#the way you need to know someone inside dunwall to be able to enter it. the way the city watch can shake you down at any time

[deathlonging]

we should talk more about cities that are vampires. cities that are cold and wet and sink into your bones and stay there. cities that are hungry and want to live. dead cities that dont know they're dead and suck the life force of their people to maintain the delusion. cities with harbors that are actually mouths; one-way entries. cities that are devastatingly lonely and see consumption as love

[laur-rants]

Fic Complete: Wolfbann

Chapter 17: With Reckless Abandon

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Time to crash the Boyle party and start a new chapter for Daud and Corvs

*Note: The read more may not appear for mobile users. For this, I sincerely apologize. The best way to avoid this is to blacklist #long post Special thanks to @wantonlywindswept for being the fucking rock this fic needed, my constant fan. This fic was all for you, boo. Thank you so much. I love you. A lot. And its very VERY gay.

AO3 Link

Previous :: First

The lights of extravagant decoration hung high in the sky, so bright even the stars scattered from their brilliance. Giant balloons floated over and around the Boyle mansion, making the cold of Dunwall's winter seem a little less bitter. The party goers below seemed oblivious to the weather; the Boyle sisters kept the grounds heated, both in temperature and the alcohol burning in their guest's veins. They all laughed and yelled behind elaborate masks, eyes turned to the night sky as one of the huge balloons burst suddenly, showering confetti down on the disgruntled security guards below. Another in the cluster followed it, and another; inebriated patrons cheered, clapping at the show.

Among the distracted crowd, a shadow moved. One with a long coat, a well-fitted vest, and a metal mask that laughed like death. There was a long sword at his hip and a wristbow hidden in one of his gloves, but the guards didn't seem to care or pay any mind. They just shooed away the stiff figure when they caught him at the lavish dining table, telling him half-heartedly to put his weapons away. The masked man scoffed as the guard frowned; he grabbed a slab of bread and cheese and shrugged apologetically before darting off, quiet as a ghost.

The Boyle house, this skull-masked man was finding out, was a never-ending maze. Even when he thought he knew the layout, he ended up somewhere… unexpected. This time, it appeared he had escaped into a small dining parlor, one full of loiterers and smokers. A woman in a moth mask and a man in a whale mask watched him carefully, even as he awkwardly eyed his plate of food.

“That's quite the mask you have there,” the moth purred, and the metal face twitched to attention. “Almost like those masked felon stories from the plague.”

That laughing mask tilted, the individual behind it clearing his throat. “Yes, that is where the inspiration came from,” he said, rough voice grating. The woman seemed pleased with the answer, as if nothing could be more exciting.

“At least someone at this party has a sense of mystery about them,” she laughed and her companion scoffed, annoyed. “If you ever need a good time, just ask for Miss White.”

The metal mask nodded, falling into a mock bow. Miss White giggled, making her friend even more distraught. He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away, loudly proclaiming “More like suspicious. I'd steer clear of such unsightly masks, if I were you, Miss White.”

The mask watched them leave from behind glass lenses fitted into deep sockets. Then, he disappeared entirely.

In a magical blink and a flurry of smoke he was outside, perched just above a top floor balcony. Next to him emerging from the roof's shadow, a giant dog appeared, its eyes glowing in the dark and blending in among the lights. He held the plate out; a brown, greying snout sniffed, eying the mask critically.

“Bread and cheese with no wine ?” the wolf mentally inquired, incredulous.

“Listen, I'm not a maid or a waitress. If you don't want it, Rinaldo, toss it to someone else.”

The wolf's lip curled before chewing down the quick meal. Mildly satisfied, he licked his nose before looking down over the party below. The mask watched him, choosing his next words carefully.

“Seen anything worth reporting?”

“A few things, all of them boring. From the patrol, this is looking to be a typical Boyle masquerade. Some patrons are complaining that this is the second masked party in a row from the sisters, do they're disappointed.”

“Any word on the target?”

“Yes. Connor's deduced it's Waverly. She's in red. Last seen near her sister in the music room, but moving upstairs. Might be able to intercept her there.”

“And Brimsly?”

The wolf's lip curled into a wicked grin.

“We're keeping him occupied.”

The mask groaned, shaking his head and adjusting his hood. “Just don't make it obvious, please.”

The wolf eyed him knowingly. “It's the twins. What did you think will happen?”

The snarl from behind the metal would have been menacing if it wasn't so tired. His left fist clenched; under the glove’s leather, an arcane mark sparked to life.

“As long as he stays put, I suppose. I'll be right back.”

He disappeared again, a flurry of smoke invisible against the cold sky, unseen by those below. His body left a trail as ink slithered into claws and black tendons, a physical ghost against the Boyle house decadence. He slid his smoky body back inside, hugging the ceiling, perching on extravagant chandeliers and dodging the guards patrolling the upper levels of the house. His predatory body finally solidified, the hood drawn close and those glass eyes seeing every bit of movement.

It wasn't long until his quarry appeared; dressed all in red and sporting a crimson, porcelain mask. Waverly Boyle finally ascended the stairs, passing under his hiding spot. He watched her quietly as she muttered angrily to herself, checked her pockets, then entered her room with the key procured.

He clenched his fist. In an instant, sound and color drained away. He leapt down, crouching low and sliding into the room. As he entered and stood off to the side of the canopy bed, he let the magic go. Color and air rushed back in and Waverly entered her room, none the wiser of her shady visitor.

She went over to her desk, checking the open book laid there. The mask adjusted his gloves, clearing his throat loudly.

“Lady Boyle.”

Waverly jerked, frantic, pulling a knife from her bag and tossing it his direction. He cleanly dodged the blade and closed in as quickly as possible. As she darted for the door he grasped her wrist, holding her in place.

“Get off me! I will call the guards!”

“That will make saving your life quite difficult, Miss Boyle.”

She jerked against his grip, unconvinced. He growled and pulled her closer and tried again. “Listen. There's a man here trying to abduct you. His name is Lord Brimsly. He claims to love you. Do you know him?”

That got her attention. She stilled, chest heaving, her mask's blank eyes looking into his shiny glass ones.

“How do you know this? Have you seen him? Did someone send you?”

“It is my business to know such things,” the mask purred out, “as it is my business to know you have been supplying money to Regenters about the city.” As Waverly twitched and looked away, he tilted his head. “Ah, I see I wasn't mistaken about that either.”

“If you were sent to kill me, you might as well,” she all but cried, her voice broken behind her pristine mask. “I am in too much debt now. They keep calling for me, expecting me to fund their little pity group. Brimsly is among them: he hounds me, stalks me. My sisters don't know, they don't see the books, they think he's just a weirdly fervent suitor...” She shook her head, her fight leaving her. “Be quick with your blade. I am better off dead.”

The man behind that toothless smile loosened his grip, taking a step back. The eldest Boyle sister didn't move, but stood resolutely, waiting for the blow.

A blow, he knew, would never come.

“Apologies, but killing isn't my business anymore.” He told her, his voice low. “I'm here to offer you an alternative.”

Her mask shifted, as if trying to catch his eye. When she didn't refute or respond, he continued. “I have an old contact who was more than happy to offer you a life away from Dunwall, up north in Morley. Portside. You could change your name, remake your life. And nobody would ever know.”

“A contact?” The woman repeated, suspicious. “I can't trust that. I need names.”

The mask eyed her, silent and unmoving.

“Farley Havelock,” he finally supplied. “An old captain of the Royal Navy, now… retired.” He adjusted his grip on Waverly once again, this time holding her hand in his. “As a personal favor he's agreed to let you escape and go unscathed.”

“But-- the Regenters?”

“The crown plans to deal with them. They will not hound your sisters as they did you once you are out of the picture. You have my promise, your sisters will be free if you leave.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I will not only destroy the Regenters, but the good name of House Boyle,” he threatened casually. “I will have no other option than to bring the scandal to public attention and followers of the late Lord Regent are not looked upon fondly--”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Waverly said, waving him off frantically. “I always knew this day would come anyway. If I have a target on my back, I always will. This just confirms it.” She shuffled away and grabbed her book, a few belongings and some money, stuffing it all into her purse. “So? Where do we go? How do you get me out of here?”

The metal mask bowed ever so slightly. That macabre smirk almost appeared real, if only for a moment.

“Leave that part to me, Lady Waverly.”

------

Maneuvering Waverly through the house without appearing suspicious proved a tricky task, especially since the eldest Boyle was wearing a noticeable shade of red. However, she was able to distract guests and kept a respectable distance from the man in the metallic skull. For his part, that same mask kept an eye out for Brimsly, the individual trying to abduct Waverly. A voice nagging in the back of his head fed him a constant stream of updates and the two of them changed their paths through the house accordingly.

Eventually, they came to the back cellar stairs, where the only obstacle was a curious Miss White who was snooping around the kitchen wares. He sent her off easily enough with a compliment and a drink, sighing as soon as she was out of sight. This was turning out to be one of his stranger jobs to date, and it wasn't even over with yet.

He led Waverly to the basement where a small river boat waited. She stared; in the boat, two men waited. One of them was small and greying, with tired eyes and mutton chops framing a quiet smile. The other was a larger man, shaved head glistening with sweat, his face looking pulled and stretched. She glanced back to the mask, looking for an explanation.

“Miss Boyle, I present Farley Havelock, previous captain of the royal guard, now private boat owner. And his friend and old subordinate, Samuel Beechworth.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Boyle,” the large captain said, though his hand twitched at his chest and his voice wavered.

“And you're supposed to get me out of this city safely?”

“As safe as we're able, ma'am,” Samuel said, settling down at the rear of the boat. “I'll help navigate the two of you out to the larger ship waiting in the harbor.”

“How do I know I won't be killed?”

“Farley here is also seeking asylum from Dunwall,” the mask explained, “since more than one party is after his blood. If I hear he has killed you, he'll be breaking contract and dealing with much bigger issues than the ones he currently has.”

“It's true, my Lady,” Farley confessed. “I've made too much trouble since my furlough. I best be going as well.”

“Well, I suppose we're dealing with the same problem,” Waverly said. She looked down, hesitated, then stepped up to the boat. Havelock took her hand, helping her in. He then turned a grateful eye on that laughing mask.

“Thank you for the second chance,” Havelock told him quietly. The mask just growled, waving them off.

“Just get out of here already,” he snarled, voice warping. “And don't make me regret it.”

“And you promise my sisters will be safe?” she asked again, looking for reassurance.

“You have my word,” the masked replied. The boat's motor puttered to life and the gate to the river estuaries opened up. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

If Waverly responded, he never heard it. The boat was already moving, the motor drowning out any words spoken. Havelock just nodded once and then they were off, disappearing into the gloom of the night.

The mask stood there for a moment, watching the dinghy float off. The cold crisp air of outside floated in, and something chillier than winter settled in his chest.

On the wind's whisper, he turned.

There in the gloom of the cellar's shadows, a pair of shining eyes stared him down. Reflective glass eyes, set into the face of an elongated mask, the gas filter of it making the wearer's breath come out ragged.

That metal mask huffed. He laughed once.

“What, had to come and check my work?”

The newcomer stepped out, a heavy blue coat trimmed with gold draping his shoulders.

“Of course not,” He muttered, annoyed, his long legs unfolding as he stood up and strode over. The heavy Whaler mask was pushed up, revealing the scowling face and long hair of Corvo Attano. “I came to get back the mask you stole from me, Daud.”

------

“Who told you?” Daud asked a few minutes later after they had found a secluded balcony to retreat to. Corvo shook his head, amused, his borrowed Whaler mask pushed up off his face.

“Nobody did,” he confessed. “I just knew.”

Daud nodded, humming, his smirk still hidden behind Corvo's metal mask. He carefully removed it from his face, the cold air immediately prickling at his clammy skin. He raised an eyebrow at Corvo but not because of the vague response. Over the last two months, Corvo had grown more and more used to the mental collective he was a part of now -- and was more at ease due to it. Intuitively, Corvo really could have just known -- or, he could have just gone to his room and seen his mask was missing from its stand.

Both were valid theories. Both were probably true.

“I'll blame Connor anyway,” Daud said, the smile pulling at his scars and Corvo laughed. It had a nice sound about it, even if it was still rusted at the edges.

“So,” Corvo mused, the borrowed Whaler mask finding its way into his restless hands. His cheeks shone with sweat as he leaned on the Boyle's balcony, watching as the boat carrying Lady Waverly disappeared downriver. “Do you think this whole night will become a conspiracy?”

Daud laughed, a gruff thing, the feel of it hanging in his chest. He turned his own temporary mask in his hands, fingers smoothing the glass lenses resting under those metal brows. “Probably not as much as you think,” he growled back. “I wouldn't be good at my job if it could be traced back to the crown, but there will be stories enough about her disappearance, I'm sure.”

“Still surprised you had a contact in Havelock, of all people.”

Daud shrugged, his mouth never losing it's quirk. “He owed me a favor. And I think they'll both be happier like this.”

“Mm,” Corvo noncommittally agreed.

Daud settled on the balcony himself, watching the Royal Protector closely, as he always did. Even after two months employment, a saving of an Empress and partially sharing a headspace, Corvo still fascinated him. Not because he was necessarily complex, no, but because he was unpredictable.

Daud never wondered why the Outsider marked Corvo. He was, truly, a man of interest.

Corvo looked over, noting Daud's unwavering gaze. His eyes darted away, watching the colorful festivities as the Boyle party continued, the participants and guests none the wiser about the disappearance of one of their hostesses.

“We have to go back down eventually, or people will be suspect.”

“That is likely, yes.”

Corvo sighed out a ragged breath. “Parties really aren't my thing, but Emily insisted heavily that I come to this.”

“It’s because she can't go herself, not yet,” Daud reminded him. “And having a good story to bring home to her is her only price.”

When it came to Boyle's previous annual parties, Daud had only watched from a distance -- had even killed someone during a masquerade once -- but had never been invited. In a way, even if he was here on a job, he saw no reason to not enjoy the rest of the evening before retiring back to the Tower. Still, he turned to Corvo.

“Our role in this story is over, however. If you want to head back to the Tower, we can. Just say the word and I'll gather my men.”

To his surprise Corvo shook his head, long hair tousled in the wind. “No, not yet. I just got here, after all. Emily's orders were to enjoy myself.” His eyebrow hiked up as he spun the Whaler mask playfully in his hand. “We could switch masks. Fuck with the party goers.”

Daud's lip twitched up as he uncrossed his arms. “That's the only way you're going to deal with this, isn't it? Seeing how many pockets you can pick, how many drinks you can steal, and how many guests you can scare?”

“Maybe if we stay long enough, they'll be so drunk you could morph your head and nobody would realize or remember.”

“I'm an assassin,” Daud snarled, but there was no venom in his voice. “I may be dramatic, but I'm not obtuse. There's a reason the Wolf of Dunwall is a child's tale.”

“Even more reason to make an appearance and excite the boring lives of these poor nobles.”

Daud huffed as he stood, ignoring Corvo's coy smile. He held out the Protector's metal mask, expecting his Whaler's mask in return, but Corvo didn't move from his spot. He stayed leaning over the balcony, listening to the rabble of the partygoers, the colors of the lights bouncing off his every angle.

He was a man of exquisite form and a wolf of sharp intent. Corvo looked back up to Daud and Daud felt his jaw clench.

“What? You're not going to take it?” Daud said impatiently, nudging Corvo's arm with the mask.

“You aren't an assassin anymore, you know.”

Daud blinked, taken aback. He drew himself straight and looked away.

“We both know it's old habit, Attano, and even if it's not killing people my prey still seems to disappear in much the same manner.”

“I don't mean…” Corvo shook his head, licked his lip, started again. “Can I tell you something, Daud?”

Daud felt his stomach flip and his brain buzzed unpleasantly with the voices of his nearby men. He shut them out of his mind, one by one.

“You can tell me anything, Corvo.”

“Anyone listening?”

Daud laughed, low and short. “There were a few curious noses. They've been shoved away.” He settled back down, trying to get comfortable again. “What is it?”

Corvo went quiet, even withdrew from Daud's headspace. His leg twitched as he gripped the mask tight.

“She called you 'dad' the other day.”

Daud froze. He felt his hackles rise defensively, his eyes widening. Corvo glanced at his expression and chewed his cheek before clarifying. “It was a quick thing, a slip up. She seemed… startled, like she didn't expect it to be so natural. Like she expected me to be mad.”

Daud breathed out harshly, looking away and rubbing a hand over his mouth. “Corvo -- I'm sorry, you know I'm not looking to take that role from you--”

Corvo was up instantly, fixating Daud with a glare so intense that Daud felt his throat close and his self-consciousness rise.

“No, you misunderstand me and also her. You aren't taking my role in her life away, I will always be her father, her Corvo. I'm not mad that she sees you this way; I'm relieved, actually. You aren't an assassin to us, not anymore. You're her family.” Corvo's face softened and Daud felt his vulnerability rise. “You're our family. You can put that past behind you.”

“You shouldn't call your professional partner your family,” Daud scolded -- but there was a weakness to his words and they held no bite. And there it was -- that treacherous affection worming across the bond he shared with Corvo, filling his chest and alighting him from the inside out. He felt his physical space invaded; when he next looked over Corvo was there, a smirk on his face, offering the Whaler mask to Daud.

“Is that what you think this is? A professional partnership?”

Daud exhaled, aggravated when Corvo didn't waver. His jaw clenched as he refused to meet Corvo's eye. He didn't need this now, he wasn't drunk enough to handle Corvo coming to him with this conversation topic. He had been holding Corvo at arm's length for the past two months, refusing to push against any boundaries and yet Corvo kept inching closer against both of their better judgements.

Daud breathed in and licked his lips. The action didn't go unnoticed.

“I thought that was what you wanted it to be,” he said, finally meeting Corvo stare for stare. He had hoped it would make Corvo stand down, back off the advance, but still Corvo refused to move, his features instead going sharp and wild at the edges. Something stronger than affection burned against their bond and filled Daud's nostrils. His nose wrinkled and he grasped for the Whaler mask, yanking it from Corvo's palm.

Corvo's claws gripped his wrist, holding him in place.

“Corvo--” he warned, a lip curling to show off lengthening fangs.

“I didn't come tonight because of the mask,” he stated evenly, owning up to his excuse. His eyes never lost their focus on Daud. “And I didn't come because Emily told me to.”

“Well then you should get better hobbies than babysitting me,” Daud argued, but he didn't pull away from Corvo's tight grip, didn't turn from that intense stare. ���Especially when parties aren't your thing.”

“Daud,” Corvo admonished softly, shaking his head. He looked down and away. “Please, don't make this hard.”

Daud sneered, still defensive despite everything he was feeling from Corvo's mind, from his own emotions. He tried to ignore it, to brush it off, but something about it made him want to drown instead of fight to keep his head above the surface. A wave crashed over him and he gaped at Corvo, disbelieving.

“You can't be serious.”

“As the dead.”

“Please, don't ask this of me.”

“And why not?”

“Should I list the ways?” Daud growled, body rippling, “Ask anything else of me, and you know I'll be there for you, but--”

“Then stop talking.”

Daud stuttered to silence, his mind too shocked by the command to counter it. And then Corvo was there, the heat of his body filling the space between them, his scent strong off his slicked skin as lips slid across his, biting with stubble. Daud's inhale was sharp as his bond exploded with emotion and he was almost too shocked to kiss Corvo back, even as the Royal Protector pulled him in closer, the gap between them closing. Corvo relinquished his mask from Daud's hand as the kiss deepened, both their chests rumbling with unsung cries. The scrape of teeth sent electricity down Daud's spine and he licked after it, claws gripping to Corvo's coat as his thoughts and emotions spiraled wildly. He couldn't tell who's ecstasy he was experiencing, who's triumph, who's arousal. It didn't matter anymore; it was complete and whole and wonderful--

Corvo backed away, a breathy laugh on his lips as he tapped Daud back into reality. Daud blinked, meeting Corvo's hungry eye; Corvo cleared his throat and motioned to Daud. He looked down; his whole body was sloughing off, smoking like a signal. Immediately his stationed men were mentally checking in on him, one after another. He cursed under his breath and mentally pushed them away again, all to Corvo's undying amusement.

“Nice to see you feel the same way,” Corvo mused as Daud pulled his heated face away, brushing his inky fur off his back. Daud grunted at the obviousness of the statement and straightened his jacket.

“I shouldn't,” was his only annoyed answer. “It's too risky, it's too -- Outsider's literal ass, Attano.”

“You're thinking too much about this.”

“And you're not?” Daud countered, hating his desperation. “You're not thinking about the potential repercussions, the potential threats--”

“I am,” Corvo said smoothly. “But I also know I am inexplicably drawn to you, and you to me. You saved the only family I have left… you are part of that family now, Daud.”

“Don't be such a sap, Attano,” Daud croaked weakly. “You don't have to do this just because some bloody magical bond told you to.”

“Don't blame instinct on this,” Corvo told him sharply. And then, softer, “She wanted me to forgive you. She wanted me to move on. And ever since you accepted to be my Royal Spymaster, well…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Less guilt. Less regret.”

Daud didn't ask how Corvo knew the motives of Jessamine Kaldwin posthumously. They were two monsters of men who spoke with whale gods, could manipulate Void and had powers and dreams that made them scream at night. For them, speaking with the dead was the least alarming of their life events.

“Listen, I can't--” Daud started, his teeth going heavy, making his words sound forced. “What do you expect from this? Where do think this is going to go?”

Corvo shrugged and Daud bristled. He was far too nonchalant about all this.

“I had an affair with an Empress for 14 years. I know how to keep this hidden, if I have to. And it won't interfere with work.”

Daud pinched the bridge of his nose, hating how Corvo's amusement kept intruding on his thoughts. “And my spies? They'll know.”

“They're spies,” Corvo said, his eyes going dark. “They should know how to keep a secret.”

Daud sneered at the response, the growl rippling out of him as his logic fought with his emotion.

“If we ever break it off, you're going to have to fire me.”

“Then we won't break it off.”

Daud swallowed hard and coughed, gaping at Corvo. Corvo still stood there, serenely, still waiting for Daud to come around. Daud saw the conviction in Corvo's eyes and felt his panic rise. He shook his head, wiping his mouth where it was still wet with Corvo's saliva.

Void.

He turned, his chest filled with fire, and breathed. Corvo gave him a moment before extending his thoughts back to him. They flowed over his addled brain, cool and reassuring, and when Corvo gently grabbed at his arm he didn't pull away.

“Sorry, that may have come off strongly, but I'm not…” Corvo licked his lip, took a breath. “I just want you here. With me. Physically, maybe not intimately yet but... I've wanted this for a while now. I see no reason for that feeling to change. Besides,” he smirked, nudging Daud closer, “you're too good a spymaster to just fire.”

Daud scoffed, amused, opening to the affection. He raised a brow towards Corvo, eying him quizzically.

“You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“Well, I would, if you weren't interested,” Corvo mused, suddenly preoccupied with Daud's sleeve. “But now I know you feel similarly, so…”He trailed of mischievously and Daud scoffed, amused.

He wasn't winning this test of wills at all.

“Corvo, you already have my life in your hands,” Daud reminded him. “If you want to give this a shot…” His eyes went dark, his smile dangerous. “Fine. Just make sure you don't regret any future decisions you make with it.”

Corvo laughed and nearly yanked Daud in again, pulling him close and licking against teeth and lips. This time, Daud was far more eager to reciprocate, reveling in their emotions melding together with each kiss.

They eventually returned to the party, bodies smoking with energy, Daud in his whaler mask and Corvo hiding behind his laughing metal face. They melted into the crowd, never out of sight of one another, sharing gossip with the guests while their two minds tangled with every passing shared moment. By the end of the night, the job was done. The largest investor for the Regenters was gone out to sea and the crown remained safe from a few more dissenters.

By morning, the Knife of Dunwall was smiling despite himself, nursing a coffee brought in by the hungover Royal Protector himself. Daud's men, blessedly, said nothing, but Daud could feel their energy.

They all knew.

And he accepted it, all of it. Against his better judgement, against any bit of logic he could muster, he was ready for whatever this new chapter brought. Perhaps, just this once, it wouldn't be as bad he expected.

Perhaps his future wasn't so bleak, after all.

[tveckling]

85. Dark as chaos

For @dreamingofketchup AO3

Emily died. It kept repeating in his head whenever he was still. Emily died. He failed. Again. The only good, pure thing in his life, was gone forever. Not even a heart with a shadow of her spirit was left. (He had failed once again, he had let her die, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save her, he couldn't save either of them.) Emily died. And he had let her fall. -----

The city was in disarray, even more than when the first wave of plague caused panic swept through every crook and cranny. The throne was empty, even though it was months after the announcement of Emily Kaldwin's death had rang through every speaker. There had been people trying to claim it, of course, but Corvo got rid of them one by one. The throne belonged to Jessamine and Emily, and he would not allow someone else to sit upon it. They whispered, the citizens, about the masked man. They all knew now who he was, but no one dared name him, fearing that if they did he would hear. And woe those who caught his eye; what remained of them was rarely enough for anyone to recognize them by, and whenever a family member disappeared the rest immediately thought of them as dead. The masked man held no mercy in his heart, for children or adults or elderly, civilian or guard or Overseer. Not that there were many Overseers left in the city. It hadn't taken long for the Abbey to decry the masked man as an agent of the Outsider, and in response he had systematically worked on destroying what was left of the order. Those who had any sense had fled to another island; those who didn't died, their corpses left mutilated on the open streets. There were far more shrines to the Outsider now, with people praying to the only one they thought might be able to keep them safe. ----- Corvo barely blinked as he looked down at the guards walking the streets. He didn't really focus on the city watch, leaving many left to try to keep the city calm. It amused him to see, so he only dealt with them when they got in his way. They were in his sight now, however, and that meant that they were in his way. He held his weapons ready as he dropped down between them. The screams were over too quickly, he thought with a grimace. Maybe he should have played with them longer, drawn it out more. But the pulse of the heart in his pocket reminded him that he had actually had a purpose by going out on the streets that night. Even though Jessamine didn't talk to him any longer she still helped him, he thought as he stroked a light finger over the heart, leaving a wet trail behind. That's why he loved her so. (He missed her voice, he missed her, he missed her so bad, so bad, so bad, and he hated himself for being relieved that he couldn't hear her disappointed voice any longer.) The building was easy to break into, he only had to create winds to blow away the door. No further guards were waiting inside it, but Corvo knew it wouldn't have made a difference had there been. He would only have had more blood to shed. On the second floor he met a maid, who actually attacked him. She had crumbled to the knees like most servants did and begged for her life, but when Corvo had gotten close to her, preparing to cut her in two, she pulled out a knife. It was certainly unexpected, and even though he only received a small cut he was impressed. It was unfortunate that he had killed her so quick; he wondered how long she would have been able to scream for. When he reached the second room to the left his head filled up with whispers, and he knew he was close. A quick look with his dark vision showed him a yellow shape sitting bowed in front of an item that made Jessamine's heart pulse, and Corvo let a satisfied smile slip onto his face. There was no need to hide or sneak, so he simply pushed open the door and walked through. The man kneeling in front of the shrine turned around, anger filling his face rather than fear. It was unusual, to say the least, and Corvo found himself enjoying the sight. But then, it wasn't strange that such an Outsider obsessed worshiper felt no fear for the man said to be employed by the god. "You've been putting your nose where it doesn't belong," Corvo said, idly swinging his sword. "You pretender! You have nothing to say about my doings, how dare you!" The man—Corvo didn't even know his name, didn't care—clutched a rune against his chest as though it would lend him strength. "You're just using the name of our savior so you can slaughter innocent people guiltlessly!" Corvo started laughing, and soon found he had trouble stopping. Innocent? Innocent. Innocent innocent innocent innocent. No one was innocent! They all bore blame, they all had blood on their hands, every single one. They, as a city, had let down both Jessamine and then Emily, and they had both died because of it—because of them! "There are no innocents left in Dunwall," Corvo managed to say after a while, and he grinned at the man. If he had removed the mask it might have had more of an impression, of course. "And the Outsider is no savior of yours. And he is tired of your rituals." The man took a step back, desperately shaking his head, the anger on his face now replaced by fear—but still not of Corvo. There was a difference. No, it was Corvo's words that stirred up the fear, the doubts. Corvo scoffed, feeling his amusement quickly fade. This man was not worth any more of his time. He didn't even feel like a chase. "And so, your God wants your death. Now come here, it will only hurt more if you-" Of course the man turned. Corvo sighed, but he didn't manage to Blink before he realized where exactly the man was heading. Crossing his arms Corvo watched as the man threw himself out of the window, his abruptly ended shout sounding something like 'Outsi'. Devoted until death, apparently.   "He was told you wanted him dead, and so he killed himself," Corvo said and shook his head. "Was there even a point of asking me to go here?" "There is always a point, my dear Corvo." Corvo turned to the shrine, glaring at the figure sitting on top of the stone. "You know that I hate being used. By you, by anyone. You ordering me around for your own amusement drives me mad!" The Outsider tilted his head, a barely-there smile on his lips. It felt like the god was laughing at him, and Corvo gritted his teeth. "But can I really drive you mad when your mind have already broken?" the Outsider asked, in his soft, mocking, infuriating voice. Corvo growled and raised his right hand, firing off a bolt that would have gone through the Outsider's shoulder had he still been there. A soft laughter echoed in the room, making Corvo's frown even deeper. He could almost feel the hands ghosting down his chest, the lips by his ear. "Not here. Why don't you visit me tonight, my dear. Then we shall have fun." Sighing heavily Corvo walked forward to rip his bolt out of the wall. The ghostly presence had disappeared and so there was nothing of interest left for him in the room. His dark mood stayed during his way back to his apartment, since unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on who was asked—he didn't meet another soul. As he slipped into bed and into sleep he wondered if a certain someone had had a hand in that. The thought only fed his rage. If the Outsider wanted him angry, then he would get what he wanted. ----- In the waking world he was strong, but in the Void Corvo felt invincible. Strong, vigorous, perceptible, in ways he could otherwise only dream of. Perhaps that was exactly what he was doing? "The Void is more than what you dream of, but when you enter it through dreaming you do alter it to certain degrees. More than others, I would say, thanks to your bond with me." Corvo glared down at the Outsider. "You've already recovered?" And he had thought the cut out tongue would create a longer period of silence. "You had a question, one that I felt warranted an answer." The Outsider turned his head so he could look up at Corvo and smiled. Despite him having recovered his tongue, or magicked it back, or however he had undone the damage he hadn't cared about removing the blood. The sight of the bloody mess made Corvo moan, and he tightened his grip on the Outsider's hips as he thrusted a few times, hard. He heard a breathless gasp and wondered if the wounds he had carved into the Outsider's chest were rubbing against the stone altar Corvo had bent him over. He shivered at the thought and put one hand on the Outsider's back, pressing him down further against the rough surface. The Outsider's hands scratched against the stone helplessly as he groaned. It was a pity, he thought as he looked down on the Outsider's unblemished back, that the wounds he created always disappeared when he next got the opportunity to look at them. But then, it also gave him more opportunities to create them, so he supposed he couldn't complain. Every time he could mark the Outsider anew, create new patterns of cuts, release his anger again and again and again into the pale body. Every time was like the first. Thrusting as deep as he could into the body beneath him Corvo took the knife he had left beside them on the altar. With one hand he kept pushing down the Outsider's shivering body, while he lightly traced the knife down the spine. It was barely grazing the skin, just hard enough to be felt but not enough to make any sort of mark. Then, when he moved it upwards, he slowly applied more force and watched as the blade cut skin. Blood slowly rose from the opened wound. Beneath him the Outsider scrambled at the stone surface again, taking heaving gulps of breath as Corvo bloodied his back. He tried to push up against Corvo's hands, tried to escape the knife, but there and then Corvo was the one with the power, the one who looked down on the other man with a mocking smile. (He knew it was only pretense, he knew that he couldn't actually do anything the god didn't allow him to, he knew, he knew, he knew, but still he pretended.) The Outsider's fingers were bloody from his struggle to get free, and he let out pained sobs as Corvo pressed the knife deeper. He was tightening around Corvo, and it was almost enough for Corvo to lose himself in, drop the knife and just thrust into the pliant body beneath him until he found his relief. The unblemished back was covered in cuts, blood flowing slowly down on the stone. Maybe it was enough. Corvo ripped the blade out of the Outsider's body, earning another pained wail, and threw it carelessly to the side. It was something Void-created anyway. Focusing instead on the release he could feel coming Corvo gripped the Outsider's hips and thrusted, mindless of his partner's pain or pleasure. He closed his eyes and let the sensations take control of him—the heat of the Outsider around him, the gasps escaping from the Outsider, the very knowledge of what exactly he was doing and to who—and soon he came to a stuttering halt. For a second he stood still, frozen in his position, then he slowly pulled out and leaned down to rest his forehead against the Outsider's shoulder blade. He wasn't surprised that it was yet again unwounded and all the blood gone as though never having been shed. The skin, when he explored what he could reach of the body beneath him, was whole and perfect. Just like it always was. With his eyes closed Corvo didn't see what happened, but he could feel their surroundings change, and he only let his body curl into the bed that took the place of the altar. In his arms the Outsider shifted, turning around, and put his own arms around Corvo. "I'm still here," the Outsider said as Corvo opened his eyes and searched his chest for any signs of the wounds he had created earlier. "Nothing you can do will stick, and neither will anything someone else does. I won't disappear." Corvo frowned and searched for a few moments more, but then he let out his breath and nodded. Some tension left his body as he pressed up against the Outsider, but not all. He doubted he would ever really feel relaxed or at peace again, even in the Void where he knew there was nothing that could challenge the Outsider's will. There wasn't anything, or anyone, that was untouchable. There was weaknesses, there always was, and if Corvo didn't find it then someone else would. "You'll just have to make sure to be the first one, then. If anyone can do it, it's you, my Corvo," the Outsider mumbled with a chuckle. "Until then, rest." Corvo considered, but soon closed his eyes. He was tired, empty, wrung out in a way that only the Outsider could make him—by taking all of his feelings into himself—and rest sounded so very good. At least in the Void he didn't dream.