#baalphegor

Raphael was bold for such a puny thing. Once he had survived to an age where he could talk, everyone in Cania quickly learned, he could not stop. Every situation he foolishly backed into, he tried to talk his way out of. And while child-like charm was hardly useful against hellbeasts, he did have a gift for convincing any that would crush him like an ant that his father actually cared about him. That was usually enough.

In spite of his age, or lack thereof, he did excell at magic, unsurprising really considering who the child’s sire was. Even at an age before he could read, Raphael could teleport, not exactly perfectly but he could do it. Teleporting seemed to be his preferred method of transportation as he got better at it. He was always appearing and disappearing without warning, something everyone in the palace had gotten used to.

So, as Baalphegor relaxed in her chambers, a book in her hand as she lounged on her settee, she barely even looked up when young Raphael appeared on her floor in a flash of cinders. She could hear him panting, breathless, he must have been running before he teleported himself to her.

“My, my, little prince,” she said, “what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Raphael picked himself up off the floor and brushed his hands across his clothes. He was still so young, she wouldn't even consider him an adolescent yet, merely a child. His horns were small and a second set was just beginning to grow in. He stretched out his little wings that had gotten ruffled with his fall.

“Gelugons are mean,” the child said, there was a huffing pretentiousness in his voice.

“No arguments.” Baalphegor turned the page of her book. “How exactly did you manage to upset one, pup?”

He huffed. “I'm not a pup.”

Baalphegor put down her book and looked at Raphael. It could not be said that most fiends cared for “cute” things but there was something very endearing to her about this child wrinkling his nose in disgust just like his father did.

“And yet, your fur is all ruffled like one. Sit. Let me fix your hair.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as he gave another huff, but, like a good boy he came and sat on the settee. Baalphegor ran her fingers through his hair, catching her long nails on a number of tangles.

“So, what did you do to that gelugon?”

“I did nothing wrong,” he declared but Baalphegor highly doubted his assessment. “I am a son of Mephistopheles. It had no authority to bar me from going anywhere!”

She could still remember a time when Raphael couldn't pronounce his father's name. And she had been the one to coach him into doing it correctly, lest he insult his father to his face and incur his wrath.

“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “Did someone go snooping where he did not belong?”

Raphael stiffened, his tail flicked back and forth. Still too young to lie with complete confidence. His hand moved to his left pocket. He had something in there, didn't he?

“I'm a prince. There is nowhere I don't belong.”

He knew he had done something he wasn't allowed to. And he most certainly had taken something that wasn't his. Baalphegor smiled, one hand glided through his hair while the other summoned whatever he had in his pocket directly to her. A small crystal ball appeared in her empty hand.

Raphael quickly turned around feeling the item gone from his pocket.

She examined the sphere. It was dark as Abyss with reflections of scenes playing in it. A scrying tool. Her little prince seemed to be interested in spying on something.

“Oh dear,” Baalphegor said, “what would your father say if he knew his son was stealing from him?”

“I'm not stealing!” He twitched as he said it, though, not even believing this defense himself. “It's mine by birthright.”

“Mmhm, I'm sure your father will listen to that.”

Raphael reached for it, only for Baalphegor to make it disappear.

“Give it back!” Raphael huffed and his little wings flapped at her.

She smiled, a giggle escaping her lips. “Now, now, pup, that isn't how a devil would do things, is it? There is an exchange to be made. Or does your mother's blood dominate you?”

She knew that would stir him. The first insult that was always thrown at him was his half-human ancestry.

The little prince’s brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose. “I am a son of Mephistopheles! I have nothing in common with sorry mortals!”

“Now, now, pup, we both know that isn’t true. And besides, for all its disadvantages, your mother gave you a great gift upon her death.”

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but said nothing.

“Her blood.” Baalphegor began to pet his hair again. “With your half-mortal blood, you were gifted a strong connection to the material plane. You can go where other devils cannot.”

He relaxed at her touch, his tail curling gently against her leg.

“The material plane is a trove of things we, devils, desire. And you, pup, can go and take it for yourself. You can slip between the planes.”

“I can?”

“Of course. If you're any good at magic, that is.”

His tail flicked. “Of course I am!”

Baalphegor gripped his shoulders. “Then why don't you prove it? I will give you back the crystal ball when you bring me a treasure from the Prime.”

Raphael was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “...what do you want from there?”

“Oh, pup,” she sighed, “never give your client a chance at getting more than they asked for. If you had taken my deal before, you could have brought me anything. Now, I get to name my price.”

“That's not fair.”

“Devils do not play fair.” She tapped a finger against his nose. “Well, since you need to learn a lesson…” she trailed off, considering what would teach her little prince best. “...bring me an item that belonged to your mother.”

His tail stiffened and a look of confusion blossomed on his face. “My…mother?”

“Do your ears not hear, pup? Yes. Your mother. She was from the material plane, some trinket of hers must remain there.”

“But…” he paused, breaking eye contact as he tried to word what he wanted to say. “But I don't know who she is.”

“Oh? Well, my apologies, pup. I had a thought a child of the Cold Lord would be smart enough and skilled enough to discover that information on his own. My mistake.”

She watched to see the anger build up in him. Little Raphael may have only been a child but his pride was vast as his ambition. She could see a rage building in his eyes, a fire to fuel him.

“I'll do it!” he snapped. “Lady Baalphegor, I swear to bring you the greatest trinket of my mother's I can find!”

She smiled. Her little prince would grow up to be great, she would make sure of it. Baalphegor snapped her fingers and summoned a parchment. The infernal ink glowed red, the terms of their little agreement laid out plain for the child to read.

“Just sign here, Raphael.”

—

The years had not changed her little prince. Not in the slightest. From childhood into his teenage years, his skills had progressed. He was exceptional at magic, and had developed a flair for song contracts (much to the annoyance of any who contracted with him.) His silver tongue had gotten out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. His fire never calmed, his ambition never dimmed.

Raphael was no longer constrained by Cania, he had become powerful enough that he needn't remain if he did not want to. The material plane was his playground. Raphael had even given himself a human form, to make it easier for him to do whatever he wished there. He galavanted across kingdoms. He performed music and poems in taverns across Faerun, though he had tried to hide it, he could not hide from Baalphegor’s scrying.

And all the while he had yet to deliver on his vow to her.

It wasn't as if she never saw him working on it. Many times she had caught wind of him being in places in Mephistar he shouldn't be looking for information on his mother. But, considering how smart the little prince was, it was surprising how long this was taking him. Now, it could not be said he had a particular need for the crystal ball she had taken from him anymore, he was more powerful than it was. But a devil must hold true to its word. So, she had faith Raphael would deliver.

Baalphegor was adjusting her appearance, gazing into her reflection in the mirror, when a second figure appeared. She did not hesitate or startle. Baalphegor knew who would intrude on her personal time uninvited. It was Raphael who had teleported behind her.

“Well, pup, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He bristled at the nickname but let it go. She had called him “pup” his entire life, he no longer fought it like he had when he was young.

“Lady Baalphegor,” he said. Raphael carried himself professionally even though she knew it was a front. “I have come to fulfill our contract.”

A smile parted her lips and she stood to meet her little prince face to face. He was no longer so little, no longer did he sit by her side and allow her to play with his hair. He thought himself a man, a mature devil with immense power. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was still hardly more than an ant compared to those who ran in the same circles as him.

“So you have. Well, what have you brought me?”

Raphael did not smile back at her, his lips pursed tight like the grumpy little boy he was. He held out his closed fist and into her waiting hand, he dropped a single golden hairpin.

One look at it and Baalphegor could tell he had succeeded. The thing practically oozed magic, every perfect twinkle in the light was a miniature dancing lights spell attached to it. The pin itself was in the shape of a magic sigil, and it was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive.

Baalphegor secured the pin within her own hair. “Congratulations, Raphael.”

His expression was still dark. “...she was Netherese.”

So he had uncovered it. Baalphegor gave a small chuckle. “Sit down, pup. Tell me what you learned.”

She took a seat on her settee and, despite the bad mood he was clearly in, Raphael joined her.

“She was human. From Netheril.”

Baalphegor waited, letting him speak at his own pace. His gaze was worlds away, his eyes dreamy. She could tell he wanted to speak, wanted to regale her with the tale. But he was holding back.

“I saw the cities in the skies.The arcanists. The enclaves…” There was a reverence in his voice. He almost sounded proud. Proud of his mother's home. Proud of his mortal side.

That tone itself was more than enough to prove he was still a child. Still naïve.

“Would you have liked to live there?” Baalphegor asked. She kept her inflection gentle and welcoming, like she was luring a mortal into a trap. Perhaps she was. Perhaps that's all Raphael really was at his core. In which case, he would be better off purged.

The little prince gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrow. He seemed to have noticed the trap. But he, curiously, did not speak up right away. And Raphael always spoke whether he had something worth saying or not. It was clear, he was genuinely contemplating.

“...No,” he said after a worrying silence. His tail may no longer have flicked involuntarily but it was just as obvious that he was lying.

Still, Baalphegor waited for him to explain why, to affirm that Cania was superior in every way to those sky rocks, that Baator was the only realm that mattered. But he didn't. He didn't prove he understood the lesson, just told her what she wanted to hear. Baalphegor sighed. If her pup was to stand a chance he needed this lesson drilled into his skull.

“Do you think you could have had a life there?” Her voice was restrained, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't crying, but displeasure rang through her words.

“...what?”

“I asked you a question, Raphael. Do you think you could have had a life there?”

“...I—” he began but he did not meet her eyes. A liar.

“Look at me, pup.”

Raphael took a breath and looked into her eyes. He looked so human. His orange eyes were sparkling with the foolish human notion of hope.

“...There was a wealth of things to learn there.” His voice was weak, small, just like him. “I was there for only a day and I saw things I never knew possible.”

Baalphegor smiled, her tone staying calm even as she contemplated punishments for him. “There is much more to learn here, little prince. All the souls in that empire aren't worth one book from our Archduke's library.” She chuckled. “Yet I know you and your ilk.”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at that line.

“You're a creative, a dreamer, a sensitive sort. You've been living in fairy tales since you were old enough to read them.” She turned her gaze from him. “Perhaps you're right.”

“Lady Baalphegor?”

She put up a beautiful false smile. “I mean it. If you think you belong there, who am I to argue it? I'm not your mother. How could I be? I am a pure devil; you don't resemble me in the slightest.”

He bristled.

Baalphegor pressed ahead. “Your sensitive nature could have flourished in the prime. You'd never be studied in magic, no. Why would you need to be? You'd be nothing. But you could play your music, just like you do now when no one's watching you.”

She looked back at him and watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“You could sing your tales of greatness that would be worthless outside of your empire, your city, your filthy taproom. But you'd have admirers of course. There are always types who fetishize monsters.

“And be assured, Raphael, you would be a monster. Your devil wings, such a lovely feature your father gave you, they would be nothing but a lead weight around your ankle. I suppose you could always say a prayer in the dead of night to those gods mortals seem to love worshipping that some hero would come and slice them, rend them from your back. Then you'd look like a common tiefling. And no one would be able to tell the difference.”

“No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, commanding, devilish. “You will not speak to a son of Mephistopheles in that way.”

She smiled. “A son of Mephistopheles and who, exactly?”

Raphael did not flinch, did not falter and she knew her lesson had reached him. “A son of Mephistopheles and a mortal broodmare whose only contribution to any realm was dying to birth someone far greater than she could ever be.”

Baalphegor pushed a stray hair behind his ear and leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “That's right, pup. Never forget. You are superior to them in every way. Bearing you was the only good thing your mother ever did. Would you like to know what our lord did with her soul?”

His eyes did not sparkle. There was no place for hope in them. But they burned. They burned with his ambition, an insatiable fire.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Correct.” Baalphegor stood up and gestured to the hairpin she wore. “Pretty as she might have been, this is just as pretty. And it is worth more. I think you could sell it for 10 soul coins. Ten times what its owner was worth.”

Raphael stood. “Thank you, Lady Baalphegor. But I'd only give you 3 for it.”

“A hard bargainer.” She smiled. Her little prince would be great. She just knew it. “Alright.” She removed the hairpin, her lesson finally taught. “Shall we call it a deal?”

Baalphegor is an archdevil who's been around since the beginning of Hell (Baator), described as a skilled diplomat, tactician, and unmatched sorceress, as well as an inventor who's created a ton of artifacts and techniques used in the Hells. She's well-respected, and has many allies among Hell's upper echelon (Pit Fiends in particular).

So already, she's got a lot going for her (we love evil women in STEM). But here's where things get interesting:

Baalphegor is, apparently, extremely respected and valued by Asmodeus himself. So much so that he lets her live with Mephisto, and is one of the major reasons why Asmo tolerates him and his constant scheming. Now this is crazy, considering Asmo and his Big Fuckin Massive Ego™ and general lack of respect for anyone he considers "lesser", which is everyone.

Baalphegor toes the line between the two archdevils, keeping her goals "to herself" and being minimally loyal to Mephisto, while also maybe vying for a spot at being Asmo's new consort (or at least getting closer to him). Mephisto tolerates this because of the protection she gives him, but I imagine that he's not too happy about it. (Also she's gone missing? Which isn't really relevant to this post but is still something to note).

All of these details combined suggests to me that she has way more sway over how things are run in Cania (the 8th Hell) than we're told, perhaps even more so than Mephisto! The devil behind the throne, whispering into her arrogant consort's ear. I think this is neat, and makes Mephisto even more of a girlfailure, which is funny as hell (pun intended).

Small sidenote: in the lore of Hell, there's these guys called the Ancient Baatorians, the original rulers/inhabitants of Baator (Hell). These guys were pretty much all murked by Asmo and his devils when they conquered Hell, but some remnants of them survived: In the Dogai (assassin devils), who were transformed into devils; in the nupperibos, which are their larval stage; in more grown ancient baatorians called life stealers (an invisible monster which eats light and your life-force). These more mature forms are only really found in the cave systems beneath Malbolge and Maladomini (the 6th and 7th hells), places which even devils don't enter. There are also some of these guys trapped in the ice of Cania, as well. (Lore about them is compiled in Power Score RPG's Blog here.)

Why did I bring up the Ancient Baatorians, you may be asking? Well, some people on the internet really think that Baalphegor is an Ancient Baatorian. The original ruler of Cania, even. Now, I've looked and there seems to be no lore basis for this at all, but its fucking awesome so I've decided to include it here.

Additional Sidenote: So Asmodeus (and the Hells, by extension) has a lot of origins stories, all of which are iffy at best. One of the origin stories is that he's secretly a giant evil snake called Ahriman who, along with his goodly snake-sibling Jazirian, created the universe and the planes out of the primordial soup with the power of Law™. They disagreed on where to center the universe, and in the resulting conflict Ahriman fell into the Hells where his body now lays wounded at the bottom of Nessus. Ahriman eventually disguised himself and now rules the Hells  as Asmodeus, biding his time and eating the souls of atheists to heal his wounds and eventually rule the cosmos.

Now I don't particularly like this origin story (I find it just makes Asmo less interesting), but the idea of a big giant snake being the original ruler of Hell is sick, so I propose we take a page out of Pathfinder's book and give it to someone who's not Asmodeus. Who, you may asking? Baalphegor, of course!

…

The frozen peaks of Cania hold many dangers, but none so insidious as its dark mistress, the Lady Baalphegor. Consort to the Archduke Mephistopheles, Baalphegor takes a backseat role in the rulership of Cania, but is by no means unimportant—she is, perhaps, the smartest devil in all the Hells; A trait which has seen her rise to a position of great power.

Baalphegor holds immense sway and influence in the Nine Hells. Preferring diplomacy over brute force, her power is subtler than her consort's explosive dramatics—but has far greater reach and longer-lasting impact. That is not to say she is physically weak—she is an unmatched sorceress in the Hells and beyond—but that she'd rather make a friend than an enemy. A rare trait in the Hells, indeed.

Much like her husband, Baalphegor is an inventor, one who has created many of the profane artifacts and diabolical techniques used throughout the Hells. Her knowledge is as vast as Cania's great glaciers, collected over many eons with perfectly preserved clarity. Her spellcraft is precise and calculated, in contrast with Mephistopheles' volatile magics. In addition to her role as the Lady of Mephistar—Mephistopheles' great citadel—Baalphegor oversees the operations of the various libraries and laboratories in the frozen citadel. It is said that she can recite, by word, all the texts and tombs found within Mephistar's halls.

These traits have earned Baalphegor a position of great esteem in the Hells, so much so that she is respected by even the Archduke of Nessus, Asmodeus himself. The Lord of Lies counts her as a great friend and ally, often seeking her advice and counsel in matters requiring a more delicate hand. Rumors persist that Baalphegor's influence is one of the major reasons why the Lord of the Hells has not deposed her unruly consort.

In any case, an understanding exists between the two that Mephistopheles is not privy to, a fact which ignites much jealousy and insecurity within the Cold Lord. Despite the tensions between them, Baalphegor manages to walk the fine line between the two Archdukes, appearing loyal to both her consort and her King without making a distinction between the two.

Baalphegor's talents and connections have made her an invaluable asset to her consort, but also a grave threat. If she so chose to, she could quite easily overthrow the Lord of Hellfire. Luckily for Mephistopheles, however, Baalphegor has no current desire for usurpation, content with being the power behind Cania's icy throne.

While all in the Hells know Baalphegor to be an old and powerful devil, few are aware of the true extent of that fact. The entity known as Baalphegor is an ancient being—older than the Hells, older than Asmodeus, older than the Outer Planes itself. A serpent as vast as a galaxy, devoid of any light save for the stars in its belly. A devourer of suns and stars, one who feeds off of light and life and hope itself.

Somehow, this great serpent found itself trapped in the depths of Cania, long before any devil stepped foot in the realm. It found kin amongst those strange and incomprehensible Ancient Baatorians, the original rulers of Baator. This state lasted for countless eons, until the arrival of the Heavens' greatest angel, a young Asmodeus.

Before his fall, the Lord of the Hells discovered the plane of Baator on one of his many expeditions to the Abyss. Intrigued, he ventured deep into the bowels of this dark realm, until he found the great serpent in its nest. Instead of devouring him, the serpent hosted the Son of Light, sharing with him secret knowledge and long-forgotten truths of the cosmos. Asmodeus left the serpent's nest with his life, and, more importantly, a newfound friend.

When Asmodeus returned to Baator with his infernal host, he entreated the serpent for its aid in his conquest over the plane. The serpent agreed, on condition that the favor be repaid at the time and place of its choosing. This is the only debt that the Lord of Nessus still yet owes.

The serpent donned the guise of Baalphegor, and served as Asmodeus' advisor in his war against her former kin. With her knowledge, the Lord of the Hells vanquished his foes and seated himself upon the throne of Nessus. He rewarded her with a position of power in Cania, but cleverly did not grant her the title of Archduke, instead bestowing it to the obstinate yet controllable Mephistopheles. Baalphegor was made consort to the Lord of Cania, a station she holds to this day.

Raphael stumbles through the extravagant entrance doors to Mephistar, the flesh-shearing winds of Cania grabbing after him as he ducks behind the solid, enchanted stone. He’s done his best to cover all exposed skin, but there is always some that escapes his notice, leaving him bleeding out strength he can ill afford to lose. He loathes these “errands” his father sends him on, tasks purported to test his skill, devotion, and cunning. In reality, it feels more like busywork designed to keep him weak and subservient, reminding him of his contentious existence in the hierarchy and reinforcing his dependence on his father’s dubious goodwill.

The desiccated parchment that proved the focus of this most recent quest crinkles slightly, as he shifts his gaze up, the slight sound echoing across the cavernous hall as he looks with certainty for the being he knows to be waiting for his return, just as always. But — they’re not there.

He furrows his brow, an agitated and disquieting anger growing within his gut. He strides across the marble floor on frostbitten feet he can barely feel, shoving the parchment at the lone figure of Mephistopheles’s chamberlain Barbas, standing at attention at his post, and wearing his habitual sneer as he looks down at Raphael. Raphael ignores it for now, as ever, but files the snub away with all the other insults he will one day be strong enough to return tenfold.

“Where is m—the Lady Baalphegor?” He demands imperiously. They are almost always waiting for him upon his return to bestow his reward. That is the deal, the entire reason he engages in these banal fetch quests even though they are entirely beneath his rank and status. He pushes sharply at the errant thought of the pretty fiction it makes, knowing all the while that his true choice is to bow to his father’s whims or perish. True or not, it does no good to dwell on such matters, not when he will be changing them just as soon as he can manage.

Barbas’s sneer gouges even deeper into his face, growing a biting and nearly gleeful edge as he answers Raphael, “Well, young lord, as your august presence must surely have ascertained, the Lady is certainly not here.”

Raphael can feel his face going blotchy and red, and curses his mortal heritage once again for its constant betrayals. The ice-blue crystals in the eye sockets of the chamberlain harden and glint with glee at the sight. Raphael spins on his heel, marching furiously away, the parchment crumpling further within his fist. Barbas’s mocking voice rings out behind him, “Don’t forget to report to His Grace, little lord! He insisted it be done immediately upon your return.”

Raphael almost turns again to berate him, but manages to stop himself at the last moment, lest he lose even more face from the encounter. He’ll make his report as quickly as possible, then hunt down his wayward… Baalphegor, and claim his rightful recompense. The brilliant halls of Mephistar blur around him as he storms through them, focusing only on making his way to his father’s great hall with haste.

He doesn’t wait to be announced, merely pushes firmly on the doors, both with his physical form and, in a manner only recently attained, with the lashings of his own metaphysical aspect. They creak open, the sound like distant screams even on the well-kept mechanisms, and he steps through without hesitation, words of complaint already springing to his lips, when he stops dead in his tracks.

He’s found Baalphegor.

The succubus – and they are in full succubus form in this moment – is perched indolently on his father’s lap, where he sits on his ostentatious throne. But not just perched, no — impaled, as he finds when, with stricken eyes, he watches them move their body in a smooth, undulating motion up, degree by degree, before dropping back down, brilliant hair falling around them and catching the flickering hellfire-light as it glints off their red-brown skin. Soft, melodious moans are driven from their throat with each movement, as if pushed out by the — by the member within them. Their round breasts shift with the motion, the revitalizing milk within them welling up and dripping down their chest, squandered and disregarded.

He swallows, throat dry, his eyes and chest burning in stark opposition with one another.

His father casts an apathetic glance across the hall, and his eyes alight on Raphael, a cruel smirk curling at his lips. “Ah, the returning triumphant! What have you brought me this time?” His voice is nothing but mocking, no attempt made to couch his disregard for his unwanted and unloved spawn.

Raphael blinks, attempting to reason past the howling fury within him. He has never before felt so truly attuned to his more fiendish instincts, working in concert with his mortal ones in a truly dangerous storm. Everything within him is raging at the broken contract, even as it boils with jealousy at the manhandling of something that is his, and it is only the barest dregs of his staunch self-preservation that manage to keep him from attempting something truly foolish. He swore when he first came to this wretched plane that he would be its master one day, and he’ll be damned – well and truly – if he fails here.

He holds the parchment, now looking rather worse for wear, out before him on a finely trembling hand. He searches for the words he needs in a mind nearly whited out by rage.

“I… your cult in Waterdeep sends their obeisance, y–your Grace.” He curses his tongue for its fumbling, driving home further how well his father’s ploy is working to discomfit him.

“Oh,” Mephistopheles waves a careless hand. “That collection of rabble. You will leave it with my steward.”

Raphael ducks his head a bare inch, keeping his eyes away from Baalphegor as much as he can, and turns to leave.

His father’s voice rings out after him before he has completed even half his turn, sharpening with the first warning edges of his infamous temper. “Where do you think you are going, whelp? You have not yet been dismissed.”

Raphael turns back to face him, slow and careful, as the true danger of the situation sets in. He has rarely found himself in the presence of his father when these moods strike, and never without at least the tenuous support of Baalphegor behind him. And yet… he meets their gaze now, searching, and the barest fraction desperate, but there is nothing. Their red eyes meet his without flinching, cold as Cania’s glaciers. Trickles of the subtly shimmering draught spilling from their breasts have reached down to their hips now, soaking into the thatch of hair between their legs.

He tears his eyes away and forces his attention back to the far greater threat, scrambling for an answer that will satisfy his father.

“My apologies, your Grace.” The epithet comes easier this time, its passage eased by his awareness of his own precarious position. “I misunderstood your direction, and wished only to carry out your will with utmost alacrity.”

Mephistopheles rests his chin insouciantly on his hand, elbow propped against the arm of his throne. His voice, when he speaks, is sardonic and shows no signs of the ongoing actions of the succubus on his lap. “Oh very nicely salvaged, whelp. My wishes, however, are for you to remain just where you are, and appreciate the lesson I’ve prepared for you.”

Raphael swallows, the boiling heat within him growing fiercer, rage intertwined with other, less-savory feelings.

With little warning, Mephistopheles moves his hand to entangle within Baalphegor’s tresses, pulling the succubus fiercely down onto him as he wrenches their head back against his shoulder. A tremulous cry breaks from their throat, and Raphael only barely keeps himself from starting forward at the sound.

Mephistopheles brings his free hand forward and toys with Baalphegor’s breasts, pushed forward into the air from their current position. He twists pitilessly at them, prompting yet more cries as the liquid inside spills out in greater quantities, splashing, wasted, against the smooth skin of Baalphegor’s stomach. It runs in rivulets onto the throne, and down, to collect into puddles on the floor of the grand hall.

Raphael feels his stomach turn even as his mouth, well-trained by association, waters, unhindered by every other horrible aspect of this waking nightmare.

Mephistopheles wipes his hand dismissively on Baalphegor’s hair, leaving behind silvery streaks, then draws them up by their hair and hip, beginning to move within them in earnest as he continues his reproach. Raphael wants to close his eyes, his ears, every one of his senses, but knows such an admission of weakness would be worse than his undoing.

“You’ve prevailed enough upon my largess, and I am no longer willing to indulge your weakness.” Mephistopheles sneers. “You’ve proven more fortunate than any other cambion within the Hells, but from now on you will make your own way, or fail. Such is the way of Baator.”

The fires around the hall burn fiercer in alignment with their lord as he looks down at his unloved progeny. “Should you find yourself desperate for one last taste to stay your appetites, however, you may lap it from the floor like the whelp you are, and thank me for the concession.”

Raphael feels like he is become hellfire himself, the hatred he knew within him for his progenitor stoked to dizzyingly fierce new heights. Jaw aching with the effort of withholding the flood of vitriol within him, he grits out, “My thanks for your… beneficence. I would not dream of prevailing upon it further.”

Mephistopheles snorts, dismissive, then turns his attentions back to Baalphegor, by all accounts having forgotten Raphael’s entire existence.

Raphael stands, Baalphegor’s unfeeling eyes burning into his, until he is finally – finally – dismissed. All the while, the ambitions within him, already cast in carbon, are pressurized further and further, until they are as fearsome diamond, reflecting the blood and fire around him.

He will not remain his father’s lesser for long. He will see him deposed, and make him suffer for these indignities heaped upon his person.