Nymph

Your fingernails dug into your palms, carving crescent moons into flesh. Blood was at the back of your throat. You were on your back staring up into nothingness while the echo of water dripping from stalactites kept you awake. It was so cold, and you shivered in your tattered cape, it provided little comfort in the gloom of whatever cell you were trapped in and your back ached as you lay upon cold and uneven stone. Perhaps you were in a tomb. Perhaps you had died. You slowly raised your aching arms upwards and felt no contact with anything but air. Not a grave then.

               “They’re awake my Lady.”  A man’s voice cut through the dark.

               “Yes, I can see.” A woman’s voice replied.

You groaned trying to sit up, where had those voices come from? You could see nothing and could sense even less. How had two people managed to sneak up on you? Or were they just figures of an approaching madness.

               “They’re cold. Dress them in the cloak then blindfold them. We must get to the ceremony posthaste.” The woman’s voice was stern in her order.

               “Yes, my lady.”

You heard a metal gate groan as it opened, feeling air rush at your feet. You tried to move, protest, reaching out into the blind dark to try and stop whoever approached from hurting you but you had little time to defend yourself before your muscles went slack, your body frozen, as your energy faded out from under you. This feeling. It was all wrong. Someone here was manipulating your body.

               “You’re…… cursing me.” You choked out before you fell stiff, unable to move or speak. A blindfold was placed over your eyes and your body wrapped in a cloak.

               “No, my dear, not a curse. Just common sorcery. In due time you will see this is anything but a curse. This is the start of a blessing. Laeroth they will need to be carried carefully to the altar room; we don’t want them getting hurt.”

You felt the man grasp you in his arms, picking you up with a rough grip. His skin was cold and equally as rough, almost like tree bark. You could smell the unmistakable stench of mud, dirt and iron across his skin. An orc. Your nerves tightened. Quickly you felt yourself carried up a long staircase and through potential winding tunnels or corridors, Laeroth managing to carry you without your frozen body crashing into anything. Eventually after what felt like a painfully long amount of time, Laeroth came to a stop. The sound of an oak door swinging open and gentle warmth greeted your skin along with the crackle of a fire in the distance.  Hushed whispers sent goosebumps up your arms.

               “It’s them.” A new woman’s voice whispered.

               “Our Lady didn’t even tie them up? How unusual?” A younger voice, like that of a young child this time questioned.

               “Well, they’re not going to try and run away now.” This time it was an older woman’s voice speaking.

               “Laeroth.” The woman they addressed as ‘Our Lady’ commanded the attention of the orc who was cradling you in his arms. “On the altar please, sit them up.”

You felt your body meet hard but smooth stone, the cloak was pulled away and the blindfold undone. Light poured into your eyes, causing you to wince as your distorted surroundings warped within your vision before settling after a few moments.

               The room you were in was a lit stone chamber, decorated with crude malevolent sculptures, grotesquerie’s all with their sickening grins, beady eyes and clawed arms outstretched pointed at you. Skeletal remains emerged from the walls in tortured poses, either decorations or victims.  A shadow from above loomed, an effigy of a large winged, skeletal beast hung chained from the ceiling. Impaled upon its enormous horns were the skulls of its prey. Lastly, tapestries the shade of rotten plums adorned the walls, embroidered with a twisted skull symbol at their centre. Your heart stopped. That symbol.

               You licked your dry and sore lips, breath catching. Your eyes darted around wildly before they caught the eyes of another person. Finally, life.

               A tall and beautiful elven woman with unfathomably long black hair smiled at you. She was dressed in a regal silk gown with holy beads around her neck. She kept hold of your gaze as she stood holding out her arms in a gesture of good will.

               “Welcome Y/N to our inner sanctuary. Make no mistake, you are welcome here.”

               What are you going to do to me?

               “I suppose you would like to regain control of your body. I shall release you from my hold, but I beg of you not to make any rash judgements.” The woman flicked her wrist and immediately you felt your muscles come alive, blood surging, chest rising. You had not even noticed that you had been holding your breath. Coughing and spluttering, you gripped the edge of the stone altar you had been placed upon, trying to steady your breathing as the woman approached you. A long slender arm reached out, and she took her hand to tentatively stroke your head.

               “You’re okay. You did very well.” You looked up at her as she whispered soothing things within your ear. “Everyone is so excited to meet you my dear.”

               “Who are you?” You whispered trying not to show fear.

               “I am The Lady, mistress of this unholy sanctuary. You may call me as such for I gave up the name given to me at birth when I became a priestess for my Lord. He has spoken of you to me, Y/N.” You looked up at The Lady who stood grand, her large form blocking out all the light that flickered from behind her, casting you once again in shadow. Her hand now caressed your cheek, nails slightly pinching skin. “Idol, the Dark God of death, blood and shadows has chosen you to join our sanctuary as one of his assassins. And today I mean to initiate you into our family.”

Fear spread out within your chest. The Dark God? How was this possible? Idol. A legendary figure associated with evil, vice and murder was a cursed name to even so much as whisper. Tales of his Cult of devout worshipers and assassins were spread across the lands. Hysteria and fear plagued towns and cities when they brandished their daggers and struck down upon their victims. Stories of them flooding streets with blood, wiping out entire family trees or blackmailing aristocracy into ruin were passed among the rich and poor alike. They were assassins, murders, monsters. And now this wicked God’s priestess proclaimed you to stand before death as an offering, soon to be one of his own. To belong to all the darkness and horror in the world, you were being submitted to an infamous cult against your will and were promised to become a harbinger of suffering.

“Come, let me introduce you to the Sanctury, your soon to be sisters and brothers.” The Lady clasped your hand and gestured to a crowd of a dozen people who were stood watching you from behind her near a dying fireplace.

“These are the unholy believers of Idol. Some are devotees of his religious order, others craftsmen. And of course, many stand as his assassins. Those who carry his blades and soak them in blood. Together we all stand in unity as Idol’s offspring, for he has reached out to us and filled our souls with his essence. Truly we are debased. We worship and revel in the dark. But so have you. You once partook in the forbidden and he noticed. Now he has called for you and claimed your soul as his. Just as he did each and every one of us. So, Y/N will you take his blade?” The room went still as she awaited your answer. You were afraid, wary of this woman’s unrestrained obsession for her God and yet the initial burden of this position did not feel as heavy as you expected. You regarded The Lady. It seemed she knew your dark secret. Her words reminded you of a prayer you had said once, and you felt humbled to not be a hypocrite. Yes. You were also a murderer.

Now the consequences, while unconventional, had caught up to you.

 You felt the gaze of the sculpture that hung above you burning into your back. Regardless, refusing seemed to only lead to an end.

Your eyes landed on one of the figures in the crowd opposite you. You found yourself trapped by the stare of cold amethyst. A hard gaze, an interrogating gaze. A man, tall and leaning against the stone walls. A dark shadow cast across his face from the black hood he wore. You felt him search all of you. It was not comfortable. The two of you stood locked in each other’s line of sight. The room was waiting though. Your answer rose from the darkest pit inside of you.

“Yes.”

“Marvelous.” The Lady smiled. “Alistair!” She called out to the crowd of on lookers. You had a chance to examine them all now, in this fleeting moment of time where you were not under scrutiny. There stood all manner of people. Human men and women, including two children and a few orcs. There were also more elves, each with their sharp angular ears, high cheekbones and overall ethereal appearance.

Fallen from grace. Elves in disgrace.

One of these elves was the man whom you’d locked eyes with a few moments ago. He pushed himself from the far wall, dark fringe now obscuring his expression as he approached the two of you. He unsheathed a silver blade and passed it to The Lady who took its hilt within her grasp.

“Thank you, Alistair.”

This time, him being so close made you nervous to look at him, you could only meet his breastplate engraved with the same twisted skull symbol and flecked with dried marks the colour of rust.

“Of course, my Lady.” He replied. “Let’s hope they can wield it.” His voice was low and hushed, his tone like velvet soaked in blood. Refined but threatening. He returned to the crowd of onlookers awaiting the ceremony and rites. The Lady took your hand and slit your palm with its tip. Crimson poured out into your hand dripping down onto the altar. The Lady held your hand up for everyone to witness.

“Now we make you one of ours, the initiation begins. Believers, I now must ask those of you who are not partaking in the ceremony to leave us be, and when we meet again, we will have grown in number.” Several of the dozen people watching nodded, leaving through a large wooden door. Few remained. An older woman dressed in a dark purple robe, a man in smithing apron, a tall orc with burgundy skin and Alistair who had returned to his shadowy corner by the wall.

“Y/N we begin.” The Lady smiled at you in earnest.

What followed was a bizarre set of rituals that possessed you, changing you in subtle invasive ways. First you were stripped and cleansed with black water, your body washed upon the altar. Not at all comfortable with the several pairs of eyes watching you naked. Then you were purified with salts and incense that smelt like burnt embers and citrus, your hand wound was also dressed. The older woman whom The Lady introduced to you as Elesis, one of Idol’s believers, fed you an unusual substance that was jelly like and tasted of mud. It took a long time to consume, for you gagged and struggled to contain the bile that rose up at the back of your throat. The Lady held your hand firmly and rubbed your back as you chewed piece by piece until you swallowed it all. Next, the man in the apron, called Wulfred, introduced himself as ‘one of the Lord’s armorers’, and he had the task of outfitting you in an unusual set of black leather Armor, engraved with a twisted skull. You had never worn Armor before and were surprised to find it light and flexible.

               “It’s made for stealth. Its durable, made of the finest leather and will keep you blended into the shadows. And of course, has our Lord’s blessing. Wearing it ensures he will watch over you.”

               Next the orc who re-introduced himself as Laeroth lifted a silver chalice filled to the brim with a thick red substance. You clutched your stomach and there was a smile of apology exchanged between the two of you.

               “We’ve all faced this. You can do it.” He said holding the cup to your lips. The liquid was warm and sticky, it smelt of iron. Laeroth was careful to not let it drip down you, letting you take slow sips and occasionally pulling back if you needed a moment to get it down.

               “Its blood. Isn’t it?” You asked getting to the bottom of the chalice at last. Laeroth nodded.

               “Taken straight from our Lady herself.”

               “It’s my honour.” The Lady smiled wiping your bloody lips with a silk handkerchief. Helped to your feet The Lady prevented you from falling over, “you may not realise it yet Y/N but that was the last part of an ongoing ceremony that began the day you took the life of an innocent one year ago.” You dropped your head at the mention of that. The Lady continued, “Your initiation did not begin today. Nor did it begin when we brought you here one month ago. It began when you made the conscious choice to draw blood. Not the act itself, but rather the decision to do so.”

               Your let go of her hand, fear began to sneak back in. One month? That’s how long you were down there in that cell? You had slowly begun to realise during this process that you indeed had no recollection of how you even ended up here. Your memories only cast back to the inn you had been hiding at for a few weeks, preparing to travel again. Never staying in one place for long after you committed your crime. And yet you’d been found after all, exposed.

               “Now we see the fruits bearing from the darkness within you, Y/N do you trust me?” The Lady asked.

               Uncertain, but afraid of hesitation you replied, “Yes.” The Lady looked at you waiting for you to finish. “M-my Lady.” You said and she nodded before turning to the elven man still by the wall, calling upon him once again.

“Alistair.”

You blinked.

Alistair had had disappeared. -

               A scream corrupted by a gurgle. Blood erupted from your mouth, trickling down your front, some splashing across The Lady. Your vision started to fail; your head felt light on your shoulders. You crashed into the altar, feeling the weight of something sharp protrude form the back of your neck.

               “Take it out Y/N. You must do this.” The Lady commanded. You blindly swung your arm around feeling for anything, but you were only met with air. “Come on. Grasp the hilt. Quickly!” Your head went from feeling light to incredibly heavy, your neck felt as if it were going to snap and you realised that it was a dagger sticking out from the back of your neck. You reached over your shoulder, grasping the blade within your wrapped hand and yanked it out screaming as you did so. Your weight buckled and the floor pulled you in, you welcomed its embrace.

You were unsure of how long you were unconscious, but you awoke to a familiar voice. “Come on, get up.” Alistair’s voice whispered in your ear for only you to hear as he pulled you up to be standing. “Straighten out your neck.” His grip on your body was rigid, and he held you close into his chest rather possessively. Your mind was delirious and yet without it making sense, you lifted your head with ease as if you had sustained no wound at all.

               “I’ve seen it done better. I thought we’d be here watching them flail about trying to get the blade our for longer.” Elesis whispered.

               “Quiet.” The Lady reprimanded.

               “Here let me help.” Laeroth moved to help steady you as Alistair passed you over to the large male orc.

               “Careful they’re clumsy, they’ll fall.” He sounded irritated.

               You latched onto the side of Laeroth, “I don’t understand what just happened.”

               “You’ve been truly blessed.” The Lady said clutching a bloody dagger. “Your body has undergone purification, marked by Idol since you first bloodied your hands you’ve changed and become one of his believers. Your body is more durable now, especially when you are within the walls of the Sanctury – check your hand wound for proof. But within time you will grow even stronger. For now, go forth knowing you have succeeded this trial.”

               Laeroth took you by the arm and led you from the room followed by Elesis. You took one last glance behind you towards the bloody altar. Wulfred had already left, and The Lady had turned her back to the door facing Alistair. You saw his stern gaze flick to you in fury just before Laeroth and Elesis took you around a corner.

He clicked his tongue, outraged.

               “It’s not my job.” His hood had been pulled down, wavy black hair messy and tangled around his one topaz drop earing. Alistair was insulted “There is no way I’m supervising them, the idea is ridiculous and-“

               “And beneath you?” The Lady sighed. “Alistair for anyone else this disobedience would result in a flogging.” Her tone was short, and her frustration mirrored his. “Select your next words carefully, I will not look past this insubordination just because you are my son. You will respect my word as it is the word of our Lord.”  He grunted as his response. His mother chided him, “come now use your words you’re a grown man not a child.”

               The idea was an insult to his ego. He was not a caretaker; he had no interest in talking to you let along training you. He was more than that, he was a legendary assassin, he was his Lord’s ‘Reaper’. Deliverer of suffering, an icon of fear. And he could not even fathom something as degrading as sharing his own skills and secrets with someone less than.

 “How am I supposed to fulfil my duties then? If I’m mentoring them as well?”

               “You’ll be given adjustments.”

               “You’re still asking a lot, you didn’t want to afford me more responsibility within the sanctuary at the start of the year and now you ask of me to spend the four seasons training the new fodder.”

               His mother’s voice, tired, raised in a cutthroat peak, “You will speak about your fellow believers with respect, or have you forsaken our sanctuary’s rules? You forget we are all a family; Lord Idol would have it no other way. We work together to serve him, not ourselves. You will train our new believer; you will equip them of all the necessary skills to be as deadly as you are. It’s about time you learnt to contribute to the sanctuary for reasons other than self-fulfilment.”[CB1] 

                “I know the rules better than anyone. I’ve devoted my entire life to our Lord. You know that mother.” Alistair said insulted. “Yet you question my faith?”

               The Lady shook her head. “Of course not. But I have questioned your reason and restraint. You’ve been creating mess after mess lately when on your contracts; your actions have been destructive and caused great discord. You’re losing control. I have sought to understand why, and I think I found my answer. Responsibility? I am offering it to you, complete this task which you regard as less than and use it as an opportunity to abandon this reckless and selfish path that you journey down.”

               Alistair fumed. “Very well.” He spat turning away and striding from the ceremonial chamber. His head raced, his own mother…. Calling him reckless. Calling him selfish. Her words cut deeper than he liked to admit. His legs carried him automatically towards another room away from everyone. The sanctum. It was empty, everyone else too busy for prayers. Alistair dropped to his knees at the base of a large iron sculpture. The winged skeletal beast crowned over him as he closed his eyes shut and muttered his prayer. Looking up his eyes met those of the sculpture. He nodded solemnly and devoutly.

               He’d see that he made you into an assassin worthy of the unholy Dark God’s name. He’d mould you into his own piece of work through blood, sweat, tears and pain. He’d break you and rebuild you into the perfect reflection of himself. Then everyone would see his strength. Then his mother would have to acknowledge just how powerful he was.

You awoke wrapped under a purple blanket made from the softest wool you have ever felt. It was warm and plush, like sleeping within a dream. Sitting up in bed you noticed a piece of parchment left on a small round table to your side. You read the delicate writing in the candlelight.

               For our new believer, a welcoming present – Your new family.

               You hugged the blanket close to you taking in its warmth. It had a gentle citrus smell like orange peel and was stitched with a small skull motif across it. You noticed left nearby were familiar belongings too. Your new armour sat next to old clothes and belongings, including a silver pendent that had belonged to you when you were on the run, fleeing the murder you had committed. All neatly arranged on a chair nearby; they were the dregs of your life. You sighed and sat up, your body feeling stiff. You remembered being brought to the sleeping quarters and given a bed of your own in a small room which you were informed you would be sharing with another. Nearby wall sconces flickered with their flames casting golden glow across the velvet furnishings. You wondered where you were, how could such a place be hidden so safely and allowed to exist so easily untouched? Getting up from your bed you moved to a wash basin at the side and cleaned up. You washed your face and performed your oral hygiene with the amenities left for you. Once you had refreshed yourself you stripped the bandage still wrapped around your hand. Unravelling it you were met with disbelief as you studied your unharmed palm. Perfectly healed. You checked yourself in a mirror nailed to the wall turning around and looking over your back. Your neck was just as unharmed as your hand. The sight of it, unbruised or scarred disturbed you somewhat. The pain had felt too real for it to be false. Perhaps this was a factor of the ‘blessing’? Finally, you dressed yourself in your armour before turning your attention to your surroundings, noticing a small pocket watch on a shelf opposite the other bed in the room. Quietly you checked it, clicking open the lid the time read as five o’clock in the morning. A yawn escaped you and you returned the pocket watch to its shelf before standing dumbly unsure what to do next. It was early and yet you were alone.

               Bracing yourself you decided to explore the sanctuary as much as you could, slowly you opened the bedroom door, its silver handle engraved to mimic a skeleton at rest. Stepping out into a long corridor illuminated in candlelight, you were met with gloom and the scent of citrus. You peered down both directions of the corridor, one leading to several more doors and a dead end, the other drifting off into dimness further away. One way to go.

               Your boots clicked against the dusty floor as you moved through shadows. The walls had monstrous paintings in between more of the large tapestries, there was the occasional alcove sporting candles, ceramic vases with flora you recognized as poisonous and many, many skulls. Most of it seemed as just decoration but there was a single detail that caught your eyes. Along the walls an inscription endlessly transcribed what read to you as a prayer:

               And in his eyes, he controls the divine and sacred right of life. The unmaker is he, he chooses who suffers, he chooses who thrives. He chooses your torment the moment you crawl from the womb, bloodied and filthy. You answer to him, in praise and in punishment and trust he will direct you towards the hilt of the blade and not the point.

               Your eyes grew wary trying to follow it further and so you let go of the bizarre inscription as you approached the end of the long corridor. You finally arrived at a large hallway of stone pillars and arches that lead to even more long corridors that were baren and ended in even darker shadows. The lighting had almost all but vanished now with only a few candelabras lit amongst cobwebs and dust. You rolled your eyes. This place already felt like a cursed maze, and you were seemingly getting lost. You picked a corridor on the right side of the hall and started down it, still not sensing anyone or hearing a single sound. Perhaps everyone else was sleeping and you were the only one awake. And yet your unseen roommate in your area of the sleeping quarters was also absent. You continued to wander aimlessly through different halls until you looped back to the hallway with the stone pillars and arches. You sighed this time heading to a corridor to the left side of the hall, again passing through shadows and once more ending up back in the hall. You groaned spinning around looking at the remaining hallways.

               A feminine laugh caught you by surprise. It was delicate, pretty but unthreatening.

               “Are you okay?” You turned around to meet a human woman with both dark hair and complexion, she wore similar armour to you and was holding a thick book between both hands. You were caught by her beauty. Her face, her figure. She was stunningly beautiful. A gem glittering amongst the darkness. “I know how confusing these halls are at first, but you will soon get used to them fellow believer. Here come with me, you must be hungry.” You nodded; you hadn’t even considered when your last meal took place (not counting the repulsive fleshy substance you consumed during the initiation ritual.) The woman led you back through the left corridor however a few steps in she paused in front of a wall before placing her hand on a particularly smooth stone. At an instant the bricks parted to form an arched door which the two of you passed under to enter a well-lit common room with a roaring fire near a dining table.

               “This is where we all tend to converge should we have some spare time in between contracts and chores. You can come here anytime just activate the door with your palm.”

               “I had no idea. I walked down so many empty corridors wondering where everyone was.” The woman laughed again in a teasing manner. Her easy-going nature would have been comforting had the two of you not been located within the cult of a murderous God.

               “You’ll have to forgive our disorganisation; things have been rather chaotic for us all recently so it may take some time for you to see us operating as normal.” She led you to the large dining table, pulling a chair out for you and setting her book down in front. “Any questions you have will likely be answered here. It’s the scripture of Idol. Consider it like a handbook.” You nodded taking it and flicking through while your fellow believer passed through a side door to the kitchen temporarily, then reappearing with two bowls of steaming porridge topped with dates and honey.

               “Please, eat up Y/N.”

               “You know my name? But I don’t even know yours.”

               “How silly of me.” She smiled, “I am Vivienne and we both serve our Lord in the same way.”

               So she was also an assassin.“Nice to meet you. Thank you for the food.” You ate in an unusual peace, enjoying the fire opposite and the liveliness it brought after so long amongst lonesome shadows. Vivienne flicked through her book, folding he corners of pages she recommended you read.

               “This will have to do until the matter of your training is decided.” She mused pushing the book back towards you. “And of course you can ask me any questions at any time.”

               “Training?”

               “Of course.” She said finishing the last spoonful of her food. “You won’t be allowed to leave the Sanctuary before you are properly trained. And we need to await the return of the Crusader who will appoint you your mentor- ooh perhaps he’ll appoint me! That would be so fun, I can already tell we’re going to work well together. I have a sense for these things; I just know it.”

               “This is too much.” You sighed, putting your spoon down across your now empty bowl. “My heads spinning with all this new information. Perhaps you could show me around instead, I enjoy exploring.”

               Vivienne’s face perked up, “That sounds good! Perhaps we shall encounter more company, and you can see how delightful everyone is. Come on let’s go!” She pulled you up from her seat, forgetting the bowls and even her book of scripture and took you by the arm back through the arch that appeared without touch this time, out into the shadowy corridor.

You quickly learnt that Vivienne’s disposition was both lively and impulsive. She spoke in unorganized sentences, rambling most of the time in between questioning you.

“Where were you born? Oh, was that in the western province? Have you ever been that one Inn? Their mead is amazing! We should go sometime together.”

               “What’s your favourite way to kill? Mine’s poison, I have a syringe and a knack for alchemy, I’ll show you sometime if you’ve never brewed your own poison before. I find nothing is more pleasurable than charming a target, then poisoning them before they even realise what’s happening.”

“Did you have a lover that you had to leave behind? No? Good, outside relationships are frowned upon.”

“Oh yes, everyone’s so wonderful here, we truly are a family under Lord Idol. How did you find meeting Our Lady? I think she’s just the most wonderful woman. I feel her love for us is so strong, not even my birth mother made me feel as safe and comforted as she does.”

Vivienne’s voice, while sweet sounding, refused to cease as she showed you all sorts of hidden rooms located down the gloomy corridors of the sanctuary. You walked for ages as she gave you a full and intense tour complete with details, passing by members on patrols of different areas, each greeting you with either a smile or a casual nod of the head. After the common room you saw a library with alchemy laboratory and herbarium then the smithy, greeting Wulfred up and early along with his child apprentice. Then you got to see the bathing chambers with large natural pools of fresh mineral water from the caves system that linked to a set of waterfalls within the sanctuary. Vivienne then took you past the ceremonial chamber where prayers were said to Lord Idol, and a weekly communion took place on the fifth evening of each week, leading you past the oracle’s chambers within which The Lady resided and which was also off limits without her permission. Finally, Vivienne led you down a dim staircase towards the underground caverns explaining this was where ‘official business’ took place. You saw an orc patrolling the hall, axe in hand. They grunted in your direction, Vivienne smiled and waved back. As you passed by an area described by Vivienne as the dungeons (where you had apparently been held) a nearby wail sounded out from the dark, echoing as someone banged the whole of their body against the dungeon walls. Someone was in excruciating pain.

“Quiet!” the orc, a woman, yelled, hitting her axe against metal bars of a locked gate.

“A lively one is he Drua?” Vivienne asked with an unsettling enthusiasm.

The orc groaned, “you have no idea. Been acting like this all night.” She kicked the gate once more and sighed. “What are you both doing down here so early?” She asked, brows raised towards you.

“I’m giving our new believer a tour. Y\N allow me to introduce Drua, she’s the head sanctuary Sentinel – if you ever have a concern for our security,” Vivienne caught Drua’s eye, “Well don’t, she runs a tight ship.” She laughed nervously, “I do hope it’s not a problem that we’re down here.”

Drua shrugged, “Its fine for now, just keep your eyes peeled for him. There are a few of his prisoners locked up currently and you know he doesn’t like people going near his ‘toys’ without permission. Best not take our new family member too close.” Drua gestured to the cell where the ceaseless wailing persisted from, “he’s the reason for this one’s non-stop noise.” And she slammed the bars again with her axe.

You nervously cleared your throat, “what’s down there?” You gestured towards where the noises came from as the rattle of chains reverberated off the walls.

Drua followed your hand before turning towards you with a smirk, her fangs exposed. “That’s where we keep our tributes. Captives, hostages mostly but some will also be sacrifices for our Lord. You may find yourself down here at some point if there’s a body you take a likening too. Many family members come here to blow off steam as there’s quite the array to instruments to play with.”

“It’s true!” Vivienne giggled, “I brought a man here who tried to make certain advances towards me even though I told him I had no interest. He kept saying he was ‘actually good on the inside’ the whole time he was hurting me, so I opened him up and showed him how black his heart was. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes.” She leant against the wall as you cautiously eyed the faraway look in her face, her expression was glassy and blissful. Drua clicked her fingers and Vivienne’s attention snapped back, smile on her face with a glow. “Sorry, what were we talking about.” You had to stop yourself from showing too much of a reaction, already the deranged madness was starting to get to you.

Drua sighed, swinging her axe over her shoulder. The painful voice from the distant cell moaned again.

“Please. Please. Please.” They repeated in strained agony. “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.”

“Hmm? Sounds as if something has ruined Alistair’s day with the way he’s been treating his guest. Is he still not past being overlooked for the promotion at the start of the year.” Vivienne asked. “He’s so immature!”

“Shh!” Drua hissed, looking around nervously before gesturing you both to come in closer. “He always ends up hearing those who speak ill of him.” She checked the surroundings worried, yet the desire to speak of gossip was too strong. “But I’ll admit ever since Our lady refused to make him the Crusader, he has been down here a lot just hacking away at victim after victim.” You shuddered picturing the eleven man you’d met yesterday and the way he glared at you as you left. His ‘toy’ let out a painful cry, and it sent a shiver down your spine.  

“What’s the ‘Crusader’?” You asked giving a nervous peek over your shoulder. You felt like you were being watched.

Whispering Drua lent closer to you. “They’re who you answer to. They’re one of the superior members of our order, just under our Lady herself and leader of the Assassin faction. Alistar coveted the position, but our Lady appointed another earlier this year. He’s been… bitter ever since. ”

Vivienne yawned loudly, “Why are you whispering? Who cares if he hears us, it’s not like it’s a secret that he’s deranged and jealous. Besides Y/N you shouldn’t be afraid of him. He loves to intimidate new recruits, gets off on it.” Her voice echoed down the hallway as Drua started to bristle, concerned who would hear and regretting ever giving into conversation. Vivienne carried on unashamedly, “he’s a nasty, cruel sadist even by our standards and a sore loser-“ she stopped mid-sentence to stare at something behind you. You turned your head slowly and nervously to see a familiar glower pointed your way.

How Alistar had snuck up on the three of you so easily was beyond comprehension. Drua adverted her gaze going stiff in a manner unbecoming of an orc. Vivienne went silent so that even her breathing was muted and you just stood and stared at him. Never before had you seen such a dark expression. He took one step closer to your group.

Drua panicked and immediately began to back pedal. “Alistair, Vivienne didn’t mean it. You know how she is, most of what she says doesn’t matter.”

“Hey!” Vivienne shouted, composure regained and much to your surprise the fear she had shown a mere moment ago was gone, replaced by confidence. “I meant every word. I’m tired of you walking all over us. You’re twisted.” She folded her arms across her chest as she took a step forward to meet him, locking you in the middle of the two. Drua took a deep inhale.

“Wanting to impress the new blood huh?” Alistar said cooly, his fringe falling across his eyes as he tilted his head with a chuckle. “Word of advice Y/N, don’t put your trust in her, she’s not known for being a team player when it matters. Most of what she says is all just honey-talk and a trap.” His tone was as sharp as the edge of the dagger sheathed to his belt. He cast his gaze towards Drua who refused to look at him and clicked his tongue. Her eyes met his and he motioned with his head behind him. Drua nodded and gave you a sorry smile before walking away leaving you stood between Vivienne and Alistair.

“Still, I guess you’re not wrong. I am cruel. And twisted.” He smirked. “But when it comes to what we do then it’s not a bad thing at all.” His words came out with a dry laugh causing you to instinctively back away. His body towered over you with a menacing look, it felt as if he was mocking you and ignoring Vivienne, like you had been the one to insult him wrong. “You’re wrong about one thing though. I am not a sore loser.” There was fury in his voice.

“I don’t think Our Lady sees it that way. I hear she’s worried about you. There’s a rumour you’re soon to be restricted from contracts, since you keep causing mess after mess for her to clean up.”

Alistair smiled, making eye contact with Vivienne who grimaced. “If she’s so worried about me why would she choose me to be our new recruit’s mentor then?” Alistair delighted in the absolute disbelief that flashed across Vivienne’s face. Perhaps there was a silver lining to this new bothersome responsibility after all. He guessed Vivienne would have been expecting to be selected instead, expecting the raise in responsibility to mean more favour in the sanctuary.  

“Overlooked again? How unfortunate. Perhaps Our Lady doubts your abilities? But why wouldn’t she? You’re nothing but a pretty face slowly getting older. I wonder how much longer it will be before you meet your expiry date, hm?” The venom slipped from his tongue, and he caught the glimpse of Vivienne’s confidence crumbling from the subtle twitch of her shoulders, the downward cast of her gaze.

“I-if the Crusader was here… he’d have picked differently. Just you wait Alistair once he returns, you’ll be put in your place. He won’t protect you and he sees you for what you are. A monster.”

“Careful,” Alistair whispered sinisterly, “Words like that can provoke a reaction. And your face is your greatest asset, what a shame it would be if it sustained permanent damage.” His dagger flashed at his side, shoulders squaring. A warning.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Vivienne whispered. “You’re crazy but you’re not insane. Your mother, Lord Idol. You’d never be forgiven for such heresy, and then where would you go?”

“Don’t assume to know my relationship with our Lord. I know that wherever I go, he will be at my side as I his.” He sheathed his blade, realizing his posture. “But lucky for you, he’s chosen you to be a part of his family. Even if I wonder why he’d pick someone as vain and pathetic as you, I accept it’s not my place to question him. Perhaps you should reflect on that too and stop poking your nose into my business, for everything I do, I do with his blessing.”

His arrogance provoked something in you as you stood still between him and Vivienne. “You’re quick to lash out when challenged, aren’t you? You’re doing little to prove Vivienne wrong. How quickly you have given me a strong first impression of being a bully.” You stood, still, against him. His eyebrows raised as a gentle smirk caught on his face. “And like all bullies you’re an insecure coward. I may have only just met you but that much is clear.”

A strange, delightful feeling filled him inside, watching you try to make yourself appear big in contrast to him. It’s not that he found your words funny, oh no. He’d make you pay soon enough for insulting him. Then he’d teach you your place. But rather there was something enjoyable about your expression. The conviction in your words, when you hardly knew him, how there was no traces of the usual fear that the others carried when they insulted him behind his back, but rather an indifference. An innocence. He licked his lips. It was delightful how you had just got here and thought you had him figured out. He’d eventually make it clear to you though; he was no coward.

“Vivienne. Let’s go, this isn’t worth our time.”

 He felt sorry for you in a way, you’d falsely decided that between the two of them, Vivienne was the better option. He looked forward to when you realised that Vivienne was as hollow as her smile. At least he was honest about who he was, unlike her. A twisted spike of pain jabbed at his heart as he looked you up and down. You were oddly pretty to him with your blatant innocence. Something about the way you stood complimented him opposite you. And while you now shrunk against him as he explored you with a predatory gaze, he found himself feeling sad? Concerned? He was enjoying this interaction more than he liked to admit and wished it was prolonged more. Usually, confrontation such as this was tedious, always having to defend himself to his fellow believers who jealously feared his superiority and skills. He watched you worriedly look to Vivienne with concern as she still stood, defeated. Oh, how pathetic you looked now, backing away towards her assuming she needed your help. He suddenly had this strange desire for you to look that way towards him. Perhaps it would be nice for you to follow him. Maybe this arrangement would work out after all. He liked the idea of someone so innocent having to look up at him. Worship him.

All only to spite Vivienne. That’s what Alistair told himself.

He watched you leave. His eyes never straying from you, head racing with all the fun he was going to have from now on.

Vivienne lead you away, having gone silent. It gave you the experience of hearing the dead stillness of silence like you’d never heard it before. Even your footsteps were muffled. It made you question if either of you were breathing. It was unbearable.

               “Are you okay?” You asked desperate to break the silence.

“You shouldn’t have said any of that.”  She remained with her back towards you, her words scolding. “Alistair won’t forgive you for that. And if what he says is true, you’re going to be spending a lot of time with him. He can actually hurt you. Me? As a fellow believer that would get him exiled but the rules are different if Our Lady has entrusted you to him. You will be under his jurisdiction.”

You both returned to silence as Vivienne brought you back to the stone hall.

“I’m sorry but I have to end our tour here. I must go and pray to Lord Idol, I’m finding myself feeling nervous. Excuse me.” Quickly within a blink of the eye Vivienne faded into the gloom of one of the numerous endless corridors that surrounded you. Alone once more.

Slowly you back tracked your way to the living quarters staring to memorise small details in order to begin learning your bearings. On your way you passed a couple of familiar faces from the initiation ceremony, each giving you acknowledgement as they carried on with their business. However, you felt too tired to introduce yourself and so you smiled in return and carried on with trying to navigate back towards your bed and the warm purple blanket. Eventually you returned to a familiar door with the skeletal doorhandle, noticing it differed from every other door, each with their own unique designs. Opening it with a twist of the handle you pushed open the black door to see a familiar woman with her back to you. The Lady. And in her hand, she had your pendant, tracing its design with her finger. She looked up in surprise however as you entered, then smiled setting it down. Her plum purple gown had a beautiful lace vail that framed her slender body like a saint in a burial shroud. She looked regal, graceful and unholy.

               “Y/N.” She said with genuine pleasure. “I’m glad you have had a chance to get out a bit. I apologize for letting you wake up alone but it’s hard to pinpoint how long each believer needs to sleep for after the ceremony.” She pressed both her hands together before offering one to you, pulling you across the room then sitting down on your bed. “Now I’ve come to brief you on where you go from here. I’ve assigned your mentor who will train you over the next year. Until you pass your training, I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave the sanctuary on your own.”

               You nodded. “I understand. Vivienne told me so, and recommended me some pages from the handbook…” You trailed off forgetting what she called it.

               The Lady smiled, “Ah yes, she’s always reliable our Vivienne, I’m glad you have gotten to know her already. Tomorrow your mentor will go through with you the scripture of Idol and brief you on our rules properly. Now as to whom will be seeing to your training-“

               “Alistair, right?” You said looking down. The Lady’s smile faltered slightly before she understood.

               “So, I see you have already had a chance to speak with him. What was your impression now after the ceremony?”

               You looked up nervous, “Well My Lady, being honest I have a feeling we should work together for the better, however I have my reservations in regard to an amicable relationship.”

               The Lady sighed looking away, arm resting on the bed in support as she leaned back, “You catch on quick. I won’t beat around the bush my son is a…” She paused for consideration, “Rebellious spirit. He is powerful, so please understand that I have assigned him for a good reason. He is truly a remarkable assassin- ever heard of the Reaper? The accursed hand of the Dark God. Alistair has carved himself a place in history as a fearful weapon. As The Lady of the sanctuary, I have respect for that, and while I do not allow myself to favour him, as his mother, I am proud.” She said it with a tone of confidence that masked regret. “If only he believed that.”

               “I didn’t know he was your son.”

               The Lady nodded. “I’m only going to tell you this since from tomorrow you will have to obey his word, and I believe you should go into that arrangement with some equal footing – he used to be different. He’s always been strong and brave, bur recently he has lost his sense of caution and ventures down an unstable and ruthless path. I prayed to Idol on how to save him from his own self-destruction. I begged the Dark God on what to do as a mother. And do you know what he whispered to me in a dream?” You shook your head as the elven woman leaned close. “He painted your face into my mind. You, who was freshly covered in blood, would stand shoulder to shoulder with him. So please, even if it’s wrong for me to ask this of you - I beg you to follow him. Show him a better path. Do this and our sanctuary will prosper!” She grabbed your hand, nails catching your skin causing you to wince. Her expression was manic and suddenly you recognized the very clear similarities between mother and son. The way the amethyst eyes pierced with their gaze, the razor edges of the cheekbones that complimented sharp arched eyebrows. You wondered just how much pain and suffering The Lady had had to inflict upon others in order to claim her title as the Priestess.

               “I don’t understand… I thought you said he was to train me, but you want me to… Save him?”

               The Lady pulled you even closer, hushing your voice, “You don’t need to worry. Just know that the choice made to bring you two together was by order of our Lord. I think you will help each other grow in some way. Of course, please let us keep this between ourselves.” As she finished her words the door opened and a short woman entered reading a book. When she saw The Lady, she abruptly shut it, bowing her head.

               “My Lady, pardon me for the intrusion.”

               The Lady shook her head, letting you go and standing up to leave, smoothing out the creases in her gown. “You are quite alright Talon, I was just seeing into our new believer. Now I hope the two of you get along well together.” She said taking her leave.

               “Wait!” You shouted out to her, “My Lady!”

               The eleven-woman stopped and turned to you surprised.

               “I’m sorry, but what if I fail? What if I cannot do what you expect of me?”

               The Lady looked at you and smiled with eerie calm. “You simply will not. Neither of you can possibly fail. To do so would be to invoke the wrath of Idol. And you may be uncertain, but I can assure you that Alistair will not permit that to happen.” And with that the door closed behind her without her even using her hands. Sorcery.

               Talon looked at you with uncertainty. “So, it’s true. You’ve been given to Alistair.” She said slumping down onto her bed with her book. “Good luck.” She said not looking up.

The next morning a note was left at your door for you.

               Training room. Nine O’clock, in full armour. Do not make me wait.

You groaned. It was almost ten past eight, and you were not certain of where the training room even was, not to mention getting yourself fully dressed in the armour all alone seemed a challenge considering how long it took you to get out of it the night before. Your roommate was nowhere to be found so you would have to hurry up and get on with it.

               After some slight panic and getting lost once again you finally stumbled through a set of thick double doors into a large room with military training equipment and countless weapons secured to the walls. An elven man stood against a stone pillar, glowering. You wondered if that was just his natural expression.

               “You’re late by ten minutes.” He growled. “Each minute is a single mistake, so that is ten mistakes total you will have to make up for somewhere else.”

               You were annoyed by his accusatory tone, “Well I did not know where to go. You could have helped me. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do as my mentor?”

               “That’s eleven mistakes. Do not talk to me as if I serve you, if I order you to arrive for a certain time I expect you to arrive early if anything. I do not like to be kept waiting. Time is everything to us, you shall learn that soon enough. Besides,” He hissed, “I have other responsibilities to attend to besides babysitting you. Don’t presume that you’re the most important duty I have.” He turned around and walked to a small table with a familiar thick book on it. Pulling a chair out he sat down, crossing his legs and gesturing with his eyes for you to follow. His eyes read clearly, let’s not waste more time. You slowly and silently joined him at the table, sitting opposite him and shrinking into your chair unsettled by his natural imposing aura. Even sat at a table he exuded malice.

               “This,” he said pointing to the book now in his hand, “is the scripture of Idol. You’re going to read and memorise it within the first month of your training, and yes,” he said with a smirk, “I will be testing you on you progress doing so.” He flipped open to an early page in the book, presenting it to you. “Today we will start with the sacred and finite rules of our sanctuary.”

               You stared at the thick book in disbelief, you were unsure you’d manage to even read through the entire scripture once within a month, let alone memorise it. “I’m not sure if I will be able to remember all of that in just a month.”

               “You will either memorise it or I will have you carve the scripture into your skin over and over again until it imprints upon your memory permanently.” The hostility in his voice told you he was serious and so you decided to keep quiet. “You can start reading through it tonight, this copy of the scripture is yours to keep. Don’t lose it.”

Alistair recited through the absolute rules of your newfound faith. Expressing how above all of your other duties, upholding these core rites was paramount. While he did so he pushed the page towards you, seemingly staring at the words but speaking them with inherent memorisation:

Rite One: Above all else we answer to the Dark God Idol. His word is absolute law. To deny this is heresy. To insult, disrespect or betray him is treason.

Rite Two: All members will observe weekly communal worship of our Lord while present at their Sanctuary.

Rite Three: Members of a sanctuary are united in their following of Idol, to disrespect, betray or harm one another is to going against the word of Lord Idol.

You did not say anything as Alistair read through that rule, but your eyes did flick up to see the seriousness in his face, which surprised you. Had he not threatened to harm Vivienne only yesterday? Was his hostility not a constant offence? Your attention snapped back to the page in front of you as he continued:

Rite Four: All instructions given by a superior are to be obeyed without question. All instructions given by the Priestess of Idol are to obeyed without question. Failure to do so will result in penance issued by the superior who was wronged.

“As your mentor I act as your direct superior.” You nodded silently, ignoring how smug he sounded.  

Rite Five: Outside relationships are forbidden unless the outsider has our Lord’s blessing.  

“Finally,” he said turning the page, “Rite Six: Once inducted into the Sanctuary as a follower of Idol, believers pledge their life to him and as such, may never leave the faith or abandon him.”

               So that was it. You could never leave. You had assumed as such but hearing conformation of the fate delivered to you still shook you to your core. Alistair closed the book and pushed it your way for you to hold and then leaned back in his chair watching you from under his dark fringe. His fingers drummed on the table as he looked you up and down, enjoying seeing you subtly prickle under his gaze. Already he enjoyed having you look at him more than he thought he would.

               “I will start by assessing your strengths and weaknesses. I will then train you in the art of stealth while educating you on our histories. You will follow this strict schedule as I instruct. If I give you a task, I expect it completed fully without delay. Failure to do so and you will be punished in a way I see fit.”

               “How long do I have to train?” You asked wary of the answer.

               “The length of four seasons or five-hundred and fifty-two days. It’s going to be an almost impossible task, but if you’re not ready in a year, then we both suffer the consequences.”

               You scoffed, “Gee, thank you for your vote of confidence. And how am I supposed to do well if the whole time my mentor is looking down on me?”

               Alistair glowered again. “If I look down upon you its only because back then, the day of your initiation I saw hesitance. I looked at you and in your face was wariness and fear. Do you stand here now because Idol called to you? Or because you were afraid? We have no need for scared assassins in our ranks, unable to bloody the blades blessed by our Lord.” He leant in close, and in a threatening tone said, “I will not become a failure because of you. I will make your life a living hell if you even so much as slack off for a single minute. Understood? Your life is destined for the Dark God now, embrace it or else.”

               You nodded.

               “Then let’s get started. From now on nine O’clock in the morning to eight O’clock in the evening, your time belongs to me. Shall we start with some sit ups? Let’s see you do one-hundred and twenty for the eleven mistakes you made today, ten extra for your impertinence towards me yesterday.”

               The subtle sadistic look in his face did not give you hope that you would be starting out easy.

The first few weeks of your training consisted of athletic tests Alistair used to measure how healthy your body was, unsurprised to see you were just an average person – for now. From nine in the morning to two in the afternoon, he drilled you in exercise, strength training, agility and weaponry. Then was a half hour break for lunch before it was back to his tyranny. He ran your training as a strict regime, merciless in his expectations. Afternoons were the worst part of your day, only seeming to drag on. Activities alternated between attending sanctuary chores such as cleaning, patrols or cooking (which Alistair would slack off from, using you to complete his share of the work) to intense lectures on the scripture of Idol that you were expected to learn like the back of your hand. The long days meant that you were spending an intense amount of time with Alistair, together alone. Quickly, you had to get yourself used to his attention to detail and perfectionism. Everything he showed you, everything he said seemed so easy and effortless on his part and yet when you tried to execute the same techniques or ideas you more often than not failed quickly. But it was only the first few weeks of course, and when you arrived back to your room, exhausted and in pain you would curl up in a ball straight away and fall asleep. There were a few days when you were so tired that you had hardly realised Talon was gone, assigned a contract that meant her being away for a month or perhaps more. Your time was spread so thin that you hardly had a chance to speak to Vivienne much. That was partly due to Alistair, who forbade you from idle talk during training hours or else he threatened a lash on your back for every minute wasted. So, in the end most days meant that Alistair had become your only source of socialisation.

               Which meant you had begrudgingly gotten to know him.

               At first you saw him as an egotistical asshole, who delighted in watching you suffer but got frustrated when you failed. And yet as the time passed you noticed quirks that were hidden behind a shadowy mask. Firstly, what became apparent was his fierce and unshakable faith in the Dark God. The evenings he read through the scriptures with you, slowly went from boring lectures to intimate seminars where you were able to probe him with questions about the religion. And surprisingly he opened up to you, speaking about Idol, his mother and spirituality with unashamed tenderness. It had taken you by surprise initially, before captivating you. Those quiet conversations were so different from how he was at any other time, brutal, antagonizing and ruthless. Instead, he became quiet and introspective, a spark in his eye whenever he spoke of his faith. The pride in his smile when he spoke of his childhood growing up in the sanctuary, of being born here, raised by his mother who you could tell he admired. Every time there were open pages from the scripture between the two of you, he would reveal a new detail that helped you piece together who he was and how he was forged into the cold-blooded killer he would revert to when the book was closed. And when that happened, he’d be back to the same hostile elvish assassin you had come to put up with.

               Alternatively, Alistair found himself indulge equally in these moments, initially using them as a way to educate you on the faith of Idol, he surprised himself by enjoying the chance of reciting parts of his childhood. Very few people had ever been interested in him personally before. Most just expected him to be the expert trained killer that he was born to be. Why try to be anything else when no one cared? Afterall, he had had few friends over the years. Either people were wary of getting close to him as the son of the sanctuary’s Priestess, or jealous of his skills and sought to undermine him. Then the few times he got through to someone as more than all of that they ended up meeting an untimely death when on a contract, so he had to embrace walking alone. Soon Alistair got so used to being alone and being better than everyone else that he stopped caring about what others thought. He decided that he had no choice but to embrace the madness that came with loneliness.

               But here you were, having already antagonized him yet treating these private moments with respect. You lingered on every word he spoke, soaking it in. When he challenged your knowledge, you surprised him with accuracy almost every time and it became clear you took his word very seriously. You were slow to develop your physical skills so far but your understanding of the world you had stepped in, the histories, the concept of death, it fitted into you like missing pieces of a puzzle. He was uncertain of your motives at the start, but quickly he recognized you were not called here as just a common murderer. You were more than that, maybe even similar to him if Idol had called upon you directly. He felt a fool for his doubts. So soon his intensity and brutality came from a desire to see you thrive. Although you would never know that.

               But as time progressed you felt yourself rise to his challenges, wanting to get things right if only to assert your willpower let alone survive. You still clashed however as he sought perfection from you, a flawlessness that he glimpsed within, which you only interpreted as an attempt to wear you down against unreachable peaks. Currently three months into your training he had you work on your quickness and lethality with a blade, and no matter how fast you struck down fake targets with slashes to all the more vulnerable areas it never seemed to please him. So much that he refused to progress your lessons. Evening after evening you would return to your room and practice your movements, starting to hold yourself to the same high expectations, training with rigour even in your spare time. Until you had personally had enough and decided you would live in the training room until you were faster than light with your movements.

               The next morning you awoke at four, and quietly dressed yourself as to not disturb Talon, leaving for practice. You’d be perfect so that come nine o’clock when Alistair arrived for your morning regime, you’d have mastered the technique, and he would have no choice but to progress your training.

               For two hours you practiced alone in the dim torch light, slashing and slashing at the straw and wooden mannequins, using a small hourglass to time how many strikes you could hit within a minute. Your personal best had been stuck at twenty-five in a minute. Twenty-five deep cuts across the body. Alistair’s best was forty-five. He could also decapitate someone in one single strike. You panted in exhaustion as you forced your body to make stronger hits and deeper cuts, making a mess of the straw all over the floor. You did not even hear the elven assassin enter the room as you pushed your body to its limits.

               Alistair watched you for several minutes in bemusement before he started to see the glimpses of pain you were putting yourself through. The cracks in your expression, the harsh ragged breaths that fell from your mouth, the blood from your bruised fingertips smeared across the hilt of your blade. He recognized the vicious state that you were in; he’d seen it before. He had experienced it himself before.

               “That’s enough.” At last, he interrupted causing you to snap your head around to him, a frantic and tired look upon your face. “Its six in the morning, what are you doing here?” He scanned the floor, noticing the scattered straw. You had been here for a while. He was both impressed and surprised at your doing so.

               “I could ask you the same. Don’t you have duties you always attend to in the morning?

               Alistair regarded you with a playful smirk, the exhaustion in your voice gave itself away in your blunt tone, “I always work out in the mornings. Now are you going to answer my question?”

               “I wanted to practice. I need to move on.”

               “You’ll move on when you’re ready.”

               “And when will that be?” You snapped.

               “Watch your tone.” Alistair growled, playfulness gone. “When I decide so.” He walked over to you grabbing your arms and pulling them out towards him, undoing your gloves and arm wraps and checking your skin. “You’ve over done it.” He sighed. Hie traced the veins in your skin that were popping out intensely, feeling blood pump itself through them in wild pulses. Your body, enchanted to enhance your agility and vitality was a single bruise away from collapsing in on itself. “You idiot.” He breathed just ever so quiet enough that you could not hear him properly. He actually felt bad for you, but he ignored the feeling for now.

               “I thought I overheard some of the others talking about you staying up late. I should have said something earlier. Now we won’t be able to train for a few days until your muscles recover.”

               “I don’t understand!” You shouted as he turned away. You had not meant to raise your voice but something uncontrollable spiked within you.

               “What have I done?” You cried, your voice cracking as Alistair gathered the equipment you had been practicing with and put it away. You knew you were likely making more trouble for yourself yelling at him, but you seemed to have lost all willpower for composure. Tears started to pool at your eyes. But much to both of your surprise Alistair was calm. He looked at you at first in pity and then slowly the guilt gnawed at him. How long had it been since he felt bad for someone else?

He rolled his eyes as you started to sob uncontrollably slumping against the wall. “You’ve been working your body too hard. The blessing you were given only carries you so far, it hasn’t made your body immortal.” He crouched down next to you on the floor sitting down so the pair of you were shoulder to shoulder. You turned your head away in embarrassment. You hated crying in front of him. It had happened a few times so far, the times when you’d pissed him off and he’d retaliated in a mean and cruel way. He’d found you a couple of times crying after locking you in one of the dungeons for hours to ‘think on your mistakes’, or when he’d made you spar with him only to strike you down in an instant, not yielding until you were bloodied and begging for him to stop. Each time your tears had only served to drive him on, you’d seen it in his eyes – satisfaction and delight. Just thinking about it made you gag. Alistair reservedly put a hand to your shoulder causing you to shrink away. Which he found regretful.

               Watching you cry, face a mess, skin slick with a nervous sweat made his stomach drop in a terrifying way. Suddenly something was revealed to him. Seeing you shake, the purity in your tears, the raw realness of the pain and pressure you carried on your shoulders as a weight. It called out to him, it knew him. He too then turned his head away. But his was in shame. He was split in two. Saddened and concerned. He wanted to hold you and pull you close to his chest and whisper that it would be okay. Hearing your strained cries made his fists ball up, there was both something so tragic but familiar about their sound. Unlike any other time that he’d seen you at your lowest, this made his heart ache. A feeling he never thought he’d ever understand. Until now.

He wanted to save you from the pain.

               “I wish I had some sort of handkerchief to give you.” He gave a dry laugh, “You’ve really messed yourself up.”

               “Me? So this is my fault?” You cried. He winced.

               “I know, that’s not correct, is it? I’m the reason for blame after all.”

               Your breath shook in disbelief as you heard him speak. No way… He wasn’t about to turn the other cheek, was he?

               “This was never going to be easy.” He said after thinking for a moment. “I know it doesn’t make it feel better, but what you’re feeling right now is exactly what all of us have gone through. The frustration, the pain, the strain and toll on ourselves. But in the end, it’s only a fraction of what we go up against before we take a life. That’s still the hardest thing about our way of life.”

               Alistair gave into himself and let his words fall from his mouth. The truth had finally crept up on him, and he knew to hide from the brutal truth would only make him a coward. He had to admit to the pain he had inflicted. He had to own it.

               He sighed. You had called him that once. A coward.

               “I didn’t think you found it hard. I didn’t think any of this was hard for you. Don’t try to understand. It’s not like you don’t enjoy killing.” You mumbled the last accusation, but he still heard it. But he laughed, it creeped you out. It was a real genuine laugh, albeit quiet. You never would have even guessed he knew how to laugh in such a normal way.

               “You forget I was born here in this sanctuary. This is all I’ve ever known, I’ve had more time to learn and besides it’s not like I ever had a choice in this. Not that I’m complaining about my lot. I’d never want to be anywhere else.”

               “What was my choice then? And how could I have chosen differently?” You whispered, terrified your words would leak out the uncertainty you had carried secretly since the day you woke up in that cell.

Alistair pulled his body to face you, posture open as a gesture of safety. “Once you were a free person and you made a choice to take a life. No one forced you to do that. It was your decision that lead you here.” You glared at him for bringing your past up, something you had not yet hard the courage to speak about with anyone at the sanctuary. Although you suspected the word of your past had gotten around during idle chat. Alistair continued, “But I didn’t have that same choice. This is the only home I have ever known. And growing up no one asked me how I wanted to serve my Lord, if I wanted to spend the rest of my life tending to the horses or studying the scriptures. No. I was told I would be a killer. And so that is who I am.”

“But you wouldn’t trade your fate, would you?”

“Careful,” he whispered in a warning of genuine worry, “it sounds as though you are having regretful thoughts about your faith. That’s heresy, if anyone else hears you…” He pulled you close and this time you didn’t try to avoid his touch. As strange as it was you found yourself leaning into him comfort. He made you feel heard. As difficult as it was to admit, you could tell he was trying to help you not suffer for once. “But no, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything, yet I wish I could live without being scared ever again.”

“What has scared the reaper of death?” You asked. Your tears had finally stopped, and your breathing had steadied while you listened to the gentle heartbeat of the elf who held you close, latching onto the security of the moment- the first moment of tenderness that you had experienced in a long, long time.

He smiled hearing the name he was so proud to carry fall from your lips in a tone of un-disguised fascination.

“If I tell you my most terrifying memory, will you promise me to take better care of yourself.”

“I promise.”

Alistair paused and listened for a brief moment, checking for any impressions someone else was listening in on their conversation before pulling your head into his chest and whispering in a hushed voice.

“My mother and I were close growing up. She was the sweetest mother anyone could ask for. Except one day she took me from the sanctuary, something unusual as I was normally forbidden from leaving, much like you are currently. As she led me down the rocky pathways of the mountains she wouldn’t speak to me, not even offering me comfort when I tripped and fell, cutting my knees on the rocks. I can still feel the harshness of her grip as she held my hand. We eventually arrived at an old shed in the forest at the base of the mountains, where she took me to the front door and handed me a dagger.”

“She told me, ‘There’s a bad man in here who wronged me. Wronged our Lord. You are to go inside and kill him.’” Alistair closed his eyes, swinging his head back and slamming it on the wall, but holding you close still. “I told her I didn’t think I could do it; I wasn’t ready.”

“What did she say?”

He paused. Then looked at you. “She told me, ‘if you cannot find it in yourself to do this then don’t you dare come out and face me, instead you had better slit your wrists and die.” The nature of the words made you shudder, and he felt it too, taking it to heart. “I was seven. And that was the most I have ever felt scared.”

“Was it the fear of failure?” You whispered trying to connect the similarities between the two of you. Relate to him even. Not something you ever thought possible.

“No.” He said in a whisper. “It was not failure but rather losing the love of my mother and my God.” He pulled you away, having cast that memory from burdening his chest for the first time felt freeing. Moreover, it imprinted on you, the two of you now had a unique bond and as he clutched your shoulders tightly, he realised he didn’t want to ever let go of you. “I need you to take care of yourself now because if you don’t you will never succeed. And if you fail, I lose more than just my reputation. I’m no idiot, I know I’ve ran up quite a blood debt with the sanctuary, I know I’m difficult. I’ve always understood how our Lord’s love is not infinite; and I could not bear to lose his favour. And besides there is my mother…” He trailed off scared to continue. But the way you reached for his arm and rubbed it instinctively in soothing circles he found strength to speak.

               “I don’t want to cause her heart to ache. That’s what scares me. And that is why we must not fail.”

               “What now. How do we survive this?” You asked and he was glad you thought of it as a team effort. He pushed some hair out from your face.

               “I meant it when I said you need to rest. You’ll only do permanent damage to yourself at this rate. I would hate to see such a beautiful and sharp mind as yours snap.” You leaned back, slightly alarmed. Alistair was not known for compliments, let alone flirtatious ones. “From now on no more nighttime practice, when I send you to bed for the day you should sleep. I’m not sure I can trust this of you so from now on you’ll move into my room.”

               “What?” You asked now pushing yourself away.

               “Don’t worry I’ll let you use my bed while you heal up and I’ll take the floor, that’s how I’ll make it up to you for pushing you too far. Then in three days’ time we will assess your physical wellbeing and if you’re better, we can resume. I think after that you should be ready to get back to where we were.” A familiar ambition returned as he pulled you up off the floor, taking your hand in his. “This time however you will become a gift to our family, I’ll expose your potential and turn you into a masterpiece.”

               He dragged you out of the training room, rambling in ways that unsettled you. All the tenderness from before was gone and the ruthless and cold-blooded Alistair was back, only this time he was to be the biggest champion for your transformation into a powerful assassin. The madness was all for you.

               That’s why he was doing this after all. That’s what both of you told yourselves. It was for the sanctuary. It was because Lord Idol wanted you here.

               That was the reason. Right?

But, deep inside his twisted and shaken heart, Alistair felt the feelings of attraction stir. Affection, admiration and the desire to fill your world started to grow out from the newfound pedestal that he had placed you upon. He once told you to not presume that you were his most important duty, something at the time that was true. And yet now? Now you were becoming his everything. He was beginning to revere you as much as he did his faith, unrestrained obsession was growing with a bloodthirsty desire to have you all to himself.

He had gone from despising you to adoring you.

“Yes,” you say slowly, unflinchingly. “I’ve come to kill you.”

He only laughs.

It is terribly beautiful. He is terribly beautiful.

Inky hair flutters as he shifts, and it glitters in the pale moonlight, as if made of the abyss itself. His head dips to the side. “Why? Doing so would grant you nothing.”

He’s wrong. Killing him — or at the very least, sealing him away — would grant you everything. You’d be able to solidify your position as High Priestess and amass your own power, and finally, you’d be able to break away from the control of those wretched Cardinals. The Church, the holy city, the world… All of it would eventually be yours.

Yet… things are never that simple, are they?

Now, with him face to face, the vast difference in your power levels is painfully obvious. The demon lord has been toying with you from the very beginning, and the only reason you are standing before him now is because he wants you to. He has been slowly, almost tauntingly, leading you closer and closer toward him as if you were a wild rabbit to be captured and tamed. He could have killed you, at any time, if he had wanted to. He can kill you, right now, if he so wants to.

His eyes glitter with sick delight, having read the thoughts right off your face. Standing, he glides down the dais with inhumane grace.

“Join hands with me,” he purrs, closing the distance between the two of you within seconds. “We could rule the world. All you have to do is say the word.”

“You mean you could rule the world,” you counter bitingly, stepping backwards.

There is no way the Demon King, the most prideful being that could walk the earth, would allow you to rule alongside him as his equal. No, he wants you as a doll and as a pet, as some pretty little treasure that he can keep forever chained to his side.

All the riches in the world, the boundless glory and endless land… If you joined him, none of it would truly be yours no matter how much he claims it to be.

Your back hits the main doors of the throne room with a soft thud. When your hands find its handles, you realise they are locked.

Refusing to be intimidated, you meet his gaze head on, glaring up at him venomously. By now, you are close enough your noses nearly brush. His arms rise, caging you in between him and the doors.

“What do you want from me?” you demand. “Why are you doing this?”

“Must you have me voice it out loud?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone. There’s a smile on his face, neither kind nor warm, but somehow, somewhat fond. His palm grazes your cheek, and if he were not the demon king, you would have described the motion as tender. “Very well. Though only because it is you.”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “I love you.”

You are so startled you freeze, wide-eyed, jaw slack. “What are you —”

“I loathe you,” he confesses with a murmur. “So much so that I want to kill you, and consume your power whole. Slowly, torturously, I want to inflict upon you an agony so unbearable you cry and beg for death. I want to make you scream.”

The hand he has on the door falls, ghosting down your arm to grasp your wrist instead. The other hand slips from your cheek to cup your neck. His skin is ice cold.

“And yet… I desire you,” he continues, each word punctuated with the butterfly kisses he trails down your jawline. His fang-like canines graze your skin, and you can’t help but shudder. “I want to make you mine and mine alone. To see only me, touch only me, exist for only me. Your body, your mind, your soul — I want your everything.”

Somehow, your hand finds itself flat against his chest, a useless barrier between you and him. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel a parody of a heartbeat.

Gently, he takes your hand in his, shifting it from his chest to the small of his back. He places one last kiss to the corner of your lips, gazing up at you with dark, searching eyes. 

“It is to the point that I chase after you, foolishly, despite knowing you feel nothing for me. If that is not love, then what is?”

Regaining your senses after his ridiculous speech, you push him away, forcing him off of you. He stumbles, ever so slightly, but it is enough.

“Love?” you parrot, scoffing incredulously, furiously. “That’s nothing but a twisted obsession.”

Curious eyes find yours. “And what, pray tell, is the difference?”

You don’t deign to respond, instead choosing to summon your magic, flinging it at him as if it were a dagger. It cuts into his skin, leaving a thin slash on his jaw that draws golden blood.

Surprise flickers over his face, and carefully, he brings a hand to inspect the wound. At the sight of ichor tainting his fingertips, he chuckles.

The grin on his face is positively manic. “You never cease to impress me, darling saintess. You know, I’m tempted to let you have your way with me, just to see what you will do. It’s bound to be entertaining, don’t you think?”

“You’re a crazy bastard,” you snap.

He shrugs loftily. “I’m well aware, but that is neither here nor there.”

In vexation, you click your tongue. This conversation is going nowhere. You’d have to use force to get your way, and you’d have to act quickly at that. The longer you leave your post at the Church open, the harder it would be to get things under your control when you return. Heaven only knows how eager those detestable Cardinals are to replace you, now that you are no longer their obedient little dog.

A ball of energy forms in the palm of your hand. It crackles and fizzles, black as the abyssal void below, yet shines with a pearlescent radiance. In your other hand, your weapon materializes out of thin air, a giant scythe made of pure, blinding light.

Your feet lift off of the ground, and the overbearingly sweet taste of the Demon King’s magic is swallowed by the crisp freshness of yours.

“If you truly love me…”

Your eyes begin to glow. Raising your hand, you aim the crackling sphere of magic at the demon lord.

“Then die for me.”

Your power surges down towards him, but instead of hitting him, crashes onto and fizzles out against a translucent shield he conjures up at the very last second.

Moving a step backwards, the Demon King takes to the air as well, a pair of ebony black wings unfurling behind him. His sclerae deepen to the colour of ink, and incomprehensible markings paint the surface of his skin. He grins, flashing a set of unnaturally sharp teeth.

“Patience, my saintess. The fun’s only just begun.”

Chaos ensues. Spells are cast and thrown, walls crumble and pillars fall. You’re a good fighter, there’s no doubt about that — but the Demon King is even better. It’s not long before your entire body begins to ache, your magical core nearly reaching its limit. You’ve sustained a few injuries, though they are nothing major, yet the demon lord remains entirely unharmed, looking more than invigorated.

He laughs, high and cold and cruel, eyes sparkling with malicious glee. “You know you will never be able to best me.”

Perhaps not, you concede. Not in the traditional sense, in a duel of skill and strength. 

But all you need is one single moment, one single second where his attention strays, for you to get to his core. Once you destroy the core that tethers his existence to the mortal realm, you’d be able to seal him away for good.

And as for the location of that core…

Hoping to catch him off guard, you charge at him head on. The scythe in your hand disappears in a shower of glittering light, leaving both of your hands free to slam the Demon King into a wall.

The walls cave in at the impact, forming a deep crater in the vague shape of a man.

He lets out a choked groan, as if all the wind had been knocked straight out of his lungs. His wings twitch uselessly at his sides. You have your hands firm on his upper arms, your magic aiding you in pinning him down. 

Despite being at a disadvantage, a salacious smirk flashes across his face. “Why, if I had known you were into this sort of thing, we could’ve just started with that.”

“Shut it, demon,” you order through gritted teeth.

Grabbing him by the collar, you steal his lips in a searing kiss.

He responds eagerly, greedily, giving as good as he gets. Like his magic, he tastes irresistibly sweet. You press yourself closer to him, keening into his body, forcing one of your legs in between his. His hands fall to your waist, and his icy touch has a shiver running up your spine.

With his chest flush against yours, you can feel the way his heart pulses with a slow, steady rhythm. Pulsing, you note, with rolling waves of magic, not with the thrum of rushing blood.

Eureka.

Tangling a hand in his hair, your fingers brush against a large, scaly horn. Shuddering, he moans into your mouth, his talon-like nails digging deeper into your flesh. He’s all flushed, pupils so dilated his eyes appear wholly black, gaze trained on you intensely, deliriously. He looks utterly intoxicated, and it’s all because of you.

You can’t say you don’t enjoy it.

Parting for air, he lets out a soft noise of protest, before swiftly cutting himself off with a gasp. You’ve got a hand clenched tight around his horn, which you use as a handle to force his head back. His Adam's apple bobs, eyes rolling, eyelids fluttering.

Your knee presses mercilessly into his groin. The fabric is already damp.

“[Name],” he says. It sounds like a sin. “[Name].”

You respond by turning your attention towards his exposed neck. Sucking, biting, licking, you trace the lines drawn by the markings tattooed on his skin. He moans the loudest when you make it hurt, when your teeth break skin, and shimmering ichor blooms in its place.

Fascinated, you can’t help but have a taste, a choice which you regret immediately. It burns, a fiery, cloying sweetness that stings your eyes and sours your nose, that lingers, clinging onto your tongue, almost addictingly, daring you to take another sip. Pulling back instead, you admire your handiwork.

He is beautiful, even still.

Starlight scatters across sweat-slick skin, giving him an ethereal, otherworldly glow. Half lidded eyes, red as a raging inferno, pierce into your soul. Pleadingly. Challengingly. Waiting for release you will never give.

You could get used to this, you think. It’s a pity you have to kill him.

Alas, he is but a thorn in your side, an unpredictable variable you can’t control. The Demon King is a walking contradiction in all ways but one — that is, he adores all that you do to him, so long as your eyes are on him.

And, well, who are you to deny a dying man’s last wish?

Your free hand slips to his chest, feeling the heart of his magic pulsating beneath your fingertips. Raw, primordial, and absolutely pliant, malleable to your every whim. An odd, shuttered whine slips from his lips as you continue to knead his skin.

“You know,” you start conversationally, the casual effect slightly ruined by your heavy, ragged breaths. A touch mockingly, you echo his earlier sentiment. “If I had known you were into this sort of thing, I would’ve just started with this.”

Ruby eyes glint dangerously. A sharp, lovesick smile spreads across his face. “You will never be rid of me for good.”

You don’t reply. Magic begins to pool in the palm of your hand. Poised right above his core, you clasp onto your magic and push.

He screams. Back arching, limbs jolting, his wings flailing wildly.

His flesh and bones melt away, coating your arm with a thick, syrupy ichor. You push, deeper and deeper until your hand brushes against something solid, further and further until your fingers close tight around a gleaming black gem.

He screams and screams and screams, but nothing is as spine-chilling as the sound of his scream morphing into crazed, deranged laughter.

“You can seal me away, rip my body to shreds, but I will always come back,” he hisses, rambling delusionally, hysterically. “Do you want to know why?”

“I am Sin — and you, my dear saintess, are the worst sinner of all.”

The gemstone shatters, bursting with a dazzling, blinding light.

“Goodbye.”

it's been awhile LOL

i think i scrapped like 10 different wips before finally finishing this one bec i have a hater and that hater is Me 🫩🫩