, anger…any more reasonable reaction than the urge to reciprocate and melt into his arms like you’d done times and times before. That…was that a memory? Muscle memory, nonetheless, but it was a start. Karlach would despise you even more for this.

Gortash’s kiss was gentle despite his urgency and assertiveness. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours as if he feared you would jerk away and express your revulsion. Nothing of the like happened. You stilled, basking in his closeness.

“You demanded kisses every day from that night on and murdered everyone who’d caught a glance at our shared affinity.” He frowned at your lack of response. “Still nothing, hm?”

“It’s not…nothing. But I don’t know what it is.”

Gortash straightened himself with a dismayed sigh, throwing his hands. “What is it you need me to do, hm? Have I not kept my word? Thanks to my efforts, the city is thriving, your friends are alive and well and the Nether Brain is gone. You trusted me enough to hold a blade next to you in front of the crown of Karsus, so how is it you cannot trust me now?”

“Trust…” You bit your lower lip. “Perhaps that’s exactly it, Enver. I can’t force myself to trust you. That’s not something you can demand or take; it needs to be earned. You’re right. I am a completely different person now, and that the main reason I am here has nothing to do with whatever love for you is buried deep inside of me. Too much has happened. You worship Bane of all gods. You have lied and cheated and manipulated and killed and—”

“So have you, my dear. So have you,” he snapped.

“I have. But unlike you, I regret it. With every passing day, the remorse of what I have done is eating me up from the inside out, and I just…I don’t know how to shut it off. It’s killing me. Part of me wants those feelings for you to come back, don’t you see? I am sorry I forgot you, I truly am. But it can’t be helped. Maybe this simply isn’t meant to be.”

“Isn’t meant to be? I am not letting you off on your bargain because of a meek ‘I am sorry I forgot you’. Do you think me this soft?”

You scoffed and climbed off the windowsill. “That is not what I was suggesting.”

“Then make your peace with it. Your choice has been made. Allow me to earn your trust again. Properly. We shall try and do it…your way.”

You hesitated. “How can you still earn my trust, Enver? After everything…”

He observed you for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. Then, at last, he spoke.

“I am going to fix Karlach’s engine.”

“You’re actually serious.”

“I am. Karlach is clearly important to you. And while she claims to hate me for helping her realise her full potential…I understand the state of her heart is somewhat bothersome outside of Avernus.” Gortash leaned back in his chair, fork in hand.

The chef had served dinner in the meantime. You were both seated at the long wooden table in his chambers, with him at the head and you right next to him. The chef had prepared tender meat fillets with mushroom sauce, mashed potatoes and vegetables. Your mouth watered when he filled your plate. You hadn’t eaten something this good since before the Nautiloid crash.

“Bothersome? Really? It’s going to explode any day now, Enver. That’s not bothersome, that’s quite literally life-threatening.”

“Yes, yes, dear, I wasn’t finished. I remember the model Zariel and I used for Karlach’s heart. If it’s burning up now, that must mean that the ra-gnax casement protecting her metallurgised-ised valves is clearly burning outside the maximum recommended temperature. We didn’t consider enhanced regulation back then, given she was to stay in Avernus.”

“Wow. Now that was a whole lot of technical babble. What does that mean in Common? One of the Steel Watchers said something similar to Karlach when we first arrived in the city.”

“Hm? Ah, it must have recognised her as one of its own.”

“Yes.” You blinked, waiting for him to continue.

“It means exactly what I said. The materials used for her engine were untampered with. A prototype, so to speak.”

You crossed your arms. “It also said she has an ‘obsolete’ engine that is impractical and impossible to fix.”

“From a Steel Watcher’s perspective, that may as well be right.”

“We met a weaponsmith in the Druid Grove near the Nautiloid crash site. He now has a forge in the Lower City, a Tiefling from Elturel. He was able to use Infernal Metal to somehow stabilise her engine enough for her to touch people, but he said it simply wasn’t made for existing in cooler temperatures in places outside of Avernus in the long run.”

“Ah, and you believe an amateur Tiefling weaponsmith over a skilled and experienced artificer? Leave it to me. It will take a good while of tinkering since you’ve destroyed my Foundry, but it won’t be impossible.”

He brought a piece of meat coated with mushroom sauce to his mouth. Your gaze followed the movement, reminding you of how his lips had felt against yours.

“Even if you do manage to find a way, she will never agree to let you…operate on her. You of all people.”

“Now that is where you come into play. She trusts you and believes your engagement with me was a noble sacrifice.”

“Which it was,” you interrupted smugly.

Gortash rolled his eyes. “Convince her. Tell her it’s…my wedding gift to you.”

Your heart…twisted in your chest, somehow. It jumped—jumped in a way you could only explain with excitement. It made you wonder if you’d been overjoyed at his proposal back then…

“Say, Enver…” Putting your fork down for a moment, you waited for him to reciprocate your careful staring. “Did you propose to me? What was that like? How did I react?”

Gortash let out a loud laugh. You would have mistaken it for a mocking sound if there hadn’t been a playful smirk on his lips when he spoke. “My, you’ve truly gone soft, haven’t you? I did propose to you—not in the traditional sense, you understand. It is hardly appropriate for the Chosen of Bane to go down on one knee for anyone other than the Black Lord himself.”

He took another bite of his dinner, chewing slowly on purpose. Well, two could play this game. You picked up your fork again, eating as if to show him his words wouldn’t affect you in the slightest, even when you already knew they would.

“Well, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you, dear. It was right here, at this table. We were brooding over some maps of Elturgard and Waterdeep to prepare for rebel movements or sudden attempts at invasion once word of the Absolute’s cult and influence in Baldur’s Gate would spread. It was late at night, but we often worked late. It helped you think, so you claimed. There was wine and a handful of polite disagreements…” His smirk grew wider. “I believe I told you I was going to marry you after I made you come on my cock right here on the table.”

Your eyes widened, the forkful of peas and carrots you’d just closed your mouth around entering the wrong pipe. Coughing and almost choking on your food, you dropped your cutlery and gulped down some wine.

“The sex came before any sort of affection had developed, mind you, but I learned quickly how much you admired me. That feeling did not remain…unreciprocated. I had a ring made soon after and slid it on your finger the first night you decided to stay at my penthouse for the time being. You always said it was…cleaner compared to your lair.”

Well, after seeing the Temple of Bhaal again with your own eyes and slaying Orin where she’d made herself comfortable in your stead, you couldn’t argue with that. Rancid blood and chopped off body parts everywhere, corpses decorating the walls like paintings, and bones lining the stone paths… You shuddered.

“As for your reaction…you gave me a mysterious smile. That was your way of promising yourself to me.”

“I…I found a letter at the Illithid oubliette among Balthazar’s notes. A letter from me…to Bhaal. I sought his forgiveness for…enjoying my alliance with you and vowed to murder you as soon as our plan had come to full fruition.”

Gortash waved you off. “Oh, I had no doubt about that; there are no hard feelings. But I never quite gave up hope that you would…come around. Sooner or later, all bow to Bane, dear. One way or another.”

“That’s a fight I don’t have the energy for tonight,” you said with a sigh.

He chuckled. For now, everything was said.

He wasn’t even wrong. Sooner or later, all bow to Bane, dear. One way or another. Hadn’t you? You’d accepted his pursuit for the greater good, the sake of Baldur’s Gate and its people, but Gortash had gotten his way regardless. He remained archduke, passed ridiculously strict laws and would soon hold your hand in marriage.

In a way…you had bowed to Bane. Or his Chosen at the very least.

Tossing and turning on the bed you had insisted was brought to the opposite side of the room for you to sleep in—as far away from him as possible—that sleep now wouldn’t come despite how deliciously full your belly was.

Back when you’d stayed with him before…where had you been sleeping then? Over the last couple of days, you’d been wondering that nearly constantly, even though the answer was more or less obvious.

So far, Gortash had made true what he’d suggested. Once he’d dug out the old plans for Karlach’s engine model and sent correspondence to Helsik to contact Zariel, his nose was buried in his calculations and pieces of metal twenty-four-seven.

He somehow even managed to get a hold of one of the surviving Gondians and, with your help and your promise of fair compensation, freedom and independence, took their advice on how to add the finishing touches to Karlach’s new heart.

And with every day that passed…his dedication and focus melted the thin layer of ice around your heart a little more. He truly was looking for a way to fix her. Maybe not for her sake but for yours.

You sighed, throwing off the covers. At this rate, you weren’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. It must have been way past midnight now. Tiptoeing across the room on bare feet and silently cursing the cold stone floor, you eventually stopped a few feet away from Gortash’s bed. The candles were blown out already.

“Enver? Are you asleep?”

“I am not. What is it?”

“I…I would like to try something.”

“Oh? Pray tell.”

Biting your lower lip, you approached his bed and, before you could change your mind, climbed over him until you were wedged between the wall and his warm body. Gortash stiffened visibly, but so did you.

And yet…sleeping in the same bed with him felt right and wrong both at the same time. Perhaps your heart had already made a decision. One that your brain hadn’t caught on to yet.

You slipped under the covers, deliberately turning your body towards him. This bed was too small for two people, but somehow you had a feeling this wasn’t the first time you made do. With a start, images flashed before your inner eye, of your leg draped across his hips and your head against his naked chest. Metal. He always smelled like freshly molten metal. There was also a hint of smoke and sweat. Not the most endearing scents as far as seduction went, but back then, to you, they had never failed to put your racing mind at ease. So they did now, too.

For just a brief moment, he seemed to hesitate. But then, his arm came up to wrap around your upper body, the warm gold on his fingers causing goose bumps on your skin. “Do you ever take these off?” you whispered.

“Why would I bother? You never complained before.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Good.” You could practically hear his smirk in the dark. You sighed once more, scooting even closer until you were able to rest your head on his arm.

“I am grateful you’re doing this, you know. For Karlach.”

“I am not doing it for Karlach.”

“It doesn’t matter. I never even considered asking you if you could find a way to fix her heart. It seemed…a little extreme given you were the reason for her predicament in the first place.”

“But the thought crossed your mind?”

You hesitated. “It did. Only I knew Karlach wouldn’t agree. Or trust you. I’m not sure she’ll even show up.”

Last week, you had sent her another letter, explaining the situation and asking her to consider paying you a visit at Wyrm’s Rock. So far, you’d received no response. But even so…even if she truly rejected the downright remarkable new heart Gortash had built for her…he’d won yours. His commitment to the cause was all the proof you needed from him in order for him to state his true intentions for you.

Whether those intentions involved love or merely a lustful love-and-hate relationship didn’t really matter at this point. Against all reason, Gortash somehow made you happier than you were before.

The engagement ring felt heavy around your finger. You might have bowed to Bane, but perhaps you would be able to bring some good out in him, too. You had managed with yourself, after all, thanks to your friends and companions.

Lord Enver Gortash and the Dark Urge. Your eyes fell shut as you fell asleep in your Banite’s arms. Your story was far from over. Until then, there was still hope.

Epilogue

“Alright, dear, sit up. Carefully. You have a knack for rampaging, after all.” Gortash moved back, admiring his handiwork. For the past three hours, he’d been operating on Karlach’s heart on the table. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his forehead, some damp strands sticking to his face.

“Can I punch him now?”

You chuckled. “If I allow it, do you promise to keep in touch with me?”

Karlach sighed. “Soldier…you mean too much to me to break off all contact. I was angry, alright?”

“Rightfully so.”

“Yeah. But… I don’t know, this is…different. I never expected this, not gonna lie. You really are…happy, aren’t you?”

“It’s utterly insane and mad, but yes. I am. I’ll be fine, Karlach. Besides, someone has to keep him in check and make sure he doesn’t go all out on tyrannical leadership again.”

Gortash scoffed. “Are you quite done? Karlach, how does it feel?”

“I feel…good. Cooler. Like I’ll no longer combust if I sneeze or something.”

“So it worked?” you asked.

“Time will tell. The materials I used for your new engine are the same enhanced materials that were used for the Steel Watch. They are meant to operate even during the cold winter months.”

“You’re not…glowing anymore either.”

“That’s good…right?”

Gortash nodded even though the question wasn’t directed at him. “There you are then. A brand new heart for a brand new Karlach. Does this not earn me some thanks?”

Karlach growled. “It’s the least you could do after everything you’ve done to me. But…thank you,” she added, looking back over to you.

You nodded. “Do you know what that means? You no longer have to return to Avernus. You can stay. You can finally stay home, Karlach.”

You hugged her before she had even finished processing your words, right there on the table. She almost lost the leather wrap you’d handed her to protect her modesty while Gortash replaced her heart.

“I…I can. Thank you, soldier. Love you.”

You let go of her, tears swimming in both your eyes. And as Karlach climbed off the table to get dressed, you turned to face Gortash, grabbed him by the collar of his black, laced shirt, which he still couldn’t tie properly and kissed him until you ran out of breath.

“I love you for that. Thank you, Enver.”

“You’re welcome, dear. Now, tell your barbaric friend to scram. I need a bath.”

You smiled, pressing your lips together to a thin line. Your core clenched, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach. What if you…hypothetically…

“Wait for me. I’ll see Karlach out. Then I’ll join you.”

Mutant. That was the not-so-politically correct term for people like you. Your rights stripped away from you, rules and insane identification put in place, all because your blood ran cold with Jötun DNA. An entire generation—messed up—according to scientists and the government. So you got together and fought back from underground. Organising, plotting, planning. According to mainstream society and the media, you were the villain. And maybe you were. You had long given up caring about the casualties, the innocents that had to die in your fight for freedom and equality, even though you typically avoided killing civilians. It's just...that's where it hurt them the most. Killing their own. The normal ones. If they suffered, people were touched and spooked all the same and would call for change. Violence was the only language the government was capable of speaking. So you'd learned it. Perfected it, even.

But unfortunately, there was now another variable in your equation. The Fantastic Four, some astronaut clowns who'd returned to Earth with superpowers only the gods knew how, were somehow exempt from the mutant rule. They were heroes. Saviours. You wanted to vomit just looking at them. Especially that smug living fireball who somehow always managed to add a comical touch to his presence without appearing too goofy to be underestimated in combat. Up until he showed up, you were confident. That motherfucker was good. And hot—in the literal sense. Good looks wouldn't help his case if he stood between you and your freedom. But he was a weakness regardless. For what better way was there to fight unnatural ice than with unnatural fire? His mere presence already weakened you and your companions. You were fighting a battle you were inevitably going to lose. For now. That didn't mean you'd also lose the war.

That bastard hadn’t even needed handcuffs to restrain you inside their stupid headquarters. The constant heat was enough. He'd offered himself. To keep you in check for questioning and damage control, rather than sending you off to a prison cell that you would have frozen to a crisp within mere minutes.

Three weeks. For three weeks, you'd now been stuck here already. You didn't speak, of course. Not about your plans with your fellow Jötun friends who were still running free anyway.

"Jesus, don't you think you've turned up the AC a bit too high? Your window has formed ice crystals." Johnny entered your room without knocking. He always did. Privacy was a concept he wasn't familiar with—although you could feel him approach from miles away with how sensitive you were to heat.

"Leave if it bothers you. It's way too warm here."

"It's 12 degrees outside. Which is highly unusual for summer anyway."

"Exactly. Too hot."

He sighed but stepped into the room regardless. With his arms crossed to hide the goosebumps forming on his skin, he sat down on your bed. The sheets were ice cold to the touch, just how you liked it.

"Listen. We can't go on like this. Do you really wanna be stuck in here forever?"

You scoffed. "I am part Jötun. I won't be stuck in here forever, I'll outlive you before that."

"That's not the point. Come on, love. Why don't you just tell me where your friends are? What their plan is? I talked to the others, you know, and I can promise that if you cooperate, we'll try to find a solution that works for you. One where you get to live in peace here."

"You don't give up, huh? You try this every day. Peace? There's no such thing as peace, Johnny. Even if the government were persuaded not to classify us as a global threat to humanity anymore, which they won't, we're still criminals. We'll be treated as such regardless of whether we bomb the White House or not."

"You're planning to bomb the White House?"

"No. That would be too simple. Even if it sounds like fun."

"Then tell me what you're going to do."

"Right now, I'm going to bed. Get out. You're getting my blanket wet."

He looked down to find you weren't just being petty. His body heat had already begun to melt the thin layer of ice on the sheets.

"All you need to do is—argh." His sudden cry of pain was unexpected enough for you to frown. A rare display of physical emotion.

"Did your self-righteousness finally catch up with you?"

"No, I...excuse me." He clutched at his heart through his shirt, living up to his name when he stormed out of your room as if stung by an adder.

Well, good riddance. You slammed the door shut behind him, but not before wondering, albeit briefly, what the hell was wrong with him.

You needed ice cream. Urgently. Anything cold to cool yourself down in this pit of hell. It was past midnight already, and the headquarters were unusually quiet. You tiptoed through the darkness on bare feet, desperate for some ice cubes. There had to be some in the freezer. You longed for their ice-cold touch on your skin so much that your mouth began to water. The A/C was on here too, but compared to the temperatures you were used to, it was still way too humid for your taste. Your clothes were already damp and stuck to your skin, your hair still wet from when you dunked your entire head underwater in the sink in the hopes that it would cool you down. When you opened the door of the freezer, the bright artificial light threw eerie shadows on your face, and your eyes narrowed. There was a handful of ice cubes, but no ice cream. Only frozen food that likely no one had touched in years.

"Midnight snack?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

You jumped, dropping the bag of ice cubes you'd grabbed, almost tripping over the freezer door. That would have made for an embarrassing performance. Johnny was standing before you with an empty water bottle in hand, explaining wordlessly what he was doing here at this hour. He was shirtless, and you cursed your eyes for feasting on the abs lining his stomach. That arse was tanned too. If he wasn't such an insufferable arse, then...you blinked.

"There's no ice cream."

"Oh. Is that like your main food source thing?"

You scoffed. "Believe it or not, I actually do eat most of my meals cold or frozen. I don't like warm food."

Johnny peeked over your shoulder. "Yeah, we're out of ice cream. Sue’s been inhaling it recently. Pregnancy cravings and all that. I'll go get some, what flavour?"

"Excuse me?" Blinking once more, you stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Yeah, I'm getting some. I mean, I'm kind of responsible for you now, I don't wanna starve you."

"Right..." Frowning, you took a step back and picked up the ice cubes and pressed them against your stomach.

"So what flavour?"

"Milk. And anything citrusy."

"Coming right up."

He took off through the bloody window, making the place even warmer and momentarily blinding you. You shook your head. He didn't even bring a wallet.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting in the living room with him. Johnny had bought so much ice cream it didn't all fit into the freezer, so here you were now, munching on it in the middle of the night, cross-legged and a little less wary of him than before. Then again, you knew that little favours were a common manipulation tactic to gain trust for your people.

"You're staring at me," he taunted.

"I don't trust you," you said.

"I don't blame you. But...we're the good guys. I'm just trying to help."

"With my people, little acts of service are a popular way of gaslighting someone."

"Your people... are a handful. I just wanted to do something nice for you. I know it's not easy being trapped here. Hey, even if you don't like me...I at least want you to know that you're safe with us."

"Doesn't sound like it. Susan called me a cold bitch the other day."

"Well...she's pregnant. And worried for the safety of her baby."

"What does she think will happen? That I dry-freeze the fetus?"

The corners of Johnny's mouth twitched. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm here for you if you ever wanna talk. About anything. Not just about what your people are planning."

Oddly enough...you believed him. You scooped up another spoonful of milk ice cream. As it melted on your tongue, you had to come to the very irksome conclusion that you actually liked Johnny when every fibre of your being should detest him with a passion. Just the thought of it felt like you were betraying your people.

Two weeks later, the weather forecast on the news was running quietly in the background, warning of another cold front pressing its way into the country. Lovely news for you, concerning for the rest of the world. It was July, after all. Experts had predicted snow in the next couple of days. A blessing. It was all going according to plan.

Something, however, was different today. Johnny wasn't there heating the place up, making flirty remarks or shooting you smiles that gave you those stupid butterflies. He was quiet for once. Quiet and very unconscious on a bed in the middle of the large room.

"He'd need an internal cooling system," Reed just said.

"How are we supposed to cool down his blood? Is that even possible?" his wife responded.

"No human would survive their blood being frozen."

"Johnny is not a normal human, though."

"It's worth a shot. If we could cool down the blood vessels..."

Susan scoffed. "We both know that's impossible."

"I...can't believe I'm saying this but...not for her."

With a start, all heads turned to you, hostile eyes staring daggers into your cold skin.

Your eyes narrowed. "That's why you ordered me here like a dog? To save your precious human torch's life?"

"Please. You're our only hope. Johnny gets you. He understands you a lot better than we do."

"Well, that's all very funny of you to say after you trapped me here."

"You'd trap us too if we threatened your planet."

"This is my planet. You merely got lucky that they hailed you as heroes and not homicidal mutants."

"Guys! Please! Can we focus on Johnny?" Ben bellowed.

You sighed, contemplating. If he died...so many of your problems would simply pop like a balloon, disappear into thin air. Your plan could move forward. You could be free at the small cost of yet another life. Blood on your hands. And a pretty face gone. He wasn't so bad compared to the others. And you didn't like the way your heart jumped whenever he smirked at you. Gnashing your teeth, you breathed out audibly. Damn it.

"I'll need you to cut open his artery."

"Excuse me?"

"In order to cool his blood, I need to be able to come in touch with it."

"That will kill him. We may have superpowers, but we can still bleed out, you know."

"The cold temperatures will decrease the blood flow, almost freeze it. He won't bleed out. You can patch him up before it warms again."

Reed interrupted before Susan could protest again. "Fine! Do it quickly."

It all made sense now. How that night, two weeks ago, you hadn't noticed Johnny approach. You didn't pay it any mind back then, with how much he'd distracted you with the ice cream, but it should have made you wary back then already.

You took a deep breath, nodded at Reed and got to work the moment he slit open the artery on his wrist.

You still remembered the hostile and appalled looks they'd given you. The disgusted expressions on their faces when your skin turned blue and intricate veins lined your face like tattoos. Jötuns weren't known for their beauty, no less for their kindness and mercy. Yet here you were now, and here they were—knowing you were the only one who could save Johnny Storm's life.

As promised, the moment your skin turned blue and your eyes turned red, the blood flow was immediately slowed down the more ice you spread in Johnny's body. His eyes remained closed.

"So is this...permanent?" Ben asked.

"No. I'm pretty sure his...abilities are going to fight the ice in his body as soon as he's back on his feet."

"What we need to figure out now is why is Johnny reacting to the temperature change this much. I mean...global warming is a thing, there's something unnatural about the drop in temperature,” Susan added.

"Solar geoengineering..." Reed muttered.

"What?"

"That's the plan. That's what the mutants are doing. You heard her." He pointed at you. "'You'll find out soon enough what a cold shoulder truly feels like.'" It's true, you'd said that. A figure of speech and, at the same time, brilliant wordplay and foreshadowing in one.

"How? How did you do it?"

You scoffed. "Sea salt aerosols."

"Reed, what are you both talking about?"

Reed began to scribble scientific formulas and sketches on the large blackboard behind him. "Solar geoengineering. The artificial cooling down of the planet. There's several different methods, some of which are currently funded by governments across the world. But her people…they’re taking it too far too fast. They're trying to increase the reflectivity of low-lying marine clouds by injecting sea salt aerosols into the marine boundary layer, but at this rate and speed..."

"...we'll enter another ice age," Sue finished.

Reed stopped scribbling and popped the lid of his pen back on. "Exactly."

"How do we stop it?" Ben said.

"You can't. Not unless the government agrees to hear us out." You smiled.

"You killed people," Susan argued.

"So did you. Villainy lies in the eyes of the beholder."

"We can talk about this later. What about Johnny? He's clearly affected by this more than we are. So what if this happens again? What if it gets worse? How long until we have to repeat that procedure?" Ben cut in.

"Well...like I said. Jötun ice isn't like regular ice. It won't just melt. That's why regular fire artificially created by humans won't slow us down either. You'd have to throw us into a volcano to make a difference."

"There's an idea," Johnny mumbled with a slight smirk, his eyes cracked open.

Relief tore through the group; you could practically feel it. "Welcome back. How do you feel?" you asked.

"Cold."

"Good. Serves you right. This is absurd, I'm going back to my room. It's way too warm in here anyway."

"Hey," Johnny huffed out, wrapping his hand around your wrist before you could leave. "Thank you."

"You owe me."

"I do." He grinned. "I knew you’re not a bad person." Whatever the hell that meant...you were uncertain how it linked to you both turning into an entangled and naked mess in bed together a week after that.

Additional NSFW warnings: loss of virginity, humiliation, degradation, oral (male receiving)

“My lord, please accept our humble gift to your cause. The Black Lord has not elected a Chosen in so long…it would be shameful of us not to show our appreciation and offer our support.”

Gortash chuckled at your father’s words, making you shiver. Both you and your parents were on your knees, your gaze lowered until the Chosen of Bane ordered otherwise.

“Rise. Where do you hail from?”

Biting your lower lip, you squinted to observe him. He was handsome. Younger than you would have thought. A little rough around the edges, and he looked tired. But there was a glimmer in his dark eyes. One of cruelty, cunning, and…curiosity. It gave the impression that this whole situation was greatly amusing him.

“Waterdeep, my lord.”

“And you wish to stay in Baldur’s Gate?”

“If you will have us, we would be honoured to support you.”

Gortash smiled coldly. “This gift you mentioned…where is it?”

“Right here, my lord.” Your heart skipped a beat when he pointed at you. “My only daughter. She is young, she was taught well in the tenets and principles of Bane. She will be an asset to you, I’m sure. She is obedient, intelligent, and…untouched.”

Gortash’s eyes locked with yours, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I accept. You may stay. You will be provided with living quarters in the Lower City. Meet my associates at Felogyr’s Fireworks. Tell them Uncle Felogyr sent you and they will sort you out.”

Your parents bowed their heads and nodded. “Thank you, my lord. We shall not disappoint you. May our daughter be a worthy servant to you.”

Gortash dismissed them, leaving you behind alone and trembling. You stepped forward without an invitation and knelt back down at his feet. He was still sitting on his makeshift throne. Two of his Steel Watchers protected him, apart from those, the room was now empty. He would have allowed no one to witness his interaction with other Banites, after all.

“It’s an expensive city, Waterdeep…” he said.

You nodded.

“Are your parents wealthy?”

“No, my lord. They would have pledged to you with gold and riches to aid you long ago if they were. But…they also believed that you should receive a gift for your leisure and pleasure in exchange for your hard work… as opposed to things that will strengthen your hold over Baldur’s Gate.” You resisted the urge to scowl as you said those words. But you’d programmed well. According to Banite hierarchy, you were beneath him. He was allowed to do with you whatever he wanted, even kill you in Bane’s name if he so wished.

“And so you suggested yourself?” He chuckled.

“It was my f-father’s idea, my lord. When he learned from our associates here in Baldur’s Gate that none other than you had laid claim to the throne and become the first archduke in the history of this city…they were overjoyed for our Black Lord. What…what you have accomplished is incredible. I can only express gratitude to my parents for giving my life a new purpose under your wing.”

Gortash smiled, seemingly pleased with your answer.

“You know what to do then? How does a low-ranked Banite greet their superiors, hmm?”

You nodded, embarrassment flushing through you as you knelt even further to kiss his boots, one after the other. You had learned the hard way that your betters were to be respected at all times. You’d been raised a Banite, you knew nothing else. Terror and fear ruled your life and you had been taught early on to never show mercy. But, unlike your parents, you had no ambition to climb the ranks. You were a survivor. Being a Banite was your life but not your passion.

“Good girl. Rise. And let me take a good look at you.”

You did as you were told, trying your best not to avoid eye contact now that he was conversing with you.

“What’s your name?”

You told him quietly.

“Hmm…and what is it you are offering, my dear? How are you going to contribute to the Black Lord’s cause?”

“Myself,” you whispered. “I offer myself like my father intended. If I am of no other use to you, I can be a toy for you to play with, Lord Gortash.” Because your worth was defined by your superiors. Even if it pained you.

With a start, he laughed. Heartily. It sounded mocking. Condescending. “You little whore…you are going to degrade yourself, aren’t you? You know your place, I respect that. You see, I am a noble now, so to speak. I cannot possibly show myself in a filthy establishment such as Sharess’ Caress. Your parents were right. You will do just as fine.”

With that, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you against his crotch. You moaned in pain, your face pressed against his growing bulge.

“When did you pledge yourself to our Black Lord, my dear?”

“I…I was raised in Banite circles, my lord.”

“But that…” He moved your hands to the hem of his trousers, urging you to undo them for him. “…does not answer my question, now does it?”

“I was young. A child, still. My god always has been and always will be Bane. Does that answer satisfy you, my lord?”

With shaking fingers, you pulled his growing erection free. Shit. You had only ever done this once, in secret, without your parents knowing. A fellow Banite when you were both teenagers discovering what pleasure derived from playing with genitals.

Pleasing Lord Gortash had to be your utmost priority. So what if you couldn’t? Would your devotion be enough?

His cock sprang free. You swallowed. He was a lot bigger compared to the immature teenage boy you’d been with and it had you worry about how you’d fit him into your mouth…and how hard he would punish you if you gagged on him…

Gortash chuckled by way of a response. “Take your clothes off first. I want you naked for me.”

You nodded obediently, scrambling back to your feet to do as you were told. Did you want to do this? No… Did you hide that well? No… But…did you have a choice? No.

The room was chilly. Evidently, Gortash didn’t bother heating the place. As of right now, the fireplace was cold, and your nipples were hardening from the sudden change of temperature. Swallowing thickly, you let his dark eyes rake over your now-exposed body while you simply stood there fighting tears of fear and uncertainty.

This was just. Bane would appreciate your terror. You ought to cower before him, and his Chosen.

A cruel smile was playing on his lips now. Gortash did not waste any time before reaching forward and wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, pressing your face against his crotch once more. Your lips brushed his erection. He forced them open when you gasped for air, burying his cock deep in your throat with but a single thrust. You gagged immediately, his leaking tip grazing the back of your airways and preventing you from breathing.

The hot fear made you break out in a sweat, mixed with disgust, anger, and pride. Bane would be proud, you kept telling yourself. You were terrified for your life before his Chosen, terrified he would choke you to death on his dick—as it should be. Terror. Fear. Submission.

“Suck,” he ordered, looking down at you with a smug expression. Disobeying didn’t even cross your mind, not if you wished to please him. You hollowed out your cheeks, bopping your head up and down, devouring him like a sweet dessert and praying he would like your treatment.

“Yes…just like that…good girl,” he purred. Praise. Praise was good. Praise kept you alive.

Your muffled sounds of struggle were very clearly to his liking too. Your eyes were watering, your chin covered in drool but you didn’t stop until he physically pulled you off.

“Stop. Get up.” Gortash took a step back and sat back down on his makeshift. There was something oddly arousing and erotic about him fully dressed in his Banite armour and his cock out at the same time.

With his arms placed on the armrests and his index finger, clad in the golden gauntlet jewellery, tapping on the smooth wood, a single dominant look was all it took for you to approach him.

“Sit. Ride me.” Obviously, there was nothing submissive to him about this position. He wanted you to entertain him, make him feel good. To do the all work to satisfy him yourself. He didn’t need to force you underneath him—he had your devotion already. He knew that. You both knew that.

With your heart in your mouth, you did as you were told and approached, straddling his lap and slowly lowering yourself onto his hard length. Inch by inch, he sank into you, stretching you fully. There was an alarming burning sensation replaced quickly by an odd need for him to move, to caress you from the inside out. You weren’t anywhere near wet enough and yet…part of you longed to keep going.

“It’s been…way too long…since I’ve indulged in…” He got cut off by a groan when you lowered your hips down fully, impaled on him completely now.

He never finished his sentence—but he did take control by starting to move you up and down on his cock, the pointy tips of his gauntlet digging into your hips, leaving angry marks. Your breasts were bouncing with every thrust, your breathing irregular. Fuck…why…why did this feel so good?

Submitting to him, letting him use your body…you should be disgusted.

You…you’d seen other people’s lives. You’d spied on them as part of your training. They were happy. Respectful to each other. They asked for consent and permission, they cared. The Banite way might have been your way…but deep down, you knew that it wasn’t the right way. Perhaps you were broken beyond repair already—so much so that this turned you on.

If your clit kept rubbing against his lower abdomen like that…you would…fuck, you would…

A moan escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. “M-My lord…p-please…may I…may I come?”

Gortash chuckled darkly. “Have you earned it, my dear?”

“P-please, please, please!” Gods, you were pathetic. Begging him as if you had any control over your own body when it was writhing in ecstasy. If he denied you and you climaxed on top of him regardless…how severe would the punishment be?

Fear rippled through you with a start when you realised that you would in fact not be able to hold back any longer. You needed permission. Now.

“Lord Gortash, please!!!”

“Alright then, come for me. Come all over my cock, you little whore.” Thank the gods…thank Bane. Thank him!

“Fuuuuck!” you cried out. You fell forward as your orgasm washed over you. Blinded, you dug your nails into his collar, burying your face in his neck as you ground against him, desperate to ride it out and let every last wave of pleasure carry you away. Gortash didn’t let you. He kept on thrusting up into you frantically, hitting your cervix with every single stroke.

Pain mixed with lust, and desire mixed with your fear of what would happen to you once he’d had his fill.

“Bravo… Good girl…so very obedient…” he muttered out of breath, his clawed hand forming a fist around your hair and pulling hard.

You let out a cry of agony before you could stop yourself, fuelling his arousal. Your pain and suffering were turning him on, there was no doubt about that. You…you were supposed to enjoy that, right? Be the masochist so he could thrive on being the sadist he was born to be.

Of course, you wanted this. You’d just come all over his cock, after all…

At last, Gortash gave an animalistic growl and stilled, pulling you down on him. With but a few more languid strokes, his length now pulsed and jerked against your walls, filling you with his seed. You were spent. Used. Broken. The perfect little toy.

And yet…there was no pride left now. Only defeat, submission, and a lingering wave of grief you were unable to shake even after he finally released you and you fell to your knees before him. Right where you belonged.

“Go get washed. You need new dresses. I won’t keep you around my private quarters looking like a beggar.”

It was your favourite dress. Not as eccentric and costly as the usual attire from Waterdeep but it was yours nonetheless. The insult stung. You had no right to object, however. If Lord Gortash didn’t like the dress, it had to go.

“I’ll send for a tailor to take your measurements,” he went on. “You’ll have to look the part of an archduke’s concubine.”

Guess what I’m doing right now. You sent the message followed by a kissing emoji. Sylus’s response followed promptly.

Tell me, kitten.

A wicked grin spread on your lips. You shifted on your bed to get more comfortable, naked and your legs spread wide. One hand was holding your phone, the other was busy lazily pumping a dark-red dildo in and out of your pussy.

I’m masturbating. Another kissing emoji. Once again, Sylus replied immediately.

Kitten… You’re trying to tease me. I’m in a meeting right now.

You giggled. You’d been horny all morning. Your ovulation must have been around the corner for you were unable to think of anything but sex since you’d opened your eyes today. Work had been an absolute nightmare.

Wrecked by guilt because you would have given a lot for a distraction in the form of a Wanderer attack in the city, you’d spent the entire day at your desk finishing up reports. Xavier had been worried about how much you’d been clenching, fidgeting and crossing your legs in a desperate attempt at a little bit of pressure and relief.

Ever since that first night with Sylus, you two had become insatiable. Seriously, the ruthless Onychinus leader had turned you into a sex-crazed monster—a circumstance which he was very well aware of. Naturally, all that carnal desire stemming from your growing affection for one another was mutual, which was exactly why you’d never miss an opportunity to tease him.

As soon as you got home, you’d all but ripped your clothes off your body, leaving a trail of fabric behind, and then threw yourself on your bed all the while reaching for the toys hidden in your bedside drawer. Sylus knew they existed but insisted you wouldn’t need them anymore with him around.

Well, he wasn’t here now. He was stuck in the N109 zone conducting a meeting about who knew what. Although…you knew him well enough by now to expect him to show up on your doorstep soon if you kept sending him naughty messages like that.

I’m using my dildo, Sy. Fucking myself with it… Imagining it’s you…

This time, his response took a few seconds. Your room was all but quiet until the notification sound came through, interrupted only by the sloppy sounds of the silicone toy slipping in and out of your weeping cunt. You were absolutely soaked.

You better not finish without me.

Panting, you bit your lower lip.

Too late, you wrote back. I already came twice. And I’m gonna come again soon…

It wasn’t a lie. Were you being mean because he had to keep his poker face during whatever meeting he was in? Quite possibly… but oh, you were having way too much fun with him right now.

Wish you were here, you wrote before he had a chance to respond. Need you inside me, Sy…

One second. Two seconds. Read. Three seconds. Four seconds. Five.

You better not come again without me buried in your cunt then, kitten.

You grinned. Oh, now you were talking.

I’m still playing with myself, Sy. Is your meeting important?

You moaned. You were close again. Dropping your phone for a moment, you reached down to play with your clit.

Not anymore. I’m on my way. Behave yourself until I’m there, sweetie.

Oh, fuck…another moan escaped your lips, laced with desire and joyful anticipation. With that delicious knot of pleasure tightening in your lower stomach, there was no way you were going to be able to hold back until he got here.

Druive catefukly. You sent the text despite the typos before your third orgasm washed over you like a wave of black feathers. They enveloped you whole and numbed you, had you hold your breath and curl your toes. You didn’t stop. Sylus was coming, pun fully intended.

If he ignored the very existence of speed limits as usual, it wouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to get here. Until then…oh fuck, you might actually come again…

There was a puddle between your legs. Your sheets were soaked, ruined without the interference of a washing machine. Still, you couldn’t stop. That dildo in your pussy, albeit smaller than what Sylus had to offer, felt so good you never…never wanted this to stop.

“Are you enjoying yourself, kitten?”

You flinched, sitting up and closing your legs when you spotted him leaning against the doorframe of your open bedroom door with his arms crossed. Sylus was clad in his usual leather gear and he still wore his fingerless gloves from riding here on his motorcycle.

“Sy…Sy…S-Sylus…”

“Please…don’t stop on my account. Keep going.” He approached, his crimson eyes fixed on your naked and sweaty form. “Although…that little toy of yours is quite pitiful compared to me.”

With a smirk, he pushed your legs apart again and pulled the dildo out of you. It was slick with your juices. Unfazed, he tossed it to the other side of the bed and crawled on the mattress until he was hovering right above you, trapping you beneath him.

“Sylus…”

“You look ravishing, kitten.” With his silver hair falling into his face and the growing desire in his blood-red gaze, you tried your best to reciprocate the compliment. His lips were on yours before you could utter a single word.

Sylus claimed your mouth gently yet passionately, seducing you as if you even needed any more seduction when all you had been able to think about all day was his leaking cock…

You moaned into his mouth, your hands coming up to pull him closer, nails digging into his leather jacket.

“You’re wearing too much,” you breathed out.

“Patience, kitten.”

Groaning, you threw your head back when he released your mouth and left a wet trail of kisses all over your neck. He paid close attention to your breasts, pampering your nipples with his tongue before moving on, further down, over your stomach, your navel, and then…

Sylus dove between your legs like a starved beast, tongue lapping at your arousal. His lips closed around your clit, suckling gently and swirling his tongue around it until he had you whimpering his name.

But just about when you were about to fall over the edge for a fourth time, he stopped, chin glistening with your slick as he came up with a smirk.

“W-What? Nooo, why did you stop?”

“Consider it…punishment for provoking me like that while I was in a meeting.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle while he unfastened his belt to free his growing erection. The bulge was evident, yet cleverly concealed by the dark material of his trousers. Sylus pulled out his cock, giving it a few languid strokes until a drop of pre-cum decorated the tip.

Your mouth watered. He absolutely loved it when you gave him head and made him come in your mouth, swallowing every last drop of his warm seed and yet, he rarely asked for it. Just when you were about to get on your knees and simply wrap your lips around him, however, he tsked you, his mischievous smirk growing on his lips.

Relaxed, as if his hard dick wasn’t screaming for attention, he lay back on your bed.

“Ride me. Have your fill.”

Fuck, he didn’t need to tell you twice. Flipping around on shaky legs, you straddled him, hand wrapping around his pulsing cock to align it with your weeping entrance. You sank down on him, taking him deep, deeper until… you gasped for air when his tip grazed your cervix. You gave yourself a few seconds to get used to his girth, then you started bouncing up and down on him as if your life depended on it—at the very least, your next impending orgasm did.

Sylus dug his fingers into your hips, urging you on. His ruby eyes observed your face even more than they did your breasts as they swayed every time you impaled yourself on his cock.

It was obvious he was both enjoying how you were using him for your pleasure and fighting not to take control, throw you on the bed and fuck you hard into the mattress. You’d ask him to do it once. To be rougher, to not treat you like you were made of porcelain. And even though he didn’t want to admit it at first, he’d revelled in it.

Now, however, it was you on top, you in control of both your pleasure. You placed your palms on his clothed chest to steady yourself as you moved your hips, grinding into him and trying to get him even deeper.

Your clit kept brushing against his pelvis, and Sylus’s eyes darted down to watch you the moment you came apart, eyes rolling to the back of your head, mouth falling open in a silent cry. His name left your lips like a prayer as your walls clenched around him rhythmically, milking him for all he was worth and forcing him to give in to his own release.

His animalistic, carnal groan made your orgasm even more intense. His length pulsed and jerked inside of you, his hands holding you down with all his might as he filled you with his seed, coating every inch of your pussy.

It came flowing back out, staining your inner thighs and his leather trousers when you reluctantly climbed off him, panting, deliciously dazed…but still nowhere near satisfied yet.

“Need the toilet…and some water,” you murmured. Sylus nodded and released your hips, his eyes never leaving you as you stood, stark naked still, to relieve yourself and grab two cold bottles of water from the fridge.

“Can we just stay in bed and keep fucking all night?” you asked. Sylus had taken off his jacket and was pulling his shirt over his head when you walked back in, revealing his muscly chest to you. He chuckled as you put the bottles down on the desk.

“Such foul language, kitten. But I’m not complaining about the plan. I will make sure we take occasional breaks for you to hydrate and eat. Other than that…I’m all yours for the evening.”

“Good.” You walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his middle, looking up to meet his gaze again. “Because I think I’m ovulating and I’m so horny I can’t think of anything else but sex and, well, you.”

Another chuckle. “I figured. The meeting you pulled me out of might result in an attempted ambush at one of my weapon facilities in the N109 zone now.”

“I can live with that. You’ll show them if they dare mess with you.”

Sylus smirked. “I love you, kitten.”

“I love you too.”

Reciprocating his smirk, you sank down on your knees, holding on to his strong thighs. He was still wearing his trousers and those sexy fingerless gloves but for now, you only needed access to what he’d already revealed to you anyway. His semi-hard cock was coated in your arousal still. You licked your lips.

“Now let me show you how much I’ve missed you, my dragon.”