Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“–Corvus?”

“Hah!”

Corvus’ eyes shot open with a start, the drow jumping upright in his barstool and nearly knocking over his drink. He snapped his head to the hand that had rested on his shoulder, the tension he held immediately subsiding as the much larger elf smiled down.

“Oh… Halsin.” Corvus slumped, dragging the heel of his palm across one eye before his fingertips began massaging his forehead. “Gods, you startled me.”

“My apologies,” the druid replied, making an effort to keep his voice more light. “I just thought you would prefer to rest in your bed rather than the bar.”

Corvus blinked at Halsin a moment, then looked over his surroundings. The Elfsong was nearly empty now compared to the time he arrived, the light outside gray and dim from the brooding clouds that still lingered from the afternoon. His drink was still filled to the brim, the glass wet with mist from where it had warmed in his hand. Corvus sighed, pushing away the warm whiskey that was no longer appealing before leaning on the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I must have dozed off.”

“I’m afraid so,” Halsin gave a gentle smile. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah, just tired.” 

“I can imagine… it has been chaotic in recent times.” Halsin grew quiet for a moment,  “You should head upstairs and get some rest.”

“Probably.”

Halsin waited for more of a reply from Corvus, but when the drow said nothing more he paused, choosing his words carefully before that gentle tone Corvus had grown familiar with seeped through.

“I know we will find Gale.”

Corvus went still as Halsin’s words hung in the air. The past few days had dragged by in agonizing tension. Just as Gortash had warned, Orin had infiltrated their camp and to Corvus’ horror, she had taken Gale. She’d issued her demand with a twisted smile: kill Gortash and bring her his Netherstone, or never see Gale alive again. But Corvus knew better. She’d tried to shake him, make him fearful but all she’d done was stoke the fire already smoldering inside him. He’d spent days on edge seething, ravenous with the need to hunt her down like a wolf and spill her blood. But even fury can only carry for so long before it caught up to someone, even one as spirited as Corvus.

Three days had passed since then and Corvus found himself running circles without pause for the entirety of it. He hadn’t slept, treading through every ally, curve, and rotten tunnel beneath the city trying to find where Orin hid, but to no avail. He had grown exhausted, enough so to let his guard down in a tavern and pass out at the bar counter without the help of a drink for once. Corvus looked down at his hand, running his thumb over the dull, silver ring that rested on his middle finger.

“I hope you’re right, Halsin.”

“We’ll search again, first thing tomorrow morning. I’m sure with a good night’s rest and a clear mind, a path will be more visible.”

How could Halsin, of all people, rest so easily in this city at a time like this? Corvus thought.

It hadn’t just been these last few days Corvus had lost sleep. It was these last few weeks. It started with that dog mercenary band of Aradin’s sneaking into their camp to take Dame Aylin to Lorroakan. Then, Astarion’s siblings creeping through camp in the night and attacking them in their sleep to drag him back to Cazador. Now, it was Orin. The woman who finally managed to slip past Corvus’ sharp eyes and successfully take one of his own from his very camp. It made him sick that Gale was taken because of his own negligence. If he had been more vigilant, more aware at camp that day, maybe, just maybe he would have seen through the ruse sooner.

Corvus’ thoughts broke as the ring on his finger grew hot against his skin like a brand nearing flesh. He looked down at it, not having realized he had been mindlessly spinning it this entire time and igniting the infernal runes within. 

“...Corvus?”

The drow’s eyes snapped open again, darting to Halsin once more. The druid gave a weary smile, as if recognizing the burdens in Corvus’ own crimson eyes. He gave Corvus a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“I know Gale’s disappearance weighs heavily on your thoughts, but please try to rest the best you can this evening. You have a lot of people who care that are worried for you, including myself.”

“I’ll… try my best.”

“If you need anything, do not be afraid to ask. As an archdruid, I understand the burdens leadership can carry and know how they can weigh on one’s mind. Know that you do not need to face these hardships alone. You may confide in me, if it will lessen the burden.”

“I… Thank you, Halsin.”

“Anytime.”

Corvus did his best to return that genuine smile the druid gave him, nodding his thanks once more. Halsin lingered a moment longer, letting the silence settle between them in hopes that Corvus would open up more. When Corvus said nothing else, Halsin simply nodded and turned back to the staircase ascending to their camp.

The moment Halsin faded, Corvus’ smile vanished. The Elfsong grew quiet once more, save for the creaking of floorboards above and the howling of wind just outside the tavern’s walls. Corvus sighed heavily, sinking his face into folded arms as he leaned over the counter like another drunk patron who had wasted their life on these barstools.

Then, he flinched, jolting up as the ring flared once more, his thumb unconsciously spinning it again. Corvus growled at it, tearing it free from his hand and nearly slamming it on the table with a huff. He glared at it as the infernal runes began to fade, making it appear as an ordinary etched band of silver once more. His frown deepened the longer he stared at it, like it was sitting on this oak counter mocking him.

He was angry with himself. For not tossing the damn thing the moment it was gifted to him. Even more angry that he had chosen to wear it. As much as he detested the thing simply because it came from Raphael, he had to admit it had become an unexpected distraction whenever he had felt tense through the day. A minor one, but one that served better than alcohol he had used to drown himself to slumber with these last few weeks. Corvus couldn’t help wondering if Raphael meant for it to serve that purpose after acknowledging his restlessness in the past, or if that devil was using it to spy or listen in on his conversations. He thought of the letter that Raphael had sent with it. Only one sentence had seared itself in Corvus’ mind, even after all these weeks. 

‘Simply give it a spin and whisper my name, and I will be there to whisk you away for whatever you need.’

He hadn't tried it out to see if it could truly summon Raphael as he claimed, nor did he want to. Neither of them had seen or spoken to one another in nearly a month– none that Corvus knew of, anyway. Corvus wanted to keep it that way… Or so, he had told himself.

The worst part of all of this was he had begun to catch himself thinking of Raphael more these last few weeks whenever he looked down at the ring on his hand. Thinking of that last time they had seen one another, thinking of that rush he felt from overwhelming Raphael to the point of begging for his touch. Corvus had always enjoyed the taking charge in the bedroom, but there was something alluring and down right erotic about having such a powerful fiend beneath him at his mercy for a change, though he would never admit it aloud.

But Corvus kept reminding himself of how he got in that situation it begin with. Raphael wasn't as innocent as he claimed regarding their new contract– no matter how tenderly he had been that last morning they shared together. Drunk or not, Raphael knowingly made the contract with Corvus when he was too far gone in the liquor to even recall proposing it that night. He also took advantage of it in full a few days later, fooling Corvus to invoke it and frustrating him until he gave in to those lustful desires Raphael had toyed with.

No matter how good it felt, Corvus couldn't trust Raphael... But even now, that felt more complicated than it should have.

He had every intention to avoid Raphael from here on out, swearing to never invoke the contract again, but now that Gale was missing and he was at a crossroads finding Orin, the thought had become tempting. That devil always seemed to know somebody in this city. Somebody with answers, somebody who owed him. Somebody who’d talk.  He obviously liked Corvus, far more than Corvus would have ever wanted to, but he knew he had that devil wrapped around his finger. If he played his cards right, said the right things. Gave Raphael just enough to draw him back in again then perhaps he'd be willing to lend a hand...

Corvus scoffed, dragging a hand down his face, then let it fall limply back to the bar top.

No. No, no, no.  Corvus thought.  He didn’t need Raphael. He never had before and certainly didn’t now.

This wasn’t Raphael’s business to meddle in, and that devil would most  certainly  meddle. In ways that would bite him in the ass later no doubt. Raphael would ask for something in exchange as he always did, and it would be something Corvus couldn't give. Raphael never did anything out of kindness, not even for him. 

But this wasn't about them or about his own pride. 

Gale was missing. Orin was still out there in the shadows reigning terror, and there was no telling what Orin had done to Gale in that time… if he was still alive. Corvus needed to find that wizard, find his friend.

If it meant swallowing his pride and contacting Raphael once more…

Corvus exhaled, sharp and bitter, then snatched the ring from the bartop. It was cool again, deceptively innocent as he examined it. He slipped the ring back on with a grumble, then stood abruptly and veered through the tavern. He needed to clear his thoughts, leave the idea behind altogether and come up with a new plan. There was always another option. He just had to find it–

Corvus winced as the wind nearly blew him back in the tavern. It almost ripped the door from his hand as the city streets howled and rustled with a cold breeze contrasting the searing heat of the city these last few days, but Corvus stood firm. He couldn’t sit here all night stewing or drinking himself to sleep again, he needed to think of a plan to save Gale before it was too late.

Corvus pushed himself out of the door, the wind ripping through his hair and tunic as it rattled the shutters of nearby shops. He held an arm up like a shield to the sky, squinting as thunder boomed in the distance overhead, his once combed back hair whipping in all directions. He probably should have grabbed a cloak, but he knew the others would be suspicious or worried of him leaving the Elfsong this late in the evening. They  would try to convince him to stay, but idling wasn’t an option any longer.

Corvus pressed forward into the darkness. He meandered through the eerie streets of Baldur’s Gate, only spotting the occasional Flaming Fist on duty or vagrant taking refuge under an archway. Lamps flickered in the doorways of buildings he passed, barely holding their flame as droplets of rain began to spit upon them, but it still wasn’t enough to make Corvus vanish into the closest shop to take cover elsewhere. He only stared ahead as he strode through, paying no mind to the storm at his heels. He needed a plan, a way to sniff out Gale and Orin’s trail, as soon as he could.

He had considered approaching Jaheira and the Harpers, but they were already stretched so thin now with Gortash as well as managing their resistance. There was also the chance one of the Harper’s would fall in the hands of Orin or another cultist. It would take one mistake, one interrogation for Orin to learn Corvus had sent a third party out to find her. If she learned that, there was no telling how she would torture Gale as punishment. He needed someone more discreet, with less hands involved…

The rain began to come down harder. Thin, scattered drops that pattered against the stone fell heavy, drowning all sound of the city with its roar. Corvus barely noticed as he pressed on, lost in thought.

…He could always speak to Rolan, now that the tiefling had control over Lorroakan’s Tower. Now that they were allies, perhaps he could see if Rolan was capable of calling upon Eliminster. Surely a powerful friend of Gale’s would jump to their side to help save him.

Corvus paused a moment on the thought, then shook his head.

No, Mystra would never allow it. She couldn’t be trusted to keep Gale’s best interest at hand, given she was willing to sacrifice him. If anything, she probably preferred the outcome. Gale deceased by Orin’s hand, that murderous witch unknowingly detonating the orb within him and wiping out not only the Bhaal Temple and the cultist, but an entire city Corvus now felt responsible for…

Without thought, Corvus’ thumb swept across the smooth edge of the ring on his finger, feeling the faint impression of the runes carved within as he spun them in place. It grounded him for a moment, the radiating warmth at his touch breaking his mind away from the worries for a heartbeat as it always before his mind wandered elsewhere. He needed to be careful about this if he wanted Gale to come out safe. Corvus needed someone discreet, someone with eyes where his own could not reach. Influence, power, information he could get at a snap of his fingers.

That left him with one option.

Corvus quickly pressed forward, his steps hasteing like a restless horse bolting for a paddock as if to leave the very idea behind. Thunder boomed overhead, lightning flashing across the blackened sky above and illuminating the city. The rain sheeted from the rooftops, slithering down his skin, his tunic, soaking into his boots. It was cold, relentless as it pelted him.

Then, Corvus slowed to a stop in the middle of the empty square, steam rising faintly where the heat of the day hadn’t quite faded yet. Lightning cracked overhead again, but Corvus did not move.

His thumb rolled over the ring again, and again.

… If he played it smart, stayed one step ahead, then maybe.

Just maybe…

The runes spun around and around as it quietly began to hum against his skin. Corvus stood rigid in the downpour, silent as rain blurred into a low, distant roar around him. Then he stared intently down to the ring that spun faster and faster, watching the runes alight in infernal flame brighter than he had ever seen. It nearly burned against his skin, whistling just enough to sing through the roar of the storm around him.

Hissing louder.

And louder.

And louder–

“Raphael.”

The name cut through the roar of the storm, sharp enough to echo off the stone walls of the square around him.

Then Corvus waited. Waited while the wind ripped through the narrow streets, stirring loose, damp parchment and rattling storefront shutters nearby. A few flickering lamps painted the wet stones gold, the flame behind their glass dancing in rhythm with the rain’s heavy cadence before some finally went out. And then…

…Nothing.

The light of the ring faded as Corvus’ spinning slowed. He waited to hear the combustion of ash and brimstone before him. Waited for that arrogant laugh to bubble up beside him, to hear that devil mock and tease him for calling him, but all was silent. There was no grand entrance, no voice laced with honey and venom curling through the air around him. Just the rain, relentlessly falling on him and seeping into the seams of his tunic and chilling him to the core. Corvus examined the streets around him, searching the dark edges of the square, the alleys nearby. Then, a low breath escaped him through his nose.

Of course Raphael wouldn’t come. Not for the one time Corvus needed him to.

He cursed under his breath and looked skyward, the strands of wet, silver hair plastering to his jawline and cheeks now where his swept back waves fell away from place. He shut his eyes, feeling the rain prick at his lavender skin before a heavy sigh escaped.

Typical. Raphael was probably laughing to himself in the Hells for his naivety. To have actually believed Raphael would come, that he found himself truly caving enough to call upon him only for Raphael to pull the rug from his feet.

The very thought made Corvus’ face warm.

Foolish, foolish thing to ever assume.

Corvus sighed again, ready to turn back, to run a warm bath and rid himself of the chill he now had from the rain before it gave him a cold.

But then, just as he had given up, the rain was no longer touching him.

The storm still roared around him, thunder cracking like the sky itself had split open, but not a single drop of rain trickled on him. He opened his eyes to see a canopy now draped just overhead, droplets of rain rolling off its edges down to his feet. Corvus blinked, the hair raising on his neck the moment he caught the faintest whiff of cherry and sulfur lingering through the storm. Slowly, his gaze drifted behind him, catching that familiar figure wearing his usual poise and grace, holding a polished black umbrella just above both their heads.

Then, he met that smile.

That damned smile Corvus had caught himself thinking of on nights he never wished. The one that curled and twisted into something far too dangerous, wanting far too much in return. It was razor-sharp in the dim lantern street light of this city. Charming. Delighted. Utterly pleased to see him here.

“You called, my dear?”

Chapter Text

The rain carved rivers through the streets, splashing up from Corvus’ boots with each step. His tunic clung to him, soaked through fully as droplets from his curls trailed down his neck, sending a shiver through the drow. He was sure he’d start sneezing any moment, what with wiping his nose every minute or so now as he grew cold to the touch.

All the while, Raphael strolled beside him with the leisure of a man out for a spring jaunt. His doublet dry and hair still laying in perfect place as if the rain and humidity itself knew better than to disarrange it. He stayed close beside Corvus, just enough to keep the umbrella over them both.

“I assume you had a destination in mind when you summoned me,” Raphael said at last, his tone light. “Or was I meant to follow you into the storm like a lost little duckling?”

“I have a destination.” Corvus mumbled.

“Care to tell?”

The drow swallowed, his crossed arms tightening to his chest as another chill ran up him. His silence made Raphael grin.

“You haven’t a place in mind, do you?”

“We need to speak,” Corvus admitted abruptly, the wind blowing hard into them, making him wince.

“Trouble with your companions, is it?”

“I’m not having ‘trouble’ with them, I need–” Corvus cut himself off, sighing heavily with frustration refusing to admit the words. “I just need to speak to you about something.”

“‘Need’, you say?” Raphael beamed. “What a surprise! I never thought I’d see the day my little mouse needed me–”

“I don’t.” Corvus growled. It only made Raphael’s smirk stretch.

“Considering you chose to brace a storm and risk illness rather than stay in the warmth of your own camp, it suggests otherwise.” Raphael tilted the umbrella a little more toward Corvus’ side. “But you look more weathered this evening than usual, my dear. We should find a place for you to dry before you catch a cold.”

“Why do you care whether I catch a cold or not?”

“Because my sweet, I’d rather not see my little mouse trip into an early grave running himself so thin that a mere cold would be his grand finale in this world.” Raphael smirked again, though there was something honest in it this time. “Besides, who else will I convince to obtain my crown if my thieving mouse perrishes?”

“I’ll be fine,” Corvus sniffled, rolling his eyes. “I always am.”

“Then if you are ‘fine’ and most certainly not in need of me, am I to assume you summoned me because you simply missed me?”

Corvus didn’t retort at his proding, didn’t have the strength to argue over a battle he was too tired to fight.

The wind howled again, biting through the soaked fabric of his clothes and before he even realized it, Corvus stepped a half-pace closer to Raphael. Their shoulders brushed, unconsciously searching for the warmth that seemed to naturally permeate off the devil beside him. Raphael didn’t acknowledge it aloud, but his smile most definitely had.

“I know a place,” Raphael finally murmured, low and drawled as he leaned closer. “Somewhere private, just you and I. Somewhere warm–”

“I've summoned you for a conversation, not a tryst. I’m not fucking you tonight.” Corvus cut him off sharply, stepping away as if noticing how close he had drawn himself to Raphael. It made the fiend chuckle.

“Is that all you ever think of? I didn’t realize our time together had your thoughts still lingering on that lovely evening!” He laughed. “No, if I wanted your performance, I would have you at your best, my dear. Not when you look like a drowned cat who would fall asleep atop of me before he even finished.”

Corvus let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but it hitched somewhere in his chest. He was too cold, too tired, and too miserable to muster anything more than a huff of air through his nose.

“What place did you have in mind?”

“A parlour of sorts.”

“Be more specific.”

“It is hidden within one of my client’s places of business. Private, discreet, and above all, quiet.” Raphael tilted his head. “The only catch, of course, is that you say you wish to go with me aloud. That’s how this little arrangement works, isn’t it?”

Corvus said nothing for a long while. The rain dripped from his wavy curls, his shoulders gave the faintest shiver. He thought over every term of the contract, searched for any possibility of saying one wrong word Raphael could use to exploit him. Then, Corvus spoke with a final huff.

“Fine, but no games. No sex, no aphrodisiacs, none of the bullshit. I just want an hour of normalcy for once where you and I can speak without distractions.”

“Of course,” Raphael hummed, halting in place. Corvus did too, once that familiar faint tug of a tether pulled at his chest again, the contract invoked. Raphael graciously held his hand out to Corvus, inviting him with a smile. “Now come. I can whisk us there much quicker than traversing across the city on foot in the pouring rain.”

Corvus stared at the hand offered. A cambion’s hand he reminded himself, despite the human guise presented. His gaze fixed on Raphael’s for a moment, Corvus seeing the faintest hint of something wicked in his smile now, though at this point he could no longer tell if that was just an instinctual thought given Raphael’s nature or if there truly was something sinister beckoning behind that smooth smile.

This didn’t have to be anything else.

Just one hour to negotiate something.

An hour that could save Gale’s life.

Corvus said nothing as he reached out, curling his cold fingers into Raphael’s warm hand as the devil’s smile turned pleased and in a burst of ash, the world shifted.

Thunder rumbled and the rain came heavily, though it was muffled now by the thick-paned windows and deep blue walls surrounding them. Candlelight danced in sconces along the walls, casting a warm amber glow over the richly furnished parlor. Much brighter in color than Raphael’s usual aesthetic, but no less ornately comfortable. Light wood lined the flooring, polished and adorned with rugs deep in blue. Its walls were lined with oak bookshelves, elegant gold-framed portraits, and a lit fireplace nearby, making it feel regal despite such a small space.

Tucked beneath one of the ornate windows lay the settee where Corvus and Raphael lounged. Corvus had resisted the temptation to sink into its soft, creme cushions, feeling the weight of the day settle on him the moment he sat. Perhaps he would have, if Raphael did not sit so close to his side now, not that there was any other option besides the floor.

Still, Corvus didn’t have it in him to move off the lush cushions or move away from that natural heat that permeated off Raphael’s form. Corvus couldn’t tell if the heat that radiated off Raphael was simply an infernal feature not even his human guise could hide or if it was simply the chill from the rain that had settled in his bones drawing him to the closest warm body. Between this and Raphael using some infernal heated magic to dry his rain drenched clothes once arriving at the parlor, it was almost tempting to move closer to Raphael just to warm himself and fight off the last of the chill that clung to him.

But Corvus remained in place, choosing to instead bring a hot cup of tea to his lips, sipping slowly with eyes half-lidded now as exhaustion sank deeper the longer he sat on this settee in this warm room. Raphael occupied the other side of it, an arm draped over the backrest behind Corvus with his legs crossed as he leisurely nipped at a glass of wine. He hadn’t spoken much since they arrived, which was rare– near suspicious, come to think about it.

Corvus yawned into his sleeve, his voice thick with the sleep he hadn’t let himself have in days. 

“Nice place,” Corvus finally said, filling the silence. “Who’s this client of yours?”

“An Earl serving within Baldur’s Gate.”

“What’s the story?”

“It’s rather dull. It has a lot to do with politics and scandals. Too boring for you, I assure.”

“Probably for the best then,” Corvus mumbled, sinking into the back of the settee and grazing Raphael’s arm. “You might put me to sleep.”

“It may take just as little it seems. You look terrible.” Raphael grinned, tilting his head as he studied Corvus and waited for the drow’s bite, but Corvus absentmindedly sipped his tea. It made him pause a beat before speaking once more. “You know my dear, you haven’t once clawed, scowled, or so much as snapped in my direction so far this evening. I’m almost concerned there isn’t something more going on with my little mouse than a simple lack of sleep to make him so tame…”

Raphael’s voice was smooth and coaxing, in the same way that kept Corvus in that bed the last morning they spent together. Then, the devil dared to reach over and tuck a loose chunk of still-damp wavy hair behind Corvus’ ear. It made Corvus bristle, though he didn’t pull away, especially as Raphael hushed.

“What ails you, little mouse?”

“Gale is missing.”

The words flew from Corvus’ lips with far more worry than he wanted Raphael to know. Hushed, but hasty nonetheless. It made Raphael lift a brow, his voice softening to that disguise of understanding. “I see… Worried for your companion. It is no wonder you have come to me so weary.”

Corvus stayed silent for a long moment, debating to himself how he would even ask about Orin, but his words dissipated from his tongue as Raphael’s hand gently glided down the nape of his neck. His fingers massaged small circles that sent a chill through Corvus despite the warmth of his touch.

“How may I be of service to make this a more pleasurable evening then, my dear?”

Corvus said nothing at first, nearly shutting his eyes and leaning into the touch as Raphael slowly kneaded the tension that had rooted its way towards his spine and shoulders for weeks now like a thistle weed. But Corvus forced himself to sit upright, resisting Raphael’s attempt to entice him into invoking the terms of the contract into something more, just like before.

“This is fine,” Corvus had tried to say aloofly, but the exhaustion had finally dulled his sharp tongue. “... Though, I had a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Then by all means, you have my ear.”

Corvus slowly pulled away from Raphael’s touch, doing everything in his power to seem more alert and focused than what he was. “What do you know of the Temple of Bhaal?”

“The Temple of Bhaal?” Raphael chuckled, resuming his recline back in the settee. “You know how to keep an evening interesting, don’t you?”

“What do you know?”

“Many things,” Raphael replied smoothly, reaching for his wine again. “I know there is a temple beneath the very heart of this city. I also know that those who seek it without the willingness to give their services to Bhaal never return.”

Corvus had to force his features to remain neutral, his thoughts quickly shifting to Gale once more. “How do I get there?”

“Is that where your wizard is?”

“He is, I need to find him.”

“I see… So the mouse dares to scamper into the lion’s den–”

“The ‘mouse’ is going to slit the throat of the lion.” Corvus finally scowled.

“Does she truly have you so rattled?”

“I’ll make that bitch choke on her own entrails before she even sees me coming, Raphael.”

Raphael stilled for a heartbeat, then laughed. Not his usual theatrical drawl, but genuine, hearty laugh. Almost wicked.

“My, my…” he murmured, eyes gleaming like coals in low light. “How deliciously vivid! I didn’t know you could crave blood in such a way!” He leaned closer a touch, his voice softening into something fond, gaze shamelessly sliding down and up on Corvus. “Fury suits you wonderfully, my dear. I believe you could make the very heavens flinch if you truly wanted.”

“This isn’t a joke, I’m serious.”

“I know you are, that’s what makes this so delightful.” Raphael drew back as he chuckled to himself again. “Am I to presume this is Orin the Red you speak of?”

“Who else would I be referring to?"

“Easy viper, hold in those fangs." Raphael’s hand raised with theatrical defense. "You’ll need all the venom you can muster when the time comes to spill blood in that temple.”

“She’s getting more than just my venom, Raphael. She’s going to regret ever meeting me.”

“I do not doubt it considering the blood trail to Baldur’s Gate you’ve left already. You almost have as much lust for blood as the Bhaalspawn.” Raphael’s smile was pleasant and pleased. “I’d very much like to witness this battle. It would be a performance worthy of a front-row seat.”

Corvus shifted his gaze to the fire that cracked and popped, his brows slowly unfurrowing as Raphael’s words set in. 

“...If you’re so eager to see, then point me towards the stage.”

Raphael stopped sipping his wine, pulling the glass away from his lips. “I beg your pardon?”

Corvus finally turned in the settee to face Raphael. To give him his full attention, just as he knew that devil wanted all evening. 

“You know where the Temple of Bhaal is and if you don’t, I know you know someone who does. If you tell me how to get in, I’ll give you more than a front row seat. I’ll give you the best show you’ve seen in centuries.”

“Will you now?”

“That’s how this works, right? Let’s indulge one another. You give me access to the Temple of Bhaal, and I’ll give you a damn good bloody show.”

“Oh, my little mouse, now that is a tempting invitation.” Raphael purred sweetly. He slid his hand over Corvus’ forearm, seemingly mindless but Corvus stiffened, knowing it was anything but. “However as tempting as that is, I’ve already watched you spill the blood of so many already. Your battle at Moonrise was especially delightful. I’m afraid you’ll have to make a better offer than that.”

Corvus forced his gaze into Raphael’s, not daring to acknowledge the fingers tracing idly over his skin. He felt his mouth run dry, but tried to shift the idea he knew was swirling around Raphael's mind into something else.

“You know I can't offer anything else.”

“Oh, you could, my dear. You just have to be creative.”

“I told you I'm not signing the contract for the crown.”

“I was thinking of something more… alluring.”  

Corvus blinked, stilling like one of the marble busts tucked on the bookshelf nearby. Corvus didn’t reply right away. He sat still, gaze flicking briefly to the wine glass Raphael had just set down, then to Raphael. His jaw clenched before he could stop it. Then, Raphael leaned forward, close enough for Corvus to catch the warmth of him, to smell the scent of cherry clinging to his skin.

“How about this,” Raphael purred, his voice low, rich with promise. “I will reveal to you not only the entrance to the Temple of Bhaal, but how to gain access. In exchange, I simply have one request…”

Raphael paused for an agonizing few seconds that felt like minutes. Then, he gave that wicked smile Corvus had grown all too familiar with. The one that made his stomach knot.

“Breach your contract.”

Chapter Text

The room fell still.

Raphael’s words lingered thickly between them. Corvus knew something like this was coming, no matter how much he had gone out of his way to avoid Raphael these last few weeks, but knowing didn’t lessen the weight of the proposal. He swallowed, his hands growing clammy as the silence stretched.

“Breach my contract?” Corvus repeated, brows furrowing.

“A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?” Raphael smiled, “I give you a means to save your wizard, and you grant me pleasantries of my choosing.”

“I said I’m not fucking you tonight.”

“Not tonight, my dear. After you rescue Gale and vanquish Orin.”

Corvus crossed his arms, the scowl in his face only growing deeper. “And what would you have me do?”

“Where’s the romance in that?” Raphael chuckled, “Isn’t the mystery part of the fun?”

“Not when it’s you. Gods knows what the Hells you would ask of me.”

“Nothing errant, and I assure you will enjoy yourself as well.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Corvus spat, “Whatever it is, you can forget it. If you think for a second I would enjoy whatever debauchery you’d force me into–”

“Force?” Raphael interrupted, his smile cracking as if gowing vexed. “My dear, if I wanted to force you into anything, I would have broken the clause myself the moment you called upon me this evening. This, like everything else, is your choice as it always has been. If you were to partake, I would not have you stray too far from the type of pleasure you enjoyed during our last endeavor together.”

“If not that, then what?”

“You would pleasure me in ways you already enjoy. It would be no different than what we’ve already shared, I’d only ask for a few minor adjustments.”

“Like…?”

“Now that is the mystery,” Raphael cooed, his hand massaging the top of Corvus’ thigh now. “There’s something exciting about the fantasy of it all, isn’t there?”

“Not when it’s from you.”

“Ah, but you enjoy the thrill of it, don’t you? The thrill of having me at your disposal.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Still playing hard to get,” Raphael tutted. “You’ve already told me everything I needed to know to satisfy you, my dear. I guarantee with this offer you’ll be left just as satisfied.”

Corvus snapped his glare to Raphael, who gave a smug grin Corvus was tempted to wipe off himself. “I told you nothing.”

“You don't think so?" Raphael positioned himself upright more, his presentation so smug it made Corvus want to lurch a fist at him. "You may be the future hero of Baldur’s Gate, but you adore power. Perhaps not in ways your enemies do, but most certainly in other aspects.” Raphael was bold. Bold enough to lean close enough until his lips brushed against Corvus’ ear as if to exchange a secret. “The rush you must have felt having one such as myself beneath you… You like the danger of it all, the control over someone who is far more powerful than any mortal… And I must admit, there’s something exquisitely intoxicating at allowing you to take what you desire.”

Corvus cursed to himself at the involuntary shiver that crept across his skin as Raphael’s hand slid over his thigh and squeezed. Even more so that he didn’t kick Raphael away for it.

“You think honeyed words are enough to make me bend?”

“I do,” Raphael purred, his hand sliding further up until it glided beneath Corvus’ tunic and over his hips, tugging the drow closer. Raphael lowered his head, just enough to brush his lips over Corvus’ neck. “Because you know in your heart I offer more than honeyed words. I offer to give you exactly what you desire. Another night to forget about the burdens you carry. Another night to make a prince of the Nine Hells tremble beneath your grasp… Another night to feel like your world is not crumbling outside the very walls we share.”

For a moment, Corvus shut his eyes as Raphael pecked at his neck, hand wandering towards his waist where Corvus’ belt was clasped. He felt himself lean into the touch, but only for a second before his eyes shot open again. Corvus stiffened, the flash of humiliation he felt last Raphael teased him like this just to pull away when he started giving in resurfaced in his mind.

As if feeling Corvus posture beneath him, Raphael pulled away with ease, casually taking up his wine again and relaxing against the settee as if his touch was innocent. 

“That is my offer.”

Corvus spoke no words, shifting his gaze to the fire as Raphael sipped his wine triumphantly like a man who had already won. Corvus’ felt his palms sweat as the seconds of silence passed. He hated how his body reacted once again before his mind even had the time to catch up. How one stroke of Raphael’s hand and that low voice in his ear was enough to dredge up even a fraction of the heat he thought he’d buried a month ago.

This was dangerous. Dangerous in all the wrong ways. Corvus recalled the night he learned of the contract, the consequences if he breached the proximity clause.

You shall compensate by partaking in whatever I choose to define as ‘pleasantries’. Raphael had said. Need that be simple conversation or more… intimate engagements. That is my decision to make, and you must indulge.

Corvus swallowed. If he broke the clause, would Raphael truly keep his word about their night staying similar? If so, he could manage that. As much as he loathed to admit it to himself, Raphael had seen straight through him . Corvus, despite every sense of shame and guilt he had felt, wanted it. There was something primal in him, buried deep down Corvus had tried ignoring all these weeks that wanted to jump at the offer. He wanted to feel that power again, wanted to make this arrogant devil who was so used to bending the will of others crumble at his feet. Beg for his touch, beg for his mercy. But as much of a rush he felt at the danger of it all, there was one part keeping him from hopelessly diving straight in.

Would Raphael truly keep to his word, or would the idea fly out of the stain-glass windows of this parlor, seeing how Corvus would have no control over anything Raphael requested after that point?

You would partake until I am satisfied. Raphael’s words echoed.

How long could that be? One night? Several? Was this just a loophole for something permanent?

The thought made Corvus’ heart race, but not in the way that would have excited him. Cambion’s never gave a straight answer, he’d learned that lesson the hard way already.

Corvus held his breath as he rolled over every outcome in his mind, but there was one looming thought that gave him comfort, gave him hope.

Corvus still had not signed the contract for the crown.

As much as he knew Raphael wanted him, Corvus knew Raphael wanted that crown above all. Raphael would never sabotage this when the Netherbrain still held the Crown of Karsus, when Corvus was the only mortal who had any resistance against the brain’s influence. Raphael needed him, and that gave Corvus some control in all this.

“If I accept,” Corvus started. “You will keep your word?”

Raphael leaned over, taking up Corvus’ hand and kissing the infernal ring on his finger. “I want nothing more than to have your undivided attention once more, my dear.”

“And you would show me where the temple is? Just like that?”

Raphael pulled away, taking his time to finish the last of his wine before setting it aside once more. A slow, wicked smile crept across his lips despite the coolness of his voice as Raphael simply pointed to an oak shelf across the room.

“There is a collection of maps of this city in a binder tucked away in the shelf. Retrieve it, and I will mark it for you.”

Corvus remained silent as he stared into every feature of that devil. His gaze lingered into Raphael’s, searching for the faintest hint of a lie or trace of deception in him. Raphael only held that knowing, infuriating smile, his brow flickering slightly as if he was holding back the subtlest of laughs.

Then, Corvus slowly rose.

The moment he straightened to his full height, he felt the faintest tug low in his chest, like a taut thread that had been stitched into his sternum, gently drawing him backward, toward the settee. Toward Raphael.

He ignored it.

Corvus took one step rounding the low table. Then another, reaching the rug’s edge. As he took the third step, that magic tether became more invasive, less like a tug and more like the dull, aching pressure that had sent him in a near panic trying to keep it at ease just one month ago. 

Corvus pressed on, feeling the anxiousness in him spike as that pressure rose within his heart. He tried to ignore it, taking another step forward and nearing the shelf but the final distance made him halt. He grimaced, practically feeling his body leaning backward towards Raphael just to ease that ache that was on the verge of breaking. Corvus clenched his fists, taking a drawn, steady breath.

He had to do this.

For Gale. For those who suffered needlessly at Orin’s hands.

If this is what it takes to save them…

Corvus willed himself forward and with a sudden snap, that pressure shattered.

He stumbled forward, breath hitching slightly as Corvus instinctively grabbed at his heart like it too burst from his chest. He mindlessly massaged it, anchoring himself in place as a slow, creeping sensation of dread began to spread in the tether’s place. The room kept silent as Corvus stood there. He almost wished Raphael would say something just to distract his racing mind from what he had just done, but the devil said nothing behind him.

Corvus sucked in air through his nostrils as he straightened himself once more and quickly wandered to the shelf. At first, his movements were on the verge of frantic as he scanned a hand over the books and binders. He felt his heartbeat reach his ear, having no need for the tether now to make it feel like his heart would drum from his chest–

“To the left, dear.”

Corvus blinked, taking a moment longer than necessary to process Raphael’s words. 

“It is the one with the crimson spine,” Raphael continued, his voice sickeningly sweet. “Bring a quill and ink as well, little mouse.”

Corvus felt his forehead scrunch at the pet name. He shook his head, his eyes sharpening in the moment and quickly locating the binder. Corvus pulled it from the shelf, opening it a moment to confirm the maps of Baldur’s Gate within. He then briskly walked to a desk nearby, retrieving the ink and quill before sitting himself beside Raphael once more.

Raphael hummed, flipping through the pages of the binder with ease before pulling out a map and stretching it on the low table before them. He took the quill, dipping it in the ink and scanning the map for a long moment before his eyes locked onto a specific area.

“Before you enter the temple, there is one task you must do in the city first,” Raphael circled one of the small buildings nestled in an alley. “You must obtain the Amulet of Bhaal.”

Corvus narrowed his eyes to the map, lifting a suspicious brow at the little building. “It’s in someone’s house?”

“It is no home, but a business in disguise,” Raphael said, and for the first time that evening, that usual velvet edge to his voice frayed. Raphael’s smile faded, his fingers stilling on the map. “What lies beneath it is far older with far less forgiving trials.”

“What kind of trials?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. He tapped the spot on the map once with the quill.

“You will find a man there. One who may prove to be more of a challenge than Orin herself.”

“Who...?” Corvus’ eyes slowly grew wide, the anxiousness in his heart that had begun to fade swelling again. “I thought Orin was the one running all this?”

“She is the face of it, but Sarevok guides her hand.”

Corvus blinked. “Sarevok? The Sarevok?”

Raphael gave a single nod. “A relic of murder made flesh. He holds the amulet. To retrieve it, you must prove yourself to him—and by extension, to the God of Murder.”

“Prove myself to Bhaal?” Corvus snorted. “Unless he accepts me ending his entire line of heirs, I have no intention of satisfying that lunatic.”

“I would think it unbecoming of you to seek a god’s favor, given your defiant history.” Raphael said with the faintest hint of a smile coming back before dropping it again. “With that in mind, you must walk into this prepared. Sarevok does not measure strength with steel alone. You will be judged. For your convictions, your intentions, and your capacity for violence. Not the act itself, but the meaning behind it.”

“It’s always something,” Corvus frowned. “Fine. Go in and kill Sarevok. I got it–”

“You do not simply ‘go in and kill’ Sarevok.” Raphael spoke sharply, quickly. He leaned in closer towards Corvus, not in the way he had tried to entice him all evening but to force his attention, slowing and emphasizing his words to further his point. “Saravok will test every crack in your armor and seek to break you. He is not Ketheric who is blinded by his own desires nor is he Vlaakith warped by fear and rage. Saravok will seek to do more than end your life. He will seek to ruin you.”

“You almost sound like you’re worried for me,” Corvus said quietly, more of a question. Raphael said nothing at first, his silence somehow stirring more of a sense of dread in Corvus than his actual words.

“I have seen what Sarevok leaves behind,” Raphael said at last, tone measured. “There’s a difference between ruin and refinement. I’ve no interest in seeing your potential wasted as another's meaningless sacrifice.”

Corvus felt his mouth run dry. The air between them shifted, but he couldn't read Raphael this time. There was something protective of his tone, but it wasn’t kind or gentle. It was something possessive, Corvus could tell. Maybe even territorial.

It made him swallow, not knowing which was worse.

Then, Raphael swiftly snatched the binder between them, pulling out a second map and laying it above the other. He smoothed it with his hand, eyes scanning the parchment. Corvus blinked quickly, the map bringing him back to the present. He leaned in, massaging his chin as the second map stir recognition in him. It was the sewers beneath the city, drawn out and sketched in vigorous detail– all except a fourth of the map that remained blank.

“There is a secret entrance here,” Raphael circled a spot near the blank space. “You must spill the blood of a body here if you wish to reveal the temple.”

“A body?” Corvus found himself scowling again. “And where am I going to find a body?”

“Either sacrifice an enemy or petty thief if you wish. I’m sure you’ll think of something resourceful.” Raphael shrugged, the tip of his quill sketching something over the blank area of the map. “Stay vigilant. You will be greeted by enemies in the shadows, no doubt. There is a collection of halls descending lower beneath the city. You will find the temple here.”

With a final flick of the wrist, Raphael quickly finished sketching a bird’s eye view of a large structure with surprising detail. He set aside the quill and straightened in the settee once more, gesturing a hand over the map. Corvus leaned towards the table, scanning each map meticulously. For a split moment, his vision blurred over the details, his eyes growing heavy briefly before Corvus shook his head.

“Do you have advice for facing Sarevok?”

“Do not be haughty nor hasty in your approach. He will not stand alone with allies who would hinder him. He will be strong with servants devoted to his approval and Bhaal’s.”

Corvus gave a slow nod, then carefully folded the maps. “I’ll see it done in the morning.”

“The morning?”

Corvus turned his gaze back to Raphael, who was scowling at him now. It made Corvus return it in favor. “Yes, the morning. Is that a problem?”

“You need to give it at least a day, so you may be fully rested. I will not have you bounding into Sarevok’s hideout with even a fraction of exhaustion.”

“I can’t afford a day,” Corvus growled. “Gale can’t afford a day.” 

“Gale is safe.” Raphael assured. “Orin would use him to lure you in, not risk sacrificing him to draw you away. Until then, I would advise you to hold that temper and rest until you are equipped to face the challenges ahead.”

Corvus huffed, attempting to tuck the maps into his pocket, but suddenly they burst. Literally, burst. Corvus jumped as flame sparked in his hand, the parchment disintegrating into ash in his palm in a flash.

“What–?! What did you DO?!” Corvus snapped, clenching his fists at the devil that lounged.

“A precaution, seeing how you have a tendency to do the opposite of what I ask.” Raphael lifted a brow, a touch of that smile finally returning. “I will return these until I see you rested.”

“But–!”

Raphael’s frown deepened as he held a disapproving look to Corvus. It made the drow snort.

“Fine, whatever.” Corvus growled, turning for the door. “I’ll go back to the Elfsong and rest since you're so–”

“After the storm has passed.”

“You’re not my mother–”

Corvus’ words vanished as he grabbed and twisted the knob, hearing a click before walking into the door, unopened. He stared at it briefly as if it had insulted him, jiggling the knob before scowling once more.

“Let me OUT, Raphael.” Corvus leered at the devil, who was refilling his wine glass.

“I will not risk you developing a cold before the trial ahead. You will wait for the storm to pass.”

“If you’re so damned worried, just 'proof' me back. I’m no longer obligated to sit here with you the rest of the night!” Corvus jiggled the knob again as if he spoke the words to open it, but nothing changed. 

“My dear, just because you are no longer obligated to remain here, doesn’t mean I am obligated to indulge you any longer. Just have a seat–”

“No.”

“Obstinate thing,” Raphael muttered. “Is it truly so difficult for you to rest?”

Raphael waited for a response, then rolled his eyes as Corvus began shoving his shoulder into the door, banging his fist on it when it did not budge.

“Your ambition is growing nettlesome, dear.”

“I don't care.”

Corvus grabbed the knob again, looking up at the door for any way to hoist it open. Then, he felt the bronze knob warm against his palm. He shot his gaze down to it as it began to glow with some sort of magic. Before he had the chance to question, Corvus yanked his hand away from it as the heat singed his skin, making him take a step back. He snapped his eyes at Raphael– who was casually filling a separate glass of wine and sliding it to Corvus’ side of the settee.

“Just relax, little mouse.” Raphael said, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. “You can afford it now, you have nothing to fear this evening. Your wizard will remain safe while you rest.”

“I said I’m not–”

“I know what you said and I will allow you to leave after there is no longer a risk of you catching an illness.” Raphael then shot his own glare at Corvus, his irritation rivaling the drow’s own.

“And I said to just send me back to the Elfsong.”

“If you wish to have your entire camp know of our ‘arrangement’, then I would be happy to oblige. Otherwise, my patience with this conversation is running thin and I would advice you listen."

Corvus crossed his arms, his crimson eyes piercing Raphael’s own as they silently stared at one another. Thunder rattled the walls once more, the rain pelting the window being the only thing that took Corvus’ sharp gaze away from Raphael. He paused for a long moment as he watched the rain race down the stain-glass. With a final huff, Corvus slowly made his way back to the settee.

“Now was that so difficult?” Raphael took a sip of his wine, his voice finally lightened. “Do make yourself comfortable. You may be here for a few minutes longer.”

Corvus waited for Raphael to say anything else, but he only took up a novel that was laid on the end table beside him. It made Corvus let out an audible sigh. He leaned forward, choosing his tea instead of the wine set aside and sipping. It made Raphael let out the faintest chuckle, but the devil said nothing of it.

“... Are you going to give me a hint at what to expect when this is all over?” Corvus grumbled, shaking off the blurriness that tried settling itself in his vision again as he sat in the comfortable cushions. “Where am I to meet you?”

Raphael opened his book, casually flipping through the pages. “I will collect you when the time is right, my dear. There is nothing you need to do prior.”

“When is that?”

“After you rescue Gale and defeat Orin.”

“I know that but when?”

"When the moment is perfect.”

Corvus sighed, sinking himself back into the settee and into Raphael’s outstretched arm. “Why are you devils always so cryptic?”

“It adds to our charm.” Raphael winked, making Corvus groan.

They sat like that for a long spell, Corvus eventually taking up the wine glass offered after finishing the tea. All while Raphael quietly read his novel with one hand and idly tracing his thumb over Corvus’ nape with the other. Corvus never moved away from his touch, to his own surprise having found himself sinking into it more. He stared into the fire across the small parlor, watching the hickory crackle and pop in the hearth in silence before his vision grew blurry again.

He blinked quickly, shifting his focus elsewhere as his mind began to fog from the lack of sleep.

Gale was safe for now, that’s what was important. Soon Corvus would spew the blood of Sarevok and come for Orin next.

…Sarevok.

The legendary Bhaalspawn who had murdered more people than Corvus had even come to know in his near century and a half of existence. The one Jaheira had said tried to claim Baldur’s Gate decades ago as the Lord of Murder. Sired by Bhaal himself.

… And he, a cursed drow who crawled from the Underdark, would have to face him, very soon. It sent a shiver up Corvus' spine, but he quickly tried to shake it off. There was no time for fear, no time for doubt. He had to save Gale and this city, or die trying–

“There is no threat here, my dear.”

Corvus hesitated, turning his gaze to Raphael– who’s eyes never left his book.

“...What?”

Raphael quickly looked up, then shot his gaze to Corvus’ hand wordlessly. Corvus looked down, seeing his own thumb spinning over the infernal ring and its runes glowing anew. He felt his face warm, not even realizing he had been using it or for how long. 

“How did you know I was…?” Corvus said quietly, forcing it to stop in place.

“I placed the runes within the ring myself. Every time you activate it, I can sense it's magic. Even across planes,” Raphael flipped to the next page. “And I’ve come to learn that every time you use it, you have found yourself on edge. But there is no threat in this parlor tonight, my dear, nor would I allow there to be one.”

Corvus quietly watched Raphael, his chestnut gaze glued to the novel in his hand never even so much as glancing towards Corvus. The silence between them stretched once more, thick, but not uncomfortable. The fire snapped softly, casting amber light across their faces. Somewhere beyond the walls, thunder rumbled in the distance of the city, no longer shaking the walls around them. In fact, the rain had become more rhythmic, almost relaxing. Corvus dragged his hand away from the ring, taking the time to set his near spent wine glass back down on the low table.

“You’re awfully calm about this whole situation,” Corvus muttered, voice low. “Considering what you just sent me walking into.”

“I’ve already warned you and know you are capable,” Raphael said, turning another page. “What more would you have me do, follow you like a mother goose? I am a mentor, not a mother, as you bluntly stated.”

Corvus huffed a laugh under his breath. “Wouldn’t put it past you though.”

"Believe it or not, I enjoy a moments of peace every now and again, just as you do."

"Wish it were more often," Corvus mumbled, sinking into the settee. "Today certainly hasn't been that."

"Then you are fortunate I am here to grant you such a gift. Stay as long as you need this evening, my dear."

Corvus didn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze to the flicker of firelight dancing along the edge of the empty wine glass on the table, catching himself yawn. But as the silence drew out, Corvus couldn’t help his heart from stirring, making him frown.

“...Why do you always do this?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Wait until I’m exhausted. Then start being… this.” Corvus made a vague gesture toward him. “Less unbearable.”

Raphael finally moved away from his book. His eyes sparkled faintly at that, the corner of his lip tugging into a smile. “But of course. You are such a wild thing, no different than a feral cat. And like any feline, I have to keep up or negotiate with him until he is satisfied before I can relax like this, lest he’d claw me to pieces."

Corvus rolled his eyes, but for the first time, he finally returned the faintest of a grin. “Whatever you say, but I know how you work, Raphael. This isn’t warming me up to any weird shit you plan on having us do next time I see you.”

“My dear, I would never dream of breaking my ‘less unbearable’ reputation I’ve finally established with you.” Raphael laughed, the sound low and indulgent. “Though I admit, I am curious what sort of odd intimate behaviors you think me capable of.”

Corvus gave him a dry look. “You want a list?”

“I’d rather leave it to your imagination. After all, it’s far more interesting when you come to the table already anticipating a scandal. It keeps the mystery alive.”

Corvus narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a denial.”

“And would you believe me if I gave you an innocent answer?” Raphael’s smile turned languid. “I feel you would grow more anxious if I told you I only sought a candlelight dinner and conversation with the expectation of nothing more.”

“...You’re not wrong.”

"I never am." Raphael purred. Corvus gave a long, tired sigh, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse. By you, mostly.”

“Are you suggesting I come up with more insults? It would be fairly easy.”

“I’m sure it would be, but you won't.”

"Is that a challenge?"

"Take it as you will," Raphael murmured, voice softer now, almost distracted. His eyes lingered on Corvus for a beat too long before returning to the book he held.

A more comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the faint crackle from the hearth and the distant thrum of thunder and rain tapping at the parlor’s stained-glass windows. Corvus shifted slightly, the plush velvet cushions pulling him deeper into their hold. His arms folded lazily across his chest, fingers brushing over the edge of his sleeves as he shut his eyes for just a moment as the warmth of this room finally began to melt the chill in his bones.

Slowly, Corvus felt his body grow heavy the longer time passed on this settee. Much heavier than he could recall these last few days, like he himself was chunk of lead placed on ornate cushions. He hadn’t opened his eyes or even realized he was beginning to lean. It was only when he felt like he was falling that he jolted upright again, the sensation clearing the fog from his thoughts that had numbed his mind.

A small chuckle came from beside him, but Raphael never peered up from his book. 

Corvus turned to see the storm still raging outside, not likely to let up anytime soon. He then turned to the fire again, watching its flames flicker as wood popped and cracked. He stared for a long moment in silence before the hearth itself began to blur too. Corvus shut his eyes tightly, then opened them, blinking away the drowsiness that tried to take hold of him all evening. It would have been wise to force his posture upright, enough to make him uncomfortable enough to stay awake until the storm passed, but his body had grown more powerful than his mind.

He eased back into the settee, back into Raphael’s outstretched arm as he blinked heavily again, forcing his vision back into focus but it hadn't helped. Corvus felt his head lull gently as his mind slowly fogged once more. His eyes drifted closed, then open, then closed once more. 

Everything had grown silent. That was, until he heard a book thump close beside him. Corvus couldn't muster the strength to lift his head, even as he felt fingers grazing the curve of his shoulder. There was a steady, gentle tug, meant to guide his body to move elsewhere… and Corvus didn’t resist.

He slowly let himself be guided to the body beside him, feeling an infernal warmth that was far more welcoming than it should have been. He didn’t recoil from the foreign heartbeat that bumped against his ear now, nor the fingers that began combing through his silver hair.

“My poor, sleepy, little mouse. What a day you’ve had...”

Corvus barely registered the soft words, but lost the will to respond. He never pried an eye open, never fought the touch that gently began massaging the back of his neck and down his back. Corvus just lay there, curling slightly into that embrace he knew deep down he should have pushed away. But instead, he listened to the storm and fire sing around him, drifting off to the hum of Raphael in his ear.

Chapter Text

Color dappled through the room as light spilled softly through the stain-glass windows above. Dust floated lazily in the air, catching on the quiet shimmer of rainbow sunbeams that had settled in. Somewhere far off, the low murmur of city life had begun. Carts rolling, voices rising, the metallic clatter of shutters being unlatched. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing coals, their heat now gentle, leaving the room still.

Corvus shifted, a slow stretch rippling through his limbs as he stirred awake. His cheek pressed against something firm and warm, his arms curling more around it and holding it closer as he fought against his body rousing from slumber. There was a smooth fabric under him, far too smooth to be his own sheets, too welcoming than the Elfsong had offered.

Corvus’ eyes shot open.

The parlor.

His heart began to drum as realization dragged itself up from the depths of his sleep-addled brain. He hadn’t gone back to the Elfsong. He had never left.

He was still here, with him. And then, just as he stirred to sit up—

“Mmm. Stay a little longer, won’t you?” Came a lazy drawl beneath him, smug and half-asleep. “I quite liked you here.”

Corvus shot his gaze up, heat rising up his neck as the mere act of lifting his head left him nose to nose with Raphael. He was draped across him completely, having crawled further on him at some point in the night and clutching as if that devil was his own pillow. Corvus jerked upright, scrambling to a sitting position over Raphael, body protesting with every stiff joint, every sore muscle.

“How long—?!” he started, fumbling with the latch of the window above them to let in the fresh air and see the day. Raphael chuckled low, his hand held Corvus’ hips as the drow flew the windows open and nearly threw himself out just to see the city from the second story of the parlor.

“Long enough for you to get a good night’s rest.” Raphael purred, tugging gently at Corvus’ waist to draw him back. “Why don’t we start this morning a little more easy, dear? Just lie back down and–”

Raphael’s eyes snapped open as Corvus suddenly tore himself from the settee, tumbling over Raphael and on the low table with a crash before gracelessly hitting the floor. Raphael sighed, sitting himself up with a frown.

“...And thus ends that idea–”

“Shit.” Corvus’ head popped up from the floor, eyes darting wildly for the maps on the table before remembering Raphael had taken them. Corvus shoved a hand into his hair and found it completely disheveled, half-pressed into flat curls on one side. “Why didn’t you wake me, Raphael?!”

“And disturb your beauty rest? Perish the thought.”

Corvus growled to himself as he moved to his feet, grimacing at the aches from lying still for so long made themselves fully known now.

“I have to go.”

“Always in such a rush the moment your head leaves the pillow,” Raphael tutted. “Could we share just one morning when you are not pressed to return to your camp of misfits–?”

“They don’t know about this.”

Raphael tilted his head, “About what?”

“About us.”

Raphael remained silent as he watched Corvus dart to an oak coat stand, searching for a cloak. Then, he smiled.

“Us, you say?”

“This arrangement,” Corvus corrected, yanking one from the hook. “No one knows– except Astarion. I was barely able to convince them all where I was last time.”

“I was under that impression that they hadn’t known… but you mean to tell me you told your trusted vampling about us?”

“Stop saying it like that.” Corvus snarled, throwing the cloak on aggressively. “He only knows because you had to deliver this damned ring right in front of him. He’s been giving me shit about for weeks.”

Raphael chuckled again, leaning back in the settee and humming.

“Us.” Raphael pondered, rolling the word of his tongue as if it were something new to his vocabulary. “What an unexpected word choice from you.”

Corvus froze halfway through fastening his cloak, jaw tight. “It doesn’t mean anything. You’re looking too deep into it.”

“Am I?” Raphael asked, rising from the settee and approaching Corvus. “You could have chosen any word or phrase, my dear. ‘They don’t know about the contract’, ‘They don’t know about my binding’, ‘They don’t know about you, you smug bastard’.” Raphael laughed to himself at that last one. “I just find it amusing you chose ‘us’.”

Corvus yanked the final clasp of the cloak, glaring at Raphael beside him. “Don’t make a thing of it, alright? I’ve got enough on my mind as it is.”

“Fair enough. I suppose I will leave this… for now.” Raphael reached over, combing back the pieces of Corvus’ wavy hair where they were meant to lay. “I need you to focus these next few days. There is much at stake.”

Corvus said nothing, the images of what this Lord of Murder could truly look like flashing across his imagination. Corvus shifted warily, already half-turned toward the door, but Raphael reached out before he could escape. He turned Corvus back to face him, gently cupping the sides of Corvus’ jaw, just enough to make the drow fall still.

“...What are you–”

Raphael leaned in, pressing his lips firmly against Corvus’ own. Corvus’ hands shot up, grabbing at Raphael’s arms and squeezing. He nearly shoved the fiend away out of instinct, every fiber in his being wanting to reject the touch, but for just a heartbeat that immediate tension dissolved. Corvus’ grip relaxed, his eyes having almost shut– until Raphael’s lips simmered. Corvus inhaled sharply as his lip tingled, heat singing deeply like the lingering sting of strong liquor down the throat. 

Then, as quickly as it happened, Raphael pulled away, leaving Corvus wide eyed and stunned in place.

“You–” Corvus blinked, one hand still clasped to Raphael, the other brushing his lip. “Did you just burn me?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, it’s barely a singe.” Raphael’s smile curled like smoke. Corvus finally pushed Raphael away, wiping his mouth.

“What the Hells was that for?!”

“A proper farewell,” Raphael said smoothly, “And something to look forward to, once my champion reigns supreme.”

“Your champion?” Corvus echoed suspiciously, the words catching awkwardly on his tongue like they didn’t belong there. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just a term of phrase, my dear.” Raphael chuckled, brushing the collar of Corvus’ cloak flat with maddening gentleness. “Do not make a ‘thing’ of it, as you say.”

Corvus blinked, his surprise replaced with a scowl, “I swear to the gods themselves, Raphael. If I find out you and some other devil placed a bet on me like a nag on a track…”

Raphael burst out with a laugh, shaking his head. “You are far more valuable than a mere nag. Am I not simply allowed to be proud of my fierce little lover?”

“Your–” Corvus snapped his jaw shut, feeling his ears grow hot and forcing his scowl to stay. “I’m not your lover.”

“Of course not, we’ve only indulged in one another four times now– soon to be five–”

“I’m leaving.”

Raphael laughed again as Corvus turned towards the door. “Try not to miss me too much, little mouse. We'll have plenty of time to catch up once this little problem of yours is sorted.”

"Too much time, I'm sure."

“Just make sure Sarevok does not slice away at that handsome face. It holds just the right amount of scars for my liking.”

“You’re not giving me much hope, Raphael.”

“That was intended as a compliment, my dear.” Raphael fell silent for just a fraction of a second, enough to make Corvus still. “But as much as I toy, do keep your wits about you. Sarevok will be your greatest challenge yet… it would be wise to remain guarded in both your approach and execution.”

Corvus paused halfway through the doorframe, lingering as if mishearing his tone. He turned some towards Raphael and for the first time ever, saw the faintest hint of hesitation cross the devil no matter how collected he held himself.

"...Are you worried for me?"

Raphael's smile kept in place, but his brow twitched. "My dear, I have seen what you are capable of. There isn't a doubt in my mind that you will be successful in this."

Corvus briefly glanced away, his fingers drumming along the frame before looking back at Raphael again.

“I would not say I am known for wisdom... but I am sharp and I am downright vicious when I need to be." Corvus met Raphael's eyes, his own face unreadable to even the devil. "Whatever awaits for me, I promise you Sarevok will not walk out of that wretched place alive... but I will."

“You most certainly will," Raphael seemed to relax a touch, just before returning a much sharper, cruel grin. “Now, see that you give that self proclaimed Lord of Murder Hell. I want to hear all about it next we meet."

“Are you sure about this, soldier?”

Karlach peered each way down the alleys, giving a faint smile to the occasional passerby. Corvus was crouched to a door of a building, meticulously picking at the lock. “I haven’t a doubt in my mind, Karlach.”

“Just seems a little weird a cult would be here,” She mumbled. “You really think Orin is here?”

“If she’s not, her affiliates are. We should find something at least, if not her.”

“How did you come across this place last night?” Halsin spoke, brow raised with uncertainty as he gazed up at the humble little shop.

“That is a very good question, Halsin!” Astarion interjected. His voice was light, but he held an unmistakable glare at the drow, his eyes flickering to the infernal ring on Corvus’ hand as he worked the lock. “I’m very curious to know myself…”

Corvus side eyed the vampire briefly, the two leering at one another for a moment before Corvus withdrew from the lock. He swiftly reached into a hidden pocket in his armor, pulling out a folded piece of parchment and handing it to Astarion. It was wrinkled, filtered with droplets of red the paper had absorbed and torn at the edges. It was, to Corvus’ own surprise, a perfect replica.

“I told you, I went back to the wine shop and found this bloody note we missed. I’m certain there is something about the Bhaal cult behind this door.”

Astarion scanned every detail of the note suspiciously, frowning at it before passing it to Halsin. “How convenient to have found it given your state of mind last night…” The vampire hushed. Corvus didn’t reply this time, bringing his focus back to the lock. 

He wasn’t entirely lying. 

Corvus was certain Orin’s affiliates were here. He knew Raphael would not have lied in that regard. It was the one thing he could trust about Raphael. He never lied when it came to a contract. Most cambions couldn’t, given they were bound to their word as much as their signatory was. They just had to be clever, thinking one step ahead of the rest and as much as Corvus hated to admit it, he quickly realized Raphael most certainly was when they spoke two nights ago.

He was so exhausted, it hadn’t even crossed Corvus how he was going to tell the others of this place without blatantly pointing suspicion towards someone else involved. He had pondered all of yesterday as they stocked up on potions and supplies, upgraded armor and weapons. Corvus planned on staying silent and making it seem like a coincidence stumbling to the shop in their search once Raphael returned the maps. He was surprised to have not only found the maps Raphael had promised tucked between his pillowcase last night, but two additional letters waiting under them, along with a small box.

One was the fake, bloody parchment Halsin now read, giving a perfect alibi for searching this place. It was crafted with everything Corvus had needed: an explanation for why it was at the wine shop, the mention of sacrificial hands to become an Unholy Assassin, connections to all the murders Corvus and the others had been investigating since entering the city after meeting the hollyphant, Valeria. And with it was another letter, tied neatly to the box.

Corvus nearly gasped when he opened it, shutting it quickly as if his own eyes had deceived him, but they had not. Inside was a pair of human hands, bruised and curled within– all too similar to the ones mentioned in the first bloody note and their victim whom Corvus had met that he knew was still among the living. Then, there was the letter, pristine and scented of cherry with swiftly crafted lettering that simply read “A present for Sarevok. Our little secret.”

“Luck I suppose,” Corvus muttered, lifting up on one of the pins inside the lock and trying to not think too heavily on who the poor soul was in Raphael’s “present”.

“Oak Father willing,” Halsin said, returning the parchment to Astarion. “It was a near miracle to have found this, but–” The druid cut his own words, hesitating. “... I do not wish to overstep Corvus, but please heed caution traveling alone in this city. I understand you find solace in late night walks, but after you had not returned the other night, I had feared the worst.”

“I… I'm sorry,” Corvus trailed off quietly, glancing over his shoulder to the druid. He always had a soft spot for the druid. It was only now that the very idea of making him worry didn't settle right. “I… didn’t expect to be gone as long as I had. I will tell you next time though, I promise.”

“It would put an old druid’s mind at ease,” Halsin replied with a warm smile. “You have a tendency to roam as I do. I understand, especially when your thoughts do not give rest but wandering from camp through the canopy of the forests during our travels has been much different than a place as dangerous as this. I would see you safe from harm, Corvus.”

“Yeah, what were you thinking?” Karlach chimed in. “It’s good you found something useful, but don’t be an idiot with Orin still running a muck.” Her smile eased, “Next time, just let me tag along, I’ll play the bodyguard! No one would come near us if they saw me at your side with a giant axe on my back.”

Corvus couldn’t help chuckle at her enthusiasm. “Thanks, Karlach.”

“That’s right. You have us.” Astarion spoke up, his glare softening, but only a touch. “We don’t need you trying to solve things on your own or going somewhere else for help.”

For a brief moment, Corvus felt ashamed at Astarion’s words, wanting to tear the dull ring that seemed to stare back at him from his middle finger now. Astarion hadn’t relented the first day he wore that ring, angry Corvus hadn’t tossed it out like he did the other gifts Raphael had sent him, but Corvus knew it came from a place of worry– no matter how many times Astarion felt the need to point out he didn’t truly care. Much to Corvus’ relief, Astarion never said a word about it to the others, but by the gods did he give him an earful any moment he could.

As quickly as that shame came over Corvus, it left as the door clicked, tearing the feeling away entirely. Everyone’s gaze shifted to the door as it creaked open, greeting them all with darkness. Corvus rose to his feet, looking back to the others.

“Everyone ready?”

The others nodded, stepping inside as Corvus led them all into the shadows.

The descent into the Tribunal felt like sinking into the belly of something ancient and blood-hungry. Each step echoed off slick stone as flickering torchlight illuminated their way. Wild shadows danced across walls where mangled victims in Bhaal's name was hung like home decor. The air turned heavier the deeper they went, rank with old incense, dried iron, and the copper tang of something far fresher. It was too still, as if at any moment a knife could be drawn from the shadows to make them all a part of the sacrifices splayed throughout the darkness. Corvus’ boots rang out as he passed through, his breath catching despite himself. Behind him, even the others said nothing as if they had all had a silence spell cast upon them.

Then, they came across the Tribunal chamber and met with guards. They had almost denied passage, until Corvus offered the hands Raphael had given him. The guards spoke in riddles and rhymes before allowing them passage.

The doors groaned as they opened, the scent of metallic hitting Corvus with such force he nearly withdrew, but he stepped forward. He didn’t dare show hesitation here, not now even as his pulse thrummed in his ears or the trail of sweat rolling down his spine beneath his armor. He kept his gaze fixed as forward as his steps, refusing to reveal out of place he was in a wretched place such as this.

Red banners swayed gently as they descended the staircase, leading to a large dungeon-like room decorated with pews and blood. Candles guided them, burning with sickly flames that danced in patterns that didn’t seem to follow natural law. A chill ran over Corvus as he stepped onto the floor that bore the mark of Bhaal carved deep, dark with decades of offering. Corvus’ halted at the center of the stained symbol, body refusing to go farther as he locked eyes with the figure looking down on them all.

Above was a man as broad as a war machine yet still as a church mouse sitting upon a throne of bones. He bore armor carved and spiked with steel, horns ascending from his helmet like some fiendish war chief. Beneath it all was a human of bronze skin, his eyes glowing like that of unholy amber that pinned Corvus in place.

He was the man of darkest legend, a monster who’s name was whispered like a curse from folklore. But this wasn’t folklore nor was he an ancient relic of a murder god buried beneath Baldur’s Gate.

He was very real. A living, breathing weapon carved in Bhaal’s image, staring straight into Corvus’ crimson eyes.

He was Sarevok.

Chapter Text

“You gaze upon murder’s progeny, child.”

The voice split the silence like a blade. Low and unhurried carrying like thunder in the hollows of the chamber. It reverberated through the stone, through bone, through Corvus.

“This is the court of the Dread Lord’s tribunal. I am its custodian… Here come those who seek to transcend. The would-be Unholy Assassins of Bhaal.”

Corvus’ gaze held firm as Sarevok spoke, the man eyeing every feature of him as if he were an assessment to be made. It was only then when Sarevok said no more that Corvus spoke.

"Are you Sarevok Anchev? The infamous Bhaalspawn?"

Sarevok was unflinching, confident as he replied. “In times past, I was Bhaal’s Deathbringer– his acolyte… but no more. My Lord has a new favorite. My granddaughter, Orin. His Chosen.”

Corvus felt the tension through himself and the others at her name, but he spoke before it could draw notice.

“I’m looking for her. Is she here?”

“She worships at the heart of Bhaal’s domain, the temple of our lord. Bhaal has never had a more gifted progeny, but she is not the subject of our judgement today.” Sarevok leaned forward in his throne, his hand waving grandly across the room. “You wish to become an Unholy Assassin of Bhaal, so approach and be judged.”

Corvus’ pulse thundered in his ears, but he didn’t flinch. He did his best not to blatantly measure Sarevok here and now, but by the gods he never expected the Lord of Murder to be this hardy. Fear tried to claw at his ribs as Corvus thought of how he would take this man down, but he’d learned long ago how to wear it like armor. Raphael mentioned a trial. Knowing Bhaal, it was likely a test of cruelty and death. There was a very likely possibility this trial could be in another room. 

If he played along, lured Sarevok into a place more isolated away from the guards outside the doors, away from the worshippers who lingered in the shadows watching him now… 

“I am ready to be judged.”

Sarevok nodded, “Let us begin… Spirit of the slaughter, return to us. Show us the truth of this murderer’s intent.”

Three women dressed in frayed assassin’s gear and blood– the court with Sarevok who sat just a step beneath him, smiled as Sarevok rose, drawing out a hand as dark magic radiated from his outstretched arm. Before Corvus, a figure of a woman conjured, glancing around the room frantically as shadow graced her features.

“You took this spirit’s life and thus its voice,” Sarevok continued, “So. Speak for it. How was this pitiful creature slain?”

Corvus’ eyes widened a moment at the woman, a pang of pity striking him for whatever suffering she was forced to endure in their mad god’s name.

“With a smile on my face and pleasure in my heart.” Corvus lied, hoping it was enough to sound convincing.

The court remained silent for a long while, Sarevok’s unreadable stare piercing straight through Corvus. The drow held it, refusing to break his gaze. Then a smile, proud and reverent, found itself on Sarevok’s lips.

“Your offering pleases Lord Bhaal. Your words delight him. You slaughter well, and you are deemed worthy.”  

“WORTHY!” One woman shouted.

“BHAAL’S NAME BE PRAISED!”

Sarevok motioned to a door in the hall at the side of the room. “Enter the Dread Lord’s abattoir, and submit to his will.”

Corvus almost didn’t comprend his words as Sarevok silently strode toward the room, the court vanishing into shadow as the room fell silent once more. Corvus waited before glancing to the others, who seemed as tense as he before Corvus nodded to them, following Sarevok in stride. 

He held his head high as he led, taking in every detail of the room this time while Sarevok’s back was turned. There were the three high priestesses of Bhaal, the woman who made up the court and vanished that Corvus expected would join them in the abattoir for the final trial. Then, a dragonborn who was lingering along the wall as he walked past, Corvus feeling his eyes piercing into him now though he never followed them. Plus the three heavily armored guardians who locked them inside this tributal, blocking their only exit…

They would have to defeat Sarevok and the court, ration out their supplies long enough to face the dragonborn and guards afterwards.

This would be no simple task.

A whine from the abattoir broke Corvus from his thoughts. As he stepped inside, Corvus’ gaze locked to a creature bound in chains. It was Valeria, fluttering her ears in pain as she feebly fought against the restraints. There were worshippers waiting inside– far more than Corvus expected. It was only when he looked closer that he realized it was the court. Three real women, the rest conjured apparitions in their image. 

…Shit.

“You stand on the cusp of the Dread Lord’s favor,” Sarevok announced with a wide smile. “One killing secures your rebirth of an Unholy Assassin of Bhaal: the killing of a celestial being. Spill its blood, bathe in Bhaal’s eternal rapture!”

As Corvus stepped into sight, Valeria’s eyes grew wide with recognition. “O-Oi! I know you! Do not listen to this ancient fuck. Free me at once!”

Something in Corvus’ chest twisted as the room seemed to shrink. The scent of blood was overwhelming now, thick and cloying as the walls themselves felt like they were breathing, waiting for their sacrifice.

The weight of every gaze settled on Corvus, suffocating him.

There was no going back.

“Blood will be split, Sarevok.” Corvus said, voice firm. He fixed his glare to Sarevok, but his entire body followed, stepping fully into the light and gripping the hilt of his rapier. “I will slaughter you.”

For a moment, the silence was so deafening Corvus could only hear his own heartbeat.

Then, Sarevok laughed. Deep and booming as it rolled through the chamber like coming thunder. 

“Ambitious lamb,” Sarevok smiled, drawing out his greatsword in a single, elegant motion. The blade screamed as it left its sheath, hissing through the room and echoing off the walls. “If you will not serve Bhaal, then I shall make you my offering to the Dread Lord.” His eyes locked onto Corvus, no longer amused, but exultant. “Let us see if your courage bleeds as bright as your corpse.”

Sarevok surged forward, drawing his sword above his head and slamming it down with lightning haste. The others hadn’t the chance to draw their blades, stumbling back to avoid the collision. Corvus, though, threw himself to the side as steel cracked the stone where he stood just seconds ago. He slid across on blood-slick tile, tearing out his rapier and evaluating every fold and crease of armor that exposed flesh.

Corvus was no large, brawny warrior like Karlach or a mighty magic wielder like Gale or Halsin, but he was fast. Not just on his feet or with a sword, but tactically as well. It was his best trait, one he took full advantage of in any fight and with it, he had already honed onto several places he could strike before Sarevok had even turned to face him once more.

Their eyes met briefly, then Corvus lunged.

The chamber erupted all around them. The court rushed from the shadows, their illusions swiftly moving through, but Astarion, Karlach, and Halsin met their haste.

Astarion drew out his crossbow in a blur, firing with precision into the first woman and her apparitions rushing for them. Karlach let loose a guttural war cry as she charged into the fray, carving away at crimson spirits that tried surrounding her as she rushed for the second in command. The third woman tried to move her and her conjured shadows against the wall to draw in towards Sarevok, but as Halsin’s staff glowed, the druid sent a storm of ice plummeting to them and slowing their pace. 

Corvus sprang forward as Sarevok’s greatsword came down once more, their steel sparking as Corvus’ rapier parried the greatsword away just enough to miss him before it met with the floor once more. He took the chance and struck his rapier quickly to an open place at the shoulder. If he could disable just one arm, he could end this battle in mere seconds.

But Corvus cursed as Sarevok seemed to read his thoughts, contorting his body just enough for Corvus’ rapier to glaze over steel instead. Corvus retaliated, practically dancing close against Sarevok and landing two quick strikes at the exposed seam beneath the Sarevok’s pauldron. Sparks flew as they made contact, his blade skittering across the armor instead of drawing blood.

Sarevok turned with a growl and swung again—much faster than Corvus expected. He whirled back, the edge of the greatsword just nicking Corvus’ cheek. Corvus grew the distance between them, feeling the blood trickle down his face as the Lord of Murder faced him once more.

Sarevok was damn quick, almost as fast as Corvus.

“You are swift, lamb.” Sarevok rumbled, almost impressed and without a single faltered breath. “But not deadly.”

Corvus scowled before hastily tucking and rolling away as Sarevok swung towards him again. Corvus sprung back up before the next blow could follow. Corvus circled wide, his breathing sharp already, eyes locked on the Lord of Murder’s stance as he readied for another strike. He needed to keep Sarevok mobile, keep testing him and swinging until he grew tired under the weight of the steel he wore and carried. 

Corvus surged forward again, ducking beneath the next swing and this time, avoided striking from the front. He darted behind Sarevok, driving his blades toward the gap at his hip to disable him. The rapier struck, but not nearly enough. Corvus growled, beginning to draw himself away again, but Sarevok hadn’t lifted his blade to strike down as Corvus expected. Instead, Sarevok waited, just a fraction of a second to let Corvus tear away until the drow was in perfect position. Then Sarevok swung, driving the hilt of the greatsword straight at Corvus like a battering ram.

The world lurched sideways as it struck Corvus’ temple, the noise around him replaced with a loud buzz, his vision blurring as he collapsed to the floor in an instant. The room spun, Corvus unable to focus on where Sarevok was as he seemed to multiply. He moved before he could think, rolling as Sarevok lifted the blade over his head and struck down. He felt the wind of steel push against his silver hair as he just barely dodged the strike.

Corvus quickly staggered unright, the world pitching beneath his feet. His stomach lurched, nausea coiling sharp and hot in his gut, but he swallowed it down. He had to collect himself, get control of this but that last blow had rattled something deep. His balance was off, his limbs uncooperative and his vision fully out of focus now.

Sarevok’s blade rushed forward, not in a slicing motion meant to break bone and tear flesh. He manipulated the flat of the blade, slamming beneath Corvus’ chin and angling up as Sarevok drew his weight forward. They stumbled backward until Corvus was pinned between a wall of stone and blade. Corvus gasped as the greatsword bit into the hollow of his throat, fighting against Sarevok as the massive man pressed it harder. Panic surged in Corvus as each movement to resist made him cut into his own throat. He tried leveraging the rapier between them, but Sarevok pivoted, ramming his shoulder into Corvus’ arm and keeping it from moving.

Corvus hissed, grabbing at his hip and ripping out a dagger hidden against his armor. He roared, thrusting it into Sarevok’s exposed axilla. Sarevok winced, a grunt escaping him as Corvus tore the dagger out, plunging it again hoping to reach his heart. Sarevok’s eyes ignited with fury and in a moment of rage, Sarevok's head flew forward, crushing his helmet into Corvus’ forehead.

Sound vanished then for what seemed like minutes before a faint ringing found Corvus' ears. He dropped the dagger and rapier, momentarily losing control of every muscle in his body. But somehow, a part of him still clung to reality, even as he felt the growing damp warmth of blood beginning to leak from his neck like a sieve. He mustered up every ounce of awareness left and grabbed Sarevok’s greatsword in his own palms, shoving with all his might, but it was no use. Corvus winced as the pressure choked him, legend cutting through hands and throat. Corvus fell still as it grew, halting his thrashing just to keep from severing his own arteries.

Sarevok chuckled low in his throat, the sound like a purring lion. He leaned in, the heat of his breath ghosting against Corvus’ skin cooling the blood seeping from his open wounds.

“Do you feel it? The edge between life and offering.” Sarevok’s eyes gleamed with fervor, utterly sane in the way that would send fear through any living creature. “You will die here, little lamb, and I too shall take great delight in the suffering of an arrogant fool who thought he could stand up to Bhaal’s champion.”

The flat of Sarevok’s greatsword whipped around with terrifying speed, slamming into the side of Corvus’ head like a hammer. A sound—wet and sharp, rang out as Corvus’ head snapped sideways. The world turned white, then black, then bled into a kaleidoscope of burning light and muffled sound. His body dropped like lead on water as Corvus sank to Sarevok’s feet, all sound around him replaced by roaring white noise. 

Everything around him slowed. He wasn't able able to make sense of the battle in the room. But despite the pain, despite the numbing haze that quickly engulfed him, Corvus tried to stagger to his feet like a newborn foal. He thought he heard a laugh somewhere, a mutter of something more, then pain erupted in his gut as a loud crack rang out through his entire body.

He gasped for the air that left him, choking on blood that surged to his throat as pain bloomed in his ribcage. He caught a glance at Sarevok once more, not even processing the boot that was driving forward again until it slammed back into his stomach.

Another crack —his ribs, maybe more than one, snapped like brittle twigs beneath the weight of Sarevok’s armored boot. Corvus’ body lurched from the force, rolling and tumbling across the Tribunal stone like a discarded weapon. Corvus choked on his own blood as it pooled in his mouth, the pain striking deep as it took over every nerve within him. He tried to push himself upright, but his limbs could not keep up with the commands of his mind. Arms trembled beneath him, then gave out completely, his cheek hitting the cold stone as Corvus lay motionless on the floor. Adrenaline roared through him, what little was left of consciousness making him realize his body was shutting down.

Footsteps echoed, barely registering in his ears, slow and heavy as they approached. Sarevok was dragging his sword behind him in a terrible, scraping trail that echoed louder than all the chaos still raging around them. The cultists, his shouting companions, the clash of blades—it all blurred into a meaningless hum.

Only Sarevok remained in his focus.

His executioner.

His end.

“You have a fire about you. A shame you refused to use it to serve the Dread Lord. He would have deemed one with such a spirit as yours worthy,” Sarevok said, his voice almost disappointed. “But instead, you have chosen to be another stain on this altar. If you will not serve Bhaal in life, your soul shall prove a worthy sacrifice in death.”

Corvus, broken beneath him, could only squint up at the silhouette haloed by the crimson light of the room. The silhouette of a blade rising above Sarevok’s head, the creeping smile of sickening pleasure on the Lord of Murder’s face.

The blade descended.

Corvus flinched, hand rising as a final weak barrier between him and steel. The last thing he would see before death claimed him, before Bhaal claimed him. His bleeding hand, and that silver ring– 

Suddenly, that dull little ring began to glow.

Then, it erupted.

Its infernal sigils flared– Corvus swore they flared, brighter than he had ever seen them. They stretched towards Sarevok, stretched around him, but darkness took Corvus too quickly to catch what was happening.

All fell silent. 

Corvus saw nothing. Heard nothing for a moment as everything had blackened around him. The pain he felt numbed in an instant, as if his body and spirit had pulled themselves away to traverse across planes.

…Was this death?

His soul departing from his body to the Astral Sea?

Then, heat spread from the ring, blooming in his heart as it warmed to the core of his very soul. He felt it spread, surging from the pit of his stomach to his fingertips.

“...Corvus!”

Who was…?

“Corvus…!”

Another voice, familiar too–

Corvus’ eyes shot open, his senses overwhelming him as they all rushed back at once. He sucked in wind as Sarevok still stood over him, only now the Lord of Murder was striking at his own legs as he attempted to break a tendril of dark magic that had crawled up him and clutched his greatsword in place. He scowled at Corvus, his eyes burning with an unholy fire for just a heartbeat before snapping his gaze to the woman charging him. Sarevok roared, using all his strength to break the final grasp of magic that clung to him– barely with enough time to block Karlach’s ax from descending into his throat.

Corvus pushed back, wincing and clutching his side as pain throbbed within him, threatening to take his breath away again. But it wasn’t debilitating. In fact to his relief, Corvus' mind had cleared, the buzz that had rattled his skull and blurred vision all but ceased completely.

Someone had healed him. Just enough to keep moving and be aware once more.

Suddenly, Astarion rushed past him, ripping out a dagger and slashing at an exposed crease in Sarevok’s armor with precision.

Corvus groaned as he rolled to his hands and knees, spitting blood from his mouth that coated his tongue. He crawled for his rapier that lay just meters from Sarevok, gasping, wincing. The air reeked of his own blood, still seeped from his nose. His body screamed at him to stop, ached and throbbing across every nerve but he fixated on the shimmer of that rapier just a few lengths away.

He just had to grab it…

Had to keep fighting.

For Gale.

For the others–

Then, something caught the corner of his vision. He jerked his head, squinting at the figure lurking in the shadows of the wall. He stared them down, almost convinced it was another cultist, but they didn’t move. From this distance Corvus thought it was an illusion of Sarevok. He was tall in stature, horns curling from his head like a crown, but he bore no armor, nor the glowing amber eyes of Sarevok.

They held one another's gaze, even as the figure's chin tilted slightly up. Then, a faint curl creased along the edges of their lip.

“Corvus!”

The voice ripped Corvus away from them, looking at a familiar companion charging for him. Halsin slid to his knees, hands already glowing as healing magic surged through cracked ribs and torn muscles. He was covered in blood himself, heaving for air as if Halsin was rushing to catch it from leaving his lungs. Warmth rushed in Corvus then, dizzying in contrast to the pain that had radiated through him just moments ago.

“Stay with me,” Halsin said, his hand pressing the gaping wounds still open on Corvus’ throat. “We're not done yet!"

A newfound energy surged through Corvus again. Not quite enough to make him ready to charge into the fray, but enough to slowly stand on his own. Corvus breathed in the air as if smoke had cleared. 

“H-Ha… Halsin!” He rasped, clutching his side. The druid heaved exhausted breaths, sweat and blood trailing down his own face as Halsin tore a healing potion from Corvus’ belt and shoved it in his hand.

“Drink it… We must… end this!”

Halsin’s eyes glowed amber and bright as his form shifted, fur clinging to his skin as the bear took form. He swiftly turned away, charging for Sarevok.

“But…! Halsin! There’s still one more–!” Corvus snapped his gaze to where the figure stood but in their place, there was no one.

Corvus blinked as he quickly scanned the rest of the room. He saw the bodies of the three women from the court, their lives ended by the others. Besides the chaos before him, no one was left. 

…Had he imagined it?

Corvus turned back just in time to see Karlach stagger, Sarevok’s brutal strength sending her reeling backward and to the ground. Astarion lunged in next, but a vicious swing caught him mid-motion, the vampire crashing to the stone floor next with a grunt, dazed and motionless. Halsin bit down at his wrist, jaws clamping tight, but Sarevok roared, slamming the pommel of his blade into the beast’s snout and forcing the druid’s elven form to burst back as he lost his wildshape and collapsed.

Three of them. Down in seconds.

Something inside Corvus boiled at the sight—something ugly. Something primal.

The fear, the exhaustion, the fire in his ribs all blurred beneath the sight of his companions bleeding on the floor while that monster still stood.

Still stood smiling.

Corvus downed the potion in seconds, shattering the bottle as he threw it aside. It burned all the way down, like a dragon’s fire on the verge of erupting from its throat.

He could still feel the pain Sarevok inflicted, though dulling now as the potion took effect. It still roared in his bones, but pure adrenaline surged to the surface, numbing what hadn't healed. Corvus rushed forward, nearly slipping in blood as he snatched his rapier and dagger from the ground. The familiar weight steadied him as he raised them once more, eyes fixed on that exposed spot in Sarevok’s shoulder.

Then as silent as the shadows that whispered around them, Corvus plunged the blade through, twisting to ensure it made its mark this time.

Sarevok hissed, nearly dropping his greatsword as he reared back at the drow in rage, but Corvus was ready this time. Corvus ripped the rapier free with a snarl, blood spraying across his arm and face as he ducked just in time to avoid a retaliatory cleave that split a stone pillar behind him.

An arrow flew past Corvus from his feet, striking through Sarevok’s hand and making the great warrior howl in agony. Corvus knelt down to Astarion as the crossbow in the vampire’s hand trembled. He quickly retrieved the final potion on him for Astarion as Sarevok tore the arrow from the back of his hand.

“The others,” Corvus said quickly, glancing at Karlach and Halsin who lay nearly crippled on the stone floor. “Save them.”

“As long as you make him hurt.” Astarion winced, shoving Corvus up weakly as he fumbled to bring the potion to his lips. 

Corvus nodded, springing to his feet again. Corvus barreled forward as Sarevok turned just in time to raise his blade, but Corvus slammed his rapier against it, parrying with a shriek of metal, and slid behind him. He dragged the rapier’s blade deep across the back of Sarevok’s knee, following up with the dagger to slash through muscle before ripping it free. Flesh tore at the strike, blood gushing as Sarevok roared. His leg buckled as his massive form dropped to one knee.

Sarevok snarled, surging up and forward, but Corvus let him. He practically danced around Sarevok now, slashing at his hamstring on the other leg. Blood sprayed like a snapped vein, pouring like a broken dam now as Corvus chipped away at the massive man. Sarevok faltered again, growling, staggering, and still Corvus circled, cutting shallow but often, fast and sharp like a wolf wearing down a bison.

Sarevok sank to his knee again, rising much slower. He tried once more to rush forward, but Corvus had him. He plunged the dagger straight into a slit in the armor, right at the hip joint. It sent a roar of pain from Sarevok’s lips as the warrior’s leg finally gave way. He crashed to his knee, trembling as he steadied himself to keep upright with his blade. Blood soaked the ground around him, spreading in a pool of crimson.

“You… dare threaten me… with death?” Sarevok heaved, “I am the Lord of Murder! The very descendant of Bhaal himself!”

Corvus pushed the rapier beneath Savevok’s chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. “Yet here you are, on your knees bleeding like the rest of us.” Corvus rasped, twisting the rapier and tangling it in the amulet around Sarevok’s neck. Then, Corvus grinned, cruel and damn near delighted. “I’m sure Bhaal will be elated to see his bloodline ended by my hand. I know I am.”

Without a second’s pause, Corvus drove the rapier forward, straight into the soft spot at the base of Sarevok’s neck. A violent sound escaped Sarevok’s throat, half snarl, half gurgle before Corvus pressed his boot to Sarevok’s chest and yanked the raiper free. Sarevok fell forward, his body twitching in his own blood, spasming for a moment before slowly falling still in a heap at Corvus’ feet.

Silence fell across the room besides the gasping breath of Corvus and the others. His chest heaved, grip tightened on the hilt of his blade as he stared down at the corpse. Corvus was still for a long moment, blood dripping from his hand, his face, the tip of his blade. His body was shaking, Corvus spitting blood from his mouth on Sarevok’s corpse as one final act of defiance.

He sheathed the rapier, looking down at the blood amulet that's chain had broke. Corvus bent down, taking it in his grasp and staring at the symbol of Bhaal. 

They had done it.

They were one step closer to rescuing Gale and ending this madness.

Corvus clutched it a moment, hand trembling as he placed it in his pocket. Behind him, a pained groan echoed. Corvus turned on instinct, limping toward the sound just as Karlach pulled herself upright with a grunt, using her axe like a crutch. Her smile was bloodied, but her voice was still rough and bright.

“We… We did it!” She grimaced, leaning on her ax. “Oh, but that was awful.”

“You’re telling me,” Astarion rasped, lying on his back and staring at the cieling. “I don’t think I’ve ever had my life flash before my eyes so many times in one night. Has to be a new record.”

“This… was a close one,” Halsin huffed, grimacing as he stretched out his new aches. “But… we survived.”

“Better than most,” Corvus nodded, holding out a hand to Halsin and wincing at his own pain as he hoisted the druid to his feet. “We have what we need now. And one less evil in the world–"

“Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to Valeria, who stared wide eyed at them all. “That was… something.” She said, looking Corvus up and down nervously as he staggered to her. “You gave those reprobates a proper seeing to.”

“We tried,” Corvus replied dryly, grunting as he nearly collapsed to the floor, quickly picking the lock and freeing the hollyphant from her chains.

“You did more than try, you gave those pigs a bloody beating.” She paused, looking Corvus up and down. “I owe you thanks–”

“Does anyone have an extra potion to spare?” Astarion interrupted, groaning loudly.

Corvus did a double take, raising a brow at the hollyphant. “I think it’s best if you got out of here. I’ve got business to finish that I don’t think you’ll want to see.”

“I most wholeheartedly agree,” Valeria said with haste. “I’ll leave you to it then… Good luck.”

Valeria quickly flew away, vanishing out of the corridor as Corvus met with Halsin, the two reaching down to help Astarion to his feet. The vampire fell into Corvus, head dropping on the bend of Corvus' neck.

“Do you have a potion, darling…?”

“I’m sorry, I gave you my last one.” Corvus said, tucking his arm beneath Astarion's to keep him up. "I'd let you have a bite, but I'm nearly out of blood too."

“‘Fraid I used the last of my potions too, Fangs.” Karlach chimed in, putting a supportive arm around Astarion’s back as she and Corvus helped him walk.

“I’m afraid I have also reached my limit with magic today,” Halsin sighed. “I need to rest before I can heal everyone.”

“We should see if there is anything useful here. We still need to deal with the other cultists outside this room.” Corvus gestured to Karlach. “Can you have Astarion sit for a minute and lock that door? I don’t want any surprise visitors while we rest up.”

“On it, soldier.” Karlach smiled, taking the lead for Astarion and guiding the vampire to a stone pew.

“Are you able to search with me, Halsin?”

“Oak Father willing.” The druid gave an exhausted smile, following Corvus to search the abattoir.

Corvus and Halsin looted the bodies within, finding a few minor healing potions and some trinkets. They came across a large chest, taking the both of them to hoist it out for Corvus to lock pick.

“Thank you, Halsin.” Corvus said suddenly as he focused on the lock. “For saving my life back there.”

“There is no need for thanks. I know you would have done the same– in fact, you did do the same. For all of us.”

“Not when I blacked out on the floor.” Corvus gave a faint grin. “But it was a team effort. We couldn’t have done this without each other.”

There was a silence between them, long enough to make Corvus pause his picking to look up at Halsin.

“You… blacked out?” Halsin said slowly, a hint of worry across his face. Corvus blinked.

“...Well, yeah. After you sent that spell towards me. Sarevok would have killed me if you hadn’t healed and protected me with whatever magic you used to hold his blade until Karlach got there.”

“Corvus…” Halsin hesitated. “I only had the chance to heal you in that battle. I cast no other spell towards you.”

Corvus went still. The lockpick in his hand stopped turning, his breath catching in his throat.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly. “You’re the only one who could have. I saw it.”

Halsin shook his head. “I had seen you fall, but was too far away to reach you once Sarevok struck you. Astarion witnessed it too and chose to fight my enemy so I could run to your aid. Sarevok seemed to spook briefly until Karlach reached him, but I never cast anything until I was at your side.”

“But… I saw it. The magic. It was dark, wrapped around me like a shield before it clutched onto Sarevok.”

“Are you certain?” Halsin knelt down and the chest clicked.

“Halsin, I thought I died. Everything went black and numb until I felt–”

Corvus froze, his gaze fixated on his hands. To that dull, dull ring that lay innocently on his finger, covered in blood.

“It… can’t…” Corvus barely whispered. He remembered the figure he couldn’t make out who had met his gaze from across the room. The one who stood tall, horns curled above so naturally, the crack of a smirk that found its way on their lips.

A slow chill prickled down Corvus’ spine. A lead weight dropped in his gut, but even as the sense of dread tried to fill him, it was washed away with relief.  

“Corvus, are you alright?” Halsin asked quietly, hand resting on his shoulder.

Then, the drow shook his head, forcing his weary smile back.

“Yeah… I think I’m ok.”

Chapter Text

“What’s the plan?”

Karlach finished cleaning her axe with the torn fabric of one of the court member’s robes. They all had joined Astarion at the stone pews catching their breaths and lapping up every potion found in this place. Corvus held a glass vial high to scavenge every last drop, the healing potion not nearly enough to soothe the aches and pain Sarevok had inflicted. He sighed, tossing it across the stone floor.

“We’re going to have to leave here eventually and kill whoever is left in the courtroom before they realize Sarevok hasn’t come back.”

“How many?”

“Other than the three guards, I noticed a dragonborn waiting as we were escorted here… If no one else has come.”

“We’re all going to die.” Astarion muttered, leaning against Corvus’ shoulder, bloodied and bruised. “There is no way we can fight them off like this.”

“We cannot lose hope,” Halsin tried to say with aspiration. “It will be difficult, but we are almost there.”

“Did you see how heavily armored those guards were when we arrived?” Astarion scoffed, “You have no spells left and you haven’t the energy to even wild shape. I’m barely holding on, Corvus nearly died, and Karlach–” He turned his head to her, quickly glancing up and down. “Well, I don’t know how you're still standing, darling.”

“Years fighting in the Hells,” She grinned, though her face grimaced as she took a seat beside them. “But, Fangs makes a good point. None of us are in a good place to run into another battle like that.”

“Then what shall we do…?” Halsin asked, everyone’s gazes falling to Corvus, who had been massaging his forehead.

“Well, we can’t stay here.” Corvus grumbled. “We’ll have to try to either sneak out or strike an assault from the shadows without being seen and hope we get the upper hand.”

“What if you and Astarion went out first?” Karlach said, “You two are quiet. A lot lighter on your feet than Halsin and I. You could get to a vantage point with your crossbows, give Halsin and I the clear to get into position and on your mark, strike.”

“I think that’s probably all we can do, really. I’m not fully confident we can all tip toe out of this place unseen.” Corvus sighed, massaging the back of his neck a moment before turning to Astarion. “Do you think you can make it?”

“Probably not… but what choice do we have?”

“Are we ready then?” Corvus said, looking to everyone who nodded.

Corvus rose from the stone pew with a groan, helping Astarion up with him. They staggered to the entrance, Corvus giving one last look to the others before he and Astarion unsheathed their daggers and crossbows before unlocking the door that had sealed their fate.

Corvus crept forward first as he quietly pried the door open. The hallway was still, dim torchlight flickering across polished black stone and crimson banners. His boots made no sound against the floor, Astarion ghosting just behind him like his own shadow.

Corvus swallowed, the weight of the Amulet of Bhaal heavy in his pocket now. He would have to fight with everything he had left, which wasn’t much. They couldn’t be detected, not now. Not when they’ve come so far. He paused in the corner of the corridor, giving a final nod to Astarion. He slowly peeked into the courtroom, searching for the guards, for the dragonborn who had lingered–

His heart plummeted at the sight within, making his blood run cold before unconsciously stepping out into the open.

“Corvus!” Astarion hissed a whisper, “What are you–?!”

“By the gods…” Corvus said aloud, his voice hushed as if for only his own ears. Astarion’s eyes flickered open, hesitating briefly before quickly skittering to Corvus' side, his mouth too falling agape as the room revealed itself.

In the center where Corvus had first stood before Sarevok, hung the charred corpse of the dragonborn. His body had been impaled upright by a stake, carved from neck to navel with heart, organs, and entrails ripped violently from his body like he had been devoured by a beast. Flames still flickered hungerly across his flesh, but that wasn’t the only soul who had met a carnal end.

The tributal guards lay motionless inside as well– more in fact, bodies strewed from the entrance as if reinforcements had been called. Blood was splattered like paint against the walls where guards had been thrown violently against them, bones crushed and bent in unnatural ways as they littered down the staircase and hooked against sconces and steel, spike rods along the walls.

One’s head had been twisted completely around. Another’s chest caved in like clay, ribs cracked outward like broken fingers clawing towards the heavens themselves for mercy. Blood stained everything in wide, arterial arcs, far more fresh than what they had witnessed when initially entering this place.

Corvus slowly moved toward the corpse of the dragonborn, stepping over mangled, armored bodies along the way.

“Gods,” Astarion muttered behind him, “What in the Hells happened here…?”

Corvus halted at the charred corpse and examined the flames. The moment he stepped beside it to investigate, the silver ring on his hand sang, spinning wildly on its own as he neared the fire. Astarion whipped his gaze to it as the infernal runes ignited. He slowly looked to Corvus– who’s face had grown as pale as his own.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Astarion finally muttered, the hush of his voice nearly echoing in Corvus’ ears. “Why is he helping us?”

Corvus didn’t answer, his gaze locked on the ring that begun to glow anew. It moved with purpose as if it recognized something in the ash and fire. The magic from its very creator, Corvus was sure.

“Fucking Hells,” Corvus muttered, the ring slowing as he stepped away from the corpse. “This is… Raphael, he–”

“Corvus.”

The drow turned to Astarion, the vampire holding his gaze fiercely. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, Astarion.”

“You must have done something to have warranted a devil to slaughter an entire COURTROOM.” Astarion suddenly snapped. 

“I didn’t!” Corvus had met with that same energy, “All I asked was to be pointed to where Orin was–”

“So you sought out Raphael again?”

“I asked for a favor. One to help us find Gale.”

“Bloody Hells,” Astarion sighed, dragging a hand through his curly hair. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

“I do,” Corvus growled. “Instead of sitting idly around and praying to another apathetic god that our friend would stay safe, I went to find help myself.” Corvus side eyed the dragonborn beside him, voice hushing a touch. “But I never asked for… this.”

“Help? From Raphael?” Astarion scoffed. “Do you hear yourself? This is the same devil that has tried manipulating us all from the very beginning of this tentacle nightmare! You can’t trust him.”

“You’re one to talk. If I recall, you were the one who was so adamant on working with him to translate those scars on your back.”

“That was different–”

“How?”

“I wasn’t sneaking out of camp in the middle of the night to find the blasted devil when it was all over!”

Corvus’ eyes widened as Astarion’s voice echoed off the walls. The silence dragged out before Astarion sighed, his voice softening.

“This… Whatever it is you have with him. It’s going too far, Corvus. Cazador used to do the same thing on occasion to his victims. The gifts, the favors. Look at this place, look at what he’s willing to do for you without asking. You need to get out of this before he–”

“What’s happened?!”

Corvus and Astarion turned to Karlach and Halsin as they hurried with weapons in hand, slowing as they scanned the room.

“We heard shouting,” Karlach said, eyes wide at the carnage. “What’s going on–”

“Nothing,” Corvus said sharply, suddenly turning toward the stairs. “We should leave, before more come.”

“Wait a minute, soldier–”

“Let’s go, everyone!” 

Corvus didn’t slow as he stepped over bodies, quickly disappearing once he reached the top of the staircase.

“Got a little pep in him now, does he?” Karlach tried to smile, but it subsided once she saw Astarion’s hollow gaze. “We, uh… Right. We should get outta here. Celebrate the victory with a nice pint of frosted ale, eh?”

Karlach turned from the others, bounding up the stairs and quickly trailing behind Corvus’ footsteps. But Astarion didn’t move. He stood in place, watching Karlach follow after the drow. 

“Astarion?”

Astarion blinked as a hand gently rested on his shoulder. It broke his gaze from the ascending stairs, meeting Halsin’s worried eyes.

“I need a favor, Halsin.” Astarion said quietly, Halsin nodding slowly as the vampire held his gaze intently.

“Anything.”

“Keep an eye on our idiot and don’t let him wander out of camp.”

“You mean Corvus?” Halsin questioned. “Do you believe he’s in danger?”

“I need your word on this. Please, Halsin. I… I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Halsin remained quiet, glancing at the carnage around them, then nodded. “You have my word.”

 Astarion ascended the stairs, following after without another word.

Corvus sighed, lazily swinging open the curtain that kept his bath private. He staggered, fumbling to dress himself in his camp attire. Corvus groaned as he limped out of the washroom, attempting to massage away the throbbing headache that had settled in him. The Elfsong had grown quiet this evening, only murmurs and the muted laughs from the tavern beneath them filling the space as everyone settled in for the night. Corvus was no different, dragging his feet in silence as he made for his place within their rented space.

The sight of his bed sent a wave of relief crashing through him. He stumbled to it, taking in one, deep sigh before collapsing face first into the mattress. He lay motionless for a long while, his arm lifelessly hanging from the side of the bed, knuckles scraping the oak floor. Corvus moaned into his pillow, wincing at the aches and sores and wounds littering his body as he adjusted more comfortably, curling into the blanket and pillow as he prepared to let sleep take him as quickly as death itself. 

As Corvus’ arms tucked under the pillow, his eyes shot open at the parchment that grazed his skin.

His growl rumbled like some bellowing beast as he peeled himself from the comfort of his own pillow, pulling out a letter that had been nestled under. Corvus rolled to his back, frowning at the black envelope sealed with crimson wax and that unmistakable symbol. He fumbled his fingers over it, flinching when a small pin slid out and smacked his face. Corvus grabbed it with a huff, examining it thoroughly before a curious raised brow.

It was a hairpin, thin as a sheet of ice on winter’s first freeze and as silver as his own hair. Corvus turned it over in his hand, looking over every detail before noticing the faintest, runal engravings carved into it. He sighed, turning his attention to the envelope and opening the letter within.

To my favorite little mouse,

Congratulations are in order, I think. You’ve managed to remove a vital piece from Bhaal’s lanceboard this evening—and so coldly too, might I add. It was a well-earned victory, though you do have that maddening tendency to push yourself right to the brink of death in regards to such things. How dramatic of you. As much as I’d enjoy taking credit for my divine intervention before death could truly claim you, remember it was your hand that slain the Lord of Murder and you who stepped into a lion’s den baring his fangs. That is no small feat.

With that, I believe a reward is in order.

You’ll find it tucked inside this letter. A little gift for your troubles. Consider it both a favor and a pointed suggestion. As much as I adore every little strand of hair on that handsome head of yours, it drives me mad seeing it fall out of place at the mere change in the breeze. Until you decide to do something about that unruly mop of yours, please use it. How you manage to see a thing in battle is beyond even my understanding.

But there is more to this gift than a pure cosmetic alteration. Should you ever wish to turn heads or go out with a bang, use it properly. I trust you’ll catch my meaning, so do not drop it.

Then perhaps later, I’ll show you how to keep that silver hair of yours in place without the need of arcane intervention. It would require my claws combing back those precious waves of course– all while you bulk and pretend you're not enjoying every moment of my devoted attention.

But I digress.

You’re sore, I’m sure. Exhausted, probably still half-beaten, bruised, and too obstinate to admit any of it. So rest, my dear. You’ve earned it this evening.

I’ll see you soon.

—R.

A small huff of air left Corvus’ nostrils as he read the letter, not even noticing the small flicker of a grin that curled at the corner of his mouth. He reread the letter, unconsciously reaching for the ends of his hair that nearly reached the peak of his shoulders now.

Perhaps Raphael would include a haircut next they meet. A loophole he could bring up, given Raphael would have to be satisfied before the clause no longer held power over him. It has grown quite a bit since this tadpole nightmare, and surely Raphael would make it look half decent…

Corvus yawned, turning his attention to the hair pin, lifting his brow. It was identical to his own haircolor– deliberately invisible, Corvus noted. He combed the front of his hair back, carefully placing the pin in place and tossing his head some, ensuring it stayed in place.

Here’s hoping Orin doesn’t bash his skull in like Sarevok. At least if she does, his death would be quick…

“You’re humming again, master.” The playful voice cooed from the crimson bed, sweetly coaxing. “Won’t you come to bed and sing for me?”

“Soon, Haarlep.” Raphael replied, pausing the quill over the parchment in front of him before carefully writing once more. “I must finish this.”

The incubus tilted his head, sitting up on the mattress as Raphael didn’t even so much as glance in his direction. “Working on a contract?”

“You could say that.”

Haarlep raised a brow, gracefully lifting himself from the luxurious bed and approaching Raphael with the silence of a mouse. He peeked over Raphael to the parchment– who he only now realized was smiling brightly to himself. Haarlep read the paper briefly before grinning widely.

“Aw… Writing to your little mortal again?”

“I am negotiating.” Raphael quickly frowned, turning back to his work.

“He must be something special,” Haarlep purred. “You’ve never written to me before.”

“I see you every night. What would I possibly say that I haven’t already stated?”

“Such a romantic.” The incubus muttered dryly. “You’re becoming infatuated with this one.”

“‘Infatuated’ is a bit of a stretch. It’s more like… a developing fondness.”

“Just like Hope?”

Raphael glared at the incubus, who only returned the leer with a sweet smile. 

“I know you more than most, Raphael. You have a type. Difficult, defiant and just beautiful when utterly ruined,” Haarlep slid on the desk, hand grazing Raphael’s own as his voice dripped with honey. “So tell me, when are you bringing him back home? I want to see why this mortal holds your attention so much these days–”

“Soon, but you will not touch him when he arrives.”

Haarlep froze in place for a beat, then reared his head back as his velvet smile cracked. “What do you mean? You always let me play with the mortals you bring over. I would think you would be ecstatic to watch me bring this one to tears from pleasure or take his form for you.”

“Another time, when he is more comfortable.”

Haarlep paused again, his eyes narrowing. “When he’s more comfortable?”

“I’ve spoken.”

Haarlep blinked, his face completely unreadable before frowning. “I watched you flay a mortal female just this morning for mispronouncing your name, and now you are concerned over a mortal's ‘comfort’?”

“I’m concerned with earning his trust,” Raphael said cooly, folding the letter and reaching for an ornate, silver hairpin, carefully placing both inside a black envelope. “But I will have it soon enough. As much as he hisses and bolsters, there is a neediness for affection that is buried within him like a tomb. I’ve already begun to exploit it.”

Haarlep’s lips twisted, something greedy and sour pulling at his otherwise perfect features. “And when you have it? Will I be permitted to devour him then?”

"Perhaps you are not catching my meaning," Raphael didn’t look up as he poured sealing wax over the letter’s fold. “This is the one mortal you are not permitted to have.”

Haarlep finally scowled. “You're bringing a mortal home in our bedroom and I'm not allowed to have him?”

“No, and when I go to retrieve him, I do not want you in this room until he leaves.”

“But this is my room! Where am I to stay?”

“You may have free reign of the entire house except my archive. Indulge on any of the vagrant debtors in the halls if you wish until then, but the drow belongs to me.”

“The debtors?” Haarlep scoffed. “You mean the mortals who ramble in a mad tongue and shiver at the mere glance of my gaze? I will not degrade myself for scraps, Raphael.”

“Then starve.” Raphael hissed, pointing the quill at the incubus. “You will NOT indulge in the mouse when he arrives like he is another fresh body whose soul is ready to be sucked into your greedy gullet. He is mine to have. If I so much as catch you in the same room as him, I will send you back in pieces to my father.”

“...I see,” the incubus said, a faint smile curling their lips once more but a sharpness lingered at the edges. “Might I ask, what is it with this soul then? I saw him when he scampered from your bed. You have an array of prettier souls bound to you. Ones with less scars on their bodies and with much more grace and poise than that little welp.” 

“What is there not to adore?” Raphael chuckled, his eyes sparked something that rivaled lust. “Beauty fades in mortals, and grace and poise may be easily taught. But a mortal soul that burns as hot as the Hells themselves is rare.”

“He’s a drow. I’m sure he’s no different than any other buried beneath Toril.”

“He may have come from the Underdark, but he was born of fire. Like calls to like, does it not?” Raphael rose from the desk, humming as he drifted toward the nearest window, gaze cast over the jagged mountains of Avernus like a man admiring his domain. “He is a flame made flesh. A mortal who sets every path he trails ablaze leaving nothing but ash and scars in his wake. He burns too hot, too bright, too wild for even the gods to touch. I’ve seen it, with Myrkul, with Bhaal’s champion. Both god’s and their chosen slain by his hand… and he does it all, looking them in the eye and daring them to oppose.” Raphael chuckled at that. “There is something about watching such a storm that is captivating.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Haarlep’s features remained flat. “This is a mortal you are boasting about.”

“It most certainly is. That is part of the appeal.”

Haarlep frowned. “You’re in love.”

“I am fond of him, yes.”

Haarlep rolled his eyes, but Raphael never turned to him. He only stared out at the rose clouds flashing in the distance as the silence stretched between them.

“I have waited centuries to feel a mortal worth claiming,” Raphael spoke quietly. “And now that I have him within my grasp… I will not be denied.”

Haarlep was quiet, looking his master up and down with a narrowed gaze. “...And what will you do when you finally have him?”

“Then I will temper him in desire until he becomes a fire that would burn the world just to keep my gaze.” Raphael finally turned to Harrlep, a wicked smile flashing. “I will have him, Haarlep. I will have every part of him. The part that wants to claw even when he beg for affection, the angry thing that looks at me like I’m salvation and damnation in the same breath. I will burn away what breaks him and polish what shines. He will be loyal, devoted to me all while fighting along the way. But when he finally chooses me, it will mean more than any soul I’ve ever signed.” Raphael’s smile deepened, darker now as it twisted. “He will be mine. Mind, body, and soul.”

“So he’ll be a permanent pet?” Haarlep’s smile returned at the idea. “Collared and kept, like a good little consort?”

“He won’t need a collar by the end of this.”

Haarlep laughed, “Why, Master... I never took you for the domestic type.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Raphael said, turning back to his desk and plucking up the letter. “Though I’m curious which of us will grow restless first, once he arrives.”

“I have a feeling you may have bargained more than you can handle, given how feisty he was just with my brief interaction.” Haarlep slid off the desk, gliding back to the bed as Raphael began towards the door. “But I'm sure you won't break this mortal. He seems entertaining enough, it's probably best to keep this one's mind from shattering into madness like Hope."

“He's much more ambitious and obstinate. He will not break as easily I feel.”

“Mm hm. Just don’t come crying to me when your little new consort decides to bite the hand that feeds and you've broken him in a fit of anger. He’s got a mouth on him.”

Raphael chuckled as he made for the door. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

The Temple of Bhaal loomed before them like a festering wound beneath the lower city. They followed the marks on the map Raphael had provided to Corvus in secret. He was true to his word once more with Corvus quickly finding the entrance with a body conveniently left behind by the cultist strung above. One shot with Astarion’s arrow was enough to spill blood to flooring and reveal the darkened path, just as Raphael had said needed to be done. 

Corvus, Astarion, Karlach, and Halsin crept through the shadows, whispers of the God of Murder murmuring in a mad tongue following them in the darkness. Then, they saw it. The stone door littered with blood and rot, waiting as they stood before its very doors. Corvus felt the amulet in his pocket hum. He pulled it free as it trembled in his grasp, as if it were excited to be home. 

“There is no turning back,” Corvus muttered aloud to the others, flexing his fingers as he felt the sudden singe of the ring he was unconsciously spinning.

“We’re ready,” Karlach said, her own hands clenching as she peered at the door, her engine flickering ember. “We have to get Gale out of this place.”

“We’ll make sure Orin suffers for this.” Corvus growled to himself, feeling his own chest swell with anticipation.

“She’ll regret ever crossing us, darling.” Astarion said with a slight grin.

“Let us proceed with caution,” Halsin warned. “We must be prepared for anything.”

“For Gale.” Corvus nodded, pressing the humming amulet against the stone.

It buzzed with excitement before growing silent once more, the doors groaning and shrieking against their metal hinges as they opened wide for them all. A wave of damp, fetid air rolled out to meet them, thick with the scent of iron and metallic that was growing uncomfortably familiar.

Corvus led their path, descending into the temple. The stairwell sloped steeply, carved into the rock by hands long dead and made slick by centuries of moisture. Shadows clung to the walls in jagged shapes, each step pulling them deeper into the stench that lingered deep below.

As they reached an open place, Corvus and the others grabbed the hilts of their weapons as figures slowly emerged from the darkness. Worshippers starred as they passed, some whispering to one another, others watching them like a starved village anticipating prized cattle being led into a slaughter. Corvus had stared straight back into those maddening eyes until he passed or they broke their gazes from his own. He refused to flinch in such a place, despite the anxiousness growing in his heart for what was to come. It coiled tight in his gut as he pressed forward, feeding that growing furnace in his ribs.

What would they find, once they reached Orin? Would Gale be there bound, bloody, beaten?

…Would he even be alive? 

That restlessness turned into something more as the questions and imagery bounced back and forth in Corvus’ mind. It coiled something deeper in him, something he had felt when he witnessed Sarevok take down his companions in a matter of moments. Pure, primordial rage that left his hands trembling, his heart racing, feet ready to rush forward and thrust his rapier into Orin–

Corvus winced as the ring suddenly burned against his flesh. He looked down at his hand, seeing the runes ignite more than usual from his stimming. The light within pulsed, heat lingering against his skin like a reprimand even as he stopped its spinning. Corvus frowned at it, keeping his reluctant sigh at bay as he remembered Raphael’s words from the parlor.

Every time you activate it, I can sense it's magic. Even across planes.

Corvus flexed his fingers, trying to shake the lingering sting away. A subtle warning from Raphael perhaps, to keep himself together. It made Corvus swallow thickly, the momentary flicker of rage that had begun to claw through the pit of his gut retreated along with the heat of the ring.

He pressed forward, jaw tight as the corridor finally opened into a vast, echoing chamber of stone and bone. There was more light to both his relief and horror as the savage displays of corpses in this place made themselves more open and known. Bodies were hung from stakes, splayed open like a surgeon’s table or decorated in the same manner the Murder Tribunal had been.

There were more Bhaalists inside, tearing their gazes away to where the staircase descended as Corvus as the others slowly stepped inside. Corvus held his chin high as he walked past them, but that poise faltered the moment he saw what they had been gazing down upon.

Below in the center of the light was an altar. An altar where Gale was stretched upon– unharmed, all while Orin leaned over his motionless body, muttering something in his ear.

“Gale…!” Karlach whispered, her fists clenching, engine brightening. Corvus tried his best not to feed into her energy, restraining the rage that tried to boil in him once more at the sight below. 

He descended the stairs and as he reached the bottom, he heard Orin speak.

“Shh, shh… you’re savior approaches, scuttling in without the Tyrant’s rock.”

Corvus felt his blood burn in his veins as Orin slowly lifted her head from Gale, her features twisting into a scowl.

“I know what you did. What you did to grandfather.” Orin spat, unsheathing a crimson dagger from her side. “His blood was not yours to spill! He was mine!”

Corvus felt his nostrils flare. He wanted to spew venom like a serpent, but the only thing keeping him silent was the dagger she pointed at Gale’s throat.

“Did it think it could protect? Think it could save?” She smiled, voice honey-thick with mockery as she pushed the tip of the dagger into the soft spot under Gale’s jaw. “Only the blade can offer salvation!"

Everyone fell still, but the venom in Corvus lurched out before he could rein it back, growling.

“Anything you do to Gale, I will inflict on you a hundredfold .”

Orin’s smile widened. She pulled the dagger away—but not before lightly dragging the flat of it along Gale’s jawline like a lover's caress. Much to everyone’s relief, she rose from the altar, stepping over Gale’s resting body as she drew in like a panther.

“Mm… Yes, that is what Father would want.” Orin’s eyes glittered, “To carve you until you're nothing but meat and bone as Bhaal’s artwork. How beautiful you will be displayed when I am finished with your corpse.”

“‘Art’,” Corvus echoed, “All I see is a child with a knife playing god in a graveyard.”

“Still pretending you’re above it all?” she laughed. “You, who’s left a blood trail through Faerun just to crawl here on shaking legs? You think yourself righteous?”

“Far from it,” Corvus said, his voice cold and sharp as obsidian. “If I were, I wouldn’t have relished in prying my sword from Sarevok’s gurgling throat and leaving his corpse for the rats.”

“You–” Orin’s features scowled. “How dare you speak of grandfather in such a way!”

“I speak the truth,” Corvus held her gaze. He paused, his face unreadable. “A shame you won’t get to see his half-chewed carcass for yourself. I’m sure the rodents are there are pleased–”

“Disrespectful little STAIN!” Orin snapped, pointing her dagger at Corvus. “My grandfather was a legend, a champion of Bhaal’s! He wrecked chaos across this city in his name! You are nothing but mere Underfilth who has crawled from the dirt like a worm to the Surface!”

A crack of a smile, wicked and cruel, curled at the edge of Corvus’ lip. “Then what does it say about your precious legend, that he died choking on his own blood while an Underfilth stood over him?”

Orin screamed.

She convulsed a moment, her form rippling and tearing like raw meat beneath claws. Bone cracked, muscles split, and skin peeled back in ribbons as something monstrous forced its way through.

The slayer rose, leggy and jagged as maw snapped. She was a grotesque parody of power, all teeth and hunger and blood. Her gurgling shriek rattled the stonework above, and the Bhaal cultists above hushed in awe as if witnessing the birth of a miracle.

That’s when Corvus lunged.

He moved like the strike of a cracking whip, surging forward as he tore his rapier from its sheath. Orin shrieked, swiping at him with all the brute force she had, but Corvus was faster. He side stepped her swinging claws, deafened to the sound around him besides the roaring of the slayer before him.

The first strike was clean, low and across the ankle that split flesh down to muscle. Blood spilled immediately, making Orin howl. As he maneuvered around her, his second swing was higher, cutting into the joint of her knee. A line of dark blood followed his blade, sending a fire in Corvus’ chest as it began to rise.

Not good enough–

“I’m right here, soldier!” Karlach shouted, driving her axe into the slayer’s side, the sound of splitting flesh leaving Orin screeching. She snapped her head to Karlach, slamming her claws towards the tiefling, but her engine ignited, Karlach pushing against Orin’s strike even as she stumbled back. But Corvus was there, ramming into Karlach before she could fall, veering her away from the second strike that came down from Orin’s other paw and keeping Karlach on her feet.

“You slice, I break!” Karlach yelled, flashing a grin at Corvus, but he didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on Orin, on that murderer, that monster that threatened him. Threatened Gale.

Corvus was cutting into Orin again, moving faster than his mind had the chance to catch up. She wheeled around at him, her maw snapping towards him but Corvus was racing. He tore the dagger from his hip, plunging it into Orin’s side and yanking out as he glided past.

“Soldier–!”

Corvus barely registered Karlach’s voice, but with just enough time to leap over Orin’s tail that tried to trip him. He tumbled, rolling on the ground for a brief moment before jumping to his feet once more and rooting them in place. Karlach ran forward, but she stumbled as a burst of dark magic erupted beside her. A masked assassin exploded from it, striking at Karlach and faltering her. Corvus' gaze shifted to her, then to Astarion and Halsin in the distance as they fought their other Bhaal worshippers away from them.

He almost began toward them, until the slayer charged at him. Orin lashed out wildly, leaving no room to dart away. Corvus met her, blade crashing against claw, his boots grinding against stone as she shoved him away. A flicker of pain lanced across his shoulder as Orin snagged his flesh, but he didn’t back down. 

That fire erupted the moment he felt that sharp pain tear through his skin.

Corvus roared, lunging like a beast set free from its chains. He plunged his rapier forward, blade catching flesh just beneath Orin’s ribcage. She screamed, swiping at his head with the force of a battering ram. He barely ducked under it, her claws slicing through the ends of his hair instead. Then he sank the blade deeper, seeking to push beneath muscle.

Orin shrieked.

She suddenly brought her elbow down into Corvus’ back, into the wound she had already tore open. Corvus gasped for the air that left his lungs as the wound tore open, but he didn’t fall. He used his momentum to swivel, blade arcing upward across her abdomen. Blood spilled onto the stone in arches. 

Another roar erupted from Orin, but it was not out of pain. Corvus could practically see the rage in her monstrous features, the same he felt at the surface of himself now. She swung at him again, her claws scraping against the steel of his armor. She tore through gambeson, finally knocking Corvus off his feet. He rolled, trying to use the momentum to his advantage once more, but that’s when Orin pounced.

She leaped on top of him, pushing her weight down on the armor that was keeping her claws from tearing out his heart. Her maw opened wide as her teeth surged for Corvus’ throat. Corvus slit the blade of the rapier over him as Orin bit down on steel. He felt her hot breath brush over his face, saliva and blood dripping from fangs over his cheek as she clenched down on the blade with vigor like a mad beast. He shoved up with all his might, the blade trembling in his grasp as he pushed with both hands. Then she shifted her stance, tearing away from the rapier and surging for the arm holding it instead.

A loud crack filled the chamber beneath her maw. White-hot pain screamed across his nerves as Corvus felt bone snap within him. He howled, the blade dropping from his hand as Orin bit down hard and yanked.

Corvus thrashed beneath her, blood quickly pooling beneath him as Orin held his chest down and shook her head violently, pulling his arm up. His grip tightened on his dagger now as he growled through the pain of muscle ripping and skin stretching as she tried to tear his arm from his body.

“ROTTEN BITCH!” Corvus roared, plunging the dagger through her eye and twisting it in the socket.

Orin screeched, tearing herself away and thrashing her head and she pulled back. Corvus let her, ripping the dagger free and plucking the eye out with it. He darted backwards to create distance, hissing as his sword arm throbbed in an agony not even Sarevok had been capable of inflicting. He glanced back at Halsin for help, but the druid had shifted into his bear form, tearing into an assassin that pinned Astarion to the floor.

Corvus’ snapped his gaze back to Orin as she shook her head, her other eye locking onto him– and she charged. She moved like a beast unhinged, blind in one socket but barreling toward him with unrelenting bloodlust, screeching as blood streamed down her face. Her claws scraped stone as she launched forward again, her mass crashing across the chamber like a living avalanche.

Corvus barely had time to brace. His blade was gone, his arm ruined. The dagger in his off-hand felt like a toothpick against a bull, but he had one last option.

Corvus ran bloody fingers through his silver hair, leaving crimson streaks as he unlatched the pin holding it all in place. As Orin drew close, he tore it from his scalp and with a snarl, threw it at her face. He felt something tick from it just before the pin left his grasp. She opened her maw to bite at his throat, the tiny pin invisible to her until it erupted.

The explosion rippled hellfire, the stench of burning flesh filling the room in an instant as a shriek tore from Orin’s throat. Corvus rolled away, hissing as his broken arm bent from his own weight, but he pushed through leaping to his feet. Orin writhed on the floor as she slid to the stone, rolling to her back kicking and screeching as her mangled face was now exposed.

Corvus didn’t hesitate. 

He lunged, jumping atop of the slayer and straddling himself over her. Corvus raised the dagger with his good hand, his entire body shaking from pain and rage that consumed him and plunged it into her heart.

Orin arched, blood spitting in Corvus’ face as Orin’s mouth opened to scream, but no sound ushered out. Corvus ripped it free, teeth bared, eyes wild as he felt her blood splatter across his face and hand.

He rammed the dagger back down.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The dagger tore into her, over and over as Corvus’ rage erupted, until the strength had left both of them. Corvus heaved as the slayer went limp and slack beneath him. He stared into her inky eye as life left it completely, suddenly his own strength drained as he unsteadily rose to his feet panting. Corvus stumbled, nearly collapsing as a whine left him clutching at his broken arm and holding it in place. 

He looked at the temple around him, watched as Karlach sent her axe soaring into a cultist dangling from Halsin’s maw, Astarion sending an arrow through the chest of another. Corvus swayed where he stood, one boot slipping slightly in the pool of blood beneath him. His chest rose and fell in ragged heaves, fingers trembling and slick with gore, curled tighter over his limp arm to keep it from hanging or bending at an unnatural angle.

Then, he felt it. That familiar warmth blooming from his hand.

He looked down at the hand clutching his broken arm where the ring rested, watching the runes as they glowed despite the ring sitting still. It hummed, pulsing with light and heat as if the ring itself had grown excited. Corvus frowned at it, his eyes darting above to those who had stood on the edge of the floor looking down on the battle below. Corvus searched every face, every shadow as he scanned looking for Raphael, but saw no sight of him.

Suddenly, a familiar welcoming numbness stretched towards his arm. Druidic magic shimmered around him in soft turquoise arcs. Corvus caught a glimpse of Halsin rushing toward him, already weaving the spell with practiced precision. Behind him, Karlach pried off the last cultist from her axe, throwing it on her back and running towards the altar with Astarion at her side. 

Corvus’ eyes widened.

He turned sharply, fixated on reaching the altar, but Halsin stepped in his path, making him halt.

“Halsin–”

The druid lifted Corvus’ arm with careful hands wordlessly as a turquoise glow surged around his fingers. He guided the healing magic inward into the drow, making Corvus wince. It was completely numb, but he could still feel bone, muscle and skin shifting and knitting themselves back into place under the powerful spell. Something about the way his own limb shifted before his eyes made Corvus’ stomach twist.

“T-Thank you–”

The words caught halfway through his mouth as a groan came from the altar. It was quiet, low, but very much alive.

Corvus eagerly glanced between Gale and the massive hands keeping him in place. The moment Halsin released him, Corvus stumbled forward toward the altar with the druid close behind.

The wizard stirred again, his brow creasing as he shifted on the cold stone. Blood still painted his skin, dried and cracked, but his chest rose, shallow and steady.

“Mystra’s mercy…” Gale grumbled, his eyes finally fluttering open. He blinked vigorously as if the room were out of focus, groaning again as he slowly sat himself up, massaging his head. Then, he looked at them all, pausing a long moment before speaking.

“Your interventions are more timely than the gods themselves,” Gale paused, slowly standing to his feet. “I owe you all my thanks. And my life.”

“Are you hurt?!” Karlach said, hands hovering forward a moment as if she would grab him. Gale shook his head.

“Only my pride, unfortunately. Nice to be on the right side of divine intervention it seems. Makes you grateful to be alive–”

Gale’s words left as Corvus prowled towards him. The wizard’s eyes grew large as the blood covered drow neared, Gale taking a step back. “Now Corvus, let’s not be–”

Corvus grabbed Gale with his good arm, yanking him close and squeezing as Gale and the others stood frozen.

“You’re a bastard,” Corvus muttered, squeezing Gale tighter. “Making me so fucking worried. I should knock your teeth out.”

“You… were worried?” Gale slowly smiled, the tension in his stance melting as he held Corvus in return.

“Of course I was. You have no idea what I’ve gone through just to get you back, my friend.”

“That’s… I can imagine–”

“No, you really have no idea.” Corvus said firmly, pulling away to look Gale up and down before meeting his gaze and smiling. “For someone who was kidnapped by a Bhaalspawn for almost a week, you look better than the rest of us.”

“An entire week…?” Gale’s smile subsided. “Has it truly been that–?”

“AAAHHH COME HERE!”

Corvus and Gale’s eyes both shot open as Karlach rushed forward, grabbing them both and pulling them against her in a single mighty motion. Gale exhaled as the air left his lungs.

“K-Karlach–!”

“Careful, CAREFUL–!” Corvus winced as his half-healed arm felt like it would break again at any moment under Karlach’s strength. He felt her touch move away, replaced with another bigger, much gentler body between them.

“It is by the Oak Father’s grace we are all safe,” Halsin laughed, winking at Corvus. “More or less.”

“Look at this.” Karlach laughed, squeezing all of them more. “All my boys, back in action!”

“Hooray, hooray, we’re all safe.” Astarion said dryly, his eyes fixed to the cultist above. “As much as it is a delight to see Gale unharmed, might I suggest leaving the Temple of Bhaal first before celebrating?”

Corvus laughed, pulling himself away from the others and patting Astarion’s shoulder. “C’mon. If you want one of Karlach’s infamous hugs, just say it.”

“Perhaps another time, when we aren’t surrounded by a murderous cult of– OOF!”

Tiefling arms wrapped around the vampire, hoisting him off his feet. 

“Gods–! Karlach–!”

Karlach laughed, spinning Astarion in one circle before the vampire fought in her grasp.  “I’m so happy you’re alive, Fangs!”

“I know, I’m truly the most wonderful person of the party but put me down!”

She released him then, giggling as Astarion stumbled back and swiped at the leather. 

“Gods above,” Astarion grumbled, catching his breath. “You could kill someone with that hug.”

“That’s only for the real lucky ones!”  Karlach laughed again, looking over to the others. “Are you good, magic man?”

“Aye, I am fine. Truly.” Gale smiled. “But thank you.”

“And you, soldier? You took a nasty bite from Orin.”

Corvus straightened at the acknowledgment, his eyes glancing down at his arm. “What, this? It’s nothing a few healing spells won’t fix.”

“The bone is broken, though I’ve managed to mend it some.” Halsin said, gently lifting Corvus’ arm up and casting a healing spell again. “You are lucky Orin did not harm you further.”

“Seriously!” Karlach said with excitement. “What did you do? One moment I get pulled away by another one of these freaks and terrified you were done for once she got you alone, then the next thing I hear is a big boom and you pouncing on her like a rabid dog!”

“Oh… Just a smoke powder bomb,” Corvus lied with half a smile. “A little secret kept in my back pocket. I’ve had one all these weeks and never did find an opportunity to use it till now.”

“Thank the gods you did, glad you’re alright.” Karlach smiled, leaving a creeping sensation of guilt coiling through Corvus’ stomach. 

“I’m not sure about you all,” Gale spoke, glancing at the Bhaalist still above them. “But I haven’t the energy for any vigorous adventuring after all this excitement.”

“Me either,” Astarion sighed, grimacing as he stretched his back. “I don’t have the energy for any sort of excitement. If it’s all the same, I think there is a bottle of wine with my name on it at the tavern.”

“We deserve a drink!” Karlach beamed. “I could go for a good pint after all this too.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Corvus rotated his arm, nodding a thanks to Halsin before meandering towards the dagger Orin left behind, inspecting the Netherstone within. “We’ll celebrate tonight, after we finish up business here. My treat.”

The door creaked open as Corvus half-stumbled, half-glided into his quarters. He dropped his boots to the oak floor with a thud-thunk. The lantern by the bed was unlit, but he didn’t bother with it. The dim glow of the full moon looking down on Baldur’s Gate filtered through the window just enough to make his bed visible.

Corvus was humming when he stumbled in. A Baldarian song he just learned from the tavern downstairs, off-key, half-forgotten. Karlach had butchered it with joy as she had pulled the entire tavern in for the drunken choir, Astarion cackling when she finally tripped, Halsin dancing with the tune as he sipped his mead, Gale’s flushed face grinning through it all after only two drinks.

Gods, Gale was alive.

Corvus laughed to himself. It slipped out, bubbling in his throat with a hiccup.

They had done it. 

He had done it.

Saved Gale, stopped Orin for good.

His body felt loose, like it was floating across the room. The ache in his bones had been muted by good drink and good company. Corvus’ heart was full in a way he hadn’t felt in months knowing this nightmare was almost over. He would come for Gortash next, collect his Netherstone, then face the Absolute once and for all–

Corvus quickly hissed, nearly falling to the floor as his bare toe smacked the leg of the bed in the dark. 

“Fuckin’-!” Corvus growled, hopping to the vanity nearby for leverage as he clutched his foot. He massaged it a moment before standing upright again, catching a glance of himself in the mirror.

His hair was truly a mess now, stained with streaked blood that had seeped into the silver of his hair that he couldn’t wash out in the bath after they returned from the Temple of Bhaal. Corvus grumbled, leaning into the mirror to examine it. Such a curse in this line of duty, hair as white as snow exposed to the blood and grime all day. Far more maintenance to keep it clean than people ever expect. It wanted to hold onto any debris from the day, yellow from the Surface’s sun and this city’s dirty air. It wasn’t nearly as much of a chore when he was prowling in the Underdark before. The daily maintenance it needed now just to keep it in place and clean was growing too–

Corvus suddenly froze in place.

He felt the hairs across his body stand on end as he met a pair of eyes lingering in the reflection behind him, staring back at him from the darkness in the corner of his room straight into his own. Neither he nor the figure moved as they held one another’s gaze, the rush of adrenaline rising quickly through Corvus the longer they stood motionless. Then, just as Corvus spun to face them, a hand latched onto his throat, shoving him into the vanity. Fingers sunk through his flesh, holding Corvus in place. He opened his mouth to scream, but he was silenced as a hand crashed into his mouth.

“Shh, shh, shhhh…” The velvet voice curled in the dark, nearly breathy against his mouth as they lingered. The hand on Corvus’ throat tightened, nearly taking the air from him as they chuckled. “Let’s not make a fuss your whole camp would hear…”

Corvus froze as that familiar figure smiled wickedly back. The shadows behind them deepened, folding like wings as the warmth drained from the room, leaving the pit in Corvus’ stomach plummeting as they chuckled.

“It is time to pay your debt, little mouse.”