Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“By the Hells!” She drew her hand back as another spark of hellfire came close to burning her palm. The replica engine sputtered before her. The runes drawn with dust from pulverized Dragonegg Mushroom had clearly done nothing but stoke the engine's fire - another dead end. Soleil leaned back in her chair, rubbing her tired eyes. 

It had been little over a year since she and her motley crew had defeated the Netherbrain and been named the Saviors of Baldur's Gate, and a little over a year since she had begged Karlach to return to the Hells, promising that she would find a way to fix her engine. 

Soleil dragged her hands down her face, fingertips catching on the delicate skin under her eyes. 

The tiefling had been like a sister to her, the two of them bonding over being the only ones with infernal blood in the party. The wizard had faced prejudice growing up and while attending the academy, but that had been mostly in the form of passive-aggressive comments and looks. The amount of direct vitriol Soleil had faced while traveling with a blind passenger in her greymatter would have made her break down, had she not had Karlachs strength and fire backing her up. 

Another sputter from the engine drew her thoughts back to the present, and she released the incantation making the fire flicker and burn out, and the engine clatter to the worktable with a loud thud. Dammon had helped forge the replica from notes he had made while studying the design in Karlachs chest, and both he and Soleil had been working tirelessly on figuring out some way to stabilize it enough to exist for a prolonged time on the material plane. But still no luck. Even with the blueprint Karlach and Wyll had found, they came up short.

Soleil looked over the rest of her messy work table. Pieces of gold and silver etched with arcane runes lay strewn about. When she wasn't tinkering with the engine, the wizard was experimenting with ways to enchant an item to grant immunity to radiance. 

Specifically radiance from the sun. The nature of the vampiric curse made it more tedious than it first had appeared, but Soleil suspected that if it had been so easy, she would have known of more than one day-walking vampire. Well, temporarily. Astarion had tested a few of her prototypes, but none had yet been as effective as that of an illithid tadpole. More often than not, he had just ended up with a nasty sunburn covering his pale skin. 

It seemed that Soleil had had more luck as an evocation wizard on the battlefield than as an enchantment wizard in her modest cottage. 

She took a sip from a cup of tea. It had managed to grow cold just from her negligence. If only the engine had such an easy fix. Soleil rose to her feet and stretched. Her tail had gone numb from sitting. She looked outside and saw the last lights of the sun kissing the horizon. With well-practiced moves, she called forth the magic needed for a Sending spell.

“My love, I hope I am not disturbing your peace. All is well here, besides your absence. I miss you. Keep safe and sleep well.” 

She only waited a few moments, before Halsin’s deep timbre met her ears.

“My heart, your voice could never be anything but the sweetest song to me. Never a disturbance. I am well, though I yearn for your-” The spell cut off at the 25th word, and Soleil let out a fond laugh. The druid could never be concise when it came to proclaiming his love for the tiefling. 

It had been close to a month since she'd last seen her lover. Halsin had been helping rebuild the former shadow-cursed lands. They'd both loathed to split, but Soleil needed to stay close to the city to spar with Dammon and for easier access to materials, and Halsin’s nature called him to be closer to the land, to restore balance and help heal the earth. Then there were the wards, the orphaned children who looked to Halsin as a father. If Soleil was honest with herself, they intimidated her a little. She had never seen herself as a maternal figure, and she certainly didn’t possess Halsin’s patience or calm. The druid reassured her that she was doing well with the kids, and Soleil genuinely wanted to help them, but she found that when her attention was stretched too thin, she’d fray and be of no use to anyone. Right now, her friends came first.

So this was the compromise: they'd take turns visiting each other, and in between they communicated semi-regularly with her Sending spells. Soleil let out a deep sigh as she thought about the big lonely bed awaiting her. An unwarranted thought mused that maybe she wouldn't be entirely alone tonight. Maybe she would be visited by the sensation of a phantom lover caressing her skin, as a certain incubus used her body to satisfy their urges. Soleil banished the thought and squashed the thing she didn't want to acknowledge as hope. 

She had hoped that Haarlep's interest in her form would have been brief. How many tieflings had they bedded, and among them, why would her form be anything of note? But even now, a year later, their use of her form only seemed to grow in demand. While she could enjoy the attention on lonely nights such as this, albeit shamefully, it had started to interfere with her work. Halsin had helped her concoct a mild neurotoxin that made her numb to the sensation and left no lasting damage. In theory. He'd still advised her to only consume it sparingly. Soleil had lost count of the empty bottles in her cupboard. She was pretty sure she'd need to brew a new batch before Halsin returned. She picked up her teacup and started to walk down the winding staircase that led to the main living area of the cottage. She might brew a pot of coffee and continue working through the night. She could slip the toxin into the drink if Haarlep had other plans for the night. Wouldn't be the first time. 

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she almost missed the figure standing by the small kitchen table, idly examining an abandoned game of lanceboard she'd played against Astarion on his last late-night visit. The pompous clothes made her think of the vampire, but the hair that curled beneath their ears was brown, not white. Recognition sent a wave of fear through her, her foot freezing by the last step of the stairway. 

But then memory kicked in. The silver-tongued devil that had toyed with her and her companions was no more. On a day that still made Soleils chest constrict with complicated feelings, they had broken into The House of Hope, destroyed the contract she'd signed, freed the cleric Hope, and killed the master of the house in his own foyer. 

Oh, and she'd slept with his personal incubus. 

Well, speak of the devil, or rather, think of the devil, in Soleils case.

"Good Evening, how… unexpected to see you here,” She was still cautious, unnerved that Haarlep had not tripped any of her alarms. She'd have to check if the enchantments were still set. The figure turned around, and she met their gaze. Brown, human eyes. It made sense that Haarlep knew this form too, but the sight still made her insides churn. Soleil didn't want to think too deeply about the stuff the incubus had gotten up to with their former master. At least not right now. “Unannounced visit aside, I am glad you're here,”

The fiend's facial expression was hard to read in the low light, so Soleil continued the rest of the way from the stairs to the open kitchen, lighting the arcane lamps as she went. 

“I've wanted to talk with you.” 

The light did not make their expression easier to read, but she'd say they looked… slightly amused. 

“Oh, have you now, little mouse?” Gods, even their voice was a perfect replica. Soleil had almost forgotten the effect that smooth, honeyed sound had on her.  No wonder it had been so easy for them to lure her into their bed. 

“Y-yes,” she managed to rasp, subtly clearing her throat. Had she left the fireplace burning, or was it just hot all of a sudden? She kept her hands busy by grabbing the pot she had enchanted to heat up and filling it with water with a quick spell. “Your use of my body has increased over the last month and it's interfering with my work.” She avoided looking at the almost ghost-like visage of the fiend while she spoke, keeping an eye on the pot. “Could you please tone it down? Or at least stick to the later hours.”

A sharp bark of laughter made her turn around from the boiling coffee. The amusement was clear on Haarlep's face now, the edges of their mouth curling upwards. 

“And whyever would I do that, when you're so delectable to play with?” They stalked closer, and Soleil instinctively took a step back, her lower back bumping into the edge of the kitchen counter. 

“Why though?” She groaned, annoyance and genuine curiosity mixing in her voice. “Tiefling women can't be in that high demand, and even if so, I'm nothing special. Couldn't you just use your own form? Does an incubus look that different from a tiefling?” 

Something she couldn't decipher went over Haarleps face before it returned to that amused smile.

 “Oh, but you are so very special, little mouse. You're my dearest treasure.” They purred, moving even closer. Soleil dodged out of the way before they could pin her to the counter, disguising her escape as going to grab a coffee mug. The ceramic felt ice cold against her sweaty palms. 

“'Your dearest treasure',” She scoffed. “It was one time, and it was only to get information. Nothing more.” Certainly not because she had had dreams about the real deal, and also not because of the damned insatiable curiosity that burned through her. Oh, how disappointing it had been to learn that the real devil apparently didn't have the prowess of the incubus. She'd have to take their word for it now. 

 “Why are you here? and don't spin me some bullshit about missing my face, you could look in a mirror if that were the case.” Soleil went to grab the coffee pot, but the fiend was blocking her way. She shot them a cross look. They just smiled disarmingly.

“But I do miss your beautiful face, my dear. A fake can't compare to the real deal, which is the root of my midnight visit. I am here to claim what is rightfully mine .” A sharp pang of fear, and something else, shot through Soleil, and she fought to keep her expression schooled. 

“I gave you my body, which you have had no issue using till now. You don't have my mind, I am not yours.” She said sternly. She wouldn't hesitate to disintegrate the incubus. Come to think of it, that would solve her whole problem. 

“Yes, you gave up your body, but is body and mind not connected?” They chuckled. “But no need to busy that pretty head of yours with philosophical questions, because I bring the tiebreaker,” They held a dramatic pause that made Soleil want to roll her eyes. “What is rightfully mine is your soul, as stated in the contract you ripped apart after your little tryst.” 

She was about to snap back when the words registered. 

Your little tryst.  

Her eyes widened.

Not our.

He had always been so precise with his choice of words.

Your.  

“No,” she whispered. “It can't be.”

The ceramic mug fell out of her hands and shattered on the floor.

“It can, and it is.” Smug satisfaction dripped from his voice.

"Raphael." At the terrified utterance of his name, a smile split his face, showing pearly white teeth. Soleil’s heart was about to punch a hole through her ribs.  

“You're dead. We killed you.” 

“Care to perform an exorcism on this spector then,” He oh so gently lifted her frozen hand and kissed her stiff fingers. The touch of his lips burned. “Or is this proof enough for you?” 

Soleil touched his cheek lightly. Raphael pressed his hand to hers, leaning into her touch. 

He was there. Flesh and blood. Warm and living. 

Soleil managed to find her voice, only a faint tremor in it as she spoke:

“ Mea Vita .” 

Raphael's eyes widened as a flash of sickly green necrotic energy burst from the wizard's palm, the Vampiric Touch siphoning his life energy. Soleil exploited his shock, dashing past the devil towards her front door. If she could just get to the teleportation circle that was drawn there! 

“You little leech!”

She didn't need to look back to know he was right on her tail. 

“Tormentum!” 

Six Magic Missiles flew from her hands and steered behind her, landing with loud consecutive thuds. She heard him snarl as she continued her sprint for the door. 

As soon as the tips of her toes touched the edge of the circle she screamed: “Ab hoc!” and in the same breath a massive weight slammed into her back, sending her tumbling forward through the glowing light of the Teleportation Circles runes. Her stomach lurched as the spell took hold, vertigo making her dizzy. Clawed hands grabbed her from behind, and with a sharp crack streaks of burning white hellfire rose up, mixing with the glowing light. 

She felt as if she were being ripped apart, the two spells battling for where to bring her. To her horror, the hellfire won, swallowing the glowing light of her magic, and in a blinding glint, she fell forward, heat stealing the breath from her lungs. She only avoided falling to her knees thanks to the arms holding her. Soleil drew a gasping breath of sweltering air, the scent of sulfur and cherries filling her nose. Raphael rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered in her ear:

“Welcome back, little mouse.”

Chapter Text

Soleil recognized this place, even after a year. A grand sprawling bed stood before her, flanked by tall windows, the landscape of barren Avernus visible beyond the balcony. If she could turn her head, she would see the magic glow from the rejuvenation pool, and the tall columns surrounding it. If she weren't deafened by the pounding of blood in her ears, she would probably be able to hear cries, screams, and manic laughter from outside this room. 

She was standing in Raphael's boudoir in the House of Hope. 

A place Soleil had hoped she would never return to.

She tried to wrestle away from the arms that cradled her, but the devil at her back only gripped her tighter, trapping her arms at her side.

“Look at you, squirming like an adder,” that amused lilt was back in Raphael's voice. “I need to defang you before I let you go. Reassurance that this won't be a repeat of your last visit.” Cold steel encircled her throat, and like the cutting of an umbilical cord, separating child from mother, Soleil felt her tether to the Weave snap.  

“You're familiar with the effect of the Sussur tree, right? If memory serves right, you infused a greatsword with bark from it on your travels. I do think this,” he gave the collar a tug. “Looks much lovelier against your throat than any blade.” He let go of her, and she slowly turned around to face him. She felt as if he had just amputated one of her limbs. She was sure the horror was apparent on her face, judging by the warm smile that spread on Raphaels. He was in his cambion form now, sharp teeth poking through between his red lips.

“Come now, don't look so glum. You would disintegrate me in my sleep if you were given the chance.” He strode over to a set of plush-looking chairs and sat down, crossing his legs and stretching his wings. “Now that the beast is collared, shall we have a conversation as civilized folk, my dear wizard?”

Soleil turned her head towards Raphael, mechanically, and gave him a blank stare. 

Then she bolted.

He might have cut off her access to magic, but he hadn't cut off her legs. She ran through the barrier, a lucky guess that it only kept folks out of the boudoir, not locking them in, and continued down the hallway. Debtors turned and looked at her, as she sped past them. She had no intention of joining their ranks, so Soleil ran faster than she ever had, scorching air burning her lungs, towards the Chamber of Egress. 

She rounded the corner to the chamber, almost tripping over Nubaldin, who was apparently still on cleaning duty. The rock gnome let out a startled yelp as Soleil all but trampled him as she continued her path toward the mirror at the center of the chamber. Baldur's Gate lay beyond its shining surface. She would seek refuge at a temple, glady supplicating herself before the gods she refused to pray to if they just granted her sanctuary. She could almost taste the salty air on her tongue as she leaped towards the mirror… and promptly smashed into its rock-hard surface, bouncing backward and hitting the ground with a painful thud, knocking the last air out of her lungs.

Soleil lay flat on her back, gasping for air, as the sound of an unhurried pace drew nearer. The tips of his wings entered her field of vision first, then the horns, and lastly, Raphael's smug face looked down upon her. 

“Are you done? Is the fight or flight out of your system?” The very marrow of Soleil’s being screamed at her to fight and flee, but with no magic she couldn't do shit, and there was nowhere for her to run. So she just drew another wheezing gasp in lieu of an answer. 

“While I do appreciate the sight of you at my feet, and I do believe that is where you belong,  I would prefer to continue our discussion in more comfortable surroundings.”

Soleil had finally caught her breath, and she clambered to her feet, pointedly ignoring the hand Raphael had reached down towards her. He lifted an eyebrow at her but said nothing. She dusted herself off and cleared her throat, the uncomfortable weight of the collar making itself known as she did. 

“Well, lead the way then, gracious host,” She said, vitriol dripping from her words. 

Raphael just gave her a tightlipped smile and linked his arm into hers. 

-

They walked in tense silence together. Sweat had started to bead at Soleils neck, both from the physical exertion she'd gone through and from the sweltering heat radiating off the devil by her side. It had been a fairly chill evening back on the Material plane, so this was quite an overturn, even for the tiefling. 

They re-entered the boudoir, and Raphael immediately steered them towards the chairs he'd invited her to sit in before her escape attempt. An uncorked bottle of red wine stood on a low table between the chairs. Soleil felt insulted at Raphael's apparent lack of urgency at her runoff. He'd even taken the time to pour two glasses before chasing after her. She sat down, positioning herself as far away from the devil as she could, without falling out of the chair. His long legs still brushed against hers, as he sat down and once again crossed them in front of himself. He grabbed a glass of wine and paused, looking expectantly at Soleil. She sighed, then took the remaining glass. Raphael wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of spiriting her away, just to poison her. That much she was certain of. So she mirrored him in taking a sip of the wine. The rich taste of a Thanyan vintage met her tongue, and she took a moment to savor it, before meeting the burning eyes of the devil before her. 

“Why have you brought me here, Raphael? What do you want?”

"It's always the questions with you,” he hummed and swirled the red wine around his glass as he spoke. “Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back,” she replied tersely. “Besides, weren't I supposed to be the mouse?" This question was rhetorical. Soleil was fully aware of the role she played before him. "Speaking of things coming back from the dead, let's address the hollyphant in the room; how are you here?"

"You think yourself the only one to have friends in high places? Very foolish to underestimate your adversary. The only difference is that my 'friends' tend to reside in lower places,” he gesticulated with the glass, almost sending the red liquid flying. “A favor here and a contract there brings you far. And that is what has brought me back for this encore.”

“Okay, so one of your warlocks brought you back. I don't want to imagine how many puppies they had to sacrifice to accomplish that.” It was a poor attempt at humor. The thought of what it took to bring a devil's soul back from the grip of death sent a shiver down the tiefling's spine. “I vividly remember you saying you'd flay me and hang me from a hook, should I break our contract. And yet, my biggest organ remains attached to my person.” 

“Would you prefer it so? Attached, that is.” The threat was clear in his voice. 

Soleil could do nothing but nod. 

“Good, then listen up. The only reason your musculature is not currently laid bare before me is because I prefer your company, as opposed to that yammering human bomb.” The dig at Gale was rich coming from a man, who liked the sound of his own voice so much, but Soleil kept that comment to herself.  

“I still need you to fulfill your end of the contract. Do that, and I'll consider overlooking your little… attempt on my life.” Is it an attempt, if you actually succeed in killing the person? Again, she kept the comment to herself and took another sip of the wine. 

“The crown was destroyed,” she stated matter-of-factly. “It's at the bottom of the Chionthar.”

Raphael snapped his fingers, and in a puff of smoke, the broken pieces of the Crown of Karsus appeared, floating in front of them. The Neatherstones they'd fought the Dead Three’s chosen for gleamed in the candlelight.

“This cat is not afraid to get wet.” He leaned back in his chair, studying her reaction. For her part, Soleil tried to hide her chock by downing the rest of her wine. She held out her glass, expecting her host to fill it. Said host gave her a cold smile, as he complied. She took a sip before speaking.

“Well, you have the crown. Do I need to hand it to you? Ceremoniously deliver it to you, swaddled in the finest Calimshan silk gold can buy, and placed on a silver platter?” The mix of exhaustion and wine was making her tongue loose, but Raphael just responded to her audacity with a dry chuckle.

“I'm not surprised you've forgotten the terms of our contract,” he said, finding yet another way to imply that she was dim. Gods, Soleil was already so tired of this man, and he had only been back in her life for about half an hour. Said man continued: 

“It has been a year after all so let me remind you: You were to deliver me the crown in one piece .” 

Soleil looked from Raphael to the crown, which was very much in several pieces, and back to Raphael. He didn't look the slightest bit angry, which scared her more than anything.

“So to circle back to your very first inquiry of why I have brought you here and what I want, the answer is quite simple: I want you to deliver upon your promise, and I have brought you here to do so.” 

Soleil was amazed to find that the delicate-looking stalk of the wineglass had not snapped in her hand, the way her grip was tightening, her knuckles going white. 

“Meaning?” She demanded through gritted teeth. Raphael sighed. 

“Must I spell it out for you, little mouse?” Again with implying she was stupid! “Very well. You are not to leave the House of Hope, before you have reforged the Crown of Karsus and delivered it to me. Upon deliverance, you will be free to return to your existence on the Material Plane and live out the rest of your natural life. When that meager time is up, I will claim your undying soul.”

That last part made her pause. “You have no right to claim my soul, Raphael,” she stated carefully. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t I? Pray tell, for how I see it, you broke our contract and thus forfeited your soul,” the incredulity was clear in his voice. Soleil pressed forward. 

“How was I to deliver the crown to you and fulfill my contract, when up until this very night I thought you were dead?” She was silently begging, that for once, the lanceboard would play in her favor. 

“I’d say the fact that you were the one to… put me into that predicament, is enough grounds for me to claim collateral. You being here, speaking, and not screaming while I pluck your pretty little eyeballs out of your pretty little skull, is a testament to my tolerance.”

“Eugh, no, I’ve tried the eyeball thing, don't remind me,” Soleil shuddered at the unwelcome reminder of why she appeared to have heterochromia now.

“So I presume you can see, that terminating your contractor would equal the relinquishment of your soul.”

“Of course, that is a standard clause in pretty much every Pact Insidious,” she agreed with an air of casualness she didn't feel. Time to go all in. “but that wasn't a part of our contract. Because that would be you admitting, that there was a chance of us beating you.”

The gambit was set. Soleil was very much betting her freedom, her very soul, on Raphael's pridefulness, but she had never felt more certain about an assumption. She could see the muscles in the cambion’s jaw work, and for a moment, she believed she was done for. He'd do away with the gentleman's act and rip her throat out with his teeth. 

But instead, Raphael laughed.

“Very clever, I give you that, little mouse. But do not believe yourself free from the claw just yet. You destroyed our written agreement, so it will be your word against mine,” he said, implications clear: what sway does a mere motal’s word have, against that of an archdevil’s son? Even with her title as Savior of Baldurs Gate, that meant jack-shit here.

She only had two allies in the Hells. Wyll and Karlach could stand witness, but they’d be putting themselves in danger of being found by Zariel, and Soleil would never ask that of her friends. But this was also the crux of her play; While she was a nobody in the eyes of the denizens of The Nine Hells, Raphael had his reputation at stake.

“You’re not going to face me in court, that would be wasting your precious time, and it would be admitting to the rest of Baator that you got bested by a group of mortals with worms in their brains.” Her bluff was wearing thin. She would soon have to give something up, sacrificing a few pawns, or risk losing the fragile advantage she currently held.

“The way you’ve depicted me in your mind is rather presumptuous,” Raphael’s voice was smooth like honey, tinged with a bitter undercurrent of disdain. “So, in this little scenario you’ve conjured, where do we go from here? Do I show you the door and thank you for the company?”

“Gods no, that would require you to be nice. I haven't mischaracterized you so egregiously,” Soleil knew she was walking on a knife's edge, but she couldn't help herself. Busting the egos of arrogant asses was one of her favorite pastimes. Time to reel it in though. “As I see it, our old agreement still stands; I must deliver the Crown of Karsus to you, in one piece. Once done, I’m free of debt.” She gestured to the floating pieces of the crown. “You can add those to my worktable, and I’ll see to it.”

Raphael looked at her, and if Soleil didn't know better, she’d say she saw admiration in his burning eyes. Then his mouth quirked up in a patronizing half-smile.

“Oh, the Mouse thought it had bested the Cat,

And would scamper home to its burrow, just like that.

It had a witty chat, so clever and bright,

Believing it had won, feeling full of delight.

But here comes the twist, a detail it missed -

The Cat saw through the ruse, its cunning dismissed.

As the Mouse turned to flee, it felt a cold chill,

For it realized there'd be no escape from the Cat’s skill.”

His dulcet voice made Soleil suppress a shiver, though she kept her voice as steady as she could for her reply.

“Very lovely. If the whole ’tricking mortals and claiming their souls’ thing doesn’t work out, I can hook you up with Baldur’s Mouth, and see if they have space for a poetry section in the gazette. I bet Jelliwig would love your way with words.” 

“Flattery is always welcome, but it won’t get you out of this predicament, dear wizard. You are staying at my side until the crown is reforged. That is final.”

Soleil’s soul may be her own, but without her allies, the game was still stacked against her.

“And if I refuse?” She needed to know all her options, even though the game was clearly already over. 

Paladin takes Wizard. 

Checkmate. 

Raphael's triumphant smile was more just the bearing of teeth. 

“How attached would you say you are to your molars? Your fingernails? Your tail? I won't let you pass out while departing from them.” Soleil felt bile rise in her throat, and it had nothing to do with the wine. By some miracle, she kept it down. She considered the only move she had left. 

“Alright, I'll stay until I’ve reforged the crown.”

Raphael clapped his hands together, and the broken pieces of the crown disappeared. Soleil felt a weight settle in her chest. It wasn't a true surrender, but complicity. At least that's what she told herself. The look in Raphael's eyes told another story.

“Wonderful.” The devil held up his glass for a toast. Complicity. Soleil clinked her glass against his and he downed the rest of his wine and got up from the chair.

“Now, the hour has grown quite late, and I need you to be sharp and well-rested tomorrow.” He held out a hand for her to get up as well. “Join me for bed?”

Soleil stared at him, aghast. “ Join you?! ”

He didn't skip a beat. “How else will I ensure you won't take off into the night? You've already shown your propensity for running.” 

She sputtered. “Don't you have a guest room or something?” 

His left eye twitched slightly at that, but he kept his hand outstretched towards her. 

“If you want to spend the night chained up in the dungeon, that can certainly be arranged,” There was an undercurrent of something she couldn't place in his voice. “Though you wound me. I wouldn't be your strangest choice of bedfellow. Far from it.”

The fact that Soleil didn't know whether he was referring to the bear, the incubus, or the mindflayer, made embarrassment darken her cheeks. Complicity, Soleil reminded herself. She took his hand and rose to her feet. 

“I'll take the bed.” Raphael looked like a cat who had gotten its cream.

“Splendid.” 

-

Soleil had already been wearing her loungewear before her night was so rudely interrupted. A simple robe, soft cotton pants, and sandals. She settled for just removing her sandals and climbed into the massive bed. She laid on her side, back turned to the rest of the bed, and tried to get comfortable, muscles tensed in anticipation. The bed was very soft, the silk sheets smooth against her skin, but Soleil couldn't shake the thought of the last time she'd laid down in it. Bare and on her back as Haarlep pleasured her. The memory alone made her squeeze her thighs together. Was Raphael going to do something similar to her? 

The other side of the bed dipping almost made her jump out of her skin, and she curled in on herself tighter. She could feel the heat, radiating off the devil beside her, contrasting the cool silk of the bedding. The room was silent, save for her short breath. Raphael groaned. 

“I can all but hear your heart pounding. Calm yourself, little mouse, I am not going to do anything, unless you force my hand.” Ah, he thought she was scared. That assumption was much less mortifying than the actual reason her heart was galloping faster than a Nightmare. 

Soleil tried to focus on her breathing, the way Halsin had instructed her to do when she was having an actual panic attack. Gradually, her pulse slowed, and her shoulders relaxed. 

She'd had her doubts about ever falling asleep next to the devil, but the events of the day seemed to catch up to her at this moment, and Soleil yawned. If she strained her ears, she could hear the soft, steady breathing of her bedfellow. 

Soleil closed her eyes, and soon, a deep dreamless slumber found her.

Chapter Text

Consciousness found her gradually. The first thing she noticed was the heat. Soleil was drenched in sweat, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She grumbled and tried to roll over, only to find her limbs thoroughly entangled with that of the man next to her. 

“Halsin,” she mumbled groggily, pushing weakly at his chest with her free hand. “Lemme go, it's too warm.” She felt the rumbles throughout her body as low, condescending laughter filled her ears, and her eyes shot open. The naked chest she was currently using as a pillow was in fact not that of her burly druid. The memories of the night before came crashing down with the same speed and grace of an ogre’s greatclub, and Soleil tried to move away from Raphael, but she was totally stuck. Even her tail was entwined with his, which was embarrassing.

"Good Morning, little mouse,” his voice was gravelly from sleep, and she could feel the vibrations from it through his chest.  

“Let. Me. Go.” She said, adrenalin waking her up fully. Raphael just chuckled and gave her a squeeze. 

“Only cuddly in your sleep, I see,” He finally let her go, and Soleil scrambled to get away from him, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. In her frantic disentanglement, she’d noticed more and more naked red flesh. Had he been sleeping nude? Soleil caught herself before her curious eyes could wander further. 

“I thought you said you wouldn't touch me,” she grumbled.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Raphael stretching, wings rippling behind him. 

“I said I wouldn't do anything unless you forced me,” he corrected her.

“Semantics.”

“There is nothing more important when dealing with a devil, my dear. Besides,” he caressed her tail, making her jump slightly. “You were more insistent than a Rope of Entanglement. I didn't do anything apart from getting comfortable.”

Soleil hid her face in her hands, heat rising to her cheeks. She didn't think she would be that touch-starved after only a month away from her lover, but her literal unconscious actions said otherwise. She looked up from her hands, a retort ready on the tip of her tongue, and flinched with a loud yelp as she was met with the sight of Raphael's yellow eyes mere inches from her face. She hadn't even heard him get up from the bed! Soleil fell backward, her head colliding with… thighs? She looked around confused and was startled again at the sight that met her when she turned her head.

That confirmed it: Raphael slept nude. 

Her wide-eyed staring was interrupted by the sound of joyous laughter, and her focus snapped back to the figure at her front. 

“Master, you didn't tell me that our favorite plaything would be joining us in the flesh!” Surprisingly, this version of Raphael was covered more than the actual devil, albeit sparingly, with black leather straps crisscrossing their red skin. Soleil met the heavy gaze of the incubus. 

“Greetings Haarlep,” she said, mouth dry. 

“Oh, no need to be so formal, pet,” They stalked forwards and climbed onto the bed, form shimmering and warping as they went until Soleil’s own face was above her. “I’ve gotten to know you quite intimately since you last were in this bed.” It was weird, hearing her own voice sounding so seductive. Soleil was pretty sure that the same words would sound forced and awkward coming from her own mouth.

Haarleps form wasn't a perfect match anymore, but a picture from a year ago frozen in time. Since her last encounter with the incubus, Soleil had grown her hair out and put on a bit of weight. The version of Soleil currently pinning her down still had short, neatly combed back hair, and toned muscles from daily hiking and fighting. Haarlep noticed the changes too. “Mmm but it seems I'm due for an update,” They purred and twisted a lock of Soleil’s long black hair around their finger.  

“Don’t,” Raphael's tone was firm, the command making both Soleil and Haarlep freeze. “Keep the old form Haarlep. I’ve grown quite… fond of it.” 

Soleil didn't know if she should be insulted that Raphael apparently preferred the way she’d looked a year ago. The thought was quickly shunted to the back of her thoughts, as Haarlep slowly started grinding against her thigh, echoes of pleasure sparking through her. 

“As you wish master,” They sighed and leaned forward. Soleil braced for the kiss, but to her surprise, they changed trajectory, mouth landing beside the tiefling's head, on Raphael's hard cock. Soleil felt ridges and bumps against her own tongue, as the incubus kissed and licked their way up the length. 

“Will our pet be partaking in our morning routine?” purred Haarlep in between licks. 

“I don’t know, will she?” sighed Raphael. It took a moment for Soleil to register that he had asked her genuinely. Haarlep was still grinding against her, the slow drag of their hips making it difficult to focus. She lifted her head from Raphael's lap, craning her neck to meet the expectant look of his golden eyes. 

“Am I allowed not to?” she sounded way too out of breath for her own liking. The bitter taste of precum laced her tongue, as Haarlep continued to work between them. Raphael bared his teeth. 

“Asking for permission? What a good pet I’ve found,” Soleil bit back a moan, blaming it on the incubus. “You are free to join or leave. Again, I won't do anything unless you force me to.”  Her body briefly warred with her mind. The way Haarlep ground against her felt so good, but Soleil steeled her resolve. 

“I’d like to leave then,” she finally managed to grit out. Raphael motioned with his hand, and Haarlep moved enough for her to shimmy out from under them. She stood up on shaky legs, quickly turning her back to the lewd display on the bed. “Can I request that you don't do that with my body ?” It was hard to speak around the phantom feeling of a cockhead in her mouth. Raphael hummed, pretending to think about it. 

“No,” he answered simply, voice brokering no room for arguments. She almost buckled, as Haarlep started to circle their clit with their fingers, firm pressure making her lower stomach swoop with pleasure. Soleil hurried towards the pool, lest she’d crumple to a quivering pile on the floor, quickly stripping her sweat-soaked nightclothes and submerging herself into the warm rejuvenating waters. She moaned quietly, both from pleasure, relief, and distress.

Enjoying Haarlep's exploits in the privacy of her own bed had been one thing. Now she knew that the hands caressing her breasts and parting her folds belonged to Raphael, and she'd never wished more for a cup of neurotoxin in her life. It felt so much more personal now, harder to disassociate from what was happening to her. The fact that she couldn't see the movements and actions made the feeling so much more potent.

Soleil stifled a whimper as his fingers entered her. Behind her, she heard her own voice cry out with abandon. Haarlep was definitely laying it on thick, but for whose sake, Soleil couldn’t say. 

Raphael's long fingers curled forward, expertly finding that spot inside her that made her skin tingle with electricity. Had it not been for the collar, Soleil would have thought she had somehow accidentally cast Lightning Bolt. The fingers continued to plunge into her, and her nails bit into her thighs as she fought to choke back any sound that threatened to escape her lips. She wanted her magic back if only to cast Silence on herself. A whine managed to escape her as the fingers stilled and withdrew, leaving her on the precipice of release. 

Soleil’s heaving chest caused the waters around her to ripple. She tried to focus on the warmth of the water, to center herself, when the slide of a hard cock against her throbbing sex startled a moan out of her. She sank her teeth into the meat of her hand, as the ridged flesh rubbed agonizingly slowly against her clit. The metallic taste of blood coated her tongue, as he pressed forward, filling her in one fluid motion.

This isn't real , she tried to remind herself. The water is real, the pain is real, the blood is real, and Raphael isn’t actually fucking you, he’s doing this to mess with you, but that fact was inconsequential when she could hear the sounds he made as he continued to thrust his length into her with a brutal pace. His low groans and snarls echoed in the room, and Soleil damned her own curiosity for wanting to know how the cambion looked coming undone. She was sliding down, further into the pool, body squirming and trying to escape an adversary it could feel but not see. A rough finger came down to put pressure on her throbbing clit, and Soleil lost it. Her legs spasmed as the pleasure crashed throughout her body and she slipped underwater as she came, her scream muffled.

She stayed under the surface, boneless, lungs burning. Then she resurfaced, gasping for air. 

“Drowning in a rejuvenation pool would be rather ironic, don’t you think?” commented Raphael, voice only a slightly bit breathless. Soleil pointedly kept her eyes down as he joined her on the opposite side of the pool, opting to examine her hand instead. The bite mark had healed, there was not even a slight indent left. 

“I'm sure that would be the sort of dramatics that you'd enjoy,” she huffed, looking up at the devil. Not a hair was out of place, his posture relaxed and smile sardonic. Comparably, the tiefling looked a mess, wet hair clinging to her horns and face, and breathing heavily. 

“I would, if it were anyone but you, little mouse. No, your death should be dramatic, yes, ironic, maybe, but nothing so pointless,” the way Raphael said it made Soleil think that her demise was a well-trodden fantasy of his. It most likely was. Before she could ask about it, her own naked body slid into the water beside her, movements languid and luring. Haarlep moaned loudly in bliss, and Soleil cringed at the sound. The incubus was definitely overexaggerating their enjoyment now. 

“I’m shocked you didn't join us, pet. We had so much fun last time we played together,” Haarlep ran a teasing finger down their front making Soleil to suppress a shiver. “Have you not enjoyed all the attention I've given your body? you’ve been very popular.” 

“I haven't, no,” she answered, only a half-truth. She had been enjoying the incubus's attention when it wasn’t an inconvenience or painful for her. “I fear that if I drink any more toxin to numb myself, I'll be more caustic than a gray ooze.”

She saw genuine hurt cross Haarlep’s face. “You'd rather poison yourself than feel me work?” 

Halsin had once said she had the saddest puppy-dog eyes. Now Soleil understood why the druid could never say no to her, as those eyes were staring at her. Why was she suddenly feeling bad for them? They were the one abusing her body!

“Your work interrupts my work,” she stated and turned toward Raphael, who was watching the pair with bored interest. “Speaking of, where am I going to be working on the crown?”  

“Are you in a hurry to be somewhere, my dear wizard?” he drawled. 

“As a matter of fact, yes, I am in a hurry to be somewhere,” she answered crossly. “Home, but anywhere that isn't here would be great .” 

“You insult me," said the cambion with what was definitely mock insult is his voice. "Have I not been the most gracious host to you little mouse? Let you drink the best I have to offer, sleep in the softest bed, and now bathe in my waters?”

“You've literally put a collar on me.” She said flatly. 

“You can view that as leaving your weapons in the armory,” he said while waving his hand dismissively. “Honestly, it should be a common courtesy for your kind.” 

“If it's any consolation, I do think you look positively provocative wearing that,” purred the incubus. “Only fitting for our new pet to be wearing a collar, and nothing else.” Heat darkened Soleil’s cheeks, both from embarrassment and anger. 

“I swear by Tasha’s tits, if you don't give me clothes, I will find a way to kill you again Raphael, lack of magic be damned!” 

“Ah, wouldn't that have been a vision? The last things my eyes gazed upon before being closed forever: The naked bosom of the Saviour of Baldur's Gate!” mused Raphael with a chuckle, eyes sweeping over the tieflings chest without shame. Soleil narrowed her eyes at the cambion, crossing her arms in front of her. His gaze just shifted pointedly to Haarlep, who was flaunting their breasts without a care.

“I mean it,” stressed Soleil. “I will find a way.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it,” said Raphael, not a trace of worry in his voice. “But do not fear, you will of course be equipped with a fitting wardrobe, during your stay here.” He made it sound like she was on a vacation in Cormyr, rather than a prisoner in Avernus. 

“Alright, if the mouse is eager to get to work we shall not stall. Let's get dressed and eat some food. After that, I’ll show you your work quarters.” Raphael stood up abruptly, water dripping down his sculpted body and massive wings, and Soleil fought with the need to plunge her head under the water again, and not resurface. 

Haarlep laughed at her face, delighted at her expense as always.

Chapter Text

"Is it really necessary for you to be here?" complained Soleil lifting her finger from the page of the tome. After she'd eaten breakfast, Raphael had led her to the study. It was a nice room, much bigger than the one in her cottage, filled with worktables, plush chairs, and books aplenty. No windows though, and only a single door. The devil had ordered that she read up on Netherese magic. When she opened the first of the tomes and saw that it was written in Netherese, she turned to the devil.

"I can't read this," she stated.

"Really, dear? And here I thought you the brightest of the bunch," he remarked, tapping a clawed fingertip against his lips. "Perhaps I should’ve employed the help of Gale Dekarios instead…" 

"I apologize that I don’t know the language of an empire that fell over a thousand years ago, I’m not older than a millennium!" She had reflexively called upon her magic, the words to Comprehend Languages at the tip of her tongue, when the collar sapped the energy from her, snuffing the spell before she even uttered the incantation. Raphael looked at her with mirth in his eyes. Soleil muttered a curse under her breath.

"Now, now, my dear mage, I do think I know someone who can help you."

And thus, she was sitting in a plush armchair, heavy tome in her lab, guided by the spell and her finger, as she slowly read through it. Or at least tried to. Soleil had a hard time doing anything while being watched, and the eyes of Raphael's dwarven familiar were currently glued to her. 

"My master has commanded me to watch you, so that is what I will do," answered Korrilla. She was sitting in another armchair across from the tiefling. Soleil let out a derisive laugh.

"Didn't you get enough of spying on me a year ago?" she muttered. "Surely you must have more important matters to attend to, than watching me read."

"No." The dwarf responded flatly, not specifying which part she was answering. The wizard groaned in frustration. There was literally no reason for this; she was still wearing the collar. It was Korilla’s magic that allowed her to read the Netherese script. She had nothing to aid her and had nowhere to go. A jailor was hardly necessary. 

They sat in silence for a beat while Soleil pretended to read the page she had been stuck on for the last twenty minutes.  

"Were you the one who brought him back to life?" asked Soleil suddenly. Korrilla had been there the day they killed Raphael. Soleil had knocked her out with a Sleep spell, leaving it up to Hope to decide the fate of her traitorous sister. Soleil hadn't been surprised when the cleric had decided to spare her sister, even after everything she'd put her through; the tiefling knew well how complicated familial relationships could be. She absentmindedly wondered whether Korrilla had repaid Hope's kindness, or if she should start planning for more than just her own escape from the House. 

"Devils below, no," answered Korrilla, dragging Soleil back to the present. "I do not possess that kind of power. But I am pleased he chose to keep me in his service after all."

"Does your contract involve sororicide this time around?" 

Korrilla’s nose scrunched in annoyance.

"Hope is still alive if that is what you’re probing for."

"Mhm, she was alive in the dungeons the first time I met her," Soleil pointed out. "Forgive me if that statement doesn't exactly put me at ease."

"Alive and not here. I cannot give you any more details." 

Soleil quieted at that. Part of her hoped that Hope had escaped for good before Raphael’s return to the House, while another, more pessimistic part wondered if the dwarf had simply traded one prison cell for another. Anyway, there was nothing she could do while imprisoned herself, but the thought that she wouldn’t have to worry about breaking Hope out brought her some comfort. 

Another couple of rather unproductive hours went by, marked by Soleil asking Korrilla to recast Comprehend Languages. Lunch was brought to the study, and by late afternoon Soleil had given up completely on doing any more reading. She decided to go for a walk, Korrilla falling into step right on her tail. 

As she paced the hallways of the House of Hope her thoughts went to her possibilities for rescue. How long would it take for anyone to notice that she was missing? The wizard was prone to self-isolation when a project caught her undivided attention after all. It would be a couple of days before Halsin worried about the lack of Sending messages and a couple more days' travel from Moonrise to the outskirts of Baldur's Gate where her cottage was located. Astarion might swing by her home for a late-night visit, but he might just assume she was visiting Halsin. Dammon would be the same case. Gale cast a Sending spell her way every now and again, but that could take weeks before he’d even question her lack of reply. Shadowheart was with her parents, and Lae´zel was fighting a civil war among the Tears. Even so, when her lover or any of her friends inevitably found her abode empty, how would they know where to find her? They, as she had, believed that Raphael was dead, and  a Scrying spell would be limited to the Material Plane while a Sending spell would have a chance of failing.

Karlach and Wyll might be her best bet if she could get a message to them.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone, who isn’t a pit fiend, be so engrossed in infernal armor," mused a low voice, startling Soleil from her thoughts. She realized she was standing in the archive, staring blankly at a pedestal that held a bulky, wicked-looking helm with no eyeholes. Raphael stood beside her in his human form, brown eyes watching her intently. "Though I’d advise a bit more subtlety in your schemes little mouse." Soleil’s brow furrowed in confusion until her gaze fell on the infernal script inscribed on the plaque at the base of the pedestal: Helm of Devil Command.

"I don't need any magic items to cast Dominate Monster," Soleil countered, guessing at the helms abilities. "But you can rest easy; I wouldn't be able to attune to it anyway while wearing this," She motioned to the collar. Raphael smirked at her before turning to Korrilla. "You can take the rest of the day off," he turned back to Soleil and looped his arm into hers. They strolled through the archive, and Soleil, now fully aware of the magical artifacts she had been passing by while lost in thought, took in their presence.

"How are your studies progressing?" Raphael asked, his tone suddenly reminiscent of Soleil’s father. She grimaced.

"It’s hard to know where to begin without my magic," she replied.

"I’m sure you’ll find a way to assess the damage. Being left at the bottom of the Chionthar hasn’t been kind on such an old artifact," he said, and Soleil made another face at his chastising tone. It didn’t help that it reminded her even more of her father.

"I’m impressed you managed to convince Gale Dekarios to abandon his ambitions and his hope of reconciling with his scorned lover. How did you manage that, little mouse?"

She shrugged, looking at an elegant blade held by a display rack. She recognized it as a Frost Brand.

"A general disdain for gods and those with god complexes, I suppose," she muttered. She and Gale had shared many long, heated discussions about his ambitions and, in his words, her lack thereof. But Soleil had never desired the power of a god, whether earned or granted. She trusted Mystra with the Crown of Karsus about as much as she did Raphael, which was to say: not at all. 

"Rather thankless, carrying disdain for the power that grants you control over the Weave, dear wizard. The very essence of your magic is an act of worship to Mystra." Soleil didn’t miss the fact that her ability to wield magic was currently dependent on that damned collar and by extension, Raphael. She would rather sever her own head than pray for her powers, whether that prayer be to a god or to the devil by her side.

"Why would I worship The Mother of Magic?" she asked, turning to face Raphael. "Should I dedicate all my achievements to my actual mother, because she created my flesh and bone in her womb? Are your achievements actually all thanks to The Lord of No Mercy because you came from his ballsack?" The cambion sneered at the mention of his archdevil sire.

"Don’t you ever dare bring him up in my presence again," he growled, towering over her even in human form, fire in his eyes. "Let alone suggest that he is responsible for any of my accomplishments!" Their chests were almost pressed against each other, and Soleil could feel the heat radiating off of him. Her pulse was racing, and she fought the urge to take a step back, standing tall in the face of the devil's anger. 

"I thought so," she said. "Likewise, I am the one who studied and honed my skills. Nothing was ever gifted to me. Mystra's will might be why I am able to wield the power of the Weave, but I will never thank her for it." Her words got a bit heated, as they tended to do when she was trying to defend her abilities.

"Most fascinating," Raphael mused, voice still tinged with fading fury, and eyes keen with interest. "Come. We are going to continue this chat over dinner."

—

Soleil had finished her plate a while ago and was currently sipping from a glass of dry Arabellan. The meal had been extravagant, perhaps even excessive, but Soleil wasn’t surprised. Devils were hardly known for holding back when it came to indulgence. She really didn't have room to complain. And yet…

"Are voyeuristic tendencies a requirement for all of your subordinates?"

Raphael's hand froze, a piece of meat suspended on his fork, caught in mid-air.

"Pardon?"

Soleil shrugged nonchalantly.

"I was just curious. Haarlep is self-explanatory, but Korrilla must be able to recount every detail of how I fidget with my tail by now. So, I figured she might get some pleasure out of watching." her voice was as dry as the wine. Raphael chuckled, setting his fork down on the plate with a soft clink.

"Little mouse, by now you must have realized that everything in this house exists solely for my pleasure," he said, dabbing his mouth with a napkin before continuing. "Korrilla does as I command. Her thoughts and feelings on the matter are inconsequential to me." The fact that he cared so little about one of his most loyal followers made Soleil uneasy. It definitely made it harder for her to plead her own case, but she'd try anyway.

"Then it might please you to know that the crown would be reforged much sooner if I were able to work on it without being monitored," she stated, trying to appeal to Raphael's interests. A malevolent smile spread across the cambions face.

"Why, does the mouse suffer from stage fright?" he cooed with mock sympathy. Soleil narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance and grit her teeth. 

"I can't work while being watched," she explained. Call it a holdover from an obsessive teacher breathing down her neck, waiting for the tiniest slip of the pen, or something else. She didn't know exactly why being observed was such an issue for her, but it bothered her to no end.

"You'll have to manage for now," Raphael replied, his tone devoid of any warmth. "You have given me no reason to trust you enough to grant you the luxury of privacy. Prove your loyalty to me, and then we can discuss making your stay here more suited to your preferences."

"How?" Soleil threw her hands up in frustration. "How can I prove that I want to do your damned work, when I can't focus like this?" The fiend across from her watched as if she was the most fetching theater performance he had ever witnessed. 

"I’m sure your brilliant mind will come up with something you can bargain with," Raphael paused to take a sip of his wine. Soleil wanted to throw her glass in the devil's face. "After all, you don't have many pieces left to play with."

—

Most of Soleil's days at the House of Hope unfolded much like her first. She’d wake up snuggled up to Raphael, leave when Haarlep arrived, and spend the majority of her time in the study doing what little work she could while being observed. The only thing that for some reason changed was that Haarlep's morning encounters weren't as… satisfying as the first day. Soleil was left high and dry, immensely frustrated, and further unable to focus. She didn't even have the privacy to take care of her frustrations herself. If Korrilla weren't watching her, she’d be hitched at Raphael’s elbow. But most of the time the gold dwarfs' eyes were on her as if they'd been fastened to her form with Sovereign Glue.

On some days, the devils would even come back for a second round, forcing Soleil to suppress her reactions in front of Korrilla, much to the frustration of both women. When Korrilla voiced her dissatisfaction, Soleil snapped back, telling her she was welcome to discuss her working conditions with her patron.

On the sixth day, Soleil was about to explode from the overstimulation of constant monitoring and pent-up sexual frustration. She had taken to staring angrily at the broken crown on the work table as if it would reforge itself within the flames of her rage. 

"Darling, if looks could kill, that crown would be as shattered as the Netherese Empire." The voice was unmistakably Raphael's amused lilt, but with a different tone, one even more teasing. Soleil didn't take her eyes off the crown.

"To what do I owe the displeasure of your visit, Haarlep?" Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the incubus place a hand on their chest, offended. 

"Displeasure?!" Haarlep sauntered into the wizard's direct line of sight, blocking the crown. They were wearing loose clothes, more covered than Soleil had ever seen them, while still leaving little to the imagination. She met their burning eyes with her own. "A visit from me always results in the most delectable pleasure!" Soleil rolled her eyes. The incubus continued unbothered. "I am here to entertain you, while dear Korrilla runs some errands for our master."

They plopped down on a fainting couch, loose shirt further exposing their chest. Soleil caught herself staring at the ripples of their toned muscles, and when she once again met Haarlep's eyes the amusement in them told her that her slip had not gone unnoticed.

"Hells forbid I get a single moment of peace," she mumbled, abandoning all hope of doing anything productive with the incubus in the room. She moved to an armchair across from the couch. "Why are you even here?" 

"I just told you: Korrilla is-" Soleil held up her hand to stop them. Her shot nerves were making her skip steps. 

"I mean here, in The House of Hope, in Raphael's employ. I thought you didn't like him?"

Haarlep pursed their lips, thinking for a moment.

"After your visit, I did go back to Cania to work for Mephistopheles," they started, leaning back on the couch and stretching their legs. "It was Raphael who sought me out a couple of months ago, after his resurrection," Haarlep took in Soleils surprised expression. "I was shocked, too! I mean, I knew he was aware that I had originally been given to him by his father as part of a scheme to distract him, so I was hesitant when he offered to buy my contract. It's not that I necessarily disliked him, but fucking the same person for hundreds of years becomes so dull, especially when you’re basically just being used as a masturbation aid."

Soleil’s body was conflicted on how to respond to that idea.  Her mind dismissed it as awful, yet her pent-up body responded with unexpected arousal at the thought. If Haarlep noticed, they chose, for once, not to humiliate her by bringing it up.

"So we renegotiated some terms: I get more time off to satiate my own needs, and he is required to bring me to orgasm at least once when we couple. In exchange, I’m banned from using your form with anyone other than him. Such a shame, your body can really handle a pounding. Comes with dating a druid, I suppose." They smirked, wiggling their eyebrows for emphasis. "But on the bright side, he really makes an effort when I take your form!"

There was so much to digest that Soleil just stared dumbfounded at the incubus. So the attention that her body had gotten the last couple of months, that she had shamefully enjoyed in her loneliness, had all been from Raphael. Her thighs pressed together at the realization.

"Well, he's not honoring his part of the deal," Soleil grumbled, her body’s reaction making that point clear. Haarlep chuckled, a knowing glint in their eyes.

"Oh yes he is dear, he just makes me switch form when I come." So the edging was not just the result of poor performance, but deliberate torture for her sake. Soleil groaned. 

She should've figured: she was in the Hells after all.

Chapter Text

Haarlep stayed in the study, keeping Soleil occupied with raunchy stories that did nothing to help the frustrating ache in her gut. Dinner was brought in by a servant for her, and she raised her brow at Haarlep. 

“Aren't you hungry?” she asked, cutting into the meat on her plate. 

“Oh I'm always hungry my dear,” they purred in response. “But we incubi do not get our nourishment from food.” 

Their gaze roamed over her form, making their true appetite abundantly clear. Soleil almost choked on her food, quickly washing it down with some water. A sudden moment of boldness seized her. 

“Then why don't you sate your appetite?” she asked, a challenge in her voice. “We can hardly leave you craving.” 

Haarlep looked at her, eyes heavy with want, tail swinging lazily behind them like a cat. Then a regretful sound escaped them. 

“I am not allowed to indulge in you, however delectable that offer is,” they sighed. Soleil furrowed her brow, annoyance flaring in her chest. 

“Why not?” she asked, irritation tingeing her words. Haarlep opened their mouth to answer, but the sound of their voice met her ears from behind. 

“I'm sure you'll be able to figure that out on your own, dear wizard,” Soleil turned her head, locking eyes with Raphael. He stood in the doorway to the study, his human form as imposing as ever. “Even though I do enjoy seeing my pets getting along, you’ll need to hurry up and finish your supper. Korrilla has returned from her scouting mission with great news, which means you and I will be going on a little trip this evening.” 

Soleil's gut tensed at that foreboding statement. She scarfed down whatever she could stomach, only able to finish half the plate, then she got up and locked her arm into Raphael's. 

“Haarlep, be on standby, we might need your assistance,” Raphael called out, before leading Soleil down the hall. That notion did not help her nerves at all, and she wondered if the devil would be going back on his promise not to do anything without her say-so. But he led her past the boudoir, and towards the Chamber of Egress. Soleil immediately looked to the mirror in the middle of the chamber, hoping to catch a glimpse of her hometown. Instead, the sight of familiar furniture met her, the interior of her cottage visible in the mirror's surface. She looked to Raphael, questions already at the tip of his tongue. He held up his hand to quiet her before she could ask any of them. 

“I've realised how barbaric it was of me to bring you here without even giving you the chance to pack a bag.” He snapped his fingers and a Bag of Holding appeared dangling from his hand. “I wish to rectify that.” 

Soleil caught herself before she could burst out laughing. “Well, it would have ruined the surprise if I had gotten a heads-up about my own kidnapping,” she said with dry humor.

Raphael smiled at her, stepping towards the mirror.

“I'm glad you understand,” he said, leading them through the portal. 

—

They appeared in the main room of Soleils home. She looked around, stunned to be home after almost a week. 

"Go." Raphael handed her the Bag of Holding. “Gather the stuff you wish to bring. Be quick about it.” 

Soleil snapped out of her daze and darted upstairs to her workroom immediately. Her messy work table was as she'd left it, the Hellfire Engine sitting dormant and cold, and the radiance-repellent jewelry in unfinished pieces. She placed them into the bag, along with any tools and components she could get her hands on. Next, she picked up her spellbook, taking a moment to enjoy its heavy weight and the feel of the worn leather binding it. Everything she'd ever learned about magic was inscribed within the pages of the book. It was her dearest possession. She placed it gingerly in the bag, loathing to part with it again, however briefly. She was well aware that she was gathering material for Raphael to hold over her head, so she opted to leave any irreplaceable sentimental items. She took a breath taking in the room. She'd return someday, she told herself.

Soleil went down the winding steps of the stairway, finding Raphael standing in her kitchen, much as he'd done that night almost a week ago. She brushed past him, opening the door to her bedchamber. The air in the room was still from disuse, and for a moment emotion overwhelmed her. The big four-poster bed in the middle of the room had a canopy of vines and flowers, and they were wilting in her absence. She had spent so many soft nights here, wrapped in Halsin's loving arms, and even more nights by her lonesome, wrapped in her own embrace. She went to her bedside table, grabbed her journal, and placed it into the bag. 

“What a quaint little nest,” Raphael purred, leaning against the doorway. “I thought a wizard of your talent would have acquired a tower to perform your studies in. Not an herbalist's teahouse.” Soleil turned towards him. The way his brown eyes were roaming over her form was predatory, and she suddenly felt cornered in her own bedroom. She cleared her throat of the lump that had formed there. 

“I have no need for a tower, that would just be excessive,” she stepped towards him, intent on getting out of the room. “I have everything I need here,” she said, both as a statement about her home, and of the stuff she had collected in the bag. Raphael didn't move from the doorway. 

“Your needs may be satiated, but what about your wants?” his voice was tinged with curiosity and something she couldn't decipher. “You have but a brief, mortal existence, little mouse. Why deny oneself one's desires?” 

Soleil really didn't like that he chose to broach the subject of her desires while they were standing in her bedroom. With heat burning in her cheeks, she forced her way past him, squeezing through the doorway. Her form brushed up against his, and she could feel the warmth of the cambion's body, even through the layers of clothes. She quickly put distance between herself and the devil, rushing to her kitchen cupboard and grabbing a jar of tea leaves, stuffing it into the bag. 

“I don't expect a devil to understand the virtue of humility, “ she mumbled, back turned towards him. The sound of his spotting laugh was still too close for comfort. 

“Do not dismiss me so, dear wizard, I do possess some virtuous qualities,” he retorted, the sound of his honeyed voice getting closer. “Diligence and patience are familiar to me.” 

His hand brushed her hair, pulling it gently behind her shoulder. 

“Humility and chastity on the other hand… they remain strangers to me.” his low murmur tickled her ear, and it took all her self-restraint to not give in and press herself into the warmth at her back. He breathed her in for a moment before stepping away, and she fought back a whine at the loss of his warmth. Soleil took a moment to breathe deeply, before turning to face the devil. His expression was as smug as always, and he held out his hand expectantly. Soleil hesitated, clutching the bag containing her possessions to her chest. 

“You're not gonna throw it into a river of hellfire or something, are you?” Raphael rolled his eyes exasperated. 

“I'm a fiend, dear, not a monster. You'll get your stuff in due time.” Soleil paused for a moment before she slowly handed him the bag. 

“Technically fiends are a class type under the domain of 'monsters',” she muttered, as he snapped his fingers, displacing the bag in a flash of fire and smoke. He clapped his hands together, and she could see barely contained excitement in his handsome face. It unsettled her.

“Now, here's your chance to prove your loyalty and earn some of my goodwill,” started Raphael, his tone ominous and his smirk foreboding. “In a moment, the ursine man you hold so dear will show up at the door...” 

The only thing stopping Soleil from rushing to the front door and ripping it from its hinges was the suffocating weight that filled the room. She remained rooted in place, eyes locked on the devil in front of her as he continued.

“You have two options,” he said, his voice dripping with menacing enjoyment. He held up his index finger. “Option one: You put on a little performance for me and ensure the archdruid won't darken your doorstep again." His middle finger shot up. "Option two: Haarlep steps in as your understudy and breaks the elf’s heart for you. But be warned; if either you, or Haarlep, do anything to make him suspect something is amiss, I’ll simply collect a bearskin rug to throw in front of the fireplace in my study.” 

The morbid image those words conjured in her mind made her blood freeze and her guts seize. 

“So, what will it be, little mouse?” Her thoughts were racing, a jumbled panicked mess. One question came to the forefront of the chaos in her brain.

“Why?” her voice was barely a whisper, as small as the mouse he had named her after.

“We cannot have that bear start poking his snout where it doesn't belong now, can we? If that were to happen, well…" He studied his nails nonchalantly. "I do think a new rug would be lovely.”

Soleil's mind quieted somewhat at that. She realized the multiple layers of the play. She could prove her loyalty to Raphael, while isolating herself further, diminishing her hopes of rescue. Simultaneously, it was an olive branch of sorts; Raphael put the choice in her hands to hurt the man she loved, yes, but also to protect him. He was exploiting her need to keep the people she loved safe. 

“Tik-tok, little mouse, the bear approaches,” as if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Soleil squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

“I'll do it,” it was barely a breath. 

The corners of Raphael's mouth curled upwards. He snapped his fingers, and the tiefling found herself dressed in one of her own well-worn robes. Then he raised a hand, unfastening the collar around her throat, hand lingering there for a moment. Magic danced at Soleil's fingertips, and his fingers flexed in a warning. 

“Prestidigitation,” she hurried to explain. “He'll notice if I smell different.” 

Something crossed Raphael's features before his expression smoothed. He lowered his hand, allowing her to cast. Soleil had imagined that her first spell in a week would be an almost orgasmic experience. Instead, the incantation tasted like ash on her tongue. Another knock at the door, more forceful this time, startled her. 

“Break a leg,” Raphael whispered, unfiltered amusement in his voice. He snapped and disappeared in a puff of smoke. Soleil moved towards the door on stiff legs. She noticed the Teleportation Circle at the threshold, the drawn runes scuffed; innocuous enough to be the accidental drag of a heavy boot, but the wizard knew better. She wouldn't have time to redraw the lines, a path of escape sabotaged. 

Soleil took a breath to prepare herself and reached for the doorknob with a shaking hand. It was still a gut-punch when she saw the worried expression of her lover.

“My heart,” said Halsin, concern and relief flooding his deep timbre. How she'd missed the baritone sound of his voice, it was like a balm on her frayed nerves.

“Thank the Oak Father that you're here! I thought the worst when I didn't hear from you.” He reached for her, and she flinched back. Hairline fractures were splintering her heart at the hurt she saw in his green eyes, and she longed for nothing more than to feel his strong arms around her, but she would not be able to go through with this if he touched her.  

“My love, what is wrong, what troubles you?” 

Her throat was tight, and she had difficulty breathing.

“I can't,” she croaked, tears already burning in her eyes. She could feel Raphael's eyes on her back, ready for her to slip. “I can't do this Halsin.” 

Soleil was no actress. She had to make sure that Halsin believed her, and for that, she needed to speak the truth. She drew a shaking breath. 

“I can't keep waiting for you. I can't keep dreaming about you, only to wake to a cold and empty bed. It's eating me alive, the loneliness.” It was candor, and it was tearing her apart to admit it out loud. She had feigned being content in her own company, lied to her love and herself. He was quiet for a beat, his scared brow furrowed. 

“Then join me, my heart,” there was desperation but also warmth in his voice. Hope. “We need not walk separate paths. I will build a cottage for you in Moonrise. For us . You shall never wake alone again, should you wish for it.” He held his arms out, embrace open for her to choose. “Stay with me, my love.” 

This sweet, wonderful man who had always made her feel safe, understood, and loved, who would hang the moon and stars for her if she asked for it. She needed to protect him, as vitally as she needed blood in her veins and air in her lungs. 

“Halsin, I need to help our friends,” it was a point of debate that had split their paths in the first place, a point laid to rest, and now she was digging it up from the frozen earth with bloody fingertips. “Gale still has a bomb in his chest because of me! Astarion must hide from the sun because of me! Karlach is in Avernus because of me!” And if I don't do this, you will die because of me! The unsaid sentence caught in her chest made tears spill from her eyes. Halsin's arms fell to his side. 

“None of that is your fault,” he said, his voice heavy with sympathy for her guilt. “Their burdens are not yours to bear.“

“The shadow curse wasn't your fault either!” she retorted, voice cracking. “But you did what you had to to set it right and I will too,” she was weeping now, tears streaming freely down her face. “But I can't while my mind is occupied with the thoughts of your return. I'd rather live with the certainty that you won't.” 

She forced herself to look into his eyes as the words took root. The deep sorrow she saw in them made her want to scream. The shattering pieces of her heart were lacerating her ribcage with every beat, she was sure she'd keel over from internal bleeding any second now. 

“I see… If that is what you desire, my h-” he made a pained, strangled sound as the word caught in his throat. “If that is what you desire, Soleil, then I shall respect it. No matter how much I wish it was not the case.” He reached for her, seemingly on instinct, but caught his own hand. He took a step back, and Soleil wanted to grab him, sink her claws into him, and never let him go. 

“I shall give you peace. You know how to reach me, should you have a change of heart.” Halsin looked at her as if committing her form to memory. Then he placed his hand on his chest. “Oak Father, watch over her in my stead,” he muttered, words hushed.  “Goodbye, Soleil.” 

As she watched the man she loved turn and walk away, she did something she'd sworn she would never do. 

“Silvanus, protect him,” she prayed, voice barely audible. “Keep him safe.”

She closed the door and struggled not to fall to her knees as grief tore through her. The sound of slow applause met her ears. 

"Bravo! What drama! Emotion, heartbreak... almost brought a tear to my eye,” Raphael's loathsome voice was full of glee, and Soleil wished to claw his vocal cords from his throat. Magic was sparking at her palms, wild and unchecked, as raw as her emotions. She could feel him watching her, waiting for her next move. She drew a shaking breath, the sound of it hissing through her clenched teeth. 

Complicity.  

The word echoed in her head like an alarm. If she acted out now, it would all have been for naught. Soleil turned and walked towards the devil. His brown eyes were fastened to her, calm expression barely disguising the alert caution in them. Were she not broken by sorrow, she would have been delighted that he flinched slightly when she raised her hands. She brushed her hair out of the way, exposing her neck to him. His expression was one of approval, as he recognized the tiefling's gesture of submission. 

“Good pet,” he praised softly, refastening the sussur-collar with gentle hands. As it clicked into place around her throat, Soleil felt hollowed out. No more magic, just an ache in her chest. She didn't fight it when Raphael embraced her, guiding her head to rest at his chest. 

“You did good, little mouse. No harm will come to him by my hand.” His soothing voice rumbled in her ears, and she closed her eyes.

She felt completely tapped of everything. 

“Now let's get you home.” 

In a blink, they left the material plane, and Soleil left the shattered pieces of her heart behind on the dusty cottage floor.

Chapter Text

Soleil didn't remember going to bed. After they had returned to The House of Hope, she had gone straight to the desk in the study, buried her head in her arms, and cried. Someone was watching her, but she didn't care to know who. She just wallowed in sorrow until her body had nothing left to give, and eventually, she must have passed out. Now she came to consciousness in the silken sheets of the grand bed. The first thing she noticed was the throbbing in her head and the bone-deep exhaustion in her body. The second thing was that she was alone in the bed. Her body was only tangled in the sheets, not in the limbs of the man who had caused her misery. A low humming noise caught her ears and she sat up, winching as her head protested. At the foot of the bed floated a purple eye, roughly the size of a ball used for back alley games. 

A Scrying Eye. 

Soleil groaned loudly and fell back into the bed. She hadn't seen one of those constructs since facing off against the cult of The Absolute, and the sound and sight of it brought back unwelcome memories of botched stealth missions. She stared blankly up at the ceiling before turning her head. There was a note resting on Raphael's pillow, complete with a crimson wax seal and everything. She sat up again, slowly this time to not agitate the headache, picked up the note and broke the seal. The smell of cherries met her nose as she unfurled the parchment. The letters were Raphael's elegant scrawl, penned in red ink… she hoped it was ink.

My Dearest Little Mouse,

Apologies for leaving in the middle of the night. I must attend to some pressing matters and will be away for the foreseeable future. Korrilla and Haarlep will accompany me, and I trust you will find the Eye a worthy companion in their absence. Should anything befall it, rest assured I will be made aware.

Wishing you the best of luck with your studies.

- R

“Oh, you fucking bastard!” Soleil crumbled the note and threw it at the Eye. It bounced off harmlessly. Of course, the devil had “pressing matters” to attend to, right after Soleil had confessed to being torn apart by her own loneliness. As if spurred by her outcry, she suddenly felt the phantom embrace of arms encircling her waist. Whatever matters Raphael was attending weren't so pressing as to stop him from his morning routine apparently. Soleil closed her eyes, sinking back into the silken sheets again. She may as well lie back and enjoy it in the comforts of the bed. For once the tiefling didn't fight her reactions, moaning and whimpering echoing in the boudoir. She didn't care that whoever was controlling the Scrying Eye could most likely hear her through the construct. It was much less embarrassing than when she was face-to-face with her observer. Her peak drew nearer, and with it, her unsatisfying end. Soleil found her hand wandering south. After a whole week of denial, it honestly wouldn't take much to send her over the edge. She was reluctantly amazed that Raphael hadn't done it by accident. A hum from the Eye made her eyes shoot open and her hand freeze. The connection was, predictably, severed right before she could come, and she whined loudly in frustration. For a moment she debated whether it would be so bad to get off in front of the Eye, but the thought that either Raphael or Korrilla would be watching her touch herself through the construct made her skin crawl. She took a moment to catch her breath before getting up. She'd start with a bath in the rejuvenation pool to get rid of that damned headache. 

—

The Eye followed Soleil around with as much diligence as Korrilla had, its unblinking oculus constantly fastened to her form. Whether she was reading by herself in the study or wandering the halls of the House in view of the servants and debtors, it would hover right behind her. It certainly didn't help her inability to work while being watched, so the wizard found herself wandering the archives for long stretches of time, observing the various items and artifacts in Raphael's collection. She was sure if the cambion was here, he'd tell her extensive stories about the origins of the items and how he came to possess them. Right now, the Eye was her only companion, and it didn't prove much of a conversationalist. She'd even tried to strike up a conversation with the archivist or the servants, but they all scurried away from the tiefling at the sight of the Eye, some mumbled apologies on their tongues. The whole ordeal just made Soleil feel tired and numb. 

Her mind kept drifting to Halsin, and her heart ached. She was sure the druid would forgive her when she painted the full picture for him, but that wouldn't be for who knew how long. Right now, she had to find comfort in the fact that he was safe; He wouldn't be hurt worse than the heartbreak. 

To distract herself from pent-up frustrations and thoughts of her heartbroken lover, Soleil set about trying to solve the riddle that was Raphael's motives. Her observation torture hadn't stopped, but for as annoying as the Eye was it did give her one small reprieve: She didn't have to look at Raphael's smug face, which did help her ability to focus somewhat. 

So now the wizard sat in the study in front of a lanceboard made of marble. The pieces were carved from amethyst and leucite; Mystra vs. Cyric. Soleil loathed to play on the side of the Mistress of Magic, but she knew Raphael wouldn't pass the advantage of the first move, so she placed him on the side of the Prince of Lies. All in her head of course. The Scrying Eye followed her as she moved from one side of the lanceboard to the other, taking her time to make the moves she believed Raphael would choose.  

First opening move, silver pawn forward: approaching Soleil and her party after the nautiloid crash. Immediately putting them off balance, offering them the possibility, the hope of a solution to their cephalopod-problem. There hadn't been much of a way for them to counter other than progressing the game, so Soleil did just that. She kept playing, the amethyst side seemingly at a disadvantage from the start, until one of her wizards captured the silver queen, which in this game seemed to be a carving of Shar. 

The decision to break into The House of Hope hadn't been made lightly. Soleil's companions had not agreed with her decision to trade the Crown of Karsus for the Orphic Hammer, but at the moment, the wizard had not been able to see any other course of action. After she had signed the deal, Karlach had all but dragged the other tiefling by the tail to The Devil's Fee, where they encountered the diabolist Helsik. After talking about the logistics and risks of breaking and entering hell, the group had decided to rob the devil. It had ended in a bloody fray, details still somewhat blurry in Soleil's memories. But she did know that Raphael's demise was indirectly caused by her; she had paralyzed his body with a Hold Monster spell, forcing him to weather every blow her companions threw at him. At the end, one of Astarion's arrows had pierced his chest, silencing the beating of his infernal heart. 

Until: a silver pawn had moved towards the other end of the board, its steady and patient pace unnoticed by the amethyst side. It reached the eighth rank, promoting to (or resurrecting) the silver queen. They tried to defend, but the new queen captured the other amethyst wizard. 

Soleil took a moment to study the piece. Where the one currently on the other side of the board represented an evocation mage, this one was a war caster. Very similar, save for some minute differences only very few would notice. 

Raphael's decision to rehire Haarlep still didn't make sense to Soleil. The incubus had clearly been spying on him on behalf of his father, so why invite them back into his service? Unless, of course, it was less about Haarlep's past actions and more about what they could offer now. They had gained Soleil's form, and if Raphael owned Haarlep, he effectively owned her as well. 

Soleil contemplated the board. It could go either way now. Her remaining evocation wizard was captured, an objectively risky move on silver. 

Why had he revealed himself to be alive to his murderer? Why kidnap Soleil? Revenge seemed the obvious motive, but he could have easily killed her that night. The ambush had clearly been planned to take place when she was tapped for magic. The convenience of already having her bound by a contract was another option, but that answer rang hollow to Soleil. The contract seemed more like a flimsy excuse now, a brittle shackle to hold her here.

Suddenly it all made sense. She could see the lanceboard in front of her clearly, every move details in Raphael's scheme. If he'd been in a hurry to fix the crown, he could have employed any mage's help. She was sure he could've found Karsus' soul and bound it to his worktable if he so pleased. 

No, it had to be her. 

The wizard who had stolen from him and brought him low, even robbing him of his ability to fight back in his final moments. Raphael wouldn't stop at just making her forge his path to power. If that was the case, he could've chained her to the workbench and not let her see the light of day until she was done. He wanted to own her, his attempt at claiming her soul had made that clear, and the fact that he only fucked Haarlep in the form that looked like Soleil the very day she had killed him cemented it; It was all a twisted power-play. 

Amethyst tried to counter, claiming a paladin, but the move was punished by silver. 

Soleil had outsmarted him with her gamble that first night, and in doing so, brought a whole new slew of problems her own way. By denying him, a new game had been started, and he was waiting for her to make a move. He could take her by force, but it would be more satisfying to play the game patiently, whittle down her defenses until she surrendered, until she willingly chose him. 

The amethyst queen, a carving of Azuth the Patron of Wizards, was captured by a silver cleric. 

Yesterday's heartbreak had been a choice, nudging Soleil further towards her breaking point. If she didn't get to work in peace, to use her magic, to fucking come soon, she would surely go insane. She had asked politely for the possibility of privacy, and Raphael had told her to find something she could bargain with. 

She could only think of two things she could give him: her soul or her submission. 

Indeed, she didn't have many pieces left to play with. When she looked at the lanceboard, it was not in her favor. 

The words Raphael once had spoken about the tiefling girl, Mol, echoed through Soleil's mind:

She has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left.

Mystra was in check, cornered by the revived Shar. Soleil didn't have many options left… so she abandoned the lanceboard, the Scrying Eye humming as it followed her out of the study.

She would not surrender today.

—

The days of isolation with only the Scrying Eye as a company were getting to Soleil. On the second day, she had found her spellbook in the study, a note accompanying it written in a familiarly flourished scrawl:

A reward for your… compliance, Little Mouse.

- R

As if what he wanted from her weren't as clear as a Daylight spell now. She spent some time comparing her notes with some she had taken a year ago while discussing the crown with Gale. It didn't yield any new revelations, and just further frustrated her that she couldn't use her magic. 

On the third day, she was rudely awakened by Raphael's morning routine, souring her mood for the rest of the day. She had yelled at a servant to “Just talk to me! Anything! Heavens above and Hells below, tell me to go fuck myself!” If they weren't already terrified of whatever punishment Raphael had promised them, should they alleviate her need for conversation, she had certainly scared them all away with that outburst. 

On the fourth day she awoke to… nothing. The bed seemed bigger and more empty than it had ever been. The Eye watched Soleil as she hesitantly rose, waiting for the phantom touch of Raphael, but it never came. She had taken to sleeping in her smallclothes, the Avernus heat making anything more almost unbearable. The wizard threw on a silk robe for modesty's sake, tying it at the front. She sat in front of a tall mirror, detangling her hair with a comb. She was still tense in anticipation for the devil's morning routine to begin, but the tiefling felt nothing besides the silk on her skin and the comb pulling through strands of her hair. Maybe he was busy today. Maybe it was Haarlep's day off. She ate the breakfast that was brought to her in silence and made her way towards the study.

Soleil pointedly ignored the lanceboard as she entered the room, walking straight to the desk holding her notes and spellbook. She couldn't read the Netherese tomes without the help of magic, so she found a record written in Undercommon. It was only tangentially related to her studies, detailing changes in subsurface topography caused by the cities crashing into the ground. The text was dry, even for the wizard, and her mind quickly started to wander.

She recalled Halsin's stories about his misadventures in the Underdark and his three-year-long imprisonment at the hands of drow nobility. "Something between guest, prisoner, and consort," was his way of phrasing it. The similarities to Soleil's current predicament didn't elude her. The tiefling put her head in her hands, elbows braced on the rich wooden surface of the desk. Her tail was thumping agitated against the leg of her chair. Her lover had said he had done what was necessary to survive, but how long did it take for him to get to that point of tactical surrender? Days? Weeks? Halsin's “ hosts ” would've probably been less patient with denial than Soleil's, and something in her balked at the possibility that she might be breaking at a faster rate than the archdruid. The Eye was humming in her ear, as annoying as a mosquito.

Her eyes caught on the lanceboard, the game still unfinished. She shot up from the chair, catching the Eye with her shoulder, and walked around the desk to the low game table. What was she holding on for? She knew exactly what she would be rewarded for, and it wasn´t valiant suffering. 

It was amethyst's turn to make a move. She had to make a move. 

Soleil grabbed the Scrying Eye and smashed it against the marble lanceboard, shattering the construct and scattering the remaining pieces. 

“My, my,” drawled a dulcet voice behind her. She turned to find Raphael sitting in the chair she had occupied mere seconds ago. “I guess that's one way of getting out of a checkmate.”

Chapter Text

"It surprises me to see you act like such a sore loser, little mouse," said Raphael, leaning back in the desk chair, propping his chin up on the heel of his hand. He was in his human form, which told Soleil that his “pressing matters” must've been on the material plane. 

“Especially since it seems like you were losing against none other than yourself.” That was true, in more ways than one, and Soliel suspected that the devil was well aware of the double entendre. "So tell me, was this little outburst merely the dramatic climax of a heated lanceboard match, or is there a deeper motive behind your destruction of my property?" Soleil looked at the shattered Scrying Eye still clutched in her hand. It had been so easy to break it, not like the ones that had hovered around Moonrise Tower and in the Grymforge. It had been another test. She let the remaining pierce of the eye tumble to the floor where it landed with a dull thud. 

“You said I’d earn your goodwill if I put on a performance for you,” she stated, recalling the moments before breaking her lover’s heart. “And then you left me, like a thief in the night.” Raphael feigned confusion, his brown eyes widening and brow creasing. 

“My dear, I thought you craved time away from prying eyes. I even left you your precious spellbook as a reward for your feat of loyalty." 

Soleil laughed in disbelief. Of course, it was just like him to twist her words, like the trickery of a genie. She wanted to work without eyes constantly following her, so he sent an eye. She wanted her spells back, so he gave her her spellbook. She had half a mind to tell him to go fuck himself; Maybe then she'd actually get a proper break from Haarlep using her form.

Instead, she drew a steadying breath, thinking deeply about her next course of action. Before she could lose her nerve, she stepped around the desk, moving closer to Raphael. He was sitting in the chair with the poise of a king upon a throne, posture relaxed, yet exuding dominance. She positioned herself between his spread legs, the outside of her thighs brushing lightly against his. Raphael tilted his head back, his gaze meeting hers with a languid, almost indifferent air.

“I want the freedom to work without observation and without the constraints of the collar,” she said, her voice steady and composed. She noticed a faint smile tugging at the corner of Raphael’s mouth.

“That’s quite the request, dear wizard,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement. “What do I stand to gain in return for relinquishing my security measures?”

Instead of answering, Soleil let the silken robe slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor, revealing that she was clad in nothing but her smallclothes underneath. Raphael's eyes roamed shamelessly down her body, as tangible as if he'd touched her, before returning up to meet her gaze. 

“I can order Haarlep to strut around in your image, naked, whenever it should please me,” his voice sounded bored, but there was hunger in his eyes. “You'll have to do better than that, little mouse.” Soleil huffed at that. 

“You said it yourself that a fake can't compare to the real deal, but fine.” She maintained eye contact as she slowly lowered herself, settling into a kneel at Raphael's feet. His brown eyes widened for a moment before a slow, vicious smile split the devil's handsome face. He reached out a hand, curling two fingers under her chin, tilting her head back slightly and she couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her body when he softly touched her lower lip with his thumb. 

"Beautiful," purred Raphael. “Right where you belong.” The degrading edge to his tone made Soleil's blood burn, both from shame and arousal. Her heart was racing as she waited, body coiled tight in anticipation. Yet, the cambion just continued to look down at her, occasionally caressing her lightly with the pad of his thumb. Soleil furrowed her brow, opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to find the right response. 

“Your mind never quiets, does it pet? What puzzles you now?” His voice was soft, yet still carried that demeaning undercurrent as if he were speaking to a child. Soleil tried to collect her frantic thoughts, to focus. 

“Why aren't you doing anything?” she asked hesitantly. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I told you: I'm not going to do anything to you without your say-so, and contrary to you, I actually keep my word.” He smiled as heat rushed to the tiefling´s cheeks, and moved his grip on her chin to squish them lightly between his thumb and index finger. “So tell me little mouse, what am I to do? What do you offer me?” 

Gods, it wasn't enough that she was supplicating herself before him; he wanted her to spell it out, to give up any possibility of denying her willing complicity in the act. Soleil clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms. Raphael didn't rush her response, he simply savored the mental torment reflected on her expressive face. She tried to think of ways to phrase her proposal, seeking subtle loopholes, but each one seemed to fall short compared to what she had demanded of him. So she settled for simplicity, swallowing her pride as she spoke.

”I offer you my body, to take in this moment however you desire.” her voice trembled as she uttered the words. A hysteric thought that Raphael might reject her, her offer, rendered her momentarily unable to breathe. 

“A dangerous promise,” he mused. “What if I desire to flay you, little mouse? Or perhaps to render you paralyzed?" He was drinking up her palpable fear as if it were the sweetest Elverquisst wine. 

"However you desire, in a carnal sense," she amended a bit too hastily. Raphael's answering laughter was rich and dark.

"You have no true understanding of fiendish desire, my dear," he chuckled, his voice laced with mirth, the gleam in his eyes carrying a quiet, yet unmistakable, threat. Soleil steeled herself against the mix of dread and unexpected annoyance that bubbled in her chest. 

“We're both busy people, Raphael. If you’re not going to take my offer, you’d better return to your pressing matters. I’ll try my luck at revanche in another game of lanceboard.” She moved subtly as she spoke, as if to get up, and his grip on her jaw tightened, forcing her to stay in place at his feet.  

“Now, now, don’t put words in my mouth, dear. I merely wished to ensure you understood the full extent of what you were offering.” Despite the quickening of her heartbeat at the promise in his voice, Soleil rolled her eyes.

“Such a gentleman,” she muttered, sarcasm dripping from her voice. An unpleasant smile curled Raphael's lips, his nose creasing like a snarling animal. 

“You're about to find out exactly how gentle I am, pet,” For a brief moment, Soleil found herself questioning her choices, feet as cold as the terror that gripped her heart at the dark promise in his low voice. But the devil struck quicker than the tiefling, and he continued before she could even gather her thoughts to retreat.

“I accept your offer.”

Soleil had her mouth slightly open, a question on the tip of her tongue that was quickly forgotten entirely when Raphael shifted his hold on her jaw again, shoving two fingers past her lips. She startled, freezing for a moment while staring wide-eyed up at the devil. 

“Suck .” The command was sharp, like the crack of a whip, effectively eradicating every other thought that was in Soleil's head. She obeyed it, sucking gently at his fingers and laving her tongue over the digits. He still had that arrogant, bored air about him, but by the fire in his eyes and stirring in his pants Soleil could tell he was anything but disinterested. That made her double her efforts, her eyes closing as she focused. He suddenly pushed his fingers forward, inching them towards the back of her throat, making her gag slightly and her eyes fly open. Raphael had used his free hand to open the front of his pants and was currently stroking his cock lazily. 

Soleil had seen him before, “accidental” glimpses here and there, but that was always in his cambion form. His human form was just as impressive, albeit a bit smaller and lacking the infernal ridges. 

“Is this what you want, little wizard?” Her eyes snapped up from where she had been watching him hungrily, and a smile curled his lips at her answering moan. Raphael removed his fingers from her mouth, a shiny string of spit connecting them to her tongue for a brief moment. He wiped his fingers on her cheek, and then fisted his hand into her dark hair, using the leverage to pull her face into his lap. Soleil parted her lips obediently, relaxing her jaw as she took him in. He continued to push her down on his length until the head rubbed the back of her throat, and then a little further. He held her there for a moment, leaning back in the chair with a satisfied groan. Soleil’s eyes were already welling with tears from the strain, the sharp pangs of pain in her scalp from his grip on her hair intensifying, but she kept still. 

“You may have a talent for arcane incantations,” the cambion’s voice remained smooth and demeaning, though there was a faint tremor as if he were concentrating on maintaining control. “But I believe this is a far better use of your mouth, little mouse.”

Raphael then pulled her off, and she did her best to work her tongue on the underside of his cock as she went. He stilled with just the tip stretching her lips, and she gently licked at it. Raphael took a moment to observe the tiefling, eyes roaming her face. Soleil could only imagine how she looked, on her knees for a devil, tears in her eyes and saliva dripping down her chin, the thought making her blush. His cock twitched at the sight, the bitter taste of him meeting her tongue. His grip on her hair tightened, and he pushed into her throat again, settling on a harsh rhythm.

Soleil did her best to relax her throat and breathe through her nose, but she did end up gagging and choking. That, however, didn't slow down Raphael; if anything it just made him thrust his hips up more sharply to meet the downward pull of his hand in her hair. Small grunts and groans of pleasure were flowing from the devil, and Soleil was unable to form a single thought other than doing whatever it took to hear more of those noises, focusing on sucking his cock and avoiding suffocation. Raphael's hand twisted in her hair, and she let out a whimper at the pain, his other hand coming down to caress her cheek and trace over her throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. He groaned loudly at the sensation, back arching and hilting himself completely before unloading inside of her. Soleil choked again, both from the fingers digging into the outside of her throat and the hot come spilling down the inside. She closed her eyes and focused on swallowing around him, tears running down her face. His iron grip on her hair softened, and he ran his fingers through it absentmindedly, petting her slowly.

As he softened, he opted to pull her head back by her horns, giving her sore scalp a small mercy. Soleil still whimpered as the cock left her mouth, gasping and coughing as she fought to catch her breath, the air feeling raw against her abused throat. She looked up at Raphael, who looked slightly disheveled, face flush and chest heaving. Her core clenched at the sight, the force of her own arousal almost knocking the wind from her lungs. Whatever Raphael saw on her face, it made a slow, unsettling smile split his. 

“Good job pet. Come here, you're not done yet.” He pulled her up onto his lap by her horn and a supporting arm around her back. She whined at the tugging on her scalp and the stretch of her numb legs, but he just shushed her, arranging her so she was straddling his thigh. Now that all of her focus wasn't occupied by trying not to choke on the cambion's cock, Soleil could feel every one of her heartbeats in her clit, and she ground down to try and alleviate some of the maddening pressure that had been building in her core. The friction made her moan, her hands clutching at the front of Raphael's doublet. She could feel the heat radiating off of the devil's skin, as hot as if she were sitting next to a campfire.

Raphael used his grip on her horn to yank her head back, exposing her neck, and immediately surged down to plant filthy, slow, openmouthed kisses right above the collar, teeth grazing the delicate skin. Soleil gasped as he bit down, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to leave a mark. He continued to kiss and bite her neck, first above the collar and then making his way down. The fiend moved way too leisurely for the week of pent-up tension Soliel carried, and she found herself grinding against his thigh with more urgency, hips rocking back and forth as she sought that delicious friction. She felt him chuckle, a puff of hot breath against her neck.

“So needy,” he mumbled, his condescending tone clear even to Soleil's lust-filled mind. 

His nimble fingers undid the lace of her bodice, freeing her of the fabric. He continued his mouth's path down to her chest, and she mewled when he swirled his tongue around her stiff nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh. 

“And who's- ah -who's fa- ah -ult is tha- ah-! Fuck, Raphael! " Soleil's rebuke was interrupted by a shrill moan as he sucked her nipple into his mouth and bit down. His hand groped and plucked at her other breast as he continued to suck and bite, and he released his grip on her horn to stroke down her back, his nails scratching over the infernal ridges and making her arch her chest further into his face. Soleil moaned his name again, and he finally withdrew with a lewd pop, looking at her with smug satisfaction, all while continuing to pinch her other nipple and making her whine. Raphael leaned in and kissed the delicate skin beneath her ear, worrying the flesh with his teeth for a moment. 

“That's it…” his husky voice was soft as velvet, the sound of it so close making Soleil shiver, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by the fiend, judging from how his grip on her tightened. “Just sit here and say my name. Let me play with my toy.” 

He nipped at her earlobe, and then he went back down to her chest, switching his attention to the other nipple. Her hands flew to his hair, grasping at the soft strands, and the devil growled at the sensation, giving a particularly hash bite to her flesh in response. Soleil was losing her mind; she was so wet, she was sure she must have soaked through her underwear and stained Raphael's pant leg. She paid it little mind, too lost in the pleasure that was building in her gut. She sped up the rocking of her hips, pushing harder against his thigh, sweet release finally so close that she could taste it on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes rolled back as she neared her peak… and then flew open as an iron grip pulled her tail, yanking her up and making her buck her hips into thin air, robbing her of the tiny bit of friction she needed to finish. 

“You fucker! ” Soleil howled at the pain, both from the white-hot aching cramp in her core and the twinge shooting up from the root of her tail into her spine. Raphael's hands were iron shackles around her, grasping her tight as she writhed. Through eyes blurry with frustrated tears she could see his devastatingly beautiful face, his jaw set in a stern, disappointed sneer, but his eyes sparkling with mirth. He tsk'ed softly at her, waiting for her squirming to stop before he eased his hold on her tail. 

“It's high time you learned a lesson, little mouse: in this House, we ask before we take something,” Raphael leaned in close, his breath hot against Soleil's ear, his low voice laced with an ominous promise. "Now, let's ensure this lesson stays with you."

In one swift motion, he stood up and flipped the tiefling around, bending her over the sturdy wooden desk belly down. Her angry and confused protests were cut off by a sharp crack, and she let out a startled yelp as a searing heat flared at the center of her right ass cheek. His hand returned to her tail, pulling it up harshly to keep her exposed and still. The realization that she was being disciplined like an unruly schoolgirl made embarrassment and arousal course through her, igniting some of the wizard's fire. 

“You think tha-” Smack! “ T-that a spanking will- ah! -scare me?! ” Another hard slap of his palm landed on her left cheek, making her bite back a whimper. “I've taken worse licks than this from a goblin! ” 

It wasn’t a lie; the tiefling was no stranger to pain. Throughout her travels, she had endured beatings, been blasted by spells, and pierced by arrows more times than she could count. Raphael just chuckled at her attitude, soothing a hand over her already stinging skin. 

“This isn't about fear, pet,” His voice was dripping with sadistic enjoyment. He squeezed the abused flesh in his hand meanly, drawing another unhappy hiss from Soleil. “If that were the case, I'd have left you here and gone to collect a cat o' nine tails from my armory.” A tremble went through her at the thought, and the devil noted her reaction with a pleased hum. “Perhaps another time.”

He continued striking her with his palm, alternating the pattern and the force behind the blows, giving her no way to prepare herself before they landed. She weathered them, stubbornly biting back her reactions as best she could. A particularly hard strike to her upper thigh finally broke her. 

“Please!” the cry bursts from her mouth unbidden, voice wobbling. “N-no more, please Raphael…” She was panting heavily, her backside feeling like one big burning bruise. He cooed at her, hand stilling against her ass, finger prodding lightly at the marred sensitive flesh and drawing small whimpers from her. 

“Good girl,” his voice was rough, and she moaned at the praise, body fighting between shying away from his touch or pressing into it. “See what asking nicely gets you? What else do you want, sweet little mouse?” His fingers were dipping lower, spreading her thighs and prodding at her soaked panties. Soleil could feel her own arousal coating the inside of her thighs, and she'd be embarrassed if it weren't for the absolute feral noise Raphael made at the sight of it.  

“What. Do. You. Desire?” Each word was punctuated with a push of his fingers against her clothed opening, teasing her needy empty hole. She pushed herself back against his touch, and he made a noise of disapproval. 

“Use your words, wizard. Or do you need another lesson?” Soleil shook her head wildly at that, trying to clear it of the oppressive fog clouding her mind. She felt as if she had been hit with a Confusion spell. 

“Please… ” she keened, mind struggling to form a complete sentence. The devil's patience was wearing thin, unwilling to entertain her weak plea.

"Please, what? " he demanded, voice cold and unforgiving. Raphael's fingers found her throbbing clit, pushing harshly against the bundle of nerves. Soleil cried out, aching her back.

“I want you to fuck me, please! ” her voice was raw and desperate, shame making her chest constrict as she folded. Raphael wasted no time ripping her panties down and pushing her legs further apart. She gasped as he pulled her back by her tail, grinding his hard length against her now naked folds.

Soliel had thought the feedback she got when Haarlep used her form was a perfect replica of sensations, but now she realized the feeling had been muted slightly. It was much more intense, now that she could hear the obscenely slick sound of him rubbing against her, coating himself in her wetness.

Then he pushed forward, entering her in one long, slow thrust. An inexorable and unrelenting push, bullying her walls aside, creating space for himself inside of her. Soleil clenched her hands around the edge of the desk, nails leaving scratches in the wood. Even though she was drenched with need, she had received no preparation, and it had been over a month since she had had anything besides her own fingers to fill her up. The stretch burned, and she exhaled sharply as he bottomed out, stilling for a moment to let her adjust. She could hear the cambion breathe heavily, his hands clenching around her tail and hip. 

“Such a good little pet,” Raphael's voice was a breathless rumble. He rolled his hips slowly, experimentally, against her sore backside, causing sparks of pleasure and pain to shoot through her, and she mewled at the sensation. “Taking me like you were made for it!” 

He pulled out, almost fully, and then slammed back into her, forcing a cry from the tiefling's lungs. The devil set a pace that wasn't fast, but deep and rough, each snap of his hips sending sparks of fire up Soliel's spine. He shifted his hold on her hip, sneaking his hand around and under her, fingers finding her throbbing clit again. The sharp pleasure almost made her sob, she was so sensitive from being denied. 

“Please,” she almost choked on the words, voice garbled and pathetic. “D-don't stop! I need to come!” Raphael's other hand let her tail go, giving the sore appendage a break. He opted to hook his fingers into the back of the collar instead, lifting the wizard from the table, her back arching painfully to avoid getting strangled. He leaned forward, the pace of his hips and fingers never faltering for a second. 

“Mmm don't tempt me,” he growled into her ear. “But I think you've earned it. Let me hear you.” Soleil didn't need any further encouragement. She heard herself cry out, voice raw and primal, her whole body seizing as her orgasm crashed into her with the force of a Thunder Wave.

It stretched on for an eternity, and when she finally came down, Raphael gently lowered her, letting her boneless form slump over the table as he continued to fuck her. She whimpered at the overstimulation, but the devil merely shushed her, muttering soft praises to her. He finally came, spilling deep inside of Soleil with a low, drawn-out moan, hands clutching her hips painfully. She shuddered at the feeling of him filling her and dripping down her thigh. Raphael slumped, head dropping between her shoulder blades and hands loosening on her hips. He panted hotly against her sweaty skin in time with Soleil’s own ragged breaths.

After what felt like forever, Raphael pulled out of her, settling back into the desk chair and dragging Soleil into his lap. She squealed at the sudden movement, her sore backside protesting painfully at the pressure. She'd have trouble sitting down for a while. 

“I'm ruining your pants,” she noticed with no short amount of embarrassment, feeling Raphael's spend leak out of her. The devil just chuckled breathlessly, the shake of his chest sending small tremors through Soleil's body. 

“You already soiled them earlier,” he mumbled against her hair, hand stroking lightly over the ridges of her back. “Don't worry, you'll get your chance to make up for it.” 

If that wasn't the most thinly veiled threat the wizard had ever heard. She whined miserably at the prospect. “Before that, though,  I must uphold my promise,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh, some of the devil's composure returning. “You will be allowed to work without supervision, and you may use your magic within this room. Don’t make me regret this, little mouse."

Soleil was too worn out to truly feel excited, but joy did bubble in her chest, making a lazy smile spread on her lips. She leaned against Raphael’s chest, silently hoping that this deal wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass. 

Or rather, smack her.

Chapter Text

It only took Raphael another day and a half to finish up his business and return to The House of Hope, cementing the idea that it had all been some weird excuse to test Soleil. The wizard of course kept quiet about her speculations, not wanting to give up more of her dwindling lanceboard pieces. The devil had bid her to accompany him to the study, a request that initially made her blush at the memory of what they'd done the last time they were in the room together. But he stopped short at the threshold, double doors thrown open to reveal a shimmering arcane barrier, similar to the one blocking the entrance to the boudoir. 

“Go on,” he urged, voice carrying an excitement that never failed to unsettle Soleil. “Step inside.” She hesitantly approached the barrier, trying to discern the enchantment before stepping through it. Her collar lit up as she passed the threshold, and then blinked out. The sudden connection with the Weave made Soleil gasp, arcane energy flowing back into her body. She groaned happily at the feeling of magic dancing through her nervous system, and behind her, Raphael made a noise between a laugh and a scoff. 

“You wizards and your bizarre, erotogenic response to the arcane,” his voice was humorous, but it also carried a quiet intrigue. “It doesn't surprise me that so many of you fall into bed with the Mistress of Magic.” Soliel ignored him, busy warming up her fingers and testing a few somatics without releasing the spell with the verbal incantation. The energy coursing through her felt amazing, like stretching a limb that had been encased in a cast for months.

“Try a Sending spell,” Raphael requested, stepping to her side. Soleil raised her eyebrow at the specific demand but followed it nonetheless. More out of habit than a conscious decision, she cast her mind on Halsin and began weaving the somatic gestures for the spell, all while Raphael observed her every movement with keen intensity. When she opened her mouth to utter the first word, a sudden white hot pain shot through the tiefling's mind as if her brain were being poked with a searing iron and she cried out at the sudden agony, collapsing in on herself. When she finally got her bearings again, she scowled at Raphael. 

“You could've just told me that it wouldn't work!” she complained, pain and outrage mingling in her voice. The devil’s gaze lingered on her, his smile twisting with that sadistic delight she was growing all too familiar with.

“And you would have taken my word for it? From my observations, you tend to learn better from more… practical demonstrations.”  He was reading her for filth, and she hated it. Soleil opted to examine the arcane glyphs warding the door instead of rebuking his claim. 

“It neutralizes the collar’s effect when I enter and reactivates it when I leave,” she observed, her finger tracing the intricate script along the barrier. She paused, spotting a specific addendum. “And it blocks any form of messaging and teleportation spells. Clever. ” Behind her Raphael gave an affirmative hum. A detail caught her attention, and she narrowed her eyes. “There's an alarm.”

“Try Dispelling it,” he suggested, his tone light, but when she whirled around to face him his smug grin betrayed his amusement. 

“You're not getting me with that again! What will it do if I try? Fry my brain? Turn me inside out?” His laughter echoed in the room, filling the space with a sound that only fueled her irritation.

“Nothing so grotesque, little mouse. It merely alerts me that it has been broken, similar to the Scrying Eye.” And then he will come and turn me inside out himself. Got it. She thought to herself sullenly. “All precautions for me to be able to fulfill your desires. I hope to see my efforts reflected in your work, dear wizard.” Soleil let out an exasperated huff at his theatrical tone. 

“There's still one problem though,” she muttered. 

“Is there now?” The cambion arched an eyebrow, a flicker of irritation betraying his composed facade. “Do enlighten me, O esteemed mage, what is it that troubles you?”

“You're still here, watching me.” Raphael all but rolled his eyes at her tone.

“Very well,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I shall grant you the peace of mind you seek and take my leave.” With a mock bow, he turned and exited the study, shutting the double doors with a quiet thud.

For the first time in about eleven days, Soleil was able to breathe without the weight of eyes upon her. She collapsed to her knees, releasing a mix of a broken wail and mad laughter that had been building within her chest, trembling with the raw force of her emotions finally breaking free.

—

Soleil took some time for emotional release. Then she got to work. She was finally able to connect with the Crown of Karsus, feeling its dormant power and the damage it had endured, rather than just observing it. Hours passed unnoticed as she became completely absorbed in her studies. She sat at her desk, the Crown and Stones floating before her, suspended by her arcane tether. Her eyes were fixed on a tome detailing the structures of Netherese magic, one hand tracing the words to activate the Comprehend Languages spell, while the other held a quill, jotting notes on a piece of parchment. A spectral Mage Hand hovered nearby, adding even more notes about the Crown’s damage. Truly, the whole display was a bit over the top, but Soleil was brimming with over a week's worth of pent-up magical energy. She didn't even hear the door to the study open behind her.

“My, my, you're harder at work than a Modron. How many tasks are you focused on right now, four? Would that make you a Quadrone?” The voice startled Soleil, causing her focus on the Mage Hand to falter, the spectral hand dropping the quill. “Oops, spoke too soon. Tridrone it is then.” She shot Raphael a sidelong glance, picking up the quill again, and checking the parchment for ink splotches. It wasn't too bad. 

“I am quite capable of managing multiple tasks when left undisturbed,” she murmured, her right hand continuing to scratch out notes despite the discomfort of being under his gaze.

“I can see that. What a talented, well-behaved good little pet you are.”

A flush of warmth spread across her face at the praise. She made a strangled sound, pausing in her writing and dropping the Mage Hand for good. The sound of sardonic laughter filled her ears. 

“Ha! I knew it! You're basically preening for the master's attention!” Soleil's head snapped to the side, facing the devil, only a small part of her focus assuring that the Crown and Stones floated to the desk instead of clattering to the ground. She groaned, the face of the incubus unmistakable now that she gave them her full attention. 

“Will you stop doing that, Haarlep? Have I not suffered enough torment at your hands?” They strutted over, and Soleil barely managed to move her freshly inked notes out of the way before they planted their ass on her desk. 

“I will stop doing it when it stops being funny,” they smiled at her mischievously. For a moment, the sickly green energy of a Disintegrate spell whispered around Soleil's index finger, and the incubus noted it. 

“Ah ah, a…" they chided. "Wouldn't want to harm the master's favorite pet. Though I'm sure you'd enjoy another 'lesson', ” In a fluid motion their form shifted, changing into Soleil's almost-mirror, and moving onto their stomach, bending over the desk and wiggling their hips in the air towards her. Soleil felt as if she were about to combust from embarrassment, the display not discouraging her the slightest from Disintegrating the incubus. Before she could utter any incantation, an angry voice sounded from the hallway.

“Haarlep! Come back here this instant!” the real Raphael's booming voice carried quite far, making Soleil jump in her seat. Haarlep merely smirked at the sound. 

“Seems like I'm already in the perfect position,” they giggled before crying out loudly in Soleil's voice: “Oh please Raphael, I've been such a naughty girl, please punish me!” 

The wizard panicked at the sight before her and the sound of Raphael's steps coming closer, so she changed trajectory. 

“Expello Te! ” she uttered hastily, and to her own surprise, the fiend disappeared with a sudden pop. Soleil hadn't expected that the Banishment would work, but she might have caught them off guard.

“Is that a permanent solution?” Raphael asked from the doorway, cambion form on full display and as terrifying as ever, voice still simmering with low barely contained fury. Soleil's gut clenched with worry that she might now be left to take the brunt of the devil's anger. 

“N-no!” she stammered, wondering exactly which god she had pissed off to deserve to be in the middle of whatever this was. 

“A shame.” sneered Raphael.

Before she could ask him what the Hells was going on, Haarlep popped back into existence, still bent over the table.

“How dare you put me in timeout!” they shot her a glance over their shoulder, offense clear in their features. Now it was Soleil's turn to laugh. 

“I'll do it again if you keep putting my body on display like that!” Haarlep stuck their tongue out at her before righting themself, changing back into Raphael's form. 

“Fuck me, now there's two of you,” the wizard groaned exasperated. She realized her mistake immediately. “That was not an invitation!” But Haarlep still grabbed a hold of her chin, putting their handsome face level with hers, their noses almost touching. 

“Should have known that this form is more to your liking, my good little mouse,” they purred in that low dulcet voice. Soleil's face grew impossibly hotter. 

“Expe- ”

"Okay, okay! " they put their hands up in surrender, shifting once again and landing on their Archduchess form. “Compromise?” they asked, voice still husky, but more melodious. Soleil lowered her hand and nodded, sitting back in her chair. Haarlep breathed a sigh. “Should have figured,” they mumbled to themself. “He always likes the ones that put up a fight.” 

"Ah-hem!" came the voice of the 'he' Haarlep was referring to, commanding the attention of them both. The devil's glare was fierce, his anger unmistakable. “Haarlep, I told you not to bother her!” 

Something in Soleil stirred at the notion that Raphael had actually made an effort to assure she was undisturbed while working - even though those efforts had only lasted for about half a day.

“It's not fair!” the incubus skulked, a pout on their full lips. “Just because you finally got your dick wet, I'm not allowed to do anything? I haven't gotten any attention since yesterday morning!” 

“Oh you poor, neglected creature,” Raphael snarled disdainfully at them as he stalked closer. “Come with me, and I'll give you some attention.” The dark promise in his voice made Soleil shiver. That was apparently her mistake because the incubus once again dragged the tiefling into the fray. 

“No no no, I want to play with the new toy! You can't just horde her to yourself, such greed is beneath you!”

“Aren’t greed one of a fiend’s seven favorite vices?” Soleil asked meekly.

Both devils turned to her in unison.

“Be silent!”

“Do not interfere!”

Soleil’s fear dissolved in an instant, replaced by a sharp irritation.

“You’re the ones who barged into my study!!” she snapped. Raphael sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose tiredly. 

“I apologize for that, dear. How are your studies coming along now that the conditions are more to your liking?” The genuine interest in his voice stumped her for a moment until she reminded herself that her “studies” were to result in him gaining dominion over the Hells. 

“It’s better,” she admitted. “But it will still take quite a while to reforge the Crown. It's like trying to weave a tapestry from the unthreaded strings.” Raphael nodded thoughtfully at her explanation, before suddenly grabbing Haarlep by the throat. The incubus let out a strangled yelp as they were yanked off the desk.

“Very well,” Raphael said casually, dragging the fiend with him towards the door. “We won’t interrupt your work any longer, little mouse.”

“Wait a second!” Soleil called out. Raphael paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, Haarlep still struggling in his grip.

“I’m going to need components,” she said, motioning to her earring. The precious stone dangling from it pulsed with arcane energy, but it was limited when it came to casting stronger spells. “My Focus can only do so much.”

Raphael gave her a coy smile.

“And what are you willing to offer in exchange for that?” he asked, his tone mild.

“Not this again," Soleil groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Is it going to be like that every time I ask for something?!”

Raphael merely shrugged, unfazed. Haarlep, still gasping for air, managed to raise a hand.

“I have a suggestion,” they wheezed. “If you're short on ideas!”

—

Haarlep's suggestion saw Soleil stripped of her clothes and tied to the bed in the boudoir, her arms and legs fastened to each post with soft silky rope. She contemplated how she always managed to get the short end of the deal. Comes with dealing with devils, she supposed. The tiefling felt even more vulnerable than when she had been on her knees for the fiend. Said fiend was currently watching her restrained form, idly stroking her leg. 

“I’m not so sure about this…” she muttered. Soleil had agreed to the bargain willingly, but now that she found herself in the thick of it, it felt like a dreadful mistake.

“What’s the hesitation, little mouse?” Raphael asked, amusement tinging his voice. “All you have to do is lay back and enjoy yourself. I’m not even going to make you ask for permission this time.” 

The deal was rather simple: Soleil would get a spell component of her choice (with some exceptions) for every time she came. At first, it had seemed too good to be true, which was why the wizard now harbored some doubts. 

“Can I at least have a safe word?” she asked. She and Halsin had dabbled in… rougher ways of enjoying each other before, so she knew that a simple “no” or “stop” didn't always suffice. Raphael raised an eyebrow at her. 

“If that would quell some of your doubts, then sure. Let's see…” he put a clawed fingertip to his lips in contemplation.

“How about ’Mephistopheles’ ?” Soleil made a face. That was quite a lot of syllables. 

“You forbade me from ever mentioning him in your presence, remember? Besides, won't he like… appear if I cry out his name desperately?” Raphael's gleeful demeanor dropped a bit at her contrarianism. 

“You're being awfully pedantic for someone currently bound to my bed, little mouse, but fine. What about ’Hellfire’ ?” That was more manageable. Soleil nodded at the suggestion. 

“Alright, I say ’Hellfire’ and you immediately untie me. Deal?” If her hand had been free, she would've offered it for a handshake. Raphael seemed to understand the sentiment. 

“Deal.” He said, orange eyes blazing. Behind him, Haarlep made an impatient noise. 

“Finally!” they whined. “Hells, you two are the only ones I know who considers a business meeting foreplay! Can we get on with it already?”

Raphael shifted his gaze to the incubus lounging nude on the divan opposite the foot of the bed. From Soleil's limited vantage point, she could see that Haarlep was very much not looking at their master, but that their gaze was fastened to where her legs were spread open. Their eyes darted up, catching her look, and they licked their lips with a wink. Soleil felt her face flush as she instinctively tried to close her legs and shield herself from the incubus' hungry eyes, but were stopped by the ropes. 

“You're sitting out the first ones, just for that comment,” Raphael growled. Haarlep's eyes finally snapped to their master. 

“Come on! ”

“Don't make me untie the wizard's hands so she can Banish you again,” the warning was clear in the devil's voice. The threat was moot though; even with her hands free, Soleil wouldn't be able to cast with the reactivated collar. Haarlep sat back and grumbled something in infernal under their breath. Raphael turned his attention back to Soleil, and the tiefling felt herself shake under his intense gaze. “Now, where were we?” 

The bed dipped as he took a knee and climbed over her, wings spreading out and eclipsing her vision of anything that wasn't him. He surged down, his mouth finding her neck and reapplying the dark bruises that the restoration pool had washed away. His hands roamed her body, caressing and squeezing flesh, cambion claws giving ample attention to her infernal ridges. She moaned as his mouth continued down, paying the same rough respects to her breasts as the day before. A jolt went through Soleil at the feeling of his hand caressing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, so close to where she was needy. Her instinct to flinch away was halted by the ropes, keeping her open and still, an offering to be taken by the devil. Raphael noted her reaction with a hum, giving one last hard suck to her nipple before commenting.

“So responsive,” he purred, mouth traveling further down to her stomach, while his hand traveled up her leg. “Try to flee all you want, little mouse. Right now you're mine.” Soleil felt a gush of wetness escape her at his words, and she tried to hide her face, turning it to her shoulder.

That, however, was a mistake, because the sudden touch of his lips to her throbbing sex startled her, no warning but a warm puff of his breath against her before he sealed his lips around her clit. Soleil squirmed, kicking her legs fruitlessly, the unexpected jolt of pleasure drawing a high keen from her lips. His pointed tongue swept through her folds, momentarily dipping into her wet entrance before returning to her clit. It wasn't long before she felt that tell-tale feeling of heat building in her abdomen. True to his words, Raphael didn't stop his ministrations to make her beg for release, he simply continued steadily pushing the tiefling over the edge with every flicker of his skilled tongue. She came with a sharp cry, limbs straining against her bindings, as she shook.

Raphael continued lapping at her lazily, finding the smallest amount of mercy in himself to not focus all of his attention on her sensitive clit. She still squirmed and whimpered at the shocks of overstimulation burning through her. Raphael lifted his head slightly, and Soleil sighed at the small break, fighting to catch her breath. His mouth was already glistening with her arousal, and her core clenched at the sight. The cambion brought two fingers to his lips and bit into his claws. He spat the severed keratin out onto the floor, before once again lowering his face between her thighs and sealing his lips around her pulsing clit. She gasped as his now blunted claws sank into her wet heat, first digit curling upwards experimentally and then another joining it, prodding at that spot inside of her that made the wizard's eyes roll to the back of her skull. Soleil could do nothing but lay there and take what the devil gave her, moaning and gasping as her second orgasm was slowly beckoned forward by Raphael's fingers. It came crashing down on her, and she moaned, an almost injured sound, her legs shaking violently. This time he didn't grant her a reprieve, he just continued with the same pace and intensity. Soleil felt tears burning in her eyes. 

“Please… ” she whined, not even knowing what she was begging for. A sardonic laughter rang in her ears, and a deceptively gentle hand turned her head, Haarlep's devastatingly beautiful face appearing in her blurry vision. 

“Aww, is the mortal already tuckered out?” they cooed at her. “I definitely thought you were made of stronger stuff, considering your previous conquests. But I guess appetite doesn't always match one's ability to eat. Or get eaten…” Raphael growled at the mention of Soleil's former sexual partners, the vibrations thwarting any chance she had at disproving the incubus' claim. She moaned and Haarlep exploited her open mouth by pushing a finger past her lips, petting her tongue lovingly. Soleil was too distracted by the fingers in her mouth and pussy to notice the mischievous look that crossed Haarlep's face. They leaned down and replaced their finger with their tongue. Soleil wasn't even sure if it could be called a kiss, her jaw too slack for her to do anything but pant and moan helplessly as the incubus' wet tongue explored her mouth. The effect was almost instantaneous, scorching arousal pulsating through her, incubus spittle lighting her on fire and her scream was swallowed by Haarlep as she came a third time.

They leaned back with a smug grin as Soleil slowly returned to her body, muscles trembling and hands growing numb. Raphael benevolently got up from between her legs, wiping his lower face with the back of his free hand. His fingers were still petting her walls languidly, and she whined weakly at the sensation. 

“That's cheating, Haarlep,” he commented crossly. The incubus shrugged unabashedly. 

“She needed a little pick-me-up,” they explained. “Otherwise she'd be all spent before I'd even get the chance to join in on the fun.” Raphael’s expression remained unimpressed.

“I should chain you to a chair and make you watch, you insolent creature.” 

“Mmm don't threaten me with a good time.”

If Soleil's brain had not currently been leaking out of her ears, she would have complained about being caught in the center of another one of their bickering spats. At this moment, all of the wizard's focus was occupied by the maddening pleasure coursing through her. Raphael finally gave up on trying to discipline his unruly pet, and he removed his fingers from Soleil's dripping cunt. She mewled at the loss, body still shaking with need from the aphrodisiacal properties of the incubus' spit. 

"Get to work, then," Raphael commanded, gesturing sharply for Haarlep to take his place. The incubus practically skipped to the foot of the bed, swiftly climbing onto the mattress and positioning themself between Soleil's bound legs. Before they could lower themselves, Raphael seized a handful of their hair, yanking their head back and eliciting a hiss from the fiend. “The mouse's form, if you'd be so kind,” he ordered, voice firm.

As he released the incubus's locks, Haarlep's features shifted, morphing into Soleil’s likeness. The wizard didn't get to comment on or question the decision, because the incubus immediately pounced on her, eliciting a startled and pained yelp from her throat. If Raphael was skilled with his tongue, Haarlep was an adept. She didn't even have time to brace herself for her fourth orgasm; it crashed into her as abruptly as lightning on a clear sky. She could taste the bitterness of her own release on her tongue as the incubus kept licking her insistently. Soleil didn't know when she had skewered her eyes shut, but they flew open at the feeling of a ridged cock sliding through her folds. Raphael had positioned himself behind Haarlep, their back arched sharply and hips lifted up.

Surely, he didn't mean to…? It would most certainly break her!

“N-no stop, it's too much, I can’t!” Gasped and warbled pleas fell mindlessly from Soleil’s lips, tears spilling from her eyes. Raphael just bared his fangs in a sadistic smile, keeping his burning gaze locked with the tiefling as he pushed forward into the incubus. 

“You don't think Haarlep deserves a reward for their efforts?” he chided, groaning softly as he continued to thrust into them, inch by inch. “Impertinence aside, this was their brilliant idea after all. You’re being quite selfish, pet.”

Soleil wailed, her quivering sensitive walls contracting around the phantom feeling of his cock splitting her open. Haarlep moaned against her, sending another painful vibration of pleasure through her. Raphael started moving, pistoning his hips with deep, full thrusts that Soleil swore she could feel in her diaphragm. Her release seemed so close at hand, continuously building, yet so far away, keeping Soleil suspended in an agonizing mix of pleasure and pain. Her fifth release was violent, her body seizing and locking up as if she'd been hit with a Flesh to Stone spell, her mouth twisted in a soundless cry, further making her look the part of a petrified statue.

Her blood and lungs were burning before she finally managed to draw a gasping breath, body still coiled tight as if she hadn't come at all. Raphael somehow managed to distinguish the confused furrow of her brow from the one she wore in pleasure. He grinned, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

"That one was Haarlep’s achievement, little mouse," he teased, making no effort to hide how much her pain excited him. "It doesn’t count toward your total."

Soleil felt a moment of actual dread right before her real fifth release. Another sensation was building in her gut, and she was too busy gasping for breath to cry out a warning. The tether snapped, her body releasing a gush of liquid to accompany her trembling orgasm. Both of the devils' reactions were instantaneous; Haarlep moaned in delighted surprise, impossibly doubling their effort, and Raphael growled, looking absolutely feral at the sight of her quivering form. Soleil lost herself, her body fighting hopelessly against the bonds holding her and the barrage of stimuli. Tears were constant now, and she lost track of how many times she had orgasmed and how many of them were Haarlep’s. It must’ve been somewhere in the double digits now. Raphael found his own release as well, spilling deep inside Haarlep multiple times, but the devil's refractory period was practically nonexistent. 

Soleil’s thoughts were an incoherent mess, barely able to hold onto a word or plea. Her body was a roaring inferno, pure magma coursing through her veins, nerves alight with-

“Hellfire!” she screamed, voice raw and cracking.

Everything immediately came to a halt. Raphael pulled out of Haarlep, eliciting a whine from both the incubus and the tiefling. He snapped his fingers, and the ropes binding Soleil burned away letting her reddened wrists and ankles fall limply to the silken sheets. She wanted to curl in on herself, but she couldn't move a muscle, too busy trying to calm her heaving chest. Haarlep shifted their form, granting her freedom from that additional overstimulation and Raphael scooped her up into his arms, cradling her boneless form to his tacky chest. She let out a whine, and he shushed her, carrying her to the rejuvenation pool, sliding into the healing waters, and placing the tiefling on his lap. He gently massaged her reddened wrists, the color quickly returning to normal with the help of the water. Haarlep joined them, guiding her head back into their lap as they began messaging her scalp. Soleil sighed heavily, very close to drifting off. A question emerged from her dazed mind, keeping her from slipping into unconsciousness. 

“H…” she rasped, her voice hoarse and ragged from screaming. She coughed softly, attempting to clear her throat. “How many...?” Raphael snorted at her feeble attempt at speech, shifting his attention to her ankle, gently bending her leg. She still winced at the movement, but he didn't seem to notice or care. 

“Twenty times in total,” he answered, his tone betraying no hint of whether he found the number impressive. “Nine were Haarlep’s, leaving you with eleven.”

“Not bad for a mortal,” the incubus chimed in, giving her hair a playful tug. Soleil whined weakly at the sting.

As Haarlep’s claws resumed their tender scratching of her scalp, her consciousness finally slipped away. Soothed by the touch of the two fiends, she drifted into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Chapter Text

If Soleil kept her eyes closed, she could almost believe the dream. That she was snoozing on a hot summer day, curled up beside her lover, the quiet rustle of pages being turned in a book as a pleasant ambiance. She could fool herself into believing that the weary tiredness she felt in her bones was from a day of hard work and a night of passion. She could convince herself that the flutter in her chest was the giddy anticipation of a new day’s promise. But when she opened her bleary eyes, the fragile image dissipated, like a badly constructed illusion. The oppressive heat wasn’t the embrace of a summer’s day, but the suffocating flames of Avernus. The tiredness that clung to her body wasn’t the consequence of labor or love, but the cruel toll of being twisted and used, both body and mind, by two devils. The fluttering sensation was not excitement, but instead a bitter knot of anxiety writhing in her chest. The man at her side was not her lover, but her captor. The only thing that remained true to Soleil’s fantasy was that he was currently reading a book, the worn leather cover intimately familiar to the wizard. 

“Are you seriously reading my journal right now?” she yawned, stretching and arching her back. She idly noted that she was lying partially on Raphael’s wing, the leathery membrane a strange texture against her naked skin.  

“Yes,” the devil hummed, barely glancing in her direction. “I already know most of the plot points, of course, but it's still intriguing to experience it from a perspective other than Korrilla's.” Soleil knew she should be outraged by the blatant invasion of her privacy, but exhaustion weighed heavily on her, leaving only a fleeting sense of mild annoyance. She shifted onto her stomach and further onto the wing. 

“A devil materialized before us, seemingly out of thin air, introducing himself as Raphael,” Soleil didn't need to look at the devil to know that a smirk was plastered on his face. Of course, the vain bastard was reading about himself. “Every bit the dramatist, he insinuated that he might be the answer to our predicament, boldly presenting himself as our savior. Well-spoken, strikingly handsome, and crafted to tempt, he sought to draw us in with his charm. I’m pleased to hear I made such a memorable first impression on you, little mouse,” Raphael remarked, his smile oozing arrogance. Soleil just huffed in lieu of an answer. “I don’t trust a word from his silvered tongue, but I’ll grant him one concession: I shall entertain his proposal only after every other option has been explored. And even then, I find myself questioning whether serving a devil would truly differ from being enslaved by a mindflayer’s parasitic control. At least as a mindflayer, I wouldn't have the ego to regret making the same foolish decision as… and then the remaining text is scratched out...” She could hear the quiet intrigue beneath his clear amusement. Soleil remembered writing the entries as a way to collect her scattered thoughts after being whisked away by the mindflayers. She had imagined one day sorting through her journal and publishing it as a historical record of the event. As it were right now, it was a haphazard collection of her private reflections. 

“Whose footsteps did you not wish to follow in, dear wizard?”

“Strahd von Zarovich’s,” she answered sarcastically, her voice muffled against the skin of her forearm. “Is a woman not entitled to some secrecy?”

Raphael chuckled, a low, and dismissive sound.

“She is... unless she’s bound by contract to serve under me,” he replied, his words laced with a quiet, commanding authority. "And it seems you’ve been keeping quite a few secrets from me," With a smooth motion, he turned the journal to show her the page he had just read, its contents accompanied by a finely detailed sketch of both his human and cambion forms. "I wasn’t aware you possessed such artistic talent."

“A steady hand is crucial for crafting sigils,” she explained while stifling another yawn. “Drawing helps refine that skill."

"Your penmanship could benefit from a bit of refinement," he noted, his gaze lingering on the words. "I can scarcely make out the letters."

“Then stop reading,” she replied tersely. Raphael ignored her.

“The text does become utterly incomprehensible later on,” he continued while flipping through some of the pages, Soleil’s adventure dancing by. It landed on a page, illustrations depicting Hope, Haarlep, and Soleil’s contract guarded by a spheric shield. The writing on the page was encrypted and unreadable unless you knew the method behind the madness. “Tell me, was the tadpole getting to you, little mouse?”

“Having a mindflayer sift through my every thought was unpleasant enough,” she said, a note of smug satisfaction creeping into her voice. “I merely wanted to preserve whatever semblance of privacy I could. I’m pleased to see my cipher is crafted well enough to keep you out, too.” A hint of annoyance flickered over Raphael’s face, and then it was gone. He went back to reading the pages not written in cipher. Soleil began absentmindedly tracing the membrane of his wing, marveling at its smooth texture. The moment was oddly domestic - If she just ignored the fact that she was currently in hell and that the devil was reading her diary. The wing suddenly twitched under her touch. 

“I’ve gone to great lengths to ensure you can study in peace,” Raphael remarked, his gaze shifting from the book to the wizard’s prone form, “I expect that you return the courtesy and cease that immediately.” Soleil couldn't help but snort. 

“You're ticklish?” she teased but did stop the movement of her hand. Raphael’s lip curled in a disdainful sneer, the devil seemingly unwilling to dignify that with an answer. 

“What’s this sudden fascination with my wings?” he asked his tone a mix of curiosity and irritation. Soleil shrugged. 

“I miss flying,” she mumbled wistfully. “A spell only grants me ten minutes, but every second feels like… freedom.” Raphael’s gaze wandered to the exposed curve of her back, his eyes distant and contemplative. Without a word, he extended a hand, tracing the faint outline of her vestigial wings. His touch was firm, warm, almost possessive.

“I could grant you wings,” he said, voice tinged with something Soleil couldn’t parse. “Once I have the reforged Crown.” His finger caught on the spur at her shoulder blade, and a shiver, involuntary and electric, rippled through the tiefling. She thought back to Marcus, the Flaming Fist who'd been willing to betray Isobel and all the Harpers at Last Light in exchange for a pair of wings. What would Raphael ask of her in return?

“Where’s Haarlep?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject. For a brief moment, Soleil wondered if she had really been so exhausted that she had slept through their morning visit. 

“It's their day off,” Raphael responded sharply, withdrawing his hand from her back. The familiar curl of annoyance returned to his lip, a quiet edge settling back into his demeanor. “Were I to hazard a guess, I’d say they're probably lying with an osyluth right now.” Soleil shuddered at that mental image. For once, she wasn't curious enough to ask how a bone-devil would bone anything. 

“What are you going to do today?” she asked instead. “Aside from reading my private journal.” 

“Once you've written a list of the components you need, I’ll go fetch them,” he replied, closing the book with a sharp thump. “I need to stock up on a few things myself.”

“You don't have people to do that for you?” she asked, her surprise barely concealed.

“I prefer to conduct business with this particular supplier personally.” His answer only stoked Soleil’s curiosity.

“Can I come with you?” she asked, sitting up, her eagerness apparent and her voice carrying a hint of longing. Raphael raised an eyebrow, regarding her with quiet amusement.

“Why?”

“I’ve been stuck in this House for almost two weeks,” she complained. “I'm going stir crazy.”

“I don't think you’ve understood the role of a prisoner yet, little mouse,” he commented snidely. Soleil glared at him.

“What prisoner sleeps in their captor's bed?” she shot back. “Come on, it’s not like I can run away from you anyway,” she added, her hand gesturing to the collar around her neck. Raphael’s orange eyes flickered from the collar to her eyes, to the closed book. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, one that suggested he was toying with a new idea.

“We can go on this little excursion together if you tell me the full story contained within these pages,” he said, motioning to the journal before extending his hand toward her. “No omissions, no half-truths. Do we have a deal?” Soleil sighed, irritation flaring. She was getting tired of constantly having to strike bargains. But still, she took his hand.

“It's a deal,” she said, her voice resolute. Her grip tightened. “If we're flying there.”

Raphael's lips thinned into a straight, unamused line. But he shook her hand, accepting the condition with a silent nod. 

—

Soleil didn't know exactly what she’d expected when she had demanded that they fly to Raphael’s supplier, but being slung over the devil’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes while he soared through the Avernus sky was definitely not it. Each powerful flap of his wings sent waves of nausea crashing through her, motion sickness threatening to overwhelm her.

“I’m gonna hurl!” she shouted over the roar of the wind, her voice strained.

“If you puke down my back like a babe being burped, I’ll drop you straight into the middle of the Blood War,” Raphael growled, his claws digging into the backs of her thighs with a painful grip.

“I’m serious, Raphael!” Soleil’s stomach churned violently, bile creeping up her throat.

“So am I!”

“Can't we take a break? Land or something??” Her plea was desperate now. The cambion growled in annoyance but seemed to relent when she started gagging. With a sharp swoop, he dropped toward a rocky outcropping, nearly sending Soleil’s stomach contents spilling over the edge. He landed with a jarring thud, setting her down on solid ground.

Soleil bent over immediately, hands braced on her knees, trying desperately to breathe through the nausea that gripped her.

“I thought you said you enjoyed flying.” Raphael kept his distance, not bothering to hide his open disgust as he watched her heave.

“Not backward!” she moaned, another wave of nausea rolling through her. Slowly, the horizon stopped its relentless up-and-down motion, and the world steadied. Soleil’s breakfast seemed to stay in her stomach, for now. She sat down on the edge of the outcropping. “Please, just ten minutes…” she groaned, heart slowly calming. Raphael walked to her side, observing her, but electing not to comment further on her sorry state. Neither of them said anything while Soleil caught her breath. 

“While looking through your journal,” Raphael finally broke the silence, his tone light yet pointed. “I came across some rather… in-depth anatomical depictions of one illithid sovereign,” a slight, knowing twist touched his lips, blending amusement and distaste. “Care to explain those?” Soleil felt warmth flush her face and another bout of bile rise in her throat. 

“Just anatomy studies,” she responded, her words coming too quickly to sound convincing. “It’s useful to understand every part of your enemy.”

“To a point,” Raphael agreed with a note of skepticism. “Yet I find myself questioning the true value of knowing your enemy quite so intimately.” Soleil wanted to ask him what the Hells the point of fucking her - and her double - were then, but she bit her tongue.

“Are you sure you want to open that can of tadpoles?” she asked instead.

“You promised me candor, dear. No omissions or half-truths,” the devil pressed. “Though, I won’t hold it against you if you decide to spare me a few details from this particular tale.” 

“Don't blame me if we both end up hurling,” she sighed heavily and kept her eyes on the horizon. Soleil would never be ashamed of her desires in that regard, but this was a particular lapse in judgment that she wasn't keen on revisiting, much less on retelling to someone else. "The Emperor appeared shortly after I'd struck the deal with you for the Orphic Hammer," she stated, keeping her voice clinical to the best of her abilities. "It made its... attraction abundantly clear and I... followed along." 

A heavy silence hung between them, and Soleil could almost feel the disgust radiating from Raphael. She wouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to touch her again. Frankly, that would suit her just fine.

“Why?” His voice held genuine confusion, though there was a sharp edge to it. “You must’ve known it was a ploy to manipulate you. Why sleep with it?”  

“Of course I knew it was manipulating me!” she snapped, her frustration bubbling to the surface. By now she had expected the devil to at least acknowledge her intellect. “I might not have a silver tongue like you, but I’m not blind to being used. I slept with it for the same reason I slept with Haarlep.” 

“Because you're a depraved whore?” Soleil whipped her head around, her eyes flashing as she locked gazes with the devil. His orange eyes gleamed with amusement and condescending judgment. She sneered. As if he had any right to judge her!

"Oh, will you shut up?" she spat, her voice thick with disdain. "Taking your deal was a clear sign of distrust, and I thought the Emperor would withdraw its protection if I also rejected its advances. I needed it to believe that I was still its ally." And she'd feared what the devil bearing Raphael’s face might’ve done if she refused to play their game. Giving up her body had seemed an easy sacrifice if it meant protecting her friends. She paused for a moment, recalling Raphael’s command of no half-truths. 

“And I was curious,” she admitted reluctantly through gritted teeth, the words leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable in a way she hadn't expected. “I sought whatever fleeting pleasures or highs I could, indulging in my curiosity. I thought that if I didn’t... I would die with nothing but regrets."

The blend of the gnawing fear that her life could end at any moment mixed with her desire to save and help her friends had created a potent brew of self-destructive tendencies. Soleil now understood, with the cruel clarity only hindsight could offer, that her attempt to avoid dying with regrets only meant that she was now forced to carry them with her in life. The bitter irony of it all was enough to make her want to laugh, though she feared she might actually throw up if she did.

“So you used the Emperor’s lust against it while indulging your own.” She bristled, waiting for the sneer, the insult. But the devil’s tone was different now, low, amused, and just a touch... reverent. “What a delicious twist,” Raphael murmured, almost to himself. “You’ve surprised me, little mouse. I never imagined you capable of such depraved strategic deception.” He stepped closer, the space between them charged with heat and danger.

“How very refreshing,” he added, a dark smile curving his lips. “To know the ever-sacrificing wizard is also a creature of appetite.” A shiver ran down the tiefling’s spine. Whether from anger, fear, or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure. He wasn’t disgusted. He was intrigued. Worse: he was pleased. She could see it now, the predatory gleam in his eyes, he’d found something new to unravel in her, a thread he would pull again and again just to watch her come undone. 

“And with that,” he said, voice silk over steel, “your ten minutes are up.” He tilted his head, watching her like a cat watches a bird about to fly. “Shall we take to the skies again, little mouse?” There was a distinct challenge in his voice, as though he expected her to back down from her earlier resolve. Soleil took a deep breath, pushing herself up from the ledge in a fluid motion, stretching the tension from her back as she rose. She extended her arms toward Raphael, her gaze steady. 

“Ready whenever you are.”

—

Through sheer stubbornness, Soleil managed to keep the contents of her stomach from spilling until they landed again. It did take the tiefling a moment to stabilize once her feet hit solid ground, the world spinning nauseatingly around her, but once it calmed, the visage of an empty town square met her. Raphael began marching down the eerie cobblestone street, each footfall reverberating against the silent stone walls, and Soleil quickly followed not wanting to be left behind. 

"What are we doing in an abandoned, century-old Waterdavian township?" she asked, a mixture of curiosity and unease in her voice. Raphael stopped walking so abruptly that Soleil collided with his back. She stumbled, but the fiend spun just in time to catch her, his claws digging into her upper arms, sharp and unyielding. 

“How, by every screaming pit of the Nine Hells,” he murmured, with something like delight flickering in his eyes, “did you come to that conclusion so quickly?” 

Soleil would have been smug if it weren't for the pain of his claws digging into her flesh.

“Let me go!” she hissed, squirming against his grip. “It's the lampposts!” Raphael’s eyes narrowed as he tightened his hold. “They’re arcane lamps, Waterdeep design,” Soleil explained, her gaze flicking to the lantern above. “Other cities would’ve had their own models. They’ve only recently come back into fashion since they all pretty much exploded during the Spellplague,” Her eyes remained fixed on the twisted iron frame of the lantern and its shattered glass. The damage could have been caused by the Avernus heat, sure, but Soleil doubted it. “This many in a smaller town places it before the plague, no place would risk that today, and the damage suggests that it's been here since during or shortly after the plague. Ergo, this place is at least over a hundred years old.” 

Raphael blinked at her, then released his grip with a slow, deliberate motion. “All that,” he remarked, “from a bloody magical lamp? I can’t decide whether you're brilliant or simply an amalgamation of useless knowledge.”

Soleil rubbed her arms, irritated by the devil’s words. “That ‘amalgamation of useless knowledge’ is currently forging your road to conquering the Nine Hells,” she snapped. “And you haven’t answered my question. Why are we here? What’s this town doing in Avernus?”

“Are you not able to discern the answer to those questions from a wayward stone or a weathered door frame?” he retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How disappointing.” 

With that, he turned and resumed his march through the ghostly street, the echo of his boots once more carving through the silence. Soleil followed with a huff, resisting the urge to throw a rock at his back.

“The Spellplague was a fascinating time for Baator,” Raphael said over his shoulder, his tone oddly reminiscent. “Asmodeus’ ascension to godhood, the temporary cessation of the Blood War. It was all anyone could talk about, but me? I found my entertainment with the common people of Toril,” his lips curved into something dangerously close to fondness, and the expression made Soleil’s stomach churn.

“You see, while I’ve always thrived in the art of striking deals one soul at a time, there’s a unique thrill in the creation of a Hunting Ground; when the prey is not a person, but a people. To take a community and reshape it… to birth a new order from the ashes of the old.” He let the words trail off like smoke in the wind, his pace slowing as they reached a wide plaza.

“The Blue Breath of Change threw your world into chaos, and where chaos reigns, desperation follows. And desperation,” he said, voice rich with relish, “is fertile ground. Plant fear and paranoia will blossom.”

Soleil followed his gaze and froze.

Before them loomed rows of gallows, nooses swaying gently in the still air. Enough to hang a dozen at a time. The square, once perhaps a place for trade or celebration, now stood as a monument to something far darker. Raphael turned to her, a slow smile playing on his lips.

“What can you glean from this, my little historian?” 

Soleil swallowed, her throat as dry as parchment. During the Spellplague, the common folk didn’t understand what was happening. Most had no inkling that Mystra’s death had shattered the Weave, unraveling magic itself. It would've been easy, childsplay, for a devil like Raphael to stoke fear, to whisper that it was all the doing of mages conspiring against the world. Which in turn led to…

"Witch Hunts," she whispered. Raphael gave a low, pleased hum. 

“Precisely.” He resumed his stride across the plaza, boots crunching softly over the dust of forgotten years. Soleil stood frozen for a heartbeat longer before forcing herself to follow, though her steps were more guarded now, each one heavy with unease.

"Ah, the drama of it all," Raphael said, spreading his arms as if addressing an invisible crowd. "Neighbors turning on neighbors. Mothers dragged from hearths. Children whispering secrets they barely understood. And all of it feeding the fire, one terrified soul at a time. I hardly needed to lift a claw. The fear did most of the work for me." He stopped beside one of the gallows and placed a clawed hand on the post, fingers trailing down the splintered surface as though it were a cherished relic. "You wouldn’t believe the demand. I was overwhelmed with petitions, each more desperate than the last. Bargains made in shadows, names traded like coin. It was glorious."

Soleil felt a pang of sorrow tug at her heart as she looked around at the town’s hollow remains. These people had died terrified, confused, victims of fear weaponized into frenzy. And if she’d lived through it, if she’d been born a century earlier, a tiefling with arcane knowledge, would she have stood on one of those gallows, a rope around her neck instead of a collar? Would he have been watching as it tightened, strangling her before she could cry out?

That was if the Spellplague itself hadn’t claimed the wizard first, incinerating her body in a blue inferno. 

Raphael’s voice cut through her thoughts, continuing the gruesome tale. 

“As it happens, one of them was guilty. A true hag, skulking amidst the townsfolk. And wouldn’t you know it? She wasn’t clever enough to escape notice.” The cambion turned to face Soleil fully now, his smile full of predatory delight.

"On the morning of her execution, she did what any doomed soul might do. She called out to me. Begged. Bartered. Offered not just her own life, but the entire town, gift-wrapped in fear and blood. Who was I to refuse such a performance?" He stepped back, arms open as if unveiling a masterpiece. "The Spellplague was ending, the Weave beginning to restitch itself. Mystra’s rebirth was stirring, and I could feel the curtains starting to fall. So, I took my bow,” He gave a flourishing bow, eyes never leaving Soleil’s. ”I accepted the hag’s offer and sealed this place in the fires of Avernus. A minor production, perhaps, nothing quite as operatic as Elturel’s descent, but still,” he grinned at her, teeth sharp as daggers. “A piece worthy of applause.”

Of all the times Soleil had come close to spilling her stomach today, this was the closest. She was sure she was as pale as a vampire, she felt just as cold as one despite the hellish heat. It wasn’t the scene. Visually, it was almost mundane; weathered wood, hanging rope, time-scoured stone. She’d seen worse. She’d walked through worse in the temple of Bhaal, through rivers of gore and altars still warm with sacrifice. But this?

This was different.

Because the devil standing before her had caused it. Not out of necessity. Not even out of malice.

For entertainment.

And he was still smiling.

Soleil stared at him, heart pounding in her ears. Her vision tunneled for a moment. Not from fear, exactly, but from the weight of a realization that made her throat tighten, collar pressing like the rope of a noose: What would happen if she delivered on her end of their contract? If she reforged the Crown of Karsus, the artifact capable of rivaling the divine? What would Raphael do with that kind of power? What would he turn into a stage next? How many towns would burn, how many people hang, because she couldn’t set aside her bitterness toward the gods and hand it over to Mystra instead?

She tried to bury the thought. To crush it down where she couldn’t feel the panic anymore. How many had already died because of the gods and their vanity? Their petty squabbles? The wizard had seen it firsthand. She’d seen her friends almost break under it. Whether destruction came wrapped in a sermon or cloaked in infernal contracts made no difference to the people who lost their homes, their families, their lives. Faith or fear. What did it matter, when the end was the same?

Still… Raphael was watching her now, head tilted slightly, as if studying a painting and deciding whether to keep it or set it on fire. Then, without a flicker of concern, or perhaps with the calculated disinterest of someone who’d enjoyed her silence, he turned from the gallows and waved a hand dismissively.

“Now,” he said with a little sigh, “while I’ve immensely enjoyed our scenic stroll, and I do so appreciate your capacity for historical deduction and visible distress,” he cast her a sideways glance, lips curled just enough to show a fang, “I’d rather we move along with our errand.” He clapped his hands once, as though cueing the next act of a performance only he could see. He strode forward, his coat swirling behind him like a stage curtain drawn across a bloodstained set.

Soleil lingered.

Her legs didn’t want to move towards the fiend. Something primal inside her screamed to run. To at least try to escape. But she was as helpless, as removed from her own magic as every mage had been during the Spellplague. The nooses creaked in the wind, soft as whispers. For now, she had to play her part, lest one tighten around her own neck. Complicity.

She trailed after Raphael like a dog on a short leash, legs numb and heavy as stone.

They continued the rest of the trek in eerie silence. Eventually, the cambion came to a halt before a decaying structure that leaned like it was trying to flee from itself. Its facade was adorned with bones and skulls, infernal runes etched deep into yellowing calcium. Whether they were warnings or advertisements, Soleil couldn’t say. Raphael stepped forward with a casual confidence, rapping his knuckle against the door in a precise, rhythmic pattern. The sound rang out, unnaturally loud in the dead street, reverberating like the toll of a distant bell.

The door creaked open with a screech that set Soleil’s teeth on edge like fingernails dragged across slate. 

“After you,” Raphael said smoothly, holding the door with exaggerated courtesy. He gave her a wicked little smile, all teeth and delight. She glared at his smug expression as she forced her shaking legs to oblige, stepping across the threshold. The sweet cloying smell of incense and rotting fruit hit her like a punch to the face, her eyes stung immediately, vision swimming as tears welled. The interior shop that met her wet gaze could almost be described as cozy, had it maybe not been for the copious amount of bones and leathery skins decorating the walls. Cool unnatural flames lit sconces shaped like open jaws, blue like Plaguefire. The thought struck Soleil like ice. Was it a remnant of the Spellplague itself, or just a theatrically cruel imitation?

A shape shifted behind the counter, drawing Soleil’s gaze from the fire.

A massive, looming figure swathed in layers of cloth stood waiting. The heat of Avernus didn’t seem to touch her, though the tiefling could feel it press against her own skin like a hot breath. Her face snapped towards Soleil, neck cracking loudly. The hag's flesh was purple, like bruised skin, eyes black and beady, and a twisted crownlike set of horns adorned her brow. When she smiled Soleil could see multiple rows of sharp teeth. 

“Ohoho,” she crooned, voice deceptively soft, like the embrace of poisoned slumber.”Who visits little old me?” She leaned forward, her grin stretching impossibly wider as if her cheeks might split. Her eyes glittered like wet glass, catching the light of the unnatural flames and throwing it back in pinpricks of cold fire. “Do shut the door behind you, dearie.”

Soliel took another step, and the floor groaned beneath her like something waking up and Raphael stepped in behind her, the door creaking shut with a thud that made the wizard flinch.

“Greetings Mama Katinka." the devil purred, his arm lopping into Soleil’s like an iron shackle, forcing her to follow him toward the night hag. “It has been way too long.”

The hag, Mama Katinka, threw her head back and laughed, the sound filling the small room and rattling Soleil’s skull.    

“Well, well,” Katinka rasped, peering down at them both with inhuman curiosity. “The tomcat returns. And look what he’s dragged in. Mmm… a lover? A sister? Or perhaps.. both?” Her neck twisted at an unnatural angle, birdlike and abrupt, eyes never leaving Soleil. Raphael’s grip tightened around her arm. 

“An employee,” he corrected sharply, some of that friendly charm evaporating from his voice. “We’re here for wares. Magical components. And my usual indulgences.”

Mama Katinka tsked, unimpressed. “The fact that she’s in your employ, dear boy, does little to eliminate my initial guesses.” She hummed, bony arm reaching behind the counter and pulling up a burlap sack. She set it on the counter with a heavy, meaty thump. “I wouldn't blame you either way. She’s a pretty little thing, isn't she?” Soleil hated the way she was being watched, like a slab of meat on a butcher's block. “What do you need, sweetling?”

Soleil stood frozen for a bit before remembering the list of the eleven components she had worked so hard to earn. She dug it out of her pocket and offered it to the hag. Raphael snatched it from her fingers before Mama Katinka’s claws could reach it. 

“Hm... Let’s see what our little mage is after.” His eyes flicked down the list, orange irises gleaming with heat and scrutiny. “Gold dust. Diamond dust. A crystal ball. Chalk infused with gemstones…” He glanced at Soleil, one dark brow arched high. “And what, pray tell, do you need that last component for, dear wizard?”

Soleil felt sweat prickling at the nape of her neck, trickling down her spine. She licked her dry lips, the words catching in her throat.

“I need it,” she said, forcing calm into her voice, “to draw warding glyphs. To avoid atomizing myself while working on the crown.” The attempt to slip in the components for a teleportation circle had been a gamble and a poor one at that, but Soleil had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Raphael wouldn’t have noticed. Deception, however, had never been her strong suit, and judging by the cambion’s unamused expression he wasn't convinced in the slightest. She folded with a sigh. “You'd be disappointed if I didn't at least try.” She grumbled. Raphael gave a low, reluctant chuckle. 

“Your performance leaves much to be desired, dear,” he said, his voice curling like smoke through her nerves. “But, credit where it’s due, I do admire your grit. So, in the spirit of generosity… I’ll allow you to choose a replacement.” Soleil thought for a moment. 

“I’d like some more gold dust then.” she settled on. Raphael hummed and the parchment started to smolder between his fingers, burning away the text with the teleportation chalk. He handed the revised list to Mama Katinka. The hag snatched it without ceremony, her claws rasping against the brittle parchment. She moved with unnerving efficiency, her long limbs sweeping through the shelves like an arachnid rearranging its web. Bottles clinked. Jars sloshed. Small paper-wrapped bundles were plucked from high alcoves and added to the growing pile. Soleil watched, transfixed and unsettled.

All the eleven components from her list were gathered in a pouch. Mama Katinka leaned against the counter once the task was complete, her massive frame folding with lazy menace, looking like a predator guarding her quarry. 

“Will that be all?” she asked, tone languid, though her eyes remained sharp and glinting. 

“That will be all,” Raphael confirmed, tossing a smaller leather pouch to the counter, and the hag snatched it up as quickly as a spider striking a fly trapped in its net. Soleil could hear the familiar clink of soul coins, the metal giving off the faint sound of agonized moans. Mama Katinka nodded satisfied. 

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, dearie,” she rasped, pocketing the pouch. Raphael snapped, and the burlap sack - its contents still mercifully unknown to Soleil - and the component pouch disappeared in a flash of smoke. Katinka’s eyes slid back to Soleil, glittering with something dark and speculative. 

“Do bring that darling little morsel around another time,” she said, lips peeling back in a grin that stretched too far. “And if you ever tire of her…” Her voice dropped into a low, covetous purr. “I’d be more than happy to take her off your hands.”

Soleil didn’t mean to, but she instinctively clung to Raphael’s arm, fingers digging in as panic buzzed beneath her skin. The cambion hummed softly, clearly enjoying her reaction. His lips curled in amusement, and he gave the hag a slight, almost playful tilt of his head.

“I’m afraid she’s off the table, dear Katinka,” he said smoothly, his voice velvet again. “She’s far too precious to part with.” He leaned in, as though confiding a secret just for the hag’s ears. “And endlessly entertaining.”

She cackled loudly, the sound shrill and giddy, and Soleil wouldn't be surprised if her ears started bleeding soon. It echoed in the rafters long after they turned and once more shut the door behind them, leaving the shop of horrors behind. The Avernus air could never be described as fresh, but Soleil sucked in greedy mouthfuls anyway. She barely registered where Raphael was leading her, too busy catching her breath, but she did notice that his gait was more rigid. Something was weighing on the devil's mind. 

“Just spit it out,” she huffed. He came to a halt. Without a word, he let go of her arm. The absence of pressure made her skin feel cold despite the heat. She blinked, finally registering their surroundings: a decaying cathedral, its spires broken and leaning like fingers reaching to claw at the red sky. Whatever deity it had once belonged to had long since been scoured from stone and memory. The ruin reeked of abandonment and ash. Raphael looked at it for a moment, before his burning gaze fell on the tiefling.

“Do you know anything about the origin of your infernal bloodline, little mouse?” he asked. The question was uncharacteristically quiet. Almost hesitant.

Soleil blinked. “What, did Mama Katinka get under your skin? Afraid we’re kin?” She laughed, dry and breathless.“Of all your sins, incest seems the least of them.” The look he gave her silenced the rest of that joke. A warning, casual, yet edged with promise. One step further and she might find herself gift-wrapped for the hag after all.

“None of my parents were tieflings,” she offered at last. “I never got the full story, but from what I gathered I would be considered an Asmodeus tiefling.” 

Raphael exhaled sharply, and Soleil knew better than to mistake it for relief. Still, the thought made her stifle a snicker.

“Tell me the story you got,” he demanded. “Remember: no omissions or half-truths.” 

Soleil gave him her most devilish smile. 

“That story isn’t written in my journal, which means I’m under no obligation to tell you.” She leaned against the blackened wall of the cathedral, feigning ease. “What are you offering in exchange?” Raphael’s eyes flared, and she braced for the lash of his temper, but instead, something flickered across his face. Approval, maybe. Amusement. It was hard to tell with devils. 

“You want a trade?” he murmured. “Fine. Tell me the story of how you came into this world, a first-generation tiefling, and I’ll return your journal.” Soleil accepted the offer with a nod and cast her gaze upon the burning sky.  

“It's your classic deal: A man who was unlucky enough to be desperate, and a devil who was lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. A match made in Nessus.” She looked at Raphael pointedly. 

“I take it this man is the one whose footsteps you were so intent on avoiding?” The cambion inquired, his tone laced with sharp curiosity. Soleil nodded quietly.  

“He was a commander,” she continued, words bitter on her tongue. “A paladin, and a devout follower of The Red Lady. Whatever deal transpired, it wasn’t one that claimed his soul or his oath. No… the price was his legacy.” She paused for a moment, words thick in her throat. “You see his wife, the love of his life, fell pregnant. The child would certainly continue to bring honor to his name and their Lady,” Soleil’s tone resonated with sarcastic pride. Her shoulders slumped. “Instead, he got a monument to his greatest failure. A devil-spawn, whose birth marked the end of his wife's life.” She made a humorless gesture at herself.

“The beginning of your life heralding the end of another’s is hardly a rarity here,” Raphael remarked, his tone indifferent, almost clinical. Soleil snorted. 

“Here I am, sharing my tragic backstory, and you’re calling me basic?” she grumbled, feigning offense. A low chuckle rumbled in Raphael’s chest, his lips curling in quiet amusement. The tiefling couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile. 

“If a dead mother constitutes a tragic backstory, then every cambion is a walking tragedy,” he replied, his voice rich with dry wit. “So yes, if that’s all there is to your tale, I’m afraid you’re rather basic, little mouse.”

“Hmm… does having a dad who didn't love me set me apart from the crowd?” 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “You ask the man whose father is known as ‘The Lord of No Mercy’. What do you think?”

Soleil pushed herself away from the wall. “I think I've seen enough of Avernus for today,” she concluded. “I’m ready to go back to the House of Hope and we don't have to take the scenic route this time.”

Raphael smiled at her, and snapped his fingers, displacing the two of them from the empty ghost town.

Chapter Text

It had seemed like a good plan, in theory. Now, with her knees pressed into jagged stone behind a crumbling wall, Soleil gritted her teeth and cursed under her breath. She should’ve known better by now; theory and execution were often two entirely different beasts. The wizard was back in the waterdavian ghost town. Now she just needed to hide out for as long as she could. Easier said than done with that damn collar choking off her magic. Without it, she could’ve cast Invisibility and vanished like smoke. But fate wasn’t feeling generous. She darted into a random house, keeping her eyes peeled for any valuables. Left behind potions or weapons, anything she could use instead of her magic. She scaled a rickety stairway, careful to keep away from the creakier steps. If she could get to higher ground, and get some sort of overview of the city, she might gain the upper hand. Might. That trick worked better for a druid in wildshape or a rogue with a bow. Not a magicless wizard with a collar around her neck and desperation clawing at her chest. 

She had spent days continuously trying to make headway with reforging the Crown, but she'd hit a wall. The endless monotony of working on the same project, in the same tarnished dull cage was driving the wizard to madness. It was perhaps that madness that spurred her on now.

Getting her journal back was a mistake. It didn't even contain any useful notes regarding the reforging of the Crown of Karsus. It had just fanned the fires of the tiefling's longing, her loneliness. Soleil had spent a long time gazing at her own sketches, her friends' faces staring back at her from the yellowed pages. Halsin was unsurprisingly the hardest one to face. Just looking at him undid her. Tear stains now marred his portrait, faint watermarks that blurred the soft lines of his smile. She missed him fiercely, and each passing day in the House of Hope only deepened that longing.

Currently, Soleil climbed out of a window, glass long since shattered and scattered. The architecture of the town made it easy for someone with a moderate amount of dexterity and acrobatics to traverse the rooftops. Soleil once again cursed herself for not branching out her abilities a bit more. She let the mental recollection of Astarion guide her steps. “Stick to the shadows darling and keep on your tippie toes,” the vampire's sultry voice rang out in her ears. If he was actually here, with her, the wizard might've had a chance of making it out of this. But as fate would stubbornly have it, she was once again on her own. That was something Soleil currently envied Karlach and Wyll. Not that their suffering in Avernus was a competition, but they had each other. Still, she felt a pang of guilt at the thought. In comparison, the wizard had not spent the majority of her time in the hells constantly on the run. Her cage was gilded, comfortable by comparison and the realization of what her two friends went through on the daily was a wake-up call. She could get through this, if not for her own sake, then for theirs. As Soleil crept across the rooftops, every step a whisper against the tiles, a flicker of movement below froze her in place. Her heart seized. She dropped flat, faster than a startled rabbit kit, barely daring to breathe.

Further ahead, crossing the plaza they had walked across together some days before, was her hunter. Sat atop a beautiful nightmare, its mane a curtain of living fire, its hooves striking sparks on the cobblestones and flanked by two hellhounds whose slobber scorched the ground. Clad in the Helldusk armor that made him look the part of a devil, even in his human form. Soleil’s pulse thundered in her ears. She couldn’t hear his words from this distance, but when Raphael whistled, it sliced through the silence like a blade. The hellhounds scattered, vanishing into alleys like shadows with teeth. The nightmare screamed a high, shrieking cry that chilled her to the bone and charged into the ghost town, taking its rider with it. Soleil spent a moment longer pressed to the tiled roof. Her chances were bleeding away by the second, slipping between her fingers, but she had to make it through this.

Finally, her trembling legs obeyed. She moved, inching forward in the opposite direction of where Raphael had vanished. Every step felt like a gamble, every breath a betrayal. All she had to do was stay ahead of him and his hounds. Gods, the hounds. Dirty, flame-drooling monsters, cheating bloodhounds with a nose for fear and magic, she cursed them and their master to the darkest pits. She slid down onto a balcony, the stones groaning beneath her as if threatening to give her away. For one paralyzing second, she froze, but they held. Just barely. The tiefling continued searching for any valuables as she went, carefully upending any chest or cabinet she came across. She hadn't made it out from the nautiloid crash and all the way to the Gate without learning a thing or two about looting, but right now it was a gamble. Every item she moved left a scent, a fingerprint, a whisper Raphael’s hounds could follow. They were tracking her even now, no doubt, each overturned box a signal fire. Her eyes landed on a drawer. Inside, half-buried beneath rags, she found a pair of stiff, mold-spotted leather gloves. Ugly. Gross. But useful. With a grimace, she pulled them on. The dampness clung to her fingers like cold flesh, but at least they’d mask her touch.

Soleil continued out onto the ghostly streets. It was risky, but there was a specific building they’d passed on their previous visit that Soleil wanted to reach. She kept her pace slow and quiet, even as every animal instinct in her being screamed at her to run. When she heard the sound of thundering hoofbeats, she ducked into a crevice and flattened herself against the cold stone wall. 

“Hide all you want, little witch,” Raphael called, his tone a velvet blade. Amused. Mocking. Confident. Hungry . “It only sweetens the thrill of the chase.”

His words echoed down the alley, clinging to the walls like smoke. The wizard’s blood turned to ice. He was close. Too close. But far enough away that Soleil dared to dart out into the street, moving low and hunched like prey. She could hide, but the hounds would easily sniff her out. Outrunning a Nightmare would be impossible. She’d have to rely on her wit if she were to avoid getting caught. Agonizingly slow and freezing at every loud sound, she eventually reached the dilapidated pharmacy. Her fingers trembled on the doorframe. If there was anything left in this gods-forsaken ruin worth scavenging, it would be here. The door groaned as she pushed it open and her heart sank. So much for stealth. There was no time for second thoughts, however, so she dove inside. Drawers were ripped open, and cabinets scoured. She moved fast but methodically, pocketing empty vials and useful odds in the sash around her waist. Then a glint: A bottle of Alchemist’s Fire and a small herb knife. Useless, mostly, they would do nothing to harm the fiends on her tail, but she pocketed them anyway. She might get lucky. She had to. The tiefling scurried away out of a window as hoofbeats neared, hoping to lose her hunter in the narrow pathways. At a crossroads, she halted abruptly. A low, snuffling sound reached her ears. The hellhound’s heavy paws thudded closer, the sound of its breathing deep and predatory. Soleil’s pulse quickened. She darted into the shadows, holding her breath as the creature neared. Its nose dragged along the ground, sniffing at the air with a keen intensity.

It stopped.

Soleil’s heart skipped a beat.

The hound’s scarred snout twitched, its eyes narrowing as it lifted its head, searching for the scent. Soleil’s fingers tightened around an empty vial in her sash, desperate for a chance to throw it, to create a distraction. Anything to buy her time.

But she didn’t get the chance.

“Hati! Here. Now! ” Raphael’s voice rang out in the distance, guttural in infernal. The hound’s ears perked and without hesitation, it turned and bolted down the street, heeding its master’s call with unnerving obedience. Soleil let out a slow, shaky breath. Relief came in a thin, bitter taste. She moved again, slipping through ruins and wreckage, never staying in one place long enough to leave a trail. She ducked in and out of decrepit houses, careful to leave no pattern. No rhythm. At one point, she paused near a broken window and glanced skyward.

Her breath caught.

Across the skyline, Raphael’s nightmare galloped in the air, its flaming hooves crashing down like meteors, raining sparks across the crumbling town.

The rooftops weren’t safe.

Whenever one of the hounds sniffed too close, she hurled a glass vial far down a side street, then sprinted the opposite way. It was a cruel rhythm; bait and run, bait and run. A brutal game of inches and the fiends were always right behind her, at the spade of her tail, a breath away. She couldn’t stumble. She couldn’t slow down.

Raphael’s mocking voice would often alert her to his presence, even if he weren't near. Even mid-hunt, he couldn’t seem to resist the sound of his own voice. Or perhaps it was all part of the game to unnerve her, to remind her who held the leash she had slipped. Soleil was darting down a balcony corridor, hoping that the covering would hide her from any flying nightmare, but she froze at a soft thump above her. Clawed hands gripped the edge of the balcony above, and a devil dropped down, hanging upside down like some grotesque bat. Small and spined like a living weapon, its malicious grin split its porcupine-like face.

“What do we have here? A mortal?” Its nasal voice was as sharp as the spikes that covered its body, infernal grating on the ears. Soleil bolted, herb knife gripped in her hand, but it was too fast. The spinagon pounced, claws digging into her shoulders as it yanked her over the railing. They plummeted, only minimally slowed by the devil's beating wings. Soleil hit the ground hard, pain flaring through her body as the impact slammed the air from her lungs. The spinagon landed on top of her, pinning her with its weight and giddy, frenzied strength.

“You will get me promoted ! Yes! Zariel will promote me!”

She stared up, dazed and disoriented. It wasn’t even one of Raphael’s. Just some opportunistic bottom-feeder trying to make a name for itself. Soleil lashed out with her small blade, stabbing at the spinagons soft belly. It sunk in, but the devil just cackled at her and dug in its claws deeper. She cried out, the wet feel of blood soaking her shoulders. Before she could draw the knife back to stab again, the spinagon was ripped off of her, its claws leaving slashes in her shoulders. One of the hellhounds had tackled it, and the smaller devil screamed as the hound shook it between its teeth, mauling it. Soleil got to her feet, intent on getting away from the two fiends, but found herself face-to-face with the second hound. It growled at her, lavalike slobber dripping from its jowls. Soleil’s heart pounded, sweat beading her brow. Then she noticed a scar across its snarling snout.

“Hati,” she said, her voice a brittle whisper. She forced it louder. Firmer. “Hati! ”

The beast’s ears twitched. It cocked its head, confused, but listening. 

“Go get ’em, Hati! ” she barked, fumbling through infernal syllables that rolled off her tongue like broken glass.

For one terrible heartbeat, nothing happened. 

Then, with a guttural snarl, the hound bolted past her and joined its counterpart in tearing the small devil apart. Soleil didn't stop to watch the two dogs, she just ran as fast as she could. 

The thundering sound of hoofbeats drew nearer to her previous location, and she could hear Raphael's furious voice shout infernal, but couldn't hear what he was saying over the sound of her blood roaring in her ears. She ran into a random building, lungs screaming for breath as her feet hammered over the brittle floorboards. Her legs were giving up. She needed a moment of respite, a short rest. But the predator hunting her knew no such mercy. It was only a few moments before the onyx flank of the nightmare darkened the building's doorstep, its hoofs sparking against the cobblestones as it came to a halt. Its rider dismounted and hit the ground with a weight that shook the foundation. Metal rang out, cold and final. He moved with languid confidence, ducking to step past the doorway. His gaze, visible through the skull-like eyeholes of his helmet, burned with sadistic delight.

“Aww,” Raphael cooed, his voice a velvet sneer. “Are we tired, little witch?” 

Soleil backed into the far wall, her breath ragged. Her fingers fumbled through her sash, finding the cool neck of a glass bottle. Raphael took another step. Slow. Measured. Playing with his food. Before he could close the gap further, Soleil threw the bottle in her hand, shattering it on the floor between them. Flames erupted, the Alchemist’s Fire spreading fast, hungry, and violent. The air bloomed with heat, the flames casting wild shadows across the ruined room.

Raphael chuckled. A low, amused sound.

“You'll need more than a bit of flame to-!” at his slow march through the spreading inferno, the brittle burning floorboards groaned and broke under his armored weight. The devil dropped. Soleil stared, breath caught in her throat, as Raphael vanished into the smoke and rubble, swallowed by the building’s hollowed guts. Embers flickered down into the gap where he’d stood a moment ago. For the first time since this hunt began, the wizard felt like laughing. The sound, however, quickly died in her throat as the armored figure rose from the depth, hovering in the air. 

“You damned cheater!” Soleil hissed, dread choking her small hope. Raphael laughed, loud and mocking. Then his gaze locked upon her frame. 

“Run. ”

Soleil obeyed, fleeing to a backdoor she had clocked while entering the building. She knew it was over, but every second she could gain counted.  She rushed across the courtyard, paying no mind to the ruckus of her footfalls. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. 

The cathedral rose ahead, dark and crumbling. She sprinted toward it, throwing herself at the doors. They groaned under her weight, then gave way with a thunderous crash, opening wide. She stormed down the central aisle, breathless, wild, frantic, like a bride too desperate to reach the altar. But she wouldn't find the man of her dreams ahead of her, only the one from her living nightmares behind her. He hit her in a blur of motion and steel, and they crashed to the floor, her scream echoing off the marble walls. Raphael planted a boot between her shoulder blades, pinning her like a butterfly in a collector’s display.

“Down comes the claw,” Raphael murmured, voice a dulcet whisper in her ear, “catching the little mouse.” His hand fisted the back of her collar and, with barely any effort, hauled her upright. She twisted, thrashed, clawed, nails raking across the dark metal of his armor. But it was like trying to wound a statue. He lifted her higher until she dangled at eye level.

For whatever reason, he had removed his helmet. Maybe so that she could see the man behind its devilish visage. Maybe so that she could see his smug, triumphant expression. His brown eyes were alight with cruel amusement and his lips curled in a mockery of gentleness. As if he were simply admiring her, not restraining her. As if this moment had been rehearsed and perfected long before tonight. Soleil choked, gasping against the pull of her collar. She jammed the toe of her boot into the jagged gaps of his chestplate, using the tooth-like ridges for leverage. She shoved. He didn’t move. His eyes flicked down to the boot, then back to her, slow and deliberate. A smile ghosted across his lips.

“Still kicking,” he purred. “Good. ”

The tiefling's breath hitched. She didn’t stop struggling. He might have caught her, but she wouldn't surrender, not yet. 

“You can make this easy for yourself, dear,” Raphael continued, unbothered. “Just tell me what I want to hear.” 

Soleil bared her teeth at the devil and spat. A small glob of saliva flew from her lips and landed on Raphael's chiseled cheekbone. 

“Fuck you.” She growled, low and defiant. For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change.

She could see fury burn behind his brown eyes as he raised one clawed gauntlet and wiped the spit from his cheek. The metal scraped faintly against his skin, the sound soft but terrible in the silence that followed. A smile unfurled across his face, wide, gleaming, and full of sadistic delight. Of course. What was it Haarlep had said? He always likes the ones that put up a fight. 

Raphael leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Have it your way, witch,” he said, voice syrup-slick and dripping with barely contained anticipation. “I’m going to enjoy wrenching a confession from your lips.” He snapped his gauntlet fingers, metal screeching in the empty cathedral and the sudden rattle of chains drew Soleil’s gaze up to the vaulting ceiling. A grand chandelier hung above, shaped like the holy star of Mystra. Years of melted wax coated each of the eight points, forming pale stalactites that glistened like bones.

Once, the mages of this town would have gathered here to pray beneath that emblem, their voices lifted in reverence to the Lady of Mysteries. Before her assassination. Before the Weave were twisted against them, burning them in the blue inferno of the Spellplague. Before the remaining survivors were blamed for the destruction and hunted like beasts. Had Soleil not been terrified of what was to come, she would’ve appreciated the irony of being cornered and caught in the Mother of Magic’s defaced church. The wizard would sooner surrender to Raphael than cry out for Mystra’s aid, but the scene before her dared her to try. There was no way she would be heard from the hells.

Two sets of manacles plummeted down from the center of the chandelier and came to a sudden, ringing halt just inches above them. Raphael moved with slow precision, peeling the moldy gloves off of her hands. His fingers closed around her wrists, not harsh or rushed, but with the care of someone savoring every step. He forced her hands into the waiting steel, locking her wrists in place. The chains groaned as her weight shifted. She could still stand, heels scraping the stone, the soles of her feet barely flat, but only just. The strain bit into her shoulders and stretched her spine. Already, she felt the slow burn of discomfort. Raphael stepped back, admiring her the way a collector studies a rare artifact. His boots echoed as he began a slow, circling prowl. Soleil twisted to follow him, but he slipped behind her, just out of sight.

Then, she felt the cool kiss of a blade. The tiefling flinched as the blade whispered against her skin, parting the torn remnants of her robe. The fabric fell away in ragged shreds, fluttering to the floor like dead petals. He was surgical, slicing through layers with a precision that made her stomach twist. The blade nicked her once. Then again. Just enough to sting and just enough to make her wonder if he meant to do it. Her undergarments got the same treatment. In the end, she stood exposed beneath the hollow star, shackled and bare, save for her boots. Raphael once again walked to her front, caressing her cheek lovingly with the cool spine of the knife. It was a wicked-looking blade, a hunting knife forged and designed for penetrating far tougher hides than soft tiefling skin. Soleil met his gaze with what she hoped was steely defiance. She straightened her spine and raised her chin, even though she could feel the tremor pulsing in her legs. He watched her for a moment, searching her face as though savoring her resistance. Then, without a word, he sheathed the blade.

Relief surged in her chest, but she strangled it before it could reach her lips.

Because of course, the devil wouldn't let her off that easily.

With a languid motion, Raphael reached to his belt and withdrew a riding crop. Elegantly sleek, the leather tip caught the dim light, gleaming like an omen. It was probably the same one he'd used on his nightmare. He spun it once in his hand, twirling it with a flourish, like a conductor poised before an orchestra. Then he brought it down. It whistled through the air and landed with a sharp crack. Pain flared across her naked chest, sudden and searing. Soleil hissed, the sound sharp through her clenched teeth as her body arched instinctively against the sting. Heat burned beneath her skin, raw and immediate. Her breath caught, but she didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t give him that. Not yet.

Raphael's smile deepened, quiet and satisfied, as though the moment had played out exactly as he’d wanted. Then came another strike. And another. Each one methodical. Deliberate. He painted her skin with lashes like an artist with a brush, striking her chest, her upper back, the curves of her thighs and ass with careful intent. Angry welts bloomed in its wake, rich shades of crimson and violet rising like bruised petals beneath her skin. Soleil’s breath grew ragged. Her body trembled. The chains creaked with every twitch. She fought to swallow the cries building in her throat. She didn't want to sing for him, but at a lash to her breast the black leather of the crop caught on her nipple. The shock of pain finally drew a raw and unrestricted cry from the wizard’s lips. Raphael stilled his hand, a low satisfied groan rumbling in his chest as if it were the sweetest melody he had ever heard. 

“You have the power to stop this,” he murmured, voice silken, coaxing, as he reached up and cupped her cheek with a deceptive gentleness. His bare skin was warm against her face. 

When had he removed his gauntlets? Soleil hadn't noticed.

Still, the warmth grounded her.

Soleil leaned into his soothing touch. And then she bit .

Her teeth sank deep into the flesh of his palm, feral and unrepentant. She tasted salt, sweat, and the bitter copper tang of blood.

Raphael's breath hitched, shock marring his features for a brief moment.

Then his lips peeled back in a snarl that broke into a dark, rasping, and delighted laughter. 

His fingers tightened around her jaw as if he was playing with a toothy pup. 

“You little beast,” he purred affectionately, shaking her face playfully, amused. Soleil suppressed the urge to growl. “Maybe mages really are nothing but animals when you strip them of their precious magic.”

He wrenched his hand back and observed the blood trickling down his wrist for a moment. Then his gaze returned to her, filled with unrestrained burning desire. 

Then he slapped her. 

Her head snapped sideways, and her body swung against the chains. Only the iron kept her upright. Pain blossomed like fire through her cheek and Soleil could taste blood in her mouth, but she wasn't sure if it was Raphael’s or her own. She dangled stunned for a moment and the fiend moved to her again. The manacles clicked open and her body sagged, boneless. He caught her easily, one arm around her waist, the other steadying her like she might break in the fall. Her head lolled against the warm steel of his chestplate for a beat. The scent of him - sulfur, leather, cherries - made her stomach swoop. She blinked, dazed, trying to focus. The world wavered. Raphael looked down at her, no longer amused, no longer playful.

Hungry.

“Let’s try a different approach,” he murmured, almost to himself. And then he began to drag her toward the altar. Soleil didn't have any strength left to struggle as Raphael tied her down like a sacrificial lamb. Her arms were twisted behind her, the rope biting into her skin as he secured them with cruel efficiency. The cold stone beneath her back simultaneously felt like a soothing balm and an icy tomb. Her head swam, thick and sluggish, as if her thoughts were submerged in a fog. She dimly noted that Raphael was removing her boots with gentle hands. He pushed softly at the tiefling’s scraped knees, and she let her legs part. She lay there, belly up, exposed and vulnerable. An offering. The man above her stroked a finger through the moisture that coated her thighs, making her shiver. She let her head fall back against the altar with a sigh as he traced patterns with his fingers, drawing nearer to where she wanted him. The cottony haze in her mind muffled everything, including her pain and her burning defiance. Why was she fighting? It would be so much easier if she just surrendered.

Then, as if to remind her exactly why she was resisting the devil, he brought the crop back, striking her with an archer's precision. The leather tip wrapped around her sensitive clit and the shaft bit into her folds. Soleil let out a wail as if she were in a screaming match with a banshee and tried to slam her legs shut, but Raphael moved faster. He caught her by the thigh, slammed it against the cold, unyielding stone, and held her there, helpless beneath his hand. She tucked her tail like a beaten dog, desperate to shield herself, but he just tutted at her and held the crop between his teeth as he forced it away and under his boot. His smile was nothing short of vicious as he once again gripped the riding crop. Raphael leaned in, his breath curling against her ear, pressing his weight into her as though trying to grind her resistance into dust.

“There are more where that came from,” he threatened, voice low and breathy. Soleil could feel his hardness through his leathers, pressing against her already throbbing center. His hand snaked down between them and he ground the heel of his palm against her clit, making her gasp in pained pleasure. “And there is more where this comes from,” he promised, fingers stroking her wet hole for emphasis. Soleil shook uncontrollably. 

“Confess. Tell me the name of your fiendish master.” Soleil groaned and skewered her eyes shut. Raphael was enjoying his role as a witch hunter and inquisitor way too much. When Haarlep had brought up roleplay as an off-hand suggestion of what the wizard could offer as her next bargain, she hadn't expected he’d be this into it. She had to remind herself of why she was doing all of this in the first place. Some of her resolve flared back to life. 

“I'm not telling you shit.” she sneered. Raphael put on a convincing mask of disappointment, but Soleil knew the devil was delighted. He alternated between striking her inner thighs and quivering cunt, sometimes pausing to soothe a hand over the marred flesh, as if to tempt her with what he could give if she just surrendered. The contrast was maddening. Her screams and sobs poured freely now; tears carved hot paths down her cheeks and soaked into her sweat-dampened hair. Her whole body felt like it was aflame, the confession hovering perilously close to her lips. 

And then, a miracle.

Just as Raphael raised the crop again, the church bell tolled. Its sound reverberated through the cathedral, deep, ancient, and resolute. Soleil had no idea how the mechanism still functioned after a century of decay, but she clung to its chime like a lifeline.

The hour had passed.

She had endured the hunt. The infernal replica engine was finally hers. Hard-won, but hers all the same. No more wasting days chasing answers that refused to come from the Crown of Karsus. No more circling dead ends in a labyrinth of ancient tomes. She could finally have some recreation and resume her work to free her friend of the hell she currently occupied. For a moment, the tears in the tiefling’s eyes were of happiness. Then the sharp crack of the crop tore through the air, a cruel reminder of the present.

“Salvation can be yours, dear witch,” Raphael said, voice cold and silken. He stood over her, domineering, composed, elegant as ever, and entirely unbothered by the fact that, by the rules of their game, she had won. “All you must do is confess. Tell me the name of your master.”

The surrender that a moment ago had been ready to leap from the tip of her tongue now dug in its heels stubbornly. Her limbs were trembling, her body a map of pain, and she had nothing left to prove. No more reasons to resist.

And yet still… her pride wouldn't let her give in at the toll of the bell. Oh, pride. What a flaw to fall victim to, and here in the church of Mystra of all places. The goddess who vehemently warned her subjects against the arrogance of unchecked will.

The irony was exquisite.

And still, she bit her tongue and held the silence like a weapon. Raphael observed her tightlipped refusal with glee. The devil thrived on resistance; her refusal was not a defeat to him, but a challenge. A game he intended to play until she broke.

Then, without warning, he resumed the lashing, this time with renewed vigor.

Soleil had thought she might grow numb to the pain, that her body would eventually dull to its language. But Raphael, ever the artist of agony, proved her wrong. He never struck the same place twice in succession. Instead, he mapped her skin like a battlefield, finding untouched ground to bruise, to color with fresh violence. He gave her no rhythm, no mercy, only just enough time between strikes for the welts to rise, for the sting to deepen, before he returned to them, cruelly precise, and darkened their hue.

Each blow was calculated. Not just punishment, but orchestration. A lesson. A performance.

And worst of all, the tiefling was beginning to feel something twisted unfurling inside her in response. A part of her began to relish it, the unpredictable rhythm of it, the ritual. The push. The way each strike stripped her raw and forced her to find the edges of her endurance. The challenge of what her body could take. At some point, the pain had turned a corner, curving into a deranged sort of pleasure. Her orgasm surprised her, as sharp as the crack of the crop against her clit that had been the trigger. Her back arched and she screamed, the shrill sound tapering off into a moan half in ecstasy and half in misery. Her body trembled and shook uncontrollably. Raphael hurled the riding crop to the side where it clattered to the dusty marble floor. He looked wild, absolutely deranged with hunger as he freed himself from his leathers and pulled Soleil to the edge of the altar. She’d barely come down from her shocking high before he was lifting her legs to his shoulders and ramming his hard cock into her, bottoming out with a snarl. He fell into a quick, brutal rhythm with hardly any preamble, fucking the realization into Soleil that he had been holding back and waiting for this for over an hour. 

“Tell me!” he urged with a sharp thrust of his hips, making the wizard see more stars than the eight-pointed one above. “Tell me your master's name!” 

Her inability to fulfill his demand was now less from actual defiance, and more due to the fact that she hardly had air to moan, let alone to speak. The devil didn't seem to notice or care, too lost in his own pleasure.

“I have half the mind to gag you so you can never surrender,” he growled while pressing her thighs to her chest and grinding even deeper into her. “Keep you here, impaled on my cock.”

The mental image of that, compared with the pressure against her cervix made Soleil’s eyes roll to the back of her skull.

“Tell me the name of your master!” The command was accompanied by the press of his palm against the tiefling’s lower stomach. 

“Raphael! ” The cry tore from Soleil’s lips and echoed throughout the cathedral. The devil between her legs let out a snarl as wings burst from his back, horns sprouted from his head and his cock grew within her, stretching her walls further with its ridges and bumps. He didn't pause to let her adjust to his cambion form, he just grabbed her thighs with clawed fingers and continued to pump into her. 

“Again,” he groaned. “Who am I?”

“Master,” it was barely a breath. Soleil was too busy having the air knocked out of her by the devil cock pounding her into the altar. 

“Louder!” he ordered. He was nearing his own end, Soleil could feel it in how his pace grew more wild and chaotic. His clawed fingertips descended upon her beaten, sensitive clit, so that she would peak with him.

“Master! ” she screamed, her voice cracking as her second climax crashed into her, drawing every single muscle in her bruised body tighter than a bowstring. Raphael found his own release, spurred on by the tiefling’s pulsing walls. He groaned, deep and animalistic, as he spilled within her, the iron of his armor pressing against her bruised thighs as he continued to grind into her with small thrusts. When he began to soften he pulled out, eliciting a small whine from Soleil. He snapped, and the wizard felt a shock of warmth against her back as the ropes binding her arms burned away. She let her arms fall slack at her sides, the ache immediate and deep. She flexed her fingers - slowly, painfully - trying to coax blood and feeling back into them. It would suck to endure all that , only to lose her somatic spellcasting to something as mundane as nerve damage. 

Raphael gently eased them both to the ground, settling with the tiefling cradled in his lap. He leaned back against the stone of the altar, the weight of his armor offering little in the way of comfort, but Soleil was too exhausted to complain. They sat in the eerie silence of the ruined church for a while, both of them catching their breath. 

"You put up a good fight, little mouse," Raphael murmured, his voice low with something like admiration. "The infernal engine is yours, as promised. Well earned."

Soleil felt a muted flicker of satisfaction, dulled by exhaustion and pain. She gave a small, wry smile. "I feel like that interrogation was more than just a love letter to historical accuracy," she muttered. "Pretty sure we’re even now, for the whole paralyzing and causing your death incident."

Raphael let out a bark of laughter, the sound echoing off the desecrated walls.

"Oh, dear wizard," he said with a grin, "I could spend a century torturing and reshaping you from a base Lemure into a radiant Erinyes, and we still wouldn't be square after that little escapade."

Soleil groaned softly. “Sending two hellhounds after me wasn’t exactly fair, either.”

“They weren’t hunting you,” Raphael replied, his voice softening. He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over the small punctures on her shoulder where the spinagon’s claws had torn through skin. “They were scouting. Making sure no other devil laid claim to what’s mine.” His grip on her tightened, the possessive gesture not lost on her.

A flush crept up Soleil’s cheeks. She cleared her throat. “That wouldn't have been an issue if you didn't keep me collared like one of your pets,” she grumbled. Then an idea struck her. “Speaking of; can I say hi to them?”

One of Raphael’s eyebrows arched in mild amusement before he gave a casual shrug. Without a word, he whistled sharply, the piercing sound cutting through the stillness and ringing through the hollow cathedral. A few moments passed, and then the telltale clatter of claws on marble echoed down the aisle. The two hellhounds came bounding toward them, their blackened forms sleek and muscular, eyes glowing faintly like pieces of burning coal. They skidded to a heel at Raphael’s feet, tails wagging with surprising enthusiasm.

“Hati!” Soleil called, recognizing the one with the scarred snout. Its ears perked up immediately, tail wagging harder at the sound of her voice. The tiefling grinned. Now that they weren't nipping at her tail, she found the hound kinda adorable. “Come here, Hati!” 

The beast padded forward, pressing its broad, soot-blackened face into her lap. Soleil’s fingers sank into its thick fur as she scratched behind its ears. It gave a low, pleased growl.

Raphael sighed theatrically, the expression on his face somewhere between pride and exasperation. A second, softer whine drew Soleil’s attention. The other hound sat patiently, eyes hopeful, waiting for some kind of permission it clearly craved.

“Oh, I don’t know your name, puppy,” Soleil said and glanced up at Raphael.

“Sköll,” he replied with a reluctant exhale, and the hound's ears twitched at the sound of its name.

Soleil beamed. “Come here, Sköll!”

Without hesitation, the second hound bounded over, pushing in beside Hati to soak up the tiefling’s affection. Raphael looked on, half amused, half scandalized by the undignified display of his supposedly fearsome companions. The thunder of hoofbeats cut through the silence like a war drum. Soleil froze, every muscle going taut as the sound reverberated through the hollow cathedral. From the shadows of the doorway, the nightmare emerged, tall, imposing, and black as spilled ink. Its mane burned with a slow, smoldering fire, casting wild, flickering shadows that danced across the crumbling stone walls like tormented spirits. Each step was deliberate, unhurried, and echoed ominously down the aisle. When it finally came to a halt a few feet from them, it stamped a massive hoof, the sound like thunder cracking overhead. Soleil half expected the marble beneath to split open.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, the words escaping her before she could think to temper them.

Raphael gave a soft, approving hum. “Her name is Tamora,” he said, almost fondly.

Soleil couldn’t help the snort that escaped her. “Like the barbarian queen from that one play?” 

Of course. Of course, he would. Only Raphael would name his mount after a character from a play so violent that it was banned in most theatres. 

The devil gave a light shrug, entirely unbothered. “A regal and brutal name for a regal and strong mare.”

Soleil rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. With a quiet groan, she pushed herself to her feet, wincing as her battered limbs protested. Hati and Sköll whined softly at the movement, inching toward her, but Raphael hushed them with a glance, his hand resting lightly on one hound’s head. Tentatively, Soleil stepped toward the nightmare. Her hand hovered in the air for a moment before inching forward. The mare’s nostrils flared as she sniffed, hot breath ghosting over Soleil’s skin. Then, with surprising gentleness, Tamora lowered her head and pressed her fiery muzzle into the tiefling’s palm.

Soleil’s voice dropped to a murmur, instinct guiding her as she recited from memory: “I am Revenge, sent from the infernal kingdom,” she looked into the nightmare’s ember-bright eyes. “To ease the gnawing vulture of thy mind.”

Behind her, Raphael rose to his feet, the weight of his armor clattering.

“Villain, what hast thou done?” he declared, voice rich with theatrical flair. He took a dramatic step forward, hand over his heart like an actor on a stage. “That which thou canst not undo. Villain, I have done thy mother!”

Soleil let out a startled laugh, half shock, half something dangerously close to horror. Even Tamora flinched, rearing her head back at the sudden burst of noise.

“Gods,” Soleil choked out, grinning despite herself. “None of us even have a living mother. So unless you’re planning to add necrophilia to your ever-growing list of sins, I suggest you don’t act out that part.” Raphael gave a crooked, unapologetic smile, more wolfish than sheepish. 

“You have the Mother of Magic,” he countered smoothly, gesturing lazily to the eight-pointed star above them. Soleil’s expression twisted into something between discomfort and exasperation.

“We’ve talked about that,” she groaned. “I’m not her servant. I don’t owe her anything.” Her voice dropped into a mutter. “And it’s already weird enough knowing Gale’s slept with her. I really don’t need you adding to that cursed image.”

“I believe we have done plenty to desecrate her church already today,” Raphael snapped his fingers with a flourish and Soleil found herself suddenly cleansed of grime and swathed in soft, supple leather riding gear. He walked to the side of the nightmare and extended a hand with casual expectation. "I want to take the scenic route home." 

Soleil let out a derisive laugh. “Raphael, you just whipped my crotch,” she stated sharply. “There's no way I'm getting into a saddle right now!”

“You can ride sidesaddle,” he suggested. 

She gave him an unamused stare. “My ass didn't get a much kinder treatment.” 

The devil sighed and snapped his fingers again. A potion of greater healing appeared in his outstretched hand, shimmering faintly in the light.

"Drink this, then," he commanded, holding it out to her.

Soleil took the bottle, unscrewed the cork, and tipped it back, wincing as the bitter, herb-laden concoction burned her throat. Though the taste was foul, the potion worked quickly. The pain in her limbs didn't abate completely, but it reduced from a constant throbbing to a dull ache. The ride home wouldn't be comfortable, but it would be doable. Soleil took the still outstretched hand of the devil, and he pulled her in close, supporting her weight as they flew up and onto Tamora’s back. He’d opted to use the armor's ability to fly rather than his wings, making the descent into the saddle gentle. The metal of his armor pressed against her back as he settled in behind her, and she felt his arms slide around her waist, steady and sure, as he reached for the reins. The warmth of his breath brushed the side of her neck, and despite herself, Soleil flushed crimson. She cursed her own traitorous skin.

With a sharp flick of the reins and a commanding nudge of his legs, Tamora turned and surged forward, hooves thundering against stone as they galloped down the length of the church aisle and out of the door. Hati and Sköll gave chase, but the hellhounds were left behind as the nightmare started to gallop into the sky. Soleil glanced back, concern flickering in her eyes. Raphael noticed. Of course, he did.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, his voice low and amused in her ear. “They always find their way home.”

—

Flying on the back of a nightmare was a decidedly more pleasant method of travel than being flung over a cambion’s shoulder, Soleil discovered. The ache in her limbs remained, dull but ever-present, yet the gentle rise and fall of the mare's flight, the rhythmic beat of hooves striking sky instead of stone, lulled her. She found herself drifting, eyelids heavy, her body nestled in the cradle of Raphael’s arms, her head resting against the firm wall of his armored chest.

“Wakey wakey, dear wizard,” came a low purr in her ear, warm and soft as silk.

She blinked, vision swimming as her mind clawed its way back to consciousness. The devil's breath was hot against her skin, far too close, and yet her limbs felt too leaden to flinch.

“We have arrived at your surprise,” Raphael murmured, almost sweetly.

It took Soleil a moment to focus, to realize what the view in front of her was. She had seen it before, briefly, glances from the deck of a nautiloid ship. But now, from high above, it unfolded before her in full: a sea of chaos, a nightmare made real. Below them, war raged eternal. Devils and demons locked in bloodstained fury, their endless feud painting the ground in a never-ending river of red. From this height, they looked almost like ants, but the stench of blood and brimstone that clung to the air betrayed the scale.

The Blood War.

Dread clamped around the tiefling's gut like a vice. Her breath came too fast. Her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.

“Why are we here?” she managed, her voice shaking with barely contained panic.

Raphael chuckled softly, and it sent a chill racing down her spine. His arms tightened around her waist, not harshly, but enough to remind her who held her aloft. Perhaps he meant it as reassurance. It felt like a warning.

“You told me you could have easily handled that spinagon on your own if I didn't keep you collared,” Raphael said, his hand trailing up from her waist and between her breasts to finally rest at her throat. “Well then, my dear wizard, I thought you might like a chance to prove it.” 

With a pull of his clawed hand, the collar unlocked and disappeared from Soleil's neck. She drew a shaking breath as magic surged back into her veins. “How close do you need to be?”

Soleil was caught in a moment of indecision. The thought of teleporting away immediately appeared in her mind, but she had nowhere to go. Without an attunement fork, she wouldn't be able to planeshift, and in her current condition - exhausted of everything except magical energy - she would have no chance of running. So instead, she looked down at the battlefield. At the swarm of wings and blades, flame and fury. Calculating.

“Get me within three hundred feet of the ground.”

Raphael said nothing, only grinned and urged the nightmare forward. Tamora descended, hooves churning the air as they dropped like a thunderbolt.

The air around them crackled with bloodshed. Imps and insectile demons shrieked and tore at one another, but none dared to veer too close. Soleil feared that her hands would shake too much for accurate somatics, so it was a good thing this spell only required her focus and a verbal incantation. She spoke the words softly, though the winds of war swallowed them whole:

“Tromba d’aria. ”

At once, the air below screamed into motion. A vortex burst to life, ten feet wide, thirty feet tall, a roaring, twisting column of pure force that clawed at the earth. The Whirlwind ripped into the battlefield like a god’s finger, scooping up demons and devils alike. Wings snapped. Blades scattered. Fiends shrieked as they were hurled into the sky, flung helplessly into the tumultuous dance of air and agony.

Raphael let out a low, delighted laugh, rich with sadism and something that almost resembled pride. His arms tightened around Soleil as they hovered above the carnage, watching her direct the storm like a conductor before an infernal orchestra.

And by Mordenkainen's beard, she couldn’t pretend it didn’t feel good. Power surged through her, raw and magnificent, and a smile tugged at her lips, unbidden, unwelcome, and impossible to stop.

After a minute of destruction, the storm ceased. The whirlwind collapsed in on itself, dropping its unfortunate passengers like discarded dolls, scattering them across the battlefield with bone-snapping force.

The battlefield stirred again, the chaos resuming, but Raphael guided Tamora higher, spiraling away from the carnage below.

“That,” he murmured, his voice low and honeyed against the tiefling's ear, “Was beautiful, little mouse.” He pressed in closer, his armor flush against her back, his breath warm and wicked on her neck. The hands grasping her started roaming, groping and Soleil let out a startled gasp as Raphael sunk his teeth into her uncovered throat. She blushed as she felt him hardening in his leathers behind her. 

“You’re not fucking me on top of your horse!” Soleil shrieked, her voice pitched high with outrage and no small amount of panic.

Raphael just hummed and ground his growing erection against her ass. “Mmm. And how exactly do you plan to stop me, little wizard?”

Beneath her flustered horror at the devil’s debauchery, Soleil did feel a sharp pang of arousal at the realization that the demonstration of her power turned him on so much. But there was absolutely no way she would give into him again today. Quick as a striking viper, Soleil’s hands flashed up, fingers weaving sharp, practiced motions through the air. She whispered the incantation with quiet force, her voice barely audible over the wind.

“Impero Te.”

She felt it hit the moment Raphael’s body went rigid behind her, his hands freezing while gripping her flesh. Hold Monster took root, and with it came a silence so sudden, so satisfying, it was almost intoxicating.

The fury radiating off the paralyzed cambion was nearly tangible. He didn’t need to speak, his rage burned through the bond of magic like a fire licking at the edge of paper. Oh, she would pay for pulling that stunt again. Whether the spell wore off in sixty seconds or he willed himself free of it sooner, she would pay.

But for now?

For now, Soleil reveled in the quiet triumph, basking in the rare, exquisite silence of a smug devil rendered utterly still.

Tamora, was entirely unbothered. The nightmare continued to glide through the air with smooth, otherworldly grace, uncaring that her master was currently locked in a magical time-out. Soleil exhaled, slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just enough to let the adrenaline settle.

It might’ve been petty. It might’ve been dangerous.

But for once, she had the upper hand. And it felt glorious.

Chapter Text

Raphael did indeed make the wizard pay for that little enchantment stunt as soon as they returned to the House of Hope. She didn't even get a chance to dip the tip of her tail into the restoration pool before the devil threw her onto his bed and proceeded to fuck her into the mattress. Sore and thoroughly spent from their previous bout of debauchery, Soleil eventually passed out cold, slipping into unconsciousness with every shred of energy drained.

When she finally stirred, she found herself still tangled in the silken sheets of the boudoir bed, a familiar, warm weight pressed firmly against her back. Even without moving, her body throbbed with the dull ache of overexertion, and she let out a low groan as awareness slowly crept back in.

“Ah, so you are alive,” the voice at her back commented, husky and low. “I was beginning to fear that I spent the night spooning a corpse.” The teasing lilt of their tone gave them away. That or Soleil was just starting to get more familiar with the devils. 

"Good… whatever time it is to you too, Haarlep,” Soleil hummed, voice raspy both from screaming and sleeping. “Where is Raphael?”

The incubus chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled through their chest and into her spine. 

“Our master was called away. Some urgent matter with a client,” they replied, fingers trailing idly down the length of her side. The touch was light, almost lazy, but Soleil’s body was too drained to even flinch. “He didn’t want you to wake alone, so he ordered me to keep you company.” As with so many of Haarlep's statements, there was a lot to unpack, but Soleil's groggy mind latched onto the first part of the incubus's remark.

“He's not my master,” she corrected. Haarlep laughed again, their mirth bubbling up and shaking the bed with its force. The vibration jostled Soleil’s sore body, and she gave a soft, pained whine in protest.

“Sure, tell yourself that, pet,” they cooed, giving her thigh a light, teasing slap. “But from what I heard, you were singing quite a different tune yesterday.”

By every damned layer of Baator, she had called Raphael master. The memory hit like a punch, and Soleil's face ignited with shame. A slow, burning flush crept from her cheeks down to her throat. She could have screamed his name, even begged, and still kept a shred of dignity. But that? That was a choice her dignity would be unpacking for days.

Then, a sudden dread seized her.

It wasn’t binding in any way, was it?

She hadn’t by some cruel twist of infernal law accidentally given him her soul just by calling him that? Surely not. A contract couldn’t be sealed under duress, and she’d most certainly been under extreme duress. No incantations. No formal terms. Just her, trembling, desperate, and not thinking straight. That couldn’t count. Right?

Haarlep’s fingers continued their slow, meandering path across Soleil's skin, tracing aimless, idle patterns, oblivious to her mental turmoil. Across her body, lash marks and bruises bloomed in shades of violet and indigo, like some macabre garden of irises and crocus. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being such a contrarian,” Haarlep mused aloud, voice syrup-smooth as their fingers paused to press lightly into a tender bruise. Soleil squirmed, her body instinctively recoiling from the sting. To her mortification, the tiefling could feel the embers of arousal starting to burn low in her stomach.

“Our master cares about you,” the incubus continued. “That’s something you ought to use.”

Soleil snorted, the sound dry and full of scorn. “Raphael only cares about himself,” she said. “He cares about me so long as I’m repairing the Crown or otherwise offering him something.”

At that, Haarlep pressed harder into the bruise, and Soleil yelped, twisting sharply away.

“Will you stop that?” Embarrassment further darkened her cheeks as she felt moisture gather between her thighs in response to the pain. The devils had really twisted something within her.

“And here I thought wizards were supposed to be smart,” the fiend at her back tutted, ignoring her outburst. “It's okay dear, we can both get by with our looks, you just need to keep that lovely mouth of yours shut.” 

Soleil muttered a sharp curse under her breath, earning yet another delighted laugh from the incubus. 

“Oh, come now,” Haarlep teased, tone honeyed with amusement. "He ordered me to stay, didn’t he? So you wouldn’t wake up abandoned again. I know you’re down an eye, but surely you can still see that means something. He likes you!" 

Soleil craned her neck just enough to glance back over her shoulder, her enchanted glass eye locking precisely onto Haarlep’s gaze. The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.

“Yesterday he whipped me,” she grouched. “He likes hurting me, he gets off on it!” 

Haarlep rolled their eyes. “He's a devil, darling. What did you expect? And did he even break skin?” Soleil stared at them, incredulous. Haarlep merely arched a perfectly shaped brow in challenge.

“He’s threatened to flay me. Multiple times,” she added flatly.

“That’s basically flirting,” they dismissed breezily, giggling as if she were recounting an overly dramatic love letter. “He craves your skin so desperately, he’d rip it from your body.”

Soleil narrowed her eyes.

“I didn’t say it was good flirting,” Haarlep amended, lips twitching with mischief.

“He wanted to pluck my eyes out,” she muttered, though the venom in her tone was softening, dulled by a creeping sense of confusion.

“He wishes you to have eyes for nobody but him,” the incubus replied in a sing-song voice, almost too pleased with their own logic. 

Soleil paused, unease prickling at the edges of her thoughts. “He wanted to paralyze me?”

At that, Haarlep gasped, hand flying to their chest in mock scandal. “Oh, the naughty bugger!” They leaned in, their voice dropping to a sultry murmur against the tender skin of her throat. “He wants you completely at his mercy.” Their teeth grazed the sensitive flesh in a playful nip before they pulled back with a hum.

“Although,” they added, pursing their lips thoughtfully. “That one might have been a real threat. He was rather pissed about your little Hold Monster stunt.” 

Soleil let her head fall back onto the pillow in stunned silence. She wasn’t sure what to do with any of this. Everything with Raphael had always felt transactional; every glance, every touch, every deal laced with purpose. She had convinced herself he only valued her as a tool, a means to an end: the Crown, his pleasure, her submission.

He'd been interested in her past and her desires. Soleil had just assumed he was searching for more leverage to use against her, but what if Haarlep was right?

What if his fascination went beyond what she could offer him?

The thought lodged uncomfortably in her chest, too sharp to ignore, too dangerous to entertain. She wanted to laugh, to curse, to dismiss it entirely, but the silence held her fast. And behind her, she could feel Haarlep’s smugness, thick as perfume in the air.

Damned devils.  

“I killed him,” she muttered, voice thick with disbelief and something else she couldn’t quite name. “How could he possibly like me after that? Why wouldn’t he want to make me suffer for it?”

Haarlep gave a languid shrug, unbothered as if the conversation were no more serious than gossip over wine.

“As we’ve established,” they said smoothly. “Violence is a bit of a love language for our master. Violence and power.”

Their fingers continued their idle tracing along her skin, pausing only when her breath hitched. They leaned in closer, their breath grazing the back of her neck, voice a velvet blend of amusement and sincerity.

“You’re the only one who’s ever bested him. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How irresistible that makes you, to someone like him?”

Soleil didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her throat felt tight, her heart thudding fast and uncertain in her chest.

“He was obsessed with you before that little skirmish,” Haarlep continued, a grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. “If anything, that just poured liquor on the fire.” Their hand slid up to rest at her chest, palm pressing firmly to feel the wild flutter of her heartbeat beneath.

“Why do you think I knew he'd enjoy chasing you through that abandoned city? I’ve lost track of how many times he’s had me roleplay as you. That day. Sometimes he wants to win, to see you on your knees, broken beneath him, but other times...” they gave a soft, wicked chuckle. “Other times he wants it exactly as it happened. You, triumphant. Victorious. With the occasional indulgent embellishment, of course.”

The laugh that followed was low and dark, but Soleil barely heard it. Her head was spinning. She'd never thought of their fight a year ago as anything but that. A bloody, desperate fight for survival and freedom. But she'd experienced it just yesterday, hadn't she? The way Raphael stalked her through the ruins, how he demanded her surrender, yes, but also how her refusal thrilled him. How he'd barely been able to contain himself when she tore apart the frontlines of the Blood War with her magic. 

“He doesn’t crave you in spite of what you did,” the incubus whispered, pulling her from her thoughts and giving her shoulder a soft kiss. “He craves you because of it. You lit something in him he didn’t know could burn.”

Soleil closed her eyes. She hated how those words burrowed into her, how much they made sense. Haarlep continued to plant a path of kisses from her shoulder to her neck and back again. 

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Haarlep hummed against her throat.

“I thought it only fair that you know the cards you hold,” they answered, amusement lacing their low purr. “Makes the game so much more entertaining to watch.” Their soft touches grew more bold, one hand gently massaging the tiefling's bruised breast while the other continued a slow path down her stomach. Soleil arched back into them. 

“Haarlep…” she exhaled shakily, voice carrying a note of uncertainty. Her body felt like one great bruise, and her mind was no better, an aching tangle of confusion, exhaustion, and feelings she couldn't decipher.

“Come on, I'm famished. Just let me give you one little orgasm,” they murmured in her ear, hand dancing perilously closer down past her navel. “Besides, our master ordered me to keep you company so you wouldn't be lonely in the night,” they let out a mischievous giggle. “Don't they call courtesans ladies of the night in some parts of your world? I could be a lady if you'd like that better.”

Before she could answer, Soleil felt the incubus shift behind her. She could suddenly feel their ample breasts push against her back, and the hand cradling her own tit became smaller. It wasn't their form Soleil objected to. Any way the incubus presented themself was beautiful and irresistible, but she couldn't find the words to express that right now. 

“It hurts,” she whined instead. They knew what she'd been through the day before and they knew that she hadn't gotten a dip into the restoration pool. But Haarlep didn't make any move to get up. 

“Don't worry pet,” they gave a playful pinch to her nipple, causing the tiefling to squeak. “I'll be gentle.” Their fingers dipped between her folds to feel her wetness before returning to her sensitive clit, circling it softly. It was still a lot after yesterday's treatment, and Soleil whimpered, both of her hands grasping the incubus's arm, but not moving to pull it away. Small gasps and whines fell from her lips, and she could feel Haarlep's smile against her neck. 

“You just feel so good darling,” they whispered breathlessly and kissed her throat, right above the collar. “I've wanted to feel you again ever since we were first together. Your pleasure was delicious.” Soleil suddenly remembered what Haarlep had said about their kind not getting nourishment from food. She didn't know how to feel about being the breakfast in bed and she didn't get a chance to complain. Two of their fingers entered her, making the wizard gasp. They ground the heel of their palm against her clit while fingering her slowly, providing friction without it being overwhelming.

“Master was so mad when he found out I had you first. But at that point, he wasn't my master anymore, so he couldn't do anything about it.” Haarlep breathed in her ear, their fingers gradually speeding up, each curl skillfully hitting the right spots inside of her. They added another, and the stretch drew a moan from Soleil. “He can feel all of this, you know. Like you can feel when I'm in your form.”

The tiefling shook and moaned. With a final curl of Haarlep's fingers and a press of their palm, she reached her peak. Warmth surged through her as she rode it out, the incubus continuously fingering her through it. Once she started to whine from overstimulation, they pulled their fingers out of her dripping cunt and brought them to their own lips. Soleil blushed fiercely as Haarlep licked her slickness off their fingers, moaning loudly as if they'd just tasted ambrosia. 

“He's going to taste that as well,” they added with a wry grin. Soleil was breathing heavily, caught somewhere between being scandalized by the incubus's dirty act and fascinated. 

“Won’t he be angry?” she asked, though her voice betrayed little concern. She didn’t care whether she angered Raphael, her actions the day before had made that clear. But Haarlep’s constant, almost careless disregard for him still caught her off guard. The incubus just chuckled, their laughter sounding like bells in this form.

“He'll only be mad that he wasn't able to hear your noises.” They gave Soleil's thigh another playful smack. It hurt more than it probably was intended to, due to the bruises. “Come on, let's get you in the bath.”

—

The confusing revelation from Haarlep continuously gnawed at Soleil's mind. Days in the House of Hope began to blur together, each one indistinguishable from the last, save for the occasional visits from Raphael, Korrilla, or Haarlep, each appearing with varying degrees of interest and enthusiasm. Korrilla, ever the dutiful scout, would sometimes stop by with updates from the Material Plane. The tiefling often found herself envious of the dwarf’s time spent there, her life somehow more tethered to the world outside the infernal realm in a way Soleil’s hadn’t been in some time. She was even tempted to ask Korrilla to bring her the weekly edition of the Baldur's Mouth Gazette, but the brief, mundane updates offered enough comfort to remind her that the world had not entirely gone to ruin while she remained trapped in the House.

Haarlep, unsurprisingly, remained as vexing as ever. The incubus’s visits were laced with innuendo and mischief, always pushing, always prodding, trying to tempt her into indulgence. But Soleil resisted. Her emotions were too tangled, her sense of control too precarious. Falling into bed with Haarlep would be far too easy and far too dangerous. It could quickly become a nasty habit, and the wizard wanted to avoid getting addicted to anything besides caffeine and work. 

As for Raphael, their interactions had settled into a strange rhythm. Soleil hadn't needed anything, so they hadn't struck a bargain since the hunt. The devil would appear in her study now and then, asking after the Crown in that unbothered way of his, sometimes inviting her to dine, as though they were old acquaintances rather than captor and captive.

Soleil found herself questioning every gesture, every word. He didn’t seem to crave her attention or the brush of her skin. He barely blinked when she ignored the Crown for days and made no comment when her research stalled. He simply watched, waited, and left her to it. She still slept in his bed, and she'd still wake up tangled in his embrace, but he didn't make any move to advance beyond that. In fact, he had even stopped making Haarlep take her form, a small shift that somehow left her feeling even more adrift. Was that mercy? Had she done something to dull whatever strange fascination he once held? Or was this simply how a devil showed respect?

She didn’t know. And she hated that she wanted to.

She shouldn't care. She was still a prisoner, after all. Uprooted from her home and forced into servitude. The fact that her confinement came with velvet cushions and scholarly liberties didn’t change its nature. She should be grateful that he left her to fulfil her end of their contract. And yet, the confusion festered, muddling her thoughts. 

It was thoughts like these that made her yearn for Halsin.

The archdruid had never left her guessing. His affection had always been clear, sincere, and unwavering. He spoke of his desires plainly, and with him, she had never once questioned where she stood. It was one of the reasons she had fallen horns over tail for the man. There were no games, no veil of ambiguity. Only the gentle certainty of being wanted and loved. She missed that. Missed him.

But longing served no purpose here. Not in the House of Hope.

Soleil shoved thoughts of her lover aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. He was safe. That fragile truth was all she had, and for now, it was enough.

To outrun the ache of confusion and desire, the wizard did what she did best: buried herself in copious amounts of work and research. When she wasn’t obsessing over the reforging of the Crown of Karsus, she was elbows-deep in infernal schematics, testing theories and chasing stability in the cursed engine. And when both of those pursuits failed to offer the distraction she craved, she would retreat to the archives, poring over Raphael's extensive collection of magical artifacts, attempting to decipher the intricate workings of their enchantments.

Right now she sat in her study, deeply focused on her work, fingers idly turning a page as her eyes scanned the infernal script etched across the tome sprawled open in her lap. The subject was Baator’s fractured topography. Jagged landscapes, boiling skies, and layers of torment mapped in meticulous detail. If anything could stabilize a hellfire engine, it would be something dredged from the depths of this realm. She might as well make use of her imprisonment to strip the hells of whatever knowledge they could offer her in return.

She was halfway through a passage describing the River Styx’s winding descent through the glacial vastness of Stygia when she heard it: a measured, deliberate footfall echoing down the corridor. She had learned to distinguish Raphael’s footsteps from Haarlep’s. The cambion’s stride was precise, smooth, almost theatrical in its composure. In contrast, the incubus moved with sinuous grace, like a predator with no intent to hide the hunger in their pace. It was a small comfort, but it spared her from yet another moment of bracing herself for the wrong encounter. She didn’t look up immediately when he entered the study. Instead, she calmly finished the passage she was reading, and only then did she lift her gaze.

Raphael stood before her in his human guise. Sharp dark doublet, perfectly coiffed hair, and eyes that gleamed like polished garnet beneath a veneer of civility. His gaze dipped briefly to the tome before returning to her with that ever-present glint of amusement.

“Planning our next excursion, little mouse?” he asked, voice smooth, honeyed with mockery. “I can’t say I’d personally recommend Stygia for a day trip, but…” he offered a languid shrug “If you make a compelling enough offer, I may be persuaded.”

Soleil studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. The human form, polished, approachable, might have been meant to put her at ease. Or perhaps it was just another calculated move in his endless game of masks and meanings. She knew better than to believe anything Raphael did was left to chance. 

“I'm researching the possibility of something being cold enough to negate hellfire,” she explained. She gestured to the engine humming on her work table. A ring of containment sigils shimmered faintly beneath it, warding the wood from being scorched to ash. It provided reading light and the same warmth as if she sat next to a roaring campfire.

"Too cold," she continued. "And it shuts down entirely. Not cold enough, and the hellfire burns right through it. The balance has to be exact." Her words were clinical, but the precision in her voice betrayed her frustration with the problem, the way her mind danced around its edges, seeking a solution in the margins. Raphael gave a low hum, neither approving nor dismissive. His gaze drifted to her work notes, eyes moving across the neatly penned formulae and arcane schematics with measured interest. 

“Would you momentarily halt your research for a game of lanceboard?” Raphael asked, his tone casual, almost disarming in its softness. Soleil narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering across her features.

“What are we playing for?” she countered, her voice edged with caution.

The devil gave a short, amused snort and strolled toward the marble game table, his steps as languid as ever.

“Enjoyment of the game,” he replied smoothly, already setting up the polished amethyst and leucite pieces with practiced ease. “Though we can add some stakes if you'd prefer that.” He settled onto the silver side with effortless elegance, one long leg crossing over the other. “I’m leaving for Neverwinter this afternoon, and I expect I’ll be without stimulating company for a while.”

Soleil studied him in silence, weighing motive against moment. Then, without a word, she closed the tome in her lap, laid it gently on the worktable, and dismissed the enchantment that kept the infernal engine burning. The flame dimmed, leaving the hum of energy to slowly fade. She crossed the room and approached the amethyst side of the board but did not sit.

“Why do you always play Cyric and Mystra?” she asked, eyes fixed on the game pieces rather than the man himself.

Raphael arched a brow, clearly amused by the shift in topic.

“I like the way it turns a mundane game into a cosmic drama,” he said, sliding Mystra’s queen into position. “The chaos of lies against the order of magic. It adds... narrative.” He glanced up at her. “You usually play Blood and Bone.” It wasn’t a question. Of course he knew, he'd seen the red and white set in her kitchen, back at her cottage.

Soleil finally sat, settling into the amethyst side.

“What stakes do you propose?” she asked.

He pursed his lips in thought, fingers steepled for a moment.

“Is there anything you’d like from Neverwinter?”

Soleil thought for a moment. The Jewel of the North was renowned for its master artisans, exotic wares, and rare curiosities, but none of that appealed to her. Trinkets never held her interest.

“Tobacco,” she said at last. “Saltweed, preferably. Bittersage if you can’t find it.”

The corner of Raphael's mouth twitched at her request.

“There’s a hookah in the boudoir,” he noted. “I can’t speak to what Haarlep’s stuffed into it, but I’m sure it’s… Adequate, at satiating your cravings.” 

Soleil made a face. It wasn’t the tobacco itself she craved, not truly. It was the scent she missed. That warm, earthy aroma, tinged with something faintly herbal, reminded her of quiet evenings spent with Halsin. They would sometimes share a smoke, and the smell had since become steeped in memory, a symbol of calm and comfort.

“I like the pipe better,” she mumbled out loud. “And what do you want if you win?” 

Raphael gave her a wicked smile, and Soleil was close to already refusing.

“A kiss,” said the devil simply. It caught her off guard. That felt… tame, compared to what the two of them had already done together. But they'd never actually kissed. 

“A goodbye kiss,” he clarified.

She stared at him, lips parting slightly.

“You’re really going to miss my company that much in Neverwinter?” she asked, dry and sharp, trying to wrest control of the moment back with sarcasm.

Raphael gave a lazy shrug, utterly unbothered, his expression unreadable. If there was longing there, it was buried deep beneath a veneer of detached amusement.

“Do you accept the terms?” he asked. Soleil weighed her options. She could go back and insist on a game without stakes, keeping things clear, and simple. Uncomplicated. But that, somehow, felt like a greater surrender. At least this offer put the rules back in place and gave their dynamic the structure it usually thrived on: a deal, a price, a defined outcome.

Even if his request blurred that structure in subtle, unnerving ways.

“I accept,” she said, at last, her voice quiet but steady.

Raphael gave no triumphant smile, no theatrical gesture. He simply reached forward and moved the first silver pawn.

The game had begun. 

Soleil was amazed to find that her earlier estimations of how Raphael would play weren't far from reality. For a time, they were evenly matched, each move mirrored by a countermove in a delicate dance of intellect and will.

Then, of course, the devil had to start talking.

“Blood and Bone,” he purred, his tone rich with curiosity and just enough mischief to make her bristle. “The Red Knight’s set. You mentioned your father was a paladin in her service.”

Soleil hummed, low and noncommittal, eyes fixed on the board. She wasn’t about to let him bait her. Or at least, she told herself she wouldn’t. “Is that observation going anywhere?”

Raphael merely chuckled in response and moved a cleric into play, effectively dismantling the attack she’d been constructing.

“I was simply curious,” he said. “Whether there’s a thread connecting your father’s piety... and your current disdain for the divine.”

Soleil drew back - on the board and within herself. That was his real game. Not kings or queens or pawns, but her. Always her. She steadied her breath.

“He saw me as a reminder of his own failures,” the tiefling said at last, her voice quiet but resolute, free of bitterness or grief. Just truth. “I wanted to rise above that. To become something on my own terms. Greatness without gods. Without devils.”

She looked up, meeting Raphael’s gaze squarely. He smiled, slow and sharp, and nudged a wizard forward with the kind of ease that suggested the game was already his.

“Father dearest must be proud then,” he drawled. “You saved Baldur’s Gate. Perhaps all of Faerûn. And you did it with almost no divine or infernal help.”

Soleil’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. His words weren’t praise, they were a needle threaded with mockery. 

“And you almost acquired the Crown of Karsus without being bested by an evocation mage and her merry misfits with worms in their brains,” she shot back, sliding her cleric across the board to block his advance. Raphael hid it well, but Soliel could see it; the devil did not like being reminded of his failure. 

“I have claimed the Crown, little mouse,” he replied silkily as he advanced his silver queen to threaten her left flank. “Minor… complications aside. Whether I can wield it now depends on whether that same, now dewormed, evoker can persuade the Weave to mend it.”

Soleil exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the board. 

“That’s a flawed philosophy,” she murmured. “The Weave isn’t something you persuade. It can’t be coerced.”

She let the silence settle for a beat before continuing, voice casual but deliberate.

“Do you play an instrument, Raphael? I imagine a devil of your refinement has dabbled.”

The cambion tilted his head, bemused by the shift. “I play the organ,” he answered, intrigued despite himself. Soleil nearly laughed. Of course he did, she didn't know what she would've expected. 

“Then you know you don’t get a symphony by hammering the keys,”  she said, lifting her amethyst wizard between two fingers, the crystalline piece catching the light. “Just as you don’t paint a masterpiece by shouting your desires at the canvas.” She placed the wizard down with a soft click, positioning it perfectly to fork his cleric and a pawn. “You study how each note harmonizes with the others, how the ink bleeds into the page, how the paint layers and breathes.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his.

“That’s how you get art. And that’s how you get magic. The Weave isn’t a leash to pull, or a beast to break. It’s a living rhythm. A language. Before I can repair the Crown, I have to listen. Learn how its cadence interplays with the Weave’s. Only then can I even begin to make it whole.”

Raphael was silent for a beat, fingers steepled beneath his chin, lips curved into something too thoughtful to be a smirk, too amused to be respect.

“Perhaps I should’ve chosen a wizard with more... refined linguistic capabilities for the task, then,” he said at last, voice dry as kindling, the words flicking like ash from a flame. With a flourish, he captured her cleric.

The silver piece struck the marble with a resonant clack, a sharp punctuation to his slight. Anger flashed hot behind Soleil’s eyes. Not at the move, but at the dismissiveness threaded through his words. Raphael's smile widened, all smug satisfaction and silver tongue. The devil was playing two games, and she intended to beat him at both. She studied the board, breath steadying, fingers hovering above the amethyst wizard once more. Then, as she moved the piece forward, her voice dropped, low, deliberate.

“Impero te.”

The words cut through the room like a drawn sword.

Raphael froze. Not from magic, but from the memory of it. There’d been no somatic gesture, no flick of the fingers, no shimmer of power. Just words.

Realization flickered behind his eyes, quickly doused, but not before she saw it; the flare of quiet fury, like embers stirred in a hearth.

Soleil smiled sweetly.

“I command you,” she translated lightly, as though discussing the weather over tea. “I’ve always wondered why the incantation differs from Hold Person. That one uses Non movere: ‘Don’t move.’ Much gentler. Hold Monster requires more effort, of course. More force. More will.”

She leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table’s edge, eyes never leaving his.

“I suppose it’s because you can reason with a person… but a monster must be commanded.”

She tilted her head inquisitively.

“Which one do you listen to better, Raphael? Reason… or command?”

For a moment, there was silence between them. A dangerous, coiled thing. And the board, once the center of attention, seemed suddenly forgotten, just a proxy for the deeper game unfolding across the table.

“Reason, of course,” he answered smoothly. “Everyone has a reason to bargain with me; power, influence, or a desperate desire to avoid becoming calamari.”

His smirk curled as he moved his silver paladin with deliberate grace, capturing her last cleric. 

“And I listen to them all.”

“How benevolent,” Soleil drawled, her tone thick with sarcasm. With barely a pause, she retaliated on the board, punishing his move. “Is it benevolence that's keeping me alive in such cushy surroundings? I’d have thought you'd want revenge for all my little betrayals. Not to bed me.”

Raphael laughed at her bluntness, the sound low and rich, like warm wine poured too quickly.

“I’m a devil, dear,” he said, moving a pawn before reclining ever so slightly in his seat. “I’m not above the allure of the flesh.” His eyes lingered on her, the heat in them tempered by amusement, but unmistakable nonetheless.

“Just the flesh?” she asked mildly, eyes on the board as she reached for her paladin. With a deft motion, she captured his wizard. A satisfying clack echoed between them.

Raphael didn’t flinch. “I’ve already told you: I enjoy your company,” he said, tone light, almost bored, as he casually withdrew his Cyric from danger. “You’re far more tolerable than any other wizard I’ve met in the last thousand years. Having you surrender your body to me is just an added benefit.”

She didn’t look up. That answer was too smooth, too practiced, and it didn’t get her any closer to the truth.

“And what happens once I’m finished with the Crown?” she asked quietly, eyes still fixed on the board as she pressed forward, moving her pawn. It was one of her last. If what Haarlep had told her held any weight, Raphael wouldn’t simply let her go. Not like that.

“That is up to you little mouse,” the devil mused. “Toril will be your oyster. Tell me, what were your plans for the future before all of this?"

Soleil looked up and opened her mouth to answer, but Raphael cut her off.

"Besides fixing all your companions' problems."

She closed her mouth with an audible click. She had honestly not thought much of the future. A year ago, she'd doubted she even had one.

"I'd probably join Halsin,” she said after a pause, her voice steady. “Help rebuild the Shadow-Cursed Lands.” 

Raphael sighed heavily. "Oh joy, more charity work," he complained. "And after that?"

"I don't know, enjoy a quiet existence with the man I love?" 

The devil looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Do my plans bore you?" Soleil felt her eye twitch and the cambion gave a brief chuckle at her irritation.

“No... well, yes,” he admitted, lounging further into his seat. “It’s just awfully anticlimactic, don’t you think?”  He tilted his head, studying her. “All your little friends had grand stories. Tragedies. Betrayals. Redemption arcs. It makes sense that they would crave peace when the curtain falls. But you?” He captured her advancing pawn with surgical precision, holding the amethyst piece aloft between two fingers. “You were a librarian’s assistant,” he said, voice dripping with mock affection. Of course he knew about that, he'd read her journal. “Had barely set foot outside the Gate before the mindflayers scooped you up. And now, after one epic tale and a bit of clean-up, you’re ready to fade into domestic obscurity?” Raphael studied the pawn, the crystal catching the firelight. Then his gaze flickered to her. “It’s a waste of your curiosity. Of your potential.”

Soleil went still, gaze flicking to the board to disguise the ripple of surprise. She had convinced herself that she wanted nothing more than peace, but the roaring in her blood at the frontline of the Blood War had spoken another story. She yearned to use the full capabilities of her magic, but an evocation mage had no place in a quiet existence. It wasn't like she could use a Fireball to light up her hearth for supper. 

“Then what would you propose?” she asked at last, retreating her wizard with a calculated flick.

Raphael smiled, the picture of ease. “You could stay here,” he suggested breezley. “I could very well use a wizard of your prowess at my side when I conquer the hells.” 

He said it so casually, so offhandedly, it nearly took her breath away. But he meant it. He wanted her on his side. The notion was absurd. Preposterous. She felt the laugh bubble up, only for it to catch, unspoken, in her throat.

“But,” he continued, already moving another piece into place. “At the rate you’re working, that victory may be... years off.” That notion made Soleil's blood run cold. Years. It could take years before she was out of this hell.

“Plenty of time,” he went on, “to fix up all your regrets and to atone for your transgressions, if that’s what you seek.” His smile lingered, slow and knowing. She wouldn’t atone for shit and he knew it.

Without a word, Soleil picked up her queen.

“My only regret,” she said coolly. “Is that I don’t have a better lanceboard player to keep me entertained.”

She released the piece. 

“Checkmate.” Raphael’s eyes slid to the board. His expression remained inscrutable, no flash of rage, no wounded pride, no feigned surprise.

But she saw it.

The faintest twitch at the corner of his eye.

“Well played, dear wizard,” he murmured, rising fluidly from his chair. His tone was smooth, and measured, just the right balance of grace and concession. “I believe I’ll manage to endure the tedium of my errand in Neverwinter now.” He paused, adjusting the lapel of his coat with idle precision. “Your preference was Saltweed, correct?” Soleil nodded and rose to her feet as well. She felt a pang of something. She should have felt triumphant. She’d won. Outplayed him. Outmaneuvered him. So why did victory taste so strangely bitter?

“I’ll leave you to your studies, then,” Raphael said, though he made no move to go. His gaze lingered, longer than courtesy required, longer than logic could excuse. It rested on her like a weight. Not leering. Not cold. Just... unreadable.

“Haarlep will be taking the day off tomorrow,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “So the boudoir is yours alone tonight and into the morning.”

“I think I’ll survive,” Soleil replied dryly, arms folding across her chest more for grounding than defense. Raphael dipped his head in a gesture that was neither mockery nor formality, just a single, deliberate acknowledgment.

“Enjoy the quiet,” he said softly. Then, with the subtle elegance of a curtain falling, the devil turned on his heel and vanished through the door, the soft thud of it closing behind him the only proof he’d been there at all. Soleil stood alone in the silence that followed, surrounded by the distant scent of ink, old parchment, and lingering cherries.

She had won. She had denied him the kiss he’d wagered so smugly before the game began. She should’ve relished that. Instead, her fingers twitched at her side, and she felt something curl tight in her chest. Sharp and hollow.

Disappointment.

She sank slowly into her desk chair, jaw tense, eyes on the closed tome and cold engine.

Weave help her, but a part of her had wanted the devil to collect his prize.

And now she was left with a silence far too loud, and feelings she’d rather not name, let alone examine.

—

Soleil had buried herself and her feelings in her work. She went to bed rather late and completely alone in the boudoir for the first time in what felt like ages. Sleep came fitfully, pulling the tiefling into a restless haze.

Some indeterminable time later she awoke with a start to the cold press of a dagger against the hollow of her neck and a hand clamped against her mouth. 

“You scream, and I cut your throat. Got it? ”

Chapter Text

Soleil had awoken to her fair share of unsettling encounters: a vampire spawn poised to drain her blood, a githyanki knight looming ominously in her camp, the scorching warmth of Raphael’s morning wood pressing against her back. Perhaps that’s why she barely flinched when the cool edge of a knife grazed her throat, accompanied by an unfamiliar voice warning her in a hushed, menacing tone not to scream. The figure holding the blade was cloaked in dark fabric, their face obscured. Soleil gave a minute nod, careful not to nick herself. The rogue slowly removed his hand. When the tiefling didn't move a muscle, he spoke:

“Where is your master?” 

Soleil furrowed her brow in confusion. “I don't have a master.”

“Do not lie to me!” The blade bit into the thin skin of her throat, not enough to cut, but a reminder. “The master of this house, your fiendish paramour; where is he?” 

By Tasha’s Tits, what was with everyone and insisting that Raphael was her master? If she didn't currently have a blade at her throat, she would’ve complained.

"Raphael’s out. Securing a deal in Neverwinter, if I recall correctly,” Soleil’s pulse pounded in her ears, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. “But he’s not my master, I’m a prisoner here!” 

A feminine scoff echoed from somewhere to her left, the voice biting with disdain.

“I don’t believe a word out of this whores mouth. I mean, what prisoner is dressed like that!”

For once, Soleil wished she were given the same rags to wear as the debtors, instead of fine silk. 

“She doesn’t really look like a succubus... Or was it an incubus?” Another voice, deeper and more brusque, cut in. “What exactly did he say the cambion fucks?”

“I don’t give a cranium rat’s ass what it is,” the feminine voice shot back with a venomous snap. “It’s a hellspawn, practically naked in the fiend’s bed - of course, it’s his whore!”

“Please!” Soleil pleaded. “I can help you get whatever you’re here for if you just help me get out.”

“Maybe we should hear her out, guys?” piped up another more hesitant voice. How many people had snuck into the boudoir while Soleil was sleeping?! “She might know something about the crown...”

“Nah, just kill her already,” the brusque voice growled. “We need to find the magic-thingy, and she’s gonna call for her master any second now.”

Soleil’s mind raced as she quickly weighed her options. If she shouted for help, she was as good as dead. If she made it to the hallway, the debtors could fight for her, but if these people were experienced enough to break into the House of Hope, they could definitely take on a few newly transformed fiends, and she’d be caught in the crossfire with no way of defending herself. 

“You’re going to trip the alarms if you walk out of here,” she said, her voice somewhat steady despite the mounting tension. “I can help you avoid them.”

“I’m pretty good at avoiding alarms,” the rogue grunted dismissively. “I don’t need the help of a harlot.”

“That may be true,” Soleil replied, swallowing the sting of the insult for now. “But you won’t be able to access the room where Raphael keeps the crown. The doorway blocks anyone who isn’t a resident from entering. I’m your key to getting inside.”

“And now she admits she’s a resident! Lying devil bitch!” The feminine voice erupted in fury, calling the wrong part of Soleil’s bluff a lie.

“Kali, maybe we should listen to her,” tried the hesitant voice again. Whoever it belonged to was quickly becoming Soleil’s favorite. “I don’t know much about abjuration magic, and if we can't even get inside where he keeps the crown, this trip is all a waste!” 

“Gods damn you Silas, what's the point of your great grandfather being a dragon when you have the brains of a gelatinous cube?” hissed the feminine voice, Kali.

“I hate to admit it, but jelly-brains is right,” said the brusque voice. “If we can't even get into the room where the thingy is, we're as good as dead. Grab the slut and bring her along.”

Soleil was yanked to her feet by the collar, and for the first time, she got a proper look at the rest of her attackers. A short elven woman in light leather armor, bow in hand and eyes sharp with suspicion. Beside her stood a towering earth-genasi whose cracked, magma-like skin glowed faintly beneath the weight of a massive great axe. Lastly, a slim human man with silver scales dusting his youthful face, more boy than warrior, at least in appearance.

Soleil couldn’t help but wonder how this strange party had not only found their way into Avernus but had also somehow decided that breaking into the House of Hope was a good idea. Adventurers, probably. Foolish, reckless adventurers.

The rogue slipped behind her, pressing his dagger against her back and nudging her forward. “Hestia, you still got Pass Without Trace up?” he asked the genasi.

“Affirmative,” Hestia replied curtly.

“Silas, do the thing.”

Soleil watched as the human produced a pinch of what looked like gum arabic, murmuring a quiet “ Evanesco, ” as he cast Invisibility. The party of four shimmered for a moment, like a mirage, but Soleil’s Ersatz Eye saw through the illusion. For anyone else, though, the wizard would appear to be alone. She felt the poke of the blade against her back.

“If you as much as look at someone funny, I'll gut you,” murmured the rogue close to her ear. “Now lead the way.”

—

Soleil walked through the House of Hope’s hallways dressed in a skimpy nightgown and with a blade pressed against her lower back. Not one of the craziest predicaments she'd ever been in, but definitely up there. The debtors barely glanced at her as she passed, unaware of the invisible burglars at the tiefling's back. She walked to the door of the study, skin itching as she went. 

"This is where the most powerful items are kept," she muttered under her breath. A poke at her hip confirmed the rogue had heard her. “The alarm won't trigger if you follow me closely, so hurry inside.” 

Her collar lit up and deactivated as she passed the threshold, a rush of wind ruffling her hair as four people rushed past her, the last one closing the door behind themself. There was a beat of silence as the group waited with bated breath. Nothing. Everyone besides Soleil relaxed visibly. She hung back and watched the group subtly, examining the way they moved. Measuring.

The elven ranger edged forward, gaze sweeping the study. “The Hells is this place?” she muttered, voice barely above a breath. “Doesn’t look like any vault I’ve ever seen.”

“The crown!” gasped Silas, awe cracking through his whisper. His eyes were locked on the worktable ahead, where the broken pieces of the Crown of Karsus glowed faintly with latent power. He took a step forward.

“Wait,” hissed the rogue, suddenly sliding in front of Soleil, hand up.“I don’t trust this, let me check for tra-”

Multiple things happened at the same time: Soleil called upon the Weave, preparing to cast Hold Person, but right as she uttered the first syllable of the spell, the rogue whipped around and pushed her up against the wall, shoving his dagger low in between the wizard's ribs. Pain shot through her as her flesh yielded to the blade, and she gasped: “Non Movere! ” 

The rogue's hand froze, securing the dagger in place as he stood paralyzed. Across the room, the sorcerer had already begun the motions of a Counterspell, but too slow, his hand stalled, fingers curled in a useless sigil. The barbarian beside him was similarly caught mid-step, face twisted in confusion and rage, a statue of wrath and muscle.

Only Kali moved.

She spun with feline speed, bow already in hand. Her eyes blazed as she drew the string taut, hatred etched into every line of her face.

“You devil’s whore!” she spat.

The first arrow hissed past Soleil’s cheek, close enough to ruffle her hair.

The second found its mark.

A white-hot lance of pain tore through her shoulder, pinning her to the wall with a sickening thunk. The cry that ripped from her throat was half snarl, half scream. She fought to maintain her focus on the spell as blood dripped down her arm, knowing that if it faltered, she was dead. Her captives' minds were fighting back for control of their bodies, but even with a knife in her chest and an arrow in her shoulder, Soleil came out on top. Her skin was tingling, as she called forth the magic for the next spell, hairs standing up before she even uttered the incantation:

“Fulguratio!” Lightning crackled down her arms, bursting into the rogue and out of his back, leaping to his companions with a hiss of ozone. The elven ranger dove aside, nimble but not fast enough to avoid the chain lightning entirely. A jolt caught her mid-dodge, and she screamed as it tore through her nerves. Still, she was deadly even in pain. With a snarl, Kali released two arrows in rapid succession, aiming for the sliver of tiefling visible behind the fried rogue. Soleil raised a Shield just in time, the spell flaring to life with a shimmer of blue light, but it wasn’t enough. One arrow tore through her hip, the other embedded deep in the flesh of her outer thigh. Pain exploded through her, white-hot and nauseating. Soleil gritted her teeth, concentrating on the Hold Person spell with an iron will, even as the edges of her vision started to blur. She felt the intruders struggle against her grip, but the magic obeyed her, squashing their will, commanding them to stay still, even as their muscles seized from the electricity.

Until it didn’t.

With a guttural gasp, the genasi barbarian snapped the spell’s grip like brittle glass. Her molten eyes flared wide as she lurched forward, limbs trembling from the aftermath of paralysis and lightning. Heat rippled from her skin in waves, and rage practically poured from her like steam. Soleil’s pulse quickened at the shift in control. Her breath was coming out in short gasps, the blade in her lung making it difficult to breathe.  

“Divisa Colore,” A rainbow cone shot out from her hands, hitting her adversaries. An orange ray burst into the rouge in front of her, his skin bubbling and melting with the leather of his armor as the acid started to dissolve him. Soleil quickly gripped the dagger, keeping it secured in her lung as his body crumbled, no mind left to hold paralyzed. The sorcerer got hit with a yellow ray, his body seizing as another barrage of lightning shot through him and fried him from the inside. The sickly stench of burnt skin and hair quickly filled the small room, and Soleil managed a small sigh as she finally let her focus on the Hold Person falter completely. The barbarian got hit by a violet ray, its impact at first seemingly harmless. But her muscles once again locked up as the overwhelming power of the Prismatic Spray took hold and left the woman motionless, frozen in place. The ranger's luck ran out, as two rays, blue and red, split off, dancing in a beautiful helix before hitting her. She screamed as her nerves were assaulted by opposite sensations, the spell simultaneously freezing and burning her to death. 

Soleil coughed, both from the smoke in the room and from blood gathering in her throat. The movement pulled painfully at her pierced flesh, and she looked down at her chest. Blood was flowing in thick rivulets over her skin and soaking her nightgown. If she pulled the dagger out, she’d bleed out before anyone could find her. She tried to shout for help, but nothing but a horrible gurgle left her throat. If she attempted a Sending spell now, the psychic damage would most definitely be her end. The wizard gathered some of her strength to lift her shaking hand, her fingertips barely touching the doorframe. 

“Nihil,” she choked, the word barely intelligible. The barrier guarding the study immediately flickered and fell, magic dispelled. Soleil couldn't hear the silent arcane alarm, but a few ragged breaths later, the doors flew open, and they would have bashed the wizard’s head in if the partially dissolved body of the rogue on the floor had not acted as a stopper. 

“I leave for one bloody day and you can't even-!” Raphael stormed into the study, wings spread out like an angry Roc, but whatever he’d prepared to say next died in his throat as he took in the chaos around him. His gaze shifted from the petrified barbarian to the charred remains of the sorcerer and ranger, his wings slowly lowering in stunned silence.

“....Little mouse? Soleil?” She'd never heard his voice so small, and she wanted to laugh. What instead came out was a wet, painful wheeze. The cambion whirled around, claws raised, teeth bared in a snarl, but the expression dropped as soon as he recognized the tiefling. He hurried over to her, just in time to catch her as her shaking legs gave out. 

“What happened he-!” 

Soleil barely managed to see the movement past the camion's huge wing, but it caught her eye nonetheless; the glint of a swinging great axe, headed straight for the devil's neck. Soleil’s free hand shot up over Raphael’s shoulder, scarcely getting through the somatics in time, the axe’s trajectory so close it almost severed her arm. 

“Arde!” The spell was a shrill cry that sent drops of blood flying from her lips. The whole room went up in flames, leaving no option to dodge the Fireball. The stench of burning flesh mixed with the sweet smell of cherries filled Soleil’s nose as Raphael clutched her to his chest, wings curling protectively around them. Every inch of Soleil’s being was straining from the effort of upcasting the spell, painful shocks of arcane energy shooting through her nerves. 

As the flames abated, Raphael looked at her, pure shock marring his face. Both of them were untouched by the inferno. The dull thud of a body collapsing to the floor behind him broke his trance. The barbarian, now little more than a pile of blackened, smoldering bones, lay at his tail. Raphael paused to take in the state of the study, disbelief coloring his expression. The wizard had managed to not only conjure a safe pocket around the two of them, but also one for the books and her worktable. 

A wet cough drew his attention back to the wounded woman in his arms. Soleil let out a pathetic whine as he rearranged her limbs to carry her in a bridal style, the movement pulling on the arrows in her thigh and hip. He hushed her, rising to his feet and hurrying out of the scorched study. More whines and whimpers left her as his flying takeoff jostled her around in his arms. He issued commands to servants and debtors as they flew past, booming voice seething with rage, and Soleil tried in vain to cover her ears, but the movement only aggravated her wounds, causing her to let out another pained sound. 

“I know my dear, just hold on,” he mumbled softly, not slowing down for a second. He entered the boudoir, landing on his feet by the restoration pool. He knelt down, placing Soleil on the edge of the pool, and she blinked at him, confused. 

“The wounds will heal around the arrows if you go in now. We have to get them out first,” Raphael explained as he grabbed the one in her shoulder and yanked. She would’ve screamed if she could, instead all that came out was a gurgling wail, body fighting to ach off the hard tile floor. The cambion held her down, straddling her thighs right above her knees, firm hands on her shoulders. He grabbed the arrow stuck in her thigh next.

“Wait, please! Don’t-!” Soleil’s pleading words were garbled and cut off by a gasp as he pulled it out. She tried to claw, to kick, to buck him off, but her naked feet were just sliding against the floor uselessly. 

She barely registered that Raphael was speaking to her over her own frantic, panting breath: “- so good darling, just one more, I know you can take it,” 

He ripped the one in her hip out, flesh tearing, and she moaned in agony. Tears were streaming down her face freely now. Raphael got up, waded into the pool, and gingerly pulled her into his arms. 

But he did not lower her in. 

She was crying; she wanted to ask him why he was tormenting her so, but she couldn't manage the words. Her fist beat weakly at his chest, trying to get him to let her go.

“Last thing, love, I promise,” he murmured into her hair, kissing the top of her head and reaching around for the dagger in her chest. The wet sound of the blade leaving her flesh was perverse, and she gagged and choked on a sob. He then, finally, lowered her into the pool, the warm waters filling her wounds, knitting the flesh together and washing away the blood. She drew a gasping breath, lungs finally able to work at full capacity again. Her ruined nightgown clung to her chest, rising and falling with each trembling inhale. 

Raphael held her close in his lap, his clothes just as drenched, his arms steady as they moved in gentle strokes along her spine. She trembled still, even as the danger and pain faded. Somewhere on the edge of her awareness, she heard him speaking lowly to Korrilla, confirming that there were no other unwelcome guests within the House.

“...no more…” Soleil breathed against the column of his throat. 

“Shhh, little mouse,” he murmured, voice tender. “It’s over. No more arrows. You can relax.”

She shook her head, a small, weak motion.

“I burned them all,” she said, her voice distant, almost dreamy.

Raphael shifted slightly, pulling her away from his neck just enough to cup her face and look into her eyes. His fingers combed gently through her damp hair, smoothing it back from her temple in soft strokes. 

Soleil blinked up at him, dazed, and thought, absurdly, that the devil looked worried. The realization furrowed her brow and nearly pulled a breathless laugh from her lips. Of course. Of course, he’d only be worried about one thing. 

“They were after the Crown,” she explained, head lolling into his palm. “So I killed them. Burned them. All of them. They never even touched it.”

Something ignited in Raphael’s eyes, an unmistakable gleam that danced like firelight on molten gold. Pride, yes, but more than that. A fierce, elemental satisfaction. 

And then, without warning, he kissed her. 

It wasn’t gentle. It was fire and hunger and a fierce, unspoken gratitude. Soleil stiffened for a moment in surprise, then melted into it, her body yielding to the devil’s warmth. His lips tasted of wine, rich, dark, and heady, and she swayed with dizziness. It could’ve been the blood loss, but she didn’t care. Not now. Not when he kissed her like he meant to devour her. Not when his arms pulled her tight, flush against him like he could absorb her into his very being. 

It was Raphael who broke the kiss, barely, his breath ragged against her lips. His mouth didn’t stray far; he kissed the line of her jaw, her cheek, and her temple as though each place deserved homage.

“My beautiful, stunning, ruthless pet,” he purred between kisses, his voice hoarse with something dangerously close to awe. “Guarding my House in my absence…” He paused, and his tone changed - possessive, proud, something claiming: “Our House.”

Then, in one smooth motion, Raphael rose to his feet, lifting her effortlessly. Soleil let out a startled squeal, water sloshing off of them both as he carried her out of the pool like she weighed nothing at all. With a snap of his fingers, the water and their soaked clothes disappeared, leaving only the warmth of dry, soft skin and the blazing heat of his lips as he kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she gasped. 

Soleil barely noticed where he was taking her until the soft give of silk met her back. Raphael laid her down with disarming care, the sheets cool against her fevered skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body still pressed close to hers. Her head spun, disoriented not from fear or pain, but from him. From this. This tenderness in his hands. The fire behind his kiss. The way he looked at her was like she was something sacred and lethal all at once. It left her breathless and dizzy with that something she still couldn't quite name. Power? Worship? Love?

She didn't know. She only knew she didn’t want it to end.

Soleil suddenly realized that her hands were free. They weren't bound by rope or manacles. She could touch him, feel the give of his skin underneath her palms. The tiefling exploited this newfound freedom by slowly, deliberately, sliding her hands along the sculpted line of the cambion’s back. Starting low, at the base of his tail where heat coiled like a brand beneath her fingertips, then up the ridge of his spine to the place where his wings emerged. One hand gripped the base there, firm and possessive, while the other continued its ascent, weaving into the softness of his hair, tugging just enough to draw a reaction. Raphael shuddered a full-body tremor and groaned low into her mouth, the sound feral, undone.

“Let me reward you, my darling,” he breathed against her lips. It was not an order, not even a suggestion, but a plea. “Let me reward you for protecting what is mine.” 

The possessiveness in his voice left no ambiguity. He wasn’t speaking of the Crown.

Moments ago, she’d been attacked right here, in this very room. But now, with the devil above her, pressing her gently into the mattress like she belonged there, Soleil felt invulnerable. Untouchable. Worshipped.

“What will my reward be?” The question was too breathless to keep the teasing, coy edge Soleil had wanted. Instead of answering, Raphael captured her lips in another bruising kiss before leaning back, earning a soft, protesting noise from the tiefling under him as she was forced to let go of his hair and wing. He gave a small chuckle and kissed the palm of her hand, before placing them by her head. 

He moved further down the bed, and Soleil’s breath hitched as he leaned in again, but his lips brushed against her thigh, right on the tender fresh skin that had healed where the arrow had pierced her. He kissed it softly before sealing his lips around the spot, sucking and worrying the flesh lightly between his fangs. Soleil let out a high keen in response, and when he finally let go, a dark bruise had formed on her thigh.

Raphael kissed his way up to her hip, where he marked the tender, freshly healed skin similarly. The tiefling couldn’t stop the noises that poured from her lips when the cambion continued his path across her stomach and to her ribs, lips sealing around the place where a dagger had stabbed her moments ago. Now, her inability to breathe didn't stem from a blade penetrating her lung, but from Raphael’s hands on her flanks and his teeth in her skin. Once he was satisfied with the mark, he continued up, across her ribs to her breast, tongue briefly soothing over her stiff nipple, before landing at the last point.

As he bit into her shoulder, his arms snaked around her back, causing Soleil to arch up into the scorching press of his body and mouth. The tips of his claws skimmed over the delicate ridges of her vestigial wings, and she gasped, the sensation sharp and electric. Raphael released her shoulder, lifting his head, his breath a warm whisper against the curve of her ear.

“You should only ever wear my marks,” he growled, low and possessive. Then, without warning, the devil coiled his wings tight against his spine and rolled, a swift, fluid motion that left Soleil dizzy as the world flipped. She let out a startled yelp, instinctively pushing herself upright, palms braced against the solid heat of his chest. 

“Now that that's taken care of,” he purred as his hands swept down her back and settled firmly at her hips. His claws pressed into the supple flesh of her ass.

“Come here, my pet. Have a seat... and let me show you what you've earned," he said, low and coaxing, his gaze a molten promise. Soleil thought she knew where this was going, and she raised herself to balance on her knees and move down, but then Raphael pulled her forward by his grip on her hips. 

“What are y-!” the tiefling yelped, stumbling and catching herself against the plush headboard as the devil dragged her to rest her knees on either side of his head, her pussy hovering tantalizingly close to his mouth. 

“I said sit,” the command was accompanied by the tightening of his hands on her hips, pulling her down to sit on his face. Soleil moaned, loud and unrestrained, as his tongue swirled through her folds and across her clit in a languid caress. 

Her hands scrambled against the velvet headboard for a moment before once again burying one into the velvet of his dark hair, the other gripping his horn. Raphael groaned as her hand fisted into his locks, and the vibrations against her clit made Soleil cry out in pleasure and grind against his mouth.  

Her tail was thrashing restlessly, thumping and swiping at the devil's torso before he finally let go of her hip in favor of grabbing the appendage and using the hold to angle her hips for better access. Soleil mewled as the pull sent a jolt rushing up her spine, and she threw her head back. 

Her legs were trembling, her breath coming out in short gasps. Each swipe and curl of his tongue sent waves of pleasure shooting through her, and still, she felt stuck right before the precipice. In that moment, it felt paradoxically both far easier and immeasurably more difficult for her to surrender to the devil. She wasn't pent up and desperate for release. She wasn't tied down and forced to take whatever she was given. Her white knuckle grip on his horn and his hair was locking him in place just as much as his hand on her hip and tail was holding her down. So why was it suddenly so difficult to let go?

“Ah~ Raphael,” she keened, frustration clear in her tone as she struggled with herself. “P-please!” Tears were welling in her eyes as she cried out for help. Raphael hummed before pulling back slightly, just enough to speak. 

“So lovely,” he cooed, warm breath against her sensitive parts making her shudder. His mouth was glistening with her slickness, and his orange eyes were full of desire. “You’re thinking too much, dear.” His clawed hand on her hip loosened, fingers petting her soothingly. He gave a kitten lick to her clit, making the wizard tense and whine even more. “Just relax. Let me give you this.” 

Soleil tried to breathe deeply before Raphael resumed licking her like he was dying of thirst. It took about two seconds before she was once again reduced to a whimpering mess. 

That weird block still kept her from climaxing, even though the tiefling tried to relax. Raphael’s claws had loosened their grip on her, instead just petting firmly and guiding lightly as she rocked her hips against his face. One hand rested at her hip and thigh, palm and fingers splayed over the now bruised skin. The other hand glided up to hold her heaving chest, claws scratching lightly against the infernal ridges along her ribs. 

At once, Raphael sealed his lips around her clit and sucked hard while pressing his fingers into the bruises he had created. The shock of pain and pleasure made Soleil moan, and something suddenly snapped in her. She came, her hands pulling harshly at the devil's horn and hair, thighs clamping around his head as she shook violently. Molten pleasure coursed through her as Raphael continued to lap at her, and her vision blurred. Her head felt deliciously fussy and empty of thought for that brief and unending moment. 

She gasped, chest heaving as she came down, slowly relaxing her thighs and hands, but Raphael still kept his mouth pressed to her sopping cunt. Only once the tiefling started whining pathetically and pulling insistingly at his horn did the cambion let her go, allowing her to sit back on her heels. 

"...thank you..." The words slipped from her lips like a sigh, scarcely more than breath. Soleil wasn’t even sure what, exactly, she was thanking Raphael for - coming to her aid or making her come. All she knew was that she could have drowned in the way he looked up at her: mouth glistening with the evidence of her pleasure, hair deliciously disheveled, eyes glowing a molten amber, worship written in every line of his face. Then, without letting his gaze drift from hers, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, slow, reverent, and searing.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick with praise and possession. The shiver that coursed through her was immediate, uncontrollable, and utterly exquisite.”You like that? Being good for me?” 

Soleil nodded before she could think of it, and embarrassment immediately flushed her cheeks. Raphael just smiled wolfishly. His hands soothed over her thighs and hips before pushing her gently, guiding the tiefling to shift further down the bed and straddle his waist.  

“Of course you do,” he purred, as he slowly ground his hard, ridged cock through her soaking folds. Soleil moaned as it rubbed against her sensitive clit and grabbed his shoulders in a bid for stability, claws digging into the red flesh and muscle. 

“Otherwise, you wouldn't have protected my home.” He steadied her with a hand under her thigh, lifting her up and giving her shaking legs some support. He used his other hand to grab himself and notch his flushed, leaking head against her entrance. 

“You wouldn't have protected me.” The devil lowered Soleil slowly onto his ridged cock, forcing her to take him in small steady increments. Her thighs were quivering with the effort it took to hold herself aloft, even with his hands steadying her. 

“You wouldn't have killed for me!” He growled as he finally seated himself completely within her. 

Raphael held her there for a breathless moment, their chests heaving in unison. Then his hold on her softened, and his lips once again caught hers, tongues sliding against each other, slow and sensually. Soleil felt as though she had cast Feather Fall on her own thoughts. Her mind drifted, weightless, anchored only by the electric points of contact between her and the fiend beneath her. He pulled her back by her hair, not harshly, but a whine still escaped her. A strand of saliva connected their lips briefly before breaking. 

“Take what you need from me, my dear,” he rasped, voice ragged with restraint, each word edged with barely leashed hunger. “I will grant you anything you desire.”

Had her thoughts not been so beautifully blurred, her mind floating in that languid haze, Soleil might have grasped the weight of that offer, might have bound him to it with the sly precision of an archfey, and twisted it into a promise of liberation. But in that moment, all cleverness abandoned her. Only one desire burned clearly through the fog: him.

She began moving her hips against his in slow, rolling motions. Raphael threw his head back and groaned, horns scraping and catching against the silken sheets. He looked so achingly beautiful like this, Soleil thought. His hair tousled and the usual gleam of arrogance stripped from his eyes, leaving them dark and unguarded. She began to move with purpose then, driven by a singular, burning need: to draw more sounds from the devil beneath her, to unravel him piece by piece with every motion. The muscles in her thighs were burning, and yet she continued to slide herself on and off his cock faster, lost in the rhythm of lovemaking. The grind of her clit against his pubic bone quickly brought her to the edge of another orgasm. 

Soleil grabbed Raphael’s face and pulled him in for a kiss that was more just their mouths panting against each other. 

“Please,” she asked, unable to string together the words to articulate her needs. She was so close, and Raphael’s eyes looked into hers with so much desire that it almost undid her. 

“Anything,” he breathed, hips thrusting up to meet her downward motion. “Anything for you, little mouse.” Soleil could feel her walls clenching tightly in response to his voice, muscles in her stomach fluttering wildly. 

“Say my name,” she begged, voice strained. Something crossed the devil's face, and his grip on her hips tightened enough to bruise.

“My dear Soleil,” he breathed it into her mouth like a prayer, and she unraveled. She gasped as she climaxed, sinking down completely onto him as her legs finally faltered. Raphael gripped her hips, taking control of the moment and thrusting up into her with abandon.

“My beautiful tiefling,” he kissed her cheek as she cried out in pleasure.

“My brilliant wizard,” He kissed her forehead, and the snap of his hips stole the breath completely from her lungs.

“My Soleil,” Raphael growled as he fell apart, thrusting up into her and filling her. His lips latched onto hers, burning as hot as hellfire. She collapsed completely against him, leaning all her weight onto his chest.

“Mine alone,” he whispered against her lips, soft enough that she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart. 

Raphael rested his temple against hers as he caught his breath, his softening cock still lodged within her. Soleil’s mind was still floating somewhere among Mount Celestia, but one thought somehow managed to find her in the embrace of the devil.

“Didn’t you have some important errand to attend to?” she mumbled, her words thick and hazy. Raphael’s laugh was little more than a breath, warm and teasing, brushing against her lips.

“Nothing more important than this,” he replied while slowly grinding his hips up into hers. Soleil felt herself go slightly cross-eyed. “It can wait till I'm done rewarding you.” 

He was already hardening again within her, and the tiefling suddenly realized that while she had survived the battle against the intruders, she might yet meet her end here, consumed entirely, not by blade or spell, but by the ravenous hunger of Raphael’s desire.

—

Soleil lost track of all time. All that existed were her, Raphael, and the endless pleasure he gave her. At some unknowable point, they reached the edge of themselves, spent and sated, with nothing left to give or take. Raphael lay sprawled face-down across the bed, one great wing hanging limp over the side, the other curled protectively over Soleil’s nearly catatonic form as if even now he would shield her from the world. 

A flicker of restlessness stirred in the tiefling’s limbs, a sudden need to move, to breathe. With effort, she pushed her weary body upright, gently shifting the heavy wing draped over her. Her legs swung over the edge of the bed, bare feet brushing the floor. Behind her, Raphael let out a low, inquisitive hum at her movement.

“I just need some air,” she answered the unspoken question. Then an idea entered her mind. “Did you have time to get the tobacco you promised me?”

Another hum, and a snap of fingers. A lacquered box of Saltweed and a slender, elegantly carved pipe appeared on the bedside table. Soleil reached for them, inhaling the rich, earthy scent as she opened the box and began packing the bowl with practiced ease. Instinctively, she called upon her magic but stopped once she remembered the collar still secured at her throat. With a soft sigh, she leaned toward the cambion lying in the bed.

“Would you mind?”

A faint glow of gold shimmered behind Raphael’s half-lidded eyes as they opened. He raised a hand wordlessly, and a white flame flickered to life at his fingertips. Soleil leaned into the fire, charring the tobacco and drawing a slow, satisfying puff before fully lighting the pipe.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Raphael let his hand fall back to the sheets, eyes already drifting closed again as Soleil rose, the pipe in hand, and made her way toward the balcony. She was sure the devil wouldn't mind her smoking in bed, but she needed a bit of distance. 

Leaning against the stone balustrade, she winced as the rough surface scraped against her exposed skin. The first proper draw of tobacco filled her lungs, earthy and familiar, and the tension coiled inside her slowly began to ease. She exhaled a long, weary breath, smoke curling into the red Avernus sky, and combed her free hand through the sweat-stiff strands of her hair.

That had been a step too far.  

The way she’d surrendered herself to Raphael, letting him kiss her with reverence and claim her with something far too gentle to be called lust alone. She could try to blame it on adrenaline, on blood loss, and the dizzying flood of endorphins that followed the violence. Near death had its own intoxication; she’d felt it many times before. 

But deception had never been Soleil’s strong suit, and there was no fooling herself. She thought of Halsin as the smoke settled in her lungs. Would he blame her for this? This moment that had gone beyond mere survival? 

No. Knowing her lover, he wouldn’t even consider it. His heart was too kind, too open. But that knowledge didn’t stop Soleil from blaming herself. 

A sudden thought struck her as she gazed out over the scorched desolation of Avernus, the earthy scent of Saltweed still curling in her nose, mingling with the memory of her druid: 

I haven't seen a tree or a flower in over a month. 

The realization bloomed in her chest with quiet devastation, pressing hot behind her eyes. By now, the cherry tree in her garden must’ve been flowering. It was such a small thing. And yet, the absence felt vast.

She understood now. 

She understood why Karlach had been so ecstatic over the smallest, most mundane things when they’d first begun traveling together. A cool breeze. The chirp of a bird. The shade of a tree. 

For ten years, the warrior had endured this hell alone, steeped in blood and fire, surviving cruelties Soleil could barely imagine. One more year with Wyll at her side. 

Eleven years in total. Eleven too many. 

And while Soleil currently found herself in a similar bind - trapped in Avernus and forced to work for a devil - there was one critical difference. The wizard had signed the contract. However recklessly, she had chosen. Karlach had been sold. Betrayed. Condemned to this torment for the simple sin of trusting the wrong person.

A fierce heat flared in Soleil’s chest, sharper than guilt, purer than rage. A flame born not from Raphael’s touch, but something deeper. A heat born of love, of grief, of rage sharpened into resolve.

She would bring Karlach back to the material plane, even if it meant being stuck here in Avernus for eleven years herself. She would do it. 

Agitation once again thrummed beneath Soleil’s skin, and she paced the length of the balcony, smoking like an angry red dragon, each exhale sharp and restless. Her bare foot suddenly caught on something, jarring her mid-step. The tiefling stumbled, catching herself against the stone railing, her nails dragging harshly across its rough surface.

Looking down, she spotted the culprit: a metal hook embedded discreetly into the balustrade, a thick rope still looped through it. Her breath caught as realization struck. This was how they got in. This was the intruders’ path into the House of Hope.

Soleil had assumed the House was warded, surrounded by infernal barriers, steeped in arcane protections. But apparently, its sheer altitude and the fearsome reputation of its master had been deterrent enough for most.

This was a weakness. A gap.

The sound of shifting sheets, soft and silken, reached her ears even through the rush of blood pounding in her head. Raphael was stirring. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees, the pipe clenched between her teeth as she worked quickly to loosen the hook. Her fingers moved fast, steady despite the thrum of adrenaline. With a final tug, the hook came free, vanishing over the edge along with the rope, evidence swallowed by the depths below. All that remained was a small hole bored into the stone, innocuous and easily missed.

She rose swiftly, composed herself, and leaned casually over the railing, arms folded, pipe still smoldering between her fingers. The picture of quiet contemplation.

Raphael approached, his presence as palpable as the heat rising off him. His hands slid warmly across her back, smoothing down her spine with languid familiarity.

“Enjoying the view?” he purred, voice velvet-dark. “I know I am.”

Soleil shuddered as he palmed her naked backside. 

“I’m enjoying the Saltweed,” she murmured, drawing in another slow breath before exhaling in a stream of curling smoke. “The landscape of Avernus is rather uninspiring.”

Raphael made a low, thoughtful sound, then leaned in behind her, his warm, solid frame pressing firmly against her bare back. His hands slid around her waist with practiced ease, coaxing her into a straighter posture. One hand started toying with her breast while the other rose to cradle her jaw, tilting her head away from the pipe until her eyes met his. His gaze burned, not with heat alone, but with something sharper and more calculating.

“Make a good enough offer,” he started, his voice a velvet drawl as he leaned closer. “And I’ll pencil in another little excursion.”

Then his lips found hers, soft at first, deepening with unspoken promises. He tasted the smoke on her tongue, and Soleil sighed into the kiss - part pleasure, part weary exasperation.

That part, at least, hadn’t changed.

Chapter Text

“All of them are too damaged to speak with,” Korrilla murmured with a sigh, her glowing eyes dimming to their usual earthy brown as the Speak with Dead faded.

“Perhaps next time you might refrain from incinerating the majority of my study,” Raphael said, surveying the scorched remnants of the room with a mix of dismay and resignation. “A Magic Missile would have sufficed. And with considerably less collateral damage.”

Soleil rolled her eyes. There it was: the devil’s ever-faithful critique she knew and loathed

“Next time, I’ll just let the barbarian lob your head off,” she retorted dryly. “I acted on instinct.”

Korrilla glanced up from where she was examining a charred corpse, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Your first instinct is to cast Fireball?”

Soleil gave a nonchalant shrug. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Raphael and Korrilla exchanged a look, suspended somewhere between utter disbelief and reluctant agreement.

“You try making sound tactical choices when you’re bleeding out and your only hope of rescue is one axe swing away from a clean decapitation,” she muttered crossly while striding toward her workbench. The chair had been reduced to cinders, but the table itself stood untouched, spared by her practiced manipulation of the weave, creating pockets of safety in the heart of destruction.

She lifted the fractured remains of the Crown of Karsus, holding them aloft with a meaningful glance. “Hard to wear a crown without a head, don’t you think?”

Protecting the Crown and hellfire engine had been somewhat moot. Truthfully, neither relic would have been harmed by a fireball. The engine had been forged to endure the flames of the Nine Hells, and the Crown pulsed with divine magic older than some gods. If her spell had so much as singed them, Soleil might have retired on the spot or reconsidered her profession entirely. After all, anyone capable of destroying legendary artifacts by accident probably belonged in prophecy, not academia. But, she was still happy that she'd thought to shield them and by extension, her work notes. 

Raphael offered a crooked smile, the faintest glimmer of fondness hiding behind his usual sarcasm. “I am, of course, grateful for the protection of my neck, dear wizard. I merely lament the cost in particularly expensive upholstery.”

Soleil managed not to roll her eyes again, but only barely. Just yesterday, this same devil had lavished her with praise for defending the House of Hope. Now he was bitching about furniture. She gestured toward the pristine stack of preserved tomes nestled amidst the soot. “Sure,” she said, voice edged like a blade. “I should’ve protected the couch and the lanceboard instead of the ancient tomes and, you know... you.”

Korrilla rose from her crouch beside the blackened bodies of the fallen intruders, brushing soot from her hands. 

“Nothing of note on them,” she announced. “Or, well, nothing that wasn’t burned to uselessness.” The gold dwarf cast Soleil a dry, pointed glance. “They didn’t say anything about who sent them?” The tiefling shook her head. She knew how they'd gotten in, and that they'd know Raphael had a courtesan, but she opted to keep that information to herself.

“They just mentioned they were after the Crown,” she answered while continuing to gather the objects on the worktable. 

Raphael exhaled a quiet hum, thoughtful and irritated all at once. “That narrows it down to approximately everyone who knows its existence.” With a snap of his fingers, the fractured remnants of the Crown of Karsus vanished from Soleil’s hands in a flash of infernal magic.

“Hey!” she snapped, whirling on him.

“Until the study is restored and the barrier reestablished, you are, regrettably, on sabbatical from all work involving the Crown,” he said smoothly, utterly unbothered by her glare. “You said it yourself, little mouse, without your magic, it’s a fruitless endeavor.” 

The words struck her like a slap. Soleil’s hand twitched toward the collar at her throat, a grim reminder of the arcane suppression that still choked her power. The fire in her chest flared, rage, helplessness, and betrayal mingling. Her tail lashed the air behind her like a whip. She had saved him. Shielded him. And still, he didn’t trust her without a leash.

“So now what?” she snapped, voice tight with frustration. “I’m on arcane time-out until you redecorate?”

With maddening nonchalance, Raphael snapped his fingers again and a stack of tomes appeared in the wizard's arms. She almost stumbled under the weight.

“You can keep occupied with less… demanding work while the study is being fixed,” he remarked. “Besides, I don't want you blowing up my personal office while you temporarily conduct your research there.”

—

Raphael's own study was larger than the one he let her occupy. Because of course it was. Every detail screamed opulence: expensive, overstuffed furniture upholstered in dark velvet, tall portraits of the devil himself gazing smugly down from gilded frames, and walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, groaning under the weight of millennia of collected knowledge. The desk - an immaculate slab of glass-smooth onyx - sat at the center of the room like an altar to control, untouched by clutter, not a page or quill out of place. A sharp contrast to the charming chaos of the wizard's own workspace.

Soleil had claimed a chaise lounge near the hearth, one of the few seats that didn't reek of Raphael’s perfume or pride. Tomes and scattered notes littered the sofa table beside her, forming a small, defiant island of mess in the devil’s meticulously curated world.

“We're back to square one then,” she sighed. “No magic and no work without surveillance.”

Raphael lowered himself into his chair with unhurried grace, folding his hands atop the obsidian surface as though posing for another portrait.

“I shall be attending to my own affairs. So long as you don’t disturb me, I’ll extend you the same courtesy. Can you live with those terms, dear wizard?”

“Do I have much of a choice?” she muttered crossly.

“Choosing the only option available is still a choice,” the devil replied without missing a beat, reaching for his quill and diving into his own work. When he made no move to watch her, no sly remark or lingering glance, Soleil allowed herself to breathe a little easier. She turned back to her own notes, quill in hand, and the room fell into a fragile, welcome hush, the gentle scratch of ink on parchment the only sound between them. It still wasn't ideal for the wizard, but it was preferable to her first weeks within the House of Hope. 

Hours slipped by in silence, neither tiefling nor cambion uttering a word. Without her magic, she was once again limited to her own knowledge of language, so she had resumed reading the infernal book about Baator's topography, but she kept being distracted. Not by Raphael, he sat with statuesque stillness at his desk, the only movements those of a hand reaching for parchment or guiding his quill in smooth, precise strokes. She was distracted by her own inaction. Research and speculation could only hold her attention for so long and without the means to act, she felt caged, her mind pacing even as her body remained still.

“Your fidgeting is quite aggravating, little mouse,” Raphael said at last, voice calm but laced with disdain. He didn’t look up. She blinked, startled. Her tail had been thumping against the cushion. 

She stilled, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Sorry.”

“If you’re so restless, take a walk,” he continued while shooting her a glance. “I have a client arriving shortly, and would have needed to dismiss you anyway.”

“You’re kicking me out?” she said, rising to her feet with theatrical offense. She actually welcomed the excuse for getting out of the office. 

Raphael raised a single brow. “I take client confidentiality rather seriously.”

She snorted. “Sure you do.” 

And with a wry smile tugging at her lips, Soleil slipped into the corridor, leaving the cambion’s immaculate sanctum behind. Her steps carried her, almost by instinct, toward the archives, each footfall tracing a now-familiar path etched by restlessness and half-formed ideas. 

She stopped in front of a pedestal carrying a new addition to Raphael's collection: A Sanctum Amulet , as marked by the plaque. Wearing the black opal would grant the user resistance to necrotic damage. She thought of her own failed experiments. If she could just replicate the effect, rework the enchantment’s structure to respond to sunlight instead, strengthen it enough to endure the full blaze of day…

Then her friend could finally be free of the shackles of night. The wizard’s fingers twitched with the familiar urge to do, to test, to try.

“Ah, the wizard admires the magical baubles,” came a purring voice at her shoulder. “Little does she know, she’s the most enchanting thing in the room.”

She didn’t so much as flinch but the line did earn a laugh from her. 

“Are you even trying anymore?” she asked, casting a glance over her shoulder. “I know it’s you, Haarlep.”

The incubus only smiled, unbothered, and slid seamlessly into step beside her, their arm looping through hers with practiced ease.

“Oh, but it does sound like something he’d say, doesn’t it?” they said with a grin, their voice honeyed mischief. “I leave for one day, and just look at the state of things!”

“I don’t want to hear a single comment from you,” Soleil groaned, already bracing for the incoming gloating.

Haarlep clutched their chest with exaggerated affront. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

Soleil fixed them with a flat stare.

“…Alright, I was,” they conceded cheerfully, entirely unrepentant. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

They led her to a nearby divan and collapsed onto it with dramatic flair, patting the seat beside them in invitation. Soleil followed with a sigh, barely seated before Haarlep adjusted, inching just close enough to make the moment feel charged. As always, they straddled that line of intimacy with every little gesture. 

“I came to let you know I’ll be out of the House for a few days,” they gave her a wicked smile. “Do try to keep our master satisfied in my absence.” 

“He's not my-” Soleil began, but her protest was cut short by their laughter. If looks could cast Power Word Kill , they’d have dropped in an instant. Instead, she exhaled sharply and asked: “What are you doing outside the House?”

Haarlep’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh, darling,” they purred. “I could give you such a list: who I’ll be doing, where, how many times… First, a charming little chain devil, and we-”

“Alright! No! ” Soleil interrupted, cheeks flushing deep crimson. “I don’t want the details!”

Haarlep pouted, lips theatrically pursed. 

“Spoilsport,” they muttered, thoroughly unrepentant.

Their conversation drifted from there, still laced with flirtation and teasing, though Soleil firmly steered it away from anything too graphic and repeatedly had to remind Haarlep to tone down the details. Whenever the incubus tried to nudge the topic back to the previous day, she offered only vague replies, dancing around the truth with careful, practiced deflection. Whatever curiosity they had, she wasn’t ready to feed it. By the time a servant arrived to summon her for dinner, the restless energy that had driven her into the archives had begun to settle. Haarlep’s presence, though frustrating, had served as a welcome distraction. And for now, that was enough.

—

It was another day and a half before the inability to work with something other than theory made Soleil crack. She couldn't work on the Crown without her magic, nor the hellfire engine, and she itched to use her hands for something other than turning a page or holding a quill. She sat hunched over her current tome, A Study of the Celestial from an Infernal Perspective, but the words had long since blurred into meaningless patterns. With a quiet breath, she closed the book and cleared her throat.

“May I… disturb you, for a moment?”

Raphael replied with a low hum, not looking up right away. He was seated at his obsidian desk, revising what was undoubtedly another poor soul’s meticulously crafted downfall. Only after finishing the line did he set his quill into its holder with ceremonial care, then turned toward her, brown eyes meeting hers. One brow arched, mildly curious.

“Yes, dear?”

She suddenly felt a lot like a schoolgirl in a headmaster's office, and that thought made her stomach knot with something not entirely unpleasant. She cleared her throat once more, steadying herself.

“I want to bargain for my jewelry project,” she said firmly. “The one I recovered from my study at home.”

Raphael merely tilted his head, smiling like a cat who's just been asked to return a mouse.

“For the vampling, I presume?” he said silkily. 

“No,” Soleil deadpanned, voice soaked in sarcasm. “For the githyanki fighting a civil war. Of course it’s for Astarion. What do you want in exchange?”

That familiar flicker of devilish amusement lit Raphael’s eyes, a spark of delight at the edges of his carefully measured expression.

“Asking me to name the terms?” he mused, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Bold of you, little mouse.” He considered her with quiet delight, clearly enjoying himself. Soleil folded her arms and lifted her chin a fraction.

“I’ll remind you I have every right to refuse those terms,” she said, mostly out of principle. They both knew she wouldn’t.

“Of course,” he drawled, humoring her. “Now that you've so graciously granted me the option to choose, allow me to return the favor.” He gestured lazily to the chair in front of his desk. “I’m expecting a client for a meeting momentarily. You have two choices: leave now, and allow me the luxury of crafting a more… creative demand upon your return. Or stay, and keep me company.”

Soleil arched an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“What happened to client confidentiality?” she asked.

Raphael barked a low, amused laugh. “Always so worried about others. But this particular client, shall we say… has behaved like quite the rat. He’d be a hypocrite to complain about a little mouse hiding beneath the table.” 

What did he mean, a mouse under the… oh. Realization hit her, and from the devil’s pleased and predatory smile, it must have shown plainly on her face. So that was what he meant by “keeping him company ”.

It wasn't much of a choice. Regular fire or hellfire, she would still burn.

“I'll take the second option,” she decided. Raphael’s delight was unmistakable. He leaned back in his plush, high-backed chair with feline grace, eyes gleaming with wicked approval. Slowly, he eased it just a little farther from the desk, the movement unhurried and indulgent.

“Then take your place, little mouse,” he purred, the command soft but inescapable, as he gestured toward the space beneath the obsidian desk.

Maintaining steady eye contact, Soleil crossed the room. She knelt before him, back straight, then slipped beneath the desk with measured grace. Her knees pressed into the soft carpet, the hem of her robes pooling around her as she shuffled back until her heels touched the modesty panel -  a name so laughably ironic it nearly made her snort. There was nothing modest about what was about to happen. Raphael allowed himself a moment to take in the sight of the wizard once again kneeling before him. Then, with a slow smile curving his lips, he drew the chair forward again, trapping her in place. The legs of the chair scraped softly against the floor as he settled in, caging her neatly between his thighs.

“Here's what's going to happen, dear,” he started while unfastening the front of his pants. “You're going to keep my cock warm and wet while I conduct my business. If my client senses anything unusual, anything at all, you won't get the jewelry.” Soleil couldn't look away as he started stroking himself. She already dreaded how her jaw would ache, even from just taking him in his human form. 

“Do you accept these terms?”

It wasn’t as though she could object. Refuse, and he would simply devise something more difficult, more humiliating - or worse, more painful - as payment.

“I accept,” she said, voice firm. She didn't need to see his face to know the devil was smiling.

“Open wide and get to work,” The command was gentle, almost indulgent, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. It was not a suggestion.

She did as she was told, obediently taking his cock into her mouth. It took a moment for her to relax and not gag while taking him in slowly. She could already feel drool begin to gather at the corners of her mouth, lips stretched wide around the base of the devil's cock. His hand slid into her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands with unhurried precision before tightening, anchoring her in place. The pull wasn’t harsh, but it was firm, deliberate. She couldn't help the small moan that escaped her at the pain.

Raphael's chuckle was soft, amused. “Ah ah,” he chided, voice rich with wicked delight. “Quiet as a mouse, remember?”

His grip eased, and his fingers shifted to a slow, idle rhythm, petting and scratching gently at her scalp. Overhead, the soft, rhythmic scrape of a quill against parchment resumed the sound anchoring her in the moment. Her jaw was already aching and saliva was trailing down her chin, but that strange floating feeling started to blur the edge of her awareness. Not being able to do anything but focus on the cock in her mouth and her breathing was strangely… meditative, and bit by bit, Soleil felt her body begin to relax, her breath coming out slowly through her nose.

Raphael gave her hair a small tug, drawing the tiefling back to the present.

“Our guest has arrived,” he murmured, lowly. A heartbeat later, the quiet creak of the office door reached her ears. She tensed instinctively, but Raphael's hand never paused, gliding through her hair with a lazy reassurance, a silent command to stay still.

“Siward! A pleasure, as always,” the fiend greeted, his tone noticeably cooler now. Polished, but devoid of the warmth he’d allowed himself with her. The performative charm was intact, but it rang hollow beneath the surface. “Come in, take a seat.”

Heavy footsteps thudded across the room, growing louder with each step until they stopped just in front of the desk.

“Cut the crap, devil,” came a gruff voice, all bluntness and disdain, followed by the scrape of a chair and the thud of a body dropping into it. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Raphael's fingers tightened a bit in her hair, subtly pushing her further down onto his cock, and the tiefling fought back the sound that threatened to escape. 

The conversation began in earnest - something about a botched double-cross with the Zhentarim, the kind of grim business that involved missing gold, broken alliances, and blood left drying on cobblestones. But for Soleil, the words quickly dulled, slipping into the background like smoke. The low murmur of voices above her, the dim warmth beneath the desk, the steady motion of Raphael’s hand in her hair, and the heavy weight of his cock in her mouth. All of it blended into a quiet, intoxicating lull and the tiefling felt her eyes drift shut. 

Then suddenly, she felt Raphael shift. Soleil thought he might be getting up, but the devil merely moved his leg, the top of his fine leather shoe pressing against her crotch. She fought back a surprised moan, her fingers immediately clutching the fabric of his pant leg. The tiefling hadn't noticed how aroused she had gotten, content to just float in that blissful haze, but now the throbbing at her core made itself painfully known. She wanted to move away, but between the hand in her hair pressing her head firmly into the devil's crotch and the cramped space under the desk, she had nowhere to go. Raphael pressed his shoe firmer against her and Soleil didn't manage to catch the whimper that bubbled in her throat. Luckily for her, it was muffled by the cock in her mouth. 

Damn him , of course he wouldn't make it easy for her. Now she tried desperately to focus on anything but the maddening pressure within herself: The texture of the fabric she clung to, the rug pressing into her knees, the conversation above her.

“- and they'll kill them just because they have my name,” Siward's voice was still gruff, but now tinged with desperation. “I did what you asked, devil. I upheld my end of the bargain. You have to protect me!”

Soleil couldn't help the small rocking motions her hips had started, grinding against the firm pressure of the shoe beneath her. Raphael gave a soft, unbothered hum, his hand never ceasing its slow glide through her hair. 

“Siward,” he said with that infuriating calm.“Our deal contained no clause about betrayal. And certainly nothing about safeguarding you or your family from your own recklessness.” Soleil focused on her breath, inhaling quietly through her nose, trying to hide the subtle shiver that coursed through her. But she knew Raphael felt it, his hand paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing, maddeningly gentle.

“But,” he went on, his tone darkening into something more indulgent. “I’m prepared to offer you a new arrangement, to help you with this mess you've gotten yourself into.” 

The sound of a snap rang out, and Soleil could hear the rustle of paper. An infernal contract no doubt. A moment of silence followed. Just long enough for Soleil to become acutely aware of her own breathing, too loud in her ears, too shallow. Her pulse stuttered. But whatever terms were scrawled across that cursed paper clearly drew Siward’s full attention.

“So if I sign this…” he asked slowly, the words hanging heavy in the air, “I’ll be gone?”

“New name, new life,” Raphael said, his voice almost fond. “It will be as though Siward Brewse never existed. Not in memory. Not on record. Not in this realm or the next.” 

Whatever was happening above the table, it made Raphael's cock twitch and harden within Soleil's throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against the devil’s abdomen in silent desperation, willing him to hurry the fuck up. Her horns couldn’t have been far from piercing his ribs, but if the devil noticed, or cared, he gave no sign. He remained perfectly composed, perfectly still, as if her quiet struggle beneath the desk were no more distracting than a breeze.

“And my family?” Siward asked, voice quieter now. There was a fragile edge to it, a crack that hadn’t been there before. “Will they… will they forget me too?”

Raphael let out a low, thoughtful hum. “A small price to pay to ensure their safety, don’t you think?” he replied, his tone light, almost conversational. “That…” he paused, just long enough to let the weight of the moment settle. “...and your soul, of course. Just sign your name, and it will be gone forever.”

The silence that followed was heavy and oppressive. Raphael continued his subtle tortures, unhurried - through words above the desk and touch beneath it. Soleil was unraveling by degrees, tension coiled so tightly within her she felt she might break apart if he didn’t end this soon.

“I… I need to think,” Siward murmured at last, followed by the soft, reluctant slide of parchment settling back onto the desk.

“Of course,” Raphael said easily. “Take all the time you need. If you decide before a Zhentarim dagger finds your back, you know where to find me.”

A chair scraped harshly against the floor. Footsteps retreated. Then the doors closed with a heavy, echoing thud. 

Soleil still didn't dare make a sound. 

Then the fingers curled gently in her hair, giving a subtle, insistent tug. A wordless command to look up. She obeyed, and this time she didn’t even try to swallow the soft, broken sound that escaped her throat.

“Well done, little mouse,” Raphael murmured, his voice velvet-smooth and dripping with approval. He had leaned back slightly in his chair, gaze cast downward to admire her with quiet satisfaction. “And hardly a peep.”

The praise hit like a spark to kindling. Soleil moaned softly, unable - or unwilling - to hide her response.

“Our guest didn’t suspect a thing,” he added, clearly delighted. “You played your part beautifully.” 

The words settled over her like silk, warm and intoxicating. That same beautiful haze began to creep back into her thoughts again, blurring the edges of the moment until all that remained was the echo of his praise and the promise of reward. 

She sucked happily at the length in her mouth, enjoying the way Raphael's hand tightened in her hair in response. He began guiding her head to bop up and down in a slow, languid rhythm. Her hips still ground her throbbing cunt against his shoe, humping his leg like a dog. The humiliation that burned through her mingled with the praise made her core clench and she whined. 

“My lovely pet,” Raphael praised, eyes soft with adoration. “Can you come like this? That would be absolutely beautiful.” She didn't know, but in this moment, she would do anything he asked of her. 

She got lost in the slow hypnotic movement of her head and the mindless grinding of her hips. Raphael was still speaking, his voice rich with praise, but the words blurred into a distant hum. Soleil didn’t catch what he said, only the tone, warm and indulgent, every syllable soaked in approval. That was enough. Her gaze was unfocused, glassy, fixed on him as though he were the only thing tethering her to the room. The heat in her abdomen, once a quiet pulse, had grown into a slow, relentless boil, spreading through her like a current she couldn’t resist.

Then came the gentle command, smooth as silk.

“Come for me, my dear,” he coaxed.

And truly… how could she do anything but obey?

She moaned, the shuddering sound muffled by the cock lodged in her throat. Her orgasm broke like a rolling tide, crashing into her in waves of pleasure as she continued to rock against Raphael's shoe. The devil groaned, deep and guttural at the sight of her falling apart, and it wasn't long before his cock was twitching on her tongue. He yanked her head back and unloaded across her face, painting her tongue, cheeks, and chin with his release. 

Soleil breathed heavily, still too floaty from her climax to feel any amount of embarrassment or disgust. Raphael took a moment to admire her, eyes lingering with quiet, possessive satisfaction, before reaching down to guide her out from beneath the desk. One hand cradled her head, shielding it from the edge, a deceptively gentle gesture that contrasted with the power he held over her. He drew her effortlessly into his lap, as though it were the most natural thing in the world - a ritual now, familiar and intimate. But this time, he didn’t simply settle into the rhythm of stroking her back. Instead, he claimed her mouth with a kiss, slow, unhurried, and deep. It wasn’t demanding. It was indulgent. As though he had all the time in the world to taste her. 

And taste he did. 

His mouth strayed to lick his own spend from her skin, and Soleil felt her cheeks flush. Once he had finished cleaning her, he gave her lips a quick soft peck, the gesture contrasting his previous debauched action so much that it made the tiefling's head spin.

It did serve to draw her back to her own mind again.

“You missed a…” she began, voice rough and low, her throat still raw from having been so thoroughly used. The words caught for a beat.

Raphael tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking over her face with idle amusement. 

“A spot?” he offered, the hum in his voice silk-wrapped mockery.

She cleared her throat, steadying.

“A loophole,” she corrected. “In your client’s contract.”

Raphael arched a brow, amusement curling at the corners of his mouth. “Do share what you managed to observe from beneath the desk, little mouse,” he drawled, the ridicule beneath his silk-smooth tone subtle but unmistakable.

“If the phrasing was literal,” she began, calm and precise, “then Siward’s name will vanish. From memory, from history, from every record… including the one bearing his signature.” That gave him pause. For a heartbeat, Raphael was silent, his expression flickering with thoughtful calculation.

“And if it doesn’t vanish,” he began.

“Then how would you prove he signed it?” Soleil cut in smoothly, already a step ahead. “By your own words, Siward Brewse, the man who signed, would never have existed. The signature would be meaningless.” 

A brief silence settled between them. Raphael’s mouth drew into a thin, contemplative line. Then slowly, something warmer curled at the edges of his expression, approval, wry and unmistakably pleased.

“Clever little wizard,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “I’ll need to add a clause for that. Consider it… an editorial refinement.”

The weight of what she’d done, of the soul she might have condemned, barely registered.

Not when she sat wrapped in the devil’s attention, basking in the glow of his praise.

Not when he looked at her like that.

—

Soleil got used to working within proximity of her captor over the next couple of days. Sometimes he'd dismiss her when he had to talk with a client. On other occasions, he vanished for hours to conduct what he casually referred to as "house calls," leaving her to her own devices. Her attention, however, remained wholly captured by the task at hand: deciphering the enchantment for the amulet. Deprived of her magic, the endeavor transformed into a kind of cerebral puzzle, a delicate balance of theory and deduction. It was, unexpectedly, satisfying. She was forced to rely solely on her intellect, on what she knew rather than what she felt.

After caving the last line of an arcane rune, Soleil found herself idly toying with the amulet that had taken shape in her hands. Though she would never dare call herself a jeweler, she couldn’t deny a quiet pride in what she’d created: a crystal carved into an elegant icosahedron, cradled in a nest of fine golden filigree. Each facet of the gem bore precise, painstakingly etched runes. Arcane symbols that shimmered faintly when they caught the light. Now it was time to test it out. 

“Raphael,” she said, her tone casual but deliberate. “What types of damage are you immune or resistant to?”

The devil looked up, his expression a picture of cultivated incredulity.

“Pardon? ” he asked, one brow arched high. “My dear, inquisitive wizard… surely you must know; it’s a poor strategy to lay one's cards on the table before the game is done. I think I’ll keep that little mystery to myself.”

Soleil sighed, her eyes narrowing. She tried to recall how the Weave had felt when she bent it around him. 

“Fire immunity,” she said, tone now cool, matter-of-fact. “Resistance to lightning, cold, and poison. I didn’t even need to shield you from my Fireball.”

Raphael stared, momentarily robbed of speech.

“How?” He didn't even seem angry, just baffled. Soleil walked up to where he was sitting at his desk. She lowered herself into his lap, a quiet satisfaction flickering behind her eyes.

“Elemental effects are my specialty,” she murmured, sliding her arms around his neck. He responded instinctively, hands grasping her hips, though disbelief still furrowed his brow. “The threads of the Weave that I pull to create safe pockets in my spells move differently around beings that have immunity or resistances,” she continued, voice low. “The distortions are small and subtle. It takes focus and time to read them, so it's rarely a possibility in the middle of a battle. But I’ve had… plenty of time to get familiar with how it moves around you.” 

Raphael’s incredulity shifted into something like admiration, and one of his hands smoothed slowly up her spine.

“Can I have some of your blood,” Soleil asked sweetly. “Just a drop?” 

The disbelief immediately returned to his face.

“Has your vampling friend managed to infect you from afar?” he asked, a dark chuckle curling at the edges of his words. “What are you offering in exchange for such a sanguine sacrifice?”

She rolled her eyes, the brief flicker of irritation quickly buried beneath a smirk. Then, with deliberate intent, she tangled her fingers in his velvet-dark hair and yanked him into a bruising, breath-stealing kiss. He melted into it quickly, and just as it started to pick up in fervor, Soleil sunk her teeth into his bottom lip. Raphael gasped, a sound equal parts shock and delight. Crimson welled up, slick and vivid. She pulled back, his blood now smeared across her mouth like a sinful gloss and before it could dry, she quickly pressed her lips to the crystal in the necklace. The blood seeped into the etched runes like ink through parchment, and for a moment, the whole piece pulsed with a subtle inner light. Soleil glanced up, lips still stained, catching the rare sight of Raphael rendered speechless. She smiled.

“You little leech,” he growled, though his hands tightened possessively at her hips.

“Oh, please,” she said airily, amusement dancing in her voice. “You’ll survive. Now, will you take the collar off?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze had sharpened to something far less indulgent.

“You’ve just once again proven your ability to draw blood without your full arsenal,” he muttered darkly. As he spoke, his fingers slipped behind the collar and gave it a testing tug. It constricted, just enough to make her breath hitch.

“What makes you think I’d simply unleash you?”

“Just for two minutes,” Soleil coaxed, batting her lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “Pretty please?”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, suspicious and gleaming.

“If you try anything, I’ll hunt down your little friends one by one,” he said, voice low and cutting. “And I’ll turn each of them into a soul coin.”

The threat struck cold at her core, but it was swiftly overridden by a jolt of something far more exhilarating: the sudden surge of magic as the collar came away. She exhaled, relishing the return of power like breath after drowning. Slipping the amulet over her head, Soleil stood, and Raphael let her go, reluctantly, his fingers lingering a moment too long. Since she had crafted the enchantment herself, the attunement was nearly instant. The runes etched into the crystal weren’t from her own repertoire, but a variant of the Resistance spell. A mimicry, drawn from memory of how it felt when Halsin cast it. A strange, borrowed magic, shaped by memory and observation.

Soleil approached the fireplace with intent. Fortunately, it burned with mundane flames rather than hellfire. If the enchantment failed, her own resistance would reduce any injury to a mild burn. Before doubt could creep in, the tiefling stuck her hand into the fire. 

Warmth, pleasant and harmless.

No pain.

She grinned, withdrawing her hand to show unmarked skin.

“It works!” she said, beaming. “And if I get hit with lightning now, it’ll hurt a lot less than it normally does. I have your fire immunity and your resistances!” 

Raphael watched her with mild amusement. 

“I have a sneaking suspicion,” he said, his tone rich with mockery. “That you are dying to lecture me on the mechanics of your newest little triumph.”

Soleil returned to his side this time leaning against his desk, her eyes gleaming. “Only if you ask nicely.”

He stared at her, mouth pressed into a tight line - still stained with the blood she’d taken. The effect was halfway between a scowl and a smirk.

The wizard lasted all of three seconds.

“Fine,” she burst out, unable to hold it in. “I got the idea from a drow we met in Moonrise Tower. She was obsessed with the magical properties of blood -  and completely unhinged about Astarion, by the way - so we didn’t talk much. But she got me thinking: A lot of beings have innate magical abilities such as spellcasting and immunities due to their blood,” Soleil cast Produce Flame for emphasis, a blue flame appearing in the palm of her hand. “I’ve always known this spell. Not because I studied or learned it, but because of what I am. Because of what’s in my blood.” She turned the flame slowly, watching the cool light trace along Raphael’s sharp features. “That phrase, ‘ it’s in your blood ’, we treat it like a metaphor. But what if it could be literal? What if blood could be a conduit for that innate power?”

The fiend before her tilted his head, the blue light casting long shadows over his expression.

“And that is what you have managed?” he inquired while holding up the collar. Soleil doused the flame with a flick of the hand and put it on, her mood too bright to be dampened, even by the robbing of her magical abilities.

“Yes! And now I might be able to make Astarion immune to the sun's radiance again. I just need a drop of blood from a creature that naturally resists radiant energy. The enchantment is constructed to amplify that specific resistance to immunity, so any celestial should do.” 

Raphael's slightly amused smile curled into something vicious. 

“I'm not going angel hunting with you,” Soleil shot him down before he could suggest anything. The devil's face dropped into disappointment. “I have acquaintances who owe me,” she continued with a roll of her eyes. “Dame Aylin. Valeria the detective. They can spare a drop. I did save them from ritual sacrifice, after all.”

She hesitated, the flush of triumph fading slightly.

“I just hope it’s enough to work against the curse,” she murmured. She didn’t regret persuading Astarion not to ascend, but the guilt lingered. She had steered him away from his one chance to walk in daylight, and that burden never left her. She doubted she'd ever be able to find a cure for his affliction, but this - a ward against the radiance of the sun - had always seemed possible. Infuriatingly complex, yes. But within reach. And this… this was the closest she’d come in over a year. She couldn't wait to show it to him once she… got home. 

Once she fixed the Crown and was free to go home. 

The endeavor that could take years to complete. Soleil's shoulders sank, mood fading even further. She couldn't bid her friend to live in the shadows for years again. He'd already served a sentence of two hundred years, bound to the night. 

“Raphael,” she said softly, keeping her eyes down as she spoke, fingers worrying the chain, turning the pendant over and over in her hands.“Could you somehow deliver this amulet to Astarion for me?” 

The request was timid compared to her previous cocky demands. He would surely ask for something in return. No matter, it would be a small price to pay for her friend to be able to walk in the sun again. The devil grabbed her chin and gently tilted her head up to meet his eyes. 

“Of course, my dear,” he purred. “Hand it over, and I’ll make sure the vampling receives it.”

She stared at him, waiting for the hook. The hidden clause. The twist.

But Raphael simply extended his hand, palm open, expectant.

“Just like that?” she asked, suspicion curling at the edge of her voice as she slowly unfastened the chain and wiped away the blood covering the crystal.

He hummed, amused.

“I’m in a magnanimous mood today,” he said lightly, slipping the amulet into his pocket. “Though, I wouldn’t say no to a kiss. Preferably with fewer teeth this time.”

—

The wizard found herself alone, something that would usually have filled her with serenity. Raphael had departed hours earlier for another "house call", and the study was silent now, but his presence still lingered, woven into the scent of cherries, the too-clean lines of the desk, and the watching eyes of his portraits. Even in his absence, the room felt like it belonged to him entirely and Soleil couldn’t help but wonder, unwillingly, uneasily, if she was just another one of those belongings. One more relic in the archive. One more soul under contract.

She fought to shove the thought aside and focus. He might have her bound, magic-limited, and leashed, but it wouldn’t last. As soon as her work with the Crown was finished, she’d return to the Material Plane. Back to her world, her home … The thought of home once again pierced beneath her ribs, and she couldn’t tell if the feeling was longing… or dread. Her hands went to her hair, pulling at the strands as if she could rip her unwanted thoughts out of her head.

Her mind was occupied with anything but the pages of the tome in front of her. Unwanted thoughts were swarming, a chaos of feelings and reflections she didn't wish to examine. The room reeking of her captor didn't help the matter, it only gave speed to her already quickening pulse. Her eyes drifted from the infernal scripture of the book and landed on a bottle of wine, tucked away on a small table by the door to the balcony. Soleil just wanted her mind to be quiet for once. The same kind of quiet she’d felt when Raphael-

Her face twisted as the memory crept in and she rose abruptly before the thought could take shape, crossing the room in three determined strides. She uncorked the bottle without bothering to read the label and poured herself a generous glass. Better this than letting her mind finish that sentence.

She drank deeply. The wine was sharp and dark, like velvet on fire. Her eyes lifted to one of Raphael’s many portraits, its painted gaze burning with all the subtle judgment of the real thing. A single drop of wine escaped the corner of her mouth, trailing down her neck like blood.

“Cheers,” she said bitterly, raising her glass in mock toast. “To peace of mind. And stillness of heart.”

—

Floorboards creaked softly as he walked through the small, dark living space of the cottage. The place had changed little since his first visit. It was cloaked in the same eerie quiet, disturbed only by the occasional creak from above or the wind sighing through the trees outside. He once again found himself drawn to the red and white lanceboard in the kitchen. The pieces had been reorganized, and at the center of the board, as though commanding the field, stood the red king, stationed directly atop a neatly folded parchment. A sentinel. A seal.

With a curl of his lip and a flick of one graceful hand, Raphael plucked the note from beneath its haughty guardian. Unfolding it, he was immediately greeted by a script that practically leaped off the page with ostentation:

Hello Darling,

I’d appreciate it if you gave me some notice before disappearing into the ether. Not because I miss you, of course, but I was rather looking forward to another sip from your delectable neck. Still, I can hardly blame you. “Nature calls,” as they say, and yours does tend to roar.

When you return from your little mating dance with Halsin, do be a dear and send word. I’d rather not make the trip again only to find an empty house.

Yours,

Astarion ♥

P.S. I helped myself to a splash of your liquor. Hope you don’t mind, I couldn’t possibly face the night without a drink.

Raphael’s fingers tightened, crumpling the letter slightly, just enough to suggest that he would have rather turned it to ash. He exhaled slowly, the motion more for effect than necessity, his eyes narrowing as the corners of his mouth twitched in a facsimile of a smile.

How very courteous of the leech, he mused. The little bloodsucker had, quite unwittingly, done him a favor. Had Astarion not shown how to slip past the protective wards layered over the little mouse’s hideaway, Raphael might never have caught her. At least not without quite a struggle. 

And yet… something in the devil stirred at the thought of her blood offered so freely to another. Not jealousy, no. That was a mortal vice. This was something else entirely. He had noticed the marks, of course, faint twin scars nestled at her throat, but he had assumed them relics of desperation, not devotion. That she had let the spawn feed from her regularly was... galling, though not surprising. She was the altruistic sort, after all.

The sound of footsteps descending the spiral stair pulled Raphael from his reverie. He let the note slip from his fingers, fluttering to the floor like a discarded prop. And for a moment, it was as though time itself had wound backward, rehearsing an old scene. The small tiefling emerged from the shadows above, pausing at the final step exactly as she had that night. But like a stage actor a half-second off their cue, the performance rang hollow. The shape was hers, but the soul behind the eyes… wrong.

“Good evening, Haarlep,” Raphael said, voice smooth as velvet over a blade. “Have you enjoyed playing house?”

The incubus dropped the pretense with an exaggerated roll of their eyes, the pout that followed far too petulant for the woman they wore.

“By all Nine bloody Hells,” Haarlep huffed, stepping down into the kitchen with a sensual flourish. “These have been the most agonizingly mundane days of my existence.”

Their movements were unmistakably not Soleil’s. Too fluid, too languid, every step a performance in temptation rather than thought. With a melodramatic sigh, Haarlep ran a hand down their borrowed body, as though bored even of its beauty.

“Her life is dreary,” they went on. “A couple of nosy neighbors, a blacksmith, a stray cat, and not even a whiff of that delicious little vampling. The letter was there when I arrived. I had such hopes. ”

Their eyes sparkled with something between sulk and hunger. Raphael leveled them with an unimpressed look. 

“Despite how apathetic the spawn acts, I do think he would've seen through your performance,” he commented dryly. A flicker of something crossed Haarlep’s borrowed features - hurt, brief, and brittle. Another performance, no doubt, but it struck a nerve nonetheless. On Soleil’s face, that expression meant something. And for the briefest moment, it made something shift in Raphael. But then, like all masks worn too long, it cracked. The pout split into a wide and wicked grin, entirely unbecoming of the mage they wore.

“Oh, but it would’ve been fun,” they cooed. “Be honest. I wouldn’t have been out of character at all. Don’t you think they’ve already slept together?”

That same sensation twisted again in Raphael’s chest, sharp and unwelcome. His lip curled, the sneer rising unbidden. Haarlep laughed -  her laugh - and the sound rang out in the cramped space, far too loud, far too knowing. It made Raphael wonder how often these walls had heard that laughter… and how often he had not.

“You can take your leave now, Haarlep,” he said, voice clipped and cold. The incubus smiled, impervious.

“Are you quite certain?” they purred, gliding closer. A hand traced up his arm with slow, deliberate intent. “This may be your only chance to have her in her home… in her bed.” They pressed close, the stolen body flush against him, and tilted their chin to look up with those wide, mismatched eyes. 

“I’d even stay in character,” they whispered. “Just for you.”

Raphael couldn't help but close his eyes and imagine it momentarily. His dear mage, arching beneath him in candlelight, her breath hitching, her body yielding in the sanctity of her own bed. To take her in that space, to mark it as his… to leave no part of her world untouched by him.

A possessive thrill stirred within him. It was a delicious and tempting idea.

“She would feel it,” he murmured, voice low and almost wistful. “And she would start to ask questions.” He opened his eyes, sharp again, hard with clarity. “Besides, the final act is nearly upon us. Will you stay for the encore?”

Haarlep snorted, unimpressed.

“Unless the vampire makes a surprise entrance, I can’t get out of this hovel fast enough.”

They offered a mocking flourishing bow and disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke.

Raphael exhaled, long and slow.

The stage was his once more. 

As if the universe had taken his cue, a knock sounded at the door, timed with uncanny precision, as though rehearsed from an earlier act. Another echo. Another performance.

But this time, it was Raphael who moved toward the door, savoring the tension like an actor stretching the silence before a monologue. When he opened it, he was met not with the archdruid lover of the little mouse, but with another tiefling. She was older and her skin was the wrong colour, but that wouldn't matter once the curtain fell. She was roughly the same height and build, and her horns had been shorn to the correct length. She looked haggard and wore an expression of grim determination.

“Greetings again, Iphigenia,” Raphael said, voice velvet-smooth. “I’m pleased to see you’ve honored our arrangement. Come in.” She crossed the threshold without hesitation, gaze fixed forward as if seeing nothing.

“And what about you, devil?” she rasped. “Will you be keeping your word?”

Raphael’s smile was a shade too sharp to be called sincere. When had he not kept his word? Mortals so often mistook truth for deceit and forgot that a contract could be fulfilled with exquisite cruelty.

“But of course, my dear,” he purred, gesturing grandly as he led her up the spiral staircase. “Our bargain stands. Fulfill your part, and I will forfeit my claim on your soul.”

They ascended into the wizard’s study. The sight of it, chaotic, cluttered, and unmistakably hers, stirred something almost fond in him. Scrolls strewn like autumn leaves, quills left half-submerged in ink, arcane notes crowding every surface. So untidy. So endearing.

Iphigenia entered with a hesitant step, her eyes scanning the room. There was apprehension there, buried under her stoicism.

With a snap of his fingers, Raphael produced the final set-pieces. The air shimmered briefly, then stilled as he placed a warped hunk of melted infernal iron onto the already scorched worktable. It landed with a dull thud, the scent of brimstone rising faintly in its wake.

Next, he moved to her desk and with a flick of his wrist, undid the lock on the drawer. Clever little mouse. She’d enchanted the compartment to endure even the end of days, a quiet pocket of permanence amid chaos. He admired the forethought. Inside, wrapped in leather, nestled her backup spellbook. Always the cautious little wizard, never without a contingency.

He allowed himself a moment to scan the room. She’d been permitted to bring what she wished when she'd first entered his service, and true to form, she had chosen sparingly, suspicious of his generosity. Essentials only. Practical to the end.

Yet something caught his eye; a small wooden duck resting atop her worktable. Humble, unremarkable… save for the faint warding circle etched into the surface around it.

That meant something.

Raphael tilted his head, then plucked the carved mallard from its perch and placed it beside the spellbook in the drawer. A keepsake, perhaps. Mortals clung to the strangest things.

From his pocket, he drew the final object: the necklace. The crystal pendant shimmered in the low light, etched with delicate runes that pulsed softly with latent magic. A clever thing, practical and pretty, like the wizard who’d crafted it. He turned it once in his hand before setting it atop a scattering of parchment; her notes, concise and precise, just enough to convey the mechanism of the charm.

A promise, after all, was a promise.

He had told Soleil the vampling would receive it, and Raphael was nothing if not a devil of his word. If Korrilla’s observations were accurate - and they almost always were - there was nothing that little leech enjoyed more than cracking a lock to reach what glittered beneath. Well, besides blood and general debauchery. The spawn and Haarlep would've gotten along like a house on fire. Raphael chuckled softly at the thought, the sound dark and smooth, then closed the drawer with a quiet click and reactivated the lock.

Everything was in place and the stage was set.

“Are you ready for the grand finale, Iphigenia?” he asked with a voice that lilted like a violin bow drawn slowly across a string. Of course, she couldn’t back out now. No chance for recasting. It was far too late to find an understudy.

Iphigenia’s jaw tightened, her spine straightening as she braced herself. Determination settled over her face, but Raphael could smell the fear beneath it. Acrid, bright, and utterly delicious.

“Where do I need to be?” she asked, voice rough but steady.

Raphael hummed in consideration, as though it truly mattered. It didn’t.

“Wherever you’re most comfortable in this room,” he said lightly, with a flick of his wrist. “It’s your final performance, after all.”

She looked around, her gaze finally clear for the first time since entering, and after a pause, she moved to the desk. With quiet resolve, she sank into the chair, her hands curling tightly around the arms, knuckles pale. 

Raphael snapped and white hellfire flashed to life within his palm. The flames cast flickering shadows across the room and caught in Iphigenia’s wide eyes, reflected there like distant stars falling.

“Wait! ” she pleaded, and inwardly Raphael groaned. Always the same, mortals. Even the brave ones. “Where will I go? When I'm-” the word caught in her throat. 

“Dead?” The devil finished for her, smiling like a man offering a gift. “I will no longer have a claim to your soul, Iphigenia. So where you go… that’s for you to discover. Isn’t that exciting? ”

He gave her no time to answer.

With a flourish, he unleashed the Ravaging Inferno.

Hellfire roared to life, engulfing the study in a blast of white-hot flame. Books ignited mid-sentence, scrolls blackened and curled, and the air itself seemed to scream.

And Raphael, ever the consummate showman, vanished a breath before the fire could kiss the hem of his coat. For as much as he would've enjoyed a frontline seat, even he wasn’t immune to the wrath of his father’s creation.

Not yet.

He reappeared in the cool hush of night, just beyond the tree line, where moonlight painted the world in silver and shadow. From there, he watched as the humble little cottage, his mouse’s chosen burrow, was devoured by white hellfire. 

He really should thank her for the inspiration she had given him by scorching his study and leaving a trail of unrecognizable bodies, unable to speak ever again. She would be furious with him, of course. But this would ensure that none of her little friends would start questioning her sudden disappearance. The neighbours would confirm that she had been home, and they would find another poor wizard, consumed by the flames of their own ambition.

Truly a classic tale. 

The inferno tore through the house with greedy speed, reducing walls and memories to ash. A cherry tree in the garden caught fire. Its blossoms ignited like tiny lanterns, glowing petals spinning skyward on the wind like drifting fireflies. 

And yet, just as it reached the edge of the property, it stopped, halted by an invisible boundary. Raphael’s eyes narrowed in irritation and fascination. Of course she had enchanted the fence line, woven some ward into the land. Not to protect the home, but to restrain the chaos if it ever turned inward. So meticulous. So predictably selfless.

She really was something.

The serene melody of flame was joined by a choir, neighbours roused by light and terror, voices pitching into panic. The cue was unmistakable.

Time for his final bow.

With a snap of his fingers, he vanished once more, returning home to the House of Hope. 

The only home his little mouse would ever need.

Chapter Text

When Raphael returned to the House of Hope later that evening, Soleil had finished both the tome she had been reading and the bottle of wine. The cambion was in his human form, a look of thorough amusement plastered on his face as he observed the tiefling staring blankly at one of his portraits. Scattered notes and diagrams lay around her like some kind of paper nest, the scrawled text utterly unintelligible. With handwriting like that, she had no need for a cipher to encrypt her secrets.

“I think a great author once proclaimed that he only wrote drunk and revised sober,” the devil remarked. “I didn't expect you to be a follower of that philosophy, little mouse.”

Soleil snorted inelegantly and rolled her head to look at him, her pupils swimming in the candlelight.

“Y’know,” she began, enunciating with the strained precision of someone trying very hard not to slur. “I like you better in the portraits.”

Raphael arched an elegant brow, folding his arms with theatrical interest. “Do you now? And why is that, pray tell?”

“Because,” she said with a lopsided grin. “In the paintings, you don’t say stupid shit like that. You just look pretty.” Her laughter rang out, free and unfiltered, at the flash of wounded pride that crossed his face. 

“Find a bottle and have a glass with me,” she demanded while patting the cushion beside her, a bit too enthusiastically, and sending several pages fluttering to the floor. 

“I don’t recall extending an invitation to pillage my wine rack, dear wizard,” Raphael replied, his voice a velvet drawl of mock offense, even as he strolled toward the selection with every intention of obliging her. Soleil groaned, letting her head fall back against the cushions. 

“You said your office was at my disposal,” she muttered. “Well. This is me. Disposing.”

Raphael carefully removed her work notes from the chaise and arranged them into a tidy, if somewhat judgmental, pile on the table. Then, with practiced ease, he took a seat beside her and poured a glass of wine, offering it to her first before serving himself. Soleil took the glass and rather inelegantly clinked it against the devil's, almost sending the liquid flying. She took a sip, then tilted her head toward him, brow furrowing in thought… or perhaps just in an effort to focus.

“You’re home late,” she muttered. “Or maybe it’s early. Hard to tell, in this godsforsaken place.”

Raphael chuckled, low and indulgent. “And you’re up late, little mouse. I’d half expected to find you curled in my bed, not at the bottom of a bottle.”

Soleil scoffed. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Me, willing and waiting, like some tragic heroine in silk sheets, breathless for your return.”

He hummed, the sound threaded with amusement and something darker.

“As I recall, that has been the case for more than a few of our nights.”

The wizard's eyes narrowed, but the wine dulled the edge of her glare.

“I’m not waiting for you,” she said sharply.

“Oh?” the devil purred, tilting his head. “But you are willing?”

Color bloomed unbidden in her cheeks, and she took a hasty sip of wine to mask it, though it did little to cool the sudden heat in her veins. 

“Tell me,” she said instead, her voice carefully casual. “What kept you this time?”

He took a measured sip, savoring it like a man with nothing to explain. “Just the usual business.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, letting her head rest against the couch back. “So someone got screwed over. Or killed. Or tied up in one of your infernal webs. You never rest, do you?”

“On occasion,” the fiend said, glancing at her sidelong. “You, of all people, know I do indulge now and then. But rest entirely? No. I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

That drew a laugh from her, bright and tipsy. “Then I gave you a little vacation back then, didn’t I?” she grinned, raising her glass in mock celebration. “You should thank me.”

Raphael leaned in slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “My dear, what do you think all of this is?”

“Hmm…” the tiefling mused, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it might offer clarity. Her voice was slow, thick with wine and thought. She took another sip, letting the silence stretch.

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Some days I feel very much like a prisoner. Just another name on your ledger… another debt to collect.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

“And then there are days where… you let me talk about magic like it matters to you and you deliver my necklace without demanding I kneel or beg and you act like you care.”

She turned her head, sluggish but deliberate, her swimming gaze finding his.

“It’s confusing,” she murmured.

A beat passed.

“You’re confusing.” There was an edge to her words now, serrated and raw. “Like one of your contracts, all velvet language and fine print. Impossible to read. Impossible to trust.”

Another beat passed. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was watchful.

Measured.

Raphael studied her, the faintest tilt of his head betraying interest, not injury.

“Soleil,” he said smoothly, “have I ever lied to you?”

She blinked, startled not by the question, but by the sheer, unsettling weight of it. Her thoughts stuttered, churning through memory and wine, trying to catch him in a falsehood. But there was nothing. No lie she could name. Twisted truths and artful omissions, yes. But lies? No. The devil’s tongue was many things - silvered, dangerous, seductive, maddeningly precise - but never false.

Her hesitation must have painted itself clearly across her face because Raphael leaned back with the languid satisfaction of a cat watching a mouse realize the trap had already closed.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by asking you to trust me,” he said, his voice a languid drawl, smooth as silk slipping from a blade. “But your time here would be far more pleasant if you could set some of that worry aside.”

Soleil clicked her tongue in mild annoyance. “I’m trying,” she muttered, finishing her wine in a single, practiced motion. She extended the empty glass toward him without looking, a silent demand for more.

Raphael reached for the bottle, and her eyes followed his hands. His long fingers, deft and steady, too graceful for someone so dangerous. There was a quiet authority in the way he handled even the simple act of pouring her wine. She watched him too long. Far too long.

Her arm remained outstretched well after the glass was full, her fingers curled loosely around the stem like she'd forgotten it entirely. Raphael raised a brow. Then, after a moment, he cleared his throat, a soft but pointed sound.

“Where have you drifted off to, my dear wizard?”

Soleil blinked, then gave her head a little shake and immediately regretted it as the room tilted gently sideways.

“Just…” she began, looking away as though it might offer a thread of coherence. “Thinking. About some of my research.”

Raphael hummed low in his throat, unconvinced. “Mm. And which scholarly pursuit has claimed your wandering mind tonight?”

She exhaled heavily and waved a loose hand toward the controlled chaos that surrounded her; ink-stained pages, half-drawn sigils, fragmented schematics. 

“Was thinking about the engine,” she mumbled, words loose at the edges. “Keep trying to… get it. The why, the what… It’s so…” She groaned in lieu of explaining her frustration.

“Do you…” she started, then paused, frowning as she tried to wrangle the question into something coherent. “Do you know anything about Zariel’s, um. Her little projects? Experiments? The weird fucked-up stuff.”

She squinted at her notes, then back at Raphael, blearily sincere.

“Why she’d do that to someone?”

Raphael considered her question as he swirled his wine, the liquid catching the candlelight like blood in a chalice.

“I know of the Archduchess’s work,” he replied at last, measured as ever. “But I’m afraid I’ve no privileged detail that would truly help you. Her methods are well-guarded. But as to the reason?” He shrugged, as though the answer were self-evident. “She wants to win the Blood War, like every lord in Baator. And victory, as ever, demands innovation. Efficiency. Sacrifice.”

He said it simply. Without judgment. As if it were merely a law of the universe: like gravity or cruelty. Soleil frowned, her brows furrowing as she tried to wrap her wine-dulled mind around that cold, infernal logic. To play devil’s advocate - literally, in this case.

“I suppose… even devils are creatures of creation,” she murmured, more to her wine than to him. “Even if what they make is only meant to destroy.” Her fingers tightened slightly around her glass. “Like your father did with hellfire.” 

“Is that not also the calling of an evoker, dear mage?” Raphael asked, voice smooth as silk. “To conjure beauty in the shape of ruin?”

“Not like that,” she said quickly, too quickly. The words snapped out on instinct but crumbled under their own weight. Even she could hear how hollow they sounded. Raphael didn’t press. He didn’t need to. The silence that followed was full enough.

Soleil brought her glass to her lips again, chasing down the ache twisting in her chest with another swallow of wine. It didn’t help. Not really. But she wasn’t ready to stop pretending it might.

After a moment, her voice broke the quiet, softer now, unsteady around the edges.

“Believe it or not,” she murmured, staring into the crimson swirl at the bottom of her glass. “I never meant to wield power like this. I wanted to be a scribe. Greatness in knowledge, not… power.” She toyed with the stem of her glass, fingers slow, unfocused.

“That was the dream.” She hesitated then, her voice lowering, tangled in memory.

“The life of a soldier... a battle mage...” her mouth twisted into something between a smile and a wince. “That was my father’s dream for me. Not mine.” For a moment, she felt small, wrapped in the quiet recognition of how far she'd drifted from the path she'd once envisioned for herself. Across from her, Raphael regarded her with that quiet, inescapable intensity. He tilted his glass idly, watching the wine catch the light like coals in motion.

“And yet you’re rather adept at evocation now,” the devil pointed out, not treating it as a compliment, but merely an observation. “What changed?”

That drew a laugh from her, dry and amused.

“Oh, come on,” she said, glancing at him with a crooked grin. “I thought you were more than just cheekbones and a silver tongue.”

She tapped the side of her temple with the rim of her glass, then pulled down the skin beneath one eye. “You know the story. One moment I’m minding my own business, and the next - Bam - freeloading tenant, hitching a ride in my grey matter.”

She let the humor hang there for a moment, a fragile kind of levity.

“Couldn’t even blame the tadpole for weakening me,” Soleil said, her smile curling, crooked and self-deprecating. “Not like it did with Gale. Or Karlach.” She gave a careless shrug, slow and loose with wine. “I barely had anything to weaken.”

Another sip, more a habit now than a need. Her eyes drifted to the middle distance, chasing thoughts as they slipped through the haze. 

“A librarian’s not much use on a battlefield,” she muttered, voice low and wandering. “Evocation made sense. When the road ahead is war…” She let the words trail off and watched the wine swirl in her glass, lazy and hypnotic. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tipped it back and drained the last of it, before clumsily making the somatic gesture for a fireball. “Best to know how to make things go boom! ”

“That would explain some of your more… questionable choices,” Raphael drawled as he reached for the bottle, refilling her glass with languid precision.“It was evident from the beginning that you had something to prove.”

Soleil rolled her eyes dramatically and sent him a sour look. “You’d know,” she said, the words dragging a bit. “You’re the one who kept watching. Like a creep. ”

He raised a brow, unbothered and amused, every inch the patient predator draped in civility.

“How did the librarian, who had scarcely set foot outside the Gate, end up becoming the de facto leader of your group?” he mused aloud, as though the question had been a private joke he’d been savoring for months. “I must admit, I found that turn of events… curious.”

Soleil snorted into her glass, then laughed, sharp, breathless, and a little too loud.

“Damned if I know!” she said, slurring ever so slightly. She swirled her glass, watching the wine lap at the rim. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I didn’t have anyone I needed to save. No vengeance to chase. No gods or devils whispering in my ears.“ 

She paused, then lifted the glass toward him with an unsteady flourish.

“Well. One devil, ” she gave him a look over the rim, dry as old parchment. “And a mindflayer was whispering in my ears. But that was more of a... group issue.”

The devil in question flashed her a smile, unapologetic as ever. 

She let the silence stretch then, head lolling back against the cushions, eyes half-lidded and distant. The wine blurred the edges of her thoughts, but some memories still stood sharp amidst the haze.

The crash. The wreckage. Waking up with sand in her mouth and the sky spinning overhead. Her heart hammering and the taste of smoke and blood and fear. Gods, she had been so far out of her depth. But she'd still stood. She'd gathered the others, calmed the shouting, pointed toward a goal when no one else could agree which direction was up.

Looking back, she was amazed that they’d even made it to the goblin camp and freed Halsin.

A small smile tugged at her lips, nostalgic and a little lopsided. There’d been something electric about it all. Terrifying, yes. But thrilling too. A part of her - maybe the best part - had come alive in those days.

“I miss it,” she said suddenly, not looking at the fiend. “The adventure. The danger. The point.”

There was a beat, and then Raphael’s silken voice slid into the silence like a knife through velvet.

“Well,” he said brightly, “there’s plenty of both to be had, should you choose to remain at my side. The conquest of the Hells promises endless excitement, after all. Betrayals, infernal politics, a few beautifully orchestrated massacres… I daresay it would keep your mind quite occupied. I’d just need a bit more… commitment from you.”

She turned her head and gave the devil a thoroughly unimpressed look.

“Will you stop trying to barter my soul for five fucking minutes? ” she groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty because you are godsdamn insufferable.”

He clutched a hand to his chest in mock injury, all wounded grandeur.“I’m offering you the stars, my dear. Is that not romantic?”

“It’s opportunistic,” she muttered, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at her mouth. Her fingers traced lazy circles around the rim of her glass, gaze falling to the floor. “Still…”

Her voice trailed off, softer now, as if even admitting it tasted a little like guilt.

“It would be nice to see something else. Something other than the House or Avernus. Just for a little while.”

Raphael’s eyes gleamed at that - subtle, but sharp.

“What would you wish to see?” he asked, his tone lighter now, almost conversational, but the curiosity behind it felt genuine.

She blinked, considering. It took her a moment to chase her thoughts into focus.

“Your home,” she said finally. “Not here. Not the House. Wherever you grew up in Cania…” She paused. “Is it presumptuous to assume you grew up there? I just figured, since your dad’s the lord and all-”

Raphael watched her with a mild, amused expression, content to let her ramble until the words tangled.

“I did grow up in Cania,” he said at last, his voice as smooth as the wine in his glass. “In Mephistar.”

He had moved closer. Or maybe she had. It didn’t matter. Their thighs were touching now, and the heat from his skin - unnatural and searing - rolled into her like a slow wave. It burned through whatever follow-up question she had planned.

“You’re literally so hot,” she muttered under her breath, not quite realizing she’d said it aloud until his smirk spread, delighted, smug, and thoroughly unrepentant.

She winced. “No- I didn’t-”

“Mm,” Raphael murmured, a sound more felt than heard, as his gaze licked over her flushed face. Soleil straightened with what dignity she could scrape together, her balance precariously perched atop a sea of wine and bad decisions.

“Could you tell me about it?” she asked stubbornly. “Cania. Mephistar.”

The devil swirled his wine around his glass idle grace before answering. 

“I’m far too lucid to unearth childhood traumas for your amusement just yet, little mouse.” He took a long, deliberate sip. Soleil frowned faintly.

“I wouldn’t find that amusing,” she mumbled. “I was just… I was thinking about the cold. What’s the difference between Cania and Stygia?”

“Ah.” A spark of genuine interest lit in Raphael’s gaze. “Always the scholar, even soaked in wine.”

He paused, thoughtful now, as though selecting just the right words.

“Stygia,” he began. “Is a cold that creeps. It’s the ache of something slowly dying. A heart going numb, a silence that seeps into bone.”

He turned his gaze on her, eyes gleaming like coals in the dark.

“Cania is... different. Colder. It’s sharp, surgical. The kind of cold that doesn’t dull, but cuts. A final breath. A frozen blade between the ribs.”

Soleil blinked, sluggish and overwhelmed.

“I am way too drunk for your poetry,” she muttered, rubbing her temple.

Raphael laughed, deep and musical.

“Then allow me to clarify, sweetling,” he cleared his throat in mock formality. “Stygia is frozen and cold. Cania is cold and frozen. Sufficiently academic?”

It still didn’t make a lick of sense to the tiefling, but she nodded anyway, too drunk to argue and too curious to stop.

“Tell me about Mephistar,” she asked, the words half-slurred but sincere. Raphael smiled mischievously and his posture shifted, subtly predatory, like a cat scenting something new in the air. Even in her haze, Soleil could feel the change.

“But why ruin the wonder with words,” he purred, voice a velvet caress. “When I could show it to you?”  He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the spice of wine on his breath, the heat of him brushing against her skin. 

“The gleaming glacial towers, the school of hellfire with its halls of green steel…” Raphael's gaze lingered on her, sharp, calculating, as though he were assessing the very depths of her soul. “We could wander the Frost Gardens…” His voice dropped, smooth and enticing. “The cold beauty of its ice flowers is something you must see to understand. Words can never capture it.”

His smile was sharp enough to draw blood.

“Doesn’t that sound romantic, my dear?”

Soleil flushed, her breath catching despite herself. She nodded, small, involuntary. She wanted to see it. All of it. The curiosity that never quite left her was clawing its way forward now, relentless and hungry.

Raphael watched her reaction like a man who already knew the answer.

He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing hers.

“What are y-”

“What am I willing to offer in exchange for that? ” she interrupted, mimicking his cadence with an exaggerated drawl, her voice an over-the-top parody of his signature devilish charm. “You’re too predictable, dear. It's getting old,” she grinned and set her half empty glass down with a little too much force, the base printing a red crescent on her notes. “But I guess so are you, so it's fitting.”

A muscle tensed in Raphael's jaw.

“Brat,” he growled, low and warning, his voice dragging heat down her spine like a claw.

Soleil only smirked in response and, with all the drunken grace of a daring fool, began clambering into his lap. Her tail swished behind her like a banner of mischief as she settled herself atop his thighs.

“Just tell me,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from his collar. “In which creative, sadistic way you want to fuck me this time,” Her voice dipped into a velvet murmur while she locked eyes with the cambion. “And we can get it over with.”

Raphael's hands found her hips in an instant, firm, decisive, halting her movements before they could grow bolder. He held her still, his grip a warning dressed as tenderness.

“While I do conduct a great deal of business by exploiting the desperate,” he said, voice smooth but edged with steel. “I find it rather tasteless to take advantage of an inebriated lady.” His gaze lingered on her face, eyes dark and searching. 

“Especially when I’m entirely sober,” he added, quieter now, the heat in his voice dimming into something unexpectedly serious.

“Then get on my level,” Soleil grumbled as if it were the most logical solution in the world. “Not my fault your infernal constitution ruins all the fun.”

Raphael chuckled, the sound curling in his throat, rich and maddeningly amused. It sent a shiver down the tiefling's spine.

“Your wine, while delectable, is hardly enough to so much as warm the blood of a devil,” he said with mock regret. “And should we find something that might do the trick…” He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “I suspect it would kill me, again, before I managed to match your current state.” 

And before she could retort with another sharp quip, Raphael kissed the tiefling on the cheek. The effect was immediate. Soleil stiffened, her pout melting into a flustered tangle of confusion and indignation. Her cheeks flushed deep crimson, the spot where he'd kissed her burning.

Why was he being so… sweet?

He was a devil, for fuck’s sake!

“This is where you draw the line?” she blurted, exasperated. “Not at kidnapping me, or dragging an entire town into the Hells, or tricking people out of their souls, but this? Fucking a woman, who literally had your cock in her mouth earlier this week, is suddenly too far, just because she’s a little wine drunk?”

Raphael arched a perfectly groomed brow, expression equal parts amused and unimpressed.

“I think I'd describe you as more than a little drunk, dear,” he said dryly. “But yes. Does it really surprise you that I have some morals?” Before she could answer, he shifted his hold on her, sliding his hands from her hips to under her thighs, and suddenly stood. Soleil squeaked, caught entirely off-guard as he lifted her with effortless strength.

“The only bedding I’ll be doing tonight,” Raphael declared, already turning toward the door. “Is putting you to bed. Right now.”

“Let me go!” Soleil complained while struggling fruitlessly in his grasp. If she was sober she might’ve been able to slink away, but right now her flailing was too uncoordinated. “I wasn’t done!”

Raphael merely hummed, the sound deep and nonchalant, as he carried her through the hallway with infuriating ease. “Your work will still be waiting for you tomorrow,” he said, voice velvet-smooth and placating. “In all its glorious, chaotic disarray.”

Soleil pouted, giving up the flailing in favor of wrapping her legs around his waist.

“This is stupid,” she grumbled, her words slurred by wine and indignation. “You're stupid. You could've just snapped your fingers and teleported me.”

The devil chuckled, a low, indulgent sound that rumbled in his chest in a way that sent a shiver through her. “And deprive myself of the rare delight of carrying you off like some swooning damsel in a poorly written romance?” he mused. “Not a chance.”

Raphael glanced down at her, smirking.

“I'm not swooning,” the tiefling protested, voice petulant. ”And you already did that.”

His smirk dropped a bit at the reminder.

“I didn’t have the luxury of enjoying it then,” he said, quieter now, the humor thinning at the edges. “At least now, you’re only incapacitated by the wine in your blood... not the amount of it you’d lost.”

Soleil groaned and buried her face against his collar. 

“This is the worst,” she mumbled.

“Oh, trust me it could be much worse, little mouse,” Raphael replied, his tone honeyed and ominous as he crossed the threshold into the boudoir. “Especially given where you are.”

That made her quiet down. Her mind immediately went to Karlach and Wyll, out there right now, on the run and fighting for survival. 

When Raphael placed Soleil onto the silken sheets of the bed and eased her head back against the pillow, her eyes shimmered. Not with defiance or drunken humor, but with unshed tears, fragile and unguarded.

“I just…” she breathed, voice catching on the words as she stared up at the ceiling. “I just want my friends to be safe. I want them to be happy. They deserve to be happy. And what if…” Her voice faltered, cracking under the weight of fear. “What if I can’t fix it?”

She turned her head slightly, searching for Raphael's gaze, but the watery blur made it impossible to read the cambion’s expression. Maybe he was smiling. Maybe he was laughing at her, drunk and pathetic and unraveling at the seams.

He must be. That’s what devils did. They fed on desperation.

But Raphael said nothing for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, the edges smoothed into something unreadable. Not mocking, not cold. Just... quiet.

“We’ll speak of deals tomorrow,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her damp cheek. The gesture was impossibly gentle. “When your mind is clearer. When you remember how sharp it really is.”

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. It was feather-light and brief, but startlingly human. She closed her eyes at the touch, and the tears that had welled there slipped free, trailing down her cheeks in silence.

“Rest now,” he whispered.

And for once, Soleil didn’t argue. She simply lay there, breathing in the warmth of his presence, and let herself be still.

—

Light filtered softly through the curtains, its golden rays falling gently across Soleil's closed eyelids, stabbing into her skull like a cruel, unrelenting dagger. Her head throbbed, a steady pulse of agony, and every inch of her being screamed in silent protest as she regretted her choices the moment consciousness returned. She was soaked in a clammy sweat, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if this was yet another punishment inflicted by the alcohol that still lingered in her veins. But as the haze began to lift, her mind slowly pieced together the disorienting puzzle of her surroundings. She was naked, a pair of arms wrapped possessively around her waist, another circled her hips, and a face rested softly against her chest while another nuzzled into her hair. She was trapped, wedged between the warmth of flesh, the tangle of limbs both comforting and disorienting. Her sluggish mind made an educated guess: Haarlep had returned. 

Somewhere deep within the murky depths of her regret, a flicker of gratitude stirred. At least this morning, the devils were merely indulging in an innocent cuddle. If they had enacted their usual morning rendezvous, Soleil was sure that she would’ve thrown up immediately upon waking to a shaking bed. For now, she was just groaning miserably, pawing at the arm that was slung around her midsection. It wasn’t helping the nauseating feeling bubbling within her like a hag’s foul brew. 

“Fuck off,” she moaned, the words slurring from her lips with the weight of her hangover.

A chuckle echoed in her ears, low and amused.

“Good morning to you too, little mouse,” a gravelly voice hummed, sending a shiver through the tiefling. Soleil's poor, muddled brain couldn’t quite place whether it was Raphael or Haarlep speaking, and that fact irritated her to no end. The arm around her waist gave a gentle squeeze, perhaps intended to be comforting, but it only worsened the bile rising in her throat.

“I’m gonna hurl,” she warned, her voice barely above a rasp. The body behind her stiffened, suddenly very alert.

“Not in the bed you’re not!” Ah, so that was Raphael. 

Soleil found herself swiftly disentangled and yanked from the incubus' arms. Haarlep made a confused sleepy sound as Raphael dragged her out of the bed and into the restoration pool. She was once again thankful that he didn't simply toss her into the water, but gently lowered her in. The pool was definitely one of the best parts of the House of Hope, at least in Soleil's hungover mind. Her usual remedy for the aftermath of overindulgence had been to pester Halsin for a quick Protection from Poison spell. Without a druid or cleric on hand, the soothing magic of the pool was more than sufficient. The healing waters embraced her, drawing out the nausea and dulling the persistent throb in her skull. Slowly, her body began to feel more like her own again. Raphael sank into the pool beside her, settling with a practiced ease, and Soleil rested her weary head on his shoulder and yawned.

“Crisis averted,” she hummed, a tired but grateful smile tugging at her lips.

Raphael’s voice rumbled low, the edges of amusement lining his words. “Had I known you’d be such a menace to my furniture I might have reconsidered enlisting your help with the Crown.”

Soleil chuckled her voice husky with exhaustion. “Is that all I needed to do to avoid being kidnapped by you? Threaten your décor?”

“I said might,” Raphael corrected, his tone tinged with mock seriousness.

From behind them, the rustling of sheets broke the moment’s quiet.

“How rude to just leave while I’m sleeping,” Haarlep pouted theatrically. “Not even a cuddle or a goodbye kiss?”

Raphael sighed, rolling his eyes as if long accustomed to this particular drama. 

“Clingy creature,” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder: “We’ve been cuddling all night, Haarlep.”

“Woe is me,” they lamented, their voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow. “My master has abandoned me in favor of his new pet. Left me to wake in a cold and empty bed.”

Soleil couldn’t help but giggle at the melodrama, and Raphael shot her a smirking glance.

“You’re the do-gooder here, little mouse,” he teased. “What do you say? Shall we help ease their loneliness?”

Soleil paused, pretending to consider his words with utmost seriousness. Behind them, Haarlep had begun sobbing dramatically, though the sound was so over-the-top it was impossible to take seriously.

“Sure,” she finally said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not quite ready to face the chaos in the office yet.”

They rose from the pool, water cascading from their bodies in rivulets of fading magic.

“So you admit you’re messy?” Raphael quipped, drying himself with slow, practiced grace.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Soleil replied, toweling off her tail with casual defiance. “I just said there’s order in the mess.”

The look the devil gave her was deeply skeptical, one brow arched in disbelief. Clearly, he remained unconvinced.

Soleil had barely clambered back onto the bed when Haarlep pounced, wrapping her in a tangle of limbs with gleeful enthusiasm. Their arms curled around her, legs intertwining with hers, and their tail coiled around her thigh, guiding it possessively over their hip. Moments later, Raphael joined them, his warmth settling behind her like a second skin, molding effortlessly to the curve of her back.

“Why do I have to be the filling in this infernal sandwich?” Soleil grumbled though the complaint lacked any real venom.

Haarlep hummed contentedly, their face nuzzling once again into her breast. 

“’Cause you don’t have wings that get in the way,” they murmured, voice muffled against her skin. “And because it's funny to trap you darling.”

Soleil gave a small, experimental wiggle, just enough to test the boundaries of her confinement. As expected, she was thoroughly ensnared, limbs tangled and pinned between the two devils. Raphael let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated against her spine. The sound was more felt than heard, sending a shiver through her.

“Careful, dear,” he warned his voice a silken purr as he pressed in closer, his arm tightening slightly around her waist. “Unless you’re trying to start something.”

A warm flush crept up Soleil’s neck, blooming across her cheeks.

“Mmm,” Haarlep purred, their lips brushing her skin. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.” Their hands slid down to grab a hold of her ass and squeeze, causing the tiefling to let out a high keen.

“No! That's not what I-!” her protesting was cut short by a gasp, heart speeding up as the incubus began kissing and licking across her chest. 

“Oh?” they purred, craning their neck slightly to look her in the eyes. “Because it feels like you want it quite a lot, pet.” They flexed their muscular thigh between her legs, and Soleil whimpered at how slick she already felt. 

“Stop…” she insisted, though the plea was feeble, hardly more than a whisper of protest. Behind her, Raphael made a thoughtful noise, one that hinted at more consideration than she was comfortable with. One hand released her waist, and with a quiet, deliberate motion, he reached out and grasped Haarlep’s horn, halting their kiss at her chest with an almost casual precision. Soleil couldn’t see the expression Raphael gave Haarlep, but from the incubus’s dramatic pout, it was clear that it carried an unspoken reprimand.

“If you truly want us to stop, we will,” Raphael said, his voice smooth, yet carrying a serious edge. Soleil had no doubt that the weight of his words was more for Haarlep than for her. “But I suspect you don't actually want that.” His voice softened slightly, though still heavy with the authority that made Soleil shiver despite herself. “You are allowed to do something simply for your own pleasure, you know. So tell me, why are you denying yourself your desire?”

Soleil’s throat tightened as a soft, helpless whine escaped her. She longed to vanish into the cool, silken sheets beneath her, to escape the weight of the moment. But there was no escaping, at least not without giving Raphael the answers he sought. 

“If I do that…” she said, turning just enough to meet his gaze. “I lose the only bargaining chip I have. And you, of all people, should know that’s poor strategy.”

She felt the laugh rumble through Raphael’s chest more than she heard it, low and indulgent. Something flickered in his ember-bright eyes, a glint of amusement, perhaps even admiration.

“I suppose it is,” he murmured softly.

Behind them, Haarlep let out an impatient huff, still caught in Raphael’s hold.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” they whined, squirming slightly as they tugged against the firm grip on their horn. “Give the woman an offer she can’t refuse!”

Raphael made a quiet, contemplative sound, his hand still steady, not yielding an inch.

“Little mouse,” he said, his tone shifting into something formal, velvety, and deliberate, as though reciting terms in a contract. “Would you agree to allow both Haarlep and myself the pleasure of sharing your flesh in carnal delight… in exchange for a day trip to Mephistar, escorted by yours truly?”

Soleil blinked, momentarily stunned by the absurd elegance of it all. Then a giggle bubbled up before she could stop it. It was strange, really, being the one receiving a proposal, instead of making one herself.

“Tempting,” she hummed, wiggling her hips a little more deliberately now. She could feel that both the cambion and incubus were hardening against her. “Will I be given a full tour or just a visitor's pass?” 

Raphael’s hips jerked forward in a way that told her it wasn't intentional and he groaned, the sound low and strained, the thread of patience fraying in his voice.

“Wherever I’m permitted, I’ll bring you,” he said, his tone rich with promise. “If you want it. Now… Do we have a deal?” The question carried a note of urgency, both fiends practically vibrating with barely restrained need. Still, Soleil held the moment, letting the silence stretch just long enough to tease.

She tilted her head, expression thoughtful, then finally nodded. “It’s a deal.”

Raphael wasted no time sealing the pact, capturing her lips in a kiss that began with purpose and quickly ignited into something deeper. Hot, demanding, and entirely consuming. As their mouths moved together, he released his grip on Haarlep’s horn, his hand sliding instead into the dark silk of Soleil’s hair. His fingers curled through the strands with quiet authority, guiding her head to suit his angle. The tug was firm, possessive and she couldn't help but moan at the sting. Freed at last, the incubus wasted no time, eagerly resuming their path of kisses along Soleil’s chest. As their lips sealed around one of her perked nipples, they pushed their thigh firmer against her throbbing sex, causing her to cry out sharply. 

“That's it dear,” Raphael breathed against her lips, his other hand shifting to guide her hips in grinding her dripping pussy against Haarlep’s thigh. “Take what you need.”  

Soleil quickly lost control of what little movement she was afforded between the two devils, as they ravaged her skin with kisses and bites, their hands roaming all over her body. 

Haarlep’s hands kept returning to grope and squeeze her ass, before spreading her cheeks apart and slipping their fingers down to tease her wet hole and gather some of her slick. Her mewling turned into a sharp gasp as their fingers traced back, pushing lightly, but insistently at her other hole.

“Breathe darling,” the incubus coaxed as they continued to tease her hole, slick finger circling it lightly, and Soleil tried her best to oblige, drawing in short gasping breaths. 

“Deeper,” Raphael ordered while curling his fingers lightly around her throat, no more constricting than the collar already fastened there. The tiefling struggled to comply, slowly steadying her breath and filling her lungs with air.

Right after a deep inhale, Haarlep pushed their finger into her ass, causing her to exhale in a loud and drawn-out moan. Raphael groaned at the sound, his hand on her throat tightening slightly. His other hand moved to her breast, skin already slick with sweat and incubus spit, and began pinching and pulling at her nipple, drawing more shaking moans from her. Haarlep continued to finger her ass slowly, working her open.

The incubus leaned over and captured their master's lips in a heated kiss, all tongues and teeth. Soleil stared, dazed and amazed, whimpering as both fiends' grip upon her flesh tightened to the point of pain. They pulled back from each other, a glittering string of saliva connecting them briefly before snapping. Then both of their burning eyes locked upon the tiefling caught between them. 

“Master, are you sure she's not a full-blooded devil?” Haarlep purred, their teasing lilt only slightly breathless. “She certainly has the greed of one. Can’t handle not being the center of attention for five seconds.” Soleil whined as they laughed.

“N-no - ah! - that's not…”  Her rebuke was halted by another loud moan as the incubus pushed another finger into her ass. Even with them going slow, the stretch still burned, but in a delicious way that made fog begin to cloud the edges of her mind. 

“Her hole is so greedy as well, master,” Haarlep continued while scissoring their fingers, stretching her even further. “Just begging to be filled.” 

Soleil could feel Raphael twitch behind her in response to their words, his hard cock grinding into her back.

“Now there's a good idea,” he hummed while pinching her nipple meanly. Soleil let out a sharp cry. “I think I would like to hear that. Begging.”

Soleil shook her head quickly, her cheeks flushed, and turned her face into Haarlep’s shoulder, trying to hide. Her fingers scraped down instinctively, gripping the base of the incubus’s wings for stability. The incubus just laughed while adding a third finger, and Soleil bit into their flesh to muffle her reaction. Raphael slipped his fingers into the collar at her throat and gave a sharp, unyielding tug, pulling her head back and forcing her to release her hold. His molten gaze caught hers, steady, unwavering, and full of expectation, and a flash of resistance lit within her.

“You’re the o-ones who wa- ah -wanted this,” she gasped, defiance flickering beneath the rising haze threatening to make her soft, pliant, and far too willing. Her voice wavered, but she pushed through it, clinging to the edge of resistance like a lifeline. “I shouldn’t have to- fuck - beg you to claim your end of the deal!” 

She gave a sharp yelp as Haarlep smacked her ass, the flesh already stinging. Her surprise made her grind down hard against their thigh and tighten around their fingers, sending even more maddening pleasure coursing through her. Raphael’s hand slid down from her chest to rub firm, tight circles against her clit, making her whimper. The pressure was too much, almost painful, but she couldn't escape from it. 

“I do adore your resistance,” Raphael murmured, his breath a slow exhale against the shell of her ear. “There’s something endlessly entertaining about watching you twist away from your own desires.” His voice dipped lower, velvet-dark and threaded with something more dangerous. “Tell me, is that why you’re always so intent on mending everyone else’s problems, little wizard?” he whispered. “Because it spares you from facing what you truly want?”

Soleil’s whimper deepened, the sound slipping from her unbidden. Her resistance was beginning to fray, threads unraveling beneath the weight of his gaze.

“N-no,” she tried, the protest weak, unconvincing. She had never been good at lying and certainly not to a devil who made his home in the cracks of denial. Raphael’s soft hum told her he’d seen straight through her, amused and unrelenting.

“Please…” she breathed, bowing under the pressure, as though the very force of his insight was too much to bear. Anything to escape the searing precision of his stare.

“Please what, little pet?” Haarlep cooed, their tone syrup-sweet and mocking as they gave her loosened hole a playful tug. She whimpered again, caught between them, the last of her defenses slipping like silk through trembling fingers.

“Fuck me, please!” she begged, the words spilling out in a rush of heat and humiliation. Embarrassment bloomed hot in her chest, but already that soft, dizzying haze was curling back around her thoughts, gently coaxing her deeper into surrender. 

“I’m going to need a bit more detail than that, dear,” Raphael purred, his eyes dancing with dark delight. “Tell us exactly what you want us to do.”

Soleil fought with herself for a moment, the words trapped in her throat before the pull of his gaze won out, and she gave in, her resolve slipping as she obeyed. 

“I want both of you,” she admitted, her voice laced with a mix of candor and deep embarrassment. “To fill my greedy holes. Please.”

A slow, thoroughly pleased smile curled at the corners of Raphael’s lips, and he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words dark praise against her mouth, and at that moment, Soleil had no will left to resist the fluttering response that rose within her. She moaned, barely registering that Raphael was tilting her head away before her mouth crashed into another. Haarlep slipped their tongue effortlessly into her mouth, exploring every inch and tasting her thoroughly. Their fingers withdrew from her hole to grab her asscheeks and hold her open.

She whined briefly at the loss before she felt the press of Raphael’s cock against her, slick with some kind of lubricant, dragging over and lining up with her stretched rim. She moaned and gasped into Haarlep’s mouth as the cambion slowly pushed into her. Even with the stretching, it was a lot, each ridge of his cock causing her to tremble fiercely and cry out. Haarlep swallowed her reactions, their spit helping ease the way as it lit her blood on fire with even more arousal. Soon Raphael was seated deep within her, his heaving chest sticking to her sweaty back. He kissed her neck softly. 

“So good for me,” he praised while grabbing her thigh and hiking it higher up, exposing her weeping cunt. Soleil pulled her head back from the incubus and whined, already overwhelmed. “Now, be good for Haarlep as well, dear pet.” 

Haarlep repositioned themself and dragged their cock slowly through her soaking folds before notching their head into her hole. They moaned as they slowly thrust into her, and Soleil joined them, shaking uncontrollably. 

“Hells,” they swore, drawing back a bit before pushing further into her. “She's so tight! I can feel you in her, master.” That notion only made her core clench more, eliciting a hiss from both the cambion and the incubus. 

Haarlep finally bottomed out with a snarl, the head of their cock nestled against her cervix. Soleil’s chest was heaving, thoughts fully fogged over as she adjusted to the stretch of them. It was so much, she was so full. After a bit, they both started moving, small experimental thrusts, testing the give of her body. When the tiefling only moaned in pleasure, they picked up speed, soon pumping into her with abandon. The sensation of both of them forced breathless cries from her at every thrust, and she was quickly reduced to nothing but a quivering wet toy between them. 

Raphael’s hand continued to stroke her clit and his other hand slid down to her lower stomach and pressed. The sudden increase in the already maddening amount of pressure within Soleil made all of them gasp. 

“Please master,” Haarlep moaned, their claws sinking deeper into the flesh of her thigh and ass. “May I come? May I fill our darling little plaything with my seed?” 

Soleil shuddered at their filthy words, her walls fluttering around them. She was so close as well, rapidly approaching her own climax with every pass of Raphael’s fingers. 

“Beautiful pet,” he murmured to the incubus, his voice a breathless purr wrapped in velvet. “You may… when she does. When she asks nicely.”

The haze clouding Soleil’s thoughts made it hard to think, harder still to push back. Words slipped from her lips before she could shape them fully.

“Please, Raphael,” she pleaded, her voice raw and trembling. “May I…?”

The cambion clicked his tongue in gentle reprimand, and something in Soleil recoiled instinctively at the sound.

“Ah ah,” he chided, voice soft but firm. Neither the movement of his hips nor his finger faltered for a single second. “I said 'ask nicely'. Come now, dear, Haarlep even gave you an example to follow.”

Her muddled thoughts fumbled, tripping over meaning. She wanted to give him what he asked - needed to - but the exact shape of it eluded her. 

And then, like a puzzle piece falling into place, realization bloomed.

She moaned, low and miserable, the sound full of reluctant realization.

Raphael, of course, looked thoroughly entertained by her struggle. Haarlep, by contrast, seemed far less patient this time. Their thrusts into her were growing erratic, their breath panting and labored with restraint.

“Come on, pet,” they hissed, angling their hips a bit. The head of their cock pistoned into that spot inside of her, and Soleil cried out sharply. “It'll feel so good. Just say it! ”

Her mind was flagging, overtaken by the rapid approach of her orgasm. The thought of being denied her release was too much for her, and she whimpered.

“Master…” she whispered, eyes squeezed shut, her voice nearly lost to the tremor in her breath. “Please…”

Raphael grabbed her chin and once again forced her head up to face him. 

“Open your eyes dear,” he coaxed softly, a stark contrast to the way he was pounding into her ass. Soleil reluctantly blinked her eyes open and met his burning gaze. “Good. Now, ask again. Louder this time.”

Her lip trembled. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, blurring the edges of his face.

“Please, master!” she breathed desperately, voice shaking under the weight of her surrender. “May I come?”

She caught the smallest twitch at the corner of Raphael’s mouth, too swift to linger, quickly mastered, but it was there. Satisfaction. Control. And something else buried deeper.

“Of course, my dear Soleil,” he purred, kissing her oh so sweetly. “Whenever you're ready.”

It happened nearly instantly after she was given permission. She threw her head back and screamed, body locking up and clenching around both of the devils as they continued to fuck her through it. 

Haarlep joined her soon after, releasing deep within her with a low groan as her walls milked them dry. Raphael pushed her into the incubus’ arms, bidding them to hold her still as he chased his own pleasure, thrusting deep and hard into her. 

“My beautiful, obedient pets,” the cambion praised, his pace growing more erratic. Both the tiefling and the incubus whined with the force of it, clutching onto each other like driftwood in a storm. 

Raphael came with a snarl, spilling hotly into her and filling her up even further. Soleil felt as if she might soon burst at the seams. 

After a long, breathless moment, Raphael collapsed against her, his weight pressing her further into the warmth of the incubus. The three of them lay tangled, chests rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. 

But Soleil’s breathing didn’t slow. If anything, it quickened, becoming sharp and broken.

Frantic. Sobbing.

“Shhh, little mouse,” Raphael murmured, his voice gentling as his arms curled tighter around her. Haarlep similarly began to purr, a low, soothing hum that vibrated against her skin. “We’re right here.”

Soleil couldn’t name the storm inside her. Her mind was still hazy, hollowed out, but something within her felt scraped raw, like a thread had been pulled too tight and finally snapped.

“You’re just crashing a little,” Haarlep whispered, letting her press her tear-streaked face into the curve of their neck. “It’s alright. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

Her laugh trembled out of her, easily mistaken for another sob. Safe. The word felt almost cruel in its irony. She was in hell. 

But still… she breathed.

Slowly, deliberately, Soleil began to steady herself, pulling her thoughts back from the edge. She focused on the present; on the physical, the tangible. The cool slide of silk beneath her skin. The soft, rhythmic petting from the devils curled around her. The weight of their bodies anchored her to something real. Their hot spend, slowly leaking out of her holes… The feeling pulled a faint grimace across her face, enough to snap her fully back into the moment, mind clearing, if only slightly.

“Can we take another dip in the pool?” she asked, her voice rough and threadbare with exhaustion.

Raphael answered with a soft kiss against her jaw, his tone warm and indulgent.

“Of course, dear,” he murmured. “Anything for my darling pets.”

Chapter Text

Raphael had taken it upon himself to make sure Soleil was “adequately dressed” to accompany him for their trip to Mephistar. Her usual robes - dignified, practical, and perfectly respectable - had been replaced with an opulent gown, its color chosen with almost artistic precision to compliment the hue of her skin. 

Never in her life had the wizard felt more exposed while technically being clothed. 

“Raphael, I can't go out in this," she said, her voice low with mortification as she folded her arms across her chest. “This is barely a dress. It's glorified lingerie.”

The fabric shimmered like spun moonlight, clinging to her form with maddening grace. A plunging neckline traced the line of her sternum all the way to her navel, while the open back swept down to just beneath the base of her tail. Twin slits in the skirt revealed flashes of hip with every step, eliminating any possibility of wearing undergarments. Her horns and ears were weighed down with intricate jewelry, armbands gleamed like golden manacles around her wrists, and nearly every finger glittered with a ring. The ever-present susur-collar remained but now bore intricate chains looping from it, transforming it from a symbol of captivity into a deliberate, ostentatious centerpiece.

“What do you mean, dear?” Raphael replied with mock innocence, tilting his head ever so slightly. “This is the height of fashion in Baator.”

She glared at him, wanting to scold him for dressing her like some pampered concubine and exploiting the occasion for his own wicked amusement. But then she suddenly remembered Mizora and her infernal witnesses. Their gowns were no less revealing, their confidence unshaken. Was this truly the noble standard in Hell’s highest courts?

“I’d still rather just wear my robes,” she muttered, arms tightening around herself. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her body, but the thought of flaunting it so openly, so deliberately, unsettled her. Comparably the cambion stood smugly in one of his usual embroidered doublets, the only concessions to his anatomy being tasteful slits for his wings and tail. He stepped closer and placed a warm hand on her lower back, the skin on skin making her shiver.

“You look ravishing, little mouse,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear with reverent care. She flushed, cheeks igniting with heat. That was still not the point!

“If I remember correctly,” she said, scowling. “you described Cania as ‘colder than a final breath and sharper than a frozen blade’.” She gestured to the scandalous amount of exposed skin. “I’ll freeze to death before we finish the teleport!”

Raphael snorted at that.

“You think the devils of Mephistar, home of hellfire, walk around cloaked in furs all the time? The citadel is heated, you need not fear the slightest chill.”

She struggled to come up with another logical counterargument.

“I don’t like it,” she muttered, sounding more like a sulking child than the powerful mage she was. Raphael hummed, gently uncrossing her arms and taking her hands in his. His thumbs traced small, soothing circles against her palms.

“First impressions matter, my dear,” he said. “And I intend for the entire frozen court to see the splendor that walks at my side. Why would you ever wish to hide that?”

Soleil groaned in frustration. This reminded her of a conversation she had had with Halsin, who similarly, could not understand why she wasn't exactly comfortable flaunting what nature had given her. 

“We can stay home if you’d prefer,” Raphael offered smoothly. The softness of his tone belied the iron in his meaning: Dress as I ask, or we don’t go at all.

Damn this devil.

“No, no,” she sighed quickly. “The dress is... fine. Let’s just go.”

That wicked smile curved his lips again as he extended his arm. She took it, jaw set, spine straight.

“I’m glad you’ve come to see reason,” he said, his tone lilting with triumph as he led her toward the Chamber of Egress.

—

They materialized within a vast, glacial hall, an architectural marvel sculpted entirely from glittering ice. The walls shimmered with imprisoned light, casting fractured reflections across the smooth, frozen floor. Every surface gleamed, impossibly pristine, as though the chamber had been carved from the marrow of a glacier, cold in appearance, but not in sensation.

To Soleil’s reluctant astonishment, the air was perfectly warm. Pleasantly so.

All around them, gelugons skittered about their business, the clicking of their insectile limbs echoing sharply against the frozen floor. Their strange, armored bodies moved with unnerving grace, exuding an air of order and silent menace. 

Soleil’s attention was swiftly and forcibly arrested by the massive, opaque doors ahead and the slumbering beast that guarded them.

A dragon. Enormous, scaled in a deep molten red, curled in sleep like a dormant inferno. Even at rest, its presence was oppressive: the low rumble of breath, the faint flicker of embers between slitted nostrils, the casual way its massive claws flexed in its dreams.

Soleil stiffened instinctively.

Raphael, ever attuned to the shifting chords of her mood, laughed softly and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t trouble yourself about Testaron,” he said, amused by her fear. “He’s really just an overgrown guard dog - ornamental, mostly. As long as you don’t try to open the doors without me, you’ll be fine.”

She didn’t relax. Her last encounter with a red dragon had nearly incinerated her, and no amount of casual charm could erase that memory. Despite his calm, her spine remained rigid.

“That,” he continued, gesturing with a flourish to the enormous doors. “Is the throne room.” And then, with firm insistence, he turned her away from the beast and toward a series of towering, crystal-clear arching windows. 

“And this,” he said, his voice dipped in theatrical reverence. “Is Mephistar.”

The view stole her breath.

The city sprawled beneath them in a cascading descent of three vast, terraced levels, like a diabolical amphitheater carved into the icy mountain. Below, structures both regal and otherworldly rose like frozen sculptures. Steam rose in plumes from invisible vents, dissolving every snowflake before it could land. The contrast was surreal: frost and fire, ice and heat, existing in eerie equilibrium. Far in the distance, Soleil spotted a spindly tower of green steel that wobbled ever so slightly, an architectural defiance of gravity that made her eyes widen.

Hell had its own kind of beauty, it seemed. Terrible, unnatural, and undeniably grand.

“Close your mouth, dear,” Raphael murmured, his voice a playful admonition. “You’ll let the heat out.”

She snapped her jaw shut, flushed despite herself.

“Come,” he said, already turning her away from the grand view. “We’ve much to see.”

Raphael led her through the layers of the frozen citadel. Much of the structure comprised resplendent living quarters - opulent, yet austere in the way only infernal nobility could manage. Each suite was a monument to power and wealth, carved in frost and shadow. The nobles of his father’s court moved through the halls like ghosts in tailored armor, acknowledging their lord's son politely, their eyes cool, their whispers colder. 

Here and there, they passed sealed laboratories; strange, rune-bound chambers from which acrid scents and muted murmurs leaked into the halls. Raphael passed through these sealed doors with casual authority, as if the locks recognized him by blood. The infernal scientists within, gaunt and gleaming-eyed, cast wary glances at Soleil as she eagerly observed their work, their stares like knives dulled only by fear. Mortal blood, even that tinged with infernal heritage, was clearly unwelcome in these sanctums of forbidden inquiry. Yet none dared protest aloud. A single, pointed look from the archduke's son was enough to make them bite their forked tongue. 

By what felt like late afternoon, they entered possibly the most beautiful room in the whole city, at least in the wizard's eyes. 

A library.

But not merely a repository of books, this was a cathedral of knowledge.

The chamber stretched skyward, a vast central tower spiraling through the icy heights in ten majestic tiers. Each level was marked by a colossal, floating disk of crystalline glass, suspended effortlessly in the air. Upon each disk was carved, in shimmering relief, the topography of each layer of the Nine Hells. The sequence began on the first floor with Nessus, the deepest and most secretive realm, its jagged chasms and shifting fortresses rendered in exquisite, frost-edged detail. From there, the infernal hierarchy ascended: Cania, Maladomini, Malbolge… each realm captured in exquisite detail, the geography of damnation laid bare in glass and light.

At the center of every disk, a perfectly circular aperture, twenty feet in diameter, pierced through the floors above and below, forming a luminous shaft that allowed an unbroken view straight up through the tower’s soaring core. Soleil craned her neck, eyes wide, and followed the gleaming path as it rose into vertigo-inducing heights until the final tier vanished into a corona of distant, glacial light.

It was breathtaking, terrible, and beautiful in equal measure.

Without warning, Raphael’s arms wrapped tightly around her, and Soleil let out a startled squeak just as he launched skyward with a mighty beat of his wings. A gust of wind spiraled in their wake as they soared upward, threading effortlessly through the gleaming apertures of the ascending disks, through each layer of the hells. 

“Noooo!” Soleil protested, half-laughing despite herself. Delight chased her words even as she scowled up at him. “I wanted to see all the floors!”

Raphael chuckled, his voice a purr just behind her ear. “We have to get down again little mouse, don't you worry.” 

The cambion landed gracefully on the top disk, Avernus, where he set her gently upon her feet, his wings folding with aristocratic precision. Before releasing her, he pointed to a feature carved into the icy terrain of the disk’s intricate map: a jagged mountain, and upon it, a delicate carving of a manor perched like a crown. It was minute from this height but wrought in such detail that Soleil immediately recognized it.

The House of Hope.

She stepped with careful reverence, minding the etched geography beneath her boots, wary not to mar the artistry beneath. As Raphael guided her towards the disk’s edge, her eyes lifted, drawn, by chance, toward the domed ceiling far above. There, suspended in the very center like a captured star, hung a crystalline bubble. Encased within it was a single, unassuming shard of metal, small, almost forgettable to the untrained eye. But not to a wizard.

Soleil’s breath caught in her throat.

An attunement fork.

Her heart stuttered, then surged forward with renewed intensity. She knew the shape, the vibration it implied; the silent resonance of a world beyond. She looked away quickly, forcing her gaze back to the glass beneath her feet, as though even a glance too long might reveal her thoughts.

It wasn’t certain, of course. Not definitively. But given the structure of the tower - the alignment, the open channel between realms - it had to be attuned to the Material Plane.

Before her thoughts could spiral, Raphael reached for her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, his grip light but grounding as he helped her down from the floating disk to the marble floor of the library proper.

Here, the space widened into silent majesty. Towering shelves rose around them in concentric rows, stretching from floor to an impossible ceiling. It was immediately clear this library had not been built with mortals in mind. Most of the shelves were completely inaccessible without wings or spells to cheat gravity. Soleil, grounded by comparison, would need a ladder the height of a building - or more likely, a well-timed Fly spell - to reach even the middle shelves. She tilted her head back, lips parted slightly in awe. Books, scrolls, ancient tomes bound in hide and ice. A whole lifetime of study waited before her, glittering with latent magic and half-forgotten power.

And still, at the edge of her awareness, the image of the attunement fork lingered.

Silent. Suspended. Possible.

Soleil stood motionless, overwhelmed by the sheer possibility that pulsed through the very air of this place. This single floor was already beyond comprehension. And there were eight more below it, each one a sanctum of knowledge.

“Can I just live here instead?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, her voice barely above a whisper.

“My, my. Suddenly, my hospitality pales before the seductive pull of dusty old tomes,” Raphael said with mock offense. “The parchment is always finer on the other side, is it?”

She smiled faintly, not taking her eyes off the rows of towering shelves. 

“Knowledge will always be my first love,” she said, turning toward him, lips parting to add something more, but the rest of her sentence died unspoken.

Her eyes widened.

A massive figure was approaching, his stride deliberate, unhurried, yet commanding absolute deference. The devils in his path dropped to the floor with almost violent submission, prostrating themselves with a kind of frantic reverence. He paid them no mind. His gaze, dead and white as bleached bone, was fixed solely upon the two of them. 

The cambion noticed her wide-eyed terrified stare and looked over his shoulder to see what had captivated her. Soleil caught the flicker of annoyance that crossed his features - quick, precise, like the flash of a knife - before he masked it beneath the polished neutrality of a court-trained smile. He turned smoothly, placing himself beside her as if to shield her with posture alone.

“Greetings, Lord Father,” Raphael said, inclining his head in a bow that was as elegant as it was obligatory.

Soleil dropped into a curtsey a beat too late. The motion was stiff, unpolished, her limbs locking up in alarm.

The tiefling was used to being one of the shortest in the room, save in the company of dwarves or gnomes. She’d grown accustomed to Halsin towering over her, her horns barely brushing his collarbone. She’d adapted to Raphael’s imposing height, whether in human or cambion form.

The Lord of the Eight made her feel miniscule. 

She had to tilt her head all the way back just to see his face. His wings, even folded, loomed like the vaulted arches of a cathedral behind him, and Soleil had no doubt that a single flap from them would make her stumble. He was clad in robes of deep, impossible blue, the fabric shimmering like a captured aurora. Chains of heavy gold and massive jewels lay draped across his broad chest, resting against skin that looked carved from garnet. Soleil wondered how the metal hadn't melted. The heat that emanated from Raphael felt like a summer breeze compared to the inferno that radiated off of his father. The air around him shimmered with it as if reality itself had to bend to accommodate his presence.

“Raphael,” Mephistopheles said in lieu of a greeting, his voice like frost forming on embers, simultaneously glacial and blazing. It chilled and scorched in the same breath. Soleil could already see how he had gained the moniker 'Lord of Contradictions'. 

“Not even the courtesy of informing your father that you're visiting?” he asked, iron precision in every word.

“I did not wish to disturb your studies, sire,” Raphael replied smoothly, with all the elegance of a seasoned diplomat. But Soleil heard it; the edge, honed and buried, a blade kept just beneath velvet.

“Is that so,” the archduke murmured, his gaze sliding from son to stranger. “And who,” he asked, voice cool and curiously amused. “Is this you’ve brought into my library?”

His gaze landed fully on Soleil, not visibly but palpable all the same.

And for a moment, her heart simply stopped.

A thousand thoughts surged through her mind in a blinding storm, disjointed, irrational, loud. It felt disturbingly like the Netherbrain whispering again, invasive and oppressive. Was she supposed to speak? Should Raphael answer? Was she about to die? Would it be quicker, kinder, to sprint for the aperture and throw herself to her death, rather than face the wrath of the Lord of No Mercy?

A subtle pressure on her arm pulled her back from the brink, Raphael’s fingers, firm and steady, urging her to speak.

She inhaled through her nose, steadying herself with effort, and spoke.

“Soleil Elodie Syringa… sir,” she said, her voice carefully measured. “Evocation mage in Raphael’s employ.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short, dear,” Raphael interjected with a crooked, pride-laced smile. “Hero and Savior of Baldur’s Gate.” He said it like a toast at court, a title adorned with pomp and reverence.

Soleil felt as though she stood on a knife’s edge, caught between combustion and frostbite beneath Mephistopheles’ gaze. If she thought Raphael was hard to read, his father was a tome encased in chains and enchanted seals. 

And yet…

A shift. Subtle. The faintest tilt of the head.

It was the same gesture she had seen on Raphael countless times, the imperceptible lean forward when something caught his interest. It unsettled Soleil deeply. 

“So you are the one who deprived me of seven thousand souls,” he said, and the words struck like a blade of ice through Soleil’s spine. “The one who murdered my offspring.”

The way he said it made it sound like the former was a greater offense than the latter. 

Perhaps it was.

Seven thousand souls: a commodity. An investment lost.

A son: an inconvenience, mismanaged.

The implications were chilling.

Soleil had never tallied her enemies. She had moved from one crisis to the next, too busy surviving, too focused on stopping whatever new horror threatened her friends or the world. But at this moment, she bitterly regretted not taking the time to consider whose wrath she might have drawn, whose ambitions she might have shattered.

Lying was out of the question. Even at her best, deceit was not her strength and here, under the gaze of Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth, it would be worse than useless. It would be insulting.

What did devils admire? Strength? Wit? Cunning? She discarded the thought almost immediately. The question wasn’t what they admired. It was what they wouldn’t destroy out of boredom.

She squared her shoulders.

“Yes, sir,” she said, voice firm, unwavering. There was no apology in her tone. “I did.”

She would never regret stopping the Rite of Profane Ascension. Never regret standing against Raphael. Even if the price for that was a slow and excruciating death, she would stand by her choices and pay it. 

Mephistopheles regarded her without blinking, his gaze a cold crucible in which lesser wills might crack. Soleil held it as best she could, forcing herself not to look away, not to flinch. She had stood against gods and mindflayers. She would stand now. 

And then, the slightest shift. A hairline fracture in a glacier. A near-imperceptible curl at the corner of his mouth.

"Interesting," he murmured, the word wrapped in ice and smoke, spoken like an invocation. Then, with deliberate grace, he extended a hand toward her, long fingers tipped in polished claws, the gesture somehow both regal and predatory.

"Savior of Baldur’s Gate," he said, the title given its full, terrible weight. "Will you join my son and I for dinner?"

She knew that tone. She had heard its echo in Raphael’s voice more times than she could count. The illusion of choice, wrapped in civility. It wasn't a question.

She took the archduke's hand without breaking eye contact.

“It would be an honor,” she said, offering a smile with careful poise.

He drew her forward with practiced ease, her smaller hand disappearing into the long, clawed fingers that wrapped around it. Not tightly, but with an unmistakable finality.

As she let go of Raphael’s arm, Soleil could feel the heat of his fury radiating behind her, a storm just barely leashed. He would not act now. Not here. Not in front of him. Whatever retribution Raphael might have in store, it would come later. And it would likely be passionate, creative, and painful.

But it would not be fatal.

His father, on the other hand…

This was a calculated act of survival.

Though his alabaster eyes betrayed no movement, Soleil could feel the weight of Mephistopheles' gaze as it slid over her, taking in the curve of her horns, the line of her throat, the cut of her dress. A flush crept unbidden to her cheeks, and she silently cursed Raphael again for insisting she wear something so revealing.

The archduke’s free hand rose, a single clawed finger drifting toward her throat. The sharp, deliberate scrape of talon against metal rang loud in her ears as it traced the collar clasped around her neck. Her breath caught.

“Raphael,” Mephistopheles said, voice low and cold, every syllable laced with quiet disdain. “What is this?”

He tapped the collar once with the tip of his claw. The motion was light, almost absent-minded, but Soleil felt the impact reverberate through her ribcage as if it had disrupted the rhythm of her heart.

“That,” the archduke continued, glancing at his son with thinly veiled disapproval. “Is no way to treat a mage, let alone a lady. Remove it. At once.”

Shock rippled through Soleil, swift and disorienting. Of all the outcomes she had braced herself for, chivalrous indignation had not made the list. Then came a flicker of satisfaction, a flash of smug defiance quickly buried beneath caution. Were the moment not so perilous, she might have said something sharp.

No way to treat a lady, indeed.

But she swallowed the impulse. Wit had its place, and this was not it. She chose silence, another act of self-preservation. 

Without a word, Raphael snapped his fingers, displacing the collar. Magic surged back into her, a tidal pulse that nearly dragged a moan from her throat. She inhaled sharply, barely suppressing the tremble that threatened to undo her composure. Her tail flicked, a reflex of sheer delight at the return of her power. For a single, dangerous moment, temptation seized her. The attunement fork was within reach. Dimension Door or Misty Step. Make a break for it. Try to escape.

But Raphael stood just behind her, a sentinel cloaked in velvet and vengeance. And before her - calm, collected, impossibly ancient - stood the greatest wizard in the Nine Hells.

His grip on her hand was neither cruel nor tight.

But it was a shackle all the same.

So she stayed put.

Another calculated act of survival.

Mephistopheles was too tall to offer her an arm, so instead, he placed a hand against the bare skin of her upper back. The contact was light, courtly, but his palm radiated such intense heat that Soleil feared his touch might brand her. His fingers spanned from shoulder to shoulder with ease. She kept her chin high and her stride even, forcing herself not to recoil.

He guided her forward without pause, his pace long and fluid. She was forced to take two steps for every one of his. Naturally, he did not slow. No devil would - least of all an archduke - for a mortal’s comfort. As they walked, he spoke in that cool, deliberate tone, listing the structure of his library with the precision of a scholar and the pride of a sovereign. Each floor, he explained, was a vault of knowledge, arranged by school, by author, by era, by sin. Soleil responded with measured scholarly interest, careful not to overstep. Mephistopheles was a creature of supreme intellect; anything less than genuine curiosity would be met with disdain, anything more with suspicion.

As their path wound onward, the towering shelves of the library gave way to corridors of carved ice. The walls glistened, veined with blue luminescence, the light moving faintly as though the glacier itself were breathing. 

Their conversation fell quiet as they entered the next chamber, and Soleil instinctively slowed. The dining hall was magnificent, carved from glacial stone and veined with pale blue luminescence. A long table of translucent ice bisected the room, its surface impossibly smooth, like frozen glass. Suspended above it, a chandelier of crystalline icicles shimmered with cold light, refracting the fireless glow of the chamber.

There were only two chairs, placed at either end of the long table.

“My apologies for the oversight,” Mephistopheles said, his voice smooth as silk woven with razors. “My staff must have assumed I would dine only with my son, not the mortal in his company. A chair will be brought out for you momentarily.” 

Before Soleil could so much as part her lips, Raphael moved. With serpentine grace, his hand encircled her wrist and guided her forward. He took his seat at the far end of the table with the casual poise of someone perfectly at home in palaces and pits alike, and then, with practiced familiarity, drew her into his lap.

“No need for that, Father,” Raphael said breezily, as if he were offering a convenience, not a provocation. “We can manage, can’t we, little mouse?”

Soleil flushed, heat prickling at her cheeks as the cambion’s arms settled around her like a velvet trap. The gesture was possessive, deliberate and so very public. Mephistopheles regarded the scene with a single raised brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been amusement… or derision. She hated it. Hated the game they were playing around her, over her, through her. A tug-of-war between son and father, between devil and archdevil - and she was the rope.

“Of course,” she said with forced ease, her voice tight but steady. “No need to trouble your staff on my account, sir.”

Her hand curled into the folds of Raphael’s doublet, and though she smiled sweetly, her knuckles were white with restrained fury. She wanted to strangle him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

Mostly strangle.

The Lord of the Eighth took his seat at the opposite end of the table, his every movement deliberate, unhurried, like a sovereign settling onto a throne, not simply into a chair. For a moment, the great hall fell into a taut, wordless silence as father and son regarded each other across the span like opposing kings at the ends of a lanceboard, neither inclined to move first. Soleil exhaled quietly. For once, the weight of scrutiny had shifted away from her, and she welcomed the reprieve like a breath of cool air.

Food was served by a procession of gelugons, their chitinous limbs clicking softly over the frost-slick floor. They moved with eerie grace, bearing silver trays of seared meats and crystal decanters filled with dark, glimmering liquid. Soleil glanced down at her plate with studied neutrality. The cut of meat before her was blackened and glistening, still faintly steaming, and the dark red liquid poured into her glass looked like wine. She hoped it was wine.

“It’s safe to eat,” Raphael murmured in her ear, his voice pitched low enough for no one else to hear. She flicked a skeptical glance at him from the corner of her eye.

“It’s not from anything humanoid,” he added, a trace too smoothly as if he’d anticipated the question before she could ask it. He began slicing his portion with the casual elegance of someone long accustomed to dining in places where etiquette and danger shared a table. Soleil followed suit, picking up her utensils with a touch more caution than grace. She cut a small piece and placed it on her tongue, swallowing before she could really taste it. The aftertaste left in her mouth was smokey and gamey.

“Where have you managed to find this sharp mind, Raphael?” Mephistopheles inquired, breaking the fragile silence like shattering glass. 

“Is a businessman not entitled to a few trade secrets?” the cambion retorted his tone half a jest, half a barb. Then, as if to punctuate the claim, he set down his knife and placed a hand on Soleil's exposed thigh. She stiffened, but he continued, utterly unbothered.

“Obscurity,” he said, his fingers beginning a slow, deliberate ascent beneath the fabric of her dress. “That’s where I found her. Untouched potential, waiting to be carved into something greater.”

Soleil’s breath caught as he touched her inner thigh. Her eyes snapped to his, sharp with warning: What in the Hells are you doing?! But Raphael merely held his father’s gaze across the table, an easy smile playing at his lips as he slowly swept his fingers through the seam of her pussy. Courtly, composed, and utterly insufferable. Mephistopheles gave a sound, dry and disdainful. Not quite a laugh.

“And then she killed you,” he said. His gaze did not shift to Soleil. The scorn was reserved entirely for his son. There was no anger in his voice, only disdain. A cool, clinical declaration of failure.

“A temporary disagreement,” Raphael replied breezily, raising a morsel to his lips. Beneath the table, he began circling her clit with firm pressure. Soleil hid her reaction by quickly lifting the glass of red liquid and taking a big gulp. It burned like fire going down.

“Now,” he added, voice warm as honey and just as sticky while pressing a finger against her already moist hole. “We’ve reached an… understanding. Don't you agree dear?”

Soleil's jaw tightened painfully in a smile as he slowly pushed the finger into her, fury and indignation grinding behind her bared teeth. 

“The battleaxe is buried,” she agreed, voice steady but tight with restraint. Her hand slid beneath the table, pressing firmly against his knee, hidden from view. 

“Fulgur,” the spell was hissed through her teeth, barely audible, and a pulse of Shocking Grasp sparked through Raphael. His leg tensed for a heartbeat, betraying the impact, but otherwise, he remained unnervingly composed. She knew it wouldn't hurt him. With his damage resistance, it would barely be a slap on the wrist, but the warning was clear. 

However, the action only seemed to spur him on. She could even feel him stirring beneath her ass, and the wizard had no doubt that he would've buried his cock inside of her instead of his finger if he could get away with it.

“I do not blame you for acting against my son, little evoker,” Soleil could feel Mephistopheles' attention shift to her once again, and she fought to not shrink. “Whatever your reasons, I'm sure they were justified.” 

She couldn't help the snort that escaped her, a venomous smile curling her lips before she could quell it. She had plenty of reasons to kill his damned son right now. In fact, she itched to hit him with a Finger of Death instead of a mere cantrip. 

“They were at the time, sir,” she said, not quite able to keep the smugness from her tone. She could feel the low growl that rumbled in Raphael's chest. 

As if to punish her disrespect, he pressed another finger into her. Soleil managed to quickly stuff a piece of blackened mystery meat into her mouth. Her moan could be graciously dismissed as simple enjoyment of the food. He continued fingering her slowly, his thumb circling her clit and she shook with the effort to conceal her reactions, to not give the archduke an inclination as to what was happening under the table. Meanwhile, Raphael, the insufferable bastard, continued to consume his meal with an almost languid air, as if savoring every moment of her struggle.

“Are you here for pleasure or research, little evoker?” Mephistopheles suddenly asked and Soleil almost choked on her food. She wanted neither right now, but the cambion behind her seemed determined to ensure she experienced at least one. 

“Research is a pleasure for me, sir,” she answered, fighting to keep her tone even and polite but not subservient. The Lord of the Eight had a whole court to grovel at his feet, she wouldn't win any favor by simpering. Her voice, however, betrayed a hint of breathlessness, thanks to Raphael's ministrations. “My visit is largely driven by a desire to experience the splendor of Mephistar and Cania firsthand, while also conducting some research. Avernus tends to grow... stifling, after a while.”

The archduke emitted a quiet hum as he drank from his glass. It carried no clear approval or rebuke, merely acknowledgment as if he were cataloging her response like a specimen.

“And what, may I ask, is the nature of your research?” he continued, tone light as powdered snow, though Soleil could already feel the trap being laid - disarming in its civility, merciless in its purpose. She clenched around Raphael's fingers and he curled them both sharply. It almost ruined her composure completely, but the message was clear: She could not mention the Crown of Karsus. A technical truth would have to do.

“I’m currently researching the long-term thermal instability of hellfire engines,” she said, hoping the slight tremor in her voice would be mistaken for nerves. “Specifically, how to stabilize their internal mechanisms to prevent spontaneous combustion when exposed to the temperatures of the Material Plane for a prolonged period.”

Silence. One heartbeat. Two. 

Raphael was still rubbing her clit, and Soleil really wished he would find some other way to comunicate his gratitude. 

“You seek to dull my creation,” Mephistopheles observed at last, voice devoid of inflection. Not angry. Not amused. Just... still. A dagger sheathed in courtesy. Soleil's heart, already pounding deafeningly in her ears, found the vigor to speed up even more. She resisted the instinct to fidget, her hands white-knuckling Raphael's pants instead, creasing the fabric. She couldn't tell if the feeling clenching her stomach was fear or pleasure.

“What are your current methods and theories?” the archduke asked, tone unchanged, but there was something behind it now, an interest sharpened to a fine point. Soleil inhaled sharply as Raphael's fingers hit that particular spot inside of her, and she drowned her reaction with the red, burning liquid, pretending to wet her throat before speaking.

“My recent hypothesis centered around building an internal cooling system,” she said, fighting to keep composed as pleasure licked up her spine. This was more difficult than focusing on a spell through pain. “I attempted a prototype some time ago, with the assistance of-” She bit her tongue, stifling both a moan and the name that threatened to slip from her lips. "An associate." She dared not speak Dammon's name here; she didn't want to inadvertently summon the Lord of the Eighth to the smith's door. 

“No coolant, magical or otherwise, could lessen the hellfire, so we scrapped the idea.” She took another drink of the - maybe - wine and the liquid rippled from the tremor in her hand. “But recently I began to consider that perhaps the answer lies not in subduing the hellfire, but in meeting it with a cold equally infernal in origin. Cania offers... compelling possibilities.”

She was rapidly nearing her peak and fighting it with all she had, but the tiefling's body betrayed her, the heat in her lower stomach growing, stoked by Raphael's fingers. She dug her claws into his thigh, silently begging him to stop, slow down, grant her mercy!  

But it seemed the cambion took after his father in that regard.

“And what possibilities do you believe Cania holds?" The Lord of No Mercy asked, now openly curious. Soleil prayed that whatever had sparked his interest was sufficient to keep him distracted, to prevent him from noticing how she was unraveling.

“In my research, I came across a tome on the topography of the layers,” she began, pausing to draw a steadying breath. “And it mentioned The Pit.”

Raphael tensed behind her. His fingers stopped and Soleil exhaled, both in relief and frustration. She had been so close to climax, and there was no way she would have been able to keep her composure through that.

“The Pit?” he echoed, an elegant frown creasing his brow as he slowly withdrew his fingers. Soleil fought not to whine. “You believe the answer to your puzzle lies at the lowest threshold of damnation?”

“For once, I find myself in agreement with my son,” Mephistopheles drawled, his voice tinged with amusement and something far colder. “What could you possibly hope to uncover at the mouth of the Ninth?”

“If the tome was accurate,” she began, drawing a shallow breath. “Then I would find a lake. Well… not quite a lake, more of a… slush.” She winced at the word; it didn't exactly inspire confidence. “It should, by all accounts, be frozen solid. However, due to the portal to Nessus bleeding heat, it remains in a state of arcane equilibrium. Neither solid nor fluid. I believe it may provide a means of balancing the engine’s fire. Tempering it, without extinguishing it.”

Mephistopheles inhaled slowly, the movement refined, almost regal. A flicker of something passed through his expression - interest, yes. But something more. Something calculating.

“You propose to harness this infernal slurry as a stabilizer because the proximity to Nessus keeps it in constant tension. Mutable, but not destroyed.”

“Exactly.” Soleil leaned into the momentum. “In the revised model, the fire of the engine would replicate the effect of the portal, maintaining the equilibrium. In theory. I need to study how the substance interacts with infernal alloys. Make sure it won't just freeze the mechanisms.”

Mephistopheles watched her with a subtle gleam in his alabaster eye. Interest, unspoken, but undeniably present. The look of a predator realizing that the trembling creature before it might, unexpectedly, have fangs.

“And tell me, little evoker,” he murmured, his voice smooth as polished obsidian, “how do you intend to descend to the bottom of The Pit?”

Her eyes flickered to Raphael who was nonchalantly wiping his hand in a silken napkin. The smile that curled Mephistopheles’ lips was all elegant cruelty.

“Ah. I see.” He sipped his wine with the patience of a man who had waited centuries and could wait centuries more. “I’m afraid my son doesn’t possess the appropriate clearance. A matter of security, of course. I'm sure you understand.”

The words hung in the air like frost, beautiful and perilous.

Then, after a pause designed to make her breath catch:

“But your intelligence and your theory have… intrigued me.” His eyes gleamed with cold mirth. “I could grant you passage to the bottom of the Pit, personally. In exchange for a more... private conversation. Just you and I. Unchaperoned.”

Before she could answer, Raphael's grip on her tightened, his claws pressing into her thigh.

“That won’t be happening,” he said, voice low and commanding. Soleil turned her face to meet his, her glare sharp enough to cut.

“Your contract forbids you from leaving my side without express permission, little mouse,” he hissed, voice dripping with false sweetness and possessive fury. Her own anger flared like a spark in dry parchment. She leaned in as though to placate him, her hand brushing against his collar, her breath ghosting across his ear. But her fingers traced carefully, practiced motions as she whispered the incantation.

“Cogitatio Nexus.”

The Telepathic Bond took hold instantly, Raphael’s voice slamming into her mind like a door thrown open by a storm.

“Have you lost your damn mind, wizard?!”

If she could have laughed through the link, she would have.

“You’re one to talk! Just let me go with him. You owe me after what you just put me through.”

“You think this is about debt?” he snapped. “He has killed people for looking at him wrong and you’d let him take you below the ice alone."

“I’m not stupid, Raphael,” she shot back, exasperated. “But I may never get this opportunity again. I’m this close to solving the instability issue-”

“And I’m this close to tearing his tongue out just for suggesting it!” Raphael snarled in her head, his temper flaring through the bond like wildfire. “No.”

She grit her mental teeth, her mind racing. This could be her only chance to pursue one of the most promising possibilities of stabilizing the engine, and he was squandering it with his jealousy! She had to offer something, something he'd want. That was the game. That had always been the game. 

“Twenty-four hours where you can do whatever you want to me, ” she proposed. “As long as it does not involve me selling my soul or leave any other lasting damage.” 

He didn’t respond immediately. She felt the pause, the weighing of her desperation against his possessiveness.

“One week.”

Soleil nearly choked.

“Three days,” she countered, sharp and fast. “And I won’t say no. Not once.”

It was reckless. Dangerous. But her mind was already at the base of The Pit, scribbling formulas into the frost.

There was a long, simmering silence.

“Deal.”

The word coiled around her like a contract, binding itself to something deeper than mere flesh. Raphael’s eyes flared with infernal satisfaction. He didn’t have to smile, his victory was etched in every line of his face.

And across from them, Mephistopheles simply sipped his wine.

“If she wishes it, she may go,” Raphael stated out loud, his voice clipped and iron-hard. It didn’t matter that he loathed the words as he spoke them. He’d made a deal. So had she. “She is under my employ. Return her intact.” Not a request. Not a warning. Just a condition. Mephistopheles arched a dark brow, the gesture exquisitely disdainful.

“Do you mistake me for some crude Nalfeshnee, my boy?” he replied with an amused scoff. “I will return her to you in a timely fashion, not a hair out of place. I have no interest in damaging such a curious mind.”

He said it lightly, but the weight of his words lingered. Soleil felt Raphael tense behind her, every muscle coiled in silent protest, but he released his iron grip on her. The tiefling inclined her head, expression composed, voice even.

“Thank you,” she said softly as if she hadn't just sacrificed three days at his mercy for this reluctant permission. Then she turned to Mephistopheles, and though her pulse still thundered, her voice did not waver.

“And thank you for the offer, sir. I would be honored to join you... for a descent into The Pit.”

Chapter Text

They had materialized at the edge of a colossal chasm, a yawning void hundreds of feet wide.

The Pit. 

Wind screamed through the air with unnatural ferocity, each gust like a blade of ice. Soleil drew her infernal fur cloak tighter about her shoulders, grateful for the warmth enchantentment stitched into its seams. The Lord of the Eighth had provided her with attire befitting for their excursion: sleek, opulent, and inscribed with runes of cold resistance, but even so, the glacial breath of Cania clawed through to her bones. 

Mephistopheles stood beside her, unbothered, his posture regal and composed, his long dark hair and fine robes billowing in the storm. Plumes of steam curled from the vast wings that spread behind him, casting long, shuddering shadows across the ice.

“Ready for your descent into the depths, little evoker?” he asked, his voice smooth as velvet, resonating with a subtle power that hushed the howling wind around them. He extended a hand toward her, the gesture at once gallant and faintly mocking.

Soleil glanced at the offered hand but did not take it. Her lips curled into the barest smile.

“Are we to fly, sir?” she called over the wind, her voice light but clear. “I confess, my fragile mortal ears may not take kindly to a sudden plunge.”

The archduke turned his head slightly, regarding her with that particular, surgical curiosity, his bone-white eyes heavy upon her form. 

“Oh?” he purred, tone laced with amusement. “And what would you propose instead?” 

The tiefling tapped a gloved finger to her chin thoughtfully, her breath misting in the air.

“Feather Fall might suffice,” she mused aloud, recalling her first descent into the Underdark. “Elegant, controlled... but fleeting. A minute, no more. How deep is the Pit?”

"Approximately six point eight miles," he said smoothly. "Not accounting for the lake at the bottom."

Soleil blinked, calculating swiftly. Then grimaced.

"That’s… sixty castings, give or take,” she muttered. “Could try Fly and pace myself…”

He regarded her for a moment longer, the smile that touched his lips like the first crack in a frozen lake. Graceful, and utterly lethal.

"Child," he said at last, voice low and sonorous, like embers whispering beneath glacial ice. "Your cloak guards against more than cold. Take the leap… and see for yourself."

It was not a suggestion.

The words hung in the frozen air like a blade suspended above her neck, the challenge unmistakable. If she refused, she would essentially be calling him a liar. To do so here, in his domain was something far worse than unwise.

And yet... trusting Mephistopheles was its own kind of madness.

Soleil swallowed, her pulse loud in her ears. The wind shrieked around them, but the space between them was utterly still.

He had promised to return her to Raphael unharmed.

But devils kept their promises like knives kept their edges.

She inhaled, the chill biting deep into her lungs, and without allowing herself the time to reconsider, she jumped. 

For one breathless moment, there was only the rush of the fall, a brutal drop through air so cold it scalded. 

Then, transmutation magic billowed to life within the seams of the cloak. It slowed her descent with gentle, invisible hands, cradling her as a parent might a stumbling child. She exhaled, relief curling in a fog from her lips.

A shadow overtook her.

Mephistopheles descended like a falling star, wings outstretched in a sweeping arc that blotted what little light filtered through Cania’s storm-laden skies. Heat poured from him in waves, impossibly out of place in this frozen hell, and a scorching hand settled on her shoulder. Not cruel, not kind. Merely... inescapable. With the casual precision of a master tactician adjusting a favored piece on the lanceboard, he guided her away from a jagged outcropping of ice and then released her.

He drifted beside her, distant yet undeniably present, his wings folding behind him like closing gates. He moved with the effortless poise of one accustomed to dominion, his bearing unshaken by magic or storm. There was no flare of spellwork, no whisper of incantation. Either his garments held enchantments even more refined than her own, or the plane itself simply obeyed when he willed it. Soleil couldn't help but believe it was the latter. 

“It will be roughly an hour before we reach the bottom,” the archduke informed, the corners of his mouth curving with the faintest suggestion of amusement. There were moments, Soleil thought, when the resemblance to his son was uncanny. Especially in that smile. “Plenty of time, I think, to grow better acquainted.”

He turned his gaze toward her, cool, composed, and faintly curious.

“Tell me, little evoker; how did you come to be known as the Savior of Baldur’s Gate?”

The question caught her off-guard, though she detected no mockery in his tone. His voice was smooth, almost conversational, and the wind no longer dared to interrupt.

So the tiefling obliged him with the outline of her adventure, offering a practiced version of events: the nautiloid, the chaos of her abduction and subsequent escape, the creeping horror of the tadpole, the rise of the Dead Three's chosen, and the strange, shifting alliances that followed. She gave him enough to entertain but kept the true heart of the tale carefully veiled. No mention of Raphael’s offer, nor the contract she had signed.

Mephistopheles listened with impeccable decorum, offering the occasional question but never pressing, only surgical. It was like being examined under glass by something that had long since dissected the world.

“You were the one who killed my son, correct?” the archduke asked suddenly as if inquiring about the weather. His voice was mild, almost pleasant, but the air between them seemed to contract. Soleil didn’t flinch, though the chill dug a little deeper into her bones.

“Not… technically,” she replied, her voice measured. “I didn’t land the final blow.”

“No,” he murmured as if savoring a memory. “That particular honor went to the vampire spawn. The one marked with my claim, carved into his very flesh.”

At the mention of Astarion, her throat tightened. The name went unspoken, but the weight of it settled on her shoulders like frost. Don't hurt him!

“But it was your magic that bound him,” he continued smoothly. “Your spell that rendered him helpless, stripped him of his will, left him defenseless at the precipice of death.”

He turned his gaze on her fully now, the bone-white of his eyes gleaming with something sharp and unreadable.

“Tell me, child; how did it feel? To watch him fall under your hand, not through brute force, but through control. Domination. To hold his body captive as the light bled from his eyes?”

There was no wrath in his tone. No accusation.

Only a dark, unsettling curiosity.

Soleil was silent for a moment, sifting through memory. Remember how it felt to stand in the foyer of The House of Hope a year ago, outmaneuvered, outnumbered, every nerve in her body singing with dread and resolve. The adrenaline in her veins, the desperation to make it out with her friends. The regret that this was what it had come to. The relief as the Hold Monster spell took hold, stopping Raphael, his hand raised ready to let hellfire rain upon her party. 

“I felt…” she said slowly. “Like a pawn who had just been promoted to queen.” Her voice was soft but sure. “I felt powerful.”

Mephistopheles regarded her in silence, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, not into a smile, but something colder. Satisfaction flickered in his alabaster eyes, sharp and approving, like a flame that burned without warmth.

“And is it power,” he asked one elegant brow lifting. “That keeps you from freezing to death this very moment?”

Soleil hesitated, then sighed through her nose. She hadn’t planned to say anything - didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the cloak he’d provided - but she had been trembling beneath the layers for some time now. The enchanted furs dulled the worst of the cold, but they were no match for the raw, glacial malice of Cania. Wordlessly, she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders just enough to reveal her gloved hands, fingers delicately curled in a familiar arcane gesture.

“It generates a bit of heat,” she murmured, shifting the somatics from Burning Hands to Wall of Fire. “As long as I don’t speak the incantation, the spell stays dormant and it doesn’t burn through too much energy.”

Mephistopheles made a low and thoughtful sound, somewhere between amusement and disappointment. The kind of sound a scholar might make upon discovering a clever solution in a student’s work… when he had secretly hoped she would fail.

Had he expected her to seek warmth from him?

The thought struck her, unbidden, and she flushed. Whether from cold or mortification, she couldn’t say.

“So,” he drawled, voice smooth as obsidian. “You’ve been edging yourself magically to keep warm.”

Soleil sputtered and the spell in her hands nearly slipped. It seemed the archduke’s son wasn’t the only one in the family who had a way with words.

Without warning, Mephistopheles drifted closer. Soleil resisted the instinct to recoil. Not that there was anywhere to go. Hovering midair above an endless chasm left little room for retreat. Still, his proximity sent a shiver down her spine, one that had nothing to do with the cold. The heat radiating from him was immediate and overwhelming, as though she had flown too close to the sun. It pressed against her skin, seeping through her cloak and gloves, awakening every nerve it touched.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, the words velvet-soft, the smile that followed anything but kind. Predatory. “You must be pent up. Especially after the cruel little trinket, my discourteous son kept around your throat.”

His clawed fingers ghosted across her bare neck where the susur collar once rested, nothing more than a whisper of contact, but she felt the threat beneath it. A single flex and he could slit her throat. End the conversation. End her.

But he didn't.

“Why don’t you let off a little steam?” he said, voice dipping low. “Show me what you’re capable of, little evoker.”

She hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. The spell had already been coiling at her fingertips, fire crackling faintly in the air around her hands like embers waiting to breathe.

“Arde,” she hissed.

The Fireball shot past him in a blazing arc, erupting against the glacial cliffside with a thunderous roar. Ice vaporized in a burst of steam and molten rock, the force of it shaking loose a rain of frost from above. A crater melted into the frozen wall, glowing with residual heat. Soleil exhaled sharply, her breath curling in the aftermath. Her pulse pounded, and for the first time in what felt like an age, she felt whole, the familiar rush of power coursing through her veins. Her fingers trembled slightly, though whether from strain or satisfaction, she couldn’t say.

“Good,” the Lord of the Eighth murmured, the sound rich with amusement. “But there’s room for improvement.”

He drifted behind her - silent, effortless - and the fine hairs on Soleil’s neck rose in warning. She held herself still as his hands closed around hers, large and inescapable, guiding her fingers through the precise, arcane gestures once more. His touch was steady, confident, and unnervingly gentle.

“You simply need to… strain yourself a little,” he purred near her ear, his breath blisteringly hot against the delicate curve of it.

Her pulse spiked.

With a flick of his will, he angled her readied spell toward an unfortunate gelugon stationed on a distant outcropping, utterly unaware of the judgment being passed.

“Release,” he said.

“Arde!” Soleil obeyed.

Power surged through her like a current. Her muscles twitched under the force of it, her spine bowing slightly as the magic rushed out. The fireball launched from her hands with devastating momentum, its flames no longer red, but white-hot, pure, infernal fury. It struck the icy ledge, detonating in a sphere of annihilating fire. The gelugon vanished in an instant, reduced to ash and molten armor.

“Excellent,” Mephistopheles said smoothly. “Good job, little evoker.”

And somehow, those simple words warmed her more than the flames had. Her cheeks flushed, not from cold this time. He released her hands at last, folding his own neatly behind his back as he floated away from her, giving space but not distance.

“Again,” he said. “On your own.”

Soleil inhaled, centering herself. She repeated the somatics, feeling for the thread of tension, the raw edge of her power, newly untethered. The burn of capability at the limit.

“Arde!”

The spell erupted from her hands with the same explosive force, the same white-hot blaze. But this time, something in her body buckled. The moment the spell left her, agony lanced up through her fingers, sharp and electric. Her hands seized mid-motion, gripped by a sudden rigor as necrotic energy flared beneath the skin. A stuttering gasp escaped her lips as she clutched her trembling hands to her chest, the pain radiating through her nerves like fire laced with ice.

“Ah,” Mephistopheles hummed, the sound not unkind, merely instructive. “There’s the trade-off.” 

He floated closer once more, eyes gleaming like ice over embers.

“For all your talent, you fragile mortals simply weren’t built to sustain that kind of overchannel. Not more than once. Not without consequence.”

He watched her with quiet fascination, as though she were a rare spell he was still learning the intricacies of. A tool. Or a weapon.

“Still,” he added, tone deepening slightly. “You endure it well.”

Soleil met his gaze, those bone-white eyes that saw too much, too easily. Her fingers still tingled with residual pain as she worked the sensation back into them, slow and stiff.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, her tone respectful, though the edge of apprehension was impossible to hide. No knowledge in Hell came without a price, and she had no idea what he might ask in return… or what she could afford to give.

He regarded her a moment longer, head tilting slightly, the motion graceful, feline.

“How did a mind as sharp as yours end up tethered to my son?” he asked, voice laced with curiosity. Genuine, but edged like a scalpel.

She chose her words with care. “I am under your son’s employment, sir.”

Vague, deliberately so. To present herself as too important was dangerous. But to seem irrelevant might be worse.

Mephistopheles’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I can see your soul, dear child,” he said softly. “And my son has not branded it.”

A chill passed through her, distinct from Cania’s glacial breath. She suddenly felt as though his gaze was no longer looking at her, but into her, through skin, through bone, down to the very marrow of her being.

“I highly doubt,” he continued. “That someone of your talent would bind herself to him willingly. Which tells me this is a conditional arrangement.”

Soleil swallowed, her throat dry as frost. Silence might not have been an explicit clause, but the tiefling was certain the penalty for loose lips would be swift and brutal.

“I’m in Raphael’s employ to… fix something,” she said cautiously. “I’m not at liberty to say more.”

“The Crown of Karsus, then,” Mephistopheles declared at once, his tone heavy with disinterest. Soleil’s heart sank.

“By every layer of Baator, is the boy still enamored with that trinket? Obsessed doesn’t begin to cover it.” His lip curled faintly, disdain flickering like a shadow. “I wasn’t the least bit surprised when those mercenaries’ souls came crawling back to my coffers, but they were wailing and babbling about an unforeseen threat - a wizard in Raphael's bed.” His gaze rested heavily upon her. “To discover that his new guard dog holds such promise...”

Soleil’s blood turned to ice. The attack on the House of Hope - the sudden ambush that had nearly killed her - he had been behind it. Of course he had.

“Oh, it wounds me,” he went on, voice velvet-soft and sharp as glass. “To hear that he’s squandering your talents on such trivial pursuits. But no matter. However he’s managed to ruin the Crown, I’m sure you’ll have it mended in no time.”

Soleil resisted the urge to ask how long “no time” was, exactly, to a being who had watched empires rise and crumble like embers in a brazier. 

The bottom of the Pit, the churning lake of icy slush was within sight now, but the tiefling didn't dare breathe a sigh of relief yet. 

“That shining potential of yours…” Mephistopheles purred, gliding closer until he hovered at perfect eye level with her. “It would not be squandered, would not be suffocated under my watch, dear evoker. You’ve already felt it. The guidance I offer, the growth I cultivate. You could become... remarkable.”

There it was, the offer behind the velvet words. No contract. Not yet. Just the whisper of promise, the invitation to step willingly into his sphere. The truest temptation Hell could offer: not threats, not force - opportunity.

“I'm honored sir, but I cannot enter another contract before my current one is fulfilled,” she said, steady, though her heart thundered in her chest.

His smile widened, slow and knowing.

“I’m certain we could find a loophole the boy has overlooked,” he said smoothly. “But if you insist on... formality, we can wait.”

Then, with the practiced grace of a being who had eternity to spare, he leaned back, posture serene, the very picture of endless patience.

“As I said,” he added, almost idly. “It won't be long before you’ve fixed his little mess. When you do…”

His white eyes bore into her, and his smile gleamed like a blade beneath silk.

“Do not hesitate to call on me.”

As they descended, Mephistopheles touched down first, his boots settling upon the ice with effortless grace. While Soleil still hovered in the air, unable to recoil back, he caught her hand and his fingers closed around her gloved ones with unsettling gentleness. He lifted her hand with slow ceremony and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

It seared.

Not enough to burn - barely. But she felt the heat sting through the leather and into her bones, as though her very blood acknowledged his touch. She half-expected the glove to char, to curl like paper, but it remained intact.

Just scorched with memory.

He released her as she hovered down beside him, her own feet finally settling on the frostbitten ground, and once again, she found herself dwarfed by his presence, her gaze level with the ornate folds of his robes, just below his chest.

Before them, the grand lake of slush churned and shifted, its glacial currents folding over themselves like dying breath. Fathoms below, hidden beneath centuries of ice and anguish, lay the gateway to the Ninth Layer. The last circle of Hell. A sight only a few very unlucky souls would ever see.

Soleil unfastened a flask from her belt; broad-necked, forged from infernal iron, and etched with precision-carved runes that shimmered faintly in the dim, icy light. It was a vessel made to endure and preserve extremes: the scald of lava, the corrosive bile of a black dragon. Dammon had helped hammer its shape; the enchantments were hers. Raphael had retrieved it from the Bag of Holding before her departure. A courtesy, he had called it. She doubted the favor would come without cost, but that reckoning was for another day. Uncorking it with a soft click, she placed the flask reverently on the frost-hardened ground.

“Suspensum,” she intoned, her voice firm, fingers lifting in practiced poise. The flask rose, suspended by the invisible grasp of her Telekinesis. With slow, deliberate focus, she guided it outward over the roiling lake. Even through the spell, she could feel the strange tension in the slush below, the volatile mingling of glacial cold and something deeper, older, burning far beneath the surface.

She sent the vessel downward.

The flask vanished beneath the icy crust, swallowed in a single motion. For a breathless moment, the arcane tether between her and the object strained, the weight of the lake pressing back against her will.

Then it rose again - heavier now, slick with frost, the contents sloshing faintly inside. She drew it back to her, guiding it gently to rest once more at her feet. The spell faded, her hand lowered, and she allowed herself the smallest exhale of relief.

The task had taken less than a minute.

And throughout it all, Mephistopheles had not turned away.

His gaze remained fixed, bone-white and unblinking, carved from the same implacable stillness as the ice around them. There was no praise, no commentary. Only that watchful silence. As though he were measuring something. Weighing it. Calculating how best to shape it.

Soleil bent to retrieve the flask, careful not to disturb its volatile contents. Even through the thickness of her gloves, she felt the numbing bite of the cold seeping through the iron. With a soft push, she sealed the cork back into place.

“This should be more than enough for experimentation,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her mind was already racing, calculations flickering to life like sparks: coolant ratios, siphon arrays, containment fields. She momentarily forgot that she was currently at one of the lowest points of the Nine Hells, with the Lord of No Mercy at her side. 

She straightened, tucking the flask carefully back into its loop on her belt.

“Thank you again for the escort, sir,” she said, the words formal, measured. “And for allowing me to collect the sample.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Mephistopheles’ eyes, like heat rippling beneath ice.

“I have another flask for you, little evoker,” he said smoothly.

With a snap of his fingers, something shimmered into existence in his palm; a small, round vessel of obsidian glass, as delicate as perfume crystal, yet thrumming with restrained energy. He lowered his hand toward her in offering.

“A gift,” he said. “And a reminder of what I can offer you.”

Soleil hesitated, then reached up to take it. The flask was cool to the touch, but it was no ordinary chill. It was the stillness before an eruption, the lull between two hellish heartbeats. She didn’t need to look inside to know what it held.

Liquid Hellfire.

Her fingers closed around it with care.

“I hope,” Mephistopheles murmured. “You will consider it.”

She stood silently for a moment, both flasks now secured at her belt - one heavy with Cania’s frozen essence, the other with the burning lifeblood of Hell itself. Polar opposites. Bound together. Balanced… for now.

“I will, sir,” she said at last. “Thank you.”

She hoped it sounded sincere. She hoped it didn’t sound too sincere. The archduke's expression remained unreadable, carved from the same glacial stillness that surrounded his realm.

“Now,” he said, placing one heavy, searing hand upon her shoulder. “Let's get you back to the citadel. Before my son murders my staff out of sheer impatience.”

He snapped his fingers and the world folded with a thundercrack.

The pressure change made her ears pop, but the spell cushioned her from the worst of it. A heartbeat later, she stood once more within the crystalline walls of Mephistar. A teleportation circle beneath their feet glowed faintly, still thrumming with residual power.

Heat prickled at her skin almost immediately. Sweat gathered beneath the thick infernal cloak, and Soleil blinked against the sudden shift. She raised a brow, curiosity catching up with her. Surely the Lord of the Eighth could teleport freely within his own domain. Why use a circle?

“Memorize it, child,” Mephistopheles murmured, his tone low and deliberate.

With unexpected gentleness, he helped her shrug off the heavy furs, leaving her once again in the absurdly decadent, utterly impractical gown Raphael had insisted upon. The two flasks were now nestled in a small velvet-lined satchel, which he handed to her with a flick of his wrist.

“You are always welcome here.” 

The words struck her with the weight of more than hospitality. It was a benediction. A claim. A doorway; opened, not yet stepped through. She turned her attention to the teleportation circle, its structure intricate and ancient. With disciplined focus, she traced each line, each sigil, until the pattern was burned into her memory.

Then, finally, she looked up and gave the archduke a single, quiet nod of acknowledgment.

Mephistopheles’s hand, warm as a furnace and just as possessive, returned to the top of her back as he guided her through the glacial corridors of Mephistar. The silence of the glacial halls was vast and reverent, broken only by the soft echo of their steps against the ice-veined stone. As they approached a set of familiar arching doors, Soleil recognized the soaring shelves and vaulted expanse of the grand library.

“Has my son shown you the Frost Gardens?” the archduke inquired, his tone casual, too casual to be innocent. Before she could answer, her gaze caught on a familiar silhouette within the shelves: Raphael, leaning against one of the taller bookcases, a heavy tome in hand. He turned a page with leisurely grace, but the rhythmic, agitated lash of his tail betrayed his true mood.

“Not yet, sir,” Soleil replied evenly. Raphael looked up at the sound of her voice and snapped the tome shut. “Though I’ve been looking forward to it. He said words could never do it justice.”

“Then he is either modest or unimaginative,” Mephistopheles murmured. “I find myself tempted to take you there myself, though I doubt he'd sanction another unchaperoned excursion.” Raphael had already begun moving toward them, his pace brisk despite the elegant lines of his stride. His gaze moved over her, measured, clinical, and laced with something perilously close to concern. Soleil could feel the inspection like a spell unraveling: checking for bruises, for scorch marks, for anything out of place. He stopped a few paces short, posture precise, eyes sharp.

“Father. Soleil,” he said with a short nod. “Everything proceeded without issue, I presume?”

Soleil returned his gaze, keeping her expression neutral. The ache still thrummed in her fingers, a ghost of the overchanneling, sharp beneath the surface, but no marks marred her skin.

“Of course, my boy,” Mephistopheles drawled, voice silked with amusement. “Did I not promise to return her in a timely fashion?”

His hand drifted from Soleil’s back, rising with deliberate slowness. A single claw brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear with unnerving delicacy.

“And not a hair out of place.”

Raphael’s golden eyes narrowed, the shift so slight it could've been easily missed. His smile remained, a polished thing, but the edge behind it gleamed a little sharper. Soleil resisted the urge to shrink beneath the weight of their unspoken war. She was not a game piece, but in moments like this, it was difficult to feel otherwise.

With a respectful dip of her head to the archduke, she stepped away and returned to Raphael’s side. The cambion wasted no time; his arm slipped through hers with practiced ease, reclaiming her as if by right.

“It was a pleasure to become better acquainted, Soleil - Savior of Baldur’s Gate,” Mephistopheles said smoothly, folding his hands behind his back in a gesture of elegant finality. “And good fortune with your experiments.” His gaze lingered on her, heatless and bright, like the moonlight over a frozen lake. “I do hope we will meet again.”

A nod to his son followed, curt and formal, but not without weight. Then, with a sharp snap of his fingers, the Lord of the Eighth vanished in a crack of sulfur and hellfire, leaving only the fading echo of his presence and the scent of scorched air behind.

Soleil didn’t move for a beat. Her spine remained straight, her shoulders still braced, though every instinct screamed to relax now that he was gone. But she couldn’t, not with the tension still thrumming in the air.

Raphael’s voice broke the silence, low and coiled.

“I heard what you said,” he murmured, turning with her toward the towering doors of the library. His steps were unhurried, but his tail still flicked behind him in restless arcs.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go to the gardens.”

—

The susur collar coiled once more at her throat. A whisper of pressure, no more than a breath, choking her magical abilities. Yet it was nothing compared to the choking weight of the silence that stretched taut between the wizard and the cambion as they walked. 

When they crossed the threshold into the Frost Gardens, Soleil felt her breath catch, stolen not by the cold, but by sheer, impossible beauty.

No words, she realized, could have prepared her. No description could hope to match reality.

Light streamed through the frozen canopy above, refracted through leaves of carved ice so fine and intricate they seemed spun from glass. Each one caught the glow like a prism, casting fractured rainbows that shimmered across the snow-laced path at their feet. The trees stood tall and solemn, crystalline giants sculpted with a precision that defied nature. Every vein, every stem, every delicate bloom was rendered in breathtaking, glacial detail.

Clusters of flowers blossomed in frozen stillness. Roses of ice, their petals translucent, their thorns thin icicles, glittering with frost. Nothing stirred. No birds, no breeze. Silence, vast and immaculate, blanketed the grove like snowfall. Only the soft crunch of their footsteps dared disturb the silence as if even sound itself hesitated to intrude upon the frozen splendor. 

A single tear slipped down Soleil’s cheek at the beautiful sight, carving a searing path against the frozen hush of the garden. A warm fingertip caught it before it fell, brushing it gently away. He tilted her chin, coaxing her gaze upward until her eyes met his, their orange depths burning with questions. She could feel all the stress and fear bleed from her immediately upon looking into those eyes.

“Did you get what you wanted, little mouse?” Raphael asked, his voice low.

She gave a small nod, silent.

“Good,” he said, though his tone hollowed around the word. “What did he offer you?”

The question was knife-sharp, stripped of pretense. It had haunted him, she realized, the not knowing, the silence left in her absence. She could feel it in the tension of his grip, in the fire flickering behind his gaze. She almost smiled, but caught it before it could form.

“Power,” she replied, her voice steady. “Knowledge. The freedom to fully realize my potential.”

Something dark sparked in his eyes, something wild and furious. The heat of it clashed beautifully with the delicate, icy stillness that surrounded them. Before he could speak, before the jealousy or fury he’d been holding back could take shape, Soleil rose onto her toes and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was soft, silencing, and deliberate.

When she pulled back, her breath lingered between them in a plume of frost.

“Relax,” she said, a soft laugh escaping her. “Don’t get your tail in a twist. I didn’t take the offer and don't intend to.”

He stared at her for a beat, stunned. His grip tightened around her arm as if afraid she might vanish again with a snap of infernal fingers.

“Why?” he asked at last, quiet but raw.

She tilted her head slightly, her breath rising in frost. 

“Did you forget?” she replied, tone soft but laced with steel. “I don’t want borrowed power. Not divine. Not infernal. If it doesn’t come from me - from my hands, my mind, my work - it’s worthless.”

Then, with effortless boldness, she leaned in and pressed another light kiss to his lips, no more than a peck.

“Besides,” she murmured against his mouth, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Your father doesn’t want me, Raphael. He wants a reaction. He wants to snatch your shiny new toy and parade it before you, just to watch you seethe.” She gave a sharp scoff. “And once the thrill wears off? I’d be forgotten. Or discarded. I’ve no interest in becoming a trophy passed between egos too old and too arrogant to remember why they started playing.”

Raphael stared, shaken - not by her rejection of Mephistopheles, but by the clarity with which she saw through it all. The insight, the defiance. Awe flickered in his gaze like candlelight caught in crystal.

“You refused an archdevil,” he said softly as if still trying to believe it. “You refused the Lord of No Mercy.”

She gave a half-shrug, lifting her chin with mock carelessness.

“‘Refused’ might be a bit strong,” she admitted a bit sheepishly. “I said I’d think about it.”

His eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if restraining a smile.

“Still,” he said, voice draped in velvet and edged in steel. “You withheld something he wanted. That’s a dangerous game. Not many mortals have done that and walked away intact.”

She smirked, a glimmer of mischief sparking behind her eyes. 

“Well, he was actually quite the gentleman,” she said, tone turning languid. “He even kissed my hand.”

The effect was instant.

The cambion’s expression darkened, his nose scrunched in a silent snarl, and his wings flared wide with sudden, predatory grace. With a low growl vibrating through his chest, he surged forward and pinned her against the frozen trunk of an ice-carved tree. She gasped as her bare back met the cruel cold of the bark, only to be devoured in the next breath by his kiss, searing, consuming, and laced with fury-tinged possessiveness. 

The contrast was intoxicating, ice at her spine, fire at her lips.

“I will tear the lips from his face,” Raphael snarled against her throat, the words searing against her skin like a brand. “Leave him grinning like a cranium, nothing but teeth and silence.”

He pressed the hard line of his body against hers and Soleil let out a breathless laugh, the sound catching in the cold air, irreverent, teasing, and genuine. His mouth claimed hers once more in a hungry kiss that burned like a brand. This devil. This maddening, volatile, gloriously vain devil. He was far too entertaining not to provoke. She was still pent up after his teasing at the dinner, and that arousal flared anew as his hands grew bolder, roaming with unmistakable intent. She could already see the path this moment would take if she didn’t interject soon.

“Stop, stop,” she laughed, breath hitching as his hand slid from her waist to her thigh, lifting it over his hip with an effortless grace and exposing her wet cunt to the cold air. “Fuck, Raphael! We’re in public!”

He didn’t retreat, not entirely. He leaned back just enough to meet her gaze, and the fire there had only deepened, no longer wrathful, but something far more dangerous.

“Your seventy-two hours begin now, my dear,” he said, voice like a promise etched in smoke and sin. His smile followed a beat later: slow, decadent, and entirely unholy. It promised pleasure and punishment in equal measure, and the way it curled at the edges made her stomach twist in a slow, anticipatory swoop. She had thought she might have time before he began collecting on the terms of their bargain, but it seemed the devil was just as desperate for stress relief as the wizard was.

“And for the duration,” he added, his thumb grazing the edge of her jaw. “I expect to be addressed by a single title. Nothing but master. Is that understood?”

The word struck like a whip, and Soleil tensed immediately, refusal springing to the tip of her tongue, hot and instinctive. She opened her mouth to protest, to spit the word back at him like a curse.

But nothing came out.

She had agreed.

She had promised.

She would not say no.

She could feel the weight of their deal thrumming in her bones, woven into the very threads of her will. She had surrendered the right to refusal. And now, it held her fast.

The realization struck hard and Raphael saw it. The tiefling could see it in the glint of his eyes, golden and unrelenting, bright with satisfaction. He was relishing the moment, watching her pride crack, inch by inch.

“I’m waiting,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “I want to hear you, pet. Is. That. Understood?”

She ground her teeth, fury, and humiliation warring behind her eyes. Remaining silent was no refuge, it only deepened the weight pressing down on her soul, the pressure of the infernal bond tightening like a vice. Even that, she realized, was a kind of defiance. And defiance was forbidden now.

She clenched her jaw, the shame of the concession stinging sharper than cold.

“…Yes, master,” she said at last, the words scraping from her lips like iron dragged over stone. Raphael’s smile deepened, slow and satisfied, as though a symphony had just begun and she had spoken its first perfect note. 

His hand reached down to undo his belt and push the shimmering fabric of her dress aside. Even with the humiliation burning through her, she was still dripping for him.

“Master,” Soleil gasped as Raphael ground his hard length against her, teasing himself with her wet folds. “Anyone could come by and see us!” 

That wasn’t defiance. Not even refusal. Just a fact - pleadingly, breathlessly delivered. That was her justification, at least. If she clung to that logic, maybe it wouldn’t count as disobedience. Maybe the bond wouldn’t tighten like a noose around her will.

But the devil didn’t relent. If anything, the risk only seemed to excite him. She could feel him throb against her.

“Let them,” he growled and thrust into her, slowly. Her back arched off of the frozen tree, a high keen escaping her. “One day, I’ll claim you on the frozen throne with the whole court watching. Let every soul in Mephistar see exactly who you belong to.”

That image, combined with him hilting himself completely within her struck like lightning, opulent and utterly obscene. Her body tensed, and refusal leaped to the tip of her tongue, hot and instinctive, only to die there, again. The deal stopped her cold, coiling through her like a spell made of silence and iron. She choked on the word no, unable to force it past her lips. All she could manage was a soft, helpless whimper. She wasn’t even sure anymore whether it was shame or something else entirely that set her blood ablaze. The line between fury and want blurred further with every breath, every whispered command, every impossibly bold claim. 

He fucked her, slowly, thrusting in and out of her in a languid and lazy pace. As if he wanted to drag it out, to heighten their possibility of getting caught in the act. Soleil clung to him, arms wrapped tight around his neck, anchoring herself in his heat. Her naked back had gone numb against the ice-carved tree and his hands burned, tracing fire across her spine as though marking her as his, one searing stroke at a time. It was a different flame than Mephistopheles had left, less cruel, but no less consuming.

Raphael’s heat was personal.

It wasn’t domination for spectacle or fear. It was possessive, yes, but intimate. Intentional. Meant to claim her for exactly what she was. Not what she could be. Not what claiming her could mean for others. 

And it terrified Soleil. What he saw within her, clear as ice. What he wanted. What she couldn't face herself. Her lip caught between her teeth, desperately trying to silence any sound that threatened to escape. The sharp bite of pain was the only thing that kept her tethered. She tasted blood, sharp and metallic, as her mouth warred between two instincts: to cry no or to beg for more.

Suddenly there was pressure against her swollen clit, sending blinding pleasure through her and a startled moan escaped her, entirely too loud. Raphael laughed in her ear, the sound ricocheting within her head and dulling all thought.

“My, my,” he purred while his hand continued the motion, drawing more staccato moans from her. “You sound like you want to be heard, my dear.”

Soleil buried her head against his shoulder and moaned into her arm, legs tight on his waist. She was shaking so hard that she would fall if he set her down. Raphael's face was pressed to her neck, panting breath hot against her skin. The pace of his thrusts was finally growing faster, punching up into her over and over. His fingers were working her clit firmly, the friction absolutely delectable,  and she felt her walls spasm around his cock.

“Oh, I can feel it, my dear,” Raphael breathed, lips moving against her throat. “Let me hear you come for me.”

And per the terms of their deal, Soleil couldn't refuse. Her body locked up, walls clamping down on the devil's cock. Her mouth dropped open as she came, the noise drawn from her raw and utterly obscene in the quiet space of the frozen garden. 

“Beautiful, darling,” Raphael praised, velvety voice soothing, but his finger didn't stop playing with her clit. She cried out as her orgasm continued to thunder through her body, causing her to tremble. “Are you still coming?” 

Soleil managed to whine some sort of answer. Both Raphael and the pact seemed satisfied enough, not taking her current inability to form words as refusal. The aftershocks were nearly as intense as the orgasm itself, and she could feel herself reach the edge of her sanity.

“Master please!” she pleaded. The cambion groaned, a deep satisfied sound, and his fingers stopped their cruel ministrations, his hand instead grabbing her thigh. His thrusts were stuttering, and he pressed into her completely, pinning her firmly to the frozen tree before he unloaded into her with a low moan. The feeling of heat filling her as he pulsed within her made Soleil shiver. 

The tiefling's body was cooling down rapidly and she slumped, boneless and spent, leaning against Raphael’s solid warmth rather than the unforgiving chill of the ice-carved tree. Still, tremors coursed through her in helpless waves, and a soft, involuntary whine escaped her throat as he withdrew from her, softening cock sliding out and leaving her empty. She could feel his come leak out and drip down her thigh, and it made her walls clench.

“We can resume our excursion now, my dear,” Raphael murmured, voice husky with satisfaction and laced with mischief. His breath grazed the shell of her ear. “There’s still so much of Mephistar I haven’t shown you. You did want to see the rest of the library, didn’t you?”

He kissed the edge of her jaw, slow and maddening.

“It’ll be more… challenging to remain undetected there, of course. Especially with how loud you are.”

Soleil’s pulse jumped, a fresh flush of heat blooming beneath her skin despite the cold. The unspoken promise beneath his words was unmistakable, the implications maddening.

“Would you like that?” he asked, voice dipped in velvet and sin.

The wizard whined unhappily, the infernal bond tightening like another collar around her throat. The answer she wanted to give lay just behind her teeth, but the deal wouldn’t allow it. It held her still. Silenced.

“Master…” she managed, her voice barely more than a breath as she lifted her head to meet his eyes, desperate for him to understand what her lips could not say. Her gaze searched his - raw, pleading, vulnerable in a way that made her burn with shame.

Raphael smirked, utterly delighted by the conflict written across her face. His hand lifted to her face, his thumb sweeping over the furrow in her brow with a touch light enough to make her shiver as if smoothing creases from fine parchment.

“Forgive me, my dear Soleil,” he said, voice pure velvet now, soft and cruel in equal measure. “Would you like to continue exploring the citadel… or shall we return home?”

She didn’t hestate.

“I would like to go home, master,” she whispered, the words tumbling from her mouth, hoarse with relief. “Back to the House of Hope.”

Raphael’s smile softened. His gaze lingered on her, golden and unreadable, yet warm enough to melt through even the last remnants of frost clinging to her skin. He leaned in and kissed her - not to possess, not to tease - but gently, reverently. A promise made without cruelty. A moment of grace, rare and startling. The hunger was still there, of course. Coiled just beneath the surface like fire banked beneath ash. But for now, he held it at bay. For her.

Soleil relaxed against him, undone. She didn’t know whether to tremble from the cold or from the things she felt in that kiss. Things she still couldn’t name, things that frightened her more than a drop into the deepest Pit or the wrath of an archduke.

Three days, completely at his mercy.

Soleil already feared they would stretch into eternity.

Raphael drew back, one arm wrapped securely around her waist, the other raised with elegant ease. With a single snap of his fingers, the air split open in a crack of sulfur and fire. The frost-laced beauty of the garden shattered around them, devoured by hellfire and shadow.

And then, in a breath, they were gone, leaving only a melted impression on the icy bark of a frozen tree.

Chapter Text

It was night in Avernus.

You wouldn’t know it from the eternally burning sky, the same infernal red no matter the hour, but Raphael had lived in the first layer of Hell long enough to sense its rhythms, to know when its blood-soaked horizon meant nightfall rather than the scorching weight of day.

Sleep, of course, was no necessity for a devil. Not like it was for the delicate mortal curled beside him. For Raphael, rest was never about need. It was indulgence, pure and simple. And tonight, indulgence took the form of watching her.

She was peaceful at last, his defiant little mage. The constant furrow between her brows - formed by worry, calculation, or whatever charming neurosis currently preoccupied her - had finally vanished. Her face was soft, unburdened, lips parted ever so slightly in gentle, even breaths. He reached out, absentmindedly, and caressed her cheek. As the wizard so often did, she had both blessed and cursed him. She’d granted him seventy-two precious hours, three days to do almost anything his dark little heart desired. 

And oh, how he was counting. Every. Single. Second. 

So many possibilities, that was the blessing. The fact that it was three days, the curse. Only three. It was maddening. Maddening in a way that delighted him to his core.

He could wring every hour dry. Rouse her and squeeze from each moment the ecstasy of power, of sensation. But mortals did not do well when deprived of rest. Deprive them too long and they shattered. He knew this. Had orchestrated it countless times, peeling back sanity like silk, cracked open minds like ripe fruit. But not her. Not this one. He couldn't afford to shatter what he'd so carefully begun to build. Not if he truly wanted to keep her.

He was certain he could rebuild the trust, even if he broke it. He was, after all, a patient devil. But there was something dangerous in underestimating this little mouse’s capacity for vengeance. She'd surprised him more than once. No, better to tether his desires, for now.

Nothing permanently damaging had been one of her terms. That framework had made ideas roar to life within him like hellfire. Because permanence… was negotiable. So many exquisite pleasures faded in time. Wounds healed. Scars softened. Minds recovered, eventually. She had given him not limitations, but inspiration.

An intrusive thought slithered forth, unbidden and fascinating: if he were the human he so often masqueraded as, he could leave her with something… enduring. Something mortal, binding, undeniable.

A child.

His child. A vessel of shared blood and consequence.

A pregnancy, after all, wasn’t “permanent.” Nine months. Temporary. Yet so wonderfully, inextricably, binding.

His mouth curved in a slow, bitter smile. Tempting. So tempting. But no. Not feasible. Mortals carrying a cambion never survived the birth. The cost was absolute.

And he was not ready to lose her. Not yet. Not without branding her soul first, claiming her, entirely, eternally. But then, that had been another of her stipulations, hadn’t it? No soul-bargaining. No infernal contracts. No damnation in fine print.

He exhaled slowly, a sound halfway between laughter and a sigh. For all her defiance, or perhaps because of it, he could not help but admire her. Applaud her. She stood where others fled. Bargained where others begged. And she’d done what few mortals had ever dared. She'd made a devil play by her rules.

Beside him, the tiefling stirred. A soft furrow of her brow, the barest whimper, and she nestled closer, seeking the warmth of his embrace. Her tail twined around his, an unconscious gesture of affection, of possession.

Awake, she was sharp-edged and stubborn. But asleep, her body spoke truths her pride would never allow. Even if she denied it, her actions spoke loud and clear. She had defended his House. She had defended him, killed for him. She'd pointed out loopholes in his contracts.

And she had refused his father's offer. His father. Turned down the great Mephistopheles himself. Refused the promises, the temptations, the illusion of freedom. She had seen through them, and still, still, she had chosen to return to Raphael’s side. That fact made something satisfied and possessive curl within his chest.

No, she did not bear his brand. Not yet.

And no, she would not admit what she already knew.

But she was his.

And she was stirring again, a soft noise escaping her. Raphael had heard her whimper in her sleep before. He knew the sweet sound of terror, the broken little cries that slipped through clenched teeth when her dreams turned cruel. He never asked what haunted her. He didn’t need to. He could guess well enough. But this… this was different. These were not the sounds of a nightmare. They were gentler. Softer. Sighs, not sobs. Moans shaped by pleasure, not pain.

Intrigued, Raphael let his hand drift downward. Leisurely. Artfully. Claws dragging in a featherlight path along the elegant curve of her spine. Not deep enough to mark, yet, but enough to stir.

She shivered.

And then, barely above a breath, it came.

“Master…” The word slipped from her lips like a secret. Half-sighed, half-spoken.

For a fleeting second, Raphael considered apologizing for rousing her, but then he looked down. Her eyes were still shut, lashes resting against flushed cheeks. Lips parted, breath steady. Asleep.

Still dreaming.

A slow, wicked smile unfurled across his face. Suddenly, the infernal night promised far more entertainment than he had anticipated. His hand slid lower. With a subtle shift, he guided her leg over his hip, drawing her closer. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sleeping face, languid, self-indulgent, savoring the feel of her skin against his lips. His fingers found her clit, circling it gently, teasingly. A small hitch in her breath rewarded him.

And then, the spell broke.

“Master Halsin…”

She sighed the name with tender reverence, and Raphael froze. The word Halsin echoed through his mind like a discordant note in a perfect symphony. That druid. That oversized sylvan simpleton, all moss and muscle and maddening idealism. The one who had abandoned her and vanished into the woods like a particularly self-important shrub. Korrilla’s reports had been thorough. Halsin had barely stepped outside that little commune he’d built in the formerly cursed forest since he'd last seen the wizard, too busy playing patriarch to a handful of feral orphans.

And yet, she dreamed of him?

She sighed his name, with that voice?

Even now?

Raphael’s jaw tightened. His hand, still resting on her thigh, flexed slightly, claws grazing flesh, though not enough to break skin. He exhaled slowly, deliberately, tempering his rage. It would be so easy to tear the dream from her. To invade her slumber and replace it with something else, himself, burning and bright, inevitable. Right now, she would not resist. She couldn’t.

But no. Not yet. She needed her rest.

And there were better punishments than fury. More refined methods of correction.

Because she would forget Halsin. In time, the druid’s name would curdle on her tongue, would rot in the corner of her memory, replaced by something far greater. Something eternal.

She would only dream of Raphael.

She would moan his name in the dark.

She would beg, unbidden, for his touch, his voice, his claim.

And she would know, in every breath, every shiver, every desperate sound, who owned her.

Not because he stole her mind. But because she offered it, freely. Because she wanted to.

One day.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he kissed her once more, slowly, deliberately, then lay back in the cool silken sheets, eyes open, smile gone.

Waiting.

Plotting.

Counting down the seconds.

—

Soleil was caught in an old dream. One that had returned to her time and time again, unchanging in its sweetness and ache. It always began at the celebration. Music, firelight, and the laughter of victory echoing through the Emerald Grove. The tiefling refugees had been saved. The druids united. And for one fleeting night, the world had seemed full of hope. Halsin had stood at the edge of it all, a pillar of calm amid the revelry. Proud. Grateful. Calm as deep water and radiant in his stillness. 

In reality, he had thanked her with all the warmth and gravity she had come to expect from him. She had been tipsy with triumph, bold with wine and adrenaline and she had made a move on him - hopeful, a little foolish - but he had gently turned her away. Not unkindly. Never unkindly. 

Later, when the curse no longer pressed against his mind like a weight of iron and rot, he had confessed what she had not dared hope to hear.

That he had wanted her.

That some restrained, tethered part of him had burned to pull her into the woods that very night and show her just how deeply his gratitude reached.

And in her dream… he did.

The stars gleamed like scattered diamonds above the canopy, their light filtering through the leaves in a silver lattice. The night air was warm, perfumed with pine and damp earth. Her back was pressed against the rough bark of an ancient oak, grounding her, holding her steady. Halsin's hands were on her waist, broad and calloused, reverent. His mouth found hers without hesitation, no restraint, no regret. The kiss was deep and certain, edged with the wildness of the woods he called home. She melted beneath it, her fingers tangling in his hair, her breath catching as he pressed closer, his massive thigh slotting between her legs and making her squirm.

“Master Halsin,” she gasped as the kiss broke, her voice bright with laughter and wine and want. The archdruid groaned softly, the sound threaded with both desire and apprehension.

“There’s no need for such titles here, little one,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “No hierarchy beneath the Oakfather’s branches and boughs. I am not above you.”

His lips moved again following the line of her jaw, each kiss a benediction. “If anything,” he added, voice low and rough. “I should be the one calling you by titles. My hero. My savior.”

Soleil giggled, breathless and emboldened, warmth blooming in her chest like wildfire.

“And what if I like it?” she teased, fingers curling in his hair as she tilted her head to offer more skin. “You being above me.”

It wasn’t just playful flirtation. That longing had always lived within her. A deep, private craving for someone who could hold her with both tenderness and command. Maybe it came from her upbringing. Maybe she just found it hot, pure and simple.

Halsin stilled for half a heartbeat, then exhaled a sound that was almost a growl, low and rough in his throat.

“Oh,” he murmured, lips ghosting along her throat. “Then I suppose I’ll have to oblige you.”

His fingers found the edge of her robe and tugged it open, a button popping free with a soft snap.

“You’re overdressed, little one,” the druid breathed against her neck command and urgency edging his tone. “Handle that, before I lose the last of my patience and tear your clothes apart.”

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with belts and buttons, clumsy in her eagerness. Still too slow. With a growl, Halsin took over, firm, efficient. When she paused to loosen the strings of her trousers, he yanked them down in one smooth, hungry motion. He spun her around, pressing her against the tree, bending her forward with a low sound of approval. Her claws scraped at the bark as her back arched, her breath shallow, skin flushed. He pressed against her again, naked now, and she could feel his hard and heavy length grinding against her ass. She whined as he slid his fingers through her soaked folds.

“So wet for me,” he groaned into her ear. “So perfect for me.”

“Please, Master Ha~ah!” Her begging was cut off by a moan, as Halsin started circling her clit, two of his massive fingers sliding into her and stretching her. She continued to moan and pant as the archdruid teased her, the sounds growing louder as he wound her up, right to the precipice. Her lower stomach fluttered in pleasure and her legs shook with the effort it took to keep herself upright.

“You make such beautiful noises, little mouse.”

The pet name struck Soleil like a Shatter spell. In the blink of an eye, the forest changed around them, trees turning to glacial ice, her claws scratching fissures into the frozen bark. The hand gripping her hip tightened, claws now pressing into her skin with unmistakable ownership. Sun-kissed skin turned crimson and hot, like embers beneath the surface.

“Tell me, my dear,” Raphael purred, smooth as sin and twice as tempting. “How much you want me.”

Even through the dissonance, through the slipping dream and its sharp-edged shift, her arousal didn’t fade. It grew.

His fingers had stopped, his hand resting on her stomach while he waited for her to speak, and she could feel a deep ache as her release danced further away. 

“Please take me,” Soleil gasped, voice hoarse, ragged, words spilling out like blood from an open wound. “Use me, please Master, I need you!”

The devil behind her gave a pleased hum, low and indulgent. His touch resumed, drifting downward with maddening slowness, decadent and decisive.

“Then show me.”

And the dream shattered.

—

Soleil woke with a start, heart racing, breath caught, shallow and uneven, trembling on the edge of a moan.

The boudoir was dim. Velvet curtains, drawn tightly, kept most of Avernus’ blood-red light at bay. Candlelight flickered low, painting the room in gold and shadow. She was wrapped in silken sheets and Raphael's embrace as usual. His arm was draped around her waist, heavy and secure, his bare chest warm against her back, his chin resting at the top of her head and his thigh slotted between hers. He breathed slowly, evenly, the steady rhythm of someone deep in sleep. She lay still, flushed and aching. 

She opened her mouth, name on the tip of her tongue before the deal stopped her. The tiefling swallowed hard against the feeling.

“Are you awake?” she whispered instead. No answer. He didn’t stir. No flick of a wing or twitch of a tail. Just silence. 

The echo of the dream still pulsed through her. His voice, his touch, the way she’d begged. Her thighs squeezed involuntarily around the leg pressed between them, her body humming with leftover need, a slow burn that refused to ebb. She had woken like this before. Many times. When Halsin was with her, she'd crawl into his lap, and pull the elf from his meditations with a touch, a whisper, a kiss. When she was alone she would swiftly take care of the ache herself and go back to sleep. The wizard bit her lip as she mulled over what to do. Sleep was impossible with the burn of arousal still licking at her nerves, coiling low and insistent.

“Master?” she breathed, this time more audibly, the word slipping from her lips before she could stop it. Shame stirred beneath it, but not enough to smother the lingering hunger. Still nothing but even, calm breaths from the devil behind her. 

Almost unconsciously, she found her hand drifting lower to where she was throbbing, her breath hitching as her fingers began circling her clit gently. Her teeth sunk deeper into her lip to stifle the sighs and moans that wanted to escape, her hips grinding her throbbing sopping pussy against Raphael's thigh in small involuntary movements. Her breath was growing heavy, her stomach quivering as her fingers picked up speed.

“Fuck, come on!” she whined softly, her muscles tensing in both pleasure and frustration. She was aching to be filled, feeling so empty, her body unsatisfied with the touch of her own hand.

Suddenly the arm around her waist flexed. 

“How’s a man supposed to sleep,” Raphael murmured, voice low and velvet-rich, husky with amusement and something darker, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “With all the noise you’re making?”

The sound sent a delicious shiver rippling through her, and a soft, involuntary whine slipped from her throat. Her fingers, however, did not stop their movements.

“You’re not ah~a man,” she managed, stubborn despite the breathiness betraying her. It should’ve sounded sharp. It didn’t.

“ Mmm . True,” the cambion chuckled, the sound low and decadent, his chest rumbling against her back. He flexed his thigh and she whined, a gush of wetness escaping her. Judging by how she could feel Raphael twitch behind her, it hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the tiefling flushed deeply.

“Oh my,” the fiend hummed, his dulcet tone dripping with amusement. “Whatever were you dreaming to get you worked into such a state, my dear?”

Soleil bit her lip harder, heat burning in her cheeks. There was no way in any of the nine Hells she'd confess to dreaming about him.

“Hm?” he purred, coaxing. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

His hand slid lower in a slow, teasing sweep and her breath hitched sharply. She barely managed to swallow the whimper trying to escape.

“You seemed perfectly capable of making noise just a moment ago,” he murmured, voice thick with mockery and anticipation. Then, with the elegance of a predator toying with its prey, he shifted his leg, pulling it away from where she’d been grinding against it without thought, without permission. The sudden absence, that denial, tore a helpless whine from her lips. He chuckled at her reaction.

“Either tell me what you were dreaming of,” Raphael said, voice turning silken steel. “Or stop touching yourself.”

The deal between them flared, hot and undeniable, forcing her hand, not physically, but with the unmistakable compulsion of infernal law. Two options. No mercy. No middle ground.

Her hand stilled.

Fingers twitching, she pulled them away and fisted the sheets instead, clutching the cool silk like a lifeline. Her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts, her body alive with thwarted need. But she did not speak. She would not.

“And just like that, my boudoir falls as silent as a tomb. Such a waste. Your sweet little sounds were quite the symphony,” Raphael paused, the faintest hint of a smile in his tone. “I fear I lack your discipline, my dear.”

His lips found the hollow of her neck, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss that sent a shiver through her, before biting and bruising the skin. She could feel him grind his hard cock against her backside, before re-adjusting and sliding it between her slick thighs. He began thrusting his hips in a slow rhythm, his cock occasionally bumping against where the tiefling was aching, but never entering her. Soleil couldn't help but whine and whimper as the devil used her for his own pleasure, but she bit her lips against the begging that threatened to slip free of her pride. 

With a low groan in her ear, Raphael gripped her tighter against himself, his cock throbbing before painting her thighs with his release. Soleil whined, some part of her deeply disappointed that he hadn't painted her insides, but she still held her tongue while the fiend caught his breath. The sound of a snap met her ears, and she startled as a warm washcloth swept over and between her thighs, cleaning up the mess. A shaky moan escaped her as it swept over her aching pussy, the somewhat innocent act of cleaning her enough stimulant to get the tiefling panting. But Raphael didn't acknowledge her reactions while he worked. 

“I think that will be the theme of today,” he mused, his tone almost casual, but with an edge that made her stomach twist. He rose from the bed, leaving her behind in a tangle of breath and frustration, her body still strung tight with denied need. She sat up slowly, warily, just in time to see him turning from the wardrobe with a flicker of something wicked in his eyes. He was clothed in his usual getup - a finely embroidered doublet - and draped across one of his arms was… an outfit, allegedly. Though to Soleil, it looked more like a dare than clothing. He laid it out on the bed with care, and she stared. They must've belonged to Haarlep. Soleil couldn't imagine anyone but an incubus wearing those skimpy leather straps. 

“Put this on,” Raphael said, his voice carrying the weight of command.

Immediately, her body moved to obey, the terms of their pact flaring to life within her like a pulled string. Resistance wasn’t pain, it was simply not an option. With no small amount of irritation, she picked up the pieces and tried to make sense of them. Somehow, impossibly, she figured out which strap wound where. By the time she was dressed, what little dignity she had left clung to her like mist. The ensemble left most of her skin bare and every inch of her exposed. It didn’t conceal; it suggested, taunted, invited. Her crotch wasn't even completely covered, a slit in the middle providing what she imagined to be easy access. She stood stiffly, cheeks burning, jaw set. Somewhere deep in her pride, she almost would’ve preferred if he’d simply ordered her to walk through the halls naked. Raphael regarded her with a slow, sardonic smile, the kind that curled at the corners of his mouth like smoke rising from a match just struck.

“Lovely,” he purred, the word sliding from his tongue with far too much satisfaction. The tone alone made Soleil flush hotter, though whether from shame, fury, or desire, even she couldn’t say.

“Just one more thing,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Hold still.”

The bond flared at once, rooting her in place before she could even think to resist. Her body obeyed with unnatural stillness, caught in the quiet pressure of compulsion.

Raphael stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like a tailor preparing a final adjustment. He circled her with predator’s grace, then fastened a belt of dark leather low around her hips.

He took a knee in front of her, and the tiefling felt her breath catch momentarily. Without a word, he wrapped two more straps around her upper thighs, adjusting them with exacting care until they sat snugly right under her buttocks. Some kind of metal plate rested firmly against her clit, secured by the straps, and the wizard could feel some kind of arcane energy emanating from it. 

When he finished, Raphael didn’t rise. Instead, he let his hands rest lightly against the backs of her thighs and looked up at her, expression unreadable but eyes gleaming with that familiar mix of mischief, pride, and possession. Soleil stared down at him, seething, flushed, and bound in more ways than one. But she refused to look away.

“Today you're not allowed to climax without my permission, and you’re not allowed to remove or tamper with this belt,” Raphael stated, voice sharp. “Is that clear, little mouse?”

Soleil nodded stiffly as she felt the command sear its way into her soul. The fiend clicked his tongue, his brow lifting in a single elegant arch of disapproval, and his grip on her thighs tightened, claws dimpling skin, not cruel, but deliberate.

“I expect to be answered verbally,” he said, the silk in his voice sharpening into steel. “And with a title. Try again, pet.”

Soleil’s jaw clenched, but the pact responded before her pride could muster resistance, dragging the words from her throat with slow, bitter heat.

“Yes, Master.”

The devil smiled, all satisfaction and sin.

“Good girl,” he murmured and leaned in to press a slow kiss to the space just beneath her navel. Then, without another word, he stood, smoothed the front of his doublet, and turned away.

“If you need anything,” he said over his shoulder, already striding toward the door. “I’ll be in my office.” 

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Soleil thoroughly confused, standing in the middle of the boudoir, clad in nothing but straps and silence, the arcane belt humming faintly against her skin.

And then the humming turned into a buzz.

Soleil gasped as her nerves responded to the sudden stimuli. Her legs started to shake, and she managed to steer her fall towards the bed as they gave out. The buzzing only gained intensity, and she moaned and twisted in the silk sheets, toes curling and her back arching off the mattress as pleasure tore through her, hot and immediate. 

A wild, panicked thought seized Soleil’s mind then: she hadn’t been given permission.

Raphael hadn’t told her she could come, but she wasn't able to fight the belt. Heat gathered and built in her lower stomach like embers given air, the vibrating belt rapidly winding her up to the brink of orgasm.

And there she remained. 

Her body, traitorous and bound, obeyed the infernal command without question. The ache that had been building - hot, insistent, unbearable - was now suspended in cruel stasis. No relief. No release. Just the smoldering weight of denial, clinging to her nerves like flame to oil. She gasped, then choked on the sound as it twisted into a cry, raw and furious when she realized what was happening. Frustration and helplessness surged through her like wildfire, and she crumpled forward slightly, fists tightening in the sheets, trembling under the weight of restraint. The deal burned through her, not like a flame, but like iron branding her from the inside, marking every nerve with the reminder: Raphael’s word was law now.

The buzzing of the belt abated slightly, leaving her flushed and throbbing with unresolved want, but utterly unable to act on it. It wasn’t a reprieve. Not really. Just a pause before the next move. But she clung to it, if only to gather what scraps of clarity she could. 

Soleil could see the shape of it take form. The lanceboard. The game. And herself, squarely in the center. Raphael held the key to her release, and she knew exactly how he meant to use it. He wouldn’t coax her into submission.

He’d wait.

If you need anything, I’ll be in my office.

His parting words rang in her ears with unbearable poise, gilded and maddeningly gentle. And in response - unbidden, unwanted - her own voice echoed up from the recesses of that too-real dream: Use me, please Master, I need you! 

She groaned, pressing her forehead hard into the mattress as if she could smother the memory into silence.

“You fucking-!” the word caught like a hook in her throat, the pact flaring hot and immediate, forbidding the insult before it could be formed. The silence that followed stung more than her failed defiance.

Soleil growled again, the sound guttural and furious, vibrating low in her chest.

Even alone. Even now.

She couldn’t curse him. She couldn’t call him anything but what he’d commanded.

Master.

And he wasn’t even here.

The belt started to buzz again, the vibrations steadily gaining power, and with their increase, bringing Soleil to another unsatisfying peak. She hissed through clenched teeth, body curling involuntarily as a sharp cramp seized her. Her legs jerked against the sweat-dampened sheets, twisting them into tangled ruin beneath her. Every movement felt raw, wired with tension, her skin hypersensitive, every nerve on edge. The ache pulsed in rhythmic waves, merciless, maddening, and familiar.

Too familiar.

It felt like the beginning again. Like that first week trapped in the House of Hope. No privacy. No control. No release. Just the endless erosion of pride. She had fought then, clenched her jaw, and endured, clung to defiance like armor. This was the same, only faster, and more focused. No leisurely unraveling stretched across days. Raphael had compressed the torment into hours, and the burn of it was already carving itself into her bones.

A spike of dread pierced the haze of her frustration.

What if this wasn’t just today?

Raphael had said it would be the theme of the day, with that maddening, offhanded cruelty of his. But nothing in their bargain barred him from extending the torment. Nothing stopped him from keeping her on this knife’s edge for the remainder of their time limit. Every heartbeat dragging with it another moment of enforced need, of sharpened helplessness, of want.

But even with that sharp thread of dread coiled in her gut, Soleil’s pride refused to yield. Stubbornness, ever her armor, flared against the ache, the humiliation, the blazing restraint. She didn’t know how long she endured it; minutes, hours, an eternity wrapped in silk and frustration. Time quickly lost all definition, twisted by the arcane pressure that pulsed through her like a second heartbeat. In the end, it wouldn't matter, she wouldn't be rewarded for suffering. 

She knew what she would be rewarded for. 

A haze settled over her thoughts, thick and pulsing with denied need, and she found herself staggering from the boudoir on unsteady legs. Each step was a battle: she stumbled, paused, and clenched her teeth against the roar in her veins. A few feet at a time, locking her body from collapsing, her thigh muscles quivering so violently that she had to lean against walls, pillars, any surface that might prevent her from crumpling to the floor in a breathless, desperate heap.

The House of Hope, with all its watchful eyes - servants, debtors, echoes of damned souls - bore silent witness to her slow unraveling. She barely registered them. There was no room left for embarrassment. Only heat. Only ache.

Only him.

After what felt like an eternity carved into minutes, Soleil finally reached the doors to his office. Her hands, slick with sweat, pushed them open and her legs buckled beneath her the moment they cleared the threshold. She fell to her knees, raw and gasping, her body a trembling testament to her desperation. Raphael didn’t startle. He didn’t rise. He merely looked up from behind his obsidian desk, as composed as ever. Human in form, refined in presentation, a picture of elegant indifference with a quill balanced neatly between his fingers.

“Well,” he drawled, as though commenting on the weather. “To what do I owe the pleasure, little mouse? Did you need something?”

His tone was light, but beneath it lurked satisfaction, measured, deliberate, and cruelly calm.

Soleil made a sound - part moan, part sob - as another thwarted climax dragged through her like hellfire. Her body heaved with the effort of restraint, and when she finally found her voice, it was cracked and hoarse.

“Please,” she whispered, eyes burning, throat raw. “Master.”

Raphael tilted his head slightly as if listening for a sound he wasn’t quite sure he’d heard.

“I can’t hear you from all the way over there, my dear,” he said, his voice laced with a cruel amusement. “Come closer.”

The deal burned through her, compelling her to do as she was told and she tried to stand, but her legs shook too much, giving out and sending her knees to the carpet again. When she looked to Raphael, the cambion merely watched her, one elegant brow arched expectantly, amusement coloring his features. The command was tugging at her like a leash, and she bared her teeth against the feeling, a frustrated growl vibrating in her throat. Soleil’s pride might’ve cracked enough to make her beg for the devil, but not enough to make her crawl for him. 

It felt like shouldering a mountain, but the tiefling got her feet under herself and rose, clinging heavily to her defiance and the door frame for support. She took a step forward. Then another. On and on, gritting her teeth and locking her knees when the belt started to vibrate again. Her posture was not straight and her head wasn't held high, but she was on her feet, walking.

Raphael watched her desperate, unsteady approach, a reluctant flicker of pride smoldering in his dark eyes. He was lounging in his chair like a monarch at court, and he had freed his hardening cock from his pants, his hand working over it with languid, unhurried strokes. Envy mingled with the desire burning within Soleil's core at the sight. When she reached him, she stumbled the last few paces, catching herself on the high back of the seat. One hand on either side of his head, she leaned over him, her breath coming in hard, shallow pants.

“Please,” she begged again, her breath stirring the fine strands of his hair, voice thick with surrender. “Master… Please, just make it stop.”

A smile unfurled slowly across Raphael’s lips, dark and deliberate. 

“No,” he answered simply. “You're not quite there yet.” 

The words struck like a lash. She opened her mouth to speak - to demand, to beg for clarity, for mercy, for anything - but the belt answered first.

It pulsed.

Cruel. Sharp. Unrelenting.

A strangled moan tore from her throat as the wave surged through her again, blinding, hollow, unsatisfying. Her body shook with it, knees giving way beneath her, and this time she didn’t even try to stop the fall.

Raphael caught her.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he crooned, mock sympathy coiled around every syllable like velvet drawn over thorns. His arm snaked around her waist with unsettling grace, guiding her forward, down until she sank onto his lap, his cock immediately sinking into her wet, trembling hole with almost no resistance, and she let out a sob that was half relief, half despair. Raphael’s gaze raked over her with possessive indulgence, savoring every inch of her unraveling. She was panting hard, her walls twitching around him on the edge of another orgasm that wouldn't break, but the fiend held her still, an iron grip keeping her from doing more than rock her hips ever so slightly. He lifted a hand and, with gentle authority, cupped her cheek. The contact sent a ripple through her, the pull of his dominance undeniable. Soleil leaned into it, unable to resist the comfort of the one who had orchestrated her torment.

“You took your time,” he said smoothly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You must be starving.”

She blinked at him, momentarily dazed. Hunger hadn’t crossed her mind, eclipsed by everything else her body had been screaming for. But now that one emptiness had been filled within her, another made itself clear; A deep, twisting emptiness in her stomach, her throat raw with thirst. 

Raphael reached behind her with practiced ease, drawing her attention to a plate she hadn’t noticed before. Resting on his desk, arranged with elegant precision, were slices of fruit, cured meats, and soft cheeses. He plucked a cherry and held it to her lips. She parted them wordlessly, the sweet burst on her tongue making her moan, soft and instinctive. When she bit down, he offered his palm, and she spit the pit into it. 

And so it continued. He fed her, bit by bit, slow and controlled. A sliver of peach. A square of bread. Cool water held to her lips in a goblet of deep-cut glass. The belt would still vibrate, still bring her right to the edge, her walls pulsing around the cock inside her, but Raphael barely acknowledged it - or her pleading - just waited for her to calm down a bit before resuming. She drank because he allowed it. She ate because he decided to feed her. It was strange, having her basic needs taken care of in such a manner. She needn't lift a finger, but on the same hand, she had no control over what he chose to give her. It felt like being pampered and dominated in one breath.  

As she swallowed down the last bite of fruit, Raphael kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth and chasing the taste. He began thrusting up into her, his hands supporting her thighs to move her up and down and ride him. Soleil didn't mind the fast pace or the way her thighs ached. She worked with a single goal overtaking her hazy mind, chasing the pleasure and release that eluded her. The belt vibrated in perfect harmony, and she moaned into the devil's mouth, her walls fluttering and pulsing around his length in anticipation as she teetered on the edge, ready to fall.

Raphael's grip on her tightened, forcing her all the way down to a sudden stop, a low groan breaking from his chest and into her panting mouth. She could feel warmth filling her as he climaxed, her muscles clenching around his cock, milking every drop in an attempt at reaching the same blissful high. But the infernal bond still held her tight, her orgasm obediently waiting, and Soleil let out a high mournful whine.  

“Oh, what a mess I’ve made of you, dear,” Raphael sighed, velvet-soft and entirely unrepentant. Soleil’s mind, fogged with need and desperation, couldn’t tell whether he meant her composure or the physical mess dripping out of her as he pulled out. Either would have been true. She whined again.

“Master…” she breathed, her voice fragile and ragged. Raphael kissed her cheek. It would've been sweet if he hadn't been smiling with such gleefully sadistic gleam.  

“Don't you worry my dear,” the amused lilt in his dulcet tone did not calm Soleil in the slightest, and she could feel herself tense at the prospect of what he'd inflict on her next. “I'll make sure you're taken care of. Haarlep!”

The air cracked as hellfire answered, the scent of brimstone curling through the room as the incubus stepped into view with an elegant sway, all confidence and charm.

Soleil barely turned her head. Her eyes flicked toward them, then returned to Raphael, wide and pleading. 

Haarlep took one long inhale and exhaled in something close to ecstasy.

“Mmm, it smells absolutely divine in here,” they said, voice thick with delight. “Master, what have you done to our poor little plaything to steep her in such a rich, delectable perfume of desperation?”

They moved closer until Soleil could feel the heat of their presence beside her. She let out a strangled cry as the belt started to vibrate again, burying her face into Raphael’s shoulder, her clit so sensitive it only took seconds to reach the brink of another climax that her body fought. 

“Our darling wizard is a bit… on edge at the moment,” Raphael drawled, grinning as his hand moved up and down Soleil’s spine, slow and deceptively tender. She trembled beneath his touch like a bowstring pulled too tight. “Do help her unwind. Perhaps clean her up a little while you’re at it. I’ve business that requires my full attention.”

“Oh, you’re so delightfully cruel, Master,” Haarlep cooed, voice sweet as syrup and just as sticky. “I’d love to tend to our little pet.” They reached for Soleil with exaggerated care, their grin wide, teeth flashing.

But the tiefling resisted.

Her fingers clawed into Raphael’s shoulder, her body tensing like a cornered thing. She held fast, her breath coming sharp through clenched teeth.

“I came here,” she said, the words clipped and shaking. “I begged you. What more do you want, Master?”

She spat the title like a curse, daring the infernal deal to strike her down for it. The word dripped with venom, and for a heartbeat, she felt the intoxicating flare of defiance bloom hot in her chest.

Raphael’s smile didn’t falter, but it did change. The gleam behind his eyes darkened. Colder. Hungrier. He clicked his tongue softly, disappointment and delight wrapped in one precise sound.

“As I said,” he murmured. “You’re not quite there yet, my dear.”

Without warning, his hand tangled in her hair and yanked. Her head snapped back with a cry, a sharp moan ripped from her throat before she could catch it. Pain bloomed behind her eyes, just as sharp as the one coiling in her gut. The cambion leaned in close, his voice a low purr against her ear. 

“Now. Be a good girl for Haarlep. Obey them as you would obey me. Except with your release… That is still mine to give.”

The words coiled through her with quiet, unshakable weight. A command born not of cruelty, but ownership. And the pact obeyed even when her mind resisted. She felt it settle into her bones, a warm and final surrender.

Her grip loosened. Her arms fell away.

Haarlep gathered her easily, lifting her from Raphael’s lap as though she weighed nothing at all. Soleil sagged against them, dazed and breathless, her head lolling slightly as her eyes met theirs, dull, exhausted, searching. They smiled, radiant and wicked as if she were the most exquisite dessert they’d ever been allowed to taste.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Haarlep whispered, cradling her as they turned. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Soleil mustered a bit of energy to lift her head and glare at Raphael over their shoulder as the incubus carried her away. He held her gaze unwavering, the corners of his mouth curled in amusement. 

Haarlep lowered her gently onto a thick, fur-lined rug before the hearth. The firelight cast her in gold and shadow, highlighting the tremble in her limbs, the flush staining her cheeks, and the sheen of sweat across her collarbone. Haarlep moved with sinuous grace, settling above her, their arms caging her in. Their wings flared wide, a curtain of crimson silk blotting out the ceiling, blocking out everything but them. They leaned in close, their smile sweet and dangerous.

“Open your mouth for me, darling,” Haarlep purred, their voice syrup-smooth, dripping with affection sharpened by hunger. Soleil’s body responded before her mind could catch up. Her lips parted. Her jaw slackened. Haarlep’s grin widened, revealing the pointed gleam of teeth just behind velvet words.

“Oh, what a perfect little pet,” they cooed. Their fingers traced along her jaw with tender indulgence. “So soft now. So obedient.”

If Soleil could flush any deeper, she would've. Instead, a soft broken moan escaped her throat at the praise. 

“Stick your tongue out,” Haarlep smiled as she did. Then, they let a glob of saliva drip from their pursed lips and down upon her tongue. ”Swallow.” 

Soleil wanted to feel revolted as she obeyed, but she couldn't feel anything but the arousal and desire that quickly started burning through every nerve of her body like hellfire. She whimpered and squirmed, restless from all the pent-up energy, but Haarlep held her still by the leather straps she was clad in and started kissing and licking their way down her quivering body. 

When their tongue swept through her sensitive and soaked folds, Soleil almost knocked herself out with how hard she threw her head back, her shaking thighs clamping shut around the incubus' head, hands grasping their horns. 

“Ha~hah~arlep!” she nearly screamed, legs kicking against the incubus' back as the belt chimed in, only buzzing for what felt like seconds, but that was all it took for her to near orgasm, her stomach cramping painfully as her body shook with the inability to let go. They shoved their forked tongue deep into her, groaning in satisfaction as they ate Raphael's spend out of her. Soleil didn't have the wherewithal to feel anything but maddening, coiling, pained pleasure, her thoughts consumed by it. 

When they had finished eating her out, Haarlep flipped the tiefling onto her stomach, pulling her hips up high in the air. 

“Oh that's adorable, you're already clenching on the air, so eager to be filled again,” they purred, and Soleil buried her face into the plush carpet, muffled whines and moans escaping her as they teased their hard, ridged length along her dripping hole. Her back was curved at a steep angle, and her tail lifted up to expose herself. The wizard was mortified at the thought of how depraved she must look.

“Let's see if fucking your brains out will help you unwind a bit, hmm pet?” Soleil didn't get to retort that it most definitely wouldn't help her before Haarlep thrust into her. She let out an almost injured, animalistic wail into the carpet as the incubus bottomed out, their hips flush with her ass.

Pain flared sharp and sudden as fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her head up from the plush embrace of the rug.

“Ah, ah,” Haarlep tutted, their voice a lilting melody laced with amusement. Their hips ground against her, sending jolts of pleasure through her. “None of that, pet. We want to hear all your lovely singing.”

From her new angle, she could just see the back of Raphael’s chair, still and composed, silhouetted in firelight. He hadn’t so much as shifted. Not even to glance at her.

He was writing.

Calm. Precise. Undisturbed.

The idea that he was letting her fall apart for his pleasure - and not even watching - struck something raw inside her. She was just background music. The soundtrack to the devil’s paperwork. A high, broken sound clawed its way from her throat before she could stop it, helpless and soaked in want.

“H-Haarlep… p-please…” she gasped, her fingers curling hard into the rug. “I-I need to-!”

But the rest of the plea never formed. It dissolved into a piercing cry as her body spasmed as the belt vibrated, a sharp wail ripped from her lungs like an exorcism. Haarlep purred in approval, delight curling in their voice as they kept her pinned with ease.

“Mmm, you know that’s not mine to give,” they sighed, almost mock-regretful. Their voice dripped with fondness. “But I’ll try my hardest… just for you, sweetheart.”

Soleil had but a split second to realize her mistake and brace, dread cutting through all the desire. The incubus pulled out until just the tip was notched in her, and then slammed back into her tight wet heat. They set a punishing pace, expertly nailing that spot within her with every thrust. Soleil cried out, her cheek pressed against the carpet, her breath hitching as her body convulsed beneath the weight of unbearable pleasure. She was unraveling - shattered thought by shattered thought - until all that remained was instinct: the overwhelming ache to be granted release. But it wouldn’t come. Not without him. And he was ignoring her. Tears welled and spilled, hot trails down her flushed cheeks as she gasped for air. Her mind chased itself in circles, frantic with the question that had no answer: What does he want? What offer would make him merciful?

“Master!” she sobbed, raw and aching, the word escaping her like a wound torn open. The title left her lips with a weight, a resonance not born from the deal, but from her own, desperate need.

Somewhere over the roar of her pulse and at the edge of her consciousness, Soleil heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, followed by the delicate rhythm of footsteps - measured, deliberate, muffled by the plush carpet - as Raphael approached. He came to stand by her head, the scent of him curling into her lungs like smoke and spice and sin.

He looked down, his expression unreadable.

“Yes, dear?” he asked, the softness of his tone a mockery. Casual. Cordial. As though she hadn’t just torn herself open and laid the splintered remnants of her will at his feet. Haarlep was still thrusting into her with brutal force, and forcing cries from her throat.

“I need-” she choked, barely able to speak through the panting. “I need to come, Please. I need it, Master.” 

Raphael regarded her in silence, his head tilting ever so slightly, pursing his lips in thought as he considered her request. 

“No,” he answered. He turned as if she were nothing more than a page he’d already read.

But her body moved before she could think - fingers shaking, she reached up and caught the cuff of his trouser leg. Her grip was weak, barely there, more plea than defiance.

Still, it was enough.

Raphael halted.

“Don’t leave me,” she sobbed, voice cracking, grief and desire spilling from every syllable. She clawed her way from beneath Haarlep, dragging herself forward with uncoordinated desperation, until she reached him, until her fingers clutched at the fine fabric of his pants like a lifeline. “Please! I need you, Master.”

Haarlep didn’t stop her. They watched, indulgent and purring, as Soleil collapsed against the devil’s legs.

Raphael turned to face her at last.

And there she was, on her knees, her tear-streaked face pressed into his thigh, clutching at him as though he were the only solid thing in a world that had come undone. She could feel him hardening at the sight of her trembling form, and she pressed her cheek against it, mouthing at the outline of his cock. 

For a moment, Raphael simply looked at her, like a god admiring the ruin he’d made. Then he reached down, and with exquisite care, ran his fingers through her hair. The gesture was soft, almost reverent.

“Who do you belong to, Soleil?” he asked, voice low and velvet-smooth, too gentle to be kind. Beneath the silk of it, something darker pulsed hot and patient. Hungry.

The tiefling trembled. 

“You,” she answered, her breath hitching as if the question had reached down her throat and pulled the answer straight from her lungs. But it wasn’t the pact that made her speak - it was truth. Brutal. Unmistakable. “I'm yours.”

A terrifying, satisfied smile split the devil's face, his eyes squinting in delight. His fingers curled a little tighter in her hair, drawing her head back a bit so he could unfasten the front of his pants, letting his hard cock spring free. Soleil licked and kissed her way up the length without a thought, immediately taking the head into her mouth. 

“There’s my good girl,” he groaned, pleased. “So pretty when you know your place. You wear your surrender beautifully.”

He let her work for a bit before finally lowering himself with deliberate grace, his knees sinking into the thick, silken carpet before her. Soleil shifted back to make room, her movements slow, keeping his cock in her throat as they went. The bottom of her feet brushed against something warm behind her, just before a hand settled on the back of her thigh.

Haarlep. Their palm was soft, their touch tender, stroking her skin in long, loving passes.

“She's lovely like this, isn't she?” Raphael sighed, keeping the tiefling's head nestled in his lap. The incubus answered with a low hum of agreement.

“Even when the choice is gone, she resists,” the cambion went on, almost fondly. “Fights every step of the way. That defiance…” He smiled, slow and dagger-sharp. “It’s such a pleasure to break.”

Haarlep's fingers trailed higher, and Soleil couldn't help but arch towards them. Even with how high-strung her nerves were, and even knowing, in some dim corner of her splintered awareness, that they had helped orchestrate her undoing... she craved more. A soft, almost hesitant sound slipped from Haarlep’s lips, edged with desire.

“Master… may I?” they murmured, the question heavy with both reverence and need as if they hadn't been rearranging her guts just a moment ago. Soleil moaned around the cock in her mouth as the incubus swept their thumb through the sensitive mess between her legs. Her gaze caught Raphael's, eyes still blurry with tears and pleading. 

“You want that, my dear?” he asked her, voice breathy and indulgent. “You want Haarlep to stuff you full while you choke on my cock? You want us both to feel you fall apart?”

She moaned and nodded as much as she could with his cock in her mouth. Raphael cocked his head at Haarlep in a languid motion, and the incubus sprung into action, hilting themself within her again. 

Soleil felt herself go cross-eyed as both of her ends were stuffed. Each of Haarlep's thrusts pushed her further into Raphael's lap, his cock hitting the back of her throat and making her choke. The belt began to vibrate, and she let out a loud cry that was muffled. She looked at Raphael, tears streaming down her face and had she not been gagged on his cock, she would've begged him for release. But the devil saw everything in her eyes, satisfaction etched into every line of his beautiful face.

“Come for us, love.” 

The order had barely left his lips before Soleil convulsed, her mouth going slack in a muffled scream, her vision whitening out as blinding hot pleasure tore through her. She was shaking uncontrollably, and she felt liquid gush from her as she clenched around Haarlep in waves. Both the incubus and the cambion continued to fuck her through her release, dragging it out for what felt like an eternity.

She was pretty sure she lost consciousness at some point, because when awareness crept back in, she found herself on her back, her head resting in Raphael’s lap. Her body still trembled with aftershocks, breath shallow and uneven, but the devil’s fingers stroked her hair with a slow, soothing rhythm that anchored her in the haze. That was, until she felt Haarlep shift between her legs, their lips brushing lazily over her sweat-damp skin, warm and unhurried. Their hands were at her waist now, undoing the straps of the belt with a tenderness that made her shiver all over again. She gasped as the thin metal plate fell away, exposing her hard and flushed clit to the air. Then she jerked violently, as she felt Haarlep's tongue sweep over the sensitive bud in a kittenlick. 

“Ma~ah! Master!” she cried out, protest clear in the way she uttered the title. Raphael only smiled, warm and unbothered, a cruel sort of tenderness in his expression as he looked down at her.

“They’re just going to clean you up a little,” he murmured, brushing his fingers gently along her cheek. “Be still, and let them. You can come, but look at me when you do.”

The command sank into her like warm iron, and her body obeyed, even as it trembled uncontrollably, shivering with spent nerves and lingering tension. It was somewhat bearable when the incubus was focused on tonguing their own spend out of her hole, but when their lips sealed around her clit, the tiefling felt tears spring to her eyes, hot and immediate. It didn't take long for her to climax again, and she obediently held Raphael's gaze as she cried out and shook through it. The cambion leaned down slowly, almost reverently, and pressed a soft kiss to her brow.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word a quiet benediction.

When Haarlep was finished "cleaning" her they curled up at her side without a word. Their head nestled gently against her chest, careful not to let their horns press too close. The weight of them was warm, grounding, and oddly soothing.

Soleil’s gaze found Raphael again, heavy-lidded and hazy with exhaustion.

“Just rest, my dear,” he said, voice velvet-soft as his fingers traced along her cheek, feather-light. “Dream sweet dreams… and think of me.”

The words wrapped around her like velvet chains. Her breath slowed, her body eased, and the soft compulsion folded over her like a blanket. The world blurred at the edges, and the pull of sleep dragged her under like a velvet tide.

Chapter Text

Raphael didn’t leave the wizard’s side for the rest of the day. He remained with her as she dozed, a quiet sentinel to her slumber. When she stirred, he gathered her into his lap, letting her read while he continued his work, the rhythm of his presence steady and grounding. At dusk, he fed her once more, attending to her with a care that felt both indulgent and possessive. Soleil felt suspended in that delicate space between being cherished and being claimed. There was a softness to him, yes, but threaded through it was a quiet dominance, impossible to ignore. She didn’t resist it. Exhausted and raw, she welcomed the blurry haze that overtook her mind, grateful for the reprieve he allowed her, even if it came on his terms. His touch never fully stilled; his hands roamed with proprietary ease, and his kisses grew deeper, laced with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide. When night descended over Avernus, he took her to the bed in the boudoir and claimed her again, softer this time, without the need for her to submit. She had already done so beautifully, he said, no need to improve upon perfection. When they'd both found their peak, Raphael kept himself hilted within her warmth, and Soleil found that she didn't mind that too much, a part of her craving the closeness. They curled together, limbs entwined, breath mingling in the stillness, and Soleil pressed close to him, her body craving the comfort of rest, but her thoughts refused to quiet. Sleep hovered just beyond reach, chased off by the relentless spiral of her mind.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how effortlessly their infernal bargain had left her vulnerable to Raphael’s will. How easily her resistance had softened, how naturally she’d begun to yield. Her thoughts drifted to her friends who had suffered under such dominion: Wyll with Mizora, and Astarion with Cazador. And from those dark parallels, a single, unshakable question bloomed in the silence.

“Master?” she murmured into the devil’s chest, her voice barely more than a breath.

He inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that betrayed a man on the cusp of sleep. “Yes, dear?” he replied, voice low and rough, like embers still glowing in the hearth.

Soleil hesitated. “What would you have done... if I hadn’t made any stipulations for our deal?”

There was a pause, a stillness that felt almost deliberate. Calculated. 

“Why do you ask, little mouse?” he murmured, not unkindly, but with a curiosity sharpened at the edges.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. And perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps some part of her needed to know what manner of darkness lay beneath the thin veil of rules. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was fascination.

“I’d have started by branding your soul, of course,” he said, almost casually, as if discussing the weather. “But I imagine you find that answer rather... uninspired.”

She had, in truth, expected no less.

“And what if I hadn’t specified ‘no lasting damage’?” she pressed, her voice quieter now. “Have you thought about what you would’ve done then?” That was the thought gnawing at her, the one with the sharpest teeth. Astarion’s stories haunted her. Stories of blood and pain and the sigil Cazador had carved into his flesh, a permanent declaration of possession. Raphael’s response came softly, almost gentle. 

“Of course I’ve thought about that.” His hand moved slowly along her spine, soothing in its rhythm, at odds with the meaning of his words. “But that is not the shape of our game, my dear. And I see little point in indulging fantasies that the rules forbid.”

His tone was calm, reasonable even, but beneath it lay a promise unspoken. That he had imagined it. That the devil's mind had wandered, as hers had, down darker paths. And though he would honor the limits she’d set, he would never stop wondering what might have been, if she hadn’t. She couldn't help the tremble that went through her at that, and inadvertently caused her to clench around his cock still lodged within her. Raphael’s low groan followed immediately, a sound half-pleasure, half-warning, his body reacting to her tremor with an unmistakable heat. 

“However much I’d love another round,” he murmured against her hair, voice dipped in restrained hunger. “You need to be well-rested for what I’ve planned for tomorrow.” He pressed a slow kiss to the top of her head. Gentle, but marked with finality. “Sleep now, little mouse.”

The command wrapped around her mind like silk laced with steel. Soft, irresistible, and absolute. She barely had time to register the pang that stirred in her chest, a flicker of unease and apprehension, before the compulsion took hold. Her body relaxed against him, breath evening out, her awareness fading into the sweet embrace of nothingness.

—

Soleil came to with a shuddering gasp, her body already in motion, wracked with aftershocks of pleasure that stole the breath from her lungs. A husky moan tore from her throat, unbidden and unrestrained. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and wide, her thoughts sluggish, tangled in the thick haze of sleep and sensation, trying to catch up with what was happening. Raphael was thrusting into her from behind, his chest pressed flush to her back, and his arms wrapped around her with possessive ease, holding her in place. But almost as soon as she registered that fact, he stilled, hips pressed tight against her ass as he came with a low snarl. He sank his teeth into the tender crook of her neck as he continued to grind into her in small movements, dragging out his own pleasure. She whimpered, sharp and helpless, the pain blooming with exquisite clarity. When he finally stilled completely, he withdrew his teeth, pressing his lips to the bruise he'd made - a slow, reverent kiss that felt almost like an apology. Almost.

"Good morning," Soleil panted, her voice rough with sleep, pleasure, and confusion. She still wasn't sure where the dream had ended and the waking began. Raphael's chuckle was low, indulgent, vibrating through her spine like a purr from something that could just as easily devour as caress. 

"Yes," he murmured into her skin. "Isn't it? I can't imagine a finer way to greet the day.”

She adjusted her hips as much as the fiend's grip on her allowed. His cock was still lodged within her, and she felt sore, the kind of ache that didn't come from just one of their couplings, and it made her let out a small groan. 

“I do hope I didn't disturb your rest too much, my dear,” he hummed. “You’re simply too delectable to resist, even while you sleep.”

Heat flooded Soleil’s face as realisation settled over her in a slow, crawling wave. He’d fucked her while she slept. Used her while she couldn't do anything to resist, not because of some infernal agreement, but simply because she had to abide by the needs of her mortal body. She didn't know what worried her more: the fact that she had slept through it all, or the fact that she found the thought so arousing.

"My, don't you two look cozy," Haarlep drawled from the foot of the bed, pulling the wizard from her reverie. "Should I come back later?" 

Before Soleil could even lift her head, Raphael shifted behind her, rolling easily onto his back. The sudden movement dragged her with him, forcing her to sprawl across his chest with a soft, involuntary moan. 

"Now is fine," he replied smoothly, arms curling around her chest and stomach to keep her firmly in place and impaled on his cock, as he sat up against the headboard. He used his legs and tail to spread her thighs further apart, and Soleil flushed as Haarlep's gaze drifted down to where they were connected. "We're just waking.” 

The incubus ascended the bed in a single, graceful motion, crawling atop with feline elegance. They braced their hands against Raphael’s thighs, their body hovering over Soleil's, their face mere inches away from hers.

"Good morning, pet,” they purred, their voice a decadent whisper. Their eyes glittered with hunger and mischief. “You look so cute when you're confused.”

They let their hand caress the curves and ridges of her body in a slow, unhurried pace before the tips of their fingers grazed where she was stretched wide by Raphael's cock.

“Master,” Haarlep said, their gaze flicking past Soleil to the devil behind her. Their voice retained its usual sultry cadence, but there was a thread of caution woven beneath the silk. “For this to work, you know I need to-”

“I’m aware,” Raphael cut in, smooth and unbothered. “Figure it out. I'm not moving.”

A flicker of surprise passed over Haarlep’s face. But it vanished in an instant, replaced by a slow, delighted smile.

“If you say so.”

“What’s going on?” Soleil asked, unease creeping in at the edges of her voice. Haarlep was still caressing the edge of her filled opening, their fingers gliding through the mess leaking out of her. She tried to shift, but Raphael’s arms held her firmly in place. “Master?”

The cambion didn’t answer at once. Instead, he pressed a slow kiss to her bare shoulder, letting his lips linger just long enough to make it feel like a distraction.

“Haarlep is going to put a little curse on you, my dear,” he murmured, voice warm and coaxing. “And you’re going to let them.”

Soleil froze. Her breath caught as alarm surged up her spine.

“You promised,” she snapped, twisting slightly in his grasp. “You agreed, nothing permanent!”

“And I’m keeping that promise,” Raphael replied, his tone betraying a note of mild offense. “It’s only for today. Temporary, harmless. You’ll be just fine.”

Soleil’s breath shuddered out of her lungs. She felt her body beginning to loosen, the instinct to resist already dulling. Whether it was trust or compulsion, she couldn’t say.

Haarlep cupped her face gently with their other hand, claws grazing the line of her jaw, their thumb brushing her cheekbone in a soothing rhythm.

“Just relax, darling,” they murmured, voice a silken promise wrapped in smoke. “I’ve got you.”

Before she could reply, before she could even think, their mouth was on hers. The kiss was slow and deliberate. When their tongue slipped into her mouth, it was so easy to just let herself melt into the wet slide and movement of their lips. Arousal burned through her, incubus spit igniting her as immediately as a fireball touching a grease puddle. 

And then Haarlep started to push their finger into her already stuffed pussy. Soleil gasped and let out a loud whine at the burn of the stretch where she was already spread so wide over Raphael, who groaned low in her ear at the new pressure against his cock. The cambion's fingers found her clit and started circling it, providing a distraction in the form of pleasure, but Soleil still let out another whimper as Haarlep slowly slid a second finger into her. The stretch was more bearable this time, her pussy basically drooling by now, arousal and pleasure dulling the pain and her thoughts. 

"You're doing so good, pet," Haarlep murmured, voice dripping praise like warm honey over raw skin as they curled their digits into that spot inside her, making the tiefling throw her head back and cry out. Raphael didn't waste the opportunity. The moment her neck arched, he was on her, mouth trailing up the exposed column with slow, decadent hunger. Kisses turned to bites, firm and claiming, his breath burning against her skin. 

"So very good for us," he echoed, voice low and velvet-rich, a murmur made more intimate by the way his lips pressed directly where her pulse thrummed wildly.

Soleil's mind floated somewhere, overwhelmed and hazy, but soothed by the stream of praise murmured into her ears by the two devils. By the time Haarlep had fitted four fingers into her, the tiefling was no longer squirming away from them, but grinding her hips down to meet them. She whined as the fingers withdrew, and Haarlep chuckled at her reaction, low and melodious.

“Shhh, darling,” they purred, shifting above her with feline grace, readjusting their weight between her spread thighs. “We’re just getting started.” Their voice dipped, laced with promise. “Ready?”

Soleil didn't get to respond before she felt the blunt head of their cock press against her entrance. She cried out, the sound tearing from her throat - half plea, half scream - as they pressed further. It was so much. One of her hands flew to Raphael’s arm, nails raking across his skin in a futile attempt to loosen his grip. But he held her firm, unmoving, inescapable, his strength coiled around her like chains as she writhed to escape from the maddening amount of pressure. Her other hand buried into his hair, grasping the locks in a desperate attempt to hold onto anything.

“Too much,” she gasped, voice strained and clipped with desperation. “It's too much!”

“Relax, little mouse,” Raphael breathed, velvet voice also carrying a note of strain as Haarlep thrust their ridged cock deeper in beside his own. “You can take it.”

Her body struggled to comply with the order, her limbs trembling even as the infernal deal tugged at her. Haarlep swallowed her gasps and moans, their lips meeting hers and their aphrodisiacal spit easing the way a bit. When they finally seated themself completely within her, Soleil felt as if she was split open, her chest heaving, breath coming out in either moans or whimpers. They stopped to let her catch her breath and adjust to the girth of the two devils inside of her. Raphael's grip had loosened a bit, his palms stroking over her skin in slow, languid movements, but Soleil felt disconnected from her body, as if she weren't present within the skin he was touching. Her thoughts were going fussy, overwhelmed by the whole situation. Haarlep noticed the vacant haze clouding her eyes and reached out, their hand pressing gently yet firmly against her cheek.

“Hey, just focus on me, sweetheart,” they purred, their voice a velvet command pulling her back from the brink. Her eyes snapped open, locking onto theirs with sudden clarity, and their smile widened. “There you are, beautiful. You're doing so well, taking us both.” 

The incubus began moving their hips in small thrusts. Even with them going slow, it was still a lot . Soleil was so stuffed full that every tiny movement dragged over that spot within her and caused pleasure to lick up her spine and moans to fall from her lips. Haarlep kept her from drifting away completely, their soothing praise tethering her to the moment. It wasn't long before she was right at the precipice, her thighs shaking and walls quivering around the two cocks sliding against each other within her.

“Let go, darling,” the incubus’ low and coaxing voice rumbled in their chest and into hers with a faint arcane resonance. “Give yourself over to the pleasure. That is all you will need.” They pressed the palm of their hand to her lower abdomen, and Soleil gasped at the increase in maddening pressure within her. “Can you do that for us?”

The deal burned like low embers in her gut and mingled with the heat of her orgasm as it broke. As she gasped and moaned, she felt something arcane build deep within herself, pulsing with every lick of pleasure, with every clench of her pussy, and her breath hitched as it gripped her tight, penetrating her deeper than any of the cocks within her. She felt Raphael bury his head into her neck, muffling his moan as he came again, filling her further in hot, thick spurts. Haarlep followed not long after, hilting themself and releasing deep within her, their beautiful face twisting in pleasure. 

Soleil felt achingly full - more than just physically - her senses drenched in a heavy, exquisite satiation, as if she had just savored the richest, most decadent feast. A soft, contented sigh slipped from her lips as she rested her head back against Raphael's chest. Haarlep removed their palm from her abdomen, leaving behind a faintly glowing glyph beneath her skin, an infernal mark pulsing with quiet energy.

“What is this?” she murmured, voice thick with lingering haze and curiosity. Haarlep pulled out gently, carefully, but she still whined at the loss, the emptiness left within her immediately aching deeply. They gave a small apologetic kiss to her cheek. 

“A succubus curse,” they murmured, the words heavy with meaning.

Soleil’s brow creased in confusion, another deeply unhappy whine spilling from her lips as Raphael also pulled out of her. She could feel both of the fiends' spend slowly begin to leak out of her, and for some reason, that made her feel almost heartbroken. 

“Today, you will need for nothing, my dear,” the cambion hummed, his breath warm and teasing against the delicate curve of her ear. “Not food nor water nor any other burdens of the mortal body. Nothing except pleasure.” 

A sharp quickening of her pulse echoed the rush of realization flooding her veins, and she felt Raphael’s smile curve wickedly against her skin.

“And don’t fret, my beautiful, perfect little toy,” he whispered, voice dripping with dark promise. “I will see to it that you receive it in abundance.”

—

“There we are,” Raphael said, securing the final knot with practiced precision. He stepped back, admiring his work with the eye of an artist. “How does it feel, my dear? Anything too tight?”

Soleil hung suspended from the ceiling of the boudoir, her body ensnared in a delicate lattice of crimson rope. The bindings were intricate, wrapping her in a harness that cradled her chest, waist, and hips, each line drawn with deliberate care. She faced downward, her body curved in a graceful arc, weight held effortlessly by the tension of the ties.

Her legs were bent back and folded upward, calves bound snugly to thighs, leaving her entirely exposed and utterly at their mercy. Her tail had been caught in the design as well, pulled up along her spine and secured into the same careful knots that pinned her arms behind her back. Even her horns were adorned; cords coiled around their base, drawing her head into a subtle lift that kept her from curling in on herself, unable to hide. 

The position offered her up completely, artfully. A canvas made flesh.

For all the helplessness wound into her limbs, Soleil felt nothing but bliss. A strange, quiet euphoria had settled over her, weightless and warm. Wrapped and suspended like this, she didn’t have to hold herself together. She was already held. There was a quiet, bone-deep relief in that.

“It feels good,” she murmured, the words slow and breathy, her voice already slipping into something dreamlike, untethered.

Raphael’s smile deepened, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes. He lifted a hand with deliberate gentleness, letting his fingers brush tenderly over her cheek.

"Already going soft on me, little mouse?" he teased, the words gentle, indulgent. "Good. You don't need to think today. No choices. No burdens. You just need to exist and be lovely.”

His thumb traced a slow, soothing path over her skin.

“And you are already fulfilling that part marvelously,” he whispered. 

A blush bloomed across her face, heat rising to her skin as a soft, involuntary sound slipped from her throat, something between a whimper and a sigh. Raphael reached into his coat and drew out a length of dark silk, letting it pool in his palm before lifting it to her eyes.

"You won't need to see, either," he said, voice dipping into something darker, as he tied the cloth firmly behind her head, blotting out the room in a wash of black. Then a gentle hand at her chin, coaxing her mouth open. "Or speak."

Her mouth parted for him, pliant. The gag slid between her lips, and he fastened it with quiet care, sealing away her voice like the final note in a ceremony.

Bound, blinded, and silenced, Soleil hung in the center of the room like a sacred offering.

And for the first time in what felt like years… she didn’t need to think at all.

Raphael’s hands slid down from cradling her head to rest lightly around her throat. With a soft, deliberate click, he unfastened the susur collar, and a sudden surge of magic coursed through Soleil’s body in an immediate rush. Despite the gag muffling her voice, a deep shuddering moan escaped her lips, raw and unguarded. The cambion hummed. 

“Does that feel good, my dear wizard?” His voice was smooth, teasing, and edged with a dark delight. “Though you can’t do much now, I’d wager you feel more… complete.”

A distant memory floated up through the haze of her mind. This was a situation she and Lae'zel had discussed before. Well, not this exact situation, but the githyanki had once commented that restraining and gagging a mage would render them useless. Soleil had shot back that that was one more step than what was required to render a fighter useless. 

The thought lingered briefly, then dissolved beneath the present weight of Raphael’s touch. He moved with agonizing leisure, fingertips trailing over the ropes that bound her, then over bare skin in slow, featherlight passes. Each caress was maddeningly precise, every brush of his touch coaxing her further out of thought and deeper into sensation. Deprived of sight, her body compensated, nerves strung tight and singing. Touch became everything. Sound, a lifeline. The faint shift of cloth, the rhythm of his breath, the subtle drag of his nails across her hip. All of it as sharp as a blade’s edge against her skin.

And then nothing.

His hands vanished, the absence stark and sudden. Left hanging in silence, Soleil’s breath hitched. She tilted her head as much as the ropes on her horns allowed, straining, listening. The soft click of a heel against the marble floor? A whisper of movement behind her? Her ears chased the phantom sounds, desperate to find him again. She let out a muffled, startled sound and twitched as much as she could within the confines of her bindings when she felt his hand on her skin again, warm and firm, tracing up her inner thigh. 

“You're dripping, pet,” Raphael hummed, and she could feel her cheeks grow hotter. A small whine escaped her as he swept a finger through her soaked folds. “So eager,” he murmured, a faint edge of condescension threading through his voice as he pushed two of his fingers into her. “So desperate for more already.”

Somewhere deep within her, Soleil recognized the performance. The devil’s satisfaction at how thoroughly he had unraveled her. Yet that arrogant tone only stirred something deeper within her fogged mind, fanning the flames of her shame and desire until her blush deepened even further. 

“You did so well taking Haarlep and me,” he purred while fingering her leisurely. It felt like he was more just enjoying the feel of her than actually trying to pleasure her, but that didn't stop the muffled, desperate sounds from spilling from Soleil's throat. Soft, helpless sounds that only seemed to please him more.

“I do wonder,” Raphael said, his tone musing, almost idle. “What the largest creature Haarlep has bedded while wearing your lovely shape is… A barbazu? A malebranch, perhaps?”

He slid another finger into her and hummed low in his throat, thoughtful, pleased with the image he had conjured. She moaned at the stretch, body still aching for more.

“An orthon seems more likely. Yes… I imagine even that wouldn’t break you.” His smile curled in his voice, indulgent and edged. She knew what the biggest thing she herself had ever managed - Halsin in wildshape - but the thought of a giant fiend ravaging her made her Soleil shudder and clench around the fingers within her.

“You could take a pit fiend, I’d wager. Every inch of it.” Raphael suddenly crooked his fingers sharply and made the tiefling moan, a loud sound muffled by the gag. “Not that I’d ever allow such a creature the privilege of touching you, my dear. That kind of pleasure is... reserved.”

The cambion pulled his fingers out, and she barely had the time to whine before he was stuffing his hard cock into her. Unable to do anything but take what he gave to her, Soleil felt almost blissful. She felt full, the pleasure satiating her on a deeper and more base level than she had ever felt. When Raphael pushed a slick finger into her ass, it felt like the cherry on top of an already decadent dessert. She didn't fight or hold back the sounds that spilled from her, the gag already muffling them more than she was capable of. Raphael continued to work his cock and fingers into her, gradually adding more digits. His other hand rested against her abdomen, the tips of his fingers circling her clit while the palm pressed into the infernal mark Haarlep had left on her. 

When she felt her orgasm crest, she was barely able to do anything to brace for it. It overtook every nerve in her body, her muscles barely able to twitch within the confines of her bindings. Her smothered cry sounded out, and she could feel tears dampening the silk covering her eyes as Raphael continued to fuck her through it. At once, he pulled out completely, both his cock and his fingers, and once again, Soleil hardly managed a whine before he thrust into her ass. It only took a few thrusts before his rhythm stuttered, and he came with a groan. Soleil mewled as she felt the warmth of his spend fill her. When he pulled out, something blunt and smooth immediately pressed against her hole. She moaned as it continued to press deeper, growing wider and wider, before tapering off and sinking fully into her.

“There you go, my dear,” Raphael hummed, tugging slightly on the plug and drawing another moan from the tiefling. “Nice and full.”

He pressed a lingering kiss to the underside of her tail, right at its most sensitive base. The touch was brief, but it burned. A quiet, intimate brand that sent a shiver up her spine. And then he was gone. His warmth, his presence, all of it pulled away like a tide receding. Soleil was left suspended in stillness, weightless in the dark, and she whined pathetically.

“Don’t worry, pet,” his voice came at last, smooth and low, rich with honeyed reassurance. “I’ll be back soon.”

His footsteps whispered across the boudoir floor, unhurried, fading into silence.

She hung there: blindfolded, bound, gagged. Alone. The warmth of him was already fading from her skin. The only sound was her own heartbeat, loud and thunderous in her ears, and the shallow draw of breath through her nose, unsteady and echoing in the vast quiet he’d left behind.

Time unraveled.

She was never alone for long, though without sight, and with no grasp on the passage of time, every moment stretched endlessly. The hours blurred, her world reduced to the press of rope, the distant sound of footsteps, and the slow, relentless drift of sensation.

They came and went, Raphael and Haarlep, never announcing themselves. Sometimes they said nothing at all, leaving her to guess by scent, by the weight of their hands. Raphael’s touch was firmer, more deliberate, commanding, and possessive. The pleasure he gave her was intense, as if he were branding her with his claim. Haarlep’s touch was playful, featherlight, and coaxing. The pleasure they wrought from her body was precise and indulgent, like a musician knowing exactly which string to pluck to make the sweetest of melodies. Or so she thought.

Now and then, a voice would slip into the dark - teasing, praising, purring in her ear - and she'd realize her guess had been wrong. Haarlep disguised in Raphael’s cadence and dominance. Raphael softened into something silkier, crueler in its sweetness. They'd leave her dripping with their spend from her pussy or fill her ass and plug her up again. And for the cursed tiefling, it all felt like the most satisfying of feasts, each moment of waiting stretched thin with longing, every touch a banquet after famine. The suspension, the silence, the gentle shifting between one devil and the other unraveled her. Sometimes she would wonder if any of the devils were even present with her at all, or if Haarlep had simply shifted into her form and all she was feeling was the echo of their pleasure. It didn't matter. Her thoughts dulled, her sense of self dissolved into warmth and haze, until all that remained was sensation and pleasure. Disjointed, overwhelming, and constant.

She moaned as someone touched her breasts, rolling her pebbled nipples between clawed fingertips. Her blurry mind named the teasing touch as Haarlep’s, but it was based purely on her splintering intuition. Whoever it was hummed at her reaction.

“I think it's time we upped the ante a bit, don’t you think, little mouse?” The fiends even made it harder for her to guess by switching between which pet names they used for her. She heard a soft rattle of metal before something colder and harder clamped around the sensitive bud of her left chest. She let out a loud whine through the gag as pain bloomed, sharp and delicious, through her chest. Her other nipple was similarly caught, and the fiend affixing the clamps gave a light tug on the chain connecting them, drawing another pained sound from the tiefling, before letting the chain fall, gravity now providing another aching pull. She heard the faint rustle of movement, leather brushing against leather, and a moment later, she felt something being secured around her waist.

“You had so much fun with the belt yesterday,” the voice purred, impossibly fond, as they tightened the straps around her thighs and fastened the metal plate over her clit. 

A weak, involuntary whimper slipped from her lips at the memory.

“Don’t worry, dear,” the devil murmured, brushing their knuckles against her hip with something almost like affection. “Today you're allowed to come as many times as I want you to.”

The belt started to vibrate with that same cruel frequency Soleil had come to know all too well the day before. The sensation bloomed instantly, sharp and aching, and her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A high, reedy whine escaped her, muffled by the gag, more breath than sound. She very quickly reached her peak, and the belt continued to vibrate as she writhed helplessly against the restraints. What little movement she could manage in turn pulled on the chain affixed to her chest and sent aching sparks of pain through her sore nipples. The bindings held firm. There was nowhere to run from the overstimulation, nowhere to escape the sharp, relentless, rising pulse between her thighs. Only the quiet hum, the heat twisting in her core, and the echo of yesterday’s pleasurable torment given new shape. 

Somewhere nearby, the devil watching her let out a soft, pleased hum - rich with approval - as they took in the trembling of her muscles, the helplessness in her breath, the way she shook beneath their unseen gaze. Soliel let out another muffled moan as the fiend suddenly stuffed their hard, ridged cock into her quivering hole without any warning. They held still, buried to the hilt as her walls contracted and pulsed around them, another orgasm wrecking her. 

“Oh, you feel amazing,” the fiend sighed adoringly. “Such a perfect little toy. You're just a hole for us to fuck, aren't you, sweetheart?"

They kept their cock buried in her, groaning in tandem with her as her pussy squeezed and milked them with every climax until she felt the satisfying warmth of their spend filling her. 

Then they pulled out and left her dripping and shaking, the belt still vibrating against her throbbing, abused clit. It was torture. It was pleasure stretched to its breaking point. An endless, aching high that blurred the line between bliss and suffering. Soleil lost count of how many times she came, her mind so gone that it couldn't process anything but the pleasure clenching her core and wrecking her body. The devils continued to use her through it, amplifying the intensity of her orgasms. More than once, she felt a gush of wetness escape her at her peak, and she was sure there must be a puddle of both the devil’s spend and her own arousal beneath her at this point.

By the time a pair of gentle hands finally unfastened the belt and removed the clamps, Soleil was a mess. Sweat-slicked and shattered, her breath coming out hard through her nose.

“Let’s give you a little break from that, darling,” a dulcet voice purred softly, wrapping around her like a soothing balm. She whimpered at the sudden absence. The abrupt halt of sensation was a shock to her overloaded senses. Somewhere between exhaustion and yearning, she didn’t know whether to collapse in relief or beg for more. Not that she had the option to do either.

She barely noticed the faint rustle before a warm hand settled on her inner thigh and slid up further, ignoring her quivering, sopping pussy in favour of her other hole. She moaned as she felt the blunt cockhead slide through the cleft of her ass before notching into the hole and pressing forward. The devil set a quick pace without any preamble, thrusting hard into her ass, ridged cock sinking in deep and sending waves of pleasure through her. It felt unlike anything they'd put her through before. Her clit was throbbing and aching so painfully, and she couldn't tell if it was residual shocks of overstimulation or that burning need to be touched. She cried out desperately into the gag, and when that blissful touch finally came, it felt… wrong. Pleasurable beyond measure, but strange and unfamiliar in a way that sent her thoughts spinning, her body responding even as her awareness scrambled to catch up.

And then, she heard it.

A moan. Low. Masculine.

Not Raphael’s. Not Haarlep’s.

But something about it slipped under her skin, unsettling in its familiarity.

Soleil let out a garbled, questioning whine. For a moment, the aching throb in her body gave way to something sharper: curiosity. That gnawing, burning need to understand. A low chuckle answered her. It was unmistakably Raphael’s, rich and amused, and it came from in front of her, not behind.

“I think our little mouse wants a better view of the performance,” he mused, his voice laced with teasing indulgence. “What do you say, pet?”

“Yes, Master,” came another voice, masculine, soft, and unfamiliar... yet not. “Let her see.”

A sharp snap echoed through the air, and the silk over her eyes burned away in a quiet rush of heat. Dim and golden light flooded in, and she squinted against it, blinking hard as her vision struggled to adjust after so long in darkness. Slowly, the room came into focus, and with it, the bed in front of her suspended form. Her gaze found Raphael first, his crimson skin gleaming with sweat, great wings curled behind him like velvet shadows. He was beautiful, terrifying, unshakable. But it was the figure beneath him that he was pounding his cock into, that made Soleil's breath catch.

A beautiful male tiefling, lithe and elegant, arching and writhing on his back as the cambion thrust into him. His frame was on the smaller side, and his soft face twisted in blissful pleasure, eyes closed and mouth open. His horns were short, curling just slightly above a tangle of dark hair that brushed the edge of his jaw. 

Then his eyes opened and met Soleil's, and she immediately recognized the mismatched irises. 

“Like what you see, darling?” Haarlep purred with a smirk. 

They had donned her form, but twisted it into a masculine version. The fraternal twin she never had. Raphael's hand was wrapped around their cock, stroking it in long, lazy pulls, and Soleil realised that that had been the strange, unfamiliar pleasure she had been feeling. They both let out a loud moan - hers muffled and Haarlep's loud and unrestrained - as the cambion nailed a particular spot within them, and Soleil's eyes rolled to the back of her head as new, untouched parts of herself contracted in pleasure. 

“Fuuuuck! ” Haarlep groaned, their masculine cadence of her voice breathy and shaking. “Wretched Hells, I forgot how it feels to be a virgin! This body has never tried that before.” 

Raphael smiled, fangs glinting in the light as he pulled his hips back and snapped them forward, nailing the spot within them and making them both cry out again.

“How delightful,” he growled while sliding the pad of his thumb through the bead of precum that had gathered at the sensitive head of Haarlep's throbbing cock. “To be able to provide a first for both of my pets.”

The devil continued to rut into them, and Soleil struggled to keep up with the barrage of brand-new stimuli. Haarlep, for once, also seemed overwhelmed, if their desperate writhing and gasping moans were anything to judge by. She could feel her stomach tighten, the approach of an orgasm familiar and strange at the same time. Right as she felt that pressure build towards release, Raphael let go of the incubus' cock, drawing a deeply unhappy whine from both of them. He slowed the drag of his hips until he was grinding into them in small but deep movements. 

“Master, please!” Haarlep gasped, their voice trembling with need as Raphael traced a slow finger up the underside of their throbbing length. 

“You'll get what you need, sweet boy,” Raphael purred, and even Soleil felt her stomach clench at the pet name. “But don't you think our darling toy feels a little left out? Don't you want to feel her fall apart on this pretty little cock?” He gave them another light teasing stroke, and the incubus threw their head back and moaned. Their familiar eyes locked upon Soleil's bound form, dark with hunger. 

“Yes, please, Master,” they begged.

Raphael snapped his fingers, and the air split with a crack of hellfire, heat blooming around her. In the blink of an eye, Soleil was no longer suspended. She fell onto the soft bed with a quiet grunt, silk sheets catching her. Her arms remained bound behind her back, legs splayed helplessly apart from the angle of the restraints. The mattress shifted as Haarlep crawled toward her, fluid and slow, their mismatched eyes never leaving hers. They hovered over her, and she got a better look at her own masculine face now, nose almost touching hers.  Every freckle, every beauty mark, mirrored with uncanny precision. But the jaw was sharper, shadowed with faint stubble. The nose just a touch more angular. And those eyes - her eyes - gleamed with something dark and knowing. 

“Mmm, how about a little bit of self-love, hm darling?” they whispered while letting their lips drag over the line of her jaw. “I'm so excited for you to experience how amazing your pussy feels squeezing this cock.” 

Soleil moaned as they ground their hips against hers, their cock gliding through her soaked, glistening folds and causing twin sensations of already overwhelming pleasure to shoot through her. As they began to push into her, she could feel both perspectives of her walls pulsing around the cock. The plug was still nestled in her ass, a feeling clearer now that Raphael wasn't buried within Haarlep, and she could feel it apply additional pressure.  It was maddening. It was overwhelming. It was divine. 

Raphael leaned over Haarlep, his claws scratching idly up and down their back while he watched the bound tiefling squirm. 

“Does that feel good, pet?” he murmured into Haarlep's ear while his burning gaze rested on Soleil. One of his hands snaked around the incubus' waist, and he slowly let his fingers trail down, his claws catching against their nipples and making their breath hitch. 

“Yes, Master,” the incubus moaned, and Soleil could only whine and nod her head.

Raphael gave a wicked smile and a soft kiss to Haarlep's shoulder before he grabbed a firm hold of their hip, claws dimpling the skin. 

"Lean forward, hands on her shoulders,” he ordered, pushing them gently into the position. Haarlep's hands grasped her shoulders, claws biting into the ropes and her skin.

“Good,” Raphael purred, and Soleil could feel the echo of his cock grinding through their cheeks and catching against their rim. “I want you to fuck her hard and fill her up for me." 

She shrieked into the gag as Raphael sank in to the hilt, her body straining to arch off the bed. But with her limbs bound and pulled tight, there was no leverage, no escape, only the trembling exertion of muscles pushed past their limit. Her breath hitched in shallow bursts. Light danced at the edges of her vision. She was dizzy, disoriented. Her body felt distant now, abstract. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped belonging to her. That realization didn’t come as a shock. It simply settled in her bones, certain and final. Her foggy mind was just along for the ride, barely hanging on by the stirrups. And then the fiends started to move, pushing her completely out of the saddle. 

She felt every push and pull. Every throb, every ridge. Haarlep was fucking her hard, and every one of Raphael's thrusts pushed them deeper into her, nailing that spot both within them and her in rapid, maddening succession. Somewhere in the distance of herself, she felt the hot trail of tears slipping down her temples and vanishing into her hairline. Voices drifted to her through the haze, Raphael’s smooth, reverent murmur, Haarlep’s sultry croon. Praise, she thought dimly. Worship, even.

But her mind couldn’t hold it. There was no space left for words, no anchor to meaning. Only the fire roaring through her nerves, licking over every inch of skin, muscle, and bone. Pleasure had swallowed her whole. It pulsed in her limbs, coiled in her belly, lit up every thread of her being until she was nothing but sensation. Blazing, boundless, and utterly undone.

The pleasure rapidly overflowed into a mind-numbing orgasm, and Soleil screamed through it, every clench of her walls choking Haarlep's cock and further intensifying her own torture as both of the devils continued to pound her through it. Haarlep held out valiantly, but after a particularly hard thrust from Raphael pounded that spot within them, Soleil felt the incubus' climax crest right on the tail of her own, dragging her under with every hot pulse. They collapsed against her with a groan as the cambion continued to pound into them. Soleil felt like she was suffocating, every inch of her stuffed full with devil cum, every breath forced out in muffled moans. Raphael finally stilled, snarling as his cock throbbed and spilled into Haarlep. 

Both devils took a while to catch their breath. Raphael pulled out first, then allowed Haarlep to move and slip their soft cock out of Soleil's ruined hole. She stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes half lidded and unseeing. Her body lay slack, but her mind floated somewhere else entirely, untethered and weightless, as if she were still suspended in the ropes, drifting above it all.

A snap cracked through the haze. The bindings dissolved. Another soft movement, and a clawed hand removed the gag from her lips. She barely noticed. Not the raw ache in her jaw, not the deep throb in her limbs. Not even the way her body trembled faintly against the bedding. 

Someone said her name. A sound. A shape in the air. Completely meaningless.

A pair of horns entered her blurred field of vision, followed by a face too lovely to bear. Eyes like molten amber locked with hers, glowing with an unfamiliar softness. A hand touched her cheek.

“Stay with me, little mouse.”

The words cut through everything.

The order sank into her soul, tugging her consciousness back like a revivifying spell. She blinked. Once. Twice. The ceiling returned. The ache in her body flooded in, sharp and immediate. Her limbs felt heavy now, real. Present.

Raphael smiled, and his presence no longer felt like a dream.

“There you go,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her temple. “Just stay here with me.” 

Had her mind been fully present, she might've realised that he had just inadvertently squashed any escape she might've attempted. She was still uncollared, but the wizard could not name a single incantation right now, nor weave any somatics. No will to run, no clarity to act.

Another snap sounded, and Soleil was briefly disoriented again, until she recognized the warmth of soothing, magically healing water. Raphael had displaced them into the restoration pool, the cambion leaning back against the edge with the tiefling and incubus seated on each of his thighs. Haarlep was still dressed as her male counterpart, and Soleil could feel Raphael's hand when it soothed down their spine. Her mind still floated, but she felt more present within herself as the waters soothed her sore and aching body. She mewled as Raphael's fingers found the plug in her ass and began to gently tug at it. It slipped out of her, accompanied by a gush of the fiends' combined spend, and she whined, her face blushing deeply. The cambion just shushed her and continued to soothe his hand up and down the ridges of her back and tail. 

Then she felt his other hand close around Haarlep's length and give it a long, soft stroke. Both the incubus and the tiefling moaned, their voices tangled in a raw harmony of pain edged with pleasure. Haarlep reveled in it, their hips twitching in response, feeding off every jolt, but Soleil's body flinched, every nerve stretched thin, overused, fraying. Her mouth moved in protest, shaped around words she wasn’t allowed to speak - No, no more, too much! Only one word made it through the haze of her mind: small, broken, trembling.

“Why?” she rasped, barely audible, the sound little more than a breath dragged across cracked lips.  Raphael chuckled, a slow, rich sound, dark as burnt honey. He pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her head, the soft contact soothing her frayed nerves for a heartbeat.

“Oh, little mouse,” he purred, his voice all velvet and indulgence. “I simply can’t help myself. The two of you make such… beautiful music.”

His fingers stroked her cheek gently, grounding her. Just enough to stop her from slipping too far. Just enough to keep her present for the next wave.

“Just one more,” he promised, soft as sin as his hand continued its path up and down Haarlep's length, pressure increasing just slightly at the tip before traveling back to its base. “Last one for today.”

Soleil was incapable of any response; the wizard reduced to whimpering and mewling into the devil's neck. Raphael simply hummed and continued, rolling his hand up and over the tip on his next pass, making Haarlep arch their back with a sharp gasp. 

"F-fuck!” they hissed through clenched teeth. “It's so s-sensitive!"

Raphael began working them faster, applying more pressure, and Soleil was helpless to do anything as she felt their orgasm crest and echo through her. She whined loudly in tandem with the incubus as they spilled over their master's hand, pleasure and pain overwhelming her and clenching her sore muscles. 

Haarlep slumped against Raphael, mirroring Soleil’s own unraveling. Their breath hitched as they buried their face into the curve of his neck, their form folding into him like melting wax. Raphael held them with ease, his palm resting against their back as he pressed a kiss into their hair.

“Good boy,” he murmured, low and reverent, a thread of approval curling through the still air.

Soleil barely registered it. Her body felt impossibly heavy, as if the weight of sensation had finally collapsed into exhaustion. She yawned, breath trembling as it left her, and let her head fall back onto Raphael’s shoulder. The warmth of him, the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, threatened to pull her under completely.

“Just rest, my dear,” he whispered, the sound of his voice slipping through her like silk. “I’ll take care of you.”

Of course he would. In every way she could imagine.

Chapter Text

Soleil was sitting on the floor in front of a grand, gold-rimmed mirror in the boudoir as hands ran through her freshly washed and cut hair, styling it. Her own face stared back at her in the mirror - quite literally - as Haarlep rested their head on her shoulder, clad in her form from a year ago.

"Now we match again!" They beamed, fingers catching a wayward lock and pushing it behind the wizard's pointed ear. Sure enough, she now donned the same short haircut she had had a year ago, dark strands slicked back and curling just beneath her ears.

"I liked it long..." she skulked. Raphael’s order to cut it had taken her by surprise, though it fell well within the bounds of their deal. It wasn’t permanent; her hair would grow back. But Soleil couldn't help the way the edges of her mouth turned downwards while she looked in the mirror. 

Haarlep’s fingers slid down the back of her neck, a slow, affectionate stroke. “I think you look lovely, darling,” they purred, lips close enough to graze her ear. “Why did you ever grow it out?”

The tiefling gave a small shrug, eyes still fixed on their joined reflections. 

“I liked braiding it,” she said softly. Especially when it was Halsin’s large hands working through the strands, slow and patient. 

“And this…” She waved vaguely at her reflection, grimacing. “This is practically the same cut Raphael has.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Haarlep’s borrowed features. They turned their gaze toward the mirror, shifting effortlessly from Soleil’s likeness into Raphael’s devilish visage - amber eyes gleaming with amusement - and then finally into the sinuous elegance of their archduchess form. They leaned back, a small laugh escaping them.

"I've never noticed that," they grinned in that husky, melodious voice. "Oh, that's hilarious, maybe that's why you caught his eye.”

Of everything the cambion had made her endure, this - this small theft of bodily autonomy - infuriated Soleil more than she expected. It was just hair. And yet, the cut felt less like a grooming choice and more like a brand: a subtle, insidious declaration of ownership. A reminder that Raphael could dictate even the shape of her silhouette.

Thankfully, their deal was nearing its end. But instead of relief, the thought left Soleil uneasy. The day had been suspiciously dull. Tame, compared to the spectacle and strain of the past two. Too quiet. She knew the devil had to have some kind of grand finale planned.

Haarlep whisked the cloth from her shoulders, brushing away stray hairs. 

“Lie down now, on your stomach. We still have a few additions to make,” they said cheerily. She went along without complaint; that bit of defiance drained from her. It was easier to yield than to be compelled. She lowered herself slowly onto the soft cushions, arms at her sides, cheek turned toward the mirror.

She watched in the reflection as Haarlep settled lightly across the backs of her thighs, more presence than pressure. They were holding a delicate porcelain bowl which they dipped a single finger into, stirring lazily before drawing it out slick and dripping crimson, the red catching the low light like fresh lacquer. Without a word, they reached for her. A slow shiver rippled through her as a slick, warm finger made contact at the nape of her neck and began to trace downward. Their touch was gentle and unhurried as they drew intricate symbols along the curve of her spine. They moved lower, dragging that same lazy, deliberate pressure on her ass and down the backs of her legs.

"Please don't tell me you're drawing on me with blood," she muttered, unable to stop the involuntary moan that slipped from her lips as the incubus' finger traced along the sensitive underside of her tail. Haarlep's lips curled into a grin, wicked and bright. 

"Okay, pet, I won’t tell you that," they replied, voice velvety, almost tender. “Now, roll over for me.”

They shifted their weight to their knees to allow Soleil to oblige. Her movements were slow, quiet, and yielding. Instinctively, her fingers twitched, ready to sweep her hair from beneath her back, but there was nothing there. No thick, dark strands to gather. Just bare skin and the faint, unfamiliar weightlessness of her new cut.

Haarlep eased back onto her thighs with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator at rest, light, poised, and utterly self-assured. Their touch landed just beneath her collarbone, warm and precise. Soleil sighed as Haarlep began to trace looping, serpentine patterns across her skin, their finger moving with almost reverent slowness, covering her breast in scripture. It was infernal in nature, but that was all the wizard was able to glean. They did bear a resemblance to the symbol Haarlep had left on her lower abdomen the day before. 

“Is this another curse?” Soleil inquired, a frown creasing her brow. She couldn't feel anything arcane taking hold of her. Haarlep laughed.

“Not quite,” they murmured, letting their finger meander a bit too much to feel like a part of the design. “The effect will wear off with the paint.”

Their fingertip dragged lightly across her stiff nipples, drawing a small whine from the tiefling and leaving behind a trail that tingled, almost burned. Their hand moved lower, brushing the space between her ribs, then the subtle hollow just above her stomach. They worked slowly, dipping back into the bowl as needed, painting her like a canvas. Each motion felt more like a caress than a ritual. Soleil's breath came shallow now, her limbs heavy with the strange stillness of surrender, not from defeat, but from sheer exhaustion. From knowing that resistance would only make it worse. And maybe, part of her just didn't want to move. 

“What does it do?” Soleil muttered, her thoughts going hazy. Haarlep's touch was maddeningly gentle, disarmingly intimate. The sensation was soothing. Hypnotic.

“You'll have to wait and see, darling,” they hummed. “I wouldn’t dare spoil the surprise.”

The incubus shifted again, moving with subtle elegance, their hands coaxing her legs apart and propping up her knees over their shoulders. Then, with that same languid grace, they resumed their work, trailing crimson-stained fingers along the curve of her hips and down the soft planes of her thighs. As their finger finished a symbol right at the apex of her inner thigh, they dipped their finger into the bowl and began tracing the folds of her pussy. Soleil moaned as the incubus' finger swept over her clit, but their touch didn't linger. They pressed into her wet hole, and their fingers' movements were, for once, not intended for pleasure. The wizard could feel that they were drawing another symbol inside of her.

When Haarlep finished the infernal symbol and withdrew their fingers, they rose with fluid grace and stretched, spine arching like a cat basking in the sun. They drifted to a tall wardrobe and opened it with a languid flourish, retrieving a folded garment from within.

“Put this on,” they hummed, holding it out to her with care. “And do try not to smudge my handiwork.”

Soleil pushed herself upright slowly, muscles protesting the movement, weariness clinging to her like a second skin. When she looked at the robe in Haarlep’s hands, her breath caught, lips parting in quiet disbelief.

It was unmistakable. The same cut. The same rich, deep dye. The same silver filigree stitching along the cuffs. Her stomach twisted. 

It was, impossibly, a perfect replica of the Robe of the Weave. She took it from them with numb hands, knowing even before she slipped her arms into the sleeves that it wasn’t real. The enchantment was gone. No whisper of power stirred in the threads. No subtle thrum of the Weave at her skin. Just cloth, fine, heavy, and hollow. A costume.

Of course, it wasn’t the original. She had given that away to Gale. A gift. A safeguard. A farewell. She cinched the sash and adjusted the delicate chains that hung from her shoulders. The robe covered her more than anything she had worn in the past three days, but it didn’t make her feel clothed. Not really.

When Soleil looked toward the mirror, a chill rippled through her.

There she stood, her hair cropped short once more, clad in familiar robes. For a moment, it was like looking back through time. As if nothing had passed. As if she were once again standing in the House of Hope on the eve of her final confrontation, unaware of how long the devil's shadow would stretch beyond that day.

The tadpole might be gone, but she looked just as tired and scared as she had done back then. The only real difference now was the silence at her back: no companions, no allies, no comforting presence of her friends. And the susur collar still clung to her throat like a brand.

“All done!” Haarlep announced with a delighted clap. “Master is waiting for you in the foyer. Go on, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t!”

Before Soleil could ask whether there was truly anything the incubus wouldn’t do, they gave her a tab on the ass and ushered her through the shimmering veil that separated the boudoir from the rest of the House.

It felt strange to walk through the halls like this, towards the foyer. She hadn't been there since that day. Not during her long, unwilling stay. There had been no purpose. No doors to open. She crossed the silent dining room. The twin statues of Raphael loomed beside the door, golden and grinning, each an exact replica of the devil’s vanity. She slipped between them and began her ascent.

The stairs felt steeper than she remembered. Each one echoed too loudly beneath her feet.

At the top, the grand doors stood open already. Waiting.

Raphael stood in the center of the foyer, human in shape. Composed. Patient. Impossibly still.

As she crossed the threshold and walked towards him, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.

Not a greeting. Not quite. More like the opening note of a performance he’d been rehearsing since the moment she arrived.

“Perfect,” the devil purred, stepping closer, his presence radiating warmth and danger in equal measure. He reached out, unhurried, and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Absolutely perfect. You look lovely, my dear.”

Soleil felt heat rise unbidden to her cheeks. 

“Thank you… Master,” she murmured, the word tasting sharp in her mouth, edged with unease. Raphael’s lip twitched into a smirk, half amused, half predatory.

“None of that today,” he said, his voice velvet over steel. “Allow me to set the stage and name the rules of our little game.” 

He cleared his throat as though preparing to recite a soliloquy before an adoring crowd. 

“Our heroine once made a deal with a cunning cambion,” he intoned, gesturing grandly with one hand. He began to circle her slowly, each step deliberate. “But in the quiet dark of night, regret curdles on her tongue. So like the little mouse she is, she creeps back into his House, hoping to undo what’s been done.”

He passed behind her, his presence humming like static in the air.

“And lo,” he whispered, his voice now just behind her ear. “She finds herself face to face with the devil.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of red, his hand reaching for her collar. A black claw scraped lightly over the metal, a hiss of sound and threat. “She has nowhere to run. No one to call. No gates to slip through.”

Even beneath the poetic phrasing, the command settled into her bones. No teleporting out of the room. No sending. No escape.

“She must stand her ground… and fight.”

With a click, the collar unlocked.

Soleil gasped as the Weave surged back into her like a tide, warm, overwhelming, familiar. Power sang along her nerves, making her fingers twitch. And yet she trembled.

“Will she stand victorious at the end of this endeavor?” Raphael mused, stepping back into view. He was no longer cloaked in his human glamour. Wings unfurled behind him in a rippling arc of shadow and crimson, horns catching the low light like polished obsidian. “Or will she fall - gasping and broken - to grovel at the devil’s feet?”

He paused, letting the words settle like ash.

“Well,” he said, spreading his arms with a grin that cut deep as a blade. “Only time will tell.”

He stopped in front of her, his presence all-consuming. The room seemed to shrink around his silhouette.

“So,” he murmured, voice rich and final. “Fight like you mean it, little mouse.”

Soleil felt the command contract her muscles and make her spring into action. She moved on instinct, her body obeying before thought could intervene, stepping back sharply and widening the distance between herself and the devil.

“Macte virtute.”

With a practiced sweep of her hand, the magic answered, and a ripple of arcane force shimmered across her skin, invisible but unmistakable. Mage Armor. It settled over her with a familiar weight. But there was something else. A pulse. A depth. She blinked, startled, but brushed the sensation aside. It had been a long time since she’d called on this spell. Nerves, perhaps. Nothing more.

Across from her, Raphael remained motionless, his posture relaxed, almost indifferent. His head tilted slightly, as if admiring the flourish of her casting. Behind him, spectral wisps of teal flickered and spun - souls, or echoes of them - floating lazily through the air like lanterns in a slow current. Their glow etched strange shadows across his face and caught in the molten gold of his eyes. He hadn’t struck when she moved. Hadn’t even flinched.

He was waiting.

That realization should have chilled her. Should have warned her. But her hands were already in motion again, fingers shaping the next incantation. Her breath was steady. Her mind sharpened.

Let him wait. She would not hesitate. She felt for the edge, that limit of the overchanneling of her abilities, before she uttered the incantation.

“Pario!” The word left her lips like a blade drawn from its sheath.

Six apparitions erupted from her hands in a burst of red light, force made visible, honed and vicious. They shot through the air with a shriek of displaced energy and slammed into Raphael’s chest with explosive impact. The foyer echoed with the crack of contact.

And then it hit her.

Soleil’s body arched, muscles spasming as if she had been caught in the crossfire. Her knees buckled; only sheer will kept her from collapsing to the floor. Power lashed through her nerves like a whip, raw and unrelenting. For a heartbeat, she feared she’d misjudged it - overchanneled too far - that it was necrotic backlash, some cruel cost extracted by the Curriculum of Strategy: Artistry of War. 

But then she stilled.

The pain wasn’t decay. It wasn’t harm.

It was pleasure.

Warm, consuming, and electric. It rolled through her in heated waves, a sensation as intimate as breath against skin. Her moan broke free unbidden, trembling and raw. The infernal markings Haarlep had inscribed across her body pulsed in answer, alight with wicked delight.

“My, my… hitting fast and hitting hard,” Raphael laughed, though there was a new tightness beneath the velvet. A thin edge of pain, slipping uninvited into his tone. He hadn’t expected her first attack to land quite so cleanly.

Soleil bared her teeth, the flicker of a snarl just behind the curve of her lips. “You damned cheater.”

Raphael’s grin widened, too many sharp teeth, too much charm, indulgent and utterly unrepentant.

“Cheater?” he mused, voice dipping like a bowstring drawn taut. “My dear, I haven’t even laid a claw on you yet.”

And then he moved.

Wings unfurled with a rush of displaced air, shadow and crimson cutting across the walls as he lifted effortlessly into the air. The souls - those eerie, teal motes that circled him like planets around a dying star - spiraled inward. One by one, they vanished into his form, their light swallowed whole. He inhaled, and it was as if he drew them into his lungs like smoke.

A single flame bloomed in his palm.

Small. White. Hungry.

Hellfire.

It pulsed once, and then he hurled it.

Soleil barely managed to twist aside. The blast tore through the space she had just occupied, searing a white-hot path past her shoulder. The hem of her robe ignited, flame licking at her skin before she could smother it. Pain sang across her side, sharp and immediate, but she forced it down as she ran, maintaining her distance to the devil. 

“Septem stellae.”

The words nearly caught in her throat. The moment the spell ignited, she felt the glyphs flare beneath her skin, alive, writhing with an almost violently pleasurable resonance. The feedback surged through her like a thunderclap, white-hot and staggering her steps. 

It seemed the stronger the spell she cast, the stronger the feedback, and she moaned as heat coiled in her stomach. Seven radiant stars spun into existence above her head, brilliant motes of celestial fire that bathed the foyer in radiant light. Soleil gritted her teeth, raised her hand, and let one fly. The star tore through the air, a blazing streak of light. But her hands trembled. Her vision swayed. The mote veered wide, missing Raphael by inches and slamming into the far wall in a brilliant explosion of radiant energy. The force shook stone and sent cracks spidering through ancient marble, but the devil himself remained untouched.

He retaliated by lashing out with three magmatic chains of hellfire, each one snapping through the air like a living whip. The temperature spiked, the very air warping around the infernal strikes. Soleil barely dodged the first. It cracked past her shoulder, blistering the air in its wake.

“Macte virtute!”

The shield burst into place just in time. Her arcane ward caught the second chain, then the third, with a thunderous impact that shuddered through her bones. But the spell was cast on the heels of the last, too soon, too fast. The feedback hit her like a hammer to the stomach.

She crumpled.

Her limbs shook, breath catching ragged in her throat as she trembled on the edge of an orgasm. 

Above her, Raphael laughed, a low, delighted sound that echoed across the marble like a lover’s whisper turned cruel.

“Already groveling, little mouse?”

Soleil’s head snapped up, teeth bared in defiance, her voice raw.

“Morbus lucis.” A burst of dim, sickly green detonated between them as she summoned Sickening Radiance and, with it, another star streaked from the crown above. The radiant mote struck Raphael’s side with a flash of searing light. He hissed, wings faltering mid-flight as the combined spells collided, radiant fire crackling across his wing, his path smothered in luminous decay. 

But it didn’t last.

The sickly glow flickered, then vanished, snuffed out in an instant. Soleil’s concentration shattered beneath another wave of burning pleasure. Arcane feedback, intense and overwhelming, crashed through her like a tide. Every nerve screamed in overstimulation.

A cry tore free, ragged and involuntary. She doubled over, arms clutching her stomach, hands clawing at nothing. Her legs wouldn’t answer. Her breath came in gasps, caught somewhere between sob and moan.

Stand.

She had to stand. Had to move. But her body trembled, caught between agony and ecstasy.

Marble clicked under polished boots as Raphael landed before her, his silhouette blotting out the light. One burning hand fisted into the front of her robe and hauled her upright. 

“This isn't a fair fight!” she gasped as he pinned her against the wall, cold stone meeting her back. His heat was suffocating, skin-scorching, soul-scouring.

He only laughed, low and smooth. “Who said anything about fair?”

His gaze roamed her face, burning eyes lingering on her flushed skin, her parted lips, the shimmer of defiance in her eyes. He leaned closer, so close his breath ghosted over her lips.

“Did you know,” he said, voice low, intimate. “The last thing I felt before my demise wasn't the arrow through my heart. It wasn’t even the pain.”

His grip on her robe shifted, his other hand brushing lightly, almost reverently, against her waist.

“It was you.”

Her heart stuttered.

“Your magic,” he whispered, voice like silk over coals. “Your power running through me. Commanding me. Claiming me. Forcing me to yield.” 

He exhaled, breath shuddering, as if savoring the memory. As if savoring her. Soleil could feel that he was hard, his hips grinding against her in small, almost unconscious movements.

“Did it feel good, little wizard?” he purred. “Did you enjoy having me helpless at your mercy?"

His hand drifted from her waist and rucked up the folds of her robe. Her eyes rolled back as his fingers found her throbbing clit, a shaking moan tearing from her at the contact, and her hands clutched his lapels on instinct. Whether to hold him off or pull him closer, she couldn’t say.

“You reject the hands of gods and devils alike,” he murmured, his voice dark silk against her ear. “As if their gifts were beneath you. You fancy yourself beyond them, untouched and unbound.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and awe.

“And yet… You shroud yourself in humility. A clever disguise. But I see through it, my dear.” His voice dropped as his fingers slid into her wet heat, and Soleil shuddered. 

“The flame of ambition. The hunger for more. The lust for power. You burn with it, bright and radiant.” He drew back just enough to meet her eyes, a slow, cruel smile curving his lips. “You’re just like me.”

A denial rose to the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t waste it. She managed to unclench her hands, somatics small and clumsy, incantation more a gasp than anything else.

“I-impero te!”

For an instant, the spell took.

Raphael's fingers froze within her, but her walls quivered around them as the pleasure of the feedback finally undid her. She came with a cry, her concentration shattering as her body shook and trembled. 

The devil laughed as Hold Monster broke, his fingers immediately picking up a quick, brutal pace. 

“You devious little-!”

She didn’t let him finish.

Soleil slammed her forehead into his face, one of her celestial motes detonating with the impact. A flash of white-gold light burst against his nose, and Raphael reeled backward with a hiss of fury, wings lashing the air. When he wiped the blood from his nose, his fingers ignited, white hellfire dancing in his palm like a promise. He held out his burning hands without warning.

Soleil dropped to the ground, the infernal flames shrieking past where her skull had been an instant earlier. It exploded against the wall behind her, scorching the stones. Her gaze flicked past him, catching a glance.  

“Quod dico face.”

The world tore sideways. She vanished in a rush of magic, stepping through the Dimension Door and reappearing atop one of the towering soul pillars. The obsidian stone lurched beneath her as the arcane feedback hit, bliss and agony tangled into one staggering, overstimulating wave. She nearly collapsed.

But she held. Teeth clenched. Knees locked. She raised a hand and called another star down from the burning crown above.

It shot across the chamber and detonated against the back of Raphael’s wing in a burst of brilliant, radiant fire. The force knocked him into a spin, his wings flaring as he righted himself, golden eyes locking onto her with new intensity.  

“When it comes down to it,” he snarled, ascending again in a whip of wingbeats. “You’re just like every other mage in history!” White hellfire surged to life in his hands, spiraling down his arms and trailing like comet-tails behind him. “You're just like every other devil in Baator!”

He hurled another searing orb of white fire. It slammed into her thigh, exploding with agonizing heat. Pain exploded through her leg - sharp and searing - but Soleil bit down on the scream, eyes never leaving the cambion’s path.

Track. Calculate. Strike.

As he veered close, she raised her hand and pointed to the ceiling above.

“Sphaera acida.”

The spell took shape in an instant. A gleaming emerald orb bloomed from the stone like a boil, swelling to a foot in diameter before erupting in a shower of hissing acid. 

Raphael reacted mid-flight, body twisting with inhuman grace. His wings folded tight against him as he spun through the explosion. Acid sizzled against the membranes of his wings, but he shielded his core from the worst of the Vitriolic Sphere. 

Soleil staggered under the spell’s backlash, breath catching in her throat. The sensation rippled beneath her skin, electric and maddening. It was like phantom hands moving under her flesh, drawing pleasure from every nerve ending. Her breath hitched. Muscles quivered beneath her control. Her spine arched slightly, reflexively, caught between resistance and surrender.

Still, she didn’t falter. Still, she summoned another star. The mote ripped through the air and caught Raphael’s side as he flared his wings, just enough to sear, not enough to stop him. He closed the distance in a blink, a blur of wings, horns, and heat. 

“You want to fix all your little friends’ issues,” he crooned as he swept past her, his claws lashing out. Not blindly, but with surgical intent. They carved a matching pair of gashes across her ribs, fabric and flesh parting with equal ease.

The wizard cried out, staggered, arms flailing to keep her balance on the narrow obsidian pillar. Blood bloomed against the black stone beneath her feet.

Raphael circled overhead like a carrion bird, voice velvet-wrapped steel.

“You think you can rewrite their fates. Craft new endings where none were offered.” He laughed as Soleil steadied herself atop the obsidian pillar, arm raised in defiance, taking aim. “If that’s not a god complex, my dear… I don’t know what is.”

“Tormentum!”

The word tore from her throat. Five darts of arcane force burst from her trembling fingers. She swallowed a shudder, willing herself to endure. Her hands shook violently, nerves fraying under the feedback’s cruel kiss, but it didn’t matter. Magic Missile needed no precision.

The bolts struck Raphael in rapid succession - shoulder, flank, sternum, gut, throat. Each hit knocked him off course and staggered his flight. The sharp grunt he let out was almost satisfying. She immediately summoned another star, launching it with fierce urgency, but Raphael twisted through the air, riding the momentum of the last impact to evade the radiant mote.

With a flick of his wrist, another whip of molten fire snapped into existence, three infernal tails trailing white-hot flame. The air itself seemed to flinch as he cracked it. The first missed by a hair. The second licked across Soleil’s shoulder, tearing her sleeve and branding her skin.

The third found its mark.

The chain wrapped around her arm with a hiss of sizzling flesh, and with a savage pull, it ripped her from the pillar. Soleil screamed as her skin blistered, the world a blur of fire and rushing air.

“Sine metu!”

The spell triggered mid-plummet, Feather Fall catching her before the ground did. Her descent slowed, but her body convulsed as another wave of pleasure surged through her, wild and merciless. A broken sound escaped her, half-gasp, half-moan, as her body shook in climax midair. 

And then a shadow overtook her. She barely managed to tear the last star from her crown and shoot it at him. Raphael dodged it mid-dive and collided with her, arms locking around her like shackles. Wings beat hard above them, steering the descent. Together, they dropped like a fallen star.

The marble floor rose to meet her, cold, smooth, final, and her back struck it. Not hard, but unforgiving. He hovered above her, grinning, radiant with triumph, smoke and soul-light clinging to him like a crown. His arms held her fast as she writhed. His heat poured down, the scent of ash, brimstone, and cherries thick between them. It filled her lungs until it felt like she was drowning in him.

“And those friends you’d defy fate for,” he said, voice a purr over broken glass. “Where are they now, little mouse?”

His smile widened, cruel and glittering.

“What has all that self-sacrifice earned you?” He leaned in, so near that his breath kissed her skin. “Who’s helping you?”

The words hit harder than any chain. Soleil’s body froze as something inside her broke, quietly, cleanly. Not from the pain. Not even from the heat of his grip.

But because there was nothing.

No distant clatter of Shadowheart’s armor, hurrying toward danger. No burst of Gale’s voice, threading incantation into magic. No whisper of Astarion’s blade slipping through flesh. No footsteps pounding down the hall, no shout of her name in that baritone voice she fell in love with. No roar of a druid in Wildshape. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Where were they? It had been nearly two months since she vanished from the world. Since she'd been taken, twisted into the folds of Raphael’s game. Surely they’d noticed her silence, her absence. Surely someone was looking.

Wasn’t she worth that?

She clawed through her thoughts, desperate for an answer, a reason. Maybe time moved differently here. Maybe the House bent the hours and days. Maybe they were still searching.

But the truth was quieter than all her questions. And far heavier.

They hadn’t come.

Her throat tightened around the weight of it. Her hands twitched, trying to form a spell, any spell, but Raphael’s grip was already there. Unrelenting. Branding-hot. He slammed her wrists into the marble, and she gasped, the burn blooming beneath his palms like fire pressed into bone.

“No one’s coming for you, Soleil,” he whispered. Not triumphant now. Intimate. Like he was gifting her a truth too precious for anyone else to hear. His lips brushed the curve of her ear, the words molten.

“No one but me.”

And beneath the weight of it - his body, the fire, the silence - Soleil believed him.

“You are mine, little mouse,” he whispered, his voice a silken snarl, breath searing against the shell of her ear. Then his mouth claimed hers, hungry and possessive.

It would be so easy to let go. To surrender. To let the exhaustion swallow her, to let herself be taken, not just her body, but the last fraying thread of her will. 

Her body trembled as he ripped the skirt of her robe, her muscles screamed as he parted her thighs, and her thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm as he ground his hard length through her wet folds. 

No one was coming. There was no rescue, no escape.

What was one more surrender?

But something within her refused. A flicker, small and defiant, flared in the dark. She didn’t know if it was his command to “fight like you mean it” echoing in her skull like a curse, or her own stubborn pride refusing to kneel. But Soleil couldn't just lie down for him again. Not this time. Not like this.

With a feral snarl of her own, the tiefling surged up and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down, hard . Blood bloomed across her tongue, metallic and hot, a sacrament of defiance. Raphael recoiled with a sharp gasp, and in that brief instant, a single opportunity blinked into existence.

Beyond the sweep of his wing, she saw it, space, unguarded. That was all she needed

The wizard didn’t waste a breath.

“Inveniam viam!” she hissed.

Soleil vanished in a shimmer of silver mist and reappeared across the chamber with a hiss of displaced air, collapsing gracelessly onto a crimson velour couch. The feedback sent tremors through her frame, magic sparking down her limbs like lightning. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she trembled right on the edge of climax. She tried to stand, but her legs buckled beneath her. On the other side of the room, Raphael's burning amber eyes caught hers, a terrifying smile splitting his face as he slowly got up from the floor. 

“Run all you want, little mouse,” he laughed as hellfire began to crackle around him, bright and all-consuming. “It only makes it more fun when the claw comes down!”

The air around him shattered with the sound of bones snapping and sinew tearing, flesh reshaping into something monstrous. Where once stood the devil she knew, now loomed a creature of nightmare. Spikes bristling from molten flesh, glowing veins pulsing like flowing lava. Great wings, vast and ragged, unfurled with the hiss of sulfurous air. His face had fractured into three fused skulls, monstrous and contorted, and a single, familiar, burning amber eye locked upon Soleil. 

The monster took a step forward, slow and deliberate. Giving her time to flee. A cat toying with its food. It was still Raphael, no doubt about it. And there was no doubt about his intentions. His monstrous cock hung hard and heavy between his legs, throbbing with the same magma-like veins that pulsed through the rest of this form. It was huge and thick, the head almost pointed, ridges and dull spikes covering the shaft. 

A single word formed on the wizard's lips, aching to be screamed. 

No. Absolutely not!

The deal yanked on her will like a leash pulled tight. She choked on the words. It didn't matter; she doubted he would listen to her pleading anyway in this form. 

Dread knotted Soleil's stomach. She couldn't get up. She could Misty Step again, but that was just delaying the inevitable. There was nowhere for her to run or hide. He wasn't going to kill her; that was not the shape of their game, but she trembled to think about what he was going to do to her. Her mind raced, the fires of her defiance stoked by not just the last couple of days under his command, but by everything the devil had put her through. She wouldn't - no, couldn't - let him win. 

“If I belong to you,” she growled as her hands began to weave through the somatics of a spell. It wasn't the right shape, and she knew it. Knew that she didn't have the power for the right spell. But she had to try, had to roll the dice. “Then you belong to me. Impero Tibi!” 

The incantation for Dominate Person flew from her lips and immediately sent an overwhelming shock of pleasure through her body. Her mind flashed back to etymology, of all things. She had once teased Raphael about the linguistic differences between Hold Person and Hold Monster - reason versus command - and he'd smirked that he always listened to reason. 

Always. 

Now, faced with the devil in his most terrifying form, the wizard had to bet on whether or not he saw himself as more of a man or a monster. She couldn't feel whether the spell had taken hold. The magic had detonated inside her like a flare, forcing her past her limit and into another orgasm. She was flying blind, numb from the force of it, but impossibly, through sheer stubbornness, she kept her focus fixed, her will locked like a blade in the dark.

Her voice rang out, sudden and sharp.

“On your knees!”

The command was not just spoken; it resonated, heavy and thunderous, as though the air itself carried her fury.

The monster halted mid-step.

And then, it began to melt.

Like sun-scorched wax, the molten shell sloughed off, dripping to the stone in thick, hissing rivulets. Horns and spikes and wings dissolved into smoke, and what remained - kneeling in the center of the chamber - was Raphael.

No longer a nightmare. Just the devil she knew.

Soleil exhaled shakily and slumped bonelessly into the velvet embrace of the couch. Her body throbbed with spent magic. Her limbs twitched with exhaustion. She didn’t know if the spell had worked, or if he'd chosen to kneel. 

But he hadn’t moved. 

A breathless laugh cracked from her lips, tired, wild, victorious. Slowly, Soleil pushed herself upright. Every joint screamed. Every nerve trembled. But she lifted her chin, spine straightening, letting the velvet couch cradle her as if it were a throne. 

“Come to me,” she said, voice low and hoarse, but laced with steel. “Crawl.”

Something flickered in Raphael’s expression. Not rage. Not defiance. Confusion, as if she had spoken a language he hadn’t expected from her.

Then came the snarl.

“What makes you think I’d do that?” the cambion growled, his voice like smoke over coals.

But it wavered. He was still kneeling.

Soleil’s mouth curved into something between a smirk and a challenge.

“‘They’re sour,’ said the fox about the rowan berries,” she murmured, voice like silk drawn across a blade. “He couldn’t reach them.”

She tilted her head, eyes burning into his. “If you want me, then crawl.”

A long pause followed. Long enough for silence to settle heavily between them.

Raphael’s jaw clenched. The muscle ticked once, hard. His claws twitched against his thigh, creasing the rich fabric of his trousers. She could feel the magic simmering off him, the weight of their infernal bond tugging at her spine, tempting him to reverse it all with a word. She waited for it. For the surge of domination, the command that would drag her to her knees.

But it didn’t come.

He held still.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward.

One hand touched the marble. Then the other. Cawled fingers spread across the polished floor as Raphael lowered himself onto all fours.

And crawled.

The sight stole her breath. A tremor of something dark and heady ran through her. Astonishment, yes, but lust too. A quiet, dangerous thrill bloomed low in her belly. He didn’t speak. Didn’t bare his teeth. Just kept his eyes on her, that burning amber gaze unreadable as it seared into hers. He stopped only when he reached her knees, settling between her legs.

Kneeling.

Waiting.

For the first time since this game began, Soleil felt the center shift, the weight of the power between them tipping in her direction. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but her voice, when it came, was calm.

“Good boy,” she murmured, a wide, triumphant smile breaking across her face as the devil visibly trembled, his eyes fluttering closed. Her hand tangled in his hair as he nestled his head against her thigh, warm and pliant. “Do you think you deserve a reward?”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, wide and hungry, pleading without words.

“Yes,” he breathed, voice ragged with need. “Please.”

Her grip in his hair tightened ever so slightly, drawing a shuddered gasp from him.

“Oh, but you’ve been so very naughty, Raphael,” she sang softly, the sweetness of her tone laced with a sharp edge of reprimand. “You tore my robe and left me singed.” 

Truly, she didn't care in the slightest about the robe. But now that the adrenaline was fading, the extent of her wounds made themself painfully clear. She feared she might pass out soon if she didn't get any healing. 

A near-whimper slipped from his lips, brows knitting with guilt. He tugged at her fingers, desperate to press a tender kiss against her heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against her thigh, voice thick and soft. With a snap of his fingers, a crystal vial appeared beside her - a potion of Supreme Healing, rich and red, glinting like blood in the candlelight.

She plucked it from the cushion, uncorked it, and drank deeply. It burned its way down her throat like a shot of Wyvern Whisky, but the relief was immediate. Her pain dulled, and the edges of her vision sharpened.

Then her eyes returned to Raphael.

She reached down, fingers sliding along his jaw, tilting his face up to hers. Her touch was firm. Commanding. Her thumb pressed into the hinge, coaxing his mouth open.

“Don’t waste it,” she murmured and took another swig from the bottle, letting the bitter taste settle on her tongue.

Then, she leaned forward and let the potion fall from her lips and into Raphael's waiting mouth. The crimson liquid slid past his tongue, and still his eyes never left hers.

“Swallow,” she commanded softly.

His lashes fluttered closed as he obeyed, throat bobbing with the motion. At once, Soleil watched the magic take hold. Minor scrapes vanished, bruises fading into smooth skin as the potion worked its quiet miracle. She leaned back against the velvet cushions with a satisfied hum, her fingers absentmindedly caressing his jaw. A little bruising would serve him well. Let the devil ache.

“Now…” she mused aloud, the words lazy, laced with quiet threat and curiosity. Her other hand went down between her legs, fingers circling her clit gently. “What to do with you?”

Raphael’s gaze flicked downward, drawn irresistibly to the idle movement of her fingers, slow, deliberate, maddening. His breath hitched. He wet his lips, eyes dark with need.

“Let me taste you,” he whispered, voice low and trembling with desire barely leashed. “I want to please you with my mouth.”

Soleil reclined deeper into the cushions, a soft, contemplative hum curling from her throat as though his request amused her. She let the silence stretch, her fingers still moving in small, pleasurable passes. Then, with languid grace, she lifted one leg and draped it over his shoulder, her calf curling against the line of his back between his wings. She wrapped her hand around his horn and tugged, slow but sure, guiding his head forward with effortless command.

“Then get to it, devil.”

Raphael immediately surged forward, wrapping his lips around her clit eagerly, tongue working over the sensitive bud. Soleil cried out and shook, her hand tugging against his horn. She was still so sensitive from the way the marks had responded to her magic.

“Slow down, you greedy fiend!” she gasped, breath catching as her fingers tugged hard on his horn in warning. But Raphael only growled in response, a low, feral sound from deep in his chest. His mouth pressed harder against her, claiming rather than worshipping, and his claws curled against her thighs, dimpling the flesh with sharp insistence.

A flicker of irritation sparked in the wizard’s chest. Oh no. He would not wrest control from her, not now, not like this. He didn’t get to set the pace. Her hands slipped away, fingers weaving through the air with practiced precision, somatics traced with cold clarity. Then she seized his horns once more, this time with purpose.

“Gelu,” she said, voice cool, clipped, commanding.

The cantrip snapped to life. A sudden burst of chill lanced through him, a crackling Frostbite. Raphael gasped, the sound startled and strangled, his body shivering with the jolt. He pulled back at last, breath ragged, frost blooming faintly across the curve of his lips.

It had sent a rush of pleasure through the infernal marks that littered Soleil's flesh, but this time it was bearable. She smiled, slow and sharp. 

“Better,” she murmured. She set the pace, guiding him by the hold of his horns, pulling when she needed more and pushing him away when it became too much. The tiefling found that she enjoyed being edged a lot more when she was the one in control of her pleasure. That might be where her next idea came from. She let go of the devil's horns for a moment to weave somatics through the air.

“Invoco te,” she gasped at the rush of arcane pleasure that accompanied the cantrip. Then she focused past it, guiding her Mage Hand to where she wanted it. 

Raphael's breath hitched, a low moan tearing from him and vibrating against her as the wizard wrapped the fingers of the spectral hands around his hard length. She started stroking him in languid passes, enjoying the noises she drew from him and the way his body trembled between her legs.  

Soon Soleil felt him twitching, his hips bucking into her hand in small, desperate movements, his hands tensing on her thighs. She moaned loudly, dismissing the spell as if she had lost concentration on it. Raphael let out a sharp, frustrated whine, his wings quivering with tension, tail lashing behind him like a whip. The wizard tugged his head back, just enough to meet his gaze, a slow, unapologetic smile curving her lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry, my dear,” she purred, voice dripping with mock regret. “You’re far too good at what you do. I couldn’t keep my focus.”

Mage Hand, of course, required no concentration, and she was quite sure the cambion knew that.

“Shall I try again?”

The lower part of his face glistened with her arousal, and he worried his swollen lip between his fangs. She could see the conflict in his burning eyes as he decided how desperately he wanted her touch. At last, he nodded with a slow exhale.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Please.”

Her smile returned, decadent and wicked, as she recast the cantrip with a lazy flick of her wrist.

The second time she “lost” focus could be forgiven as a momentary lapse. The third, perhaps, an unfortunate habit. By the sixth, the devil broke with a cry, his chest rising in ragged gasps, every muscle in his body trembling under the weight of denial.

“Soleil, please!” Raphael begged, voice hoarse and wrecked. His claws bit into the plush curve of her thighs, desperation and reverence tangled in every touch as he fought not to collapse beneath the weight of her teasing.

Soleil stilled, watching him unravel at her feet, a creature of power brought low by want. It would’ve been so easy to continue. Tempting, even. He had denied her mercy once, until she had broken beneath him, crying, trembling, and ruined.

How fitting it would be to return the favor.

But... the tiefling was far too impatient herself. Heat coiled low in her belly, pulsing with every breath, every heartbeat. She needed him desperately, 

“Lie down,” she ordered, pressing her foot to the center of his chest, soft but unyielding. She applied just enough pressure to send him backward, and Raphael obeyed without resistance, easing down onto the floor with a slow exhale, his wings unfurling beneath him. As he settled, she rose from the couch with unhurried grace. The remnants of her ruined robe slipped from her shoulders and pooled at her feet, leaving her only covered by the marks the incubus had painted on her skin. Then she stepped forward, planting one foot, then the other, to either side of the cambion's waist.

She had to bite her lip against a moan, her composure fraying the moment she looked down at him, laid out beneath her like an offering. His chest rose and fell in uneven, ragged breaths. His hair was tousled, wild from her hands. His clothes, rumpled and askew, clung to him in disarray. But it was his eyes that undid her most. Those molten gold eyes, fixed on her with a gaze that burned, not just with need, but with something deeper.

Worship. Surrender.

It lit a fire in her. A river of molten heat that she could've drowned in. 

“You look so good like this,” she murmured, the words curling lazily from her lips as she lowered herself with exquisite control. “Beneath me.”

A shiver passed through Raphael the moment she settled astride his waist, her thighs bracketing him with deliberate grace. His breath hitched as she slowly rocked her hips against him, a soft exhale escaping him like a prayer half-spoken. He didn’t reach for her. He didn’t dare.

Soleil’s hands drifted down the line of his chest, slow and deliberate, fingers grazing the fine clasps of his doublet one by one. Each came undone with a soft click, revealing the smooth, crimson plane of his torso beneath, a silk shirt clinging to him, damp with sweat, translucent in places where the fabric had surrendered to heat and breath.

“Take it off,” she said softly, tugging at the shirt with casual disdain. “Or I’ll burn it.”

For a moment, it looked as though he might prefer the swiftness of fire - his eyes flickered, heat pooling in their depths - but he obeyed. His hands moved quickly, sliding the doublet from his shoulders, the fabric whispering down his arms. Then, with a quick motion, he lifted the clinging shirt over his head, careful around the curve of his horns, and cast it aside.

Now, bare beneath her, his body gleamed. Sweat-slick skin stretched over sculpted muscle, breath shaking in his chest. He looked up at her, silent, golden eyes lidded and dark with want. She let her hands wander, unhurried despite her own burning impatience. Her fingers slid through the hair on his chest and belly, nails scraping over skin, savouring the way his breath hitched and his muscles jumped under her touch. Then her movements turned precise, purposeful, tracing somatics. 

“Fulgur,” the incantation of Shocking Grasp was little more than a whisper, quickly drowned out by Raphael's groan as electricity surged from her touch and through him. She answered with a gasp of her own, the marks on her body reacting to the magic and sending a pulse of pleasure through her. As she moved to withdraw her hand, his fingers curled around her wrist with a desperate grip.

“Don’t stop,” he breathed, voice low and urgent. “Please… I want more.”

A genuine smile spread on the wizard's face, no less sharp.

“Does my magic feel good to you?” she asked, already weaving the delicate motions of another cantrip. Fire would never touch him; frost, however, would have to suffice.

“Gelu,” she whispered, and a shudder rippled through his body as her hands chilled, sending the icy stings of Frostbite coursing over his heated skin again. A sharp gasp tore from his throat, raw and unguarded, and his hips bucked up into her. The feedback hit her, and a high keen escaped her. The marks didn't even react that much to the cantrips, not the way they'd incapacitated her when she cast stronger spells, but the fact that she was making Raphael shake and writhe with her magic sent liquid desire through the wizard's veins. 

Soleil couldn't wait any longer, so she raised her hips and reached between them, wrapping her fingers around his hard and throbbing length, giving it a soft stroke before positioning it where she needed it most desperately. She lowered herself slowly, a small moan escaping her with every ridge and bump that dragged over her sensitive walls. The muscles in Raphael's stomach quivered as he fought to not buck up and seat himself within her immediately. When she finally sank down completely, both of them were gasping for breath, the tension so thick a Booming Blade could've cut through it. 

Soleil leaned forward, grinding her hips against his and testing the aching fullness of her pussy. She swallowed the devil's groan in a slow and languid kiss, her tongue dragging over the points of his teeth. Then the tracing of her fingers stilled, palms flat against his flanks.

“Fulgur,” she breathed against his lips. The shock caused him to buck violently up into her, and they both moaned - his tinged with a note of pain, hers pure bliss as the arcane feedback ran through her. She started to roll her hips in earnest, bouncing up and down until her thighs burned. Her hands continued to trace cantrips against Raphael's flesh. Lightning flickered. Frost bloomed. Each invocation drew a different sound from him: a groan, a shudder, a soft, bitten-off whimper.

And yet, whenever her hands stilled - whenever she paused, just for a breath - he stirred beneath her with a frustrated whine, as if the absence of her magic was more unbearable than its bite. 

“So close,” Raphael groaned, voice a breathy rasp, the movements of his hips stuttering beneath her. “Soleil, please!”

The plea came raw and unguarded. Desperation clung to him like sweat, and gods, it was beautiful. Soleil wouldn't have been able to stop even if she wanted to. But more than that, it was the control she craved. The orchestration of both of their undoings. The power of it flowed through her, the Weave rising in her like a tide and guiding her hands.

“Give it to me, my dear,” she moaned, shaping the crackling air between them with her will. “Perure!”

Lightning burst from her palm, the Witch Bolt arcing straight into him. His body jolted, spine bowing off the floor as the surge tore through his nerves. A strangled, half-ecstatic cry escaped him as he came, raw with pain, pleasure, and the helplessness caught between. Soleil collapsed with a cry of her own a heartbeat later, her orgasm beckoned forth by the pulsing of the infernal marks reacting to her magic. Her concentration snapped as she shook, her walls clenching and contracting around his cock. 

They clung to each other as the storm crested, electricity and overstimulation whispering beneath their skin, making their bodies twitch and shiver with aftershocks.

Soleil let out a shuddering breath and rolled onto her side, every part of her trembling with the weight of spent magic and pleasure. Raphael's cock slipped out of her, and she could feel his spend start to leak out onto her thigh. Her limbs felt heavy, boneless. The devil curled around her, gathering her into his arms without hesitation. His chest rose and fell against her, unsteady at first, then gradually syncing with her own. One hand traced her skin, unhurried, reverent. Where his fingers passed, the infernal marks painted onto her flesh smeared and blurred

“How are you feeling?” she murmured, voice muffled against the curve of his chest. “Do we need healing immediately?”

A low, breathless laugh stirred beneath her cheek, vibrating through him.

“I’m good, little mouse,” Raphael murmured, his voice thick with both exhaustion and contentment. “You didn’t come close to ending me. Not this time.”

She huffed, lips brushing his skin. “Can’t say the same. If it weren’t for that potion, I might’ve blacked out.”

“Fragile mortal,” Raphael groused, but his hands tightened around her as he said it, possessive, protective, and almost repentant. Then came the familiar snap of his fingers.

Reality twisted, fire blooming at the edges of her vision before it gave way to warmth. The world reformed around them in steam and gentle light. She recognized the restoration pool instantly. The heat of the water wrapped around her limbs, drawing the ache from her bones. Magic swept over her skin, erasing the last traces of scorch marks and bruises, knitting flesh and soothing nerves. She exhaled as the pain ebbed.

“Our time is almost up, my dear,” Raphael said idly, though the thread of bitterness beneath his words was unmistakable. “A bargain fulfilled.”

Soleil made a quiet sound in her throat and nestled deeper into his embrace, her body heavy with fatigue but content in the afterglow.

“Any last-minute orders?” she asked, quiet, willing. Tired as she was, she would still carry out whatever he asked of her.

“Not an order, no,” he said, pressing a kiss to her newly cut hair, the gesture startlingly tender. “Merely… a request.”

He hesitated, just a beat.

“That when our deal ends, you’ll consider asking this of me again. Not as payment. Not bound by bargain or pact. Simply because you want it. Because it pleases you.”

His voice lost its usual heat then, softening into something raw, something almost human.

“I won’t deny you in future bargains if you offer yourself freely. But I want this to be yours to take. For your own satisfaction. Your own delight.”

Soleil blinked, momentarily disarmed by the sincerity of it.

“'This’ being sex with you?” she asked, dryly incredulous. “Without obligation. Just… because?”

A low, amused hum rumbled from his chest. “Yes. Simply because you desire it,” he murmured, his hand sweeping slowly down her back. Then, softer still, he brushed his lips against hers. “Just think about it. That is all I ask.”

The kiss was gentle, devoid of the fierce heat and desperate urgency that had burned between them before. His hands moved with a quiet reverence, tracing soft patterns against her skin and replacing the ones drawn in red. 

Soleil knew the thoughts would come later, sharp, spiraling, and relentless. She’d turn this over in her mind, again and again, dissecting every word, every breath. But not yet.

For now, she allowed herself stillness.

She lay nestled in the devil’s arms, her body sore and her magic spent. Wrapped in warmth and silence as the last fragile minutes of their bargain slipped away, and in that brief, suspended moment, she was content.

Chapter Text

At a glance, one could be forgiven for assuming another Fireball had gone off in the newly rebuilt study. Smoke hung thick in the air, curling in lazy spirals toward the ceiling, veiling the room in a haze. And while a wizard was indeed to blame, this was no spell gone awry. Soleil sat at her desk, a quill in one hand and a pipe in the other. Her tail flicked behind her in agitated arcs, like a banner caught in a storm-wind,  while her leg bounced with a relentless, twitching rhythm. For the past several days, she had tried to drown her spiraling thoughts the only way she knew how: through relentless work and obsessive study. She had worked out the schematics for a cooling system for the hellfire engine, and she had even made headway with the Crown of Karsus. Yet the gnawing, insatiable restlessness within her refused to be silenced. And so, for now, she sought what small relief she could by puffing furiously at her pipe, as if trying to outdo a smoke mephit. 

She inhaled sharply and exhaled through her teeth, the bitter taste of Saltweed doing little to soothe her. It wasn’t for lack of stimulation, arcane or intellectual; she had all that in abundance. No, the problem was simpler, more carnal, and far more irritating for how blatantly her own body betrayed her.

She was pent up. She knew it. And she knew why.

Her mind, so often her ally, now whispered incessantly of the only thing that would grant her relief, the only act that might quiet the static in her nerves and melt the tension gripping her limbs. She wanted Raphael. Craved him. Desperately. Viscerally. But she would sooner bite off her own tongue than admit it aloud.

So instead, she smoked. She flicked the burnt ash and dottle into a jar and reached for her box of Saltweed, only to find her fingertips scraping the bottom. She tilted it toward herself and peered in.

Empty.

“… Fucksake,” she muttered, slamming it down with the energy of someone who had recently considered hurling herself into the Styx just to cool off. Her tail continued its violent lashing, thudding against the chair leg like a war drum. 

Fingers tangled in her hair, and she tugged at the roots, as if physical pain might distract from the ache blooming low in her belly. She could just ask him. He’d made that clear. It was the true craving her body was experiencing withdrawal from. Why would it be any different to request that Raphael sleep with her, purely to satiate her own desires? But the very thought made her skin prickle.

It would be surrender. Unmasked and complete. No pretense. No clever motive to hide behind.

As she scowled at the empty box, an idea sparked.

Soleil shot up from her desk, grabbed the empty tobacco box, and stormed off with purpose, stalking through the House in search of its master.

She found him in the boudoir, submerged in the sunken pool, head reclined against Haarlep’s bare chest while the incubus massaged his scalp with the unhurried grace of someone enjoying both their job and the view. It was all candlelight, steam, and barely veiled debauchery; a spa day in hell.

Haarlep looked up first, eyes gleaming. Their smile curled instantly, wicked and amused.

“Hello, darling,” they purred, a hungry smile already curving their lips. “Beneath the cloud of tobacco you smell… excited.” The pause belied what they actually wanted to say. Her mind filled it in: Like a bard face-to-face with a dragon. Like a succubus hiding in a nunnery. Like an animal in heat. Horny. Very horny.  

“Am I interrupting something?” Soleil asked coolly, though she made no attempt to hide the way her eyes lingered on Raphael, or the faint twitch in her fingers, which may or may not have been her restraining herself from ripping off her own robes and jumping into the pool.

The cambion cracked open one burning orange eye and regarded her with a lazy sort of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“Not at all,” he drawled. “Just indulging in a bit of self-care. Do you need anything, my dear?”

“I’ve run out of Saltweed,” she stated, holding up the empty box. “What do you wa-” 

She hadn’t even gotten halfway through her offer when a sharp snap echoed through the room, and suddenly the empty box felt surprisingly heavy in her hand. She opened it and the scent of Saltweed hit her, rich and familiar, and absolutely meaningless. It might as well have been dust. Her throat was dry, but not from smoke. Her skin buzzed beneath her robes. Her tail twitched behind her, restless, irritated, needy.

“There you go, little mouse,” Raphael said, lowering his hand back into the warm water with all the smug satisfaction of a lanceboard player who just turned a checkmate attempt against his opponent. “Anything else you wanted?”

Her mind screamed the answer immediately: You. Preferably on top of me. Possibly against a wall. Bed optional.

She bit her tongue. Hard.

She was fairly confident that cambions didn’t have telepathy, but Raphael wore that grin, the one that said he didn’t need to read minds to know exactly what she was thinking. 

She could cross the room. Step into the water. He wouldn’t stop her. Haarlep certainly wouldn’t; they’d probably be all too happy to join the fun. And it would be so easy - so damnably easy - to sink into him and forget everything else for a while.

Her fingers curled, nails scraping the lacquered box as she wrestled with her pride. Then she snapped the lid shut.

“No,” she said through clenched teeth. “Thank you for the Saltweed.”

Without waiting for a clever reply or a devilish comeback, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the boudoir, leaving the warmth - and temptation - behind. She didn’t look back. Didn’t trust herself to. Let them lounge in their luxury. Let Raphael wear that maddening, sexy grin. She had work to do. Research to bury herself in. Tobacco to smoke. And absolutely no intention whatsoever of coming back the moment she ran out again.

Probably.

Maybe.

Gods, she needed a cold bath.

—

Soleil’s pent-up energy had made it impossible to sleep next to the devil. Oh, she’d tried. She’d gritted her teeth and buried herself beneath blankets and pride, loath to let even a sliver of her composure crack. Admitting how his mere presence affected her - that the heat of him, the scent of him, the idea of him - was a concession she refused to give. But after too many sleepless nights spent lying beside him, heart racing and body aching in all the wrong ways, she had begrudgingly admitted defeat.

Not aloud, of course. She still had some dignity. She simply stopped going to bed.

Instead, she holed up in her study. She worked until her eyes blurred. Fell asleep hunched over her desk, cheek pressed to open books, ink smudged along her forearm. It was murder on her neck, her back, and her already fragile sanity. But it was… rest. Technically.

Her body remained unconvinced.

Tense, starved, overstimulated by nothing and yet constantly on edge, it retaliated in quiet, nagging ways; tight muscles, flaring nerves, that deep, low ache she refused to face. She ignored it all with increasingly petty determination.

But loneliness was harder to ignore. It crept in through the cracks of her self-imposed exile, made a home beneath her skin, and in the stillness of night, her mind - her sharpest weapon - turned against her, unearthing memories she would rather leave buried.

Tonight, it dragged her back to the Temple of Bhaal. The air there had reeked of blood and rot, thick with the weight of death. Orin’s unhinged laughter still echoed in her ears - shrill, taunting - as the changeling balanced the life of her lover on the tip of her wicked blade.

Soleil had barely been able to rest when Halsin was taken. Maybe that was why she’d been foolish enough to sign Raphael’s contract. She was desperate to find a way to stop the plot of the Dead Three. Desperate to see an end to their terror. The temple, far beneath the streets of Baldur’s Gate, had been the apex of their journey. Her sleeping mind replicated it all with such unnerving detail. The mix of relief and fear at seeing her beloved druid alive, chained to the altar like a sacrifice to the God of Murder. The surprise and terror at Orin’s sudden, gruesome transformation. The agony when the slayer had pounced on the wizard, claws tearing into the soft skin of her belly and spilling her guts to the bloodied floor before she could as much as utter a syllable of an incantation. 

Soleil still remembered the sound of her own flesh yielding as she was vivisected. Someone had screamed. Maybe herself. Maybe Halsin. She didn’t know. Her eyes were still open as Orin threw her to the floor like a discarded doll that had ripped at the seams. She watched, eyes unblinking, as the dreadful monster turned to direct its bloodlust at her companions, but everything had been so distant - the pain, the terror, the chaos.

A figure had been standing over her, tall and shrouded in shadow. He radiated something deeper than malice, an ancient, primal wrongness that seemed to twist the air around him. Not darkness, but the absence of anything human.

In reality, Shadowheart had brought her back before her blood had even cooled. Her intestines had slithered back into her stomach like eels, flesh knitting together and barely leaving a scar. She didn’t like to ruminate over that moment, over her own brief death, but when her mind wandered down that macabre path, she wondered if the figure she had seen standing over her broken body had been the Lord of Murder himself.

Now, in her nightmares, she once again lay on the grimy floor of the temple as her blood pooled beneath her like spilled ink. The figure standing over her was more familiar this time, but no less intimidating. Soleil knew that her pulse would’ve been thundering if she had a beating heart at that moment. But her body was still, heart silent, eyes unblinking.

“Hello, Father,” she rasped, the dying breath caught deep within her lungs. “To what, exactly, do I owe the dishonor of your bloody tin can being the last sight I behold?”

His crimson armor looked dyed in blood, his eyes no less hollow. A pinnacle of justice indistinguishable from the damned Lord of Murder. The thought made Soleil want to laugh, but she didn’t have the air.

"Your forked tongue is still as blasphemous as ever, I see," he sighed. “Even with your guts spilled on the floor, you wield arrogance as if the horns sprouting from your brow were a crown. How I raised such a fool, I cannot fathom.”

At the edge of her vision, behind his armored form, her companions still battled. But the monster they fought had changed shape. It was still massive and grotesque, and it still had claws as wicked as an executioner’s blade, but now it had wings. White hellfire burned within it.

"You barely raised me," Soleil spat, her voice hoarse, laced with defiance. "And if you think I’m going to waste my last breath in repentance, then I’m not the fool here."

She couldn’t see his face beneath the shadow of his helm, but she knew the faint crack in his stoicism, the disdainful curl of his mouth, the silent judgment.

"Your arrogance will be the death of you one day, girl," he groused. Soleil wanted to roll her eyes and gesture to her split gut, but she couldn’t move. "And what a mess your idiocy has gotten you into. Offering yourself to a devil, debasing yourself so. You’ve shamed our name."

A laugh - a harsh, bitter thing - shuddered through her still chest.

"I truly am your blood, then," she said, voice like iron scraping bone. "Following in your footsteps. What a shame, indeed."

A blast of white hellfire detonated behind the red paladin, lighting his scornful face. Soleil had always been told she inherited his nose. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t even cried when some bully broke it, leaving a jagged scar crossing the bridge.

"Your foolishness will be our end. I should spare the world. Let its salvation grant you some dignity in the end."

"Do it, coward!" she taunted, her voice dripping with venom. "Rid the world of your shame! You’re the reason I’m here, father! Be the reason I’m gone!"

Despite her demeanor, she was terrified. There was still so much she wanted. She did not want her life, nor her death, to be defined by him. Yet it seemed her overconfidence might finally be her undoing.

He raised his sword, and for once, he listened to her.

A scream tore from her broken throat, the last breath in her lungs carving out a single name. 

The only name she knew would answer.

Right before the blade struck, Soleil jolted awake, gasping sharply, chest heaving. Her throat felt raw. Her muscles were trembling, and her heart pounded violently against her ribs.

A figure stood over her.  A man.

She flailed reflectively, hands tracing frantic somatic gestures as arcane sparks flickered at her fingertips. But breathless and burning, she had no air for incantation, no strength for magic. The spell faltered. She wanted to scream as he reached for her, but all that escaped was a whimper - the same desperate name - while she scrambled backward until her back hit something solid.

“I’m here. I’m here. Breathe, my dear,” a dulcet voice soothed, steady and calm. “It was just a dream.”

But the cold stone of that temple still clung to her skin, and her father’s voice echoed in her mind. Her breath hitched, shattering on a scream she still had no breath to release, as strong hands grasped her arms and pulled her close.

“Soleil,” the voice sharpened, still gentle, but now edged with command. “You have to breathe.”

In the dim grey haze of her darkvision, eyes flared - glowing embers that cut through the gloom and locked onto hers.

“Follow my lead,” Raphael said.

He inhaled slowly, chest rising against her in a steady, deliberate rhythm. She mimicked him as best she could, drawing in a shuddering, fragmented breath. He held it for a beat… then exhaled.

"Good girl," he murmured, and Soleil felt her heart stutter. "Again."

Raphael’s hands soothed over her back as he held her, and Soleil became dimly aware they were both on the floor, slumped against the side of her desk. She must’ve fallen. Or flung herself from the chair in the throes of her nightmare.

Slowly, breath by breath, her trembling ebbed. The tightness in her chest began to loosen, and the phantom cold of the dream started to fade beneath the heat of his skin.

“There you go,” Raphael murmured, voice barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against the curve of her temple. “Whatever it was… It’s gone now. Just a dream.”

She didn’t correct him. Didn’t tell him it hadn’t been a dream at all, that she had truly died, a year ago, in that blood-drenched temple beneath Baldur’s Gate. That her heart had stopped, her body torn open like an offering to the God of Murder. 

And she didn’t speak of her father. Didn’t say how the man would likely rather see her dead again than lying in the arms of the devil, who now held her like something precious.

She said none of it.

Instead, she just pressed closer, forehead to his collarbone, hands trembling as they smoothed over the silk of his robe and underneath it, finding warm skin, solid and real.

“Stay,” she whispered. The word barely made it out, cracked and breathless. “Please… just stay with me.”

He huffed a soft, amused breath, but there was nothing mocking in the way he held her tighter, tucking her closer into his lap.

“You’re the one who keeps running from me, little mouse,” he murmured, voice a velvet drawl. “I come when you call. I’ll give you whatever you need. You only have to ask.”

And that scared her. The promise of what she could have, should she utter the word. It felt like a spell - powerful, forbidden - just waiting for an incantation to make it real. A single word, and the world could change.

“Why me?” she asked, tilting her head up to meet those burning eyes. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, both from the dream and memory. She was nobody, nothing, a blasphemous creature made from regret. She’d never be anything but her father’s wretched daughter. “I’m nothing,” she whispered out loud. “I’m worthless.” 

Despite her words, she held the cambion close. Her hands curled around his back, trying to grasp wings that weren’t there, her tail snaking around his waist. It was desperate and possessive. Part of her didn’t believe he would really stay unless she held him there.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed, the edge of his mouth curling in disgust.

“Worthless,” he echoed. The word said in that tone, in his voice, sank into her like a blade. Her breath stuttered. She turned her face away, shame rising like bile. “Do you really believe what you’re saying right now?” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “If so… then let me show you exactly what you are.”

His tone sent a shiver through her. Humiliation and heat tangled in her chest, tightening around her ribs like chains. Her throat closed. She wanted to disappear. But stronger than that need was the need for attention. She would take anything if it meant he didn’t leave.

“Please show me,” she breathed, the words cracked and stripped of pride.

He didn’t answer. Just snapped his fingers. Hellfire flared, and the world shifted beneath her. When it stilled, she was still on the ground… but no longer in her study. She blinked against the low, amber light of candles. Velvet curtains. Perfume-laced air. Raphael’s boudoir.

He sat languidly on a divan a few feet away, one long leg crossed over the other. His robe had fallen open, silk spilling from his shoulders to reveal the bare expanse of his lean and sculpted chest. Now, in the candlelight, she could see his human form clearly and it all felt more real than in the darkness of her study. Her heartbeat thundered. Her body remembered the ache it had carried for days. She considered fleeing the room. Herself. Him.

Raphael saw the thought flicker in her eyes.

“No more running, little mouse,” he sneered. In a flash, a chain appeared, one end looping around the collar at her throat, the other in the devil’s hand. With a flick of his wrist, he gave it a light but commanding tug. “Come here.”

Soleil’s breath caught. Heat flushed across her cheeks, burning down her neck and her chest. Not from fear, not entirely. It was shame, yes. Mortification. But underneath it all, there was something darker, something needful. A yearning so fierce it almost hurt.

Of course, this was what she was to him. A thing to be led. A creature to be owned. A collar, a leash, a place at his feet. And Weave help her, but she wanted to be there.

She crawled across the velvet rug on her hands and knees, every inch forward an admission. Not just of her submission, but of her desire. For attention. For touch. For anything he would give her. Humiliation twisted in her gut. Not just because of the chain, or the crawl, or the fog that already started to blur her thoughts, but because part of her had hoped she meant more. Had dreamed, foolishly, that she might be precious to him.

But if this was all he saw her as… she’d still take it.

Because what terrified the tiefling more than degradation - more than the leash, more than his eyes on her - was the thought of being abandoned.

She reached him, and he drew back, retreating up the length of the divan, slow and deliberate, never releasing the chain. It stayed taut between them, a golden tether of control, and she followed, climbing up onto the plush seat, breath shaking. She reached for him again. For his lap. For the illusion of comfort.

A foot pressed to her shoulder - firm, unyielding - halting her.

“Turn around, pet,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Upright on your knees.”

The words landed like a blow. Soleil hesitated.

He didn’t even want to face her.

Still, she obeyed, slow and uncertain. She pivoted in place, settling back onto her heels, spine hunched and trembling, the velvet soft beneath her knees. Her hands came to rest in her lap, fingers curling into her palms. Her gaze dropped. Shame crawled beneath her skin, hot and clinging. A sharp pull on the chain followed, yanking her head back. 

“Eyes up,” he snapped. As she obeyed, her breath hitched. On the wall opposite them was the great, gold-rimmed mirror. Her own reflection stared back at her. Kneeling. Collared. Wildeyed and flushed with heat and humiliation. Reflex kicked in, and she tried to look away. Tried to retreat into herself. But the chain pulled taut again, unrelenting, and then his hand was there, catching her chin with deliberate care, tilting her face back toward the reflection.

“Keep watching,” Raphael growled, voice low, hot against the curve of her ear. It wasn’t a suggestion.

She swallowed hard.

So that was what he wanted. Not just submission. Not obedience. He wanted Soleil to see it. To watch as she was brought low, piece by piece. To witness her own unraveling.

Her chest heaved as she forced herself to look, to see the tremble in her limbs, the flush across her cheeks, the way her lips parted around a breath she still couldn’t quite catch.

Raphael released his grip on her chin, hand moving with slow, practiced ease, slipping beneath the folds of the robe she still wore, the one she’d fallen asleep in. He undid the clasps in the front, one by one, and she felt the shift in fabric, the faint slide of silk slipping down her skin. The robe whispered down her arms, pooling in folds around her hips. He pulled it away completely, letting it fall to the floor and leaving her in nothing but her underwear. 

With another pull of the chain, Raphael yanked her backwards, his warm chest pressed against her back. His hand trailed a featherlight path from her navel, ghosting over the faint scar cutting through her midsection and up to the edge of her bodice.

“Get rid of this,” he said, tugging at the fabric. The taut chain didn’t allow her much movement, so the tiefling struggled a bit, arching her back to reach the laces behind. As it fell away, his hand immediately found her breast, groping and plucking at her nipple. Soleil moaned at the roughness of it, the way the devil treated her like nothing but a toy. She supposed that was what she deserved. The sharp sting of a pinch drew a startled yelp from her lips, her eyes snapping open. She hadn’t even realized they’d closed.

“Ah ah,” Raphael chided, low and cruel, his breath hot against her skin. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, tugging just hard enough to make her flinch. “Don’t make me repeat myself, little mouse.”

His voice was a growl - rich and deliberate - and she could feel it, vibrating through her spine like a dark chord struck low.

“Sorry,” she whispered, breathy and broken, the word dragged from her in a whimper.

Soleil fixed her eyes on the mirror, as instructed. She truly looked pathetic, undone, and desperate, eyes glassy with need. She was sure that if she’d worn panties dyed any other colour than black, a dark wet patch would be visible. She could feel Raphael’s gaze raking over her body, but she couldn’t make herself meet it. Couldn’t face what she’d find there. Mockery. Disdain. Or worse… nothing at all.

"Don’t be shy now, my little wizard,” Raphael drawled, voice thick with amusement, condescension coiled like velvet around every syllable. “Touch yourself. Give us a show.”

He said it like it was all theatre, like her unraveling was a performance meant for him alone.

She unclenched a hand from the fabric of the divan beneath them, trailing hesitant fingers up the length of her thigh as she slowly inched them apart. She’d been right in her assumptions; her panties were soaked through with her slick need. She touched herself through them, exhaling shakily as her fingers circled her clit, pleasure melting with the humiliation burning in her stomach. Raphael continued to play with her breast, pinching, biting, or pulling the chain when her eyes drifted shut. He forced her to watch as she grew more and more desperate, more and more needy for the slightest of touches. She could feel his hard cock practically burning at her backside, and she pushed her ass into it, drawing a hiss from the devil. 

“Raphael, please,” the word cracked as it left her, half-formed, strangled by the weight in her throat. She could feel him smiling into the crook of her neck. He didn’t need to speak for her to feel the weight of his gaze pressing into her, dragging across her skin like claws. She kept her eyes on herself. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Not yet. Not when she was already this exposed.

“Do you think you deserve it, little mouse?” he murmured, each word a velvet lash. “Do you truly believe you’re worthy of me?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

The wizard's body betrayed her before thought could reach her tongue. Her head moved - just barely - a quiet shake. A reflex born of too many years of being told she was nothing.

The stillness that followed was worse than anger. It hung in the air, dense and electric, like the moment before the thunder breaks.

“Who,” he said, his voice stripped bare of softness, nothing but steel beneath velvet. “Are you to decide that?”

The words struck her like a backhand, and she froze.

A growl rolled from his chest - low, dangerous - and then his hand seized her jaw again, rougher this time, forcing her head back until her breath hitched. His grip wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t meant to be.

“Look at me, Soleil.”

She hesitated, her pulse stuttering. Every instinct told her to stay small, to stay invisible. But the command left no room for retreat.

She lifted her eyes and gasped.

The man in the mirror wasn’t amused. He wasn’t disgusted.

He was starving.

There was nothing restrained in his gaze, only raw, possessive hunger, burning through the reflection like fire through paper. His fingers tightened against her jaw, grounding her there.

Her breath came shallow, but this time… Soleil didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

Because in Raphael’s eyes, for one terrifying, impossible moment… she saw herself. Not the broken daughter of her father, but the capable mage she had made herself into. She saw power. Precision. A mind forged into something deadly and rare. She saw reverence, want, and desire. She might be collared, but that was but a testament to the danger she posed. The chain, a sign of Raphael’s own desperate need to keep her close.  

“I do not waste myself on things unworthy of me,” he said, voice low, final. 

It wasn’t comfort. It wasn’t kindness. It was fact. A law she was expected to accept or be broken under.

It undid her.

And then it ignited her.

Her hands moved before thought could catch them, reaching back to grasp at him, anchoring herself in the heat of his body. She craned her neck back and found his mouth with hers, fierce, sudden, starved. A kiss not given, but taken. The chain went taut, keeping her there, lips moving against his. Raphael’s free hand slid down her body with urgency. The soaked fabric of her panties burned away under his touch, and she moaned into the fiend’s mouth as he ground his hard cock through her wet folds. He pulled back, just a breath. 

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commanded. “I want you to see.” 

Soleil obeyed, keeping her eyes on the reflection, watching as the devil in the shape of a man behind her thrust his cock into her sopping wet pussy. The sight was pure sin, the stretch as he pushed in slowly burning in the best way possible.

“My gorgeous little mouse,” Raphael cooed, moving his hips in slow but deep thrusts. “Look at how beautifully you take me.”

His long fingers were circling her clit in soft, tight circles, sending slow, even pulses of pleasure through her. His touch was so soft, so intimate. 

He kept speaking as he fucked her, a steady stream of praise, each word a balm and a blade. Beautiful. Brilliant. Powerful. Over and over, as if the repetition might etch the truth into her bones. The tiefling’s fogged mind couldn’t hold it all, overflowing in a stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. Raphael caught one before it could fall, tracing its path with the tip of his tongue, slow and savoring.

“That’s it,” he whispered, the words curling into her ear like smoke. “Let it out.”

He pressed his lips against her cheek - not a kiss, not quite - more like a brand, a seal. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice velvet and iron. “You’re mine, Soleil. And I do not let go of what is mine.”

The chain still rested between them, but it no longer felt like a tether.

It felt like a promise.

It felt like what her body and mind had needed. Permission. Not from him, but from herself. A release from the shackles she had forged: pride, shame, the quiet desperation to stay composed, and in their place remained only the aching certainty that he would hold her through it.

She came with a loud, stuttering moan, eyes finally shutting, weight sagging against the firm body at her back. 

Raphael followed her shortly after with a low groan, holding her tight against himself as though he’d known she would come apart like this and had always intended to be the one to hold her through it. His grip was firm, sure, and when he sank back onto the divan, he took her with him, guiding her down as though placing something precious.

Soleil still trembled. The occasional hiccup broke through her breath. But Raphael said nothing. He simply waited, the weight of his arm across her back a silent reassurance. Eventually, her breathing slowed. The hiccups quieted. The storm passed. Only then did he tilt her chin and press a kiss to her lips, softly, uncharacteristically so, as if even he recognized the fragility of this moment.

“Come to bed with me,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping terribly without you, my dear.”

There was no demand in it. No game.

Just a truth, wrapped in velvet.

And perhaps… something close to longing.

Chapter Text

Avernus was as bloodstained and miserable as ever. You’d think that after a year, Wyll would’ve grown used to it all: the scorched skies, the constant stench of sulfur, the random fireball explosions, but the air still burned in his lungs like the first time he set foot in this godsforsaken plane. He coughed, wincing as a bruised rib flared with pain.

“Chin up, soldier,” Karlach called out with a grin, catching his grimace. “I’m making flambeed abyssal chicken for dinner.”

They were trudging along, boots dragging through ash and cracked stone, having survived the day by sheer grit and a pinch of luck. Still no answers, still no fix for the infernal engine ticking away in Karlach’s chest, but they weren’t giving up.

“Alright,” Wyll said, half-laughing. “Just go easy on the dragon spice this time. Last batch felt like I swallowed a fireball.”

Karlach let out a hearty laugh, the kind that echoed brighter than anything else in that bleak place. Wyll missed home more than he cared to admit, but seeing her spirit return, little by little, made the hells almost bearable.

They were still bound by their pasts in ways that weren’t so easy to shake - old deals, old scars - but now, at least, they were free to choose their own path. And this time, they were walking it together.

“It’s not my fault your delicate palate can’t handle a bit of hea-!”

A sharp thunk cut Karlach off mid-sentence as an arrow buried itself in her shoulder. She barely flinched. With a grunt, she snapped the shaft and spun around, battleaxe already in hand, eyes scanning for the threat.

Wyll was right behind her, bow at the ready. His devil’s sight cut through the illusion, revealing the ambushers - two fiends cloaked in invisibility, now exposed by their own aggression.

A narzugon loomed atop a nightmare, its infernal armor gleaming, its lance pointed straight at them. Beside him, an erinyes soared on black wings, deceptively elegant, her longbow drawn and ready to fire again.

The charge came like a thunderclap, hooves pounding, wings tearing through the air, the ground trembling beneath the force of it.

Wyll loosed a flurry of arrows; three, four, five in a breath. The erinyes shrieked and veered away, one arrow lodged deep in her shoulder. But the narzugon didn’t flinch. He barreled forward through the hail like they were nothing more than ash on the wind.

“Above!” Karlach shouted, already sprinting into the path of the charging nightmare, axe raised high.

Wyll’s eye snapped skyward. Another nightmare hovered overhead, circling like a vulture. Its rider was smaller, draped in a hooded cloak, face hidden behind a golden mask, though a pair of horns betrayed their infernal origin. A devil, clearly, and a spellcaster by the way their hands danced through the air.

Wyll felt it then: a creeping arcane presence slipping into his mind, trying to seize control of his body, to freeze him in place. His muscles trembled under the weight of it, but with a guttural growl, he bit down, focused, and forced the magic back with sheer will. The spell shattered like glass in his mind, but the lapse cost him.

Too late, he sensed the narzugon had swerved past Karlach, who’d overshot in her charge. Wyll turned, and the fiend was already on him.

A gauntlet clamped down on his horn, yanking him off his feet. His spine twisted painfully as he was dragged backward through the ash. His bow slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. His boots scraped over the cracked earth. Wyll gritted his teeth and yanked a dagger from his belt. He drove it into the nightmare’s side, the blade sinking deep into burning flesh. The creature shrieked and reared, hooves flailing, and the narzugon’s grip slipped just enough.

Wyll twisted free, hitting the ground hard. He rolled, coughing on sulfur and smoke, then scrambled up and bolted toward his dropped bow. In the meantime, he could see both the erinyes and the mage giving Karlach trouble, kiting her so that they never got into her range. He had to get them out of the sky. Wyll dropped to a knee, snatched up his bow, and drew the string back in one smooth motion. He aimed high, straight at the mage. His first arrow streaked through the air, striking a shimmering ward just inches from the devil’s chest. The impact cracked like thunder, the force rippling through the arcane barrier.

The nightmare reared, shrieking as it veered sideways to protect its rider.

He didn’t pause.

Another arrow. Then another. Each one slammed into the shield like a drumbeat of relentless pressure. The magical barrier held, but the mage was no longer flying with confidence. They were off-balance now, the nightmare steering hard to avoid a direct hit.

Wyll kept moving, weaving through smoke and shattered stone, doing everything he could to keep his distance. The narzugon was still chasing him, an iron-clad shadow that refused to slow, each step thundering behind like a drumbeat of death.

He spun mid-stride, loosed another arrow at the erinyes still circling above Karlach. Arrows slammed into the fiend’s body - one, two, three - each one sinking deep into her pale flesh. She shrieked, more in rage than pain, and aimed her bow at him in retaliation. The arrow tore through the side of Wyll’s neck, a gush of warm blood seeping down his skin. He could feel poison immediately trying to dull his senses, but he grit his teeth and pushed through it, lungs burning as he kept moving. The narzugon came barreling past on his nightmare mount, lance slicing the air where Wyll had just been. He ducked low, barely dodging the strike, and the beast’s flaming hooves slammed into the ground with a thunderous crack, spraying molten shards across the battlefield.

Smoke and ash erupted in their wake, cutting off his view of Karlach and the winged devil still tormenting her from above.

High overhead, the mage still circled, keeping her distance. Even over the howl of the infernal winds, Wyll caught her voice, sharp, furious, barking in Infernal. His understanding was patchy, but the words were unmistakable: curses, threats… and something about disintegration.

Oddly, none of it was aimed at him or Karlach. She was shouting at the other two fiends, her rage thinly veiled behind clipped commands and venomous insults.

Then, without warning, her attention snapped back to Karlach. Her hands began to move fast and deliberate, fingers weaving through the air as arcane energy flared at her fingertips. Her voice rang out like a blade drawn from a sheath:

“Ex Textura!”

A pulse of unseen force rippled through the battlefield.

The erinyes fired - three arrows in quick succession - but they shattered on a shimmering barrier, fragments clattering uselessly to the ground. Moments later, Karlach’s axe crashed into that same unyielding wall, halted with a harsh clang, knocking her a step backward. Karlach lashed out again, pounding fruitlessly against the barrier. Her burning eyes locked onto Wyll, and in that glance was a message clear as any command: Kill the fucking mage.

Wyll steadied himself, knowing that both the narzugon and the erinyes were closing in on him. But he had to make this shot count; he had to free Karlach. His arrow whistled through the sulfur-thick air, striking the mage’s shoulder with enough force to knock her from the saddle. He didn’t watch her fall; his focus snapped immediately to the two fiends closing in.

The erinyes unleashed a hail of arrows, each one embedding in Wyll’s leather armor or thudding into the ash-covered ground around him.

Suddenly, a sharp command tore through the air. The hellish knight shifted course.

Wyll swung his blade, catching the paladin as it changed direction, but the fiend didn’t falter. It thundered past the spot where arrows had shattered against the barrier, the sphere now vanished.

Karlach stood frozen mid-step, steam hissing softly from the engine embedded in her chest. Not a muscle moved.

Wyll’s stomach twisted. Paralysis. Spellwork.

His eyes darted upward, scanning the dark sky,  once again finding the circling nightmare. The rider hadn’t fallen as he thought, not completely. Her foot was caught in the stirrup, and her hands were still raised in spellwork, even upside down. Wyll raised his bow, but before he could lose the arrow, the wizard’s eyes flickered to him, and she vanished in a swirl of Misty Step. His shot struck the flank of the nightmare instead, eliciting an ear-piercing screech from the beast.

He cursed under his breath as he ran towards Karlach. The narzugon hadn’t struck her, but it was fastening manacles around her frozen wrists. He took aim at the sliver of burning skin visible between the gap between the paladin’s helmet and armor. Right as he let the arrow fly, a rope, thick and coiled, sprang to life and snapped tight around his torso, binding his arms to his sides. It yanked him backwards, and the ground slammed into him a second later, jagged rock biting into his back as he hit hard.

Wings beat overhead.

The erinyes descended, landing on top of him with a hiss of scorched wind. A pained shout tore from his throat as she stepped on his bruised rib. She stood tall, bloodied and grinning, a few of his arrows still embedded in her pale flesh. 

“This is going to be fun,” she purred, raising her sword with slow, sadistic glee. He heard Karlach’s frantic, desperate shouts cut through the chaos. Wyll didn’t look away.

He didn’t close his eyes.

Please, he thought. Let her get free.

Then came a sharp cry:

“Pario!”

There was a series of sickening cracks - six sharp impacts - followed by a choked grunt from the erinyes. She looked down, and Wyll followed her gaze. There was a hole in her torso, punched through both armor and flesh alike. Her body spasmed, then dropped, collapsing beside him like a marionette with its strings cut.

Wyll blinked, stunned. His gaze shifted.

The mage stood several feet away, arm still raised, eyes burning beneath her golden mask. Cold, calculating, unwavering. He saw her fingers begin to move again, weaving another pattern in the air. The magic slipped into his mind with unnatural ease, threading through thought and will, like smoke through cracks. There was nothing to fight. His body was too battered, too tired. 

And then he heard it.

Sleep, Wyll. It’s going to be okay.

The echo of a voice, soft, tender, strangely familiar. He couldn’t place it, but it pulled at something deep inside him. He didn’t have time to chase the memory. The world tilted, dimmed, and then vanished altogether as the spell dragged him into darkness.

—

Raphael watched from a distance as his hired blade fell.

He had known the erinyes for a long time, back when she was still an osyluth, barking orders in the lower ranks. Sanza, she had called herself. Ambitious, insubordinate, endlessly exhausting. He wasn’t particularly sad to see her lying broken in the ash. If anything, it was an overdue conclusion. What did surprise him was the cold precision with which his little mouse had executed her. There was no hesitation, no mercy. The corners of Raphael’s mouth curled into a pleased smile. 

He continued watching as the mage stepped over the corpse of Sanza and knelt beside the unconscious ranger, retrieving the Rope of Entanglement and securing his limbs with steel and effortless efficiency. No trembling hands. No hesitation. A blindfold bound over his one working eye and a gag affixed between his teeth. 

A furious yell tore through the air. The barbarian had managed to twist away from the narzugon before he could bind her legs. Shackled hands gripped the axe, her body coiled in fury. Whether she had broken the Hold Person through her own will or Soleil’s focus had faltered, Raphael couldn’t tell. His mage didn’t flee from the charging warrior. She had raised her hands; perhaps to cast, perhaps in some half-second plea. But it was already too late. There was no time for reason, no chance for recognition.

The blade struck, shattering her arcane shield. 

Raphael leaned forward instinctively, but didn’t move. Unless she was in mortal danger or tried to run, he couldn’t intervene; that was part of their deal. 

Blood sprayed, but his wizard barely faltered. The blow wasn’t fatal. Before the second strike could fall, the rope flared with magic, snapping forward and coiling tightly around the barbarian mid-swing. The force of it dragged her down, and she hit the earth beside the ranger with a growl of rage and frustration. Raphael felt something tighten in his chest. For a moment, he thought the rope might snap. That she might burn it. But it held. 

Soleil shuffled over on her knees without ceremony. She tied another blindfold around the barbarian’s head, ignoring the endless stream of snarled threats and curses. Perhaps wisely, she abandoned the idea of adding a gag. The tiefling’s teeth snapped at the air with a ferocity that suggested Soleil might lose a few fingers in the attempt.

Raphael watched as she finally allowed herself to rest, sitting back between the restrained barbarian and ranger. A study in opposites; one silent and still, the other writhing, snarling, almost breathing fire.

The narzugon, Kairon, approached at last, his infernal armor whispering with every step. Even from a distance, Raphael could hear Soleil’s voice rise, sharp and blistering in flawless Infernal. 

“You tied her hands in front?” she snapped, voice incredulous and distorted through the gold mask. “She’s not some dainty prisoner awaiting trial; she’s a berserker! Do you even have a brain beneath that helmet, or is it all smoke and steel?”

Kairon said nothing; whether out of discipline or embarrassment, Raphael didn’t care. The barbarian, of course, added fuel to the fire, blindly snarling threats and hurling colorful curses at both of them. Her fury rolled off her in waves, but her bindings held.

Once the reprimand had concluded, Soleil exhaled sharply and reached up, unfastening the golden mask from her face. Her fingers, steady through combat, now trembled slightly as she uncorked a healing potion and drank. It went down in one gulp, and she grimaced at the taste.

That had been another part of their bargain: Raphael would grant her weapons, armor, enchantments, whatever she required to complete the task, but anonymity was non-negotiable. If she were recognized, if they figured out who she was, her friends’ lives would become collateral. She had agreed, grimly but without argument.

With a snap of his fingers, Raphael displaced himself and reappeared in front of her, emerging in a shimmer of heat and smoke. She flinched, then immediately raised a finger to her lips before he could speak. The barbarian was still fuming in blind rage. If she heard even a single familiar word - tone, cadence, a breath too soft - it could unravel everything. It wasn’t over yet.

Wordlessly, the mage retrieved the golden mask and fixed it back over her face.

When the barbarian’s rage finally dulled to heavy, heaving breaths, Soleil raised her hands. Her fingers moved through the air with tired precision, and her distorted voice intoned the spell.

“Impero tibi.”

A flicker of arcane light shimmered across the tiefling’s bound form. Her muscles resisted a moment longer before slumping. A heavy snore followed a moment later.

Silence fell again.

The mage exhaled and pulled the mask from her face one last time and cast it to the dirt beside her with a dull clatter. She finally affixed the gag between the barbarians slack lips. It had been coated in a carefully measured amount of poison, just enough to keep both of them knocked out without lasting damage.

And just like that, it was done.

Both of them bound. Helpless. Captured by a friend.

Raphael didn’t speak. Not immediately. He simply looked at her, at the tension still etched into her brow, at the quiet devastation trying to surface beneath it. There was no victory in her face. No triumph.

“Well fought, little mouse,” he said at last, his voice a velvet drawl. She glanced up at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. The scowl came quickly, but he saw beneath it. That flicker of pride. She was basking in the praise, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

“Now,” he continued, voice smooth as silk. “How about we go home and take a dip in the pool?”

Soleil sighed, long and wistful.

“Can they have a dip too?” she asked, nodding toward the two unconscious forms on the ground. “Karlach took a bad hit.”

From Raphael’s perspective, the tiefling had given as good as she got. Brutal, yes. But hardly in need of pampering.

“They still have some travel ahead of them,” he said smoothly. “And you have a bargain to uphold.”

Oh, and that was the truly exciting part. The part he was looking forward to, even more than the drama of betrayal and bloodshed. Soleil’s brow furrowed. 

“So do you,” she countered. 

“Do I?” he echoed, hand to chest, mock innocence dripping from every syllable. “My dear, I believe we discussed the terms ad nauseam.”

He gave her a smile, charming and sharp.

“In exchange for your offer, I’d provide you with hired blades and gear. You were to be in charge of locating your quarry, transporting your party to your quarry, subduing said quarry, and ensuring no… undue harm befell them. I was to accompany you to make sure you didn’t perish or disappear with your friends, and then make sure you returned home safely to settle your part of the bargain.”

“You said we would get home safely,” Soleil said, voice flat.

“Singular you, little mouse,” he replied, still smiling. 

“That wasn’t specified,” Soleil muttered, her tone souring. “I can’t teleport them. They have to want to go. Willing transport is part of the spell.”

He arched a brow, glancing toward the sleeping mortals.

“They’re unconscious,” he said. “Hardly in a state to object.”

Soleil sighed, the sound deep and weary. “My magic doesn’t work like yours. They need to choose it. Or it fails.”

Raphael clicked his tongue and gave a shrug. “What a shame,” he murmured. “I suppose they’ll have to take the scenic route. Kairon will escort them. Gently, of course.”

“I suppose we’ll have to,” Soleil said quietly, rising to her feet and dusting off her robes.

There was a pause.

“Pardon?” Raphael blinked, turning toward her, one brow lifting slowly.

“I said we,” she repeated, folding her arms, defiance flickering back to life in her eyes. “Part of the deal: no undue harm. I’m going with them to make sure of it.”

The devil regarded her for a long moment. His lips curled slowly into a grin. Not of amusement this time, but still approval, dark, dangerous, and deeply intrigued.

Behind them, Kairon had begun dragging the ex-warlock towards his nightmare. Soleil turned on the paladin with a hiss of fury. 

“If even the tips of his horns are scratched,” she snapped in infernal. “I will make sure your armor melts with your skin.” The narzugon stiffened at the threat. Without a word, he adjusted his grip and lifted the unconscious man more carefully, choosing to carry rather than drag him.

Raphael felt something thrilling ripple down his spine, delighted as Soleil turned that furious gaze back on him.

“We’re about half a day’s travel from the House of Hope,” he said, voice smooth as velvet, but edged with challenge. “Our bargain still holds. I won’t interfere unless your life is in mortal danger… or you give me reason to believe you’re thinking of fleeing.”

Soleil didn’t flinch. Didn’t lower her eyes.

Then he snapped, producing the susur collar dangling from his finger, and she eyed it with exasperation. 

“Our agreement,” he drawled. “Also stated you’d be uncollared for the duration of your hunt.” He stepped closer, letting his voice dip. “I’d say you’ve completed that portion admirably.”

She sighed, quiet and resigned, before tipping her chin just slightly, enough to grant him access. It was not submission. It was practicality. And yet, that slight gesture stirred something low and hot in his chest. 

The clasp clicked into place with quiet finality. His knuckles brushed the edge of her jaw. Her skin was warm from exertion, her pulse steady.

Still, she didn’t look away.

“Kairon can heal your wounds,” he offered, an olive branch of sorts. The reaction was immediate. A flare of something hot flashed in her eyes. Her shoulders tensed, her jaw locked, and her hand dropped instinctively to where her side bled through torn robes.

“That won’t be necessary," she said, voice a rasp.

“Suit yourself,” he murmured, almost amused, though he made a note of the tension behind her tone. With a sharp whistle, Tamora came trotting toward them, her hooves cracking against the scorched earth. He noticed Soleil’s eyes soften instantly at the sight of the beast. There was a flicker of guilt in her face, real and unguarded, when her gaze fell to the arrow still embedded in the nightmare’s flank.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke the mare’s neck, fingers brushing carefully near the wound.

Raphael stepped forward and yanked the arrow out in one clean motion. The nightmare only twitched, used to far worse.

“She’s fine,” he said, tone somewhere between dismissive and fond.

Soleil still looked remorseful as she patted the nightmare’s muzzle gently. And then, without complaint, she let Raphael guide her into the saddle.

—

The small party rode in tandem upon the two nightmares, their smoldering hooves striking the scorched earth in rhythmic cadence. Raphael rode with Soleil astride one beast, while Kairon shared the second with the two mortal companions. They kept to the ground, the nightmares only taking flight when necessity demanded, soaring over jagged chasms or rivers of flame that tore through the infernal landscape like open wounds.

Raphael sat close behind the wizard, his chest pressed against her back. His left hand gripped the reins with practiced ease, while the other rested with casual possession on her midsection. The monotonous march left room for wandering thoughts, and Raphael’s were anything but idle.

His little mouse had been holding back. She had pulled her punches for the sake of her companions, restrained herself out of sentiment. How quaint. How utterly mortal.

And yet… even restrained, she had shone. That mind was as sharp as any infernal blade, quick and ruthless when it counted. She had come up with the strategy, scrying on her friends and tracking them, planning the attack so that they were worn and weary from previous battle. She’d revealed their weaknesses to her mercenaries for them to exploit, detailed descriptions of cracks in their armor. She had executed a disobedient soldier under her command without hesitation. Yes, it was to protect her precious ranger, but the clarity of that decision, the precision with which she had carried it out… it had made Raphael hot under his collar. Even the way she had commanded Kairon, snapping orders like a pit fiend general, had sent a shiver down his spine. A mortal wizard cowing a paladin of hell into obedience. Delicious. 

But it wasn’t merely her intellect, nor even her ruthless pragmatism, that had him so enthralled. No, it was the way she moved in her power, unaware of the effect she had. That quiet confidence, unpolished but undeniable, stirred something in him deeper than mere hunger. It was intoxicating. And now, with her warm against him, the scent of battle still clinging to her skin, and the faint tremble still in her limbs from the aftermath, he could see her potential so clearly it almost ached, the shape of what she could become. 

She would stand beside him at the pinnacle. The Archmage of Baator. His arcane right hand. Commanding legions in his name, laying waste to armies with the grace of a conductor leading an orchestra of fire and destruction. Zariel’s fortresses torn from the skies by her spells, his will behind them. Dispater’s Iron Tower cracked and crumbling under a joint siege, its secrets laid bare. Even the glacial bastion of Mephistar would shatter and collapse - unless, of course, his father bent the knee first. 

And through it all, she would stand at his side. Beautiful and terrifyingly resplendent, robes billowing in the winds of war, eyes alight with power. And all the while, she would be looking to him. For approval. For purpose. For the vision only he could realise. 

She was strength half-awakened. Fire without direction. And Raphael, of course, had direction to spare. 

His fingers had begun to move again, drifting along her ribs in idle reverie, claiming what he already considered his.

“Will you stop that? I’m trying to focus,” Soleil snapped, her voice cutting through his thoughts like a dagger.

He didn’t flinch. He only smiled, voice low in her ear.

“What holds your mind so tightly, dear wizard?”

She stiffened as his fingers ghosted over the tear in her robes. The flesh beneath was smooth now, thanks to the potion. Still sore, perhaps. Still tender. But that wasn’t where her mind was.

“Rest. Meditation,” she said tersely. “I’m trying to recover my magical reserves.”

Ah, of course. Inertia wasn’t in her nature, not even in repose.

“Lean back and close your eyes then,” he suggested smoothly. “I’m already holding the reins.”

She gave a sharp, dismissing sound, hissing through her teeth. 

“I’m not taking my eyes off the narzugon,” she said, voice firm. Raphael chuckled, low and amused. Where this particular loathing for Kairon came from, he couldn’t quite say. She’d chosen the paladin herself, sorted him from the list of blades he’d made available, and brokered the contract through her own end of their deal.

“Kairon wants to be paid as much as any honest devil,” Raphael murmured, keeping his tone light. “He’s not going to hurt your friends.”

“The erinyes were about to decapitate Wyll,” she snapped. “Forgive me if I’m not reassured by your recruitment process.”

Raphael didn’t bother defending Sanza. Her death was an inconvenience at best. He could have explained, could’ve told her the erinyes had always been insubordinate and prone to letting her own fury override instruction. She had likely assumed the tiefling was the primary target and judged the human expendable. A fatal mistake. 

He doubted explaining that would put his little mouse’s thoughts at ease. She had already decided the narzugon was a possible threat to her dear mortal companions, which was the reason for all this tedium. If it were up to Raphael, the two of them would already be home, and he would be claiming his end of their deal. The thought of what was in store sent a restless ripple of excitement through him. This must be how mortals felt the night before their birthdays. 

“If you don’t stop that,” Soleil growled. “I’m going to switch horses with Kairon.” 

Raphael found that his hand had wandered again, this time dipping into the folds of her robes. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment. Whether she meant that she’d rather ride with the narzugon or that Raphael rode with him was irrelevant. He wasn’t letting her out of his claws.

“Hmmm…” he mused, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I think I might be able to help you… Unwind, little mouse.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers dragged over warm skin. 

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, but she didn’t lean away from his touch. 

Raphael hummed, a sound both faintly amused and hungry, as his claws caught on the ridges by her hip. He might not be able to claim his end of the bargain just yet, but this moment of closeness would have to suffice for now.

Then a booming voice shattered the quiet.

“Incoming! To the northwest!” Kairon’s warning rang out as he swiftly placed the unconscious mortals on the ground and charged forward.

Raphael’s eyes snapped toward the shift in the distance.

“What in the Hells is that?” Soleil breathed, tension coiling in her voice.

“Not something of the Hells,” Raphael muttered darkly, already digging his heels into Tamora’s sides. The nightmare surged forward with a thunderous crack of flame and smoke, launching into a flying gallop, hooves pounding across the air itself as though the skies had solid ground to break. They soared in a wide arc, gaining height, pulling distance from the encroaching threat.

“Demons,” he spat, his lip curling in disgust.

Below, a swarm of shrieking, winged heads came into view; vargouilles, foul things, their gaping maws twisted in eternal screams, their diseased wings beating the sulfurous wind into a frenzy. But it wasn’t the swarm that gave Raphael pause.

No, it was what flew behind them.

Two gaunt figures, winged and grotesque, their forms somewhere between gargoyle and carrion bird, their eyes glowing with ravenous malice. 

Nabassu. Soul-hungry and violent death stealers. Judging from the size, they were juveniles, but still very dangerous. Especially to a mortal with a soul at stake.

“Raphael, get the collar off me,” Soleil demanded, urgency sharpened to a blade. “I need to cast.”

“Not a chance,” he snapped, not missing a beat. “I’m not letting some abyssal carrion beast swallow your soul just so you can look heroic. We keep our distance until Kairon has dealt with them.”

“I need to protect Karlach and Wyll!” she protested. 

“And I need you alive and intact, so you can keep your end of the bargain,” he growled back, arms tightening instinctively around her waist. He could almost feel her fury, the storm of her thoughts. 

“Please… Master,” she said, voice quiet, pleading. 

The word fell like a spark in dry tinder. That dark hunger inside him coiled and twisted, aching in response. 

And she dared to say he was the one playing dirty. 

With a growl, he snapped his fingers and displaced the collar. His little mouse didn’t waste a second.

“Volo non fugia!” The spell burst from her lips, and in the space of a heartbeat, she was airborne, wrenched from his arms, from the saddle, from safety. She streaked into the air like a lightning bolt, robes billowing, already racing toward the oncoming threat with unrelenting speed and reckless resolve.

Raphael swore viciously under his breath and yanked Tamora around, the nightmare screaming as she reared midair, embers flying from her hooves.

An explosion of fire hit the storm of demons, thinning out the swarm of vargouilles and announcing his little mouse’s presence with grandeur. She tore through the demon swarm with precision, skimming low, weaving between them, using herself as bait to keep them away from the easy picking of incapacitated mortals on the ground. At once smart and so unfathomably stupid. Both nabassu took the bait immediately. The gaunt demons turned in perfect sync and dove after her, claws outstretched. Half a dozen vargouilles followed close behind, forming a hunting pack.

Raphael leaned into Tamora’s neck and drove her faster. The nightmare responded with a roar, flames curling from her nostrils as they streaked after the chase, hellfire already trailing down his arm as he took aim.

But he wasn’t the first to strike.

Kairon dropped from above in a flash of steel and fury. The narzugon hit like a falling meteor, lance impaling one nabassu mid-air and slamming it into the ground.

Raphael didn’t stop to watch whether or not this had taken the demon out of the equation. The cambion lashed out with chains of hellfire, hoping to pull the other demon out of the air, but even though the chain struck, the grotesque creature didn’t falter. It shrieked, tearing away from the chains, hungry, gaunt eyes locked upon his little mouse, blazing with cruel light. Soleil gasped in pain, limbs freezing in rigor the moment before she fell, her concentration on the spell breaking as necrotic energy seized her. She hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up on one knee, one hand braced in the ash, the other already shaping new magic. Fast. Precise. Controlled.

“Ira et dolor!”

A sphere of whirling air howled into existence, centered around the two mortals on the ground. The other nabassu had escaped Kairon and drawn dangerously close to them, but the storm blasted it and the vargouilles apart, scattering them like leaves. Her precious mortals remained untouched in the eye of the tempest. 

Raphael cursed, sharp and low. Of course she wasn’t defending herself.

He vaulted from Tamora’s back, wings snapping wide, descending in a blur.

Too slow.

The demon pounced, laughing maniacally as it dragged Soleil to the ground. She screamed as its teeth sank into her arm, a sound that struck Raphael like a blade to the ears. He hit the ground beside them, boots slamming into cracked earth. Without hesitation, he wrenched the nabassu away from her, dislocating its wing with a brutal snap and sinking his claws deep into the demon’s sinewed, coal-black chest. It shrieked and flailed in panic, talons tearing at his arm. He did not flinch. His grip was iron, unwavering, as he hoisted the wretched creature from the earth. Blackened blood seeped down his arm as his fist closed around the demon’s pathetic excuse of a heart, claws tearing through muscle and tissue. Its wings beat in futility, their strength nothing against his wrath.

“You dare,” he growled, each syllable a guttural echo in the abyssal tongue, ancient and cruel. “To lay your vile hands upon what is mine?” The language grated against his throat, ugly and crude, but it had to be spoken. The thing had to understand. The nabassu shrieked again, thrashing in his grasp as he lifted it ever higher, dragging it skyward, not in flight, but in judgment. A grim ascension toward its final damnation.

“Let your wretched kin bear witness!” he roared, voice ringing with infernal authority as the nabassu began to combust from the inside, blackened hide bubbling and searing with white hellfire. “Let them see what fate awaits those who touch what belongs to me!”

There were no true pronouns in Abyssal. No “you,” no “me.” The language was a brutal calculus of dominance, blood, and identity. So when Raphael invoked himself, he did not use the name mortals knew; Raphael, a name of elegance, cultivated civility. No.

He used his true infernal name.

The one that burned the air when spoken aloud, that twisted the unforked tongue. The name that sealed pacts in hellfire and marked every soul he claimed. The name that was ownership incarnate. And in speaking it, what he declared was not just possession. It was a verdict:

Touch what is mine, and you touch me. And I will not be merciful.

Raphael closed his fist around the demon’s heart, flesh and flame collapsing under his grasp with a sickening crunch. A final shriek escaped the nabassu’s throat, cut short as he flung the corpse down. It struck the scorched earth with a wet thud, already curling into ash, the hellfire hungrily devouring what remained.

He turned.

Soleil lay sprawled in the dirt, her breath shallow, her face streaked with blood that traced down from her temple like red tears. The sight caught him, sharper than any blade. Something ancient stirred in him. Possessive.  Protective. Almost… human. Without thinking, Raphael reached for her. The motion was instinctive, primal. A need, not a decision. He had to feel her near, had to know she was still real, still whole. But his hand was slick with black demon viscera, ichor dripping from his clawed fingers like ink across parchment, and he saw the tiefling’s eyes widen. Not in fear, but in something quieter, harder to name. Colder. She wasn’t recoiling. She wasn’t trembling. But she wasn’t looking at him either. It was like she was looking through him, and that made something within the cambion twist.

“Little mouse…” he rasped, trying to summon softness, to put shape to a voice that trembled under the weight of his own fury. Her hands came up, weaving through somatics with dangerous, dexterous precision before taking aim directly at him.

“Incende!” A searing beam of light erupted from her palm, pure and blinding. Raphael’s arms snapped up, shielding his face from the Sunbeam as the divine brilliance tore across his vision, flooding the space between them in white-hot radiance and causing him to lose sight of her. He tried to step toward her, blinking through the glare, desperate to reach her, to say something, anything.

And then he heard the next spell leave her lips.

“Inveniam viam.”

“No-!”

But she was already gone, Misty Step leaving nothing but a shimmer of magic in the air. He spun wildly, searching the scorched field with a fury that bordered on desperation.

She’d vanished.

Then a dull thud. Several dead vargouille fell from the air, struck mid-flight by the same radiant magic that had nearly blinded him. The flying disease-ridden heads hit the ground one by one, skulls shattering with wet, smoking cracks, faces twitching, wings scorched.

And Raphael blinked. Her magic hadn’t touched him. Hadn’t harmed him. He turned again, and then he found her, a mote of light illuminating her position, hanging over her head like a halo as she continued to fire the Sunbeam at any vargouille left in the sky. She was kneeling in the dirt by the two mortals. Not escaping. Not hiding. Protecting. Still doing what she always did.

As the last demon fell and cracked its head against the ground, Soleil checked her unconscious companions for wounds, hands moving with urgency. Once satisfied, her eyes met Raphael’s across the battlefield, and her lips moved, shaping a quiet incantation. He didn’t hear it.

He felt it.

A pressure against the walls of his mind. Familiar. Focused. Not a spell cast in anger, but in invitation.

Telepathic Bond.

She couldn’t speak in front of the others. Couldn’t risk being recognised. And so, as always, she found a better way. Clever thing. He didn’t hesitate. He reached for the thread and let her in.

“I’m not leaving them.” The thought struck with all the subtlety of a slammed gate. Sharp, final, and immovable. It rang through the bond with the same iron certainty that burned in her eyes. Raphael stepped toward her, silent. She was crouched low over the mortals, blood still wet on her brow, her limbs taut with exhaustion, but her posture was anything but weak. She guarded them with the ferocity of an owlbear mother protecting her cubs. He almost smiled at the image. Fierce. Wild. Dangerous. By all the pits in the hells, he wanted to close the distance between them. To kneel beside her in the ash, to press his mouth to her skin, to taste the blood smeared across her cheek, to feel the bite of her magic, of her power. Her fury, her strength, her defiance. They wrapped around her like armor, and he wanted nothing more than to tear it off with his teeth and hold the fire underneath. Before the hunger could fully unfurl, her voice slid like a dagger into his mind.

“Stop comparing me to a brooding hen, Raphael. And stop being horny,” she snapped, her tone bone-dry, though her mental voice still hummed with tension.“I mean it. You can’t make me leave them.”

But they both knew he could.

His magic didn’t require consent. Displacement was his to command, his will, his destination, his choice. With a snap of his fingers, he could pull her from this battlefield like lifting a piece from a lanceboard, and she knew it. The thought curled at the edge of her mind like smoke, resentful and wary. He could feel it.

“You’re hurt,” he said, voice edged with steel even in thought. His eyes traced the wounds across her arms, the blood darkening her robes, the way she favored one leg without meaning to. “You can’t travel like this, little mouse, you can barely stand.”

She tried to prove him wrong. She pushed herself upright - just slightly - and moved as if to close the distance between them. The pain betrayed her. A grimace cracked across her face as she faltered, weight shifting back instinctively, and her chest rose with a tight inhale. Raphael raised a brow, and her glare met it like flint to stone. Even through the bond, he could feel the heat of her indignation.

“It’s nothing,” she insisted stubbornly. “I sprained my ankle when I fell off Tamora, and my foot caught in the stirrup.”

He blinked. Now it made sense why she hadn’t fled from the charging barbarian or the nabassu. She hadn’t been able to walk. And she’d said nothing. Why hadn’t she said anything?

“Because you’d take me home if you knew,” she answered his thought. He didn’t know if he’d accidentally let it slip through the bond or if she had read it on his face. He could feel the torrent in her mind, dancing just beyond the bond like distant music. Spells. Strategy. Contingencies. Her thoughts leapt from how to shield her companions to how to convince him. To stay. To let her fight. To trust her.

“Here’s your compromise,” he thought to her. “Either we go home, and I’ll put you in the restoration pool myself, or Kairon heals you.”

Her eyes flicked, instinctively, toward the narzugon - still wreathed in smoke, withdrawing his lance from the split gut of the other dead nabassu - and Raphael felt a spike of raw distrust leak through the bond.

“Your choice, my dear.” He felt her bristle as Kairon stepped closer. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move, eyes fastened on the infernal paladin.

Then - reluctantly, rigidly - she gave a short nod. Raphael turned to the other devil.

“Heal her,” he commanded in infernal, his voice smooth as polished obsidian, and just as sharp. He tilted his head slightly toward the bloodied wizard. “Now.”

Soleil stiffened as Kairon approached, her gaze flicking between them - Raphael and the paladin - jaw clenched, spine straight. She didn’t retreat. Didn’t back down. If anything, she planted herself more firmly. Arcane energy sparked across her fingers where they curled into her palms, and Raphael could almost see the snarl she didn’t give voice to.

Kairon halted mid-step, registering the threat. His hand lifted in a slow, calculated gesture.

“May I, my lady?” he asked, voice polite but mechanical, his deference hollow. Chivalry reduced to formality. It was a performance, and they all knew it. He would obey Raphael’s command regardless of her answer. Soleil raised one brow - an elegant, scathing gesture at the very gall of the question - but nodded. A fraction. No more.

Raphael saw the flicker of movement in her shoulders - the flinch she couldn’t quite suppress - when the narzugon laid his gauntlet on her. She gasped, a quiet, involuntary sound, as the infernal magic surged through her. It wasn’t gentle. It never was. The spell knit muscle to muscle and cauterized torn flesh. It dulled the ache in her bruised bones, but it did so with no kindness, no care. Only function. It was healing as the Hells understood it: fast, flawless, and without mercy.

Raphael watched her. Every twitch. Every breath. The way her eyes burned, not with pain, but with revulsion. It spilled into the bond, too large to hide now, shaping itself into something tangible. First vague. Then sharp.

And then he understood.

It wasn’t Kairon, exactly. Not him alone.

It was what he represented.

The rigid discipline. The impassive cruelty dressed in duty. Violence caged in ritual. That hollow righteousness wrapped in ceremonial steel.

The infernal paladin reminded the wizard of her father. It was a revulsion the cambion was all too familiar with himself.

The moment the narzugon’s magic faded, Soleil tore her arm from his gauntleted grasp. There was no hesitation in her stride, no wince as she put weight on the newly healed ankle. 

Without a word, she headed toward Tamora, who was nudging a dead vargouille with her muzzle, bored and bloodstained. Soleil reached the nightmare's side and vaulted into the saddle in a single, fluid motion - no doubt with a subtle push of magic, though her pride made it look effortless. She met Raphael’s gaze as she settled in, eyes smoldering with impatience, telepathic voice steely.

“Come on. Let's get moving.” 

A smile curled the edge of Raphael's mouth. He, too, was burning with impatience, but for different reasons. For the short-term thrill of her fulfilling her end of their bargain and for the far more compelling promise of what she would become, eventually, under his guidance. He inclined his head slightly, the smile deepening into something indulgent, dark, and unbearably fond.

“As you command, little mouse.”

—

The remainder of the trek passed without incident. No more interruptions. No more abyssal beasts clawing their way from the ash. But the little mouse never let her guard down. Not once. Even as the House of Hope rose on the horizon, Soleil remained taut as a drawn bowstring, eyes alert, hands never far from forming somatics. Ever watchful. Ever calculating.

When they passed through the great archway and finally dismounted, a swarm of imps came to receive them. Raphael didn’t slow his stride.

“Put the two mortals in the dungeon,” he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. “See that Kairon receives his payment. And summon Haarlep.”

He was already moving, one arm possessively looped through Soleil’s as he made his way toward the boudoir. But once again, she resisted, heels digging into the marble like a mule.

“No. Bring Karlach to my study,” she snapped, pulling against him. “I need-”

“This has dragged on long enough, dear,” he growled, cutting her off mid-command. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “And my patience is wearing thin.”

Her eyes flared with stubborn fire. “I won’t be present,” she countered, sharp and unyielding. “Mentally. I’ll be thinking about the engine until the cooling system is installed. Please. Just let me get it out of the way. Then I’ll give you what you’re owed.”

A pause.

It was not a plea; it was logic, weaponized. And damn it all, it was sound. Infuriatingly so.

She would give him nothing if distracted. No half-measures. No divided attention. He could see it in her, already running calculations, mentally disassembling and reconstructing her infernal machine. If he took her now, her body might respond, but her mind would be elsewhere. Cold. Distant.

And he didn’t want her distracted. He wanted her undivided.

Every breath. Every shiver. Every word. Every ounce of that brilliant, burning mind wrapped around him - not some damned engine.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the sound almost a growl, and turned to the imp servants still hovering like startled insects.

“Well?” he snarled. “What are you waiting for? Bring the tiefling to the study before I rip your wings off and mount them on the wall!”

They scattered into motion with gratifying panic. It took several to lift the unconscious barbarian, her dead weight too much for one alone. As soon as he let go of her arm, Soleil was gone, already chasing after them, barking orders to them to be careful with her companion, already returning to her true obsession. She didn’t look back.

Raphael lingered for a moment in the hall, jaw tight.

He took a moment to reclaim control of his temper. To inspect the state of his House. To oversee the payment to Kairon and to offer the paladin a new contract, one that would pull him deeper into his web. He washed the dried demonic blood from his hands with water that hissed and steamed as it touched his skin.

Only then did he make his way to the wizard’s study.

The room was sweltering, even by Avernus’ standards. The kind of cloying, metallic heat that clung to skin and filled the lungs. The barbarian had been laid out on a reinforced worktable, transformed into a makeshift operating slab. Her chest cavity was open, the internal components of the infernal engine exposed like the inner workings of a godless clock. 

And Soleil was there, standing over her, sweat beading at her brow, sleeves rolled high. Her hands moved with a surgeon’s precision, working instruments of infernal steel with quiet, exacting grace. She didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge his presence. Not yet.

Raphael said nothing. He simply watched her.

She'd been working hard on this. Testing coolant methods with the slurry from the pit, crafting and smithing prototype after prototype with the help of the liquid hellfire his father had gifted her. The result of her efforts sat on a nearby table: a segmented, intestine-like coil of infernal steel, gleaming darkly beneath the sigil-etched wards. It pulsed faintly, the magic within alive and coiled like a sleeping serpent. A cooling system designed to regulate hellfire. Elegant. Efficient. Beautiful in its vicious logic. The wizard had bargained to have Korilla bring it to the material plane, and against all odds, the design had stabilized. Her work had succeeded.

And in this moment, she belonged entirely to it. Not to him. Not yet. But soon.

He stepped closer, still silent, and watched as she picked up the cooling system and delicately maneuvered it around the tiefling's mechanical heart. Her movements were careful, almost reverent, the sweat at her brow evidence of just how much this moment mattered.

“Stop that,” Soleil muttered, the words clipped with strain. “I’m trying to focus.”

“I’m only watching,” Raphael replied, all innocence, though his smile said otherwise.

She shot him a look. Brief. Flat. Exhausted. The kind that said she’d been putting out fires for too long, and his presence - however pretty - was one too many.

That only made his grin widen, unrepentant.

“Just making sure you don't break our agreement and wake her.”

Despite herself, Soleil huffed. A small, frayed sound that passed for amusement in her current state. She reached for the intake valve, fingers slick with sweat.

“Please,” she muttered, lifting the bottle of infernally chilled slurry and uncorking it with a practiced flick of her wrist. “I want her out of here as much as you do. As soon as you've brought her and Wyll safely back to the Gate, I’ll fulfill my end.”

She began pouring the coolant into the open system, the viscous liquid gleaming like crystals. The moment the system sealed, the sigils blazed to life. The coil pulsed once, twice, then began its steady rhythm. Cooling, circulating, regulating hellfire with flawless precision.

Soleil exhaled. Shoulders low. Eyes on her work. For a brief second, a wide smile touched her lips.

She had done it. After all the calculations, all the failures, all the sleepless nights, she had done it. She looked proud. Relieved.

And Raphael couldn’t help himself.

“Our agreement said nothing about bringing them back to Baldur’s Gate, little mouse.”

Her smile vanished instantly, ripped from her face like paper caught in flame. She turned to face him fully now, her expression tight, voice fraying at the edges.

“You said you’d bring them home.”

Raphael tilted his head, his voice soft, mocking, indulgent, and cruel all at once.

“And this is home, is it not?” A pause. A smile. “You never specified which one.”

The blood drained from her face. Not from fear, but fury laced with dawning realization. Her jaw clenched.

He could see the storm behind her eyes, the equation rewriting itself in real time. He leaned into the silence, let it stretch until it hurt.

“What will you do with them?” she asked at last, voice low and brittle.

He shrugged, careless, cavalier.

“Oh, I could keep them here. Safe, sound, tucked away in the dungeon… though I imagine that might tempt you to heroic foolishness.” A pause. A glint of teeth. “Or perhaps I return them to their little Avernus adventure... Or,” he smiled. “I could hand them over to Zariel. Remove the pieces from the board entirely.”

He watched the thoughts strike her like blows. He saw the logic take root, the ruthless, tactical understanding that his suggestion wasn’t just cruelty. It was strategically sound. Two threats neutralized. Permanently.

“And yet,” he mused, voice laced with false benevolence. “Sending them back to the Material Plane would achieve much the same. Cut ties. Sever the thread. Out of sight, out of risk…”

He let the words dangle, heavy with implication.

“Decisions, decisions.”

Her eyes narrowed, burning into his.

“What do you want?” she asked, each word sharp as a blade, barely restrained.

“Oh, lots of things, little mouse,” the devil purred. “The real question is… what are they worth to you?” It didn’t matter to him. The two mortals were incidental. Pawns on a board he’d already outgrown. What intrigued him, what thrilled him, was watching his mage squirm beneath the weight of choice. To see what she'd trade - how far she'd bend - to protect what she loved.

Her mouth opened, then shut. And again. Half-formed offers flickering through her expression, weighed and discarded before they ever reached her tongue. Too little. Too much. Too dangerous. She had already bargained so much for this operation, and Raphael could barely contain his excitement. He saw it - felt it - the moment her mind stilled. When the storm of options cleared, one thought solidified. Her spine straightened. Her gaze locked onto his. Cold. Unblinking. Resolved.

“What if I let you brand me?”

There was a pause. A long one. The surprise that flickered across his face was brief, but unmistakable. A flash of wicked delight curled at the corner of his mouth, like a flame catching dry parchment. She saw it and rushed to speak, trying, as always, to stay ahead of him. To keep the upper hand, even when she was on her knees.

“Not my soul,”  she said, voice firm. “My body. A physical brand. Nothing binding. Just…”

A breath. A swallow.

“... just a mark.”

Just a mark, she said. As if she didn’t know exactly what that would mean. He’d touched every inch of her. Laid his mouth to her throat, his hands to her hips, his voice into the hollow of her mind. But this… this was something else. This wasn’t lust or power-play or even the heat between contracts. This was a claim. One she would carry long after the fire burned out. Not metaphorically. Not magically. Literally. Scarred into her flesh, for the rest of her life. And she was offering it willingly.

That stirred something in him far deeper than hunger.

Raphael stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His gaze raked over her with open heat, but it was more than desire now.

“In exchange for the safe passage of your two companions to the city of Baldur’s Gate,” he said, voice low, smooth as freshly spilled blood, “you will allow me to brand your mortal body. Permanently. With a mark of my choosing.”

He reached toward her over the operating table, over the open chest of her barbarian friend. His hand extended. Open. Waiting.

“Is that correct, little mouse?”

She hesitated, only for a breath. Then she inhaled, squared her shoulders, and delivered her answer like a spell etched in stone:

“In exchange for the immediate and safe passage of Karlach Cliffgate and Wyll Ravenguard to the city of Baldur’s Gate, on the Sword Coast of Faerûn, on Toril, in the Material Plane,” she said, voice crisp but fraying at the edges. “I offer that you, Raphael, may brand my mortal body permanently with a mark of your choice. This mark will be physical only. It will not carry infernal bindings, nor signify ownership of my soul.” 

He couldn't help a flare of pride. The mage had clearly learned to be more precise with her words. 

She took his hand and his fingers curled around hers with slow, possessive certainty. A pulse shivered through the air between them. Hot. Binding. Final.

“Then it's a deal,” he said, and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. 

—

Laughter echoed faintly from down the street, patrons spilling out into the salt-kissed night, their revelry softening the edges of the city’s darker corners. The air outside the Forge of the Nine was crisp and cool, a welcome contrast to the infernal heat still lingering on Wyll’s skin. Inside, Dammon moved with care, his calloused fingers hovering over the quiet thrum of the engine nestled in Karlach's chest. The forge’s glow reflected in his eyes as he leaned in, drawing out a set of delicate tools, oddly gentle in the hands of someone used to hammer and flame.

“This is… unbelievable,” he murmured, voice nearly lost beneath the low hum of the mechanism. “The craftsmanship… It's exquisite. The detail work alone… And that coolant! What is it? How is it not evaporating?” He looked up at the tiefling woman, a mix of curiosity and concern flickering across his soot-smeared face. “And you’re… feeling all right?”

“I’m better than fine, mate,” Karlach grinned, the expression having not left her face since they’d woken just outside the Gate. It was the most genuine smile Wyll had seen on her in months, and he found himself smiling, too, just from looking at her.

“Honestly, I’m a bit chilly,” she added with a laugh. “But other than that? I feel completely normal. No heat surges, no meltdowns, nada!” 

Dammon slowly raised his face shield, lifting it over his horns. He leaned back, blinking in sheer disbelief.

“And where did you say this upgrade came from?”

“That’s the strange part,” Wyll answered. “One moment we’re trudging through Avernus, the next: ambushed. Nothing unusual there. But then… we just woke up. Here.”

“Without exploding,” Karlach chimed in cheerfully.

“We experimented with cooling systems, but…” Dammon muttered, almost to himself, eyes still scanning the intricate design. “This isn’t like anything we ever attempted.”

The blacksmith wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing soot across his temple.

“Maybe Soleil can make sense of the runes,” Wyll suggested, glancing at the mechanisms embedded in Karlach's chest.

At the mention of the wizard, Karlach’s eyes lit up even brighter. “Yes! We’ve got to show the little bookwyrm, she’s gonna lose her mind!” She practically bounced on her heels. “Where is she?”

The change in Dammon’s expression was instant.

His face fell, so sharply and suddenly it caught Wyll off guard. A cold weight dropped into his gut. He knew that look. He’d seen it too many times on his father’s face, just before delivering news no one wanted to hear.

“Gods…” Dammon whispered. “I’m sorry. Fuck. And you just got back…”

His voice cracked. He tried to clear his throat, but it didn’t help.

“She’s gone.”

Karlach blinked, still smiling as if she hadn’t quite heard him right. 

“Gone where? Did she finally shack up with Halsin?” She chuckled softly. “About damn time, honestly.” 

She nudged Wyll playfully with her elbow. “Come on, we’ve spent the past year carving paths through the worst shit Avernus could throw at us! We can handle a quick trip to Moonrise. Or what, are Your Grace’s feet too dainty for more travel?”

She turned to him with that wide, expectant grin, but it faltered when she caught the look on his face. He said nothing. He couldn’t.

Dammon looked between them, his grief plain now, mouth drawn in a tight, trembling line. The silence stretched.

“No…” he said at last, his voice quiet but resolute. “Karlach, I’m so sorry. There was an accident. Two months ago. A fire in her study. The whole house burned. She didn’t make it.”

He hesitated, then forced the words out, like it hurt just to speak them.

“Soleil is dead.”

Chapter Text

Dammon led them through the quieter reaches of the Outer City, where the noise and grit gave way to greenery and open skies. The districts here weren’t formally marked, but Wyll recalled this one's name: Norchapel. A place where farmland met the forest’s edge, where stone cottages nestled between low hills and the bustle of Baldur’s Gate softened into something gentler. In the distance, he could just make out the rooftops of Little Calimshan beyond the fields.

“Her cottage used to be just up here,” Dammon murmured.

They crested a gentle hill awash in wildflowers, the scent of lavender and thyme drifting on the breeze. At its crest stood a grand cherry blossom tree in full bloom, its branches heavy with pale petals that drifted slowly to the earth. Beneath it sat a stone bench and upon it, a statue.

Wyll froze.

The figure, carved in flawless, pale stone, was unmistakable. Their friend. Their companion. The tiefling wizard who had helped save Baldur’s Gate. Who had helped save him. She was captured in perfect stillness, sitting peacefully as if caught in a quiet moment of study. A stone book rested open on her lap. One hand braced beside her on the bench, the other raised gracefully, palm up, a flickering arcane flame hovering just above it. Tributes had been left all around her. Flowers in dozens of colors and shapes, gathered from gardens and wild glades alike. A small bundle of night orchids caught Wyll's eye. A bottle of wine stood leaning against her leg. A scattering of coins lay beside her hand. A flower crown, looking like it had just been braided, rested gently on her brow.

She looked serene. Almost alive.

There was an inscription beneath the bench, carved in both Common and Infernal:

Soleil Elodie Syringa

1468 DR - 1493 DR

Savior of Baldur’s Gate. 

Forever enchanting our hearts.

Wyll felt his breath catch. The world tilted. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be. He blinked, hoping the illusion would shatter, that it was some cruel joke or trick of the hells. But the statue didn’t move. The flame kept burning. It was like discovering a hidden clause in a contract already signed; too late to change it.

Then a sound tore through the stillness, raw and wrenching.

Karlach.

It wasn’t her usual shout, the fierce bellow that preceded a charge into battle. This sound was broken. Torn from somewhere deep inside her. A grief too sharp to swallow, too raw to hold in. The sound ripped through Wyll like a blade, and he turned, heart sinking. The barbarian had dropped to her knees in the grass, shoulders trembling, one hand clutching her chest as if the engine inside her had suddenly turned molten again. But it wasn’t fire this time.

It was sorrow.

“No!” she choked out, half-scream, half-sob. “You promised me, Soleil! You said you'd be here when I got home! That you'd hug me and owe me a drink for talking me into going back to Avernus!”

Wyll could do nothing but kneel beside the woman he’d faced hell with, placing a steady hand on her back as she wept. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Some part of him still refused to accept this as truth. His mind reeled, grasping for something, anything, and then, unbidden, came the memory of that final moment on the battlefield in Avernus. Just before the darkness took him.

Sleep, Wyll. It’s going to be okay.

That voice… So gentle, so achingly familiar. The spell had felt like a friend’s hand on his shoulder, not an enemy’s curse. A kindness in the chaos.

He turned toward Dammon, who stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, his expression hollow.

“How did this happen?” Wyll asked, voice low and unsteady, tears pressing behind his eye like a rising tide.

The infernal smith grimaced, as if the question was a rapier through his gut. 

“As I said… There was a fire,” he murmured. He swallowed hard, voice catching in his throat, and fell silent.

Karlach lifted her head, her voice a rasp edged with fury and devastation. “How did the fire start, Dammon?”

Dammon drew a shuddering breath, his hands clenched at his sides, as if bracing against a blow he’d already taken.

“We… we don’t know for certain,” he said, voice rough. “But the neighbors… The people who saw it said the flames were white. And when it was over, there was almost nothing left.” His voice cracked. “We can’t be sure, but… something might’ve gone wrong... While she was working on the engine.”

Karlach sobbed again, louder this time, a sound that seemed to empty her of breath. She bent forward, arms around herself, as if trying to hold together what was already falling apart.

Wyll’s hand stayed steady on her back, though his heart felt like it had cracked clean through. There were no words that could soften this. No comfort deep enough to reach where the pain had settled. Because he knew. Karlach was the reason why the mage had been playing with hellfire. Dammon was still talking, the story spilling out of him like blood from an open wound. 

“Astarion was the first one there,” he said quietly. “He said he was dropping by… wanted to see if she was home for a drink.” A faint, hollow laugh escaped him. “He raced against the sun to get to Rolan. Poor man must’ve nearly died of fright, finding a vampire climbing through his window.”

Wyll’s brow furrowed, lips parting slightly.

“Rolan?”

“He messaged everyone,” Dammon said. “Anyone who might be able to help. Shadowheart. Gale. Jaheira. Isobel. Dame Aylin. Hells, I think he even sent a message to Volo.”

He gave a shake of his head.

“There was nothing they could do. It was all ash.”

Wyll’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Was she home?”

Dammon hesitated.

“You said Astarion went to check if she was home.”

The smith’s gaze fell to the ground.

“I spoke with her a few days before,” he murmured. “She and Halsin had a… disagreement. She told me she needed some time to herself. To think. Said she'd be working alone for a while.”

Wyll latched onto it, clinging to the hope like a man drowning. To that echo of a voice ringing in his mind. It’s going to be okay.

“I think I heard something" he muttered. "In Avernus, before I passed out. It sounded like her. She could still have-”

"Wyll, we found her bones," Dammon’s voice cracked. "And I don't appreciate you insinuating one of my best friends have ended up in hell.”

Wyll snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, the fragile hope within him wilting. A long silence followed. Heavy. Irrevocable. Dammon looked at him, grief hollowing his features.

“As I said… There was nothing anyone could do.”

Karlach drew in a sharp breath, her voice trembling. “Gods. Halsin. Does he know?”

Dammon nodded solemnly, then gestured toward the cherry tree, toward the statue seated beneath its drifting blossoms.

“He buried what was left of her,” he said quietly. “And he made this.”

A hush fell over them. No one spoke. The air stirred gently, and cherry blossoms drifted down in slow spirals, pale petals landing on stone and skin alike.

“I must ask you to leave,” a gruff voice shattered the silence. Three horned heads snapped to the side. A man wearing a red surcoat was looking at the assembly with a mouth twisted in distaste. He looked severe, lines etched into his face like borders on a battlemap, hair cropped short to the skull and slate grey. Wyll recognised the emblem of the Citadel of Strategic Militancy on his coat. One of the Red Knight’s servants. Something about the man's face was strangely... familiar.

“Sir,” Wyll began, his voice steady but respectful. “We are here to mourn a beloved friend and-”

“I don’t want devilspawn loitering around my daughter’s grave.”

The hypocrisy of the statement was bitterly ironic, considering the very memorial they stood before honored one of infernal blood.

A surge of indignation mixed with grief clenched Wyll’s chest. A memory flickered to life; after Wyll had confided in Soleil about how his own father had cast him out for forging an infernal pact to save their home, the wizard had explained that she knew how it felt not seeing eye to eye with your father. Or as she had so eloquently put it: I know what it’s like having a father who’s less ‘parent’ and more ‘authoritarian arsehole’.

Karlach’s voice broke through the tension, fierce and raw. “We have every right to be here, you pompous prick!” Tears still streaming down her face, she stood tall, defiant, facing the man whose daughter they grieved.

Wyll stepped forward, placing himself between them, his diplomatic side coming to the forefront. 

“Sir, you might not know this, but your daughter was a beloved companion and friend of ours. We fought beside her to save Baldur’s Gate. I come to pay my respects - not only for myself, but for the city as a whole-”

“Save me your speeches,” the man - Sir Syringa, Wyll presumed - cut him off brusquely. “I know who you are, Ravenguard, and I know the foolishness the girl got up to. Still, I want your infernal ilk out of here.” 

With that, he strode past them and sat heavily on the bench beside the statue. From a worn leather pouch, he produced a lanceboard, setting up red and white pieces with deliberate care.

“I wish to play a game with my daughter… in peace.”

Karlach looked as if she might explode, and Wyll was scarcely calmer. But before either could make a move, Dammon intervened, his voice grave with weary experience.

“Come on. It’s not worth it. Believe me.”

Reluctantly, they began to leave, trudging forward like mules dragged down the road toward the Gate, leaving the crimson-clad paladin alone with the memorial of their cherished friend. They walked in solemn silence until a familiar lilt broke through the quiet.

“What in the sweet hells…?”

A fair, pale elf appeared, walking down the dusty earth road, two goblets balanced in one hand and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. His crimson eyes were wide, stunned.

“How-? You’re here?” Before he could finish the thought, Karlach was already moving. She crossed the distance in three strides and crashed into him, arms tight around his shoulders, crying into his fine ruffled shirt with both sorrow and joy. Wyll was close behind, catching the two of them in a warm, rough embrace.

“It’s good to see you again, my dear undead friend,” Wyll said with a crooked, aching smile.

The vampire spawn might’ve gone pale, if such a thing were still possible. His eyes were wide, lips parted, but then, slowly, he moved. One arm came up, then the other, and he returned the embrace, hesitant, but real.

“Gods, I’ve missed you two,” he whispered, voice low and raw.

They stood like that for a long moment, the weight of absence and reunion settling between them in silence. Wyll felt the cool, damp air begin to warm as the first rays of morning broke through the horizon.

The sun.

Wyll jolted. “Astarion!”

His voice startled both tieflings and the vampire spawn in their midst. He stepped back, alarm flaring in his chest. “The sun’s rising! You need to get to shade!”

“Hm?” The pale elf turned his head, tilting it with the lazy curiosity of a cat roused from a nap. “Oh, no need for that,” he said with a faint, amused smile. “I came here to watch the sunrise… with her.” His gesture was delicate but certain, pointing toward the hill with the statue of their lost companion beneath the cherry tree in the distance.

Karlach’s eyes flashed with fierce concern.

“I know losing Soleil must’ve been hard on you, but she wouldn’t want you to kill yourself, mate!” She was already stepping forward, arms half-raised, ready to throw him over her shoulder and drag him to shelter by force.

“Do you honestly think that, after everything, I’d just-?! No!” he hissed while evading her grapple. “Look!” He lifted his chin, letting the sunlight wash over his face. The rays caught silver in his hair, warmed his pale skin.

And nothing happened.

No sizzle. No smoke. No second fire in Norchapel.

Karlach and Wyll froze.

“How?” they asked at once, voices hushed.  There had been a great many hows this early morning, but this one felt different; hopeful, bewildered, impossibly fragile.

Astarion reached beneath the collar of his shirt and drew forth a slender gold chain. Hanging from it was a delicate crystal pendant, its many facets catching the sunlight and scattering it in quiet rainbows. Embedded within the glass were flecks of red, like drops of blood suspended mid-fall.

As the crystal turned in the light, Wyll’s eye caught on something else; thin new scars where skin peeked between glove and cuff, faint lines curling up Astarion’s wrists and throat. Burn marks. Faint, but unmistakable.

“It’s enchanted,” Astarion said softly, the pendant swaying between them. “Sunlight resistance. Fueled by blood, of course. Fitting, isn’t it? It's not perfect, I sometimes get sunburns, but it spares me from burning in the literal sense.” He let it fall back to his chest and withdrew a delicate lace parasol from under his arm, its edge whispering as it opened. “She probably didn't have time to test it with... It was one of the only things left,” he said. “From Soleil’s cottage. She had an enchanted drawer, warded and sealed. It took hours to open. But this was my reward.” He paused, the parasol slowly turning in his hand. “And a few of her trinkets. Sentimental things. She got to keep those with her.”

His voice faltered. The parasol stilled. Silence opened around him like a wound.

“I tried...” he said, so quietly it was barely more than a breath. “I tried to get to her. To get her out. But it was… gods, it was hell.”

For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. The always-composed Astarion - the smirk, the aloofness, the casual detachment - gave way to something raw. Unshielded. Wyll said nothing. Neither did Karlach nor Dammon. There was nothing to say.

Then, as if catching himself, Astarion inhaled sharply and straightened. The faintest trace of poise returned to his voice as he lifted the bottle of wine still tucked beneath his arm, and the two goblets cradled in his hand.

“How about a drink?” he asked, a fragile smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “To celebrate your return from the hells. And for Soleil.”

—

Smoke curled from Soleil’s pipe like a solemn offering to Avernus’ brooding skies, as if she alone were responsible for their restless churn. Stillness did not come easily to her, nor did she pursue it. Instead, she paced the length of the balcony, heedless of her blistered feet and aching legs. Today had been hell. Physically. Mentally. Literally.

There was no room for self-congratulation. Yes, she had caught Karlach and Wyll with minimal damage done to her dear friends, and she had installed the cooling system for Karlach’s engine that would allow the tiefling to return to the material plane. But the wizard wasn't out of the fire yet. It wasn't a victory without sacrifice. 

She had postponed it additionally, which was why she was currently smoking to calm her nerves. She had stated she would only be satisfied when it was confirmed that the cooling system wasn't malfunctioning, that Karlach was stable. But in reality, Soleil was stalling, buying what fragile moments of time she could.

Her gaze drifted downward, almost unconsciously, to the small hole in the balustrade: a scar left by the intruders when they had broken into The House of Hope a lifetime ago. That tiny breach was more than just damage; it was a crack. A whisper of a door, cracked open just enough to tempt. It only needed the faintest push to swing wide. Nothing but her work with the Crown kept her here now. Nothing except… 

Soleil drew another mouthful of smoke, willing the feeling in her chest to wither away. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her friends, not on a battlefield but over a mug of ale or a goblet of wine. She wanted to feel Halsin's embrace and his lips against her skin.

Or… perhaps she only wanted to want those things.

She wasn’t sure when the line had blurred, when the simple desire had slipped into a hollow echo, a distant hope rather than a burning need. She told herself the knot twisting in her stomach was worry; for Karlach, for what lay ahead, for the debt she now owed to Raphael.

Soleil had never been good at deception.

"Time to give the devil his due, my dear."

Chapter Text

Raphael took a step forward. Soleil, instinctively, one step back.

“No meltdowns? No heat surges? No combustion?”

“None.”

Another step in this evasive dance. His legs were longer; each of his strides devoured the space between them. She could already feel the heat radiating off the fiend.

“No signs of leakage? Did she seem cold? Stiff in her movements?”

He reached out, took the pipe from her fingers with maddening gentleness, and set it aside without ever taking his eyes off her. Still moving forward. Still cornering her.

“The tiefling looked as fresh as a spring daisy, little mouse.”

Her back hit against something warm and solid.

“Shit!” she startled, nerves still on edge. She spun halfway, only to meet Haarlep’s grin, wicked, delighted, and unmistakably entertained.

“Going somewhere, darling?” the incubus purred, and her spine prickled at the sound.

“Shit!” she startled, nerves still on edge. When she glanced over her shoulder, Haarlep's grin met her, wicked and knowing.

“Going somewhere, darling?” the incubus purred, and her spine prickled at the sound. She turned back quickly, as if forward were safer than back. 

“When they woke, was there anything lingering from the poison?” she pressed on, trying to steady her voice even as Haarlep’s nimble fingers found the first clasp of her robe and unfastened it. “Any side effects?”

“They stirred like someone rising from a well-earned rest. A touch sluggish, perhaps, but nothing alarming.” Raphael was a patient devil, and Soleil knew just how close she was to the limits of that patience. He leaned in, and the space around her shrank to nothing. Trapped between devil and incubus, Soleil felt the edges of her defiance begin to blur.

“You’re stalling, my dear,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. Of course she was stalling. Was testing his limits as much as he was about to test hers. Just for the faint hope that it might dissolve the knot of anxiety in her chest, she needed to exhaust every detail of the report Korilla had given him. 

Her robe slipped from her shoulders, and Raphael gave her a soft but firm push, sending her backward with Haarlep into the restoration pool. The incubus sat down with her in their lap, spreading her legs over their thighs. 

“No, wait, I’m not-” she protested, gasping as the magical waters began to bleed the aches from her muscles and heal any lingering damage.

“Oh, don't stop on my accord,” Haarlep hummed as they slowly slid their fingers through her folds and pressed against her entrance. Another gasp escaped her lips as their finger entered her, and her thoughts stuttered. “By all means, continue your little interrogation. It’s adorable.” 

Soleil whimpered, trying to wrangle her scattering thoughts. 

“Did they have any trouble entering the Gate?” She pressed Raphael. The cambion didn't even try to hide where his gaze lingered, and Soleil felt heat color her cheeks. A moan escaped her as Haarlep expertly crooked their fingers within her, hitting that perfect spot, and Raphael licked his lips before answering.

“They arrived safely,” he said, leaning against a pillar, seemingly placated now that he had a show. “A city guard recognized the duke’s son. No interference.”

Haarlep pressed a third finger into her, and Soleil had to choke back the sound that surged up her throat. Her body betrayed her, trembling against the incubus’s burning form.

“Ah! A-are you sure the engine was stable? truely?” She panted. At the pool’s edge, Raphael was undressing with maddening care, each article of clothing folded and set aside with reverent precision. Soleil’s eyes followed him despite herself, and her stomach twisted, tight and aching.

“It didn’t combust immediately last time,” she went on, trying desperately to anchor herself in logic, in fact. “It lasted weeks before-”

“They went straight to your infernal smith,” Raphael interrupted, stepping into the pool with a contented sigh, steam rising around him like smoke from a flame. “By his word, the engine is stable. Your theories held true.”

“What a clever little pet we have,” Haarlep murmured against her neck. They withdrew their finger from her, and the tiefling fought not to whine. Then they gripped their hard cock and tapped it against her throbbing pussy, sending sparks of pleasure through her. “I think she’s earned herself a treat.”

Soleil mewled, caught in the throes of indecision, her body aching forward even as her mind reeled back. She writhed, torn between instinct and reason, desire and dread.

Raphael spared her the burden of choosing. His hands found her hips - grounding and unbalancing her all at once - and began guiding her down the incubus length. There was too much, too much touch, too much heat, too much information. Her mind faltered under the weight of it, and her body, weary and fraying at the seams, ached to surrender to the quiet only he could bring her.

She sucked in a sharp breath as Haarlep hilted themself completely within her, eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the satisfied groan sounding from both the incubus and the cambion.

“Where did they go… after Dammon?” she asked, clinging to the last thread of focus.

A soft sound of irritation escaped Raphael. 

“Please,” she said, voice slipping into something breathier, weaker than she liked. “Just tell me.” Her composure was slipping. The fuzzy fog was creeping in over her thoughts, beckoned forward by every small drag of Haarlep’s hips and Raphael’s cloying presence.

“They went out for a drink,” he said at last. “To celebrate. They’re safe, Soleil. You have my word.”

One of Raphael’s hands came up to cradle her face. His palm was warm, impossibly so, and she exhaled. 

“I did it,” she murmured. “I fixed it. I actually fucking did it!”

The disbelief in her voice gave way to something sharp, something feral. Before he could reply, she surged forward, fingers twisting into his hair, dragging him down into a kiss that was all teeth and fire and trembling relief. Laughing, breathless, and burning with the thrill of victory. It wasn’t seduction. It wasn’t strategy. It was joy. The kind that came with triumph, hard-won. The kind that made her feel alive.

Her laughter spilled against his lips, breathless and giddy, even as he kissed her back with a hunger that bordered on worship.

“You did, little mouse,” he said, desire and hunger mingling in his voice. “And oh, what a sight you were to behold.”

The words settled over her like silk, but it wasn’t just relief that filled her now. With the fear gone and the ache of worry finally hushed, something deeper began to rise. Something buried under days of tension and sleepless calculation. It was pride. Real, burning, heady pride. The plan had held. Her calculations had been precise. The execution - almost flawless. She’d shaped it all, commanded every piece, wielded her magic with confidence and clarity, and watched her vision take form.

It had felt good, achingly good. That thrill. The rush of it.

To be in command. To hold power. 

Authority. 

“Oh, she liked that,” Haarlep groaned, moving their hips against her in deep, lazy thrusts. “She liked that a lot.”

Soleil moaned as pure pleasure began to add fuel to the fire that had ignited within her. For once, she allowed herself to feel it fully. The satisfaction. The triumph. The quiet, intoxicating thrill of knowing she had won the battle.

But that victory hadn’t been without sacrifice. 

Raphael’s hands moved with growing urgency. One gripped her jaw - firm and unyielding - as his mouth captured hers again, devouring and consuming. The other slipped down her ribs in a slow, deliberate path.

His touch burned. Not enough to be painful, not yet, but a heat so intense it seemed to soak beneath her skin. Soleil’s breath hitched.

“Fuck! One last thing,” she panted, the words threading the space between defiance and plea, a spike of adrenaline drumming under her skin. “An ah!-addendum. To our last agreement.”

Raphael tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming like coals behind a half-lidded gaze. He made a low, amused sound in his throat, a hum of indulgence rather than assent.

“Let’s hear it.”

She met his eyes, steady now despite the flush in her cheeks and the tremble in her limbs.

“Not my face.”

He regarded her in silence for a breath, then lifted one hand, trailing a single finger across her forehead, just beneath the hairline. The touch was feather-light. Deliberate. And she shuddered. Her breath caught.

Then that devil’s smile unfurled across his mouth; slow, devastating, and cruel in its beauty. A glint sparked in his eye, amusement wrapped in threat. A silent question.

What if I did? What if I chose to?

His touch wandered again, unhurried. Teasing. His fingers danced along her collarbone, her throat, her ribs. Sometimes gaining heat, always threatening to burn but never tipping fully into fire. Never stilling long enough to let her anticipate where he’d go next. It kept her suspended, waiting, guessing, wanting.

The tiefling closed her eyes.

Not to escape, but to feel. To let the moment fully take her. There was no use resisting now. Not the pleasure Haarlep was wringing from her with every thrust of their hips. Not the fear -  no, the anticipation - thrumming beneath her skin. Not the weight of what was coming. She had offered the bargain freely, laid her terms with a clear mind and a steady hand, and she would stand by that decision. 

Her orgasm built and broke in a satisfying rush. Right as she crested, pleasure wiping out every other thought in her mind, Raphael pressed his palm to the space between her hips, making her moan at the increase in pressure as her walls spasmed around Haarlep’s cock. That moan quickly became a gasp, and that gasp dissolved into a raw, wordless cry as the heat surged and the cambion's hand began to burn. 

The pain twisted through her with a sickening, aching pleasure that made her back arch and her breath catch. Her body didn’t know how to hold it. Her mind couldn’t keep pace. She writhed in Haarlep’s arms, helpless against the blaze, caught between ecstasy and torment. She came again, trembled around the cock within her, and under the hand burning her flesh. The enchanted waters bubbled and broiled as they tried to undo the damage as fast as it bloomed - restoring what was ruined, sealing over seared skin - but Raphael’s hand remained. Steady. Unyielding.

Still burning.

It felt like it would never stop.

And then, suddenly, it did.

His hand lifted, and the absence of that searing contact was its own kind of wound. Raphael moaned low in his throat at the sight, a sound of deep satisfaction. 

Soleil trembled, every nerve still alight, each heartbeat echoing in her limbs like a drum. Her breaths came shallow, ragged, as if even the air was too much. When she looked down at her body with dazed eyes, a scar met her. A circle the size of Raphael’s palm. Neat, precise, and healed as if it had been there forever. She couldn't read the infernal script, but she recognized it. She had seen that mark before, pressed deep into molten red lacquer, stamped at the close of every contract he ever forged. It was his brand. And now, irrevocably, it was seared into her flesh. 

Ears still ringing, she became aware that Haarlep was also breathing heavily, their form trembling against the curve of her back, and their soft cock slid out of her. At some point during her branding, the incubus had found their own release. 

Raphael lingered a moment longer, admiring his handiwork with a slow, possessive gaze before those burning amber eyes lifted to meet hers. They were endless wells of desire; dark, molten, and unyielding.

“Prepare yourself, little mouse,” he murmured, voice low and velvety. “Haarlep will help you. I shall return soon.”

His lips brushed hers in a kiss before he slipped away from the pool. Water cascaded from his sculpted form, from the vast sweep of his wings, but the devil seemed utterly indifferent. Naked and unabashed, he vanished through the shimmering veil of the boudoir like a shadow swallowed by flame.

“No rest for the wicked,” Haarlep sighed, before rising abruptly. Soleil let out a startled yelp as the incubus lifted her effortlessly into their arms, her fingers instinctively curling around them for support as they stepped from the pool. With a quick rush of magic and heat, both of them were dried off before they even reached the bed. 

“Let's get to it, shall we, darling?” they murmured, their voice a velvet promise as they gently laid her down. Soleil let her thighs part for them to settle between. They caressed the new scar for a moment - tracing a line in the sigil with a featherlight touch - before their fingers dipped lower. Two digits slipped in without issue, and they only gave a couple of testing thrusts before adding a third. Having had the incubus’ cock pounding into her moments ago, it was barely a stretch. If anything, Soleil was whining and grinding her hips down to meet the upstroke of their fingers impatiently. Haarlep noted her reaction with a hum.

“Greedy little thing,” they murmured fondly while pressing their little finger into her. They sort of folded their hand and moved a little faster, fucking all their fingers into her. "It's like you were made for this. You should've been born a succubus instead of a tiefling.” 

Soleil could only answer with a moan as Haarlep's thumb went into her as well, stretching her even further. Now she was feeling the burn, but it felt good, the same as when she overchanneled a spell, testing her limits. She could handle this. She’d done prep like this before when lying with Halsin in his wildshape. That wasn’t what made her nervous. It was what came after.

“H-Have you- fuck!” she gasped, her breath hitching as Haarlep curled their hand into a fist inside her, and she groaned out loud as she was filled even further. “Have you ever tried this with Raphael?” 

Haarlep paused, one elegant brow lifting as they tilted their head, considering. Soleil squirmed around their hand, seeking any angle, any reprieve from the unbearable tension winding through her.

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, pet,” they said, almost lazily as they slowly began pulling their fist back, and Soleil arched her back with a loud whine as her hole stretched around it. “The answer is probably yes, but still.”

She grit her teeth, forcing the words out between gasps. “Had him t-take you like that?”

She barely got the question out before they pushed their fist back into her. “Ah!”

“Oh, that?” Haarlep purred, lips curving into a languid smile. “Yes, of course. Many times.”

They leaned closer, breath brushing her ear like silk. “I’d say don’t worry, but I’m not a fragile little mortal, am I?”

Soleil was tempted to bite out something defensive - something about being able to hold herself better in a fight than them - but all she could manage was a choked sound as the incubus began moving their fist back and forwards, slowly pushing deeper. Her hands gripped at the sheets, the edge of Haarlep’s wing, anything to anchor herself.

“I’ll be here,” Haarlep murmured, soothing and cruel all at once. “To make sure Master doesn’t break you beyond what the pool can fix. He’d kill me, too, if I let him kill you.”

The words were morbid, but somehow - Weave help her - the sentiment struck a chord within Soleil. Touched her. 

Haarlep paused when nearly their whole forearm was inside her, and she whimpered. The mage could do little else but tremble on them. Then they withdrew their arm, and Soliel shuddered as she was left empty, her pussy clenching around nothing. 

The incubus slipped from the bed with feline grace, humming softly to themself as they rummaged through a nearby drawer. Glass clinked. A moment later, they straightened, holding up two small vials between elegant fingers; one filled with a shimmering orange liquid, the other with a faintly glowing pink liquid.

“One elixir of fire resistance,” Haarlep announced grandly, as if calling orders in some infernal tavern. “And one potion of mind reading, coming right up.”

They tossed both onto the bed. The bottles bounced once on the silken sheets before coming to a rest beside Soleil’s thigh. “For your sake, darling: bottoms up.”

Soleil sat up, still catching her breath. She uncorked the elixir first and drank. The liquid burned cold on her tongue, leaving a brief flash of frost behind her eyes that made her shudder. The second potion was sweeter, dizzying. Magic rippled through her veins like champagne bubbles, and she blinked as the world sharpened and brightened, her mind opening in that peculiar, intrusive way the spell always brought.

She reached out tentatively with the new connection and then immediately flushed crimson. Haarlep’s surface thoughts hit her like a storm of velvet laughter and wickedly perverse imagery, heat and mirth tangled together. The incubus’s grin widened at her expression. 

“Oh, darling,” they purred, clearly amused. “You peeked. Naughty thing.”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Mm, that’s what they all say.” Haarlep chuckled, delight dancing in their voice. “Well, that’s all I can do for you for now, pet. If you need anything, cry my name. Desperately.”

They turned to go, but Soleil’s voice caught in the air before they could slip away. “Haarlep, wait!”

The incubus turned, grin curling like smoke. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

Her throat worked around the words. “Can I… have a kiss? For… you know.”

Something softened in Haarlep’s expression. Just a flicker, but it was real.

“Oh, love,” they said gently, returning to her side in three slow steps. “Of course you can.”

They sat down at the edge of the bed and with a hand that was practiced but uncharacteristically tender, they cupped her chin, tilting her face up toward theirs. Their thumb brushed delicately along the corner of her mouth before they leaned in and pressed their lips to hers in a kiss that was surprisingly soft. Haarlep waited for a moment before letting it deepen, one hand tilting her jaw just so, the other sliding to rest lightly against her waist. They licked at her lips and slipped their tongue into her mouth. Soleil melted against the wet slide, her blood immediately roaring to life with additional arousal. When they pulled back, the wizard was once again left gasping for breath. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, and Haarlep gave her another soft smile and an even softer peck on her panting mouth.

“Now then,” they purred, rising with effortless grace and stepping away with a sway of their hips. “Break a leg, little pet.” A teasing glance over their shoulder. “I’ll be watching.”

Soleil let herself sink onto her back, the silk sheets cool against her flushed skin. She closed her eyes, drawing in long, deliberate breaths as she tried to steady the thundering in her chest. It did little good. Her pulse raced, every nerve alight with arousal, anticipation coiling through her like smoke. She was aching - body, mind, and soul.

“Are you ready to deliver your end of our first bargain, my dear?” came a dulcet voice from the end of the bed. Soleil squeezed her eyes shut for a moment longer before looking at him. 

Raphael stood there, still as a statue, but she could feel it. The strain beneath the surface. The tremor of energy barely contained. Hunger clung to him like a second skin, radiating heat, pressing against her lungs until her breath stuttered.

She swallowed.

“Yes,” she whispered, the word slipping free before she could think better of it. It came out raw. Needy. “I’m ready.”

The cambion drew in a breath, deep and deliberate, nostrils flaring as though he were tasting her resolve. Then hellfire ignited from within him, around him, a roaring inferno of infernal power. The room itself seemed to recoil as his body convulsed; bones snapping, sinew twisting. His silhouette tore and reformed in flashes of flame and shadow, monstrous wings unfurling with a crack like thunder.

And when the fire finally fell still, it left in its wake a creature of impossible power. Raphael’s ascended form.

Terrible. Magnificent.

And entirely focused on her.

It loomed above her, vast and unyielding, dwarfing the bed with the sheer enormity of its form. The air around it pulsed with heat - living, breathing heat - radiating off every inch of its body like a furnace barely contained. Soleil was immediately grateful for the effects of the elixir. Even with her own infernal born resistance to flame, she was sure she would've already been blistering without it. 

It leaned closer. Slowly. Deliberately. Three faces, woven into one monstrous whole, regarded her with an unblinking hunger. Eyes burning, teeth and tusks grinning, and crowned in jagged, curling horns that could have encircled her entire torso with ease. The very shape of it defied mercy. It sniffed - no, inhaled - through the narrow slits of its skull-like nostrils, the fragile membrane flexing with unnatural grace. It was smelling her. Savoring her.

Then, from the central face, a long, forked tongue slipped out and dragged a slow, searing line up the column of her throat.

Soleil shuddered, every muscle tensing beneath the contact. It wasn’t painful. Not exactly. But it carved a path of sensation so sharp, so elemental, it left her breathless. She gasped, filling her lungs with sweltering air, and the devil exploited it by slipping that long, sinuous tongue past her lips. She let out a startled moan, gagging slightly as it pushed into her throat without any warning. It was almost like having his cock in her mouth, but wetter and more dexterous. It flexed, pulling back and pushing forward, tasting every inch of her mouth. Soleil could feel drool escape from the edges of her lips, and she moaned, muffled around the fiend's tongue. Her thoughts were rapidly going hazy, evaporated by the heat and sensation, but she managed to call on the magic thrumming through her blood, gifted by the potion, and stretched her consciousness towards the monster. A gentle push. A careful probing. A bid for communication, even if both of them were currently unable to speak out loud. 

“I can feel you inside my head, little mouse.” The thought came with the weight of him, vast and deliberate, threading through her skull like silk dipped in fire. It was not a voice, not truly. It was presence, pure and absolute, filling her mind with terrifying ease. He let her in. Just enough. Only what he wanted her to see. “I want to feel inside you now.”

Raphael withdrew his tongue, and the tiefling barely managed to gasp before he hiked her legs into the air, anchoring her calves against the curves of his horns, and shoved his tongue into her stretched pussy. It didn't stretch her as much as Haalep's fist had, but it moved deeper, lapping at her cervix before pushing behind it, testing the incubus’s work. An unstoppable stream of moans and broken whimpers fell from Soleil's lips, and the cambion's feral stream of consciousness met her in kind, tangling with her own thoughts until she was unsure where his desire ended and hers began. 

“Tastes so good. Want to consume you, devour you.”

“Raphael!” she yelped as a tongue darted out from the face on the left and licked a hot trail up the inside of her thigh. “Please!”

She wasn't even sure what she was begging for. Mercy? More? 

He withdrew his tongue from her sopping hole, and she whimpered at the loss, gasping as he flicked it over her swollen, sensitive clit and then further up. The wet heat of his tongue dragged slowly over the mark burned into her flesh, tracing every line, every curve of infernal script - the shape of his own name, branded into her skin.

“You offered yourself to me, little mouse. This is what it means to be claimed. To be mine.” 

The words settled into her mind with the weight of law, unyielding and absolute. She shuddered beneath that certainty, breath catching as it filled her thoughts like smoke. In his mind, there was no question, no hesitation; she belonged to him. Entirely. Irrevocably. Even without her soul in his ledger, he believed it so.

And wasn’t that the truth of it?

The brand might not bind her spirit, but it bound her body in every way that mattered. It was his. His mark, his proof, his claim etched into her flesh for eternity. The knowledge should have filled her with dread, but instead it sparked something darker, something low and aching that pulsed between her ribs.

Desire.

And that was the worst of it, the realization that she wanted this. That she had always wanted this, or some shadow of it. She wouldn’t have offered it otherwise. There was a part of her, buried deep beneath pride and reason, that leaned into the unraveling. That longed for it.

That part of her was already his. And it trembled now, eager to be undone.

“Raphael… please,” she breathed, the words slipping past her lips like a prayer. Wrecked, wanting, and willing. Every inch of her ached for the monstrous thing crouched before her. “Take me.”

The beast moved with terrifying speed, pouncing on her. A predator answering the call of prey. His claws sank into her hips as he dragged her to the edge of the bed like a doll, her legs parting around his spiny hips without resistance. One massive, infernal hand closed around her waist, spanning it entirely, claws dimpling her skin in a grip that bordered on bruising. Pain bloomed in sharp little bursts, a cruel reminder of the strength caged just beneath his control. And still, she shivered. Not in fear.

In anticipation.

She had seen his cock in this form before, at a distance during their fight. Now up close and personal, the sight was even more intimidating. Its flared head was as big, if not bigger than Haarlep’s fist, and it was almost pointed like a spear. Veins like rivers of lava pulsed along the thick, ridged shaft, and small dull spikes protruded from it. It reached past Soleil’s navel when he ground it against her. 

It was gonna split her in half. 

Raphael notched the point of the cockhead against her trembling hole and began pushing forward. She strained to take it, gasping and moaning as it popped inside of her. Her chest was heaving, every breath shallow and trembling. She was dazed, suspended in sensation, but still, she could feel him. Raphael’s thoughts pressed up against hers, hot and urgent, impossible to ignore. There was the impatience of a predator pacing the edges of its cage. The need to move, to fuck, to claim. But under it, tightly coiled, was restraint. He was holding himself back. He didn't want to hurt her - at least, not in a way she didn't desire. A feeling bloomed in her chest in response to that. And something bloomed in Soleil’s chest at that. Something warm, sharp, and dangerous. That a devil like him could burn with such monstrous want and still hesitate for her…

It made her ache in an entirely new way.

When her breath evened out, she gave the monster a small nod. He began pushing forward slowly, and Soleil cried out at every ridge and bump that caught against her opening before they dragged against her trembling, wet walls in an overwhelmingly pleasurable way. It was so much, each one bigger than the last. Raphael’s thoughts continued to spill into her mind with relentless force. They flooded her, hot and unyielding, until her own thoughts drowned beneath his.

“Taking me so beautifully. Made for this. Made for me. All for me. Mine.”

When his hips pressed flush to hers, Soleil came with a loud sob, her back arching off the bed. Her body tried to clench around the huge cock within her, but her walls only managed to pulse weakly. Her fingers clawed for purchase, digging into the sharp, unyielding ridges along his ribs, desperate to anchor herself as she shook.

“Beautiful. Powerful. Brilliant. Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Raphael's desire coursed through her, and she felt like nothing but a vessel for it. For anything he’d give her. He drew his hips back, and Soleil felt hollowed out, whining before he pulled her forward by his grip on her waist, slamming into her and forcing out a cry that tore her throat. He moved her to meet his thrust, fucking her so deep that she swore she could feel his cock pushing against her lungs. 

“My pet. My mage. My match.”

Even through the exquisite ache, the stretch that pushed her to the edge of herself, Soleil felt the slow drag of his thumb against her belly, the claw at the tip scratching her skin. A low snarl rumbled from deep within him, primal and possessive, and her eyes snapped open. The sound sent a shiver down her spine. Her gaze found his. Those burning, inhuman eyes locked on her with such intensity that it nearly stole her breath. Then she followed his gaze lower and gasped. Her stomach was bulging around the cock inside of her; the new scar stretched over the shape of it. She looked pregnant. It took a moment for Soleil to realize the thought wasn't her own. An overwhelming animalistic need filled her, the need to breed. To be filled up, to see it take, to bear something that was entirely theirs. She couldn’t tell if the desire was her own or Raphael’s, but it made her moan and writhe desperately against him. 

The fiend buried itself within the tiefling and came with a roar. Searing warmth began to flood her, and impossibly, her stomach stretched even further. She thought that she might actually burst as the massive cock continued to pulse and release thick, burning hot seed, and she came again, barely having the strength to twitch around him. It all began spilling out of her stretched hole, gushing around his cock, and he continued to pump her full, before he finally, finally, stilled. 

Soleil fought to catch her breath, every inch filled with sensation, pleasure, exhaustion, cock, and cum. After an eternity, Raphael pulled out, and she sobbed as the head popped free, sending a flood of hot devil cum rushing out of her twitching hole. Her belly slowly deflated, and she felt empty, gouged out. Her limbs trembled against the silken sheets, though the air around her still shimmered with heat. 

Before she could summon the will to move, smaller hands - cooler, steadier - slipped beneath her, lifting her effortlessly. She made a sound in protest, something raw and pitiful, half-whine, half-growl. A deeper, far more dangerous growl answered from the foot of the bed, rumbling like thunder.

“Oh, hush, you two dramatic beasts,” Haarlep scolded lightly, voice dripping with amusement as they cradled the boneless, cumstained mage in their arms. “You’ll get her back when you can fit in the pool again, Master.”

The restoration waters greeted Soleil’s skin with a wave of comfort, and she exhaled a trembling sigh, nestling instinctively closer into Haarlep’s embrace as the strain and ache bled from her battered body.

“How are we feeling, pet?” the incubus cooed, stroking a hand down her spine. Their claws scratched lightly at the base of her vestigial wings - exactly the way she liked - and a weak shiver ran through her.

“Mmm… warm,” she murmured, the only word her fogged mind could summon.

Haarlep laughed, low and honey-sweet. 

“Gone a little cock-dumb, have we?” they teased, brushing damp hair from her face. “That’s all right, darling. You’ve earned it. You were magnificent.”

Soleil had just begun to drift, floating somewhere between sleep and the lulling warmth of the restoration pool, when the water beside her stirred. 

“Hand her over,” came the sharp command, cutting clean through the haze.

Haarlep gave a thoroughly unimpressed snort.

“I think she’s rather comfortable right here with me,” they purred, voice lilting with playful defiance. “Surely you wouldn’t want to disturb-”

“Haarlep.”

Raphael’s voice snapped with heat, hellfire curling behind the syllables like smoke licking the edge of a flame.

“Alright, alright, no need to scorch your pubes,” the incubus relented, rolling their eyes as they shifted the tiefling in their arms. Soleil let out a soft, half-conscious whine at the movement but quickly melted again into the familiar warmth and scent of Raphael. Her body recognized him before her mind did.

“Go change the sheets,” Raphael said, already settling Soleil more securely against his chest.

There was a sputtered noise of offense.

“I’m your courtesan, not your maid!”

A low growl rumbled beneath Soleil’s cheek, deep and warning.

“Oh, fine,” Haarlep muttered with theatrical indignation. “You are such a brat.”

Water rippled again as the incubus stepped out of the pool, swearing under their breath as they padded off, presumably to obey.

Raphael’s hand was already in Soleil’s hair, stroking through damp strands with slow, possessive patience. He tugged lightly, coaxing a soft sound from her lips, a sigh that melted into a yawn before she could stop it. The world began to dim. Darkness curled in at the edges of her vision, gentle and heavy, like velvet drawn over a flame. The last thing she registered was the scent of cherries - rich, cloying, unmistakably him - as it settled in her lungs and pulled her under. Dreamless sleep took her.

And in the quiet that followed, the devil held her still.

—

Soleil roused later, while the heavy curtains were still drawn over the windows, keeping the bloodred light of Avernus at bay. 

Raphael was curled around her front, his chest rising steadily beneath her cheek, that steady heartbeat thrumming like a low drum beneath her ear. Behind her, Haarlep slept as well, an arm draped lazily over her waist, their breath a softer rhythm against the back of her neck.

For a long, stunned moment, she simply lay there, realizing she could tell them apart by sound alone, by the way they breathed. She took silent stock of herself. Her skin was clean, her body swathed in fresh sheets that still smelled faintly of smoke and cherries. She didn’t remember being moved. When she shifted, flexing gingerly to test the soreness in her limbs, Raphael’s arm tightened instinctively around her waist, pulling her closer.

“…ur mkay, m’dear…” he mumbled, voice low and rough, the words tumbling together in a way wholly unlike his usual precise, razor-edged diction. “...’m here...”

 Soleil froze, realization dawning. He was still asleep. The reaction was reflex, unconscious protection at the faintest sign of her distress.

And that was when she felt it.

That thing she refused to name. It wasn’t really her place to do so; it already had a name, and it terrified her. It sat heavy and bright in her chest, a truth she had spent months trying to bury. Four small letters were enough to send her into a panic, two syllables made her want to crawl into a hole and die, and two consonants and two vowels held the muscle in her chest hostage. The only small act of defiance she could muster against the feeling was to not name it. To not face what she felt for the man who had caused her so much pain. To lie and tell herself that everything she had done had been out of necessity, every inch given a carefully measured sacrifice. That it had all been through gritted teeth and clenched fists. That the feeling she felt when lying here - in silken sheets surrounded by his smell and heat and listening to his soft, sleeping breath - was disgust. That feeling twisting her gut and seizing her heart was fear and not that sinister four-letter word. 

Love.

But Soleil had never been a good liar.