#also meet my very first Durge Asmodeus!

[trappedinafantasy37]

Getting Minthara to talk about mass executing goblins.

In reference to this post at the request of @tim1234

Sorry for the video being a bit long as I wanted to display the entire dialogue tree. You can also select the Deception check option when she asks you what you know about the druid, but all other options must remain the same. Those are the only two dialogue trees that I discovered will trigger Minthara talking about executing goblins, but there could be more.

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 20

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: M Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** You heard of Chekhov's gun, we had Chekhov's rapier, and now it's time for *checks notes* Chekhov's runepowder bomb. ***

“You may put that map away. We have no need for it anymore.”

Raphael’s voice rang out shortly after they set out for the day, as soon as Karlach pulled out the patched-up map of Avernus to have a look. As they all glanced over at him, he gestured for something before them. In the distance was the lake that they’d seen growing closer since the previous day, now a short enough trek away - and Raphael was now gesturing at something visible not far from it, something that looked much like… a hill?

“That’s where the Citadel is, near the shores of the Lake of Blood.”

“... Citadel? I see a hill.”

For a moment, Raphael stopped in his tracks and seemed to hesitate, as though part of him balked at the notion of giving up the information even now… but Durge caught his eye and finally, after a long breath, he nodded. He resumed walking and they followed, listening closely.

“Yes. By the lakeshore there is the aptly-named Bleeding Citadel. Surely you heard of Zariel’s assault on Avernus alongside the Hellriders, to try and end the Blood War?”

“The Ride,” Wyll said, nodding. “Yes, of course. More songs have been sung of that one ride than of any other battle the Hellriders ever took part in.”

Raphael waved a dismissive hand. “Considering how disastrously it ended, they probably would like otherwise - particularly with how mediocre most such songs are. The Blood War cannot be ended so easily, and taking on both demonic hordes and the legions of Hell was pure madness. The Ride failed, most Hellriders were slaughtered, and Zariel herself fell.”

“There was talk that Asmodeus had something to do with that defeat, as things went really wrong real fast,” Karlach muttered. “In the Flying Fortress, I mean - just a rumor that came up from time to time. Though no one brought it up where Zariel could hear it.”

“Yes, I heard of it,” Raphael said, nodding. “I could never find proof that is truly what happened, but it would not surprise me in the slightest. Either way, Zariel fell and instead of trampling her under his foot, Asmodeus had a different plan. He personally aided her recovery, and in the process-- well. The celestial she’d been was no more and the Zariel you know well rose in her place. If this had been planned by Asmodeus, then the gamble paid off. He had a new, vicious warrior he then made the new Archdevil of Avernus, demoting Lord Bel to an advisory role. Clearly, he decided that Avernus needed a more aggressive stance. Bel was a strategist, but Zariel is a warmonger the likes of which even the Hells have rarely seen.”

Astarion let out a hum. “This is all very fascinating, but what does it have to do with the sword, or a bleeding citadel?”

A sigh. “The lot of you,” Raphael lamented, “have no patience for the art of storytelling.”

“You just make tales boring, pet,” Haarlep replied, all sweetness and light. You take forever to get to the point. And yet, when it comes to action, it’s over so fas--”

“Shouldn’t you be flying overhead to make sure there are no more hordes in our path?”

“Say please.”

“Absolutely no--”

“If you please, Haarlep, we’d be very grateful.” Halsin spoke up, smiling. Haarlep paused for a moment, then grinned back. “Ah, only because you asked so nicely,” they declared, and took flight, leaving Raphael to scowl, muttering something about feeding them their own skin at the first occasion. He only stopped when Astarion patted his back, with a touch more strength than necessary. 

“There, the distraction is gone. Do go on - concisely, if you please.”

“Mph. Very well. Once it became clear that Zariel had turned archdevil, one of the surviving Hellrider generals stole the sword and fled alongside a hollyphant who was believed to have been Zariel’s war mount. They made it as far as the Lake of Blood before one of Yeenoghu’s demons caught up with them. I am not certain what they did, but a fortress sprang up, and neither the general nor the Sword of Zariel were seen again. It’s rather obvious that they’re inside, but the Citadel is inaccessible to fiends and, over time, it became… covered.”

Durge blinked. “Covered? In what?”

“Why, precisely in what you’re seeing - that is no hill. It is the Citadel, covered quite literally in a scab. Avernus itself grows it around it, as if on a wound - Hells and divine energy don’t mix well. You did stock up on explosives as I told you to, I hope?”

“Ah, that.” Durge laughed, and patted their bag of holding. “Not to worry. We have enough to blow up a Steel Watch foundry, if need be.”

Raphael raised an eyebrow. “That is curiously specific,” he pointed out. 

Durge grinned, all fangs, and said nothing.

***

“Lord Bel. Thank you for granting me an audience at such short noti--”

“Three legions of abishai, Tiamat has pledged,” Lord Bel spoke without so much looking up from the miniature armies moving across the map of Avernus. “Did the idiot you sent to relay your message speak true?”

Raphael nodded. Still reeling from Bele’s visit, he’d forgotten how eager he’d been to give the archduke the news himself, no more than an hour earlier. Now, all taste of that triumph was gone; he could only taste ashes and bile. “He did, my lord. It was a fruitful meeting.”

“The contract?”

A gesture from Raphael, a burst of flame, and the contract hovered in the air before lord Bel. He took a look, eyes scanning the writing and the signature at the bottom. Then, he bared his fangs in a smile. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose. You did obtain twice the troops we usually get from Maladomini, after they told us they’d be cutting them by half.” He glanced back. “I never asked, what did you write to Lord Beelzebul?”

“That there was no reason for concern and no need for apologies, as the troops sent by my lord father Mephistopheles were twice as many and would easily make up for the shortfall.”

Lord Bel stared for a moment before he threw back his head and laughed. “Hah! I never much cared for the political posturing going on between layers, but it seems I should have.” 

“You don’t need to, my lord. I’ll gladly continue to handle this for you, if it pleases you.”

“If it pleases me?” Another laugh. “Of course it pleases me. What’s with the modesty now? You’re an asset on the battlefield, yes, but this?” He gestured to the signed contract in which Tiamat pledged three further legions of abishai to join Bel’s forces. “This is where you shine.”

Praise from an archdevil was hard-won, and always a reason for pride. Still, the smile on Raphael’s face was forced, the taste of bile still in his throat, choking him.

“Ah, don’t you mind them. Your Infernal is already near perfect, and jealousy is one ugly beast,” Bele’s voice rang out in the back of his mind. He almost felt it again, the touch of pale fingers tilting up his chin. He was no ice devil, yet he felt so oddly cold. “Learning all about contracts already, aren’t you? It’s impressive - but then again your lord father is brilliant, too. You will shine here, I am sure. If you are in need of any clarifications on our laws, do feel free to seek me out.” 

“Thank you, magistrate.”

“... Thank you, my lord,” Raphael heard himself saying, as though from very far away. Something had to show, for the grin on Bel’s face faded, and he narrowed his eyes. 

“You are not here to discuss your successes.”

“No, my lord.”

“What did Justiciar Bele want of you?”

“He came to inform me that I am no longer barred from returning to Mephistar.”

“Ah, I see. And what did you tell him?”

“That it was very gracious of my lord father to remove my status as an exile. It is what I’d hoped for. However, I did let Justiciar Bele know that as the Lord of the Eighth did not specifically summon me and I have duties here, I am not at liberty to leave yet.”

“Oh?”

Raphael bowed his head. “Unless your lordship wishes to dismiss me.”

“But you’d rather I don’t,” was the reply. A statement, not a question. Bel was not interested in knowing why Raphael would choose not to return, after supposedly joining the Canian troops specifically to be allowed back one day. All he cared for was the end result; Raphael respected that, and he was in no small measure relieved to be spared overly personal questions.  He deepened his bow before he spoke again. 

“... If it pleases your lordship, I’ll continue to serve until the day my liege summons me.”

Bel was quiet for a few moments before he gave a low, throaty chuckle. “Ah, I see. It is true he may order you to return to Mephistar at any time, as things stand,” he said. They both knew there was one thing, and one thing only, that would stand in the way of that: an official role and title at Lord Bel’s court. Then Mephistopheles may yet summon him, yes, but not keep him - let alone harm him - without Bel’s approval. 

And Raphael had every intention to be too useful to Avernus for Bel to ever give that approval. He remained bowing as he spoke. 

“I know I am very young still, and that I have not served you long. I hope you don’t think I feel entitled to a position I have not earned. But if you’d be inclined to give me a chance--”

“Ah, enough,” Bel cut him off with a wave of his hand, and stood from the table. The small armies moving across it were forgotten, for the time being. “I like to think of myself as fair, but I certainly cannot be accused of being generous. I am not in the habit of surrendering assets to others - particularly those who failed to recognize their worth when they could. Lord Mephistopheles thinks me a fool, and I have no inclination to prove him right. You may not have served me long, but you have served me well. I expect you’ll be able to serve me better still, in time. Now stop bowing so low before you break your spine.”

Raphael breathed out, and straightened himself to meet lord Bel’s eyes. Keeping the depth of his relief from showing in his voice was no easy feat, but he managed to sound, at least, dignified. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Thank your good timing, not me. That, and the fact Shummrath finally pushed my patience too far in your absence.”

Raphael blinked. He was certainly not going to mourn whatever fate befell the general, but he hadn’t expected the news. “What has become of--” he started, only for Bel to cut him off with a gesture of his hand. 

“None of your concern. All you need to know is that you shall not see him again. Leanath has been promoted to take this place. That leaves her old position open, and no archduke should be without a steward. I trust you’ll at least pretend to be surprised when I offer you the position in a more official manner?”

“My lord, there are no words to express--”

“Then don’t speak,” Bel said, and turned back to the map, making it plain that the meeting was over. “You have time until tomorrow to rehearse a speech.”

“... Thank you, my lord.”

Raphael bowed once again before he left, but he did not head to his rooms right away. He stopped at a balcony - the same, he recalled, where he had met Lady Antilia on her last visit. He stood by the railing, where he’d stood last time - only that the spot next to him was empty.

You seem to have carved a place for yourself here. Why not reconsider whether you truly wish to return to Cania? 

I left as an exile. I don’t intend to let that stand.

Now he was no longer an exile, as he wished. And Antilia had been right, after all: whether or not his lord father truly saw his worth now, why should he return under his thumb? Avernus was where he could prove himself, and despite the neverending war and the chaos it brought, something about the layer made him feel more at home than the frigid wastes of Cania, with its icy winds and shimmering glaciers. He was, after all, a creature of fire.

And now he’d have an official role, one of prestige that he couldn’t ever hope to obtain in Mephistar. Raphael, steward of Avernus; it had a nice ring to it. 

Standing alone on the balcony, Raphael looked up at the red sky and let his lips curl in a smile.

It did not reach his eyes.

***

“Well, this is disgusting. You could have mentioned this earlier, devil!”

“I didn’t think the sight of some congealed blood would make you falter, spawn.”

“This is an entire hill of… of… I am not even certain what it is. Is it even a real scab? It’s like it’s alive.”

“Well, in a manner of speaking.”

While Astarion let out a few more noises of disgust Wyll groaned, reaching up to rub his forehead before looking back up at the mound of… something that indeed looked much like a scab, towering at least three hundred feet above them. There were chains anchored to the ground, going up the hill, attached to… a dome, yes, right on top of the growth. The only part of the Citadel not yet covered, although it was hard to tell for how long that would remain the case. “And by that you mean…?”

Raphael shrugged, arms crossed as he glanced up at the hill, at the chains. “There are bound to be demons inside. The Citadel allows no fiend to open its doors, but even so, Yeenoghu's demons carved tunnels through the scab itself. They have built a burrow of sorts in there, and there’s no telling quite how many are in there.”

“Ah, I see,” Durge muttered. “So that’s what the explosive is for - not just to clear a way, but to flush them out?”

“And kill as many as possible in the process, yes. If the explosives you have are as powerful as you say, of course. If not, they may collapse the tunnels without destroying the scab itself, and make reaching the entrance exponentially more difficult.”

“Hah! Don’t worry, I am confident enough the runepowder bomb can get the job done.”

“... Where in all the bleeding Hells did you find a runepowder--”

“It’s a long story,” Astarion cut him off, and let out a hum. “So, demons digging inside - why, though? You said the doors will not open to let fiends in,” he pointed out, only for Raphael to hum.

“To be honest, I don’t precisely know what all the digging is for. The only guess is that perhaps they’re delusional enough they think they can succeed in forcing the doors open. Or perhaps they’re looking for Crokek'toeck.”

“Bless you,” Wyll quipped, gaining himself a sideways glance and a long, weary sigh. 

“... Really?”

“Ah, my humor is wasted on you,” he muttered, and looked back at the scab. “All right, I’ll bite. Who’s… the thing you mentioned?”

“I’d describe it as hunger incarnate,” he said, because Hells forbid he ever spoke plain.

“... Perhaps a slightly more literal description?” Halsin asked, more politely than Wyll would have. Raphael did, at least, comply.

“Yeenoghu's pet demon. It was the one who chased the Hellrider up to this point. No one quite knows if it died that day or if it was trapped in the citadel, or within the scab. Think of it as one immense maw with legs, and you have a clear enough picture.”

“Sounds delightful,” Karlach muttered. She looked up a few more moments before rolling her head to both sides, cracking her neck. “So, if it pops out, we kill it?”

“That’s the gist of it. Should we encounter it, there would be no other option.”

“Are you sure? How big is this mouth, exa--”

“No, Haarlep.”

Haarlep sighed, just a touch dramatically. Wyll had to wonder if they always had a flair for dramatics, or if Raphael had rubbed off them in more ways than they knew. “My talents are destined to be wasted as well, I see.”

Raphael snorted. “Any demons we encounter here will only care for one thing and one thing only - slaughter. As your talents obviously do not lie in battle, you’d do well to keep well away--”

A crudely fashioned acid arrow whistled through the air and would have struck Raphael right in the neck, had Karlach not grasped him and pulled him towards her with lightning-quick reflexes Wyll could only admire. It caused Raphael to stumble, but she steadied him. 

“You good?” she asked, letting go of his blazer to grab her weapon. Raphael nodded, reaching for his lyre.

“Yes,” he replied, and looked over at Haarlep. “Ethereal Plane. Now.”

“Oh, come now. I’m not that helpless--”

Whatever they were about to say next was covered by a cacophony of shrieks and the clang of steel. Wyll had unsheathed his rapier and turned to see that apparently, the demons burrowing in the scab were doing more than just burrowing - they were sending out patrols. And one of them had just now returned.

“Oh, finally,” Astarion exclaimed, pulling out both hand crossbows while Durge and Halsin prepared to cast. “I was itching to finally hurt someone.”

“Poor fuckers,” Karlach cackled. “Bet you I can kill more than you,” she added, causing Raphael to blink.

“... Are you talking to me?”

“I’m talking to anyone who thinks they can do better,” Karlach grinned, and then cried out, charging forward with her blade in hand. It took Wyll some effort, really, to focus on the battle. 

Even as they tore through demons, he couldn’t help but wonder what may be the perfect spot to propose once they were back in Faerûn.

***

“So, you can take the form of anyone you sleep with, but you can only use it if you’re given permission?”

“Exactly. That covered Raphael’s form as long as he owned me - although those allowed in the boudoir made an exception to the rule, as you found out.”

“And that’s what that part about swearing my body was yours was all about? Giving you permission to use it?”

“Oh, you are clever. If a bit slow on the uptake.”

Durge snorted, going through the weapons on one of the demons they had just felled. The patrol had been a small enough horde to be manageable. Most of them had little worth taking, but this one had a healing potion on it, and they pocketed it before moving on to the next corpse.

“You neglected to mention that detail.”

“You neglected to ask,” Haarlep sing-sang. “Very unwise, that. But you were still clever enough to not give up your soul.”

Durge hummed, taking a ring off a dead devil’s finger. It seemed to have no magical properties, but the ruby in it shone and it may be good to hand over to Wyll. It was Astarion’s idea, to hand any and all rings they found to Wyll while Karlach wasn’t looking. It would give him a few options to pick from when he decided to propose as he certainly was planning to. That, and watching his embarrassment while trying to hide a growing pile of rings from Karlach was hilarious.

“What would have happened if I did offer you my soul?”

“I’d have devoured it and left your body as an empty husk for further use,” Haarlep replied, in the light tone of someone describing picking the pink shirt over the blue one in the morning. Durge raised an eyebrow.

“... Do I want to know what sort of use?”

“I am certain you can guess. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know it’s a detail easily missed, but I am a devil - more of a devil than Raphael himself, if we’re being pedantic. I couldn’t just not try to take your soul. And once the soul is gone, the husk is just meat. Still, I think it was a fair offer, as opposed to doing what I was supposed to do in case of intruders.”

“Which was…?”

“Kill on sight.”

“... Fair enough.”

“But as it was more of an expectation than a specific duty, I was able to find a way to work around it to our mutual satisfaction.”

Durge couldn’t say they were getting a lot of satisfaction out of it - on  one particularly memorable occasion, the sensation took over while they were trying to deal the killing blow on a powerful lich - but they chose not to raise the issue. It was much too late to do so, anyway: what was done was done. The main question on their mind was different. 

“Why did you help us out?” they asked instead, glancing over to the side. Raphael and Astarion were searching a few more bodies for loot, and for a moment they were pretty sure they saw Astarion slide a ring off a finger before showing it off to Raphael, grinning. “You were sworn to Raphael. Why work for his downfall?”

Turning over a corpse with a nudge of their foot, Haarlep shrugged. “Ah, but I didn’t. I was so very bored when you walked in, Raphael had hardly been home for weeks. It was all a bit of a game, and I had no idea the entire business would snowball into… well, whatever that was. No offense, but you killing him? It wasn't an outcome I'd envisioned. I was trying to give him a bit of a headache and maybe another stomach ulcer, that’s all. I thought you’d either make it out of there with the hammer, or he’d catch and kill you. Although I rather hoped you’d make it out. You were lovely in be--”

“Weren’t you worried about punishment if he found out you helped?”

This time, Haarlep laughed. “Oh, anyone else in the House of Hope would have been, and for good reason. But no, not me. He could rage, scream, make a bit of a show with fire… break some spines, perhaps, but certainly not mine. He does tend to throw tantrums every once in a while, but that’s about as far as he ever went with me.” The incubus bared their teeth in a grin. “He can’t punish me. He gave up pretending he ever could a long time ago.”

Durge picked up another potion and stood straight again, putting it in their bag. “I see. So it was a game of sorts?”

“More or less. Oh, I did think that the entire business with the Crown was not that bright an idea to begin with. Everyone knows Lord Mephistopheles covets Asmodeus’ throne. If that trinket alone was all that was needed to take it, he’d have used it himself - yet he didn’t, not for almost two thousand years, and he’s the archmage of the Hells. Which Raphael, to be honest, is not.” 

A hum. “I’ll admit, I would have expected Mephistopheles to use it, but it’s possible he had plans to do so at a later time. Something capable of turning a mortal into a god even for one moment is no trinket, and Raphael was no mortal. And a powerful enough sorcerer, too, bardic inclinations notwithstanding.”

“Ah, yes, that. Being a sorcerer was just not dramatic enough for him, I suppose.” Haarlep paused a moment before they shrugged and glanced over at Raphael, who was pocketing something he’d taken from a corpse. “He was powerful, no denying it, and the crown would have made him a force to be reckoned with. He may have taken over some layers, even most layers. But once he got to Nessus, things may have gone differently than he’d envisioned.”

Durge nodded. “Yes, I don’t imagine Asmodeus would have just let him win that easily. Raphael seemed rather confident in his odds, though. Perhaps, if he united the other eight layers first, he may have stood a chance.”

“Perhaps. Shame we’ll never know, huh?”

“You don’t seem particularly saddened.”

“Should I? Nessus is dreary, everyone knows that. I was not eager to move there. And I don’t think you fully appreciate how insufferable Raphael would have been as the archdevil supreme.”

This time, Durge had to laugh. There were worse things they thought Raphael would have been if his plan had worked, but to be fair insufferable seemed an accurate summary. “Yes, I suppose he would have been,” they conceded, and stood after making sure the last corpse of the batch had nothing of value. “I think we’re done here. We should keep moving.”

Further ahead, Halsin was doing a fairly good job keeping Karlach distracted while Astarion shoved any rings he’d found in the hands of a very flustered Wyll. Not as flustered as he’d been that morning, when Haarlep had loudly commented on how distracting the scent of the carnal desire they had for each other was and asked when they were going to do something about it, but pretty flustered nonetheless.

Had his complexion been lighter, Durge was rather sure they’d been able to see him blush furiously from a mile away. As for Karlach… well, she could be blushing the entire time and they wouldn’t know, but her flames had decidedly flared up before she’d muttered what was probably the most ill-advised ‘go fuck yourself’ in history. Leading to the predictable response that Raphael was not in the mood lately, but that they’d try again that night. 

“I’m not sure I’m clear on the ring part,” Haarlep was saying now, still looking over at Wyll like he was the most puzzling being in the world. “Is it something necessary in the Material Plane before two mortals can have sex?”

Durge cleared their throat. “Well-- not really, but some people--”

“Does he need to collect a set number? Is that why you’re giving him any you find?”

“No, that’s a jest.”

“... I don’t get it.”

“Romantic that he is, he probably wants to ask Karlach to marry him before they-- er. We do tend to use rings for that, so we’re giving him all the rings we find until he does.”

“Ah, I see. Does one need to give the other a ring every time they have sex? Because by that logic, Raphael would owe me about--”

“No, no. It’s one ring, just once,” Durge cut them off, praying whatever god was listening - well, possibly not Bhaal - that Haarlep would drop it. They didn’t. 

“That’s rather cheap,” they muttered. “I’m rather sure Mephistopheles paid a much higher price to buy me.”

“The ring is not to buy-- wait. Mephistopheles?” Durge stopped in their tracks, turning to glance back at the incubus. Who, in turn, shrugged. 

“Yes? He picked me as a gift to his naughty son, with the instructions to keep him distracted.”

Durge blinked. “What-- does Raphael know you were sent to spy on him?” 

Haarlep laughed. “Hah! Oh, you’re adorable,” they crooned. “Who said anything about spying? You spy on a threat, and the Lord of the Eighth never saw Raphael as any threat until very recently. He was an annoyance, and annoyances only need to be distracted. I was to keep him busy enough he wouldn’t make too much of a fool of himself. Believe it or not, there was a time when he didn’t only sleep with a mirror image of himself. Quite the opposite, to hear some tales.” A pause. “Do you want to hear--”

“No, thank you,” Durge replied, quickly. 

The incubus sighed. “Ah well. It’s in the past either way. My fault, really, for spoiling him. He showed some interest in your form, but when I offered--”

“You did wha-- ”

“It seemed only fair. You did ask for this form when given the option.”

Durge groaned, stopping mid-stride again to rub their forehead. A headache was building up; nothing new, but it probably had nothing to do with the improvised lobotomy that had mangled their brain matter, either. “Yes. Very well. It was only fair. Now, as I felt nothing, I can only assume he was not interested.”

Haarlep tilted their head. “That was the oddest thing. He was plenty interested, if you get what I mean--”

“Really wish I didn’t--”

“-- but he still said no. Unusual, that. I’m sure you can tell he was never one to deny himself his wants.”

Ah. Durge cleared their throat. For a moment they thought back of when Raphael had nearly collapsed mid-stride, shuddering in their arms while someone made use of Haarlep’s glamor of him and obviously hating every second of it. Had he decided to spare them that? If so, that was… surprisingly decent, they suppo--

“Hey, are you done? I think it’s about time we get moving!” Karlach called out, and to be honest it was a relief. That was neither the time nor place to go down that line of thought. 

“We’re coming,” Durge called out, and got walking again before Haarlep could say anything else, to hand the ring they had found to a very flustered Wyll. They did, at least, have the good sense to stop talking once within earshot of Raphael. Who was, at the moment, focused on something he’d looted from one of the fallen demons - a sheet of parchment, it seemed.

“... Well. This is as crude a map as one could make, but it should help,” he muttered. Durge approached to have a look; apparently, demons had indeed built a veritable burrow into the scab, with tunnels and chambers. They raised an eyebrow.

“That’s impressive digging work. This thing is hard as stone.”

Raphael hummed. “Not all of it. The further up you go, the more recent the growth is and the consistency is softer, much like an actual scab. Somewhat spongy, from what I’ve been told.” 

Karlach made a face. “Eugh,” she muttered, gaining herself a slight nod. 

“Very well put, yes. But we will have to go through that section…” Raphael’s finger traced the map, and his eyebrow went up. “... All the way down to here, it seems. They have successfully uncovered the doors - that’s unexpected. It is quite a feat, I have to admit. The scab is hardened as can be there. Perhaps we won’t need to make use of runepowder to clear the way, after all.”

Astarion sighed. “Ah, a shame. I’ve been itching to see it at work. That, and it seems a lot quicker than crawling through tunnels killing demons. Fun as killing demons is.”

Halsin didn’t look very happy either, but he nodded. “It does seem the more prudent option,” he conceded. “An explosion may have damaged the Citadel itself, perhaps?”

Raphael shook his head, folding the map. “Doubtful. It’s made of divine energy - not so easily destroyed even by the most powerful explosive.”

“The explosion in the scab may kill the demons prowling inside it, but it surely would attract every fiend, be it devil or demon, within miles,” Wyll pointed out. “There is no reason to risk it if the demons burrowed in there have so handily uncovered the doors for us. I say we wipe them out, and proceed to the entrance without attracting undue attention. Karlach?”

She nodded. “Yeah, works for me. A nice long rest, and we go in to wreak havoc. You guys agree?”

They did.

***

“It seems such a mockery, doesn’t it? All this blood right there, and I cannot sample it. It smells disgusting, ” Astarion sighed, tearing his gaze from the shores of the Lake of Blood and going back to sit down on his bedroll, leaning against Durge’s side. The cave they had found refuge in was more a hole on the side of a small hill than it was a cave, and they were packed quite tight. But it would do, especially as it was a good distance away from the scab and beneath a decent lookout point.

Durge, who’d also been staring at the lake for quite a while - did it remind them of their visions of Bhaal’s domain? Astarion couldn’t help but wonder - turned back, and chuckled. “You may drink from me as well as Halsin, if you’d like.”

“Ah, thank you, love. I may just take you up on your offer and let Wyll know I’ll keep his neck for tomorrow. Although I can think of someone who hasn’t yet offered to help sustain me.”

Sitting against the wall of the cave with the lyre on his knees, Raphael scoffed. “Absolutely not. I don’t see the tiefling contributing either.”

“Because hers burns. And don’t give me the line about yours burning hotter than wyvern whiskey, you’re technically human right now and I could drink your blood without ill effects."

"And?"

"And It would be really nice of you to contribute to our little Keep Astarion Happy blood bank, is all.”

“The answer is no. And if I wake up with your teeth in my neck--”

“Of course you won’t! What manner of creature do you take me for?”

“A vampire.”

“... I suppose I did walk into that one.”

At the back of the hole they were so generously calling a cave, Wyll laughed. “Well, maybe you can contribute with some music to lift our spirits while we finish setting up for the night?”

Raphael huffed. “Is acting as your guide not enough of a contribution?”

“No, it’s not,” Karlach replied. She was sitting against the wall as well, sharpening her greataxe. “You could stand pulling a bit more weight here.”

“Why should I, when you make such a perfect beast of burden?”

Karlach scoffed. “Careful there. Beasts cab bite as hard as vampires when you piss them off, and they don’t ask permission.”

“Threatening an artist is not precisely the best way to get art out of them.”

“Can’t see why not. Worked well enough with the painter possessed by a restless spirit bound to a cursed portrait.”

Raphael blinked. “... I could predict none of the words in that sentence.”

Still sharpening the blade, Karlach shrugged. “Long story. And a weird one too, to be honest. Don’t think you’d be interested.”

He stared for a few moments before he seemingly agreed. With a sigh, he leaned more comfortably against the wall and strummed the lyre. 

Wyll smiled. “Ah, thank--”

"High hearts and brilliant plans so bright Give many a gallant good cause to fight Yet never any lack of black-hearted knave Keeps heroes from waiting, yawning grave..."

Well, so much for lifting their spirits. It got the smile off Wyll’s face quickly. “... You know what, forget it. We’re good. No need for you to play.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. I’m so glad we agree,” Raphael muttered, and put the lyre down to glance towards the entrance. He frowned. “What’s taking Haarlep so long?”

“They’re keeping an eye on things from above to make sure all is well outside,” Halsin replied. “They said that they don't need sleep, they’ll stay out and wake us when it’s time to head off.”

“And you let them? They’re obviously unsuited for battle!”

“He is not to engage, only to act as a lookout. I am certain we can trust them with it.”

“... Mph. We should hope they’re not foolish enough to get themself injured again,” Raphael muttered, his frown deepening. It didn’t escape Astarion how he kept staring at the cave’s entrance for a very, very long time.

***

Haarlep was keeping an eye on a few fireballs crossing the sky above, just to make sure none would come crashing down on them, when they felt the edge of a blade at their throat. They had a fraction of a second to consider whether to immediately seek refuge in the Ethereal Plane before a very familiar scoff reached their ears, along with an equally familiar voice.

“Hmph. You make as poor a sentinel as I expected,” Raphael muttered, pulling the dagger away and coming to sit by their side, dispelling the invisibility spell that, honestly, he hadn’t even needed. “The others should have known better than to entrust our safety to you.”

Ah, picking up some tricks from the vampire spawn, wasn’t he? Haarlep chuckled, unfolding one wing to invite Raphael to shift closer. And he did, clearly not thinking for a moment that a single beat of that wing would send him falling down the small cliff, to land by the entrance of the small cave with several broken bones and a vast array of internal injuries. 

It was tempting, Haarlep had to admit, at least a little bit… but they were probably not going to do it.

“That’s unkind of you, master,” they sighed, putting the usual hint of mockery in that last word. “I’m watching out for fireballs, hordes of demons, hellish legions… we have no reason to think an assassin may sneak in on us.”

“Excuses, as always. I’d rather be on the safe side and keep watch as well.” 

Haarlep frowned a little, looking at him. He was staring stubbornly ahead while sitting rigidly, close but not touching them. For a moment, Haarlep saw him as they’d seen him the previous day - looking down at them while trying to heal them, and crying out for the druid. 

Help me, he’d called out, not just heal them. Something about that choice of words stuck out to Haarlep just as much as the taste of his fear, but they couldn’t quite tell why. 

“Have you come to keep me safe, my little brat?” they asked, and Raphael scoffed. Again. 

“I am here for everyone's safety, if this is the extent of your abilities as a lookout. And speaking of safety, I thought we’d agreed that you should not wear my likeness in the open.”

“Oh come now, who’s going to notice? If anyone comes close enough to, then we’re going to kill them either way. Or are you asking for the Archduchess? I am afraid she wouldn’t quite scratch your itch without her usual tools. I don’t have chains, nothing to chain you to, and all your toys are back in the House of Hope. If they're still there. I don't know if the current owner found--”

“Enough,” Raphael snapped, but when Haarlep chucked and folded a wing to pull him against their side, he did not protest or move away. 

“Why are you here? Surely, I’d make an even poorer guard if I were to indulge your lust…”

“I am not tired, and I don’t trust you to keep watch. That is all.”

Haarlep almost rolled their eyes at that, but decided to play the idiot just a little longer. “If you’ve come to relieve me of my duties, I’ll head ba--”

“No.”

“You don’t own me anymore, little duke. You cannot command me to stay. Or, well. You may, but I don’t have to obey,” Haarlep pointed out. They grinned when the usual scowl appeared on Raphael’s face, that familiar scrunching of his nose. They chuckled, and leaned in to kiss that wrinkle. “If you want me to stay, say as much I’ll consider it.”

A pause, a long breath, and he leaned into the touch. “... Stay.”

“I’m missing a please, little brat.”

A scoff. “You truly enjoy seeing me brought low, don’t you?”

“No. Well-- yes. But Is asking me nicely really bringing you that low? Our traveling companions, perplexing as they are, thank one another over mundane things nearly every day.” Haarlep pointed out, but decided not to insist. Partly because they were rather distracted by the fact Raphael had reached to grasp their hand, and was pressing something small against their palm, still not looking at them. It took them a few moments to realize what it was. 

A ring.

“... I was given this after my duel with Yurgir. As they also handed me a ring of regeneration, it seems redundant - you may as well have this one. It helps ward off death for a time, if you’re downed. It should give us more time to heal you, next time you're inclined do something as idiotic as attacking a balor with your bare hands.”

Haarlep blinked down at the ring, taken aback, then they laughed and slipped it at their finger. It was a simple but pretty thing, gold with light blue stones. Haarlep could sense the magic humming within. “Oh, it’s very pretty. But you know it will cost you more than this to buy me back, right?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I do so like it when you beg.”

“What got into your mind now? Am I expected to guess? Because--” he trailed off when Haarlep turned their head and lifted up his chin to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. A bit of a shame that they couldn’t kiss him properly without the side effects of their spittle getting in the way. Even they knew this was not the moment for either of them to get in an amorous mood. 

“I’m going to miss this human Raphael when you’re you again,” they sighed, and for a moment Raphael went quiet. For… several moments, really. He looked down and seemed to fiddle with another ring on his left hand. One Haarlep recognized quite easily, as they’d put its twin at the finger of a rather unfortunate harvester devil to pull their little swapping trick on Mephistopheles.

Any and all magic in it was gone alongside with the other half of the set, but Raphael had still put it back at his finger. They almost asked why before they recalled who had given him the ring. “... I think she’d like to meet you, though,” they finally said, and leaned their cheek on top of Raphael’s head. “Not just this half, or the other one she met. All of you. Whole again.”

A long breath, the weight of a head on their shoulder. “I am not certain that this --” a vague gesture towards himself, towards the half of his soul that form now housed, “will gladly go back to being dormant.”

“Well, that may not be all that bad, don’t you think?”

“It should. It must. Human nature will always flinch back from the fiend. To have one part of me shudder at the other is to be weakened.”

“You’re not flinching from me now, my little brat.” Another silence, and this time it stretched on. Haarlep didn’t press, and instead folded the wing over Raphael, keeping him flush against their side, their tail wrapping around his waist. They felt him lean against them and oh, he was certainly not flinching. “Maybe, even this half of you is not all human, and the one back in Mephistar is not all fiend.”

A groan. “I am begging you to leave the philosophical conundrums to me.”

“Come now, you know I’m not wrong.”

“It’s painfully simplistic.”

“No more than pretending a single soul can be truly split along some kind of dotted line.”

Raphael scoffed, but did not protest. Instead, he shifted to lean more comfortably and closed his eyes. Haarlep chuckled, and angled the wing to block out as much light as possible from his face. “So much for not being tired.”

“Jest all you want. I couldn’t sleep.”

“But you can now?”

“If you’d be so kind as to be quiet,” Raphael grumbled. “We may find out.”

So much for keeping an eye out, Haarlep thought, but chose not to voice that. They turned their gaze back at the desolate landscape before them and the covered Citadel, looking out for threats, only occasionally glancing down at the ring glinting at their finger.

***

A long distance away, across Avernus and high up in the skies, the bowels of the Flying Fortress were shaken by a wordless cry.

It was a scream of blackest fury and something else, raw and unrelenting, coming from the dungeons. There was never a shortage of cries coming from the dungeons, but this was different. The Lord of the First had crumpled on her knees, tears like molten glass falling on the golden fur of a motionless hollyphant, on the infernal dagger still plunged into the creature's heart. 

Zariel screamed again, all hatred and sorrow, and everyone in the Fortress trembled in fear, looked at one another in confusion. Mizora could feign their same confusion well enough; pretending came as easy as breathing. Her fear, that she did not need to fake. Good as she was at reigning it in, she felt it more keenly than anybody else at Zariel’s court. 

If Zariel were to ever learn that the celestial creature’s blood was on her hands, her life would be forfeit - and her death would be a slower one than the one she’d granted the blasted creature who’d somehow gotten into her mistress’ head, and ruined her enough that Asmodeus himself wanted her replaced.

And when an order came from the Lord Below, she could but obey.

If our scouts had killed it right away instead of bringing it here, this would not have happened. They thought it a gift to our mistress, and it was her undoing. All that revolting talk of goodness and old times. Why, why, why did she not end it herself? Why did she keep going down in the dungeons to see it?

So many questions, but Mizora had always considered herself a practical creature and she knew it was much too late to dwell on those, too late for second-guessing. The order had come, and she’d seen it through. The hollyphant was dead, the line had been crossed, and there could be no going back. All she could do now was play her cards, feign ignorance, and wait.

All while holding onto the hope that her favorite little warlock, his companions, and the devil who was a devil no more would be up to the task ahead.

*** [Back to Chapter 19]

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