Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with their return to the bedchamber, an act that seemed impulsive, almost careless. The cambion’s eyes flickered downward, catching Enver mouthing silent denials, his lips trembling as he tried to refute Haarlep’s accusations. Raphael wordlessly shattered the spell of forced silence with a snap of his fingers. The sound was sharp, final, like the breaking of a bone. Enver’s voice spilled forth in a torrent, slurred, frantic, and laced with the unmistakable stench of fear. He was drunk, his words tumbling over one another in a chaotic mess, his flash of adolescent bravery crumbling under the weight of the devil’s gaze.

Raphael dropped him unceremoniously onto the cold stone floor. Enver crashed into the ground with a dull thud, his body splayed awkwardly, a pile of gangly limbs. Luckily he was still drunk, so he wasn’t bracing. Enver slunk to the side, his movements furtive, like a beaten dog trying to avoid further punishment. The air was thick with tension as the two devils argued, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of anger and betrayal.  Finally, with the cambion snarling he pulled out a scroll. The parchment glowed faintly, its edges shimmering with an otherworldly light. The sight of it made Haarlep recoil, their usually mischievous features twisting into an expression of pure horror. Even Raphael’s face, so purely full of rage at the moment, betrayed a flicker of disgust as he held it out with two pinched fingers. The spell inscribed on the scroll was no ordinary enchantment—it was a relic of Tyr, the god of justice, and its radiant energy was anathema to creatures of the infernal.

“A spell unique to the followers of Tyr. I can use it, but radiant energy makes me ill. Come here boy.”

“Darling pleaasseee, this is utterly ridiculous.”

Haarlep’s plea was desperate, their voice trembling with a rare vulnerability and eyes wide with panic. It tried to meet Enver’s eyes to garner sympathy, but the boy averted his gaze, his jaw clenched in stubborn defiance. He felt Raphael’s hand on his shoulder, the devil’s claws digging into his flesh with a possessive intensity. The cambion’s breath was hot against his ear, a searing reminder of the danger he was in. Enver could feel the anger radiating from Raphael, a palpable force that seemed to warp the very air around them. He knew better than to-refused-to let that anger turn on him.

“Sweet boy, hold out the scroll and say None may lie in Tyr’s holy light.”

Raphael said in a sickly sweet voice that made the mortal’s skin crawl. Someone was leaving here mutilated, that was certain. Gortash gripped the scroll with two hands, trying to steady himself. He forced himself to think of Haarlep suffering, rather than the other end scenario. With that visual in mind, a cruel smile spread on his face. He was excited to cast a spell, even a preloaded one, and he was happy to punish Haarlep. Especially after they tried to throw him to the wolves.

“Who destroyed the painting?”

Raphael’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Enver.”

Haarlep’s tinkling voice rang out like a broken music box, melodic even when tinged with unhappiness. The devil, still leaning against Gortash squeezed his shoulder threateningly, claws digging into his bony back.  

“Did you conspire to destroy the painting? Do you hate Raphael? Do you think he’s a pathetic weakling and a bad lay?”

Enver butted in, a shrillness to his adolescent tenor. The boy was unwilling to be punished for something that was not his fault. Raphael glowered down at him. The room seemed to hold its breath as Haarlep answered, their voice dripping with true venom.

“Yes. Yes. Yes and yes.”

The cambion’s eyebrows shot up, his jaw set with rage.

“My darling! A-Are you really going to let a mortal come between us?”

Raphael did not respond. His face was curved into that ugly sneer he often wore when disgusted. His eyes blazed with fury, and his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might shatter as he audibly ground his teeth. Enver understood the devil better than he understood himself, and the young man knew the cambion was about to snap. Sweat poured down Enver’s face, stinging his eyes and coating his lips with a salty tang. He wiped his brow distractedly, unwilling to miss even the slightest shift in Raphael’s expressions at this pivotal moment.

“Who do you serve?”

“Lord Mephistopheles.”

It felt as if the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. There were feelings of course, suspicions Raphael had often lamented to Enver in recent months when they were alone. As his current favorite Enver had heard it often recently, but now it was out in the open. Verbally expressed. The heat of Avernus, already sweltering, became oppressive, physically altering with the cambion’s rage. Sweat poured from Enver’s brow, getting more salty drops into his eyes and mouth. It felt like he was drinking from the sea. The mortal wiped his face distractedly, still unwilling to miss any of the cambion’s microexpressions.

“Who. do. you. serve?!”

The devil’s claws were digging into Enver’s shoulder, slicing it. The skin seared, both burning and cutting his tender flesh as he interrogated his beloved incubus. Enver whined, and the cambion abruptly threw him aside again. He crashed into the stone, falling forward and chipping a front tooth. He hissed in pain, immediately dropping to the floor to find it. Belly to the floor he scoured for the chipped piece. He knew if he had the piece in the baths the restoration water would fix it. Blood was gushing from his mouth, and he could hear the two shouting at one another, arguing. Enver tried to block it out, focusing instead on his search. The scene felt familiar. Reminding him, bizarrely, of his parents’ fights back home; shouting, accusations, the air thick with tension. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on that now. He had to find the piece of tooth. He knew Raphael would be furious if he didn’t fix it, even though it was the devil’s fault. The cambion would find a way to blame him, to call him low-class, to make him feel even smaller than he already did. After what felt like an eternity, Enver’s fingers closed around the broken piece of tooth. He scrambled to the bath, his movements frantic, like a prey animal fleeing a predator. He plunged his head into the water, pressing the broken piece to the chipped tooth. The restorative magic worked quickly, the pain from both his mouth and elsewhere receding as the tooth knit itself back together.

When he emerged, his tooth was whole again, but the air in the chamber had changed. The room was filled with a heady, cloying sweetness, the metallic tang of blood mingling with something sickly sweet, like burnt sugar. Enver’s eyes were drawn to the bed, where a low, disoriented moaning filled the air. There, standing above the bloodied form of Haarlep, was a monster. It was a grotesque, bestial thing, its form shifting and writhing as if it couldn’t decide what shape to take. It snarled, chirped and growled, bestial and horrifying as Enver’s eyes tried to follow the strange, shifting beast. 

Its claws were sunk deep into Haarlep’s flesh, and with a sudden, horrifying motion, it set the incubus alight. The screams were unbearable, a high-pitched wail that seemed to echo in Enver’s very soul. Haarlep’s body convulsed, their skin flickering through a series of forms, each more mutilated than the last. Enver gagged as their flesh melted from bone. The distinct stink of burning flesh and hair consumed the room and the mortal’s stomach churned with disgust and horror. He knew, logically, that Haarlep shouldn’t burn—they had fire immunity. He had seen it himself, watched as Raphael hurled balls of fire at them in fits of irritation, only for the incubus to emerge unscathed and mildly annoyed. But this was different. This was no ordinary fire. This was something darker, more primal, a manifestation of Raphael’s rage.

Enver, knowing his best chance at staying alive was to be tethered to the restoration pool, jumped in. Enver’s instincts screamed at him to stay hidden, to remain within the bath, still and quiet. He sank deeper into the water, his dark hair obscuring his face as he watched the scene unfold. The monster—Raphael he supposed, though it bore little resemblance to the cambion now—was whining, its clawed hands pinching and dragging Haarlep’s charred corpse off the bed. It moved with strange, almost jerky movements, its actions devoid of the elegance and control that usually characterized Raphael. And then, bizarrely, it tried to smooth out the bed, its claws tearing through the fabric and setting the blankets alight. The creature let out another alien whine, its tail lashing irritably.

Enver’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched, his mind struggling to reconcile the monster before him with the devil he had come to know. This was Raphael, but it wasn’t. This was something else, something raw and unfiltered, a manifestation of the cambion’s deepest, darkest impulses. And as the creature turned its gaze slowly toward him, its eyes burning with an otherworldly light, Enver felt a chill run down his spine.

R-Raphael?”

The human tried, his voice halting and hesitant. The thing’s three animal bone heads tilted towards Enver, who was still mostly submerged in the bath. It’s form solidified at the sight of him, his eyes going big and wide like a jaguar who’d caught sight of its prey.

Enver had been with many devils. Most were not as humanoid looking as Raphael or Haarlep, but this monstrosity…

This thing was not Raphael. Not as Enver had known him all these years.

This, he’d never seen anything like it. Its body was a landscape of horror. Jagged spires of blackened animal bone jutted from its back to its tail, sharp and crooked, their edges glinting with razor-sharp malice. Between the blackened bone was translucent, revealing pulsing rivers of molten red magma coursing beneath his skin, an unnaturally hot lifeblood that illuminated its form with an eerie, ghostly glow. The beast’s head was both beast and void—a fusion of horns and three animal heads that formed a grotesque mask of horror. Their eyes were fiery balls of glowing yellow light, hot and intense, completely devoid of empathy. Its maw, upon creaking open was vast and horrific, lined with endless layers of blackened uneven teeth that seemed to extend endlessly into its fiery throat, a portal to oblivion. Their limbs were too thin and grotesquely elongated, each joint twisting at sharp angles, ending in claws that shimmered with heat. Those talons looked like they could slice through stone like paper and leave wounds that seared. Their wings, vast and pulsing with magma, spanned large behind them. They were not feathered or scaled, but ephemeral sheets of darkness, an incandescent glimmer of fire and shadow wherever they moved, creating an intense contrast in each movement. When they beat, they howled like a firestorm tearing through a wasteland, carrying whispers of despair on their winds.

If the sight of it wasn’t horrific enough, the boy saw what it did to Haarlep. They had burned, burned alive, with fire immunity. If it was Raphael, which seemed likely- it was likely the power of Hellfire. The Archdevil Mephistopheles’s flames were stronger than any other. Raphael had told him this in one of his many bedroom rants. It seemed, despite Raphael not being fully aware of it, he had the same abilities, the flames of Hellfire quite literally pumping through the black bones of this form. Enver, a human, certainly could not withstand the heat of this aberration. Especially if Haarlep could not. He cast resistance, as if it would really help. The beast stepped forward, and its talons clicked sharply against the stone floor. Its beady yellow eyes never left Enver.

“Hey…Raphael…”

Enver cooed placatingly, in a voice soft and foreign to his own ears. It came quicker now, until it was standing over the pool. Without it touching the water the pool started to heat up. It abruptly hopped in, birdlike in its movements, and the water immediately began to bubble. The bath quickly went from feeling like a warm bath to a heated hot spring. Enver hissed, tears of fear and anger flowing freely down his face. It just wasn’t fair. He’d saved himself from the prison yes, but he’d made the devil snap, and now the strange, horrible thing that lived within him was going to set Gortash aflame. He’d look just like the melting, charred remains of Haarlep

Terrified Enver put his hand out.

“S-stay b-back. Don’t touch me!” 

He ordered, trying to sound firm, but fear made his voice tremble. It almost felt comical, holding his palm out to this massive monster. Raphael’s cambion form already dwarfed Enver, but this thing, he only came to its waist. It tilted its heads and made a strange, guttural sound. It’s clawed hand wrapped around Enver’s thin wrist, and to the boy’s shock and relief it didn’t burn him. He was dangling though, as the beast held the boy in front of its monsterous visage. It’s-his-yellow eyes examined him carefully.

“It’s me Raphael, me, Enver- your- your little mouse?!”

The human squeaked, using a patronizing term of endearment he himself hated, perhaps more than any other. Enver wasn’t sure if his best course of action was kicking out or dangling limp, but he really didn’t like either scenario being pulled out of the safety of the pool.

Raphael did not reply verbally, but his heads cocked to the side. Enver tried not to let the terror he felt show on his face as he was pressed against the creature’s body. It hurt, sharp and bonelike, and though it didn’t hurt him, he was uncomfortably warm. It felt like being pressed against an open-air grill that had just been put out. He grunted with discomfort, his body so slick with water and sweat it felt like being in a sauna. 

“Please Raphael, you’re- you’re going to burn me…” 

He whimpered, biting his thick bottom lip and trying desperately to maintain calm. Raphael, even in this bizarre form seemed somewhat aware, perhaps he would be decent and put him down if he reasoned with him. He felt one of the clawed hands digging into the supple flesh of his bottom and he felt himself choking on his own saliva. In no form was Raphael decent.

“Please Raphael….don’t…n-no!” 

He yelped, unable to remain calm as those talons slipped between the cleft of his ass. He started to squirm, but froze as he felt himself be squeezed harder. It didn’t feel like flesh holding him, but like being squeezed between hard surfaces. The situation was a conundrum. He knew better than to fight the devil, years of being his plaything he was well aware resistance only made things worse. But there was a charred body on the floor only steps away. The mortal was terrified that if he allowed the cambion to touch him the wrong way in this form he’d be instantly killed. Ripped apart or maimed or burned alive. Already it was uncomfortably hot against him, and he squirmed and whined in discomfort as those talons plunged into sensitive thin flesh. Enver was very in tune with his body when it came to these matters, and adrenaline was beating out the alcohol. He could feel his skin tearing, blood dripping from between his legs. He sobbed, harsh and pained against the hard bone. Babbled little words of dissent, though he knew Raphael was likely not listening, nor cared. All he could do was hope Raphael didn’t kill him, dangling helplessly in his arms just above the restoration water. He tried to stretch his legs out best he could as the beast “prepared” him, hoping a toe would touch the water, fortify him. His hole burned terribly, and Enver himself was so slick with sweat it was hard to see, fat salty droplets from his forehead dripping liberally and mixing with angry tears, forming little pockets on the bow of his lip, the back of his neck. He was so helpless. Everything hurt, and the panic was making him so ill, he was trembling terribly. This form too, offered no comfort. In a twisted way Raphael’s face was stabilizing, because the boy could read his facial expressions, figure out what the devil was feeling. Staring at the three animal bone heads the human could discern nothing at all. He tried to stop thinking, dissociate from the situation as the sharp talons slid in and out of him. At least his entire body being coated in sweat seemed to have stopped him from tearing as he was stretched out by the solid finger’s of this monstrosity. His stomach kept lurching and it only gave him a modicum of relief when those fingers were finally removed. For a moment, Enver played with the idea that it was over, as the creature lifted him higher, angling his body just so. But then he felt the pressure. Detachedly the human thought that this form must have a sheath, because he hadn’t seen a cock. That made sense, plenty of devils the mortal had been with did, though neither Raphael’s nor Haarlep’s normal forms were so animalistic. The pressure was intense, wrong. Enver yelped despite himself, despite everything. Even the blood and the sweat couldn’t make its cock fit easily. The feeling of forcing something far too big into something far too small was visceral and intense. 

Raphael growled with something that sounded almost like frustration. The beast suddenly  thrust into Enver with a brutal force, and the boy screamed, loud and shrill. He was tearing! No, he was torn, and his insides were likely being rubbed raw and ripped up as well. His pain tolerance was high, and he’d been split before, but this, this was brutal. Enver couldn’t stop screaming, his little face going bright red, and thrashing against the bony creature with the mad desperation of an endangered animal. This only seemed to enrage the devil further. The cambion's hands gripped Enver's hips tightly, his claws digging into the soft flesh hard and drawing gushing rivers of blood and chunks out of his already thin flesh. Enver could only sob and scream as he was stretched and filled, the pain immense, impossible. Raphael's movements were erratic and aggressive, each thrust sending waves of agony through Enver's body. Enver felt like he was being torn apart, the thick heat of the devil's shaft burning each time it filled him. The boy’s shrill shrieks became miserable little whimpers. He still was pushing against the solid mass of ebony bone, but he was weakening quickly, bleeding out. Detachedly Enver thought about how it didn’t feel like a cock, it felt like a foreign object, perhaps a block of wood, a sword hilt, or a wine bottle (The devils he’d been pimped out to over the years were as creative as they were cruel.). Those were more aligned with what the boy was feeling. The edges of his sight were dulling, and his vision became quite fuzzy. How  ridiculous it would be to die like this. How utterly mortifying. How perfectly apt. Enver had the pathetic wish for Haarlep, so the pain wouldn’t be so unbearable. So, (And it was a childish, pathetic feeling, he knew.) he could be touched by the one creature that touched him nicely, even with an ulterior motive. His eyes drifted towards the body on the floor, and he cried harder. Sobbed for his friend that wasn’t his friend, who’d never once cared for the human, but the human had indeed cared for them. Now he was alone, all alone with Raphael. That was a fate worse than death. At least it wouldn’t be long. He welcomed an ending, as dull and humiliating sparks of pleasure began to pump to his dying mind. The final coherent thought that crossed his mind was a smug, spiteful one. That his death would upset the cambion, which pleased the boy.

Raphael continued to use him like a rag-doll,  unaware or uncaring (likely the latter) of the teen’s torment. The devil bounced his limp body up and down on his cock, Enver’s head lolling and jerking.

The devils movements became more frantic, and with a guttural roar, he spilled his seed deep inside Enver, filling him up. The human was barely conscious now, his body a limp, broken thing in the devil’s grip. Slowly, almost tenderly, the creature pulled out. Enver was a mess, his insides torn and destroyed, his lower half a crimson canvas of gore. His legs twitched, and his intestines hung inside out, like twisted streamers of viscera. Raphael dipped him in the water like one might try and clean off a stained washed cloth, and Enver, head lolling, felt consciousness snap back to him in a rush. He squealed in indignation, realizing that Raphael was aware enough to know the torment he was putting the teen through, at least somewhat. Enough to at least keep him from dying. He screamed, kicking out in a madness that echoed his younger days. The devil’s heads cocked again, and Enver, through his haze of rage watched the form shift again, down into Raphael’s cambion form. It happened in a couple of seconds this time, like a candle flickering before quickly being snuffed out. Enver couldn’t help but continue his fit of rage, shoving the man and screaming.

Raphael didn’t stop him, sinking into the bath while huffing. He was covered in blood and viscera, most from Haarlep, some from Enver certainly, maybe even some of his own. 

“You’re a fucking bastard! I loathe you! Oh I loathe you!”

Enver sobbed, his voice cracking. 

“Stop acting like a child. I’m the one who just went through the Hells.”

Raphael snapped irritably. He was rigid, back straight as if afraid to turn. He ran his hands over the patches of blood on his arms, and the teen caught his bottom lip quivering.

“Come clean me. Now.”

“Clean you?! You almost killed me, my organs were hanging-“

The boy caught himself, catching Raphael’s eyes narrowing. The devil wouldn’t ask again. He huffed, swallowing his rage. He didn’t really want to be ended, or be punished like he’d been before, like he’d almost been today. He didn’t really want to die. Maybe he did. Out of spite. But….no, no he didn’t. He wanted to live, despite everything.

Sure, the devil had hurt him, mutilated him- but he’d ended up alive. It was all fine. Another day was another opportunity to live, to escape. Enver realized he was mumbling to himself when he saw Raphael had started to squint. Quickly he grabbed the wash cloth out of the hand of Raphael, who’d been clutching it tightly. He wet it, put it out for the cambion to touch. 

“It’s fine.”

The devil muttered. There was blood in his ringlet curls, caught between his scales and body hair- everywhere. Enver wordlessly scrubbed him, and the devil helped him here and there, lifting an arm, tilting his head back so Enver could wipe his face, comb the bits of charred skull and cooked brain matter out of his hair. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the occasional splash of water as Enver worked methodically to clean the blood and gore from Raphael’s body. The cambion still sat rigidly, his expression sharp, and his jaw remained clenched. His golden eyes flickered with an intensity that betrayed the storm raging within him. Enver’s hands trembled as he scrubbed, his own body still trembling with phantom aches from the brutal ordeal of being nearly torn in two, but he knew better than to continue his tantrum, not when Raphael was like this. Even though…part of him wanted to continue. It felt unfair, having to stifle his own pain. He forced himself to think of the plan. He’d be whatever the devil wanted him to be, for now. Until an opportunity to escape presented itself, he’d survive.

Unlike Haarlep. 

The water around them was tinged red, swirling with the remnants of dead incubus’s charred remains and Enver’s own blood. The metallic scent of it mixed with the sickly sweetness of a sex devil’s burnt flesh, creating a nauseating aroma that made Enver’s stomach churn. He focused on the task at hand, his movements deliberate, though his mind raced with a torrent of emotions, rage, fear, and a twisted, reluctant sense of duty. He hated Raphael, hated him with every fiber of his being, but he also knew that survival depended on playing the part of his obedient mouse. For now, at least.

Raphael’s voice broke the silence, sharp and commanding, though there was an undercurrent of something else, something Enver couldn’t quite place. 

“You’re taking too long. Hurry up.”

He stood up, giving the boy a full view of…everything. Enver’s jaw tightened, mirroring his master, but he said nothing, merely nodding and increasing the pace of his scrubbing. He worked his way down Raphael’s broad shoulders, over the ridges of his scaled back, his wings, and along the curve of his spine. The cambion’s skin was warm, almost feverishly so, and Enver could feel the faint tremors running through him, as if Raphael were struggling to maintain control over whatever emotion lay beneath the surface. He cleaned robotically as he went lower, trying not to think so hard about the blood all around the cambion’s now soft cock and pubic hair. When the devil was finally clean he was pulled into his lap. Neither of them spoke, which was shocking, considering how much the devil loved the sound of his own voice. A large hand dragged over him like one might pet a cat, petting the moist, sweat and gods-knew-what-else slicked skin of the human over and over. The devil’s lip curled up after about a minute, looking at his own hand with annoyance before snapping the boy clean. Another shot of irritation ran through Enver, that the cambion could do that and still made the mortal clean him meticulously.

“You know….I cannot speak in that form.”

“And you do love to speak.” 

The boy just couldn’t help himself. Raphael cut eyes to him, but just continued speaking while idly petting the mortal.

“It is my ascended form.”

“Is that what you really look like?”

The human said, staring at the pink tinted water. He knew most devils were quite monstrous, it wouldn’t surprise him if that was the case.

“No!”

Raphael snapped with both shock and annoyance. He scoffed, and then sighed. It seemed that for once he couldn’t manage a cruel retort or remark.

“No. Look at me, you think that is my true form?”

Raphael tilted the human’s head up, his eyes meeting the mortals. The boy saw this idea that someone might think the ascended form was his true form deeply offended the cambion. Enver shook his head.

“No, my lord.”

Raphael nodded relievedly, as if thinking otherwise was disturbing to him. The cambion brushed the boy’s wet hair out of his face, making sure his eyes stayed trained on the devil. Raphael’s golden eyes flickered, their usual sharpness softened by something Enver couldn’t quite name. Regret? Vulnerability? The boy wasn’t sure. He had never seen Raphael quite like this before.

“It is….a gift. From my father.”

Raphael never spoke of Mephistopheles in this manner. Every “gift”, including the statue of the Archdevil in the hall and the portal to Mephistar in the Chamber of Egress were only mentioned with loathing and disgust. Enver had listened to many a rage filled rant about Mephistopheles in his months as the favorite, and they were always the same. This he mentioned with care he used for very little. Not loving, certainly not. But care. In the same manner one would handle explosives.

“I cannot control it. Not well.”

He said, speaking slowly, haltingly, as if what he was telling the teen was difficult for him to discuss or perhaps explain. Enver had never heard the man speak this way. He realized this was the devil almost apologizing. Or at least, attempting to explain the behavior. 

“It is a good way to defend oneself. My father….installed it. When I gorge on souls I am unstoppable. Of course.”

Enver said nothing, he knew he was not to say anything. Raphael preferred speaking at him rather than speaking to him. He did look away, so Enver buried his nose into the crook of his neck, his eyes catching the image of the corpse before he purposely shut them. Haarlep deserved what they got. So why did it feel so utterly awful. Was it the being alone with Raphael? 

“Sometimes it manifests in bizarre manners. Like tonight.”

Raphael continued rambling about the ascended form, how it was one of his father’s experiments other cambions had rejected, and how it made him powerful, stronger than any other cambion by leaps and bounds. Gortash so longed for power.

“It is perhaps his….most ambitious gift to me. At first he tried common cambion, when I was young. Then he attempted it on a sibling or two of mine. I was the only one able to endure it. I think he was proud when I was able to take it. Or…at least satisfied.”

Raphael sounded unsure. As if he himself did not know the truth of his father’s feelings or motivations.

“It seems like a great gift.” 

The boy mumbled into his neck, his lips damp from the bath.

Raphael sighed, huffed. 

“A great gift…”

The cambion repeated, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. 

“Yes, I suppose it is. But gifts from my father are never… simple. They come with strings, boy. Chains, even. He is not like me. Warm-hearted and generous.”

Enver remained still, his face pressed against the crook of Raphael’s neck, his breath warm against the cambion’s skin. He could feel the rapid pulse of Raphael’s heartbeat, a rare sign of the devil’s unease. It was strange, almost unsettling, to see the usually cruel and arrogant cambion so…human. Enver didn’t know how to respond to all of this madness, part of him finding the idea of him warm and generous darkly comedic, given the circumstances. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to respond. So he just stayed quiet, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on Raphael’s arm, a small, practiced gesture of intimacy he’d learned from Haarlep.

Raphael’s hand moved from Enver’s hair to cup the back of his neck, his touch firm but not unkind. He tilted the boy’s head back slightly, forcing their eyes to meet once more. 

“You think it’s wonderful, don’t you? Power. Strength. The ability to crush your enemies without a second thought. But it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple.”

Enver’s throat tightened. He didn’t know if he should lie. Power, in any shape or form the teen would grasp hungrily and greedily for. Even with drawbacks like-his eyes were drawn to the body of the concubi. He’d take the ability. Without question. He decided in this case the truth was the best option. The teen nodded slightly, his dark eyes searching Raphael’s for some hint of what the devil was truly feeling. Sometimes, often times getting things wrong was a test or trick that involved punishment, which was why reading Raphael’s microexpressions was so important. But this time, this day- everything was off, wrong. For some reason. Perhaps the body of their friend in the middle of the room. But he felt in his core the devil would not snap on him.

“My father-“

Raphael muttered, his voice quieter now, the steady tinge of rage on the edge of his words. That almost eased the boy, as it was familiar.

“He does not give gifts out of kindness. He gives gift’s to control. To bind. This form… it is a great weapon, yes, but it is also a leash. A reminder that no matter how far I rise, in his mind I am still his. Still bound to him. The incubus was another gift.”

“They…They were a good incubus…they did their job well.”
 
Enver said haltingly, not wanting to set Raphael off. He had a distinct sense of deja vu, a memory of early childhood bubbling up. Enver had tried to comfort a young girl in his neighborhood after some thugs had killed her dog for barking. The boy had really been trying to comfort her, but it had come out overly logical. He’d explained that the arrow had gone through it’s upper neck, into the medulla oblongata and breathing likely ceased immediately. The dog didn’t suffer long, was what that boy had been trying to say. He thought it would be a comfort, but the girl only cried harder, just as his father in a drunken stupor had stumbled out because of the racket. He’d been badly beaten for that misspeaking.

Raphael cut eyes to him, a sneer immediately forming on his lips. 

“You think this is the first plaything I’ve lost? I’ve had hundreds, thousands of lovers. Unfathomable to you. Haarlep meant nothing to me.” 

The tenor of his voice said otherwise, and Enver was hyper attuned to these minor fluctuations. He didn’t dare continue speaking. So instead, he stayed still, his body pressed against Raphael’s, his fingers still tracing faint, meaningless patterns on the devil’s arm. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until finally, Raphael sighed and released his grip on Enver’s neck.

“He was a traitor. Served Mephistopheles. It’s good he’s dead.”

The boy peeked up again, staring at the body. The devil was speaking to himself again. There was no need fo add any input. He noticed the body was slowly melting. He remembered reading devils and demons bodies didn’t rot in the same way mortals did, their internal heat melting them into ichor one could gain power from. Enver wondered what would happen if he drank concubi ichor. He did want power, but something in his gut said that would likely have terrible consequences.

“And I always knew. Didnt I? How could I let him worm himself so fully into my life. Distract me from my birthright. Damn that damnable incubus. What a waste of my time.”

The melancholy in his voice was rising. It sounded strained. 

“They were a traitor. And concubi, they’re lower life forms. Devils in name only. No better than beasts.”

He was ranting, but Enver felt it, like the night he’d had Enver hold him. He was crying. The human didn’t dare look. He had the feeling he may still end up a body next to Haarlep if he did. Raphael’s grip on Enver tightened suddenly, his claws pricking the boy’s skin as if he could sense the direction of his thoughts. The cambion’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous growl, his breath hot against Enver’s ear.  

“Do you think I’m pathetic? A weak devil?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. Enver’s pulse spiked, his body going rigid. This was a test, one he couldn’t afford to fail. He swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady despite the tremor beneath. All he had to do was please him. It’s all he ever had to do. For once, it came easily.

"No, my lord."

He said quickly, and it was genuine. Horrible, unstable, vile, repulsive, even embarrassing at times he would have to lie. But Enver feared the devil, he never understood Haarlep’s rants about his “pathetic” nature. He did fear him. Raphael’s fingers dug deeper, drawing fresh beads of blood. 

"Liar."

His voice was a snarl, the rawness and instability in his voice making Enver’s heart pound wildly. Would he transform again? Into that horrible beast? Would he punish Enver anyway, even though the painting’s destruction and all that came before and after it was Haarlep’s doing?

"You saw me lose control. You saw me—"

He cut himself off, jaw clenching so hard Enver heard the grind of teeth. He sniffed, and the human pictures him steadying himself, the shakiness of crying starting to fade away.

The boy’s mind raced. He had to choose his words carefully, but hesitation would be just as damning as the wrong answer. 

"I saw power.”

He murmured, pressing flush, his lips brushing the devil’s jugular, kissing it softly. 

"I saw what happens when someone betrays you."

A low, shuddering breath escaped Raphael. His grip loosened slightly, but his voice remained sharp. 

"You think Haarlep deserved it?"

Enver hesitated. That truth was complicated. Haarlep had been cruel at times, and an opportunist, but they had also been the closest thing to company. Enver’s only companion in this Hellish place. Still, survival demanded sacrifice, Haarlep had been willing to do it to him, so he couldn’t afford to care. Not about the incubus, or Hope, or anyone.

"They served another master.”

Enver said tactfully.

"They lied to you. That’s unacceptable.”

Raphael exhaled sharply, and even laughed a little. 

“Such a practical little mouse."

His claws traced idle circles on Enver’s back, each motion threatening to break skin. 

"And what of you? Who do you serve?"

“You father. Of course.”

He said immediately, without even thinking about it. The devil chuckled, and genuinely sounded a bit calmer. Enver decided to risk a peak. He was slightly unnerved to see the devil staring intently at him. 

Then Enver realized it was expectantly. He swallowed the sigh of annoyance that wanted to bubble up, particularly after his ordeal, but he’d been taking on Haarlep’s responsibilities for a while. Enver didn’t wait for the command.  

The look was enough—the weight of it, the unspoken expectation pressing down on him like a physical force.  

So he moved.  

His body protested as he pulled himself from the bath, muscles stiff, skin still tender from the ordeal. Luckily the restoration bath had healed everything, even though the phantom pains lingered. The water dripped from him, pooling at his feet as he walked toward Haarlep’s remains. The incubus was little more than a slick, shimmering smear now, the heat of the Hells and their own internal heat already reducing them to something unrecognizable, something that did not resemble the sharp-tongued, laughing creature who had once shared whispered jabs with him behind Raphael’s back.  

Enver swallowed hard, forcing his hands to steady. He grabbed a discarded cloth, one of Haarlep’s underclothes, he realized distantly, and knelt.  

The ichor seemed to cling to the stone flooring, thick and stubborn. It bubbled faintly where it touched his skin, leaving a low, persistent tingle, but he ignored it. He worked in silence, scrubbing methodically, his movements efficient. There was no point in dwelling on what he was doing. No point in thinking about what or who this was.  

If he thought, he’d remember Haarlep’s smirk, the way they’d rolled their eyes at Raphael’s dramatics. The way they’d felt like an ally, once. How sometimes they would be kind to him, even if it was always to squeeze pleasure from him. But Haarlep had betrayed Enver. And they deserved what they’d got.

The cloth darkened as he worked, the fibers starting to dissolve  under the corrosive remains. He didn’t stop.  

Behind him, Raphael hadn’t moved. The devil’s gaze was a brand between his shoulder blades, heavy and unrelenting. Enver could feel the weight of it, uncomfortable and constant. 

He didn’t look back to check if he was looking. He knew he was.

When the last traces were gone, when the floor was clean, when the air no longer reeked of scorched sugar and charred flesh—Enver finally straightened. His knees ached. His hands stung.  

He turned.  

Raphael was indeed still watching him, sunset colored eyes half-lidded, his expression inscrutable. He snapped, and both the underclothes and the strangely discolored spot on the floor where the incubus’s body had melted was gone. Finally the devil stood, stalking towards his bed, suddenly fixed. His journal appeared in his hands, and he was scribbling, quick and erratic. Raphael wrote every day. This was nothing new. He crawled into bed beside him. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, as Raphael’s quill scratched furiously across the parchment. Enver lay beside him, his hands still tingling slightly from the ichor, his mind a whirlwind of exhaustion and lingering terror. The bed was warm, the sheets smooth against his skin. It was so unlike the jagged, brutal reality of the last few hours.  

He wanted to sleep. He wanted to forget this horrible awful day. But he knew better than to even close his eyes without permission when Raphael was in such a state.  

So he waited, watching the devil’s profile in the dim light, the way his brow furrowed, the way his lips moved silently as he wrote. He looked again strangely mortal like this, shadows of a human man lost in thought, and not a monstrosity who had just torn apart his own lover in a fit of rage. Finally, Raphael snapped the journal shut and poofed it away, the sounds sharp in the quiet. He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, before turning his gaze to Enver.  

The boy tensed instinctively, bracing for whatever came next, another demand, another test, another mood swing. But Raphael only reached out, his fingers brushing against Enver’s cheek, almost tender, if such a thing were possible—before suddenly pulling him close, pressing the mortal flush against the furnace of his body. Enver remained rigid, his muscles coiled tight, but this, at least, was again familiar. Raphael had long since grown fond of curling around him, lying against the coolness of his mortal skin.  

Eventually, the steady rhythm of the devil’s breathing filled the silence. In and out. A deep, even, steady thrum. Only then did Enver allow himself to relax, though the heat was stifling and oppressive, like being pressed beneath against a wall with a furnace.  

He closed his eyes.  

And as always, he slept in the devil’s shadow.  

Chapter Text

“He’s been fixated on you for what, two months? Treating you like his little therapist, son and bride all at once? You’re obviously doing something right. I mean, he’s a simple man, pleasing him isn’t exactly rocket science.”

Enver whimpered at the memory of Haarlep’s mockery. And yet he’d been successful. Over a year now, since the death of the incubus. Yet the human thought of him constantly. His stomach was in knots, but he couldn’t move, the hot iron bar that was the devils arm around him. He missed their early morning chats. But there was no one to chat with. Instead he fell back into a twilight, there was no point trying to get out of Raphael’s embrace, it would only upset him. The devil was starting to shift awake anyway, Enver could hear him muttering about something, still jumbled from sleep. The moment the devil awoke his mouth was moving. The mortal stifled a groan.

Being the sole and only thing taking care of Raphael was certainly as boring as Haarlep had made it out to be, constantly bitterly complaining about what it was like before Gortash came around. The boy blinked fully awake, to pressure. He grunted when his eyes opened to Raphael’s cock against his face. He rolled his eyes and yawned groggily. Raphael used the opportunity to crowd it forward into Enver’s mouth. The human didn’t fight him, leaving his mouth open with a small muffled sigh of irritation. Raphael had never been in such an “active role” as he had been lately. He wasn’t sure if it was to overcompensate or prove he was fine without the sex devil. Because this was not how he had been before. At least not as far as Enver had ever known him. Enver tended to lean towards overcompensation, because they both had gone through incubus venom withdrawals, pretty badly. The first month after Haarlep’s death Raphael couldn’t get hard at all. It wasn’t to be talked about.

The devil rested one hand on the bed frame above the boy and held the human’s head with his other, guiding his cock into the boy’s throat. Enver’s mouth was obscenely stretched around him, and Enver could feel it rubbing, going far down his throat with each deep thrust. He wished he could touch himself, but he was pinned between Raphael’s pelvis and the bed frame. He brought his hands to the devil’s thighs instead, rocking him faster to encourage this to be over quickly. His finger’s dug into the reddened skin, and the devil was already groaning, panting above him. Enver could see his head braced and the devil moaning loudly.

Raphael gripped Enver’s hair, and began to roughly face fuck the human. Enver tried to keep still as Raphael took his pleasure, strategically taking a breath whenever Raphael pulled back so he wouldn’t choke from lack of air. Raphael’s hand trailed down to wrap loosely around his neck, and the devil groaned as he felt his cock forced into the human’s throat over and over. Another exercise in narcissism. It was about feeling his own prick, not the person’s mouth he was using. Enver forced the bitter thought away, and hummed around the thick cock, and Raphael was panting, visibly coming undone, and quickly (typical.). He took his arm off the wall and gripped Enver’s hair again for better leverage. Drool was starting to slip from the mortal’s thick lips. The sharp tugs at his hair, and claws digging into his scalp were making his eyes water. Raphael’s balls slapped roughly against his chin with each thrust, and Enver started to feel his stomach churn. He just wanted the cambion to finish. Maybe they’d play lanceboard. That might be nice. Or even better, maybe Raphael would leave. He purposely squeezed his own thighs, rubbing them against once another, hoping to wake his own cock up, feel something good. He missed the incubus terribly. 

Enver’s mind was forced from its wandering when Raphael adjusted. The devil gripped both sides of Enver’s head and fucked into his mouth with purpose. Each thrust was violent, and the devil was panting, little noises of pleasure spilling from him in an endless stream. When Raphael finally pressed deep and came Enver didn’t even taste it, it was so far down. The human felt his own prick give a tired twitch and dribble a bit of precum onto the sheets between his legs. He grabbed at it frustratedly as Raphael shoved off, not looking at the boy as he stalked towards the baths. At least he didn’t remind Enver he wasn’t nearly as good a lay as Haarlep. He sometimes did. Enver always had to bite his tongue. Did Raphael think he was a better lay to Enver? He rubbed his throat with one hand, trying to jerk off with the other. He grunted with frustration after a few moments, leaving it. His own pleasure was an after thought, and in truth he was starting to take after the devil in the sense arousal wasn’t always easy. Maybe it was the years of having an aphrodisiac pumped into his system. Maybe it was….

He hopped off the bed. Raphael was talking, as he often was. The running water drowned out some of his endless pontification. Thank the Gods. He joined him, and the devil let him nuzzle into his shoulder. He was pleased, idly stroking the human’s long inky black hair. All the attention had to be on Raphael, always. He kept his eyes on the water, trying not to think about anything too hard. That was very hard for Gortash. He couldn’t help but think. 

“I’ll be away for a couple of hours. My presence is needed as my warlocks-“

He said loud and pointedly, with a sneer on his face, as if he expected someone to be listening. 

“-are completely and utterly useless. They say they have no new leads on my birthright, but I, of course, have found something rather illuminating.” 

He looked proud of himself, and Enver tried not to roll his eyes. He knew, and had known for years the leads fed to him and his network almost always originated from Haarlep. He’d also translated literature on the topic Raphael had stolen from his father’s library. It had all been bunk. Raphael looked down at him, and scowled. His face changed abruptly, nose wrinkling. 

“Hells below…”

He muttered, seizing Enver’s chin and tilting it this way and that. A thumb scraped over the dark stubble shadowing his jaw, the rasp loud in the quiet room. It wasn’t really stubble anymore, it was a beard growing in.

“You’re starting to look like some kind of dockside ruffian. You mustn’t wear your low-birth on your face. It’s disgusting.”

Before Enver could react, Raphael snapped his fingers. A razor materialized, glinting with its sharpness. The mortal stared at the instrument as Raphael shifted, squinting with concentration as he tilted his head upwards.

“You’ll feel much better when it’s gone.”

Raphael purred, dragging the razor over and over across the boy’s wetted skin. It tingled, but something was obviously on the razor, the smell of cedarwood drifting through the air. Enver didn’t know or care why Raphael felt he’d “feel better” without facial hair, he cared little about it, and had no opinion of it. But if it upset the cambion it was fine, he could take it off. He was used to being manhandled by the devil, and was mostly limp as he was adjusted this way and that for the cambion’s convenience.

“Oh, my little devilkin. You’re trembling," 

He murmured, pressing closer, his leg slotting between Enver’s knees to pin him firmly in place. 

“Does the blade frighten you? Surely you don’t think my skills are lacking? Or—"

A deliberate pause from the devil’s patronizing cooing, the razor hovering just under Enver’s bottom lip as Raphael’s knee ground into his crotch. 

“—Do you enjoy being handled like this?”

The devil teased.

“There’s no shame in it. I am irresistible.”

Enver’s heart rate jumped, and a shiver of shame ran through him. Perhaps it was the year of the incubus being gone, but his body did respond to Raphael more. But it was mostly because the devil was so selfish. He’d been left half-hard when he first woke up this morning, of course his cock was sensitive. Still. There was shame in the feeling that his greatest tormenter, the man he loathed more than anyone could get him aroused, and quickly. The water sloshed around them, and the boy shifted his hips a little for a bit more contact. The devil grinned fiendishly, his eyes flicking up and down before he continued to work on him, with a twisted smile plastered on his face.

“You and Hope are just the same. Never want to admit the effect I have on you.”

Enver didn’t want to think about Hope languishing in the prisons. She deserved it, but he didn’t want to think about her long. He just scowled. 

“You do affect me sir.”

He said, softer than was natural to him, fixing his face and hoping to drop the subject of the dwarf. The devil chuckled absently, focused on the task at hand but obviously enjoying the false confession, and its lewd implications.

Each stroke was at least methodical. Down the column of his throat, along the sharp line of his jaw. The pressure was somewhat firm, but not painful. Enver’s breath hitched when the blade caught a sensitive patch beneath his chin, and Raphael tsked him softly, clicking his tongue.

“Now, now. There’s no need for theatrics my dear boy.”

Enver rolled his eyes at that. No way Raphael was telling him to not be dramatic. The devil luckily didn’t notice, or was in such a good mood didn’t feel the need to fly off the handle over it. The razor vanished. Raphael cupped Enver’s freshly shaven face, his palm scalding against the raw skin. He turned it side to side, inspecting.  

“There. Much better.”

The devil decided at last, though his gaze lingered on the redness, the slight unevenness where his grip had been too harsh. 

“You look almost pretty again. Like one should look, one that belongs to me.”

He remarked idly, examining the boy’s features.

“I’m overjoyed.”

Enver said dryly.

Raphael poofed a small bowl of fruit for him, and a small goblet of water. 

“I need to watch what you’re eating too. You’re getting…”

“Past emaciated?”

The mortal replied snidely. Raphael shrugged, seeming to ignore the nasty remark.

“You look best soft, and slim. You’ll stay that way.”

The devil said, his tone casual, but tight. Tinged with the madness that lingered right beneath the surface. His eyes were dead too, even as he smiled, and his words left no room for debate. Finally he stepped away, and in three blinks he was dressed and down the hall, away from the mortal.

”Au revior, little mouse. I’ll be home soon.”

“Goodbye.”

Enver said blandly, forcing it to be loud enough Raphael wouldn’t turn around and get upset he hadn’t said goodbye. He stayed in the bath for a few moments. His ears straining.

There was only silence. The room had become miserably quiet without Haarlep. He missed their smirk. They’d certainly expect to play with Raphael gone. But Haarlep was no more, and hadn’t been for a year. Another dull pulse of sadness. Enver even missed their little imp underlings. They’d liked to hang out outside the bedchamber, cackling and giggling. They must have served Haarlep, as they were gone. The sounds of the Hells and Avernus were certainly still around, but they weren’t very stimulating. He sighed, hopping out of the bath. He stood in the middle of the bedchamber, hugging himself. 

Enver had been through unspeakable trauma, but the two feelings he wrestled with the most were boredom and loneliness. His mind was so restless. He missed his projects. And he knew those were his tickets out of the house. Even more so than that, he missed simple stimulation.

Unfortunately Raphael had taken his bedroom pass. And all the encouragement to tinker and learn had been stopped. He just wanted the boy to pleasure him, and look pretty. Enver could of course take the route through the balcony, but not to the library. Or the Archivist would certainly tattle. Anyone who saw him would. He’d tried, once, and even the debtors were set to report to the master of the house. He was not allowed out of the bedroom. Raphael rarely if ever let the mortal out of the bedchamber lately, and when he did, it was only at his side. The ever generous devil would let him get a couple books, or one of his smaller projects to play with. He pretended not to see the Archivist’s big, shit eating grin, the few times he had been allowed back there. Mostly, Enver was terribly bored. He longed for the days the incubus venom would drag and blend the hours into hazy endless pleasure.

He popped a couple of pieces of fruit in his mouth. Then a couple more. They were gone within a couple of minutes. He chugged the water. A bit of shame and annoyance he could not pace himself. Who knew when Raphael would be back?

He did sit-ups until he ached. Casted until he couldn’t.

He tried to read a bit. The words swam on the page, meaningless.  He threw the book to the ground. 

The hours crawled by.

Enver tinkered, worked on his claws. His fingers, usually so deft, felt clumsy. The project was thrown as well. His gauntlet fell into pieces quickly. A shot of self-hatred, his work had just doubled for next time. Perhaps it didn’t matter. He would never be like Raphael. Or any devil. Or anyone powerful. He forced himself out of that doom spiral quickly.

The boy practiced some lanceboard, moving both sides himself, but felt sick when he realized he was letting Raphael’s pieces win.  

A laugh at his own actions bubbled up—harsh, jagged and mad. He choked it back before it could turn into something worse.  His eyes cut to their bed.

It was still rumpled from this morning. He could smell Raphael’s cologne all over the sheets, cherries and musk. He crawled back in, pressed his face into the pillow. What was the point of anything at all? He should just lie there and wait for Raphael to come back. That’s what Haarlep used to do. And the boy was the new Haarlep.

Enver was unsure he could be like Haarlep.

Enver missed Haarlep.

Hard sobs into the pillow, his face still raw and tingly from the shaving. More hours passed. He inhaled the smell on the pillows He….he missed Raphael too. His stomach churned at the sickening, shameful revelation. But he was so, so lonely.

When Raphael returned the boy had been laying in bed for hours, his face puffy and eyes red-rimmed from crying. He wiped his face and forced himself to look somewhat passive. Despite it all he knew he was in a decent position in the house. After all, he grew up with a cell floor as his bed. Hope was still in the prison. He hadn’t forgotten being living furniture for six months either. There were certainly worse fates in this house than being Raphael’s plaything. But even mentally acknowledging it made a wave of humiliation run through the boy. He rolled on his side, so his back was to the devil. Luckily the devil hadn’t even noticed yet, ranting about a client. 

“Do you remember the halfing? That diminutive nuisance I was telling you about? The warlock who wanted more “authority”, climbing up my ranks with sucking up and sniveling. She actually thought she could replace Korrilla.”

He rolled the boy, and was already undressed. At least he was in his mortal guise. That made things easier. Enver spit in his hand, started jerking the devil off as he settled in the bed.

“No.”

He said, trying to hide the rawness of his voice. Enver kept his head down, kissing the man’s torso as he worked. 

“Well, guess whose authority she wasn’t at all interested in respecting today? She promised me an ancient tome on the Crown of Karsus, turns out it was a book of the Crown of Power. Which- if you don’t know little mouse, is just symbolic power. Popular amongst pirates and other mortal riff-raff.” 

He sighed angrily, forcing the boy’s head up.

“How do you even get that confused?“

“I don’t know. They sound foolish.”

“Yes. She was blinded by her desire for more power. Foolish little thing.”

“I don’t know how you deal with them father, you’re so gracious.”

The young man muttered, every sycophantic word making him feel sicker. He nuzzled him, before slipping out of his grip and sinking down, promptly feeding his cock into his mouth. At least with Raphael’s prick down his throat he wouldn’t be expected to speak anymore, though he’d be expected to still be engaged. He kept his dark eyes, long lashes and hair obscuring them just slightly, firmly trained on the devil.

“Well, she got her comeuppance. She has power now, over an entire kingdom. Though I’m not certain she wanted termites as her subjects, or to be stuck immobile, being forever fat and pregnant for the colony. Such is the life of a termite queen.”

Enver’s stomach turned with revulsion. Was the halfling…still aware? In the body of a termite. It was clever, he supposed. Ironic. Enver bet he could come up with something even more clever. If he were a devil anyway. The boy blinked his long lashes up, an acknowledgment of what Raphael had said, as he swallowed the devil over and over. Wine had poofed into his hand, and he smirked down at him, playing with the boy’s long dark hair as he took a long draw of his drink. 

“That’s what happens to mortals that fail me boy. Their lives are forfeit, and in the most terrible of ways. A shame. I do try my best to see us both get a fair shake out of my deals.”

He paused, grinning cruelly.

“Alas, most mortals cannot help but make things complicated. They ruin things for themselves. And promising me a lead on my crown, and not truly having one? A fatal mistake.”

Raphael’s voice was soaked with self-satisfaction as he took another casual sip of his wine, digging in on his hair once more. The boy suppressed a gag that bubbled up, focused his eyes on the devil’s features. The smug curve of his lips, the way his eyes glinted with perverse amusement.

“Luckily you know the cost of disappointing me.”

A thinly veiled reference to Haarlep. They came up often. Though Raphael would swear up and down it was not bothering him, (Not that Enver would ever ask.) the sex devil came up at least once a day when Raphael was home. Enver thought the devil missed them. But he would constantly disparage them in this way. Their mannerisms, their behavior, their untimely end. All were to be mocked and chided. So it was a bit complicated, as things with Raphael often are. He couldn’t respond, not with his mouth full as it were, his finger’s curled against the devil in response, and Raphael chuckled, low and pleased. He was still chattering on when he shot down the young man’s throat for the second time. Enver didn’t react as he was pulled over his lap, like a piece of furniture. He lay there as the man petted his bony back. 

“You’re losing weight.”

He said approvingly. 

Well. You’ve fed me nothing. A handful of grapes and berries everyday is not a meal!

Enver thought bitterly. Raphael seem to notice the boy annoyed over the remark, he was practically purring, running his hand over his pale, clammy skin over and over. 

“I’m going to have dinner with an ice devil who promises me the secret to Mephistopheles’s crown. Probably more nonsense, but the leads have been scarce.”

The boy sighed audibly, and the devil’s hand stilled. Enver froze. 

“Oh ho? Does my little mouse think he knows better than I?”

Enver warred with himself. Being quiet was usually the best course of action, but he’d been having a terrible day. He was not a cat, or a doll. He was a person. A man. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the devil, while still lying in his lap.

“….Don’t you think relying on devils has gotten 
you nowhere? Everything Haarlep told you was a sham. I’ve been through every text about the crown that you stole from your father. I’ve read every single one in my time in the Archives, more than once. Certainly those tomes were plants, purposely given to you. But amongst lies there is always a whiff of truth. Did you know  the literature always pointed you towards your father, or other Archdevil’s, or elsewhere in the Hells? It’s always the Hells. There’s no other way to the crown. Why did his information fixate so fully on you staying within the Hells? Even Haarlep existing was a reason to keep you here.”

Raphael squinted. Not with malice, but vexation. He sipped his wine, giving the tiniest nod of his head for the boy to continue.

“If, and I say that with caution. If the Crown of Karsus truly is the best path to Archdevil Supreme…the path to it is not in the Hells. I’d bet my life on it.”

“Would you?” 

The devil said, both malice and humor in his tone. Still, his head was against the headboard tilted upwards, as if he was thinking. His hands twitched and did not settle as he drained his glass before poofing it away.

“You’ve always been a clever boy.” 

He said absently. Enver didn’t reply. This statement of his intelligence had sometimes brought Raphael’s ire, like when he beat him at lanceboard a year or two ago. His intelligence  was only to be praised when it was useful to the cambion was the pattern Enver had found, so he should be okay. Then again, no one could really know the true feelings of the mercurial devil, and it was always a gamble with the tempest winds that were his mood swings.

Raphael’s fingers traced idle patterns in Enver‘s hair, his claws just barely scratching the scalp—enough to make the boy shiver but not enough to draw blood. Not this time, at least. It felt good in a way.

“Perhaps too clever.”

The devil’s voice was contemplative, but there was an edge to it, a warning. Enver knew better than to push further. The devil hated when the human saw things he didn’t. Enver didn’t even think it was that Raphael wasn’t smart, he was just too close to this project. Too fixated. He used to think when he was younger perhaps the man was foolish, but now he knew it was more that he was unstable in this way. And it seemed to Gortash he had been for a long time. The topic of the crown and its power did interest the boy, but he felt at times it was a red herring, placed by Mephistopheles to keep his highly ambitious son fixated on one all-consuming task. But he wouldn’t say so. He had already said more than he should have. He was being a know-it-all. The mortal wouldn’t speak again without permission. So, the silence stretched, thick with tension, until Raphael exhaled sharply through his nose.  

"Let’s entertain a scenario in which you’re right…”

The devil drawled nonchalantly, trying to both look and sound blasé. Enver could tell by the way his scalp was starting to burn he was not.

“If the path to the Crown of Karsus isn’t in the Hells, then where is it?”

Enver hesitated. He knew the answer—well in truth, he had a theory. But voicing it was dangerous. Raphael’s pride was a fickle thing, and if he took the suggestion as an insult to his intelligence, the consequences would be…unpleasant.  

Still, the devil was watching him expectantly, his golden eyes sharp.  

“I think the path to the crown might be on the material plane.” 

Enver said carefully, tactfully.

“I know it sounds counterintuitive, why leave the Hells to get back to the Hells?”

A small light came to the boy’s eyes as he explained his theory. Gods playing dumb and silent might actually be killing him.

“Mortals can open portals to places the devils are often unwilling or unable. All one would have to do is offer them the right temptation.”

He fluttered his lashes, played to his ego, knowing it would make the devil preen.

“Which I know you’re certainly able to do, and…jackpot.”

He flashed a performative smile.

“You find the right kind of mortal with the right kind of skills and unscrupulousness. Outside of where your father and other devils can meddle so easily.”

Raphael’s fingers stilled in Enver’s hair, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips, sharp and calculating.  

“Oh ho~”

The devil’s voice was low, amused. He leaned forward slightly, his breath warm against Enver’s face.  

“And what, pray tell, makes you think I haven’t already considered that?”  

Enver’s stomach dropped. Had he overstepped? His brown eyes glinted with their true color for a single moment, and he looked downright malicious in the light. The expression he held was the kind of look that often preceded punishment. Enver flinched instinctively.

But then, to his surprise, Raphael pulled him atop his body, like a weighted blanket. Enver laid there, used to these bizarre physical uses of himself. Haarlep used to throw himself atop Raphael all the time. So he assumed it was him using Enver to emulate that. Raphael liked sex relatively often, but even more than that he liked Enver touching him. And as far as the boy could tell he liked it more than he did with Haarlep. He shivered as he felt him nuzzling the boy, his arms tight around his little waist.

“You make very ugly faces when you think you know.”  

Raphael’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, oddly pitched.  

“All those little gears turning…over and over and over….and for what? Set your mind to higher things. Set your mind to me.”

One of the statues in the hall held the same inscription. He lay his head on his chest, forced his body to relax.

“My mind is on you father.”  

He paused, performances were made not in just the reading of the script, but the pauses, the body language. Every moving part made the act successful. He’d learned how to lie so fluidly from the devil himself of course, so it was a gamble if he’d catch it or not. But the devil only paid mind to the idea of Enver, not the real young man.

“I just…I want to be useful. Useful to you.”

The words were laid on a bit thick, with wide dark eyes, but he held a firm tone. There was his opportunity to get out. He couldn’t stay here. It felt like he was rotting away, like he would lose his mind.

“Not just as a warm body. Not just as a pretty doll. I want to help you. Helping you claim your birthright would be a great honor.

He held Raphael’s gaze, willing him to see a truth in it. 

“Let me prove it.”  

For a long, agonizing moment, the devil said nothing. Then—  

A laugh. Rich, amused, and utterly delighted.

“Oh, my dear, sweet little devilkin.”  

Raphael stroked his cheek, almost fond.  

“The best way you can serve me is on your back.”

And just like that, the moment broke. The devil kept chuckling, kissing the boy’s neck. He shoved him into the middle of the bed. The mortal stared up at the ceiling as the devil pushed his knees into his chest. Well, three times wasn’t so bad. Usually the devil was tapped out after that, especially with the absence of Haarlep and their venom. Back when Haarlep was alive six, seven, eight times was the norm. But Raphael couldn’t do that alone. He had his little problem. He grunted softly as he felt the devil force his way in. His cock was wet with something, but Enver wasn’t prepared at all. He tried to swallow the hiss of pain that bubbled up as the devil sank in, forcing himself to look at the place between the devil’s eyes. Raphael was grunting, panting already. This would be fast. Which was good? A bit boring. The pulse for Haarlep again. Maybe he could convince him to bring Hope in for a change. Using her would be nice. 

Raphael kept thrusting into him with a series of low needy groans, the wet squelch of his cock filling the room. 

"Ah, you’re tight boy..." 

He grunted, immediately becoming more erratic. Enver looked at him, and his mind was elsewhere, not actually looking at the human. Overwhelmed with lust, or other matters. That was fine, it was good even. He closed his eyes, hand drifting downwards to pull at himself. Perhaps he’d finally cum if he really focused on it. 

"This is what you do well, this is where you belong.”

Enver grit his teeth, feeling the burn and stretch, mixing with the dull spark of pleasure as he pulled at his cock, quick and efficient. It was a familiar feeling by now, the dull ache of a too-tight hole, but it was being overrode by the battering of his prostate. He rolled his hips into Raphael, kept touching himself. It felt like two people masturbating, attached to one another. Raphael's hands gripped his hips hard enough to bruise as he kept slamming in, the headboard banging against the wall with each thrust. Raphael leaned down to nip at Enver's neck, biting and growling and muttering his own name. Enver started to join him, whimpering as he started to feel something good (Thank the gods.), his face reddening. 

Raphael slammed into him with a guttural groan, his hips smacking against Enver's ass. The boy arched into the sensation, his back bowing as he felt the familiar pressure building at the base of his spine. His cock throbbed in his hand, leaking steadily as he stroked himself in time with the devil's thrusts.

"Yes, yes, just like that...you’re a good boy. My pretty boy.”

Raphael panted, his eyes glazed over with lust as he gazed down at Enver. Again, somehow it felt as if he wasn’t really looking at him. His muscles tensed, feeling his climax approaching. With a final, powerful thrust, Raphael buried himself to the hilt and came with his hips stuttering and the devil whining above him. His hot seed flooded Enver's insides, and the boy whimpered as he came too, painting his stomach with thick ropes of cum. They both panted heavily, sweat-slicked skin glistening in the dim light as they caught their breath. After a moment, Raphael pulled out with a wet pop and collapsed beside Enver, lying there for a moment or two, before absently kissing the human’s back. Enver knew the devil missed Haarlep, that was something Haarlep used to do. He…tilted into it. Enver missed Haarlep too. For a while he did this, the affection more bizarre than the sex, but if they never addressed it, it didn’t have to matter. Enver didn’t mind it. They could both see and feel who they wanted to see and feel. He closed his eyes and pretended his dear friend was holding him, though the absence of the tingles of the incubus charm made it impossible to truly drift away into the sensations. It was fine. His soft lips felt nice, and eventually Enver rolled over and kissed his neck, his chest. Raphael gave him control easily, let the boy pull him into his arms instead. It was a couple of minutes of this idle touching before the cambion sat up. 

The boy’s eyes flicked to him, watching him stand with a languid, cat-like stretch. A dull pulse of something, that he was no longer kissing him. Enver hoped Raphael would not recite his poetry, or even worse, sing. That could go on for hours, and was far worse than sex, to the human. When he played music it was okay, mostly because he could close his eyes and pretend someone else was playing it, but there was no mistaking that rich baritone. He almost sighed with relief when the devil snapped himself clean. Raphael liked to take long, languid baths if he was staying home. He was likely leaving. But then Enver’s stomach went into knots. He was leaving him again. Enver too sat up.

“I can’t sleep. Deals to be made and all that. I’ll be back later little devilkin.” 

He snapped his fingers, and his attire shifted seamlessly into a new set of clothes. Gaudier than his usual outfit, obviously to blend in with the mortals of the south. Still not anything too “lurid”, as the devil would say about Enver’s own tastes.

“Where are you going?”

The devil made a face, before shrugging.

“Amn, or Calimshan, I haven’t really decided yet. Somewhere the ice devil will sweat.”

“L-Let me come with you! I can…I can be on my back anywhere. Let me take care of you.”

That caused the devil to throw his head, loud, ringing laughter echoing throughout the mostly quiet chamber. It was unnerving to hear the cambion laugh so loudly.

“Oh….”

He wiped a tear of delight from his face, before it fell as if he’d never been laughing at all.

“You’re serious. No. Be a good little mouse and stay put, won’t you?”  

The words were light, but the command beneath them was ironclad.  

“Another time?”

The devil shot him a look. Enver nodded mutely. He laid back. 

Raphael smirked, offering a parting little wave and remark.

“…Perhaps.”

Enver barely heard the single word, cut off as he vanished down the hall, humming a little tune. Slowly the sound lessened until there was only silence once more.

Enver was again alone. 

With his thoughts.  

He tossed and turned, clinging to that last word, ears ringing and replaying it over. No, this was good! He could get out. Raphael had given, just a millimeter, but that was enough. He just had to convince him. Perform. He’d done it hundreds of times. He knew the devil. He could convince the devil. The tiniest, mad smile appeared on his face, and his body relaxed. He pulled a pillow to him, wrapped himself around it and inhaled deeply.

For the first time in a year, he fell asleep quickly.

Chapter Text

He sat rigidly on the rails of the balcony, his robe billowing open, but he made no move to adjust himself. Instead, he gripped the piece of metal he’d fashioned into a spear of sorts tighter, and tapped the fingers of his freehand against the surface. It was a piece of a candelabra he’d sharpened to a point. The candelabra was now turned so the removed side did not show, and so far the devil had not noticed. It would certainly send him into a rage whenever he did. However, sometimes the reward outweighed the risk. Gortash had to do this.

The sound of his nubby, bitten fingers against the railing wasn’t nearly as satisfying without his gauntlet, but he’d broken it by throwing it against the wall a couple of months ago, and though he’d sat down to fix it a few times, waves of despair made it hard to focus. Enver strained his ears. The typical sounds of the Hells caressed his heated skin; the screams below their House of Hope, the clash and cries of the endless battle below, the bubbles of the lake of fire and the whispering wind, the forever echoing sounds of despair were all there. None of the sounds he was straining for.  He sighed, eyes peeled for imps. Imps were only above lemures in the Hell’s hierarchy. Tiny miserable fiends, of low intelligence. They were used as messengers for higher ranked devils quite often. Really they were more nuisances than anything else. Raphael did not like them, finding them more useless than not. He much preferred to use his ring of mortal warlocks to send messages; though they inevitably irritated him as well. But other devils often did use them, and though it was less common to see them since the death of Haarlep, they’d occasionally fly by, pulling faces and throwing things at the boy sitting on the balcony. If they weren’t such nuisances he wouldn’t have noticed them, and this idea wouldn’t have been stuck in his mind like a mortal’s bones get stuck in orthon’s teeth.

Enver’s grip tightened even further on the candelabra stick turned harpoon. It glinted blue, enchanted with cold. Enver had read that imps were weak to cold, and he really just wanted this thing to go  down immediately, so he could quickly pull it in and shove it in his bag of holding. His eyes were narrowed with determination. 

Haarlep had discouraged it, saying it was too dangerous, and a foolish plan to enter the astral plane through his bags of holding for a variety of reasons. But Enver couldn’t take it anymore. Day in and day out of nothing…he was losing his mind. 

Hours passed. It didn’t deter the young man. He was used to hours and hours of nothing. His jaw was set, grinding his own teeth. And then he heard it. The tell-tale giggle of an imp. It floated by, message gripped in its clawed hands. 

If he put this thing in, then pulled it out of his bag of holding and it survived? He would take his chances doing it himself. The harpoon shot out of his hand, quick and precise. Enver was pleasantly surprised to see his accuracy was near perfect. He had practiced throwing it hundreds of times, but it was hard to tell how accurate one was being when you could mark nothing.

The imp shrieked, tossing a small ball of fire, the size of an apricot at the boy. Enver hissed in pain as it connected with his side. That would certainly leave a nasty burn, but the harpoon had pierced the creature, and the human could not be distracted with pain. He yanked the squirming beast into the bed chamber. Once inside he punched it hard twice for good measure, and it fell into unconsciousness. He examined the subdued creature with his lip curled in disgust, in a way mirroring the expressions of his father.

“Ugly creatures.” 

He muttered under his breath, examining its strangely humanoid face, pointed scorpion tail. It seemed like a mismatch of many things, none very pleasant. He got the impulse to cut it open, see exactly how it ticked, but that  mattered little, given his time constraints. He tied its little hands, clipped its wings, before stuffing it into his makeshift bags. He waited a couple of minutes, before reopening them. 

His heart sank.

“Damnit.”

He clicked his tongue, dumping the mess of viscera on the floor. It seemed his attempt to make portals was not as full proof as he thought, it somehow turning the unfortunate imp inside out. He sighed, scrubbing up the gore and throwing the bags back over the balcony edge where he kept them hidden. As he stared down at them a horrific, dizzying feeling came over him.

He was never getting out.

The disturbing thought wrapped around him, black tendrils of despair that seemed to caress his face, twirling down around his neck and chest till they were squeezing. He held onto the railing as his heart felt as if it was being squeezed out of his chest. Enver felt so dizzy.

What was the point of any of this? To inevitably end up like Hope? Or Haarlep? That was the only future that awaited the human. Tears fell from his face, but he didn’t make a sound. Shakily he scrambled up on the balcony railing, so he was standing. The warm wind of the Hells caressed him, for once feeling almost welcoming as it whipped through his long black hair, his silken robe. It felt nice on his chest and stomach. If he jumped from this height, and really put some power into it he’d miss the outcropping, careen down into the Hellfire below. But that wasn’t death, not really. He’d become a lemure. He was aware their existence was the worst, most torturous of the souls in the Hells. But overtime they could rank up, become real devils. Most died as canon fodder certainly but….

“What are you doing up there?”

Enver’s eyes flickered down to his father, glaring up at him standing on the balcony. 

“S-sorry.”

He sniffled, wiping his face with his arm rapidly. He lost his balance when Raphael yanked him down by the ankle, the back of his head hitting the railing on the unfortunate way down. Enver hissed, rubbing the back of his cracked head. He felt blood seeping into his fingertips. Raphael didn’t seem to care, dragging him by the ankle to the bath, and throwing him in. Enver gasped as he resurfaced, his silk kimono soaked and dark hair all over his face.

“I’ve had an awful day. Don’t irritate me with a neurotic little episode.”

Raphael sneered as he slowly joined him, shifting out of his armor and clothes. 

Enver didn’t reply immediately, which was not the correct protocol. The boy knew he should immediately commiserate, ask the devil what was wrong. But he didn’t. Instead he shifted out of the now soaked robe, a sensory nightmare, and brushed the hair out of his face. Raphael cleared his throat, his face barely constraining his intense irritation at being ignored. Then he slunk over, sitting in his lap. He stunk of blood and brimstone. Chunks of viscera were caught in his ringlet curls. A tell-tale sign he’d been fighting on the front lines today. Enver started running his hand through it, brushing and picking pieces out without really thinking about it. 

Raphael’s body relaxed the slightest bit, but he could feel the irritation still coming off him in waves. Enver tried to rouse himself, he didn’t want to be pained. Let Hope get the brunt of his rage, or someone else in this House of Horrors.

“What happened?”

He mumbled, kissing his head, and petting him automatically. Raphael looked up at him, before throwing him off in disgust. 

“You can’t even manage to look at me when you speak? Is your life of lazing about truly so insufferable?”

Yes.

He thought spitefully. The human floated in the middle of the pool, not responding. Enver should rush to him, make sure to salvage this, but it was hard. He was constantly uncomfortable, hungry, bored and miserable. The torture of being restrained as human furniture had been horrendous, but Enver felt there was little difference. Sure he could walk, move. Use the…facilities. At the end of the day though he was still just a piece of furniture, same as Raphael’s bed or desk. He couldn’t leave this room. There was no one ever to talk to. He’d read every book in here a hundred times at least, played lanceboard till he could win in his sleep. Raphael hadn’t let him out in months. Or at least it felt like months, the never setting sun making the days bleed together endlessly. Everyday bled together, and his goal to leave or an opportunity to escape felt more like a child’s fantasy than anything else. Part of him wished it had been him, and not Haarlep who’d burned away that night he saw the cambion’s ascended form.

Raphael snorted with disgust, as Enver stared at him mutely, his large dark features looking even larger on his too thin face.

“Gods. You bore me. You’re not going the way of Hope, are you boy?”

The cardinal sin. To bore him. To be broken, like Hope. How did he expect Enver not to break? He wondered what Hope endured before she snapped into the chittering little thing she was now. He felt a flash of pity, before it was lacquered over with resentment. Then…a pulse of excitement at the thought of seeing her. Something different. And oh. Using her. That might be nice. Anything different was good. 

“Oh father, let’s get Hope.”

Enver said, trying to not sound too eager, sliding over and doing his very best incubus impression, all smiles and lilting tones. Raphael exhaled sharply, scowling with irritation. He eased a bit as Enver began to pull at his cock, though the blood wasn’t rushing to in near quick enough. He scowled, his tail slapping Enver hard as he did his best to get him aroused.

“Why would I want that miserable little mongrel. She’s useless.”

“You told me once that sometimes you’d play the lyre, and she’d sing to you before I came? Or sometimes you’d sing together? I’d like to hear her sing. Enver continued, far too high and breathy than was natural to him, his hands were fast and practiced at working the devil’s finicky cock, but sometimes nothing would work. 

The devil’s clawed hand wrapped around his arm, tight and uncomfortable, digging into the young man’s little wrists.

“Why do you want to see Hope?”

He said with a sneer. 

“Need a change of pace? Am I not exciting enough for you?”

“No sir, no. It’s not that, it’s never that.”

But it wasn’t as frantic as it would’ve been a couple months ago. He didn’t look up from his ministrations, staring at the cock through half-lidded eyes, his lashes and hair obscuring his expression of ennui. The devil again slapped him away, gripping his hair and abruptly slamming his head into the tile. 

Enver whimpered softly as he felt his nose crack. The strange punch of disorienting pain that quickly rushed away, with his lower half still in the healing bath. 

“You have one purpose, and yet you consistently fail to live up to it.”

Raphael hissed, teeth gritting as he whispered into the boy’s prone form, his hot breath caressing the shell of the boy’s ear. Enver shuddered.

“I’m trying.”

He grunted, voice muffled as Raphael pressed harder and harder, squishing his cheeks into the cold stone. Intense pressure in his head. 

“Try harder.”

Enver felt his jaw twist in an odd way. Was Raphael going to crush his skull? He whined, animal-like in shrillness, and started to thrash. Of course, he was going nowhere with the devil’s strength pitted against his own, but he tried, little hands trying to find purchase on the smooth, damp stone.

“I am not Haarlep! It’s not my fault you killed them!”

He spat, pain building into long buried frustration. It hurt so bad, and he was so deeply unhappy. So angry this was his life. The mortal felt his head come up for a moment, the crushing pressure relieved for an instant, only for Raphael to then begin pounding his head into the tile over and over. It was so sharp and intense, each hard smack creating a sickening crack. He’d certainly be dead, his skull nothing but mush if he wasn’t halfway in the bath. Still the puddle of blood grew with his violence, dripping down and tinting their bathwater pink.

“I treat you so well sweetling. Yet you disparage and demean in every look, every movement. Don’t think I don’t see it boy.”

He felt Raphael hardening against his leg. Leave it to violence to get him going. Enver groaned softly, sucking the bloody saliva pooling in his mouth. The iron tasted kind of nice, Raphael rarely allowed him meat.

“Because I do. Oh, yes I do. Benevolent as I am, I choose to ignore it, because you are my funny little mouse.”

He was touching himself against the prone mortal, fingering his hole with clawed fingers, stretching and pulling at his rim. It wasn’t really prep, more just uncomfortable and invasive touching. There would certainly be no lube today, with the mood the devil was in. Enver preemptively cringed. The human’s legs shook as he tried to force his way in. It took a couple of tries, each failed attempt leading to Enver’s head crashing back into the stone. As if it was his fault! The human wasn't sure whether to thank or curse the restoration waters.

Raphael thrusted into Enver's unprepared hole with a groan, the mortal's tight heat enveloping him. Enver tensed and cried out, his body fighting the intrusion. He tried to relax, but the pain was sharp and confusing between the hard jerky thrusts and the restoring water immediately healing the damage. Raphael kept pulling all the way out just to thrust back into the hilt, no rhythm at all to it. Enver tilted back and saw the devil was looking downward. Sometimes this happened, where Raphael would fixate on staring at his own cock. Enver huffed and struggled to accommodate his girth, his muscles clenching and unclenching as he went from almost empty to uncomfortably full at bizarre, uncomfortable intervals.

The human grunted in pain, each thrust making his eyes water. He was very used to pain, but today was particularly rough, the sloshing water and jostling him. Raphael’s hands finally left his hair, which made Enver deflate in relief. No more crashing into the stone at least, and from the now rapid pace and the rambling nothings being whispered into his back the cambion was close. 

Enver’s hand slipped down between his legs, tugging at himself efficiently, the dull shocks of his prostate being battered with the rough touching of his cock was getting him there. Enver bit his lip, stifling a groan. The wet, sticky coolness of the stone and his own cooling blood beneath him was almost nice, and his eyes fluttered as he felt the devil clawing, licking and biting his back. 

“My sweet Raphael. My darling boy…”

The rambling of the devil rarely made much sense. Enver was actually getting lost in it though, the painful and the pleasurable sensations overwhelming him. He was moaning when his eyes flittered up to the sound of pattering feet. Raphael just thrust harder at the sound, and Enver just redoubled his efforts on himself. He was going to cum, he could feel it. For once. Whoever was there could wait.

“Don’t stop...”

He hissed, making eye contact with the Archivist now standing there awkwardly, clutching some kind of scroll. He looked unhappy, which lended to the human’s pleasure. Enver moaned, and the feeling of Raphael’s stubble, his heavy breathing was actually helping him get there. The human leaned into his touch. As they moved the Archivist cleared his throat.

“My Lord, I hate to interrupt-

A fireball was flung at the the tiefling, and even with resistance, it was a unpleasant feeling Enver imagined, from the way the little creature shrieked in pain, shrunk to the corner of the room and trembled. Raphael chuckled, and Enver found himself snickering as well. Raphael was pulling upwards, kissing his neck, and Enver was cumming into his own hand, gasping with pleasure. He kept his eyes on the trembling Archivist the entire time. The tiefling’s fear got him over. Finally. The cambion too, was cumming, pumping into him with a high pitched whine. Raphael lay atop him for a moment, panting, before he tilted him, clutching his jaw and kissing him deeply. They rarely ever kissed on the lips, and it reminded him of the early days in the house- When Raphael thought him disposable. Strangely, Raphael kissed him more than. Their tongues tangled, and the devil made a pleasured sound. Raphael pulled away, wiping the saliva from the side of the humans face with a slightly disgusted expression, as if he hadn’t been the one sticking his tongue down Enver’s throat. The cambion’s mood could truly change as quickly as the weather.

“Sir..?”

The tiniest, most fearful squeak from the corner. Enver had a wave of fantasies rush over him. The things they could do to the Archivist. That would be different, exciting, maybe even fun. Maybe he was becoming more like Haarlep. He empathized with their boredom, certainly. 

Though, Raphael had never shown any interest in the simpering librarian. He did not enjoy bearded men for whatever reason, and had an expectation Enver’s face would stay shaved. It was hard, because the shadow of stubble came in almost immediately for the human now, only a day or two after shaving. Enver wasn’t sure he had any personal preferences besides seeing faces different from Raphael’s. 

The Archivist squirmed under their gazes, eyes meeting neither man. He was whimpering, running his hand over his burnt arm, obviously  trying to recenter himself when Raphael drawled with annoyance, idly clutching and kissing the side of his mouse’s face.

“What on Toril are you doing in my chambers worm?” 

The Archivist swallowed thickly, holding his injured arm at an awkward angle, while pointedly keeping his eyes off the two very naked men, firmly training them on the floor.

“My Lord there’s been an emergency summons  from The Lord of the First, Lady Zariel. She wants all of her generals to report to-“

Raphael interrupted him by throwing another fireball. The tiefling collapsed into a ball sobbing and seething in pain. Raphael’s lip curled into a snarl, his voice a venomous hiss that seemed to make the very air tremble. 

"You slither into my sanctum—uninvited—to bleat Archdevil Zariel’s demands? 

“Well, yes it’s my duty to tell you-“

His tail lashed like a whip, cracking hard against the tile. The tiefling jumped and flinched at the sudden sound. Enver grinned, fingering the devil’s hand still wrapped around his waist. The torture of the other was entertaining at least.

“I have spent hours upon that wretched battlefield, carving through the dregs of the Abyss, while she sits upon her gilded throne and barks orders at me? Am I some common cambion?”

Gortash cupped his hand to the devil’s ear, grinning cruelly.

“Hit him again. He doesn’t know his place.”

The cambion’s golden eyes slid to the human in his ear. With his jaw set, a huge blast of fire erupted from his palm, much larger than the fireballs. It engulfed the Archivist in searing agony. The tiefling shrieked, collapsing into a smoldering heap and the smell of burning hair and skin filled the air. Unlike Haarlep, Enver had no love for the tiefling, and his suffering only made him feel better about his own miserable lot.

"I have delivered her enough souls to drown Avernus in damnation! Let her choke on them if she hungers for more!" 

Raphael’s voice rose to a self-righteous, rage-filled crescendo, his infernal aura flaring like a furnace.

He stepped out of the bath, stomping the moaning, smoldering mass that was the tiefling. At least it got the fire out. Enver felt a strange pulse of lust for the devil, something he rarely felt, as he watched the cambion subject the Archivist to his will. Raphael had power, no matter how Enver loathed and envied. And when it was directed at someone else…it was enjoyable to watch. And he could manipulate that power. Maybe. Haarlep had been so lazy, but if one really tried…

Once the devil was stomped out, Raphael promptly threw him through the barrier, before shifting on his clothes and smoothing them out. 

“Interruptions. Interlopers. We can never have any peace at all.”

Enver watched from the pool, his arms on the stone, head laid against them. He wanted to see more violence. He wondered if Raphael would let him hurt the Archivist, if he asked.

“You treat them so much better than they deserve father. You’re so benevolent.”

Raphael’s eyes again cut to the human. The mortal just tilted his head, letting his dark hair frame his face in a way Raphael seemed to like. A smirk appeared on the devil’s face.

“I’m a damnable celestial. In behavior and countenance.”

“Oh, not a celestial father. They’re boring. You’re far too interesting to be one of them.”

He kept his voice easy, playful, just shy of a purr as he dipped a hand back in, traced idle circles on the surface of the water, watching the devil. Raphael cracked a smile. A real one. Enver was truly becoming an expert at pulling him out of dark moods, even when he was in a dark mood himself. Though, to be fair, the violence against the Archivist had brought his mood up tremendously. Watching someone else be beneath him, or at least treated worse than him, was a big treat.

“You’re such a funny thing.”

Raphael murmured. He was still smiling slightly when he stooped over, and read the summons left on the floor by the now charred tiefling. The cambion let out an exasperated, theatrical sigh, clutching the summons to his chest as if it pained him. His voice dripped with melodramatic disdain, each syllable laced with the weight of centuries of irritation.  

“A meeting."

He spat the word like a curse, his tail lashing behind him. 

"Not just any meeting, no—a grand, interminable council of all six of her most esteemed fiends, as if we haven’t spent eons listening to the same tiresome prattle about battlefronts and soul quotas and who among us is slacking in their duties."

Raphael looked truly displeased, a sneer of disgust seemingly cauterized to his face. He tossed the parchment aside with a dramatic flick of his wrist, where it burst into harmless embers midair.  

“As if I haven’t spent millennia drowning the damned woman in mortal souls, as if I haven’t personally turned entire legions of demons into smoldering piles of ichor in her name! And yet—and yet!- I am summoned like some common foot soldier, expected to sit politely while she rambles on and on  about strategy we all know will be undone by the Abyss’ next belch of-of general nastiness! When I am Archdevil Supreme, I will actually put a stop to this, the endless pointless bloodshed-the madness-“

He made a sound of frustrated disgust, kicking one of the chairs in the bedroom. His golden eyes flashed with indignation, and his voice climbing into a whine so petulant and shrill it bordered on childish. 

“And let us not forget the real horror, Bel will be there. That insufferable, self-aggrandizing arrogant beast, preening over his and Carixim’s latest mechanical monstrosity, as if a single one of them has ever turned the tide of this eternal stalemate! He wants to overthrow Zariel! It’s so obvious, and yet she keeps the nasty little bugger around-“

Enver was under the impression Raphael also wanted to overthrow Archdevil Zariel, from his many bedroom rants. He kept his mouth shut though, this felt like it was going somewhere perhaps the mortal could use. Besides, Raphael loathed a monologue interrupted.

“Oh and of course! Then there’s Princips Kovik, a brutish animal. He’s got no civility at all! We all know in truth he enjoys the Blood War, the very thing we should be dead-set on stopping. But that’s all of them isn’t it? Must we all endure Zariel’s nostalgia for the Blood War’s ‘glory days,’ as if any of us care which demon lord she and that mute Haruman decapitated eons ago! Don’t even get me started on that waif Feonor! I will not treat a simpering human as my equal-“

Enver’s ears rung at the mention of a mortal. A mortal in the same position as Raphael? That seemed strange, as far as he knew mortals were only slaves, food and fuel to devils in the Hells. But his current world was limited to the walls of this bedroom; and even at his best the limits of the House of Hope. Who knew what the larger world of Avernus was like? He tuned back into Raphael’s rant. The devil threw his hands up, his voice reaching a fever pitch of indignity. 

“And for what? A meeting so Zariel can remind us, yet again, that we are failing? That the creature of the Abyss must be pushed back? That more souls must be harvested? Revolutionary! Truly, I am blessed to waste my evening on such groundbreaking discourse! I have no time for rest, for leisure or even my birthright!”

His voice cracked, and he kicked the candelabra which went clattering to the floor before breaking into a yawn. Lucky! It was the broken one, now Raphael would think he broke it. He’d still take it out on Enver most likely, but at least it wouldn’t constitute a more official punishment. Enver realized the cambion sounded a little tired. He remembered Haarlep mocking his “near constant” need for sleep (Enver needed far more, so this always was odd to him.).

“Father.”

He murmured carefully, not getting out of the tub, not showing his excitement. He felt it. The opportunity, but he couldn’t be too excited, Raphael didn’t respond well to desperation or begging. 

“If you must answer Zariel's summons...why not take me with you?"

A calculated pause, his gaze flickering toward the scorch marks where the Archivist had been attacked. 

“I could be useful to you...I could sit in your lap, please you like only I can? Maybe that would help soothe you?”

He let his fingers drift to the fresh bruises on his throat, a silent reminder of Raphael’s earlier enthusiasm.

“I’d hate for you to return in a foul mood. You deserve ease and pleasure, especially during something so…so very dull.” 

Enver shivered, he had long been purposefully mimicking Haarlep, but there was something distinctly Raphael in that sentence. Enver really hadn’t spoken to anyone but the devil in ages. The suggestion was wrapped in just enough deference to avoid outright desperation, but the hunger beneath it was unmistakable. He wanted out of this gilded cage. He wanted stimuli. Even if he couldn’t escape, he’d settle for spectacle. For variety, for anything but this damned bedroom.

“Zariel’s Flying Fortress is no place for a human that isn’t going to end up as fuel or food.”

Raphael said, a flatness to his usually lilting voice. Enver slipped out of the bath, his wet, naked body dripping as he walked over to the devil. He made no attempt to cover himself, touching the devil’s hand (Enver knew better than to get the cambion all wet once he’d shifted his clothes back on.). Raphael pulled him close on his own, his damp body against the devils. The cambion tilted Enver’s chin up with one clawed finger, and Enver met his gaze. His golden eyes burned with a mix of indulgence and strange amusement.  

“…Perhaps…”

He mused, voice dripping with condescension. 

“Perhaps it would be good for you to witness firsthand the wretched fate of those who lack a devil’s favor. To see the churning maw of Avernus in all its glory, to hear the symphony of suffering that plays eternally for mortal souls. Those not fortunate enough to be cradled in my arms, of course.”

Enver only offered up slow, wide-eyed blinks. He hoped they looked nervous. In truth, he was  excited. Anything but the same old drudgery. Anything but the banal horror of staring up at the ceiling while Raphael bitched and moaned for hours and hours! He purposely buried his head in the crook of the devil’s neck, to hide the smile he couldn’t stop from curving onto his face. He slung his arms around the cambion, somewhat difficult with their size difference. He longed for Raphael’s human guise, where he was an inch or so taller than the cambion, but he rarely saw that form lately. It was a farce, but Enver longed for other human faces. Though, he could instantly detect everything wrong with Raphael’s false face. The unnaturally white, strangely pointed teeth, the lifeless eyes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, the deep ruddiness of his skin. No human would ever catch on, but Enver knew. His mind was brought back to the present as the devil pushed him back slightly. The human kept his head down, fidgeting with his own hands 

Enver, though his face was down, could see the man smirking in his mind’s eye, as his tone was sharp and self-satisfied. 

“Yes, little mouse, you may accompany me. Let the horrors of Zariel’s court show you precisely how generous I am to keep you as my pet, rather than tossing you to the wolves like the rest of the mewling masses of mortalkind that are unfortunate enough to end up in the Hells.”

Raphael then fussed with him for a while, brushing his long hair, and poofing an outfit for him. It was the same outfit he wore on his eighteenth birthday. Lacy sheer blouse with gold buttons and cufflinks, and too tight pants. They were even tighter now, quite uncomfortable, but Enver grabbed at them greedily, dressing quickly. He hadn’t worn real clothes in at least a year, likely longer.

Raphael scowled. 

“Those don’t fit you. You’ve ended up quite big. Broad-shouldered and brutish in build.”

Enver didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure what to say. He already was barely fed, and he was worried if he confirmed this truth to Raphael, he’d give him even less to eat.  

“You have the physiognomy of an impoverished dockworker, no matter what I do. Poverty just….announces you before you ever even speak.”

The barbs barely stung, he was so used to them. His father brought more out, pulling clothes out of thin air. It was a tedious process, but Enver did his best to stay still, the last thing he wanted was the mercurial devil to change his mind. Raphael’s golden eyes narrowed as he continued to circle Enver, scrutinizing every inch of the mortal’s frame. His claws twitched with restless irritation, tail flicking behind him like an impatient cat’s.  

"No, no, this just won’t do."

He snapped his fingers, and the too-tight ensemble dissolved into smoke, replaced by a high-collared doublet somewhat like his own, though it’s sleeves puffier than his. Enver barely had time to register the change before Raphael was yanking at the gilded front laces, tightening them with sharp tugs that stole the breath from his lungs.  

“Stand up straight. You slouch like a half-starved servant.”

“I am a half-starved servant.”

Enver retorted, unable to keep the smart remark inside. Raphael immediately paused, eyes narrowing. 

“If I take you on this little excursion. You will not embarrass me.”

Enver swallowed, forcing his spine rigid and straight. The doublet was stifling, the fabric stiff with gilded embroidery that scraped against his skin, but he kept his expression carefully blank. Raphael’s nostrils flared as he stepped back, lips pursed.  

“Tch, the clothes wear you."

He lamented. Enver was unsure what he meant. Clothes were clothes. A flick of his wrist, and the crimson doublet vanished, replaced by a blouse of black velvet and gold filigree, the cut playful, loose and open. His finger’s ran across his slightly visible chest, feeling the hair. His thumb swiped along a nipple, causing it to pebble. Enver pretended the devil’s touch didn’t immediately affect him, feeling disgusted with himself. As if he was a trained dog.

“It’s a bit whorish. But that suits you.”

Raphael circled him once more, this time with a slow, predatory grace, his gaze lingering on the sharp angles of Enver’s cheekbones, the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“You look like a wraith.”

He muttered, more to himself than to Enver. 

"Gaunt. Pallid. But—"

A smirk curled his lips. 

"There’s a certain... allure to it, isn’t there? A fragility.”

Enver remained silent, his fingers flexing at his sides, trying to ignore the shivers of confusing discomfort and arousal. The anticipation of leaving this room, of seeing something, anything, beyond these gilded walls, thrummed under his skin like a second heartbeat. He would endure a thousand outfits, a thousand petty criticisms, if it meant being able to step outside.  

Raphael’s claws traced the line of his jaw, possessive and sharp.  

“Let’s try one more."

The black velvet dissolved, and in its place—  

Enver nearly flinched.  

Silk.

A long robe of fine soft silk, deep black in color. Though it went to his feet, it had a slit up the side, all the way to his bony hip. 

It felt like just a longer version of his normal robe. He didn’t want to go out, and be seen by anyone in this. He swallowed the indignation bubbling up. He’d walk around naked if it meant Raphael would let him out.

Raphael’s smile was as sharp as an executioner’s blade.

“Now that is fitting of your station.”

Everything was to get a rise, to hurt and demean. Enver refused to fall into the trap. The human remained passive. He could play this role. He had played it for years now. But they weren’t done. Raphael’s fingers snapped with a flourish, and the air shimmered with infernal magic. Golden light coalesced around Enver’s throat, twisting and solidifying into something hard and heavy—a collar, seamless and ornate, engraved with infernal runes and glowing slightly. It pressed against his adam’s apple uncomfortably, and Enver went to adjust it, but his own hand stilled when he got too close.

Enver’s breath caught. He could feel the enchantment in it, the weight of it like a brand. The human’s fingers twitched, wanting to claw at it, but the spell forced them still.  

“There.”

Raphael murmured, tilting Enver’s chin up with a claw.  

“You don’t want any devils to think even for a second that you aren’t mine. Trust me.”

The metal was warm against his skin, as if alive. Enver swallowed, and the collar pressed just slightly—not enough to choke, but enough to remind him it was there. He caught his reflection in a nearby mirror, how the gold gleamed against his throat, and how the infernal runes pulsed slightly, in tune with his heartbeat. Enver’s face burned with embarrassment at the sight of it, an emotion he didn’t think he had anymore. His jaw clenched tight. He didn’t want to wear this!

“You actually look halfway decent like this, it looks….correct.”

Enver’s jaw tightened at the degrading comment. He wanted to spit, to rage, but instead, he lowered his lashes, feigning submission.  

“Right.” 

He managed, feeling outside of himself. Maybe going outside wasn’t worth it. No, it was. It had to be, he’d only kept living for a chance to escape, but his face turned red and his ears burned at the idea of walking around like this.

The chain the collar was attached to jingled softly as Raphael gave it a testing tug, who seemed to be smiling wider, as if sensing Enver’s discomfort.

Raphael's fingers curled around the golden chain with possessive delight, giving it another sharp tug that forced Enver to stumble forward. The devil's smirk widened as he watched the flush of humiliation creep up the mortal's neck, the way his throat worked against the collar's constriction.  

"Oh, don't look so dour little mouse~”

Raphael purred, winding the chain around his fist, drawing Enver closer until their breaths mingled. 

“You should be grateful. You love gold, and how many mortals will ever be adorned in such finery? Each link is worth more than your life.”

Enver's fingers twitched again, and he dug his nails into his palms. The collar felt like a noose, the silk robe like mockery—both were just symbols of his captivity.

“I am grateful, father.”

He murmured, the words making his stomach churn.  

Raphael's golden eyes gleamed, giddy with the novelty of the collar and the leash. 

“Liar."

He tugged the chain again, just to watch Enver's jaw clench as he stumbled forward. 

“But that’s alright. I enjoy your sweet defiance. Nothing is duller than a willing, loyal dog.”

Raphael admired him a moment longer before he snapped and the room that had been his entire world for over a year dissolved into fire and smoke.
 
When he blinked he was in a place that could not be more different, and the sights and sounds immediately overstimulated the young man used to nothing but quiet. 

The first sensation came before the smoke of the teleport had even cleared. It was sweltering. The moment it did, Enver's five senses were assaulted by the oppressive heat and noise of Zariel's fortress. The air itself was thick with the stench of sulfur and scorched metal, so heavy it burned in his lungs with each breath. The House of Hope had unpleasant smells at times, with the rot of bodies and creatures like the unclean debtor in the hall, but the boudoir always smelled nice. Of palmarosa and pepper. Well. Besides that one day when Haarlep….Also, unlike the House of Hope's open-air, decadent halls, this fortress was a claustrophobic monument to war—all sharp angles, iron, and bloodstained stone.  

The walls stretched high, lined with narrow, slit-like windows that let in only thin blades of hellish light. No tapestries, no art, no gilded excess—just bare, blackened metal. The floor was pitted and scratched from countless clawed footsteps, the grooves worn deep by decades of armored boots marching in formation.  In a sick way he was now glad he was in the robe, rather than the velvet, as sweat pooled down his back. And the noise- Gods above, the noise. The fortress thrummed with the constant clang of steel, the guttural shouts of infernal commands, the shrieks of tormented souls echoing from somewhere unseen, but not far. Horns blared in the distance, a deep, mournful sound that reverberated through Enver's ribs.  Enver fidgeted with his loose sleeves, though larger than their home, felt cramped due to how enclosed it was. 

There were creatures everywhere.

The court was packed to brim. Devils, fiends, bizarre aberrations, things Enver had never seen. Raphael threw his soirées once in a blue moon, but those affairs were never this large, not even close. 

Legions of devils walked this way and that. Orthons, merregons, spined devils, chain devils, and many more. Almost all were bigger than the human, and most even bigger than the cambion who held his chain. Many seemed to look at both Raphael and him with contempt, but they all begrudgingly parted for the cambion. Some even bowed, or nodded their head. Raphael for his part was rigid, a scowl now plastered on his face. Every time Enver made eye contact with a being they gave him a hungry look, hungry for what- was a multiple choice of guesses. None good.

His eyes were drawn to a large group of mortals, being herded together like cattle by a large orthon. Some of the humanoids were screaming, others eerily silent, their eyes hollow with resignation. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, unwashed bodies and fear. Enver kept his head up, but his pulse was hammering in his throat. He had expected spectacle, but this—this was something else entirely. 

“They’ll become soul coins. Archdevil Zariel refuses to wait on Archdevil Mammon for minting, so she makes some of her own. But, her coins are never as high quality.”

Raphael said off-handedly, a hint of disdain in his voice. 

The sheer scale of the cruelty was amazing, and Enver envied the efficiency, but it solidified his reality. Mortals were fuel, food, soul coins or toys in the Hells, nothing more than objects. The orthon herding them offered a lecherous grin. His fanged teeth were stained red.

Enver hated that he shrunk at the sight. 

It was a lot, so much at once, battering his senses. And it felt dangerous. Enver found himself not really needing to be pulled, staying very close to his cambion master, getting so close he actually bumped into him at one point. Raphael was gliding along, nose in the air as if the cambion was above all this riff-raff. But Raphael was uncomfortable, Enver could tell immediately, knowing him well. His body language was too rigid. 

They walked down the seemingly endless labyrinthian halls, all as dull and drab as the last. They bled together, until they came to a massive, solid metal door. It groaned open when Raphael came to a stop, without a word. Inside was another dull steel room, but it was large, and mostly empty.

A massive steel table dominated the center, its surface scarred from centuries of dagger points stabbing at maps and stained with mysterious liquids. The gray slab was inlaid with a glowing red topographic map of the Blood War's ever-shifting front lines, the magical display occasionally flickering as Avernus shifted in real time. Everything looked well-worn, and there were many papers full of detailed notes in infernal. Enver’s head tilted forward with interest. Unlike Raphael’s flowery prose, this language was quite utilitarian, and easy to read. Raphael muttered something under his breath, before pulling into the chair farthest from the other two males already seated at the table. He pulled the mortal into his lap. Enver noted there were two chairs smaller than the others, and this is one of the ones Raphael grabbed. The cambion started petting him, wrapping his hand around his thin waist. It should’ve been humiliating, but he was more annoyed the position made it difficult to crane his head and peak at the documents strewn about on the table. He settled for looking around more, carefully taking in the space.

Along one wall stretched a massive iron board covered in parchment reports, each pinned in place by wicked-looking spikes. Some documents bore dark stains at their edges, sweat, blood, or worse. Beneath it stood a row of iron-bound chests, their surfaces dented from rough handling, undoubtedly containing more scrolls, missives, and casualty reports. 

“My, what a pretty pet you have there Raphael. You’re usually such a solitary, eh, devil. 

Raphael tensed at the pause, but didn’t acknowledge him besides that.

“I heard of the passing of your incubus though. Tragic, an invitation to your boudoir was truly a boon. I’ll mourn the loss.”

Enver’s eyes flitted to the devil speaking. He dwarfed the other three men. He was hulking, and looked draconic in lineage. He was covered in scales, and was all sharp horns, claws and teeth. His maw was massive, and his eyes glowed bright and fiery orangey red.

The cambion gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgment about Haarlep, checking his nails as if they were the most interesting things in the world.

“Yes, I suppose if you do not have the status to own a concubi you might covet one.”

The draconic devil snorted, but Raphael kept speaking, plowing on as if he’d hadn’t made a sound.

“Esteemed advisor Bel, and Duke Haruman-“

He drawled sarcastically, eyes finally went up to meet the massive devil’s. 

“-I apologize for the slight delay. Of course, it is quicker when one merely needs to walk from their gilded cages within the fortress. Us generals who have our own domains have further to come from.”

The other devil at the table, slightly smaller than the dragon-like one, said nothing. If it wasn’t for the glowing light beneath the knight armor, Enver would be unsure the thing was alive at all.

The draconic devil chuckled.

“General. Such a mortal term. Is it because you can’t claim the title of pit fiend?”

Raphael’s claws were digging into Enver’s waist and it hurt, but the human had been through much worse, and watched the conversation with interest.

“Do you call yourself an advisor for the same reason?”

Bel’s huge tail twitched with annoyance, and he leaned forward.

“Be careful half-breed. I was Archduke of Avernus. I ruled all of this.”

“And now you don’t even rule over the scraps Zariel tosses from her table. How fortunate for the Hells you’re on a shorter leash.”

Bel leaned even further forward, creating a shadow on the table, but Raphael only sat up straighter. Bel beared down and Raphael glared up, his pointed nose high in the air. It was a bit comical, given the size difference.

“Better to have ruled twice than never ruled at all.”

Raphael growled, and Bel slammed his hand on the table, jostling the many papers and tomes about. The two devils were glaring daggers at each other, their tails whipping violently, stirring things up as well. No wonder the table was so messy, the young man thought.

Enver wondered if they were actually going to come to blows, and started looking for escape routes. If the cambion held onto his leash he was in for a bad time, perhaps he could hide under the table maybe…The devil within the suit of armor, Duke Haruman, shifted slightly, the sound of the armor creaking with the movement. Both devils froze. Raphael rolled his eyes, breaking the tension.  

At that time another devil walked in, the stench of blood and rot clinging to him like a shroud. He was covered in hooks, chains and beaten up armor, nothing like the polished armor Raphael put on before going off to fight in the Blood War. The sound was deafening as he lumbered, the chains clashing against each other with each small movement. Some of the hooks were embedded in his own skin, but the devil didn’t seem to notice. The entirety of his reddish-orange flesh was covered in scars and marks, and the strange metal mask he wore made him look intimidating. He dragged three mortals along, but it was hard to even tell what race or gender they were, skin flayed in intricate patterns, and hooks embedded in every free part of their skin. Enver’s collar suddenly didn’t feel so tight. He pressed himself tauter against the cambion holding him.

“That is Kovik.”

Raphael said under his breath, and Enver realized he was talking to him. He really was barbarous, as the cambion had lamented. Raphael was petting him again. To soothe Enver, or himself, he was unsure. The repetitive motion felt anchoring, especially as he watched the chain devil lean back, and nonchalantly bite the head off one of the mutilated mortals. The chain devil was ripping and tearing chunks out of the now dead body, splattering the table with blood and gore as he settled into his seat, making eye contact with Enver the entire time. Bel chuckled. Raphael huffed with disgust. Haruman did nothing at all. Enver, shamefully, clung tighter to his master.

As the chain devil sat down Enver realized he’d missed another person coming in at the same time, completely obscured by the sadistic devil and his rattling chains. 

The being was thin and petite, smaller than even Gortash. He squinted, as it was hard to see them, hidden beneath a parasol made of bones. The parasol had bells, chimes and ribbons hanging from it, and the person seemed to have on a long white dress, and it all melded together like a wispy dream. He could make no features out through the strange haze. But on size alone, that was no devil.

“Who is that?”

He said into Raphael’s skin.

“Feonor.”

He replied, disdain soaked from every word. Enver watched her take the smallest seat, which was beside Raphael. 

Finally a massive woman came in, clutching a devil by the tail, followed by a much smaller redhead clutching a scroll.

There was no doubt in Enver’s mind who Archdevil Zariel was.

She was terrifying, a titan, with huge leathery wings that enshrouded her like a cape. Her skin was a pale whitish-pink, almost completely covered in bizarre pulsing burns, and a constant strange burning halo of fire roared and circled around her head. Some strands of singed hair straggled down her bald head, and her eyes glowed with a bright orange fiery hatred. She was well armored, but it looked uncomfortable, as if the armor was seared to her skin, bulging flesh creeping out. One hand was clawed, gripping the wriggling devil, who was no small thing themself. Her other hand was missing, a mace there instead.
She looked like no cambion or even devil Gortash had ever seen. She looked like an aberration, a monster. She threw the horned black and gold devil into the center of the table with a clatter.

Bel again chucked. Kovik joined him. Raphael sat up, grinning madly. Haruman did nothing at all. The woman Raphael called Feonor, her slender hand came out of the haze of her hanging accoutrements. It was delicate and pale. She held up a perfectly manicured finger, pointing at Zariel, as if to warn. Suddenly the Archdevil snarled down at the devils around the table, hands pounding the table. 

“You all continue to fail me. Continue to disappoint me. Continue to be caught up in the ridiculous and tedious politics of the Hells!” 

Her mace came down, crushing bone, splattering ichor across the table. The devil beneath her writhed and moaned, but she paid no heed, her burning gaze sweeping over the assembled generals like a wildfire.  

Gortash sat up, and so did all the creatures around the table. Blood splattered his face, and it tingled. The Archdevil was snarling, slamming her mace into the broken devil over and over. The redheaded cambion scribbled furiously, while they all sat quietly. The chuckling died off into uncomfortable silence.

“While you squabble like carrion birds over scraps, the Abyss gnaws at our borders! L’zeth abandoned their post—- Abandoned their duties. What do you think my spies caught L’zeth doing, instead of doing the sole thing that is commanded of them?”

The beings at the table all mumbled things, creating a dull buzz of discordant voices. Enver’s eyes were drawn to Bel’s who was shaking his head just slightly.

“They, instead of doing their duty, were trying to get another devil put on MY throne.”

“Pfh. Gods above. At least try to take the throne for yourself. Playing lackey as a pit fiend? Pitiful.”

Raphael muttered into the mortal’s skin. He was again tapping his claws against him. If the Archdevil heard she did not acknowledge it, her head turned towards the draconic devil.

“Do you know anything about this, Advisor Bel?”

The devil smiled appeasingly, and put his hands up disarmingly.

“I know nothing of pit fiend’s schemes my lady. I have learned from my mistakes, and am loyal to you and your causes. Truly the humblest of your servants. When I am not advising you I am in Carixim’s forge, building weapons and war machines for your causes.”

She scoffed and snapped, the slightly larger devil flying up like he weighed nothing at all.

“Do not try to play me for a fool Bel, your lies are as pathetic as your schemes. 

She dropped him abruptly, sending him clattering back into his chair. Raphael chuckled softly, and Enver cracked a small smile at the advisor’s look of pain. 

“Must we endure this tiresome posturing? If incompetence were a crime, half this table would already be kindling.”

“Mind your tongue before I tear it out.”

She said pointedly, turning to Raphael, her fiery eyes bearing down on him. The cambion looked away from her glare, and Gortash felt a twinge of disgust over the behavior.

“You’re lucky. You’re all lucky.”

She hissed, stalking closer to the cambion. Unlike his sparring with Bel, Raphael seemed to not want her ire at all, and he nodded quickly, like a reprimanded schoolboy. Gortash cringed. But as she got closer her fiery gaze flickered to the human. Their eyes met, and a pulse. Uncomfortable and invasive. He felt it immediately. The Archdevil was in his head. Poking and prodding around. She was an intense, painful presence, and he chewed his thick bottom lip so hard it started to bleed. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it ended. He swore he saw a flicker of…something in the monsterous woman. Recognition? Understanding? He wasn’t sure, but Bel seemed to noticed the exchange between them, tail twitching with interest. The Archdevil pulled away abruptly, her voice calming slightly, though it was still as sharp as a razor’s edge.

“You all should be thankful that L’zeth has made such a complete and utter fool of themselves. They will be made an example of. You will all be reminded through them, that your ranks and positions are both precious and precarious. They can be taken away from you at any time.”

With that Archdevil Zariel flipped the devil known as L’zeth on their back, and ripped their wings off in a grotesque dispay. The devil howled in pain, but it was the words Zariel said that seemed to make all the devil’s shift with discomfort. Even her redheaded underling paused her endless scribbling on her scroll, before quickly starting up again.

“L’zeth, you are hearby demoted, permanently. Any contract you try to sign will melt away, and any binding words you try and utter will turn to smoke in your mouth. I take your name, and rank of pit fiend. You are now and henceforth known as Bitter Breath.”

The devil shrieked louder at this news than when their wings had been ripped off, seemingly more pained by the demotion than the massive gashes in their back, and the waterfall of black blood pouring out of them.

“Furthermore you are banished to the surface. We shall take your manor and divest your assets.”

Zariel tapped the devil howling in pain on the table, and as solid as they were a moment ago, they were gone. Only a puddle of sticky black blood, and their twitching wings remained on the table.

The beings around the table, seemingly frozen and disturbed by the act of demotion, suddenly sprung into motion, each talking over one another. Raphael for his part stood up, causing Enver to tumble out of his lap, to stake his claim amongst the others. Enver grumbled with annoyance. 

The cambion’s voice was smooth, dripping with false deference.  

“My lady, if I may, Bitter Breath’s souls would be better suited under my stewardship, than the others. Their contracts with the mortals of Faerûn are already aligned with my own networks, many in the same cities and circles. It would be seamless merging, really.”  

Bel snarled, slamming a clawed fist onto the table.  

“You overreach, half-breed. All their soul contracts? And what would you leave for us?”  

Kovik cackled, licking gore from his claws.  

“Let the humanspawn have them. I want their legion. I can always use more underlings to play with- er, to serve in the pushback of demons.”

They were like vultures, no loyalty to one another. The human felt a strange pang of sympathy for Zariel, it must be like herding cats. These creatures, for all they pontificated on and on about law and order, were chaotic. Like gnolls snapping at each other’s meals. They needed real order. His eyes flitted up to the woman with the parasol, as she shifted slightly. 

From the floor he could see through the haze of objects, the strange mystical vapor around her.

She was human.

Or at least, she looked it. Pale, fragile features framed by cropped dark hair, her white dress pristine despite the carnage around them. The parasol of bones cast eerie shadows across her face, but her cold blue eyes—sharp and calculating—locked onto Enver with unsettling intensity.  

Then she spoke. For some reason Enver had imagined her with a tinkling, girlish voice, but it was flat and dry.

“My lady, my quotas both in souls taken and demons slain, are not just met, they are exceeded. The others fall behind. The just action would be to have the souls come to me.”

Zariel’s eyes flickered to the tiny human, and to her cambion assistant. 

“She is ahead?”

“She is, my dearest mistress.”

“It is settled then. The soul contracts will go to Feonor.”

The table burst back into chaos, devils shouting and slamming the table again. It shook under the intensity of their violent movements. Enver watched as the mortal woman stood up and bowed towards the Lord of the First. Then without a word, she turned and glided out, the bells and chimes of her parasol fading into the distance. 

His face craned to see her go. The sight of Feonor’s retreating figure burned itself into Enver’s mind long after she had disappeared through the fortress’s iron doors. A mortal—like himself. Small, rather unremarkable looking, besides the strange haze around her, had just walked out of a den of devils not as prey, not as a plaything, but as an equal. More than equal even, she seemed favored by the Archdevil.

The thought sent a jolt through him, sharp and electric.  

How?

The question coiled in his chest, tightening with every breath. How had she done it? How had she clawed her way up from whatever pit she’d been thrown into, to stand among them without chains, without collars? The hunger that rose in him then was so fierce it near choked him.  

He gasped at a sudden sharp pain around his neck. No, it was Raphael, yanking on his collar that was choking him. He’d been in his own head for a while, tuning out the chaos around him. It seemed the divestment of Bitter Breath’s assets had concluded. He scrambled up to stand beside his master, who seemed to be readying to leave. Raphael's tail lashed with displeasure as he watched the other devils, his golden eyes burning with barely restrained frustration as he carefully smoothed his doublet out.  

"Tch. Kovik gets the legion, Bel slinks off with their war machines, and I—"

His claws flexed, digging into Enver's shoulder. 

"I get nothing but wasted time. Their home. As if I want that hovel or the trash inside.”

“It’s wrong father.”

Enver said placatingly. Raphael continued on as if the human hadn’t spoken.

"All that posturing, all that hard work, and for what? For Zariel to hand Bitter Breath's contracts to Mahadi’s little girl?" 

His voice dripped with venom.

 "As if she's earned them. As if she's worthy.”

Enver kept his gaze lowered, but his mind raced. She must have done something to be sitting amongst devils as an equal. The thought was intoxicating.  

Raphael's grip tightened, his voice dropping to a hiss.  

"Mark my words little mouse, this slight will not go unanswered. When I am Archdevil Supreme, I will-“

"Raphael."  

The Archdevil’s voice cut through the air like a guillotine came down on an unfortunate’s neck.  

Zariel stood at the head of the table, her burning gaze fixed on the cambion. The other devils had already begun filing out; Kovik dragging his mutilated playthings behind him, Duke Haruman silent as always. Bel took up the rear, staring at the human as he slowly lumbered out. Finally it was just Zariel, her assistant, Raphael and Enver left in the chamber.

"You will stay."  

It was not a request.  

Raphael stiffened, his grip on Enver’s shoulder loosening for a moment before he recovered, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  

"My lord~”

He dipped his head in a mockery of deference. 

"What do you need from your ever loyal servant?"  

Zariel's expression didn't change. The flames of her halo pulsed, casting jagged shadows across the scarred table. Her massive head turned to Enver.

“Your name, mortal?

Enver was shocked she was addressing him, so it seemed was Raphael, his face falling immediately.

“Enver Gortash.”

“Enver Gortash. You are an intelligent soul. Resourceful and ambitious.”

She turned away, walking towards a large window in the corner of the war room. Enver realized it was the only one he had seen, that wasn’t those awful, narrow slats. Zariel looked out of it for a moment before speaking again.

“And you are an artificer, are you not?”

Enver’s heart was pounding. He’d never spoken of his abilities aloud, except to Haarlep, and it had been more questioning. He hadn’t been truly sure if he was one or not, despite his suspicions. Better to leave Raphael in the dark, if possible.

Well, no more.

“…Yes ma’am, I am.”

He replied, in a tone much more collected and calm than he felt internally. Zariel’s eyes flickered to Raphael.

“The forgemaster has been looking for a mortal like him, someone he can train, someone who can move more freely than he and collect resources.”

“Bring him to Carixim upon my summons. Let him look over the young man and see if he would be useful to him.”

“My lady I must protest, Enver is my-“

She gave him a look and he forced a too wide smile onto his face. 

“Of course, my lady of course. What’s mine is yours.”

His tone barely constrained his rage, as he bowed with an exaggerated flourish. She said nothing more, dismissing him with a wave, and returning to the far window, sparing neither man another glance. Her assistant giggled, which seemed to make Raphael even angrier.

“Let’s go.”

He growled, dragging Enver toward the door with enough force to make the collar bite into his throat, he was pulling so hard and walking so fast the human kept stumbling, and gagging himself. He had to start jogging to keep pace.

“Father-“

Raphael whipped around.

Raphael’s grip on the chain tightened, his golden eyes burning with a volatile mix of fury and humiliation. The infernal runes on Enver’s collar pulsed hotter, searing against his skin as the cambion’s control slipped. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, his tail lashing like a whip behind him.  

Enver had seen Raphael in many moods, petulant, cruel, smug, even occasionally indulgent, but this? This was like that night. The devil’s carefully constructed mask of superiority had shattered, leaving behind something raw and dangerous. The human swallowed nervously, realizing he might snap, and on him. He got ready to placate.

Luckily then came the merregons.  

A patrol of armored foot soldiers rounded the corner, their golden baby masks turning in unison toward the spectacle before them. Their laughter was a metallic, grating sound, echoing off the iron walls. Enver heard the term humanspawn again, one of the words that had made Raphael twitch in the meeting. 

The cambion went utterly still.  

Then—  

A scream tore through the hallway as Raphael’s hand shot up, fingers snapping suddenly. The air itself ignited, and a wave of hellfire erupted from his palm and engulfed the mocking merregons in an instant. They of course, should be immune, but Enver knew the unique smell, and distinct color of what was coming out of Raphael. Unfortunately too well. It was hellfire. Their armor glowed red-hot, melting into their flesh as their shrieks rose into a chorus of agony. One of them stumbled forward, gauntleted hands clutching at Raphael’s boots—  

The devil didn’t even look down. He simply stepped on the soldier’s helm, crushing it beneath his heel with a sickening crunch.  

Enver shuddered against the wall, the heat of the flames licked at his skin, the scent of charred meat and molten metal thick in the air. His cock twitched beneath his robe and his pulse hammered in his throat as he watched the devils writhe. He could deny it no longer, when Raphael inflicted violence on others, it excited him. What was wrong with him?

The orthon leading the patrol froze, his massive frame tensing. For a moment, Enver thought he might retaliate—but then the devil’s burning eyes flicked to Raphael’s face. Recognition flashed and fear followed. Enver wanted people to look that way at him too.

Without a word, the orthon turned on his heel and lumbered away, leaving his underlings to burn.  

Just like that, it was over.  

The flames died as suddenly as they’d erupted, leaving behind nothing but smoldering husks and the acrid stench of brimstone. Raphael’s chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, his claws flexing at his sides. Then, with a shuddering exhale, his expression smoothed over, the fury lacquered over with his typical sneer.  

Enver didn’t hesitate. He pushed off the wall and brushed the devil’s doublet off, before he slid his hand into Raphael’s, lacing their fingers together. The devil’s grip was crushing and far too hot, his claws biting into Enver’s skin and making his hand sting, but the human didn’t make any attempt to pull away. It was all still an act. This was still a performance. That’s what he told himself, though he felt a twinge of doubt. 

Raphael’s golden eyes flicked to him, face unreadable.

"...I must go see Mahadi," 

He muttered, voice low and irritated. Enver nuzzled against him, similar to how Haarlep used to. How he did now.

Raphael’s thumb stroked over the back of the human’s hand, an absent, self-soothing gesture. Enver’s stomach growled, and Raphael chuckled.

“Mortals…”

Raphael murmured, his voice lilting with mocking humor as he regarded the young man beside him.

"You’re practically salivating, and not just for food, I think."  

Enver's jaw tensed, but he didn't deny it.  

Raphael's lips curled into a smirk.

 "Pathetic little thing. You want to hate me, don't you? Loathe me. And yet—" 

He pressed his thumb against Enver's lower lip, smearing a drop of blood from where the human had chewed it earlier.

"Here you are, a dog humping his master's leg."  

Enver rolled his eyes at the crass remark, but the collar around his throat was pulsing with infernal warmth, making him redden.  

“You do a lot of humping yourself, master.”

Enver retorted. Raphael just chuckled, his breath hot against Enver's ear.

"Tell me, little devilkin, if I let you go right now, do you think you'd last an hour in this fortress?"  

A beat of silence. 

Enver's fingers twitched in Raphael's grip.  

The devil laughed out loud then, bright and sharp, before yanking him forward by the chain. 

"Come. Let's find you something to eat before you start gnawing on the furniture. Poor pet.”

And with that, he strode forward, dragging Enver behind him.  

The human followed, hunger gnawing at him, hunger for food yes, but also for power, and worst of all-

For Raphael.

Chapter Text

The air shimmered with heat as Raphael’s infernal magic coiled around them, tendrils of smoke and embers licking at their forms. Enver barely had time to brace himself before the world dissolved into fire and shadow, only to reform in an instant, the oppressive steel walls of Zariel’s fortress replaced by the vast, scorched expanse of Avernus’s surface.  

The wastes of the first layer stretched before them, an endless sea of cracked earth and jagged rocks beneath a blood-red sky. There was nothing green, only puddles of ichor pocketing the landscape in ugly craters as far as the eye could see. The air here was thick with the stench of sulfur and burning metal, the screams of battle were loud and echoing like a macabre symphony. Enver coughed, the sudden shift in atmosphere clawing at his lungs. Still he covered his face with his sleeve, squinting to look around. He’d never been on the surface, despite his almost decade in Avernus. Any attempt to really get a detailed look was foiled, sand got in his eyes as the wind picked up, and he had tuck his face further, coughing hard.

Raphael paid no mind to his discomfort, his golden eyes scanning the horizon with a slightly disgusted expression, the wind and the general atmosphere seeming to not affect him in the slightest. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped his fingers—  

The world rippled.

Where there had been nothing but barren wasteland, a sprawling bazaar now materialized before them, as if it had always been there, hidden behind a veil of illusion. The sight was dizzying—a chaotic mosaic of tents, stalls, and ramshackle structures, all perched atop massive, rusted war machines. Hulking iron behemoths, remnants of the Blood War’s endless carnage, now served as foundations for this mobile marketplace, their jagged edges softened by vibrant silks and fluttering banners.  

The scent of incense hit Enver first—thick and cloying, a mix of myrrh, spiced resins, and something headier and metallic. Beneath it, the aroma of roasting meat made his stomach clench with hunger. His eyes darted across the scene, taking in the riot of colors: saffron yellows, deep crimsons, emerald greens, rosy pinks. They were all stark against the ashen backdrop of Avernus.  

Chimes and bells tinkled in the hot wind, their melodies discordant yet soothing. Strings of lanterns swayed overhead, their flames flickering with the same riotous hues—blues, purples, greens—casting shifting iridescent patterns across the faces of the merchants and patrons below.  

But it was the centerpiece of the bazaar that truly stole Enver’s breath.  

Perched atop the largest war machine, a monstrous, treaded beast of blackened iron, was a towering structure that looked out of place, even amongst the other colorful structures. It was palatial and at least four times the size of anything else, colorful and bright atop the dark iron machine like a turtle shell. Domed spires stretched toward the hellish sky, adorned with more fluttering pennants and strange, multicolored lanterns. In infernal “The Infernal Rapture” was painted over its large spiral covered doors in a multitude of colors, shining like oil slick. The building loomed over the bazaar, creating a shadow over it, its presence both opulent and ominous.  

A place like this existing in Avernus was mind-boggling to the usually sequestered young man. His eyes were more drawn to the drab, militaristic war machines all of the structures were atop, than the colors themselves. He wanted to know how they worked, he’d never seen anything close to these marvels of technology in Faerûn. But before he could ask about them Raphael yanked his chain, dragging him along. 

“Mahadi may be the richest man in Avernus, after myself of course, and this is how he decorates. Tch. He’s lucky he has no competition.”

He said, disdain dripping from every syllable.

“This is the Wandering Emporium. The entire bazaar is his. But this outside area, it’s-“

He waggled his hand dismissively.

“-for the poor.”

He yanked Enver along. The bazaar buzzed with activity, a cacophony of haggling voices, clinking coins, and the occasional burst of laughter—too sharp and hungry to be truly joyous. Devils, fiends, and horrific aberrations Enver couldn’t name meandered about as they wove through the stalls. The customer’s eyes glinted, sharp and keen, but the vendors all looked glassy-eyed and empty. They were debtors, Enver recognized the second he got a good look at one’s face.

Raphael strode forward without looking at any of the stalls, and again devils and beasts alike parted for him. Enver hissed, his bare feet burning against the hot metal plating of the war machine’s that made the bumpy uneven floor of the bazaar. The heat seared his soles, but he gritted his teeth and kept pace, his gaze darting between the wonders and horrors around them.  

A stall to their right displayed jars of writhing shadows, their contents whispering in languages Enver didn’t recognize. To their left, a hunched, dead-eyed tiefling repeated the same phrase of no refunds over and over. It looked at first that he was selling shards of ice, but upon passing closer, Enver realized there were little creatures frozen within, a pixie’s eyes following him as they passed.  

Above it all, the gilded palace on the war machine watched, its flickering lanterns all changing to green as they approached.

Raphael followed Enver’s gaze and chuckled humorlessly.  

“The Infernal Rapture, restaurant, spa, resort; Mahadi’s hunting grounds. Where the real business happens.”

The doors yawned open just by them approaching, and two concubi, already transformed into Raphael’s guise welcomed them in. They held out a contract that Raphael signed after glancing it over. Enver wondered what it said, but couldn’t get a look from how fast the exchange was. One’s tail tapped him very purposely and he shivered. Enver could tell from the sharp, toothy smile and intelligent eyes, these concubi were not charmed or in any sort of altered state. Enver felt desire immediately in the pit of his stomach. The human missed sex with concubi, but he didn’t miss the altered state they’d put him in. Well, he did, but he liked being aware….He looked down at his singed feet, embarrassed by his own desire.

"It’s been at least a century since we’ve seen you at the Rapture, master Raphael! How we’ve missed you!”

They sang in unison, pocketing the signed contract. Raphael scoffed, though Enver saw him sneak a look at their scantily clad figures. It wasn’t as subtle as he was sure the devil wanted it to be.

“Get us a place to dine, and bring the host over. I have things to discuss with him.” 

He tossed a soul coin to the floor, and the two hungrily fought over it, snarling and snapping at each other like feral beasts. Finally one managed to snatch it from the other, and they immediately went back to tittering sweetly. The shift was stark, but Raphael seemed to pay it no mind, his hands behind his back, staring at the now opulent inside of the palace with barely restrained disgust.

The concubi led them through towering archways into a central room, and Enver’s breath caught in his throat.  

The interior was a picture of opulence, a paradise carved into the hellscape of Avernus. Yet it was so different from Raphael’s own grandiose manor. The ceilings soared, domed and gilded, their surfaces adorned with intricate geometric patterns in lapis lazuli and gilded gold. Delicate latticework screens filtered the hellish light into dappled patterns across marble floors so polished they mirrored the heavens above, or what passed for them in this damned place.  

Pillars of golden veined alabaster lined the grand central room, entwined with vines that bloomed with jasmine, their sweet fragrance cutting through the acrid stench of Avernus that still lingered if one focused on it. Silk tapestries hung on the walls here, their rich blues and yellows showing intricate abstract pattern work.

The air itself was cooler, fresher, as if the very atmosphere of space had been stolen from some far-off place. The distant sound of trickling water drew Enver’s gaze to a central fountain, its basin carved from the same veined alabaster, and he noticed devils throwing a coin in, before touching the water, and then continuing on down one of the various attached halls. Again, there were dead-eyed debtors leading the devils and monsters this way and that. The two concubi must have been sent out specifically for Raphael and him.

“Communal restoration waters. Can you imagine that boy?”

Raphael said disgustedly, catching where the human was looking. Enver remembered when he was a child, before the Hells, his mother would draw a bath maybe once a month in their basin that was really more of a bucket. Dravo would get to go in first, and then her. By the time the water got to him it was always black with dirt and ice cold. He usually went down to a hidden alcove by Umberlee’s temple, and cleaned himself best he could back then. He shrugged.

Their escorts guided them through arched doorways, into a luxurious dining area. The four glided past past lounging patrons—devils draped in silks and eating like rabid dogs, beasts chugging wine from jeweled goblets, and scantily clad debtors of every imaginable race, build and gender, their charmed laughter, moans and cries like chimes on the wind, but they passed all of this, and Raphael seemed to expect them to, the concubi taking them into a private room in the back.

At last, they arrived in a smaller but no less beautiful chamber, its walls open to a panoramic view of Avernus beyond, though the sight was softened by cascading curtains of sheer gossamer, fluttering like ghosts in the warm wind. A low table of polished gold dominated the space, surrounded by plush divans piled with cushions of every color. The concubi bowed in sync, showing off the table with a flourish.

"Mahadi will be with you shortly,"  

They purred in unison, their voices honeyed.  

"May we bring you refreshments while you wait?"  

Raphael waved a dismissive hand, his crawled finger brushing the table and bringing it up before sighing. 

“Clean the damned table first.”

Enver saw no spots on the table, in fact it shined so bright he could see his haggard reflection in it. Rapahel flopped down onto the divan and lounged back, stifling another yawn. It seemed the devil was still tired. The concubi snapped the table clean, as Enver took a seat opposite to Raphael. He was struggling to reconcile something like this existed in the Hells. 

"Wine. An Amnian vintage. Bottle. Two glasses. And bring me a menu, let me see what swill that charlatan is passing off as gourmet food these days."  

The concubi giggled, one brushing the cambion’s wrist before gliding away, their forms melting into the shadows. Raphael sniffed, watching as they went.

Enver remained standing, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. The cambion snapped the leash away. Enver was relieved, the pulling had been humiliating and painful.

“Sit!”

Raphael ordered. The human sat opposite to the devil, and stared blankly at him. This was all so strange, and not at all their normal routine. 

“You know, before Haarlep I used to come here with a painter. Quite often. They struggled against me like you, like Hope. For ages.”

“Oh?”

Enver said, eyes actually flicking up with mild interest. He’d never heard about any of Raphael’s “pets” before Haarlep. He was even cagey about his attempts to tame Hope. A concubi returned, handing them both menus. They were engraved marble slabs, flickering in infernal and decorated golden filigree.

“Eventually the painter gave into me. Smart people always do.”

Enver’s eyes stayed on the menu.

Pickled blight salad…Roasted wereboar in a caramlized portal sherry glaze…Deep fried miniature giant space hamsters, seasoned in a rosemary, basil, giant tears and thyme rub…Most proteins can be switched out for small up-charge, Exotic proteins available upon request….

“You already own me, what do you mean?”

“Don’t be smart.”

Raphael snapped. 

Enver rolled his eyes, tapping the menu idly.

“What happened to them?”

“What happens to all mortals eventually. They died. But they lived a wonderful life.”

The way he spoke of this person’s lifetime the way one might speak of a beloved dogs made Enver feel like he’d gotten up and strangled him. Worse. He’d certainly gotten up and strangled him before, and the suffocating idea of what Raphael was putting forth was worse. The very idea of being one of Raphael’s toys forever was one of the things that tormented the young man, kept him up at night.

The concubi rescued Enver from replying, reappearing. The two giggled as they poured the wine which seemed to irritate the cambion. He watched as Raphael swirled it, sniffed and squinted.

“Not the best year…”

Raphael muttered. The human mirrored Raphael’s behavior, never dining at such a fancy place before, but the cambion’s current movements and his past unfortunate attendances to the devil’s soirées gave him enough context cues. It tasted fine to Enver.

“He’ll have the pan-fried myconid cap with garlic butter, and I will have the roasted wereboar in a caramlized portal sherry glaze, switch out the wereboar for venison- and I’ll do a warm apple tart with the celestial caramel drizzle for dessert.”

Raphael gripped the sex devil’s wrist, who purred at the contact. 

“I want my plates warm to the touch. If I am handed a cool plate, or Ao forbid cold food, there really will be Hell to pay.”

He released the concubi with a huff, and the sex fiend’s face flashed with annoyance before immediately being smoothed over with a sultry smile. It reminded Enver of Haarlep, though the pulse of nostalgia was far less painful than it had been a year ago.

“Of course my lord.” 

They tittered. Enver sipped his wine, watching Raphael continue to examine his glass, staring at the legs and muttering something as the two sex devils retreated to the side wall, their eyes glinting predatorily at them both.

“What’s the difference between a general and a pit fiend?”

Enver asked abruptly.

The sides of Raphael’s lips twitched. 

“Nothing. One title is more official, but they’re the same rank.”

“Then why are there two?”

Raphael didn’t respond to the question, instead launching into a speech. Enver fiddled with the cutlery.

“The Hells is a civilized society. We have laws boy. Sensibilities. Just the same as mortals. And things make sense because we have a strong rule of law. Without it we’d be a bunch of savages clawing each other’s heads off.”

“Civilized.”

Enver snorted, but he didn’t look up. Morality was so relative. Raphael’s thought process didn’t shock him anymore. Though civilized was still a bit of a stretch.

“Civilized-“

Raphael repeated firmly, swirling the word across his tongue like he tested his wine.

"-is not merely the absence of savagery, little devilkin. It is order imposed upon chaos, structure that elevates us above the gnashing teeth of the Abyss. The Hells are a machine, each cog turning in perfect, infernal harmony; laws etched in blood and enforced by iron."  

He leaned forward slightly, the candlelight catching the sharp angles of his face, making his grin look more malicious than normal.  

“Just like on the prime material, not all laws are perfect, but we must work within the system to improve said laws.”

“So there’s a law not allowing you the title?”

The cambion took another long drink of his glass, drained it instead of responding. The succubi still hovering like vultures exchanged a glance. One dared to inch closer, refilling Raphael’s glass with exaggerated care.  

"Perhaps our lord would prefer a different vintage? Something with more of a…bite.”

They flashed him a seductive smile, fangs glinting. Raphael’s gaze slid to them, slow and predatory. 

“What I would prefer-“

He murmured.

“-is for my meal to arrive before my patience evaporates.” 

The succubus stiffened, their borrowed face flickering with something like fear before they  stepped away. Raphael sneered, watching the sex devil wearing his skin spill a drop of the wine onto the table as they rushed away too quickly.

“Do you have any incubi amongst your ranks? Or is it just you two simpering succubi?”

Enver was unsure how Raphael could tell the two were succubi, to him there was no tell at all, perfect replicas of his devilish skin. 

“Oh, it is just us master Raphael.”

The first cooed in a mock sad tone.

“Hopefully the two of us are enough for you~”

Sang the second.

He rolled his eyes, before his eyes met Enver’s. 

“Their venom are never as good.”

He said in an educational tone, as if he was sharing an insider secret about sex devils. 

The succubi had barely retreated back to their places when the doors swung open once more, revealing a procession of glassy-eyed servants bearing their meal. The scent hit Enver first, garlic and herbs mingling with the rich, caramelized sweetness of the portal sherry glaze. His stomach growled audibly.  

The first platter was placed before Enver. It was a single, massive myconid cap, its edges perfectly crisped to golden-brown, glistening with garlic butter that pooled in its gills. More tiny roasted assorted mushrooms surrounded it, their stems curled delicately.  

Raphael’s dish followed; thick slices of venison arranged in a fan, each piece glazed to a mirror shine, resting atop a bed of jewel-toned root vegetables. The scent of the portal sherry was intoxicating, with an undercurrent of something distinctly otherworldly that made the air around the plate shimmer faintly.  

The cambion immediately snatched up his fork, stabbing a piece of meat and holding it up to inspect. The venison bled a rich crimson onto the plate. Satisfied, he popped it into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he chewed.  

“Hmm. Acceptable.”

He muttered, though the way his tail twitched betrayed his pleasure to Enver.  

The human hesitated only a moment longer  before digging in. The first bite was pure heaven; the myconid cap was tender yet crisp, the garlic butter infused with herbs he couldn’t name, earthy and bright all at once. He barely suppressed a moan.  

Raphael watched him eat with an amused smirk. 

“Slow down, that behavior is quite piggish. You’ll choke.”  

Enver ignored him, shoveling forkful after forkful into his mouth quickly. He was a little afraid Raphael would take the plate. He’d certainly been stingy controlling his intake the past year. Enver hadn’t realized how starved he was, not just for food, but for flavor. Raphael’s idea of sustenance for him was utilitarian at best, and Enver had long since resigned himself to bland, barely adequate meals. This—this was a feast.  

The succubi hovered, refilling their glasses once more with practiced ease. One again tried to trail a clawed finger along Raphael’s shoulder.  

“Is everything to your liking, my lord?”  

Raphael didn’t even look up. 

“The venison is overcooked.”  

The succubus’s smile faltered. 

“No it-deepest apologies, my lord. Would you like it remade?”  

“No.”

Raphael sighed deeply, and tilted his head back, as if the very idea of waiting pained him. 

“I will simply suffer through it.”  

Enver rolled his eyes, licking garlic butter from his thumb. It was taking all of his self-control to not lick the plate.

Silence settled over the table as the servers again all filed out, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the distant murmur of the public restaurant in the room beyond. Raphael’s gaze drifted to the window, where the ever-present glow of Avernus’s fires painted the gossamer curtains in shades of hellish orange. There were devils and demons fighting in the distance, tiny figures barely visible on the horizon line.

“You know. It’s complete disrespect to demote a devil. It’s most devil’s ultimate fear.”

Raphael speared another piece of meat casually, eyes still trained out into the wastes.

“Bitter Breath likely mourns the loss of their name and ability to make deals more than the loss of their wings.”

“It’s an embarrassment, a mere horned devil trapped on the surface of Avernus, and with no ability to collect souls…”

He clicked his teeth, shook his head in mock sympathy, but his eyes told a different story. Raphael was happy to see a rival upper ranked devil fall from grace so fully. He tsked, forking another bite. 

“Devils toil for centuries, ranking up takes time…it’s a major blow. And personally I can’t see them finding a way to fix it.”

He’s smiling as he eats. Enver was still so hungry. He drinks his wine greedily, hoping it will fill the constant gnawing feeling clawing at his stomach.

“When did you get your name?”

The human managed to ask between deep gulps. Raphael eye twitched, and he sniffed.

“I was born with my name.”

“But I thought you said…”

“I’m Mephistopheles’s sire boy. Everything works differently for me.”

“Ah, tell the boy the truth now my friend.” 

A voice cooed. Raphael visibly tensed.
The two men’s heads turned to see a friendly looking mortal man. Tanned and trim, with a toothy smile and a long but well-groomed beard with pieces of gold threaded in it. The man was in the typical Calishite style of dress, his outfit colorful and rich, with pants loose and flowing. Enver vaguely remembered his mother having some clothes like this, but she sold them early in his childhood. Enver was drawn to how this man was just dripping in gold and gems, and though he knew Raphael likely found the outfit lurid, Enver found it gorgeous. 

The man came over, squeezed the cambion’s shoulder. 

“Beings like us, outer fiends, cambions- We’re outside of the Hells hierarchy.”

He put his hand out horizontal, made a so-so motion, grinning far too wide now. He was not human Enver knew upon him stepping closer, despite the guise being near perfect. His eyes were dead, and it reminded him of Raphael’s false face. 

“It has its positives and negatives.”

“I’m well within the Hells hierarchy. I am a noble son, cloaked in purple since birth.” 

Raphael said coldly, his tone barely constraining his annoyance. Mahadi chuckled warmly, patting his shoulder again, seeming to want to placate him.

“That is true. There’s never been bluer blood in this establishment than when you are in my humble halls! How are you doing my dear friend? It has been such a long time!”

Mahadi's deadened eyes flicked to Enver with sudden interest, his too-wide grin stretching further into something terrifying. 

"And who is this pale faced beauty you've brought to my establishment, Raphael?" 

“No one of your concern.”

Raphael muttered, tail twitching irritably.

“I’m Enver Gortash.”

"Enver Gortash…”

Mahadi purred, pleased.

“What an absolute pleasure. You must tell me how you came to be Raphael's...dining partner."

He moved with unnatural quickness around the table, taking Enver's hand before the young man could react, his thumb stroking Enver's flesh in a way that made his skin crawl.

“I am Mahadi the Rakshasa, proprietor of the Wandering Emproium and Infernal Rapture. Friend to all, and most humble and loyal servant to those who can afford me.”

Enver stiffened as Mahadi pressed wet lips to his knuckles, the fiend’s beard scratching his soft skin. The scent of heavy oils, frankincense and myrrh wafted up from his skin, covering something faintly rotten, like overripe fruit. 

“Your darling face is smooth and white like the moon, and you remind me of a dream forgotten. Tell me dear Enver, do you like poetry?”

“No.”

He replied, blunt and dry, snatching his hand away from the man’s grip. He didn’t. Loathed it in fact. Enver already had to listen to Raphael’s poetry ad nauseam, he certainly wasn’t going to listen to a strangers. The man’s face fell, and Raphael smirked. It seemed he didn’t mind him saying he didn’t like one of his favorite forms of art, if it meant upsetting the rakshasa. The fiend quickly recovered, looking back at the cambion.

“How has everything been my friend?”

“Suboptimal. Your succubi are some of the most incompetent I’ve ever seen. I’m partial to thinking you fished these two mongrels out of the abyss, rather than purchasing them lawfully from an Archdevil. You know the pedigree of concubi is important.”

The cambion said, shifting his shoulders disgustedly. He took his napkin and dropped it very purposely on the ground. The two concubi scrambled to pick up it up, bumping heads with one another in an attempt to grab it. Mahadi watched their bumbling with a flash of annoyance crossing his features, but it was lacquered over quickly.

“Aha, no my friend, no! I got these two the legal way, of course! I respect all of the Hell’s laws! These two actually came from Nessus!”

“That is quite hard to believe.” 

He said primly, snatching the napkin back the moment one of the succubi held it out. Enver jumped as Mahadi dismissed them both in an abrasive language, neither infernal nor common. The succubi transformed into beautiful she-devils as they slunk slowly off, their tails intertwined. The human’s eyes followed them as their hips twitched in perfect sync. Raphael was mad to want such monotony. If he was master of the house, he’d have a new lover every night. Or at least a new face, again thinking of the benefits of owning concubi.

“Listen, I didn’t come to dine, or for any other pleasures. I-“

Mahadi tutted loudly, waving a jeweled hand and interrupting. 

"Nonsense! Business must be conducted with a full stomach and an eased mind." 

He snapped his fingers, and a debtor scurried forward with two plates of the promised apple tart, golden pastry glistening with celestial caramel, the scent of cinnamon and sugar thick in the air.  

“I didn’t order two for a reason.”

Raphael hissed, cutting a piece of the tart fastidiously, before sniffing it. His lip curled, eyes narrowed at the outer fiend.

"Oh but your pet is still so hungry. Look at him! Practically wasting away!"

Enver's stomach chose that moment to growl audibly, betraying him. Mahadi laugh boomed loud through the private dining room, the sound too rich, sickeningly sweet.

"You see? My treat, of course." 

He winked at Raphael.

"No charge for old friends, and their pretty boys.”

Raphael's smile was glacial. 

"How very generous." 

His claws tapped an impatient rhythm on the table.

“Now—"

Mahadi plucked a forkful of Enver's tart, holding it to the young man's lips.

“You must try it properly. The caramel is made with the blood of unicorns. It is divine."

Enver hesitated, the smell was indeed heavenly, but he could feel Raphael’s withering glare, and the outer fiend being so close made him uncomfortable. He tried to shift his face away, he loathed how fiends felt they could just manhandle him any which way. When the human tried to move Mahadi stuffed the fork in his mouth, cupping his jaw to open his mouth roughly. The flavors exploded—tart apples, rich spices, and that strange, luminous sweetness that made his tongue tingle. Against his will, he made a soft sound of pleasure.

Raphael's wine glass shattered in his grip. 

"Enough. Come here mouse. Now.”

Blood-red wine dripped between his fingers like blood, a snarl curling on his lip. Enver scrambled over, and didn’t protest when the cambion slung his arm around him. Being objectified by one fiend was enough. And he knew his devil, for better or for worse. Something about the rakshasa made his skin crawl. The outer fiend’s pupils narrowed to cat-like slits as he watched the mortal resettle in his master’s arms.

Mahadi sighed dramatically but withdrew, snapping for a debtor to clean the mess and wipe the cambion off. 

"Always so serious, my friend." 

He settled onto the divan Enver had been sitting on, his jovial mask slipping back on, smooth and quick. Mahadi popped a piece of the tart into his mouth, before twirling the fork, still staring lecherously. Enver looked up at Raphael, wondering if he could get him to hurt the outer fiend, but the cambion’s gaze was on Mahadi.

“I have questions about Archmage Feonor. Particularly her relationship with our Lord of the First.”

The human he’d seen was a mage. A powerful one it seemed, and he’d been right, she had some kind of personal relationship with Zariel. 

Enver didn’t have time to process the information. He jumped as Mahadi’s fist made contact with the table over and over. The fiend had burst into laughter, full belly shakes and tears coming down his face, but the bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.

“Oh? Has my runaway moonlight caught your eye?”

Raphael didn’t reply, instead just snorted with disgust. Then he shoved two soul coins in Enver’s hand. 

“Go to the sauna, I’ll be there in a moment. Speak to no one. Get no extra services until I’m there.”

The human stared at the soul coins, frowning deeply. He desperately wanted to know more about Feonor. Feonor felt like an opportunity out, or an opportunity at least to better his position. The first since his astral plane plan failed, and Haarlep died. But he saw the way Raphael was staring down at him, it left no room for argument. He slipped out of his grip, standing awkwardly and pocketing the two coins into his robe.

“Where is-“

Mahadi whistled, and a debtor, a glassy-eyed elf with golden blonde hair and a gorgeous figure stood before him. She smiled, but like all debtors, Enver could see no one was home.

“This delightsome doll will take you. Do be careful pretty thing, and try not to wander. Many of my clients are used to this garden of pleasure being an all you can eat buffet.”

Mahadi chuckled, and for once the two fiends seemed in alignment as Raphael spoke next.

“True. My collar should ward devils off within the Infernal Rapture, but get lost and my kind aren’t know for their mercy. They’re not all like your dear father.”

“Right.”

Enver replied, quick and snippy. He was trying not to feel like the smallest and weakest creature in the world. How angry their warnings made him! Maybe angrier than the objectification. He tried to not let it show on his face, dragging his bare foot against the tile, and looking off to the side, demure and placid.

The golden-haired debtor led Enver through winding corridors, their bare feet plapping quietly on the polished marble. It eased the burns on his soles, but he wasn’t paying much attention to that. Instead, Enver's eyes darted to every archway, every shadowed alcove for potential exits. But at every turn, leering devils paused in their various indulgences to watch him pass, their hungry gazes dropping to his collar before they turned away with disappointed grumbles.

The air grew thick with steam as they approached the sauna, the scent of eucalyptus and warm wood wafting to him. Something else, something metallic and heady was beneath the top notes. The debtor bowed, giggling softly as she gestured to an arched doorway veiled in shimmering mist. 

Inside, the sauna was a cavern of black darkness that sparkled, the complete opposite of the mostly light colored rooms through the rest of the palace. At its center, a pit of glowing coals hissed under ladles of scented water. He saw towels to put on, but was hesitant to undo his robe. He slipped onto one of the benches carved from single slabs of polished obsidian, sitting as close to the door as possible. The space was large, but he was alone. Well, mostly. 

There, sprawled across an entire bench, lounged an a devil so big and fat its rolls of flesh spilled over the edges of the stone slab onto the floor. Enver vaguely remembered seeing devils like this before at Raphael’s soirées. Amnizus. Raphael had complained they were middle-rankled devils who rarely did much more than meddle on behalf of their superiors. Bureaucrats. This one in particular was more corpulent than any others he’d seen, and its bald head was disproportionately large and elongated, hosting small porcine eyes, a pug-like nose, and a mouth full of jagged teeth. It was naked, its sweaty body shining, but it was covered in jewels and gold. It grinned as he sat down.

The Amnizu's porcine eyes gleamed as it studied Enver, its tongue flicking out to wet its scaly lips. 

"Well, well, well…”

It rumbled, the bench groaning beneath its bulk as it shifted to lay on its side, hand on its hip. Enver looked away, not wanting to have its naked body burned into his memory.

“What a pretty thing you are. Collared. That’s a pity. Tell me, does your master share?”

Enver didn’t reply, scowling at the floor. 

The devil’s beady eyes narrowed, shifting to sit up. Its rolls jiggled and jewelry jingled with every movement. 

“I asked you a question mortal, you should know not to ignore your betters.”

“I’m Raphael’s.”

He said sharply, tilting his neck so the runes were more visible. It was shameful and humiliating to admit, but he wanted the beast to leave him be. 

The devil's laughter shook its massive belly. 

"Aha! That is a mortal’s name. I am Azazel the Banished.”

It declared arrogantly, rings glinting as it waved a jeweled hand dismissively. 

"Equal to only the deepest layer’s Archdukes. I do not yield to a common cambion's claim." 

Before Enver could react, Azazel snapped its fingers. The human felt himself pulled towards the beast.

Enver reacted without thinking, a ray of frost bursting out of his hand. He’d practiced that cantrip before but it had never worked for him, he grinned, remembering how Hope had harmed him with such a spell in the past. Shards of ice and snow shot toward the Amnizu, but the fat devil merely chuckled, and with a wave of his hand the magic dissipated. 

"Spunky little thing.” 

Azazel purred, heaving itself up to standing with speed belied by its build. Its meaty hand closed around Enver's wrist, now physically yanking him towards it. Enver grunted with disgust as he was pulled flush against the devil's sweaty bulk, the stench of rotting meat and sulfur overwhelming. 

"Let's see what a half-breed is coveting.” 

The devil murmured, clawed fingers digging into Enver's robe. The silk tore easily, exposing the human's expanse of pale skin. Enver twisted violently in his grasp, cursing, but Azazel's grip was iron. He was flipped upside down, and the mortal felt tears of humiliation bubbling up. Would he ever be able to defend himself? Would he ever be free of these monsters? Enver felt a long, serpentine tongue wrapping around his thighs, exploring about, before settling in the cleft of his ass. It swiped up and down hungrily. Suddenly his collar burned white-hot, and the amnizu howled in pain, his tongue bright and on fire. He dropped Enver, him clattering to the floor in a bruising heap as the large devil above him blubbered, rushing to the center to put out its tongue. Pouring boiling water on its tongue lead to more screaming. Enver watched gleefully as Azazel hurt himself in a panic, rubbing his own bruised arm with a smirk. 

He was so engrossed in watching the amnizu’s tongue burn into a bloody stump he didn’t notice the cambion and the rakshasa walk in. Both already undressed. Enver felt a twisted combination of desire and relief upon seeing his master. And that made him feel a pulse of shame. He looked down at the now detached tongue wriggling on the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest, smiling at that sight. That sight made sense, and made him feel good without guilt.

“Really Mahadi? Letting one of the rabble of devilkin into this establishment?”

Raphael said with a scoff, pointing at the amnizu now groaning on the ground, blood pouring from its mouth. Enver realized it was looking for its tongue. He snatched it, and hid the still twitching appendage behind his back.

“Azazel is a paying customer just like you Raphael!”

“It is a minor gang member that tried to damage my property! I am a general, a lord! We are not the same, we should not even breathe the same air, let alone be in the same building!” 

Raphael ranted, rage started to simmer beneath the surface. A far worse emotion for him to be stewing in than disgust. Enver pulled his knees tighter.

“He will pay for that attempt my friend, I assure you.”

Mahadi tried to placate, patting the cambion’s arm.

“Damn right he will.”

Raphael shoved a bag of soul coins into the fiend’s hand, full and tinkling with each small movement. The amnizu stared at the massive bag of soul coins in shock and horror. 

The rakshasa’s eyes went wide, becoming rounded and blown out, eating the iris until there was nothing but blackness.

“I want its flesh filleted into thin flanks, I’ll feed it to my spectators later. I’m sure that’s more than anything this impoverished rabble rouser could offer for its own life.” 

“Oh my dear friend. I have missed your patronage.”

The fiend growled, his voice warping into something hard to understand. 

The sauna’s thick steam swirled as Mahadi’s form began to twist and distort, his human face melting away like a heated candle. His tanned skin split, orange and black fur bursting from the cracks in tufts. His face elongated into a tiger’s snarling maw, his too wide smile now a portrait of primal hunger. The rakshasa’s form was now a similar size as Raphael too, and his massive paws loomed over the injured amnizu’s form, flexing hungrily.

Azazel, still clutching his burnt and bloodied mouth, scrambled backwards, trying to speak without a tongue. It was slow, and everything came out slurred.

“P-pwease- I didn’t know- I have more c-coins-!”

The amnizu dug in his rolls, and threw out three more soul coins, pitiful compared to the bag Raphael had produced.

Mahadi’s bellowing laughter was now more akin to a barking hyenas, his large tail whipping behind him as he cackled. He pounced. The rakshasa’s claws sank into the amnizu’s blubbery flesh with a satisfying schlick, cutting through layers of fat like parchment. Azazel’s screams of pain and panicked attempts to cast were cut short by Mahadi’s jaws closing around his throat. The outer fiend began shaking the devil like a ragdoll, the sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone filling the sauna, the smell of blood mixing with the eucalyptus. Enver found he liked it. He watched the exchange with lurid interest, chewing on his bottom lip.

“You really are a brutal little thing. Just barbarous.” 

But for once the cambion didn’t sound disgusted, he sounded indulgent, maybe even a little playful. Raphael came up behind the human, and took his hand. Immediately the mortal felt different. Enver looked down and saw his hands were glowing, bright and warm. He knew Raphael had transferred something over to him, he could just feel it. He rushed forward with a mad grin, pressing both palms flat on the amnizu’s fleshy gut. He held his hands there for a long time, till they burst through his skin, and into his guts and organs. A death rattle whistled out of Azazel’s torn open throat. Though Mahadi had mutilated him, Enver had dealt the killing blow, and the rush of ecstasy upon watching the light leave its eyes was intense. He’d never killed anything so directly before, and it felt so good. He kept his hands firmly in the amnizu, pressing hard. He only pulled away when Raphael tapped his back. 

Once he moved away from the slaughtered devil its charred innards spilled from its open stomach in a steaming heap. Enver’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his blood sticky hands twitching from the violence. The power, the delicious power was already fading, and he longed for it to stay. The sensation had been stronger than any creation he’d made, any cantrip he practiced over and over. Raphael’s abilities were on a whole other level. Enver wanted that power more than anything.

He turned to Raphael, readying to beg for the power back, but he had stepped back, arms folded and slight disgust on his face from all the mess of blood, gore and viscera now on the sauna floor. 

Didn’t he fight in the Blood War almost daily? Enver didn’t understand him.

Debtors materialized, their blank faces empty as they got to work. Some descended on the corpse, quickly and efficiently butchering him into fillets as Raphael had requested. Others scraped and moped the blood and gore from the stone flooring. One approached Enver, wordlessly handing him a damp washcloth.

He took it, examining his blood-streaked knuckles, sticky and warm. The sight caused more heat to coil deep in his gut. The mortal dragged the cloth over his fingers with deliberate slowness, shivering with pleasure everytime the fabric caught on some caked blood or flesh. Enver’s pulse hadn’t steadied with the violence ending, in fact it had quickened, as he watched them butcher the amnizu, staring at his own bloodied hands.

Mahadi, licking blood from his paws with languid swipes of his tongue, looked up. His voice was raspy and harsh in this form, as if speaking was difficult.

“My, your little moonbeam is quite bloodthirsty. Yes, I see why you are worried my friend. Feonor was the same.”

Raphael didn’t reply to the rakshasa. 

“Tch. You’re a mess. You could’ve blasted him mouse, not given him a massage.”

The cambion remarked, a slight sneer of disgust on his face, though his tone was light.

“Sorry father.”

Enver said, not sounding particularly sorry. 

“No you’re not.”

Raphael turned the rakshasa, now cleaning his chops, his leg stretched high in the air.

“I want the spa cleared out for us.” 

Raphael flicked yet another, even bigger bag of soul coins to Mahadi, who slammed it out of the air with a deft swipe of his paw, his feline grin stretching wide and cheshire. The debtors finished their grim work in eerie silence, carrying out the now dismembered corpse in pretty bags embroidered with “The Infernal Rapture” in looping infernal. Mahadi began to purr, clutching the bag in one paw and snapping with another.

“Your wish is my command.”

Raphael wrapped an arm around the young mortal, Enver’s hands now clean. As they walked down the hall, the human noted they were now empty. Enver looked up at him, eyes wide and blown out.

“I liked that.”

“Did you darling? Good.”

Enver’s face reddened at the infantilizing, but rather warm tone. He had called Haarlep that before hadn’t he? Before things started to fall apart. Not his typical disparaging comments, usually compliments were reserved for sex. He smiled slightly, before immediately forcing himself to scowl. Enver hated this. It was all too much, too confusing. He was horny and he wanted Raphael’s power, he knew that much. That must be why he was smiling over a compliment from his greatest tormentor. He was aroused and excited and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Always so in your head.”

Raphael teased as they entered the largest room yet. The pool room they entered was a cavernous space, obviously meant to house hundreds of devils, with large and small loungers and tables around the pool. The air here too was thick with the lovely herbal and exotic smells, covering something (Enver could guess what.) else, something rather unpleasant beneath. The largest pool, and the one Raphael seemed to be preparing to enter was fed by ornate gold spouts shaped like screaming mouths. The water was unnaturally bright and clear, a sparkling aquamarine. The statues that lined the pool drew the mortals attention though, as he slipped into the water. They lined the perimeter of the bathhouse, and varied in shape and size. A few looked content, some looked confused, but most of their expressions were terror or agony. Faces twisted into silent screams, limbs outstretched as if to beseech. At first glance they appeared to be masterfully carved from marble, but as he leaned his arms on a pool wall, legs treading as they often did at home, he could see that was not the case. 

They were alive. Their skin had been transmuted into something as smooth and as cold as stone at least visually, but beneath the unnatural sheen he could see veins pumping blood, the delicate creases of skin. Their eyes, wide and unblinking, followed him like the stall of frozen creatures outside. 

Enver tilted his head, staring up at them with detached curiosity. Perhaps when he first entered the Hells the sight may have horrified him. Now he felt nothing but a faint, clinical interest. And, maybe a bit of twisted schadenfreude. Maybe more than a bit. A lot.

He felt Raphael’s arms wrap around his waist, the cambion’s head rest against his own.

“Admiring the decor, little mouse?”

Enver made a small noise of assent. The cambion’s tail swiped up and down his body, brushing his half-hard cock. He shivered, and Raphael abruptly turned him around. The devil’s golden eyes gleamed with amusement, raking over his naked body. 

“Oh, look at you, just aching and desperate for your father. It’s pathetic how much your body cries out for mine, but then again, how could it not?”

Enver rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny reality. He’d been a little aroused since watching Raphael melt those merregons in Zariel’s fortress, and then the adrenaline from killing, as well as the heady rush that came from a taste of Raphael’s powers, it was all still pulsing through him. Coiling hot, tight and insistent. He met the devil’s gaze, pleased with how nonchalant he sounded, despite his overly cerebral processing of things.

“I can’t help it father. You said it yourself.”

Raphael chuckled and crooked his finger, tilting the boy’s head up just a touch. The cambion’s gaze darkened as Enver pressed himself against the man harder, flush and grinding against him, his cock pulsing insistently against the devil’s skin. Rapahel started to speak again, but Enver tilted up, his hand flying up to grip the devil, giving him a bruising kiss.

The human crushed their mouths together, teeth clacking and his tongue pushing into the devil’s warm mouth, exploring every inch it could touch with a hunger that bordered on animal. It was wet, sloppy kissing, and the cambion let out a small groan of pleasure as the metallic tang of his own blood flooded into their joined mouths. They disconnected for just a moment, a reddened string of saliva between them.

“Boy-“

Enver didn’t let him finish, kissing him again, deeper and messier than the first even, before breaking to kiss the side of his mouth, his jawline, kissing and sucking his way down to the cambion’s pulse point.

Raphael shuddered, his breath starting to become uneven as Enver pulled at his cock.

“You’re, mmm, being quite bold tonight, devilkin.”

He managed, sounding out of breath, his usually lilting tone uneven. Enver ignored him jerking them off together, the two cocks against each other making a delicious friction.

Enver watched as the much bigger cock shrunk into something around the same size as his own, and when he looked back up he noticed didn’t have to, now nose to nose with Raphael in his human skin. The devil smirked, and they were kissing again, foreheads pressed together as Enver continued to pull their cocks in perfect sync. The human could feel the devil’s hands in his hair, trying to pull him closer, as if they could meld together somehow. Enver gasped at the pulling, the pain shooting pleasant tingles throughout his body, a compliment to his arousal. 

“That’s it darling.”

Raphael muttered breathlessly, his curls sticking to his face, eyes closed.

“Keep going, just like that.”

The cambion muttered, going from his forehead to the crook of his neck. Enver smirked. It was so easy to unravel his master, it wouldn’t be long till he came undone. Enver gave the devil what he wanted, his strokes growing firmer, planting kisses and sweet lies of his ascension to Archdevil Supreme in his ear. The friction was getting to Enver too, his face reddening and biting his lip, but Raphael was done. He was cumming, hips snapping erratically into his hands, and shuddering breaths. The cum shot into Enver’s hands, as well as the crystalline waters. The devil clung to him, slumping his head further into his neck and trying to catch his breath.

For a moment there was only the sound of their breathing and the gentle white-noise of the faucets feeding the pools. Raphael exhaled deeply, his light brown eyes meeting Enver’s darker ones.

“You’re almost adequate at this now, but I’m going to need more than that.”

So did Enver, his cock throbbing painfully between his legs, desperate for release as well. The human leaned in, kissing his neck, his collarbone, before looking up, his dark eyes wide and clouded with lust. Raphael shivered at the sight of him, eyes half-lidded. It made Enver feel good that he was affecting the cambion in this way.

“What do you need?”

He said, low and teasing. Different than Haarlep would’ve done it, but their blueprint was in his body language, the tell-tale smirk on the mortal’s face.
 
“Your mouth.”

Rapahel said simply, slipping past him and walking towards the shallower water, by the steps. Enver followed immediately, kneeling without instruction. He pressed a kiss to his thigh, before taking his cock in hand, kissing and licking the head, still covered in its previous release. 

Raphael jumped, let out a shuddering gasp.

“Mmm, no. Not there.”

“Where?”

Raphael huffed, shoving Enver away and leaning forward on the pool wall, exasperation in his tone. 

“You know where. Now come.”

He looked back, wet hair sticking to his face. Enver didn’t protest, again quickly kneeling and spreading the man’s cheeks. Maybe he’d get to fuck Raphael if he did a good job. His dick throbbed with excitement at the idea. He spit, watching his saliva drip into the pink, tight hole. It twitched, swallowing his spit hungrily. Enver began lapping at his entrance with the same hunger, and Raphael let out a high, pleased whimper. The small sounds of pleasure falling from the devil’s lips spurred Enver on, his tongue tracing slow teasing circles before dipping inside. The devil keened, his head pressed hard against the stone. The sounds made Enver feel a bit lightheaded, his neglected cock pulsing desperately. Enver pushed his tongue in and out, fucking Raphael as he requested. He felt like he was doing a good job, as the cambion’s hands were balled into fists so tight his fingertips were white. The human felt himself leaking, neglected yet again. Enver could take this torture no longer. Keeping one hand cupped on the thick cheek of the devil’s ass he started to tug himself aggressively.

Watching Raphael melt into a pile of pleasure in this way felt so much better than just spreading his legs and staring at the ceiling. It felt like he had a modicum of control, and that felt so good. 

Of course, the devil had ordered him to do this. But it gave echos of the times Enver had been intimate with Hope or when Haarlep allowed Enver to fuck them. He vastly preferred it to just lying there and having to trust the other person (You could never trust Raphael, or devils in general, in truth.) so he was trying to do a good job, but he truly was enjoying it as well. His nails dug into the devil’s ass, and Raphael moaned against the stone, high and needy.

“Enough boy, enough. Come on.”

He didn’t say it, but Enver knew what he was asking, and immediately he was fumbling with his cock, lining it up with the devil’s wetted entrance. The moment the human started to apply some pressure the familiar, cloying fragrance of frankincense, myrrh and rotten fruit filled the air. Enver’s eyes flitted up to see Mahadi standing above them, leaning on a statue. He was in his human guise once more, dark eyes glittering with mischief.

“I told you to clear the damned spa!”

Raphael snarled, staring up at Mahadi angrily. He shifted, so Enver’s tip was no longer spearing his rim just slightly. The mortal groaned in disappointment. The rakshasa chuckled.

“And I have my friend! The entire wing is yours, but I must check on one of my best customers, see if they need refreshments, service, or additional companionship.”

He listed all of this off with mock deference, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Enver tried to shift the devil back into position, but Raphael slapped his hand away.

“Just get out.” 

He snapped. Mahadi tutted, squatting.

“A cambion of your caliber shouldn’t settle for such amateurish service.”

He swung his arms wide, as if gesturing to an unseen array of choices. 

“My two concubi may not have been the best servers, but I promise you, they do their main job impeccably.”

“No. No concubi.” 

Raphael muttered, an annoyed sneer cauterized to his face. Enver understood. It had taken months for them to get over withdrawals. Though he personally wouldn’t have minded them joining.

“Why my friend? Your proclivities are legendary around Avernus. Mmm, perhaps a changeling then? I have one charmed, though they’re rather green.”

“I have no interest in your whores Mahadi.” 

But his tone changed slightly, and Enver could hear the invitation in it.

“No, you don’t. You want the best. As you always do.”

Enver felt like he was missing something fundamental as the rakshasa shifted out of his clothes, and slipped into the pool. He was muscular, despite his slight build, and entirely covered in a light dusting of body hair. But what was most notable was his cock, huge and thick, jutting out proudly through a wirey forest of dark hair. Enver’s stomach twisted. He had no right to feel jealousy, and why would he be? Raphael was his slaver. He couldn’t stand him. Yet he did feel it, sharp pulses of both anger and jealousy as Mahadi touched the cambion’s face. Worse was seeing how Raphael reacted, the subtle shiver at the rakshasa’s touch. They had history, Enver realized now. Probably centuries of history, maybe more. Even if it was only sex, it was more than the less than a decade he and his father had been together. 

“Move boy.”

The cambion said breathily. Enver obeyed, head down and cock twitching pathetically. He watched as Raphael turned his head to face Mahadi, his expression haughty. 

“Well? Take care of it.”

Mahadi’s grin went feral, his movements sinuous as he positioned himself between Raphael’s thighs. They both groaned in unison as he sunk into Raphael, his hands gripping his ass, right where Enver had been. Jealous and aroused Enver again tried to pull at his own cock, but found he couldn’t, runes on his collar glowing. Raphael smirked as he was rocked into the pool wall, watching Enver stare pathetically. He was squirming and rubbing his thighs together, blue-balled by being denied orgasm over and over.

“Come here mouse.”

Raphael didn’t need to repeat himself, Enver came over, but the devil didn’t touch him, instead using the mortal as a brace. The sight before him was erotic. Mahadi’s thrusts were deep and powerful, driving in to the hilt each time. The cambion’s back arched, his arms squeezing Enver’s neck. The human held him, and he locked eyes with the devil who pressed their sweaty foreheads together. He had a big, shit-eating grin on his face. Raphael wanted Enver to watch, he knew he was jealous. Enver’s face burned and he shut his eyes, embarrassed by his own traitorous feelings.

“Now now-“

A sharp thrust forced a gasp from the cambion, his lashes fluttering before he recovered, voice thick with pleasure.

“Eyes on me mouse. Don’t you dare look away.”

Enver forced his eyes back open, their brown eyes meeting. Raphael’s lips curled into smirk, despite his breath hitching with each thrust. Who but Raphael could look so haughty while being drilled into by another man. He pecked the boy’s lips before speaking again, breathless and teasing.

“Study this well. Memorize every-“

His eyes fluttered again.

“-stroke.”

It would be funny, if he wasn’t so painfully hard, how the devil could truly never stop speaking. Another grind wrenched a shudder from him. He swallowed thickly before speaking again.

“If you’re very lucky, maybe one day you’ll be allowed to try and please me.”

“I’m watching father, I-I really want to try.”

Enver said, the words falling out of his mouth fast and without a breath between them. An airy laugh escaped him as Mahadi’s pace got rougher, Raphael’s own hips rolling back to meet him. Enver pulled the cambion into another needy, desperate kiss, swallowing the devil’s pleasure drunk laughter. His laughs became moans and gasps into the mortal’s mouth as Mahadi began driving even deeper, balls slapping against Raphael with each hard thrust.

“Ah, you always did like it rough, didn’t you my friend?”

Whatever Raphael was going to reply with was lost in a shrill gasp as Mahadi adjusted angles, his cock was obviously hitting just right as the cambion broke his and Enver’s kiss, focusing on impaling himself on the rakshasa’s cock. Enver pushed himself forward forcing Raphael back even more, till he was standing. Enver was grinding his prick against the cambion’s, bouncing and leaking uselessly with each thrust. They were now sandwiching the man between them and Enver’s eyes met Mahadi’s. He snickered.

“Don’t worry little moonbeam, I’m sure your time will come. Raphael has always had a rather insatiable appetite for this act in particular.”

It was hard to really focus on Mahadi’s words, blood rushing in his ears. Enver groaned, loud and needy as Raphael wrapped his fingers around their cocks as Enver had done earlier. The mortal's hips jerked automatically, a choked desperate sound escaping his throat.

“Pathetic….”

Raphael murmured, though it was breathy, and with little of his usual bite. He stroked them both slow and teasing, his thumb very purposely swiping over Enver’s leaking tip. The human kept moaning and gasping, his arms wrapped around the devil.

“So desperate for me…”

Enver’s face burned, and he nodded into the crook of his neck. There was no denying it. He wanted Raphael so bad, and the sight of him being fucked by Mahadi sent sparks of both envy and desire running through him. He tried to focus, ground himself as Raphael continued babbling on about how needy and pathetic he was, as the devil was rocked into him by Mahadi’s aggressive movements, but he could barely focus. He felt Raphael’s thumb play with the slit of his cock, and a whimper of need ripped from his throat. His stomach was so, so tight. He’d never needed to cum so bad before.

“Daddy please!”

He sobbed against him. Raphael groaned at the sound, whimpering and kissing Enver’s neck, equally as needy as his son.

“Cum with me.”

Raphael whispered to the unraveling mortal. Mahadi’s pace was erratic now, so punishing the water around them was sloshing violently. The cambion’s breath was ragged, and his own jerking movements became unsteady as he tried to push them both over the edge. 

“I’m-“

Raphael came, voice breaking into a mewl of pleasure. Enver wasn’t far behind, cumming in sync with his master, both painting each other with ropes of cum. A shrill, pleasured cry was forced from him as well, and they pressed against each other, panting. Luckily the rakshasa wasn’t far behind. He pulled out, and with a growl he came all over the cambion’s back covering both sides of him in cum. From his grunt of annoyance into Enver’s skin, he wasn’t pleased with Mahadi’s placement.

Enver brushed the devil’s hair back so it wasn’t in front of his face and pulled Raphael off of Mahadi, so he was leaning on the mortal. Raphael finally caught his breath, and turned his face towards the rakshasa.

“Mmm. That was…adequate.”

Raphael muttered, though the flush of his cheeks and how long it took to recover betrayed his satisfaction. Mahadi chuckled.

“Always a pleasure my friend. Though I’d be happy to return a couple of soul coins to sample your pet.”

Raphael snorted, too well fucked to come up with anything particularly biting.

“I bet you would.”

Was the cambion’s only retort. When Mahadi went to brush his hand against the mortal’s skin he shifted away immediately, the dull pulses of jealousy still thrumming through him even with relief. The rakshasa chuckled, before  getting out of the pool and shifting his clothes back on. The contract that Raphael had signed when they entered appeared in his hands, before promptly burning away.

“As always, you pay your dues my friend. You’re free to leave my establishment. I hope we see you again soon.” 

Mahadi gave a swooping bow, before gliding  out of the pool room.

“-And good luck with your pet. He is a spunky little creature.”

The outer fiend called, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. The cambion yawned, not responding. Enver could see with the events back at the fortress, and now all the…business at the Infernal Rapture Raphael was dragging. In fact, he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. He’d looked tired to Enver before they ever left the bed chamber. Enver also knew acknowledging his more mortal needs might anger him. 

“Father I’m…tired. May we go home?”

And though it was a tactic, it was true. Raphael didn’t reply except to get out of the pool, and shift on his clothes. He looked the boy up and down as he followed him out.

“Where’s your new robe?”

“The amnizu ripped it.”

Raphael scoffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The conversation went no further, the devil gripping his arm tightly. The world shimmered and shifted once again, that strange lurching feeling of being teleported via Raphael’s infernal magic running through Enver. In a blink the opulent Infernal Rapture, and the colorful bazaar outside it melted away. It was replaced in an instant by the familiarity of their bedchamber. Enver admittedly felt relief upon seeing it, the overstimulating day crashing over him all at once. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but it had to have been hours since he’d been home. He yawned audibly, and his knees buckled the moment he touched the edge of the bed, collapsing into it. It seemed it wasn’t a performance to assuage Raphael’s ego after all, once the adrenaline of being in such foreign and dangerous places faded there only was exhaustion left. The events of the day; the violence, the power and the pleasure left him completely drained. He was only human after all. His body ached, his limbs leaden and his mind was a tangled mess of emotions. He curled into himself, laying on his side.

Raphael didn’t have a smart remark for the way the mortal tumbled into their bed. The cambion’s eyes were half-lidded and he yawned, crawling onto the mattress after him, his movements sluggish. He heard the devil rustling about, pulling the silken sheets onto himself and off of the mortal. He started to turn the grab some back, but Raphael pulled him into his arms. It wasn’t any different than any other time. This is how they normally slept. 

Raphael liked the coolness of his mortal body, he’d told him. It made Enver uncomfortable normally, it was too hot. But maybe it was the exhaustion, or the events of the day, but it felt nice, like sleeping next to a warm hearth in the winter time.

Enver eased, closing his eyes as he heard Raphael’s breathing even. 

Yet sleep eluded him.

His mind rotated highlights of his adventure. Zariel invading his mind, Feonor being an equal to greater devils, killing the amnizu, Raphael sharing his powers with Enver, the jealous feeling he felt when Mahadi touched his-

He didn’t want to think about this.

He hated Raphael. He’d tortured him. Ripped him from the material and treated him like an animal. Let his incubus ravage him when he was still only a boy. Pimped him out to other devils, let Nubaldin torture him. He kept him like a toy and a pet. He loathed him. Enver hated the way his heart stuttered as he felt the devil shift, planting a kiss against the back of his neck.

He hated how much he liked it. Being treated with kindness, no matter how fleeting or transactional it was. His father held him, was more affectionate with him than his biological parents ever had been. Sure, it wasn’t as loving as Haarlep. But Haarlep’s affection had been conditional too. Was it wrong if he just let himself enjoy it? Even just for tonight. Enver decided it didn’t matter, interlocking his hands with his masters, and he began to drift into a twilight sleep himself.

Then-

A tiny, fearful voice.

“Oh I’m so sorry master but I must intrude-“

Enver’s eyes flew open.

The Archivist. Little shit. 

Raphael didn’t wake, he didn’t even stir. He looked almost cherubic sleeping in his human guise, long lashes and curls framing his face. Enver carefully extricated himself out of the devil’s grip, a scowl cauterized to his face.

Enver’s fingers curled into fists as he slid out of bed, his bare feet hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. The Archivist stood near the barrier, wringing his hands, his glowing eyes darting between the quickly approaching Enver and the sleeping Raphael. The sight of the cowardly tiefling made Enver’s blood boil; always skulking, always interrupting. Punching down and hiding his hand. Once Enver had been smaller and slighter than the tiefling, in a worse position than him, but not anymore. Enver was taller, and bigger, and in a better position within the House of Hope.

Before the Archivist could utter another word, Enver lunged. He seized the tiefling by the throat and slammed him against the wall, the impact muffled but forceful enough to make the Archivist’s eyes bulge.  

“Be quiet.”

Enver hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. He tightened his grip just enough to make the Archivist’s breathing stutter. The tiefling’s legs kicked uselessly against the stone, his claws scrabbling at Enver’s wrist.  The Archivist’s lips peeled back in a sneer, though fear flickered behind his orange eyes. 

“I don’t answer to you, human."

Enver leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. 

“No. But Raphael will listen to me. Would you like a demonstration?”

The Archivist’s bravado faltered. He swallowed and his adam’s apple bobbed under Enver’s grip. The human squeezed cruelly, causing him to gasp and thrash, before finally lightening enough to allow him to speak.

“I—I only came because it’s my duty to deliver messages!”

The Archvist rasped, his voice a reedy whisper. 

“Another message from Archdevil Zariel. Urgent!"

Enver’s pulse spiked. Zariel. They had shared a special connection when she entered his mind. He released the Archivist with a shove, snatching the scroll from the tiefling’s trembling claws before he could protest.  

“Get out."

The Archivist didn’t need to be told twice. With a terrified squeak, he scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet before vanishing through the barrier.  

Silence settled over the chamber once more, broken only by Raphael’s slow, even breaths and the sounds of the Hells outside. Enver unrolled the scroll with stiff fingers, his eyes scanning the utilitarian, razor-sharp script.  

It was a summons.

For Enver Gortash.

He grinned.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of weeks since the summons from Zariel came, and it had been at the forefront of Enver’s mind the entire time. In fact, he had brought it up one too many times. Raphael had beaten him a couple of days ago for asking about the summons so often. So he’d stopped. It was back to their typical routines. Endless days in the bedchamber, one seamlessly blending into another. But the scroll had said his summoning to Zariel’s Flying Fortress was urgent. So Raphael had to bring Gortash eventually. Didn’t he?

Raphael didn’t show any sense of urgency about the summons if he did. They were, as they often were, lying in bed. Raphael had said the hookah was Haarlep’s nasty habit when the sex devil was alive, and had actively discouraged Enver from using it, calling it a degenerate habit. Yet here he was, lying on his back, bringing the hose to his lips over and over while writing in one of his never ending books; The Power of the Crown. Enver had flipped through it before in one of his many endless stints alone. Raphael had read portions aloud too. Usually the better sections. It was mostly a solipsistic stream of consciousness. A work of fiction by the cambion. It boasted long winding chapters, all describing the coronation of Raphael as Archdevil Supreme of the Nine Hells, but the circumstances would vary in each case. Some versions were written as if historical fact, others were imagined futures, but all ended with Raphael wearing the Crown of Karsus. Many of the recent ones mentioned Enver. A line or two. Always at his feet, or in his lap. Notably, never beside him. The human understood. There were no equals in the Hells, and everything was transactional.

The human wondered why Raphael didn’t feel more urgency to make those dreams reality. Perhaps Enver pointing out flaws in his plans to gain the crown had caused Raphael to pause looking for it, but Enver doubted it. He guessed it had more to do with Raphael being so long-lived, the devil felt he had all the time in the world to wait for an opportunity to arise. Enver personally couldn’t understand it. To lay idle when there was work to be done was maddening.

As he thought this Enver felt the man put the hose to his lips, and he didn’t protest despite his internal monologue, pursing his lips for the devil. The human inhaled deeply and the hookah’s smoke filled his lungs. The heady feeling pipeweed gave him was nice, and they’d been lying there for a while. The drug made it harder to think about his own stagnation, which was good. Raphael put his book to the side and pulled the boy atop him effortlessly, kissing him idly. His hands made lazy circles on the young man’s lower back as their lips met over and over, slow and indulgent. Looking down into those half-lidded golden eyes, Enver thought maybe he saw the same invitation Raphael had given Mahadi, and bit his lower lip, just enough to make the devil groan in approval. Enver deepened the kiss with that allowance, his tongue sliding against Raphael’s and his hands wandering lower, palming his soft cock. Raphael was only in a robe, half-opened, and it was easy to slip his hand in, and begin stroking him as they continued to kiss.

Raphael chuckled against his bruising kisses, his clawed hands digging into his long, dark hair.

“You adore me don’t you?”

Raphael murmured, his voice thick with smug satisfaction, and slightly altered from the drug. He’d been drinking too, a glass of wyvern whiskey on the table beside the book, Enver hadn’t really touched his. He felt like he could convince him now. The idea of fucking him hadn’t left his mind since their visit to the Infernal Rapture. If he couldn’t get free or even get back to the fortress. He wanted to fuck him, he wanted to destroy him…in more ways than one.

He nodded against the devil before he rolled his hips, jerking the man off with one hand. Raphael seemed pleased, pleasantly high and being pleasured. Enver was getting very good at pleasuring him. If he’d only let the mortal fuck him. The human broke the kiss, shifting. A string of saliva connecting them broke as he moved downward. Raphael spread his legs, vulgar and expectant, but Enver didn’t mind. If he was sucking him off Raphael was more likely to allow the other thing. He spit into his hand, idly circling the devil’s entrance with wet fingers as he swallowed his half-hard cock over and over. Enver moaned as he felt it thicken in his mouth, the devil’s hand finding the back of his head. Wet, sloppy sounds echoed through the mostly quiet chamber as the human took him to the hilt, his nose pressing into his groin without any prompting. There were tears in his eyes, but it was easy to relax, and suppress his gag reflex with the drug running through him. Raphael’s hips lazily thrust up, and Enver plunged two fingers into him, in time with his thrusts. He wished he could stroke his own cock, hardening though there was no stimulation for him. But there was, wasn’t there?

He peered up, through the curtain that was his own long dark hair, never stopping either hand. Raphael’s eyes were closed, and his lips were wet, and he was whispering praises.

“My sweet boy. My darling boy.”

Nonsensical babbling. As always. But Enver liked it when Raphael praised him. Enver wanted to hear his own name. Not Raphael’s. He came off the length, spitting on it so it shined in the hazy light. His tongue dipped in his tip, before sliding down the length and going to suck on his balls. He added a third finger, and the devil cursed, his hands flying up to cover his own face, and his legs wrapping around the younger man. The sex was not as rough or as frequent as it had been when a third was in their bedroom, but Raphael seemed to enjoy it all the same. As Enver dragged his tongue back up, the cambion came, getting cum in his face and hair. He hissed his own name, as usual. Once in a blue moon he’d say one of Enver’s nicknames, and it was embarrassing how the mortal longed for the acknowledgement. He slipped further down, licking, fingering and hoping- but the devil ordered him to stop. With a sigh Enver pulled away, licking his fingers, before lying on his stomach. Raphael pet his head.

The gurgles and small noises of the devil’s organs he was lying against made him sound strangely human. Enver wondered if you cut a dead Raphael open, would his organs melt as quickly as Haarlep’s had? His lineage wasn’t pure devil after all. Enver bet Mahadi had put a spell on the amnizu’s body they killed, because when Raphael and him had fed the spectators, his limbs were still intact. Maybe Enver could do that, and feel his father’s wet organs slip between his fingers. The human had read drinking devil ichor gave mortals powers. He’d drink his father’s blood in a heartbeat. Lost in these thoughts he looked up at the cambion, and smiled, his canines flashing. Raphael scowled.

“We need to work on you smiling softly. The corners of the mouth should gently curve upward, creating a soft and inviting aura. The facial muscles should be relaxed, to avoid any forced or exaggerated expressions. I prefer no teeth, but if you must, the top teeth only. I mustn’t see your canines.”

Enver tried to follow his instructions, but he couldn’t mirror Raphael, as the devil himself was still scowling. Raphael scoffed.

“Gods, you look unhinged. That’s a damned grimace!”

He was kicked away, his legs once used to pull Enver closer now used to push him back. The human grunted as a solid blow connected with his stomach.

“Clean yourself up. There’s cum in your hair, all over your face. It’s repugnant. Whorish.”

Enver frowned, it was Raphael who put cum in his hair and on his face. Still, he knew there was no point bringing this up. Wordlessly he did as he was told, grabbing his still full drink and getting in the bath. The warm water of the bath soothed his muscles, and combined with the pipeweed a pleasant fog came over him. He scrubbed the sticky remnants of Raphael’s release from his skin and hair, washed his mouth with whiskey, the fruity scent of Raphael’s soaps filling the air. His thoughts were sluggish, drifting between frustration, rage, and a sense of resignation. The summons from Zariel did gnaw at him, but he didn’t want Raphael breaking his nose or slamming his head into the floor today. The depressants running through his system made it easy to push the constant gnawing discontent in his soul away as well. He took another long drink of his whiskey, sinking deeper into the bath soothed his dark hair swirled around him. In the warm, easy embrace of tipsiness he barely noticed Raphael entering the bath. He shifted to clean the devil, though there was really no need to. He straightened his hair, fussed with it for a while. Even as his mind voiced protests. That the devil was clean and there was little to do, he found things to do, smoothing out fly-aways just so and tucking some ringlet’s behind his ears. As he brushed Raphael reached out, touched his pec and squeezed.

“You’re hairier than me. Like a damnable gorilla.”

Enver didn’t reply, instead tapping him to turn around. He was not going to be stuck shaving his entire body, his face was already an almost daily chore. The devil’s tail twitched, but he shifted, giving the boy access to his back and neck. Enver started massaging like Haarlep used to do. As the minutes ticked by his mind wandered, despite Raphael talking about some playwright he’d made a deal with, who was deeply disappointing him. The bathwater rippled as Enver’s fingers worked methodically into Raphael’s shoulders, his mind drifting further away with each passing second. The devil’s voice was a distant hum, the words barely registering as he droned on about the playwright.

“”A Pleasurable Deal”? More like “A Pathetic Disappointment”.”

Raphael chuckled bitterly at his own joke, his golden eyes glinting with irritation.

“Honestly, when I made a deal with the little rat he had some potential. And a superior artist tries to lend support where they can. It’s a let-down."

He flicked a claw dismissively, tilting his neck so Enver could work his slender finger’s into his trapezius more fully.

“Then again, mortals do have a terrible habit of squandering my gifts. You don’t know how lucky you are, sweet mouse, because you have my greatest gift. My guidance and-“

Raphael cut himself off abruptly, golden eyes narrowing as he turned his head to glare at Enver. The mortal’s hands had stilled, his gaze focused on the barrier. Someone was coming, and the footsteps Enver didn’t recognize. His six months as human furniture meant he knew every member of this house’s footsteps, as well as common guests like Zariel’s high auditor Verillius Receptor.

“Are you even listening?"

Raphael snapped, tail lashing against the water. Enver blinked, back to the devil. His lips parted automatically to offer some placating lie, but before he could speak a man and a woman entered the chamber, warping through the barrier.

One was a member of the home, though with
his near constant interruptions lately he was in danger of being…let go. At the entrance, stood a visibly terrified tiefling. The Archivist. Beside him was a cambion woman Enver recognized immediately, Zariel’s assistant from the meeting he’d be taken to. But unlike the meeting where the woman had followed Archdevil Zariel like a shadow, her entire being focused on the Archdevil, she now took up space. Her body language was completely relaxed, arrogant even. She checked her nails, tail twitching with amusement.

“My oh my. The infamous boudoir. You know, when you hear such filthy and fantastical things it’s hard to not let it become something marvelous in your head. A bit of a let-down, if I’m being honest.”

The red-head purred, hand on her hip as she swiveled around.

“I assume the incubus really made the place.”

Enver had to stifle a laugh, feeling Raphael tense. Her cadence and behavior reminded him, in many ways, of the male cambion now getting visibly annoyed beside him.

“Is this puppy their replacement?”

The woman said, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Enver with a lecherous expression. She had a beautiful figure, and Enver didn’t look away, looking up at her with interest.

“No shame in it. Mortals can be such fun, and I do love a broad shouldered brute.”

She sauntered closer to the pool, and Enver felt his collar, often forgotten now, since it never came off, tingle. His face burned with annoyance.

Raphael’s gaze snapped to the tiefling still standing by the entrance.

“By the Nine Hells!”

Raphael's voice dripped with scandalized outrage, one clawed hand dramatically splayed over his bare chest as if to preserve some modesty. Which was funny to Enver, given what a complete hedonist he was.

Must I endure this gross violation of my sanctum? I am in a state of undress, in the sacred privacy of my own home! And a common cambion waltzes in! Have the Hells hierarchical laws crumbled so completely?"

He snarled, tail whipping angrily. Enver excitedly wondered if the tiefling would get the same treatment he’d gotten a couple of weeks ago. The Archivist tried to speak, but was drowned out by the female cambion’s tinkling laughter.

“Oh, have a sense of humor, lordling! My mistress wanted to send your auditor, and she’s much tougher than me. As I’m sure you know!”

She chided softly, bending over the pool. Her breasts hung heavy in her tight dress, leaving little to the imagination. He looked back towards Raphael, knowing his penchant for jealousy. She smirked at his behavior, before her eyes met her fellow cambion.

“I wanted to see for myself what my lord’s mind had been so set on. But I think I see it.”

Her eyes drifted to Enver again, and made no attempt to hide it as she continued to speak in an exaggerated, breathy voice.

“There’s certainly…potential.”

“You forget yourself Mizora.”

“Mmm, then we’re bosom friends in that department. My mistress sent a summons weeks ago. She tires of waiting.”

Raphael exhaled sharply through his nose, his tail thrashing with irritation.

“I take souls and marshal legions—all in our esteemed lady’s name. Pray, forgive my absence; I have been…indisposed with weightier affairs, affairs a woman who spends her time scribbling on about court trifles simply wouldn’t understand.”

One of her perfectly manicured eyebrows arched at his sarcastic reply, but she didn’t take the bait, just chuckled softly.

“Oh Raphael…”

“Tell me, do those at Zariel’s court have so little to occupy themselves with they send her right hand to collect a mortal? Because I can think of all manner of tasks that need to be done for devilkind’s triumph over the Blood War. All manner!”

He spat bitterly, and with such force it caused a curl to fall out of place. Enver brushed it back quickly. The human was glad he smoothed his hair out, the devil looked much more presentable than he would have if she came in immediately post coitus.

“Mmm, how lucky we are you aren’t the one to delegate those tasks then.”

She straightened up, hand on her hip.

“Your duty is to follow the Lord of the First and all of her orders.”

Mizora replied, the joy leaving her voice, and a line of tedium entering it. Enver could feel a dull buzz of excitement as Raphael shot a fireball at the Archivist, very purposefully getting it as close to the female cambion as possible. She giggled as it made contact with the man, and he yelped in pain. His sunset colored eyes burned with fury, and a clawed finger painted to the barrier.

“Get her out of my chamber worm, now!”

The Archivist, still smoldering, scrambled to obey, bowing deeply and muttering “Yes master. Sorry master.” over and over. Mizora was unfazed, giving Enver one last sultry glance as she turned on her heel.

“I’ll be waiting in the hall, puppy.”

Mizora purred, sauntering out. The Archivist was on her heels, obviously not wanting to be left alone with an annoyed Raphael. The devil’s tail was thrashing as he muttered under his breath. Enver couldn’t help but watch her retreat, the way the fabric of her dress clung in all the right places, the way her tail seemed to move in time with the twitch of her hips-until Raphael’s clawed hand suddenly clamped around his jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. Enver should’ve known better, his attention should always be on Raphael. He tried to hiss out apologies, but the devil’s grip tightened, causing Enver to bite his own tongue. He could taste the blood in his mouth, and a shot of pain, before healing from being in the restoration bath. He fixed his eyes to be wide, and apologetic.

“Haven’t you ever heard that wandering eyes get plucked out, little devilkin?”

It was a far-cry from Raphael’s reaction Enver had shown an interest in Hope, but that was years ago now, and perhaps Hope being under his control changed his feelings on it. It was unfair no matter what the devil’s reasoning was. Raphael could leer at whoever he fancied, pursue whoever he pleased, but Enver knew better than to say anything. Fear was added to his expression and the devil smirked seeing the change, patting his cheek patronizingly, before releasing him. The cambion rose from the bath with that, water sluicing off his sculpted form as he stepped onto the stone. His hand went to his hip, his clothes shifting on as he continued to rant.

“The utter indignity of it all.”

He stooped over and tugged the young man out of the bath with a roughness that made Enver slightly afraid his arm would be dislocated. Raphael made a towel appear with a flick of his wrist and toweled him off like one might care for a stray dog, rough and fast. Enver scowled slightly at the dull burning the rubbing caused, and the tingle of his arm from where it was pulled.

“To be summoned like an errand boy, by a common cambion no less. Me! The rightful ruler of the first layer! Zariel should be groveling at my feet, not giving me orders.

He smoothed out Enver’s hair, poofing clothes that actually weren’t sheer robes or see-through tops. The mortal grabbed at them greedily.

“And that mongrel of a woman!”

He snarled out her name.

“Mizora. As if that worthless piece of flesh has any right to waltz in here, judge my home, my tastes-“

Enver couldn’t help himself.

“What do you think Archdevil Zariel wants me for?”

Raphael paused, his grip tightening on Enver’s wrist, his golden eyes flashing maliciously, though his tone was sweet, bemused.

“Oh, my sweet, deluded little boy.”

He purred, leaning in until his breath ghosted over Enver’s lips.

“Zariel doesn’t want you. She wants to pawn you off to her forgemaster, Carixim. He consumes souls like a child consumes pieces of candy. The bastard is in need of a mortal plaything, perhaps."

He pulled back suddenly, shrugging with feigned nonchalance.

“Or perhaps she does want you. Zariel always needs more lab rats. Oh, she’ll peel you apart just to see what makes you squirm. She does so love her experiments."

Enver held his gaze, and offered the soft smile Raphael had asked for earlier. The devil huffed, dressing him quickly. Enver kept smiling. He was well aware the words were meant to frighten him, but he knew this man, and knew him well. He could hear Raphael’s insecurity, his deep displeasure. Zariel had summoned Gortash. Not Raphael. Gortash. And both of them were unsure of what that meant. He leaned in and kissed the devil’s cheek.

“No need to be nervous.”

He said, in a teasing lilt so like Raphael’s own. That earned him a slap.

“You should be nervous boy! I house you, keep you safe, fed and healthy, only expecting your devotion in return. These devils will chew you up and spit you out. In your education you’ve encountered the barbarous creatures of the Hells— I am not one of them. What am I? Benevolent, civilized, and fatherly. These devils will eat you alive!”

He spat, before releasing him with a dismissive flick of the wrist.

“But by all means….let’s not keep you waiting. Ao forbid you’re late for the dinner party where you’re on the menu!”

He said with a sneer. Enver smoothed out his outfit. A simple black tunic, long pants, and a coat that swallowed his too thin frame. Obviously Raphael didn’t want to draw attention to his figure for once, and the clothes were quite plain. It felt so nice to be in real clothes. Besides his collar, he almost looked normal. But Enver didn’t have time to admire himself, as Raphael made the leash appear, hooking it and pulling him along. So much for normal looking. His face burned, but he followed close behind, not wanting to be choked by the collar eating into his neck.

As they came through the barrier The Archivist was conspicuously absent, likely still nursing his burns. Mizora was indeed waiting in the hall though, hands behind her back, and tilted up, looking at one of the many portraits of Raphael with a bemused expression.

“Doesn’t really capture your essence very well, you’re more writer than warlord.~”

Raphael’s stormy expression became stormier.

“I’m both.”

He said icily, pulling Enver closer.

“Mmm, and yet you lag compared to your fellow pit—I mean, generals. Without Bitter Breath to comfortably take last place…Well, the difference between you and Bel is stark-“

“Mind your manners Mizora, lest I be forced to educate you.”

Her laughter rang out, sharp and tinkling, before immediately ending,

“Big talk, but you already disappoint my lady plenty, no need to disappoint me as well.”

Her gaze slipped to Enver for a heartbeat too long.

“Well. My mistress has waited far too long as is. Shall we?”

The female cambion didn’t wait for a response. With a flick of her clawed fingers, the air around them twisted violently, warping space itself in a way that mirrored the disorienting teleportation Enver had endured when Raphael had taken him to Zariel’s fortress before. Enver wondered why Raphael had a gifted portal to Mephistar but not to Zariel’s Flying Fortress, but he was too busy grabbing at Raphael’s arm to really consider the question. The sudden lurch of the teleportation was quite disorienting, but familiar. As the world rematerialized around them, the thick, sulfurous stench of the castle flooded his senses, and Enver doubled over, coughing violently. Raphael and Mizora, to his shame, didn’t seem affected by the teleport or the stifling air either. Raphael very purposely shook him off, a sneer of disgust on his face.

The two cambions moved with purpose, not giving Enver much time to examine the strange creatures in the cavernous space, but it was just as crowded and chaotic as it was on his previous visit. However, this time, instead of being dragged down winding side passages, through a maze of labyrinthian corridors that twisted like the bowels of some great beast, they marched straight toward the fortress’s heart.

At the far end of the monstrous chamber stood a pair of towering iron doors, as plain and as militaristic as the rest of the fortress. The doors easily dwarfed the three of them, and Enver’s felt tinier than ever beneath their shadow. He must have made a face, because both cambions were smirking down at him.

“Nervous, pup?”

“Enough Mizora, I’m sure you know better than to act a fool in your mistresses presence. He’s fine.”

Enver was surprised his master interfered on someone mocking him, but then “dinnertime~” was whispered into the shell of his ear, so it really was a wash.

Mizora limply waggled her wrist, and barked “Open!”, in sharp infernal. Then, a deep resounding groan as the doors yawned open, revealing a throne room as barren and utilitarian as the rest of the castle.

It was empty beside a large throne of steel. The silent narzugon he’d met at the previous meeting, Duke Haruman, stood silent and statuesque on her right side. On her left a mad looking she-devil with a garrote clutched in her twitching claws. In the middle was the Archdevil, as large and as monstrous as Enver remembered. There was no one else in the room. Their eyes met the Archdevils and Zariel seemed to dismiss the off-putting woman, who licked her lips as she passed the trio.

“Florenta.”

Mizora muttered.

“Mizoraaaaa~”

The horned devil sing-songed back, her twin tails whipping. Noticing Raphael she gave a small twitchy nod of deference, and Mizora left their side, taking her spot beside her mistress. Her entire body language and tone changed as she poofed out a scroll, folding in on herself almost as she spoke.

“My lady, I’ve retrieved Lord Raphael and his….and Enver Gortash.”

“I have eyes Mizora.”

The bald woman on the throne replied humorlessly. She beared down at the two men standing alone in the center of the cavernous room, and Enver felt Raphael’s grip on the leash tighten imperceptibly, but his expression smoothed into one of practiced deference. Enver tried to meet her gaze, but the devil wasn’t looking at him, hyper-focused on his cambion master, and looking rather disgusted with him. Before Zariel could even speak, he swept into a deep, theatrical bow, and pulled Enver down with a yank as well.

“My most radiant mistress!”

He began, voice lacquered with honeyed reverence.

“One thousand apologies for the delay. The waves of the Blood War have been unrelenting, and I’ve been inundated with securing souls for your glorious cause in keeping those abyssal monstrosities at bay. A summons from you is never forgotten, only… temporarily deferred by necessity.”

It was dramatic, even for Raphael, and Enver fought the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed the Archdevil felt the same, as Zariel’s fingers drummed once against the arm of her throne for a moment. Then her maced hand came down with a resounding bang, metal hitting metal.

“If your duties are too much for you to remember a simple summons.”

She said, her voice venomous and hateful.

“Then perhaps we should consider following the same course of action as with Bitter Breath."

Enver wondered why none of them would say the disgraced devil’s old name-What had it been again? The human looked down at the floor, suddenly disturbed and confused he could not remember. Enver had a photographic memory, he should remember. The cambion beside him’s tail lashed once, spanking Enver before stilling. His ass burned where the lash hit him, but he didn’t move. Instead the human’s eyes shot back to his master, worried his was angry at him. Raphael however hadn’t done it purposely it seemed, his golden eyes trained on Archdevil Zariel, and flickering with fear. Enver’s stomach twisted, feeling the same fear as his master. The last time he’d stood before Zariel, she had looked at him, done more than that. She’d invaded his mind, studied his memories, her burning gaze peeling back layers of his soul to see what writhed beneath. He’d felt her there, it had been so painful, there was no mistake it had happened. And yet…now she didn’t spare him so much as a glance.

“My beloved lady, I assure you—"

“Enough."

Zariel cut him off with a flick of her wrist, no emotion in her voice.

“Take the mortal to see the forgemaster. Now."

Raphael’s jaw clenched, but he bowed again, lower this time.

“As you command, my lord.”

“Dismissed.”

Zariel waved Mizora over, and they disappeared down a side door. Raphael straightened, his face a mask of composure, but Enver could feel the tension thrumming through the leash, the way his body language was far too tense as he steered him toward the doors.

“Come along, boy.”

He muttered, voice low and bitter.

“Let’s not keep the forgemaster waiting."

They were once again in the winding, endless halls. But Enver recognized some of the spaces they passed. A dent in one of the iron walls, scrape marks on the floor. They passed by a patch of singe marks, from where Raphael immolated those merregons. The two men walked further and deeper than when they went into the war room, the tiny window slats on the walls disappearing as they entered the bowels of the fortress. The heat and stench was becoming unbearable, and even Raphael seemed to notice. Tiny beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, Enver on the other hand, was sweating everywhere, the coat he’d once been excited to see doing him no favors. After what felt like hours of walking there was beside another massive door. Raphael huffed with disgust, poofing two handkerchiefs. Enver reached for one, but Raphael slapped his hand away, dabbing his forehead primly before it disappeared. The second he put over his nose, his entire expression scrunching into disgust.

Even with the door sealed, Enver could smell…something rotten on the other side.

“Go on. Say “open” in Infernal. It’ll listen to you. I’d rather not do it, it’s wretched.”

Raphael instructed, his voice muffled by the handkerchief and very purposely stepping away from the door. Enver wondered what would make a devil who left a shit bucket in the hall’s stomach turn. But when he spoke the word, he got his answer. He doubled over, and fought back the impulse to vomit. It was a battle, hands on his knees as the smell hit him. A bit of bile did come up, but he managed to force most of it back down, the heaving and acrid taste going back down and causing tears to well. He rapidly wiped his face of the lone dribble, and looked up.

Rotten blackened corpses lay dead in piles, piles that went up to the ceiling. Some with chunks bitten out of them, and many festering and rotting. Maggots and fat flies were climbing up and down their broken forms without a care. Blood pooled on the darkened metal floor, and the scent of the sticky blood intermixed with the fiery smell of the forge. It was a vile combination. The environment was far too hot and humid, the lava from the forge mixing and creating an unbearably warm space. A sauna of rot and death, but once Enver wiped his face with his coat sleeve, his eyes fixed on the other things within the forge.

Weapons. Half-formed war machines. Strange vehicles. Great, groaning contraptions of blackened iron, pistons hissing like serpents as they pumped molten metal through twisting channels. Anvils the size of wagons stood scattered throughout the chamber, their surfaces pitted and scarred from centuries of brutal use. Chains hung from the ceiling, some holding half-forged armors, others dangling empty, their hooks glinting with dried blood. Enver’s eyes brightened with excitement. He stepped forward slightly, and he heard laughter, deep and rumbling.

How had he missed him? Well, to be fair, the monstrosity in the middle of the room looked like another pile of bodies, shapeless, covered in soot, blood and dirt. So it was hard to discern there was a…something beneath all the grime.

Like Archdevil Zariel, this thing didn’t look like any devils Enver had seen before. It let out another hard, belly-shaking laugh, which caused the soot and dust particles to agitate and swirl around them. He felt Raphael’s nose and handkerchief against his head, using his hair as further protection from the stink. Enver didn’t blame him, his hand reaching back to grasp at the devil’s clawed one, a comfort. He didn’t pull his hand away.

This…being was not a devil, not truly. He was a grotesque amalgamation of flesh, his large body huge and doughy, with little neck attaching his head and torso. His mouth was a nightmare of too many teeth, rows upon rows of jagged, shark-like fangs that pointed in mismatched directions. Worse still were the faces. Dozens of them, impressions of them pressed against the swollen flesh of his stomach, their mouths stretched in silent screams, their eyes wide and wild, as if trying to escape the prison of his flesh. His arms were massive, corded with muscle and stitched with blackened veins, ending in hands so large they could crush a mortal’s skull like a quail egg. He clutched a massive well-worn hammer in one of them.

Part of the reason Enver hadn’t noticed him is he wasn’t standing. But he wasn’t sitting either. His legs—Gods, his legs—he had none.

Well, only ragged stumps remained, the flesh blackened and festering, oozing thick, yellowish pus onto the floor. The stench was unbearable, a miasma of rot and infected flesh that clawed at Enver’s throat. Yet despite the ruin of his lower half, Carixim moved with terrifying purpose, dragging himself forward on his massive arms with a quickness belying his disability, his stumps leaving smears of decay in his wake.

The laugh-wheezes ended, and bright aqua blue eyes bore down at the two. Analyzing and intelligent. His voice was surprisingly sharp as he suddenly began to speak.

“Lord Raphael."

The beast said coldly. He did not make the small movement of deference most devils did upon seeing the cambion.

“Forgemaster Carixim.”

Raphael said, in a mirrored tone. It seemed his father and the forgemaster did not particularly like one another. From what Enver was learning, most creatures in Avernus did not like each other. Then again, his father was difficult to like, and may have been a special case. The forgemaster’s toothy maw split into something that might have been a grin upon seeing the mortal, dwarfed beside Raphael’s cambion form. As he spoke, his breath washed over them, and it was rancid. Raphael very purposely stepped back.

“And you must be the young master I’ve been calling for….what is your name young man?”

Enver’s ears perked up. No one ever showed him any respect. He was pet, toy, boy, pup, mouse, devilkin and doll, amongst other things. He was barely even Enver. So being called master….it appealed to him. Very much so. He stepped forward, out of his master’s grip, looking up at the monstrous beast.

“I’m Enver Gortash.”

Closer to the giant creature, Enver could hear the muffled moans and wails coming from his stomach. Somehow, the souls within him were conscious, and they were suffering. He blinked, fixing his face back towards Carixim’s. It wasn’t polite to stare at his stuffed stomach, he assumed. His face, minus the horrific teeth, was strangely humanoid. The searching of his features earned a rumbling chuckle from the forgemaster.

“Young master Gortash. You seem…less troubled with the fates of your kin than most.”

“They’re not my kin. I didn’t even know those people.”

Enver said, and he meant it. Carixim let out another pleased chuckle. The human didn’t really understand what was funny.

“You are not afraid of me? Humans, in particular, are my favorite meal.”

“If you’ve summoned me just to eat me, I’d imagine Lady Zariel and my master would both be rather displeased.”

He replied quickly. The creature’s chuckle became a laugh.

“Clever.”

Enver stood up straighter.

“Our glorious leader commanded I bring him to you, she believes him to be displaying the abilities of an artificer. I assure you, the boy has no magical aptitudes at all. He’s been in my care for years, and his only skill is lying on his back.”

Raphael butted in, but Enver could tell he was very on edge. The human looked back towards him, catching him tightening his grip on the leash. Enver quickly returned to his side. He didn’t want to attract his ire.

Carixim’s icy blue eyes flicked back to Raphael. His jovial face fell.

“And so you have. I have no love for the bitchangel, but a broken clock is right twice a day.”

Enver’s eyes widened at the language. Everyone, including his master, spoke reverently of Zariel. At least in public. Though it was obvious almost everyone loathed her, no one outright said so. The way this thing spoke openly of its distaste was shocking. The aberration put out one of his massive, meaty hands

“Come closer. Let me inspect you.”

Enver felt the leash poof away.

“Go. The sooner you do this the sooner he can see she was mistaken.”

The cambion hissed into his ear, shoving him forward. Enver again felt his tone told a different story than the words coming out of his mouth. Once he was on the creature’s massive hand he was lifted and whooshed away from the entrance at rapid speeds. He clung to a massive finger, so as not to fall. Carixim dragged them both over to a massive workbench Enver could easily stand on, chunks of metal and other odds and ends scattered on it. There were a couple of corpses as well. The forgemaster brought his hand to the desk surface, and Enver scrambled off, slightly dizzy. He forced himself to still, focusing on a bloodstain on the desk, so the spinning would subside. He tilted his head and saw Raphael now standing a ways away, arms crossed. He looked tiny from here. He offered a wave, knowing it would bother the cambion. Raphael rolled his eyes.

The forgemaster wasted no time, dropping a lump of infernal metal next to Enver. The table shook with the weight of it crashing into the metal. It was a small piece to the creature, but to Enver it was huge, he had to squat to try and enchant it, no way he could lift the raw piece of infernal iron.

“Imbue it with magic. Any kind. We will focus on types later.”

Carixim said gruffly. Enver’s eyes knitted together in concentration as he put his hands to the metal. It was warm, and buzzed beneath his fingers….he pulled a simple one from his mind, infusing the metal with a sound. He thought of the waves of the Chionthar, and pressed hard. Nothing happened. It had been a long time since he was allowed to tinker at his desk in the Archives.

“Mmmm.”

Carixim rumbled.

“I told you. He has no magical aptitude.”

Raphael insisted, throwing his voice to make it carry so that the men heard him loud and clear. His stage voice. Enver felt his face burn. Angrily, he pressed his hands to the metal, and he felt magic pulse from his hands.

The metal crackled and burned, the sounds of the lake of fire beneath the House of Hope being imitated. For a moment there was silence. Then the forgemaster broke into laughter, petting the humans head. His massive hand pressed the boy down slightly, but just that caused him to stumble forward.

“You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

Raphael appeared next to them. He yanked Enver off the table. Enver tried to tug away, which led to him stumbling forward, and scraping his knee on the metal on his way down. He hissed as he felt blood drip down his pant leg.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful. You’ve seen what you needed to see.”

Raphael said, rage simmering right beneath the surface. Enver stopped fighting him, he didn’t want the devil to explode.

“Yes…”

The forgemaster said, the word thick with amusement.

“In a sense. But I’ll need him often now. Training a Hellsmith takes work."

His massive hand gestured dismissively toward Raphael.

“You should leave him here in the fortress. I’m sure Lathander’s witch can compensate you with another mortal.

Enver’s stomach twisted. Would he be bought and sold yet again? The idea of staying here, surrounded by death, at the mercy of this monstrous aberration made him slightly nervous, but beneath that, something else flickered: a great excitement. The forge was a place of creation, a place where he could actually learn. And Carixim seemed to like him. The forgemaster had called him exactly what he’d been looking for. Maybe it would be good! Yet the thought of being separated from Raphael; his captor, his tormentor, and his only constant in this hellish existence made his chest tighten with something uncomfortably close to anxiety. And that made him feel ashamed. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his coat. The devil put his hands back to his sides, smoothing them out so he wasn’t displaying the nervous behavior, all while muttering under his own breath. Finally Raphael spoke.

“I do not want another mortal. I bought this one, and he is mine. I have a contract that shows proof of sale.”

Raphael said simply, voice dripping with petulance.

“Sure, and no one is denying your claim to him. Of course, Zariel wants him to apprentice with me, which will take time. I was just looking for solutions. For such a busy man, the back and forth will be annoying.””

"I don’t care.”

Raphael hissed, yanking Enver closer.

“She will have to provide someone to ferry him back and forth. He is mine, and in truth he belongs at our home.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent an odd warmth through Enver, followed immediately by a wave of embarrassment and self-hatred. He wanted to be free. He hated the House of Hope, hated the collar, hated the leash. And yet the thought of being left here…he glanced down at a body disemboweled on the desk, their organs strewn about like confetti. He didn’t know what he wanted. The two outer plane beings continued bickering about terms. About him. It gave him flashbacks to when his parents sold him. Though they’d agreed to just about everything Raphael had said. Raphael was much more argumentative. Raphael wanted him. The bile he’d fought down was coming back up, perhaps the alcohol and drugs hadn’t made its way through his system yet.

He should say something. Demand his own terms. But he just leaned into his master’s arms. Raphael didn’t shove him away.

“See, he is used to me, separating Enver from me would make him skittish! Humans backslide without routine, you know.”

They spoke of him like a dog. It made him so ill. But he didn’t move.

Carixim rolled his eyes.

“Fine. You win, half-breed. We’ll find someone to escort him back and forth."

Raphael’s tail lashed once at the term half-breed, striking Enver’s thigh hard enough to leave a welt. Then, without another word, the cambion turned on his heel, dragging Enver behind him.

The walk back through the fortress was silent, tense. Raphael’s grip never loosened, his claws digging crescents into Enver’s skin. Only when they were far from the forge, standing in one of the winding, empty halls, did Raphael finally stop. He looked around, before herding the boy into an empty room. He grabbed his jaw, cupping it and bringing them nose to nose.

“You need to listen to me, now.”

Raphael hissed, voice it’s typical mix of venomous and spiteful, but also quite urgent.

“That revolting beast will devour you the moment I turn my back. Or worse, will break your spine trying to use you as a fleshlight.”

His claws dug in deeper, drawing pinpricks of blood from Enver’s pale skin, squishing his mouth into a fish face. Enver just blinked, unable to speak.

“You think I’m cruel?”

Raphael continued, their noses now pressing hard against each other. The unevenness of his breathing made Enver nervous. Would he transform? Violate him like he had that one night? He had no restoration pool. He’d surely die.

“You have no idea what that…monstrosity will do to you. I’ve kept you whole. Sane. Well-kept.”

There was a franticness in his voice. But Enver wondered if it was performative. He was certainly using his stage whisper. Raphael noticed he’d made the young man bleed, and roughly wiped the blood from his jaw and cheeks with his thumb. Then he went over it, softer. It felt unnatural.

“I’ve been too hard on you.”

He murmured, his eyes searching Enver’s. Looking for something. His pupils were unnaturally big, eating the yellow. Like that night. Enver kept his expression carefully blank.

“Trying to make you something you’re not.”

The self-awareness of this statement did make Enver’s eyes snap to his masters. Raphael’s lips curled into a cheshire cat grin, his body language easing.

“I know, I know.”

He cooed, clutching the human like a doll.

“You want power, don’t you little devilkin?”

Enver knew better than to deny reality. He gave a small shrug, but they both knew the answer.

“Oh, my darling, my sweet little mouse~”

He crooned, his voice lilting with calculated charm.

“You’ve always hungered for it, haven’t you? It gnaws at your bones when you lie awake at night. Power. Real power. Not just scraps of knowledge from old books, not just little trinkets inundated with this and that. Power like mine.”

He kissed the side of his mouth, smiling madly.

“I can give you that power. All you need to do is sign a little contract. A trifle really, it’s so simple. Just your soul, and you can have the power, and the freedom. Everything your darling heart desires.”

Enver’s pulse roared in his ears. He wanted power, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t sell his soul for it. And what was the point of having power if it meant truly collaring himself to Raphael? His collar burned around his neck. It would be strangling him from within too. Both his body and soul, collared.

But saying no?

The devil would snap. He kept his face buried in the devils shirt, working himself up. He only pulled away when tears were running down his face. Raphael looked surprised, then annoyed, realizing his doublet was wet. But instead of his normal violence, he stayed his hand. Enver could abuse this, or at least, drag it out. He broke into full sobs, burying his face back into the devils.

“They’re going to eat me!”

Enver wailed, high and dramatic.

“Stop that.”

Raphael muttered, sounding mildly uncomfortable. He patted Enver’s back stiffly like one might soothe a spooked horse.

“You’re being ridiculous. If you do as I say, and sign my contract, no one’s going to eat you.”

Enver shuddered, pressing his face harder into Raphael’s chest, letting his tears soak the fine fabric. He made a show of gulping air, of trembling. Pictures of previous breakdowns, real ones from when he was younger, flashing in his mind.

Raphael exhaled sharply through his nose, tail flicking with agitation.

“Gods, you’re pathetic.”

But his voice lacked its usual venom. Instead, there was frustration, and a deep discomfort there. As if he didn’t know what to do with a creature that crumpled instead of fought back. He’d long suspected fighting him was part of Raphael’s enjoyment of his favorite mortals. He bit his bottom lip, to keep himself from smiling.

Enver peeked up through his wet lashes, stumbling as the devil shoved him back, smoothing out his shirt and muttering disgustedly.

He let out another choked sob, sinking to the ground, head in hands.

“I don’t wanna die.”

He whispered, voice raw and nearing hysterics.

Raphael grabbed his arm, teleporting him in a huff.

“You won’t die if you obey me. I won’t allow it.”

A laughable claim, given how often Raphael himself had nearly killed him. But Enver didn’t point that out. He just nodded weakly, sniffling. The minute they were back in their bedchamber Enver rushed towards the bed, renewing his crying, louder and more inconsolable. He peeked through his long dark hair, and saw Raphael, standing there with his arms crossed.

“Enough with the histrionics!”

The devil grumbled, but his voice lacked its usual bite. His claws flexed at his sides, as if unsure whether to strike or soothe. He walked over.

Enver curled tighter into himself, letting out another choked sob for good measure. He felt the mattress dip slightly as Raphael leaned over him, and Enver pulled at him.

“Kiss me?”

He pleaded, his dark eyes wide and needy. Raphael seemed more at ease with this form of comfort, relief cutting through his awkward expression. Raphael's eyes darkened as he loomed closer, his tail twitching.

“You'd like that wouldn't you, little whore?”

He said, his voice husky, as his fingers traced the curve of Enver's face, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“Using your body as a distraction. Naughty thing.”

Enver was called out, but he only whimpered, pressing into the touch, his breath catching as he felt the sharp edge of Raphael's claw graze his skin.

"Please, I need you…”

He murmured, his hands sliding up the devil's chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath.
Raphael chuckled, his other hand tangling in Enver's hair as he brought their faces closer together for another searing kiss. Raphael's lips crashed against Enver's, the devil's mouth hot and hungry. He pushed Enver back onto the bed, his much larger body covering him as he deepened the kiss. His forked tongue traced the seam of Enver's lips before delving inside, exploring every inch of his mouth. His hands roamed across Enver's body, tearing his clothes to shreds, as if desperate to feel every curve and dip of his flesh.

Enver moaned into the kiss, his hands fisting in Raphael's hair as he arched up into the contact. He smiled wickedly up at the devil, who was busy shoving his knees into his chest. Raphael seemed sufficiently distracted, shifting out of his clothes. His tail coiled possessively around one ankle, using it to spread the human wider. Enver saw where things were going. He sat up half-way, spitting and trying to rush to prep himself, but Raphael slapped his hand away from his entrance. At least he was wet. He lay back on the pillow, tugging at himself lazily.

Raphael's eyes blazed with an intense, possessive fire as he positioned himself. He thrust deep with no warning (There never really was one.), stretching Enver wide in one swift motion. He set a punishing pace, using Enver's body for his own pleasure with no regard for the human's comfort, but Enver made sure to moan, cry. It wasn’t very hard, given the circumstances. He clawed circles on the devil’s back, feeling the raised scapula that sprouted out into the wings. His mind wandered.

He’d gotten out of signing the contract for now, but Raphael certainly wouldn’t let it go. This apprenticeship was the first taste of real independence he’d had since being bought by Raphael, and Raphael was more fixated on him than ever. And Gortash didn’t want to end up enslaved to anyone in Zariel’s court either. He’d really have to play his cards right to walk the line. But he had a real opportunity for the first time in a long-time.

He cried out genuinely, Raphael hitting his prostate once and snapping him back to the physical act. For a few glorious moments the sensations of his cock and prostate were being pleasured at the same time, and his toes curled. Just as Enver felt himself getting close, Raphael adjusted to somehow miss it again. Enver huffed, pulling on his cock harder. Luckily sweat was falling onto his forehead, Raphael’s pace was erratic, and his eyes were glazed over; all tell tale signs Raphael would be finishing quickly.

Raphael threw his head back with a shrill cry as he climaxed, his hips stuttering against Enver's as he spilled inside him. The human let out a shaky moan of his own, his own orgasm crashing over him as he stroked himself to completion. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs, panting harshly. Enver curled into a ball, hiding his face in a pillow, and making small, miserable sounds, like he was still crying. After a few moments he got an awkward leg pat, and Raphael rolled over, obviously not wanting to hear any more of his sniveling. The devil fell asleep quickly.

Silence.

Enver waited a full hour before uncurling from his faux-distress. He quietly dipped himself in the restoration waters, before wrapping a towel, soft, expensive, and scented with Raphael's signature house scent around himself. His face was back to blank, with no eyes on it to perform for.

The human then went over to his bags on the outcropping, and pulled out the remains of his gauntlets. Carixim’s words curled through his mind like smoke, intoxicating. The aberration had seen something in him, something Raphael tried to smother under silk and submission. The forgemaster's face flashed in his mind’s eye, those bright blue eyes sharp with intelligence.

“You're exactly what I've been looking for."

Enver's lips twitched.

He held few illusions about Carixim's true nature; the beast would chew him up if given half a chance. But unlike Raphael, the forgemaster didn't want him soft. He wanted him sharpened.

And wasn't that a novel thought?

He examined them carefully. They were fixable. He’d start repairing them, or turn them into something even more useful.

He was an artificer after all.

A Hellsmith.

Chapter Text

Enver could not get the dwarf to speak to him, as they made their way down the winding halls that were quickly becoming familiar to him. She had an impassive expression on her face, her little legs pumping with purpose.

Korilla. 

It was strange, when Enver had first entered the house he had been free to be used by anyone. And he’d been used. By almost everyone (Interestingly it took Raphael years to fuck him.). The woman had…hurt him here and there, mostly to get her anger out, not sexually like other members of the house. Though sometimes, the anger had involved hurting him in sexual ways, like sticking things inside of him. He could look back objectively now, and see it was out of frustration, rather than attraction. She preferred tormenting her sister Hope though. That didn’t mean he didn’t hate the dwarf for what she did. He hated everyone in that damned house. Well. More or less.

Enver had seen less and less of Korrilla as he’d gained more and more favor with their master. Of course, they had very different positions. She was his best warlock, he was his best…pet? He hated that term, but it was appropriate, collar burning around his neck. Partners certainly wasn’t the term. Partner connoted equals. Enver wondered if there was a world they could be equals, or he could surpass Raphael, his mind flashing to the mortal woman in the war room, as it often did. Raphael would never allow it, but that’s why this avenue was so important, Carixim could be a path towards having his own power.

“Keep up…”

The dwarf woman drawled, irritation creeping into her bored tone. Enver’s lip twitched. He hated taking orders from others in the house. The mortal slowed, he wasn’t going to just listen to her. She rolled her eyes, and a bolt shot out of her quarterstaff, but he easily got out of the way. He was agile, but he wasn’t sure she really wanted to hit him. Zariel had sent a list of her underlings who could come and get Gortash for his lessons, but Raphael had refused them all, saying he trusted none of them. Then Zariel had said her assistant Mizora would come get Gortash herself for lessons but Raphael had again said no, after the entire rigmarole he’d said he’d send his own warlock, saying no one offered up had been sufficient. Much to Gortash’s dismay. He wouldn’t have minded one on one time with Mizora. Yes, it seemed every fiend objectified him, but she was hot. So, he didn’t mind as much.

The whole situation had taken two months. Another delay Raphael had obviously very purposely orchestrated. It had killed Enver but at least he was finally starting to go, and he was expected now, scheduled to work with the forgemaster three times a week. It was exciting. However that meant Korrilla was expected to take him to and from the House of Hope, and she seemed less than pleased, the way she was grumbling under her breath about babysitting, and Raphael’s whims. 

They made it to the entrance, Korrilla barking in infernal and the door opening to them. Like the last time, the smell hit them like a wave, but Enver didn’t allow it to deter him. 

“Welcome back, young master Gortash.”  

The forgemaster’s voice was warm, almost jovial, despite the grotesque surroundings. Enver straightened, his dark eyes flickering with excitement as he took in the forge once more; the half-finished weapons, the groaning machinery, the scent of molten metal and charred flesh. It’s vile, but it’s also very much alive. It was a place of creation, just as much as it was one of destruction.  

“Is your…escort staying?”

“I have to. Believe me. It’s not of my own choosing.” 

Korrilla muttered, slinking to a far wall and crossing her arms with a scowl. She pulled some herbs out of her pack, likely for making potions, and pressed them to her nose. Enver sort of wished he could do the same, foul smells assaulting his nose, though he made sure it didn’t show on his face.

“Testy little mortal. Raphael certainly has a type within his inner circle, doesn’t he?”

Carixim chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling.

“So do you apparently. All of these devils in the fortress and you needed a mortal?”

She shot back pointedly. 

“I need an apprentice to collect rare materials once trained. I cannot leave this room, a spell binds me to it, not to mention—“

He gestured to his mutilated lower half.

“A devil won’t suffice, as they’re materials I need unique to the prime material realm that will greatly improve our weapons, armor and war machines. Like bark from the Susser tree.”

Despite his measured response, Korrilla seemed unmoved. She conjured a mage hand to keep her pseudo smelling salts close to her face, folding her arms. 

“A cambion wouldn’t suffice? They can traverse the material freely.” 

“Not if I wanted to keep my sanity. Those creatures are born broken. As I’m sure you know.”

Korrilla shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. She was visibly disgusted with the creature.

“There’s no shame in it! As a half-breed myself I know what it is to be born conflicted. Mortals are much more decisive, ambitious, and sure-footed. I envy them.”

With that his attention turned back to Enver, who was shocked at the description. He’d never heard anyone speak about mortals over devils. Sure the devils dismissed and disparaged each other all day long, they literally had a ranking system. But mortals were always below even the most pathetic devil. And the term “half-breed”. Was Carixim a cambion? He surely didn’t look like one. Also, he ate mortals. How could one envy their prey?

Enver didn’t have time to ponder all the questions that whirled through the maelstrom that was his mind. Carixim was looking down at him expectantly. He put his massive hand out and again, they made their way to the far side of the room, now a ways away from Korrilla. Enver kept stealing glances at the forgemaster’s face, as he moved them with a speed that completely belied his disability. He placed the human on his workbench, cleared of corpses this time, though still stained with old blood. There was also a human sized hammer, anvil, tongs, amongst other small objects. Notably, a small notebook to write in. Carixim tapped that one expectantly. 

“First lesson: infernal alloys. You won’t be crafting anything worthwhile until you understand the unique properties that come with the metals of the Hells…”

Enver listened carefully, scribbling notes furiously, his fingers smudged with soot as he recorded every detail about the strange, humming metals Carixim presented. He couldn’t believe there was a time he’d been sick of school. But perhaps it was just so exciting simply because it had been so many years without stimulation of this sort. The forgemaster's voice was surprisingly articulate for a creature of his grotesque appearance, his explanations precise and methodical. Right now there was no magic, just explanations, and working with his hands. Enver had missed it, and going from notes to metals to tools, and back and forth again was easy for him. He was like a fish to water.

But as the hours passed Enver couldn't help but be distracted by the enigma of Carixim himself, watching as he heated, hammered, and shaped a piece of metal into armor far too large for Enver.

The forgemaster’s face was unsettlingly humanoid, and it wasn’t just his intelligent eyes. He had messy curly dark hair, with broad, strong features, a defined jawline, a beard that was long, but obviously trimmed. He even had the faintest hint of laugh lines. He had no horns, no wings, no tail. If not for the rows of jagged, shark-like teeth and the bizarre body, he might have passed for something from the material. 

Suddenly Carixim’s gaze was hyper-focused on Enver.

“Let’s get the question out of the way. I am a titan. An empyrean titan to be precise.”

Enver knew of empyreans. He’d read about them when he was a young teen in the house, trying to find Gods to reach out to. Empyreans were the children of deities from the Upper Planes, specifically from the unions of the giant races and Gods. They were, almost always, good and holy creatures. What on Toril was one doing here? He’d obviously been warped and corrupted in some way, that much was obvious.

“The bitch is why I’m here.”

He said simply, gesturing to his leg stumps. Carixim cleared his throat, looking down at the little mortal.

“She did this lovely number on me. Locked me in this room. I’ve been here for just over a century.”

Enver was surprised. A century or so was not long for an Archdevil to rule. Perhaps that’s why her underlings were so chaotic, they didn’t respect her short rule. And it hadn’t been continuous, he remembered Raphael saying she briefly lost control of Avernus during her reign, only to regain control again. Raphael did not respect her. Certainly Carixim didn’t. If Gortash was in charge, and he found out someone was speaking about him the way the forgemaster was about Zariel, he’d take more than his legs. Vocal cords would have to be removed, and that was if Enver was feeling generous enough to let them live.

“You were one of the celestials that came down with her during her siege of Avernus?”

Enver asked, though he already knew the answer, with Carixim being from the upper planes, and his blatant hatred of her, there was only one answer.

“Yes.”

The forgemaster confirmed.

“I craved a way to prove myself to my father Lathander, curse his name. She convinced me if I came down my father would finally see me, I would be set apart from his thousands of other children. Exalted.”

“Curse his name.”

The mortal parroted. That God in particular hadn’t answered thousands of prayers Enver had devotedly offered up while imprisoned in the Hells. He also knew it would please Carixim to hear it, but it was interesting. Gortash knew Zariel was once an angel of Lathander’s, but he hadn’t known any of the other upper planes beings had survived. Then again it wasn’t like devils really discussed the fall, and the books about it in Raphael’s library were very bare bones. Just propaganda really. They’d acted as if Zariel ruling was an ancient immutable fact. The opposite now seemed true. He wondered idly what other things were untrue in Raphael’s archive. Devils weren’t exactly the most honest bunch.

“You didn’t want to come?

“I’m no warrior. Never have been. My life in the upper planes was similar to my life now.”

At that moment the impression of mortal hands came against the titan’s stomach, complete with a loud, disembodied moan of distress. He chuckled, rubbing his distended belly. 

“Well, some things are the same. In the heavens I worked a smith too. I was one of the best. She needed someone like me. So I went, and I was her armorer, her weasponsmith. I forged her holy sword. But I did even more than that.”

The bitterness that often came when he spoke about Zariel creeped into his tone. His hammer moved away, the once shapeless alloy now a piece of exquisitely, detailed armor. He scooped up Enver and his tools like a doll, brought him close to the forge, and dropped a smaller piece of infernal iron beside him, obviously expecting the human to mimic him. Enver did so, and Carixim started speaking again.

“You know battle isn’t just move a legion to a location, move that knight to this spot. Armies require food, shelter, medicine. Half-bloods like myself needed places to sleep, eat, piss and shit, not to be crass. Moving a celestial army isn’t as simple as you think. She needed me. I handled all of that while she and her squadron went plunging into battle, screaming about total victory. Decades we fought, and decades I strategized how to keep us fed, and sheltered. How to keep us alive in this barren wasteland. I devoted myself to the cause wholeheartedly. But in time our numbers dwindled anyway. The scourge of demons was never ending.”

Enver’s eyes flickered to the titans, hearing the rage creeping into his bitter tone.

“I wanted to leave. I had wanted to leave for a time when I came to her. Father’s favor be damned. There’s no glory to be found here in the Hells, only suffering.”

He paused. 

“We’d all been corrupted by our time in Avernus. We all felt it. But…I didn’t know how far…how far she’d fallen. How completely. I told her I was going to leave, to give her time to prepare. Out of respect.

He shook his head.

“What a fool I was. While I slept she cut off my legs with the very sword I forged her. Told me she had to, that my sacrifice was for a noble cause. Carixim’s voice grew low, the forge’s fire casting flickering shadows across his twisted body.

 “She said I would serve her cause till the end.
Whether I wanted to mattered little. It was for the greater good.”

He growled, his massive hands clenching around the armor he’d made, warping it.

 “She said I was necessary, that my skills were too valuable to lose. So she took my freedom, my dignity, my powers. She made me a slave.“

His jagged teeth ground together, the sound like stone on stone.

“And for what? A war that was already lost? A cause that was doomed from the start? I know my father laughs at me from his throne.”

The anger from his voice fell away, leaving a dry practicalness.

“When she ascended she plucked me from my prison in the army camp, and imprisoned me here. My permanent home. She fed me souls, to make me stronger. Twenty thousand and counting. Forced them down at first. Then I started to like it. My only reward in this shit hole. Fresh meat.”

He licked his lips at the memory of flesh, and needle like teeth glinted as they were pulled into a too wide smile, but his smile quickly fell. 

“…But the souls, they started to warp me. One day they’ll render me still, and I’ll be stuck immobile. She’ll still expect me to work. Till I draw my last breath. Hells, she’ll probably expect me to keep going then too.”

He barked a harsh laugh, but it quickly devolved into a wheeze. Enver’s fingers stilled over the infernal iron, his own pulse quickening. He knew that resigned bitterness. That helpless, smoldering rage. He felt it every day in Raphael’s House of Hope, the collar around his throat, the mocking laughter, the knowledge that his body and mind were not his own. He looked up at Carixim, not with pity, but with the calculating recognition of someone in a position similar to his own.  

“You didn’t deserve that. Or this.”

Enver said, speaking about himself.

The titan’s sharp eyes fixed on him. For a long moment, the only sounds were the crackling forge and the muffled, anguished moans of the damned from his stomach. Then, slowly, Carixim exhaled, a rough, humorless chuckle. 

“No one deserves anything.”

He said coldly. 

“The entire world is eat or be eaten. Who has power and who does not. And right now, neither of us have power.”

Carixim’s eyes flickered to the dwarf in the corner. She was watching them, no matter how nonchalant she acted.

“That could change though.”

The forgemaster said cryptically.

“There are paths to power.”

Carixim continued.

“Raphael offered me a contract.”

Enver said plainly, keeping his eyes pointedly trained down as he finished up his piece of armor. 

“Just once. The last time I was here. He hasn’t brought it up again.

Carixim rumbled thoughtfully.

“Mmm. He really does not like you in the fortress.”

Carixim looked like he was going to continue speaking, but Korrilla leaned off of the wall for the first time, looking shell-shocked. 

“What did you say?”

She interjected, her voice sharper than ever.

Enver turned to her. He shouldn’t have brought it up, even in passing with her here. But he wanted to know what Carixim thought. He was direct, unlike the devils who spoke in riddles and lies by omission. 

“Nothing, we just got off the topic.”

“Raphael offered you a contract, and you refused?”

“That’s not what I said.”

Korrilla snorted incredulously.

“Huh. Last I checked refusals got people imprisoned and tortured. And that’s a kindness. He really does treat you special.”

The dwarf paused, before shaking her head.

“You know. You really remind me of my sister.”

From her tone it was not a compliment, and Enver bristled. He was nothing like Hope. Hope was a victim, and he was a survivor. 

“What do you mean? I’m nothing like that babbling, wretched little creature.”

Enver said, an edge creeping into his tone. He didn’t want to talk about Hope. Carixim chuckled, a thunderous rumble. He seemed to find their interaction amusing.

“You’re favored like her. Hope was favored by our God…before. Now she’s favored by Raphael. Even though she does everything wrong. He favors you too, despite you doing the same. He favors you even more than Hope.”

“I cannot imagine a crueler fate than to be favored by that wretched half-man. Perhaps being favored by his father. They’re certainly better paths to power than currying their favor.”

The forgemaster interjected, humor in his tone, but obviously truth in it as well. 

“There are.”

A faint voice, cold and detached agreed, buzzing in Enver’s head. He’d heard it before, a long time ago. His eyes flew around the room. Who had said that? Was it his own internal voice? It sounded alien to him though…

His eyes landed on Korrilla, who seemed like she was about to speak again. Carixim slammed his hammer down suddenly. Everyone jumped, and the strange conversation dropped. The forgemaster then picked up Enver’s piece of armor, examining it. Carixim turned the small breastplate over and over in his massive hands, the infernal metal gleaming dully in the light of the forge.

“Hmph. Not bad for a first attempt,"

He rumbled, running a finger along the edges. 

“The shaping is a bit crude, but the structure is good. Now comes the true test, imbuing it with magic. You did well enough  before, but I got something specific this time.”

Carixim scraped rune markings in the dried blood and dust on the ground with his overgrown fingernail. 

“Carve that on it, then infuse it with magic. Read it out loud.”

Enver didn’t hesitate, carving the runes into the armor quickly and efficiently. The incantation was guttural, the syllables like embers on his tongue. As he spoke, magic slithered from his hand, different from the magic he’d imbued his own projects with. It burned, seeping into the armor with a hiss. The metal darkened, then brightened with a flare of hellish light before slowly settling into an oily, ominous sheen.  

"It worked.”

Enver breathed, unable to suppress the thrill in his voice.  

Carixim chuckled. 

“Of course it did. You’ve got a natural talent for this, when you’re not distracted by nosy warlocks."

His gaze flicked pointedly toward Korrilla, who had inched closer during the enchantment, her eyes narrowed. Korrilla’s voice cut through it like a knife.  

“Are you done playing house with him?” 

She shoved off the wall, herbs crumpling to dust in her fist. 

“Raphael will be home soon. He will expect him for bed." 

Enver frowned. The forgemaster waved dismissively.

“Yes, yes. Take him and go." 

His eyes flicked to Enver’s, a shared understanding there. He patted his head, before returning him to the edge of the massive room.

“Have a good rest of your night, master Gortash.”

Enver barely had time to process being whirled across the space before Korrilla seized his arm, her little hand bruising as she hauled him toward the door, him being jerked forward by the much smaller woman.

Korrilla’s grip was like iron as she dragged Enver through the winding halls of the fortress, her short legs moving with furious purpose. He felt a sense of deja vu when they got far enough away, as she ushered him into a side room, before whirling on him, her hazel eyes blazing with something far more intense than mere irritation. He felt a strange pang of lust realizing they were the same shade as her sisters.

“Do you think this is a game?"

She said, her voice dripping with disgust. 

“Playing at rebellion while Raphael indulges you so?"

Enver yanked his arm free, rubbing the already-forming bruises. For a little thing, she could certainly grip hard.

“Indulges me?"

He scoffed, lip curling. 

“Is that what you call it? Because from where I stand, he indulged nothing. Raphael was forced to let me apprentice under Carixim because of Zariel and now I’m—“

“And now you’re, what?"

Korrilla snapped. 

“Learning a few magic tricks? Don’t delude yourself. You’re powerless compared to Raphael. Just another mortal with delusions of grandeur. You’re lucky to be his favorite.”

Enver’s laugh was sharp, incredulous. 

“You really are jealous! Of me! Of Hope! Are you insane?”

He tilted his head, studying her with detached amusement. He was shocked, upon realizing she had these feelings, but that didn’t mean he was above mocking them. There also was a sick, twisted part of him that enjoyed that she envied him. Even though there was nothing to envy in truth. 

“Tell me, does it eat at you that Raphael would rather fixate on…well anyone but you?”

The slap came fast; brutal, stinging, and knocking his head to the side. His cheek burned, the metallic tang of blood blooming on his tongue where his teeth had cut the inside of his mouth. Slowly, he turned back to her, his grin widening despite the sharp pain.  

“Oh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Did you really sell your own sister for a school-girl crush?”

Korrilla’s fists clenched at her sides. 

“It was much more complicated than that. Don’t act superior. Advocating for her. I know what you did to my sister. Pig.”

Enver shrugged. So what? Korrilla had done terrible things to Enver when he was a boy, and as far as he could tell—not on Raphael’s orders. If he was a pig, so was she. Korrilla continued speaking.

“I don’t care what you did. She’s a weak, foolish girl who deserves what she gets for resisting. But you. You’re worse. You think you’re clever. You think you’re special. You think you can…toe this line.”

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to an ominous whisper. 

“If you betray him, it’ll all come crashing down around you, and you’ll deserve what you get.”

Enver stared at her, stunned not by the threat—he’d expected that—but by the raw, personal fury behind it. 

“He doesn’t have anything on you, does he? You betrayed your sister willingly. You’re in your contract willingly.”

He said it aloud because it was almost too unbelievable to process. Gortash had no qualms with betraying an ally, family. It was all the same to him. No, it was the affection she had for the devil. It tinged her speaking, the way her timber quivered, all while trying to be nonchalant. It was breathtaking. He might feel pity, if it wasn’t so pathetic and funny. He barked a laugh, unable to stop himself. 

“A contract isn’t the worst thing in the world, everybody serves somebody. And I have a professional relationship with Raphael.”

She insisted angrily, red creeping up her freckled neck. Another thing she had in common with Hope, though her smattering was less. Hope was prettier to Enver.

“He’s a decent patron. I’ve served worse masters, who gave nothing in return, no matter how devotedly you serve. Raphael is not that kind of patron. But you spit on his generosity. Same as my sister. You’re a fool.”

Before he could retort, the world lurched, teleportation magic yanked them away, the fortress dissolving into the gilded opulence of Raphael’s bedchamber. Enver’s stomach didn’t wrench this time, getting used to the teleportations. Korrilla released him with a shove, already turning away as the heat in her voice turned ice cold.

“Bathe. He’ll expect you to be presentable."

Then she was gone, teleporting with a slam of her quaterstaff, disgust still apparent on her face as she warped out of the lower plane.

For a moment, all was quiet.

And Enver stood there, pulse roaring in his ears, his cheek still throbbing. Slowly, mechanically, he stripped off his grimy clothes and put down his pack, tossing them aside before stepping into the waiting bath. The water was warm, just how he liked it, but he barely felt it. His fingers traced where the mark had been. She was jealous of him. Jealous of Hope. It was so ridiculous. So insane. To want Raphael’s gaze was bizarre. Korrilla was delusional. She no longer saw the reality of her situation. She could call him a good patron all she wanted, in the end, she was his slave.

Well. Enver wasn’t deluded. He knew exactly what he was, a prisoner in a gilded cage. But that didn’t mean he had to stay one. Carixim’s lessons, and his cryptic words; they held something in them. Paths to self-determination perhaps. The human hoped. 

Enver stepped out of the bath, drying himself with rough, impatient strokes before yanking on the silk robe left out for him. The fabric clung, too soft, too decadent. He hated the robe. It was another reminder of his status. He tied the sash with more force than necessary and stalked to the bed, tossing his notebook onto the sheets. The human then threw himself onto the plush covers, and snatched up his notebook, flipping through the pages of notes, runes and incantations. It would be good to study before bed. He should be exhilarated. Today had been progress. Real progress. He had learned a lot. About infernal alloys, smithing, more. He had enchanted his first piece of armor under Carixim’s guidance. He had even gleaned valuable information; Archdevil Zariel’s reign was young, and unstable. The forgemaster’s hatred for her was a weapon just waiting to be wielded. And Raphael’s contract offer still hung in the air, the power in it unacknowledged but undeniable.  So why did he feel so—  

His fingers clenched around the notebook.  

Restless.

No, that wasn’t quite it.  

Uneasy?

Closer, but still not right.  

He flipped through the pages, tracing the runes he’d carved today, mouthing the infernal incantations under his breath. The words came easily now, the magic responding to his will with a reliability that thrilled him. But the satisfaction was fleeting.  

His chest tightened.  

His heartbeat was too fast. His breath was too shallow.  

Why?

Everything finally seemed to be going decently for him. He was finally gaining abilities. Leaving his gilded cage. Carixim felt like an ally, or at least, a means to more power. Learning of Korrilla’s jealousy was a weakness he could exploit. Raphael’s absence should have been a relief. But Korrilla said he’d be home soon.

So where was Raphael? 

The thought slithered in unbidden and unwelcome, but he couldn’t stop it from bubbling up. Enver hadn’t seen him in a couple days, the devil moody over him finally being cleared to go to the fortress, and him unable to find any other reasons to delay. Raphael had said “He didn’t want to take it out on him.” Which was certainly new. He took everything out on Enver. If the weather wasn’t quite right, or the lighting for his painting was off—Enver could receive a beating. He’d received beatings sometimes for no reason at all.

Then again, Raphael had been behaving strangely ever since their last fortress visit. He’d been….nicer to the human. Or simply gone. One or the other.

When he was younger there were long stretches of time Raphael would be away from the House of Hope, but now this was not the case. He usually came home within forty-two hours. Enver started to feel anxious. He didn’t know why. He should be happy when Raphael wasn’t around. But he wasn’t. 

He needed to focus, but the symbols blurred. His hands trembled. His chest ached, a tight, suffocating pressure. There was that anxiety again.

Why did this bother him so badly? Was he like Korrilla? He could identify that if he was—He was sick. He forced himself to objectively take stock of himself. He didn’t love Raphael. He didn’t feel loyalty to him. He felt a deep need to be physically near him. A compulsive desire for his approval. He didn’t like seeing him with others. Sometimes he liked him. Usually he didn’t. Sometimes he was attracted to him. This went back and forth. It was all quite confusing. It was scary.

He decided he didn’t want to take stock anymore, feeling slightly nauseous. Sometimes he hated being so cerebral. He decided he shouldn’t care. He didn’t care! Raphael’s absence should be a relief. A reprieve. Logically, Raphael almost always made his life harder.

But even as his mind presented these logical truths to his body, it decided to rebel. His pulse hammered, erratic and furious. His breath came too fast. He gripped the notebook until the pages crumpled.  

Gods, he was pathetic. He was better than this. 

With a snarl, he hurled it aside and buried his face into the pillow, screaming. A raw, animal sound muffled by silk. The pillows smelled of Raphael. Enver’s face burned. His throat hurt. He couldn’t get his heart rate under control. Their bed was too big. Their room was too quiet. The collar around his neck felt heavier than ever.

He forced himself to lie back, staring at the ceiling, willing his pulse to slow. He just needed to focus. The room felt so stifling. The human untied his robe, hoping to cool himself slightly. He tossed and turned. The silence stretched wider, and the tightness in his chest refused to fade. Enver was starting to think he was having a heart attack. Could humans his age get those?

Then. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. And whistling. That could only be one person. Enver immediately felt better. Thank the Gods. The human could finally relax. He curled away from the barrier. He didn’t want to actually talk to Raphael. Raphael was annoying. Enver just wanted the devil to physically be with him.

As soon as the cambion crossed the threshold into the bedroom, his booming voice filled the room, sharp with irritation. A tiny smile curled onto Enver’s face.

"These clients boy! They are absolutely insufferable! As if I have the time or desire to entertain their every petty whim. They think a contract is a magic wand or something! I’m a devil, not a fairy godmother!" 

His footsteps paused. Enver kept his eyes closed, and his breathing steady. Feigning sleep was second nature by now. If Raphael really wanted him, it didn’t matter if he pretended he was asleep or not. He’d just force himself on Enver.

A beat of silence. 

"Hmmmm.”

He heard Raphael fuss for a while, flitting around the room. Then, the mattress dipped as Raphael sat beside him. A clawed hand brushed his side. 

“Sleepy, mouse? Did they put you to work today?”

Mocking sympathy. Enver didn’t respond. Then arms slid around him, pulling him close. Raphael’s chest was warm against his back, and his breath a slow, steady rhythm against Enver’s neck. The devil’s fingers traced idle patterns against his skin. Enver felt his heartbeat ease. He leaned back into the touch, just slightly. Raphael’s fingers stilled for a moment, then resumed their idle tracing, though his fingers were too slowing.

“Did you miss me?”

Raphael mumbled into Enver’s hair. The mortal felt heat rush to his face. Enver made a small, noncommittal noise. Raphael snorted, kissing the nape of his neck. Then another, and another. All lingering longer than the last. He could feel the devil smirking against his skin, and he rolled his eyes. Maybe he should disappear again.

“You’re so tense~”

Raphael cooed, his clawed hand drifting lower, slipping between his legs. The robe barely covered anything normally, and opened the way it was it was easy enough for the devil to worm his hands against Enver’s skin. The cambion’s palm was as hot as a furnace against the cool flat plane of his stomach.

 “Did that wretched beast work you like a dog?”

“No. It was fine.”

Enver grunted, not really wanting to talk to Raphael about his time at the forge. He didn’t want to say anything too positive or negative. Raphael was looking for excuses to present to Zariel for why he couldn’t go, so why give him any? Besides, Korrilla would tell him everything. Or her version of events. Enver had a funny feeling she’d leave out her weirdly emotional rant on the devil’s behalf. 

Enver’s breath hitched, feeling the devil’s massive hand close around his prick. Raphael didn’t often touch him. He shivered as the devil’s clawed thumb lazily stroked his weeping cock. It was too dry, and too slow. Still, the human’s hips twitched into it. But it wasn’t very good. Raphael’s rhythm was half-hearted, like he was barely paying attention. A small whimper spilled from Enver. The devil’s hand was at least warm, and the claws ghosting his shaft added a nice contrast.

“A touch from me and you melt…”

Enver huffed at that, it wasn’t true. The narcissist really was delusional, but—He was coming undone from this quickly, wasn’t he? Raphael’s nuzzling into his shoulder, speeding up his pace. It burned vaguely, but Enver was used to pain, and the quickened pace was making his release start to build. He groaned as Raphael bit down on his shoulder, the sharp sting sending a pulse of pleasure straight to his groin. Enver tilted back and Raphael indulged him, with slow lazy kisses in time with his movements. Well, as in time as he could manage, Enver’s hand slid atop the devil’s bigger one, guiding the devil as got close. Raphael let him, pecking the seam of his thick lips once more as he pulled away from him.

“…Don’t you, little mouse?”

His fingers twitched, and he made a small, low gasp of pleasure as he came into the devil’s hand, back arching slightly. Raphael made a noise of disgust, his hand immediately going to 
Enver’s face. The human shuddered, licking and sucking on the devil’s thick fingers as his own hand went down to coax himself through the aftershocks.

“You’re welcome.”

The devil said irritably, as if he expected a prize for his second rate handjob. Once the devil’s hand was free of his own cum the human managed a small thank you, though he was waiting for Raphael to bend him over, shove his cock in his face or demand Enver to eat his ass.

That didn’t happen though. The devil just huffed before settling beside him, muttering about Enver being ungrateful as his tail wrapped around Enver’s ankle. The human felt slightly uncomfortable. Raphael didn’t do things without reciprocation at the very least. Never had he touched Enver without expecting something in return. He felt suspicious, and shifted slightly so he could see the devil’s face. It looked like he was resting. A golden eye cracked open and slid to Enver’s, meeting his gaze, before shutting again.

“You should sleep boy. Your life is about to get quite busy.”

It was that paternal tone he used sometimes. Good natured advice. Raphael was being too nice lately. Something was wrong. Maybe was testing him. But as he tried to go through a checklist of what it could be Raphael pulled Enver against his chest again. The cortisol was leaving his system with the reappearance of Raphael. Exhaustion was crashing into Enver hard, the events of the day rolling over him like a tidal wave. The intense, radiating heat of the cambion against him wasn’t helping either. When he closed his eyes, the forge’s fire burned behind his eyelids, but in the devil’s arms the heat was different. 

It was familiar. 

Sleep pulled him into its grasp shamefully quickly then, wrapped in the arms of the devil that owned him.

Chapter Text

Enver stood in the dining hall, pushing aside a body with absent disdain as he looked over the central dining table. His fingers trailed just beside the lavish spread; roasted meats, glazed fruits, delicate pastries left out for some forgotten guest. Perhaps the one now on the ground. He cast detect food and drink out of habit. Raphael’s hospitality was as mercurial as his moods; half the time, the food was laced with something rather unpleasant.  

This time, luck was with him. The spell shimmered aqua, not red.  

Not poisoned.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he snatched a glossy red apple, tossing it into his pack. Then, after a furtive glance around the room, he grabbed three more.  

Leaning against the table, he waited.  

Korrilla usually handled his transport, though once or twice, Mizora had been the one to drag him to Zariel’s forge. He didn’t mind the change. Korrilla’s simmering resentment was amusing, but she was too loyal to Raphael to be useful to him, at least for now. Mizora on the other hand…

He shifted, seeing his haircut in the glossy reflection of the table. He liked it shorter, even if it was in a similar style to Raphael’s. It was practical. His hair getting caught and falling in his face while trying to smith had been irritating and even dangerous at times. Not to mention Raphael got mad whenever he caught him with his hair tied back. The devil hadn’t been pleased when Enver asked him to cut it at first, his face twisted into a scowl of annoyance, but he’d been convinced when Enver pointed out his hairstyle would be the same as his. It looked different though, the texture of their hair not at all alike. Enver’s hair was much straighter than his father’s. If it displeased Raphael much, he didn’t verbalize it. The cambion had been treating Enver nicely. Very nicely. He was allowed outside the bedchamber again, even allowed to tinker. Though he mostly did this when Raphael wasn’t home, as it led to the devil breathing down his neck, offering him thin, pointed smiles. 

Enver had found it best to simply let his studies be something that happened within the fortress, while his…”leisure time” was what happened at the House of Hope. They needed to be two distinct worlds, each with its own rules, expectations, and versions of himself.

Within the House of Hope, Enver was Raphael’s pet. In that role he was soft-spoken, indulgent, and eager to please. He laid about while Raphael composed sonnets, painted pictures, and pursued his artistic endeavors. Enver would smile, offer murmured praise at the right moments. His sarcasm was always tempered, softened to assuage Raphael. He let the cambion card fingers through his hair, tilt his chin up to inspect him like a prized possession. He ate and slept with the devil and most importantly listened to his woes. He wore the things Raphael gave him. Little robes, shrouds and slips. Glistening jewelry. Never anything more. But it was easier than ever to play this role, even if the dull burn of humiliation was still there. It had lessened, because Raphael treated him better than ever. They could go back and forth without Raphael striking him, (Within reason of course.), and the devil seemed very driven to please him, bringing him new books and strange technology from far reaches of the globe. But more than any trinkets or warmth, it was easier than ever to be soft because three times a week he did not have to be. 

Three times a week he got to be Gortash, the artificer. The Hellsmith. The version of himself that existed in Zariel’s flaming fortress. Here, he was sharp, ambitious, and relentless. He could be genuine. Cold and blunt and mean. His hands were stained with soot and oil, his mind whirring with calculations and schematics. He forged weapons, and armor, tinkered with constructs, and bent magic to his will. This Enver was not decorative. He’d become competent quickly, which meant he was dangerous, and he was getting stronger everyday. In multiple ways too, muscles started to form beneath his lean frame.

Raphael for his part, never asked about it, and Enver never told him anything. They both seemed to like it this way. If for some reason the uncomfortable reality was presented to him, the cambion treated them like a passing fancy, something to be humored rather than taken seriously. He would chuckle when Enver returned with singed sleeves or a new burn on his arm, as if the very idea of him being anything more than a pretty doll was amusing.  But Enver knew the devil, and could hear the distaste in his laughter and see the tightness of his smile. So, it was best to simply keep them apart.

Enver didn’t mind the two realities being separated. Raphael was gone from their house enough that he didn’t have to play soft too often. Sometimes it even felt as if the house was his, everyone besides Korrilla ducking from his presence, knowing the human’s ire would likely attract the master of the house’s as well. Besides, whatever had come over Raphael Enver didn’t want it to stop. He’d thought at first it was some kind of manipulation tactic, and he still had creeping moments of paranoia. Often. But, it had been months, and Raphael had asked nothing of him but his normal expectations. His offer hadn’t come up at all. Mostly in truth Enver was left to his own devices, and admittedly at times he did wonder where Raphael was spending all of his time. A lot of the time. Sometimes a rage filled jealousy would fill him, gnawing and ugly. He was well aware Raphael had other lovers. It was far too often he was lost in this paranoia, and it was shameful how fully it crippled him at times. He’d have wild rushing thoughts. Was it someone younger? Prettier? Enver didn’t think so. He’d found a portrait of the painter that Raphael had brought up in passing, and portraits of many mortals, in one of the many hidden rooms within the hall. There seemed to be no discernible pattern to his fixations, some young, some old, all manner of races, genders, shapes and sizes. Some conventionally attractive…others far less so. What was a common thread through all of them was they had a layer of dust on them. Some thin, some almost completely covered. Raphael never loved anyone as much as himself, and it seemed he didn’t idle too long on his past lovers. It was sobering. Another stark reminder Enver must craft an identity outside of his obsessive gaze, no matter how difficult Raphael made it.

“My my, it’s been a while since I got to drop by the doghouse, eh pup?”

Enver looked up, flashing a lopsided smile at the woman speaking. Mizora. The beautiful cambion and personal assistant to Archdevil Zariel. He hadn’t seen her in a while. Raphael really only wanted him being escorted by Korrilla, but Korrilla had found ways to shirk her duties here and there, likely positing she was busy with other tasks the devil had assigned her. He was pleased to see the devil. Enver preferred Mizora to the dwarf, because though Korrilla’s jealousy was an entertaining scab to pick, as of now she showed no opening to Enver. No threads to pull for his own benefit, completely loyal to their master or at least pretending to be. At least for now.

“Too long I think. The company I keep is rather stifling.” 

Enver replied dryly, pushing himself off the table to meet her where she stood.

The human met Mizora’s smirk with one of his own, tilting his head just slightly, a calculated gesture, one that made the light catch the sharp angles of his face. 

“You really don’t know the half of it."

Gortash’s voice was smooth and his expression wry, but there was a point to it, as he was searching. Mizora, like many of the devil’s in Zariel’s court, seemed uncannily interested in him. Whether that was simply for sex, or something more he wasn’t sure—but he’d be pleased with even the baser motivation. She laughed, tail flicking idly behind her.

“Be careful puppy, don’t play above your station.”

She put a hand to his chest, decidedly an odd way to choose to teleport, as the world swirled around them.

“Funny, I could say the same about you.”

He threw back, the quip clipped but playful. The corners of her mouth twitched, as if she knew she shouldn’t entertain such behavior, but couldn’t help but smile a little anyway. As the environment reformed into the militaristic fortress Enver now found familiar her tail pointed the way they needed to be going.

“You’ve got quite the little mouth on you. If I was your mistress I’d have that corrected.”

Enver's grin widened as he adjusted the strap of his pack, stepping just close enough her twitching tail brushed against him.

“But you're not my mistress—which means it doesn’t matter if you don't like my mouth." 
 
Mizora's hand went to her hip, a sharpness to her voice.

“Raphael always has liked mouthy ones. He has been letting you get away with too much." 

She said, a tinkling laugh intersecting her venom tinged words.

“Or just enough.”

Enver countered easily, falling into step beside her. They moved through the sulfur-choked halls of Zariel’s fortress with ease, Enver walking with the air of someone who belonged. He no longer flinched at the wails of damned souls. No longer stole fearful glances under the heavy leers of lesser devils. His eyes stayed trained ahead, only flickering to the side to continue teasing the she-devil.

“Though if you're offering to correct me...well. I'm open to it.”

She barked a laugh, sounding genuinely surprised. 

“You wish!”

She was still laughing to herself as they made it the door of the forge. Her clawed hand went against the large door, to stop the mortal from coming forward. Mizora was taller than him, though not nearly as large as Raphael in his true form, only taller by a half-head. She licked her lips before speaking, her expression wicked.

“You are far too forward puppy. Raphael is a jealous man. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re angling for a patron.”

He rocked on the balls of his heels.

“Would a contract with one devil void another’s?”

She smirked.

“No.”

She turned, barking for the door to open in infernal.

“Well, not normally-“

Her tail wrapped around his wrist, pulling him flush. Enver didn’t hide the rush of excitement he felt pressed against her, mirroring her own predatory expression. The cambion’s clawed finger booped his nose.

“Some devils are so powerful the others may choose to bow out, devils tend to make the shrewd choice at the end of the day. It pains me to say, because you’re such a scrumptious little snack, that I’m not that devil.”

“But you’ll put in a good word for me?”

He tested, smiling up at her.

“Mmm, I might~”

She sing-songed, her voice dripping with playful malice typical of devils in the middle of a deal. 

“But only if you prove worthy of the recommendation. Until then—” 

She gestured toward the forge with a flick of her wrist.

“-get inside. You’ve got work to do, puppy.”

Enver gave her a mock salute, his grin sharp. 

“As you command.”  

He stepped past her, the heat and drink of the forge washing over him as the heavy doors groaned open. Inside, the air shimmered with infernal energy, the clang of metal and the hiss of molten steel filling the space. And there, leaning against an anvil with crossed arms, was Carixim, Zariel’s master smith and Enver’s mentor.  

The warped titan watched him enter, his bright eyes glittering with an inherent heaviness. A humorless chuckle rumbled in his chest as he shook his head.  

“Scheming with Mizora now, are we?” 

Carixim’s voice was rough, like gravel dragged over iron. 

“Bold. Or stupid. You mortals often get the two confused.”  

Enver shrugged nonchalantly. 

“It’s enterprising. She’s interested.”

Carixim snorted, pushing off the anvil to loom over him. 

“Devils don’t share their toys. And you Hellsmith, are very much someone else’s.”  

Enver met his gaze, unflinching. 

“For now.”  

The devil’s grin widened, revealing his jagged teeth. 

“Oh ho. Ambitious.” 

He clapped a massive hand on Enver’s shoulder, hard enough to make him stagger. He lowered his voice.

“Be careful. I told you Zariel is not the way. They’re better paths to power.”

Enver didn’t react as he was moved over to the forge, the manhandling of his body by larger creatures so ingrained at this point he barely noticed. He picked up his hammer as soon as he was released.

“So I assume you want me to sign myself into your hands then?”

The human said with a chuckle, beginning to work immediately. His face quickly became slick with sweat, the head of the forge intense, but he never complained. He’d rather do hard work than none, he knew that better than most.

“No. I told you young master, I’m no devil.”

The titan hadn’t moved to begin his own work, staring down at the human, which was unusual.

“Besides, even if I could make contracts, Zariel has made all my abilities moot in this room, it is built to be my prison, and in a couple thousand years, when I finally keel over- my grave.”

“But you feel I must sign with someone.”

Gortash quipped, a sharpness coming to his tone, in synch with the hard clank of metal against metal. He was getting annoyed, Carixim was talking around something, which was one of the things the human hated about devilkind, their tendency to do this. One of the things the human enjoyed about the empyrean was his refreshing straightforwardness, so this behavior was annoying him. 

“I do.”

The human sighed, finished up with the enchanted merregon mask he was making, wiping his face with his raggedy tunic. He placed his hammer down, and his hands went to his hips.

“So who?”

Carixim blinked. 

“Pit fiend Bel.”

Enver’s stomach immediately twisted into knots, his gut screaming that was a terrible idea. He’d seen how that draconic devil had looked at him, and the devil’s very presence had made him uncomfortable. All devils were predatory towards mortals, but Enver had felt something in Bel’s gaze, something had been in it that had made Enver feel deeply uneasy. Just a feeling, but the human had learned a to trust those over his years in the Hells. He didn’t reply. Carixim’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Mizora is working on you. Raphael is working on you. They all want you. You see that don’t you? You’re a very gifted mortal, with untapped potential. Raphael is scrambling because he feels the pressure the Archdevil is putting on. Neither truly care for you.”

“And Bel will?”

Enver said with a snort.

“No.”

Carixim replied, measured and mild. 

“But the others will use you for their causes and dispose of you. That is the reality of the situation. Bel needs strong allies to become Archdevil once more. You would be useful to him.”

Enver didn’t see a difference between what Carixim was offering through Bel and what the others were. He also knew Raphael would not dispose of him, not now. The cambion relied on Haarlep for certain things that he relied on Enver for now. Carixim didn’t understand the nuances of their relationship, but living that role alone was a miserable existence for Enver. He didn’t want to serve Raphael. At least not like that, or not just for that purpose. Haarlep, an incubus could barely stand it. How could Enver? Then there was Zariel. Maybe Carixim was right that in the end Zariel would just destroy him. Enver, usually quite good at reading people, found the Archdevil inscrutable. It was hard to choose.

The human was very much on the precipice of…something, and it felt foolish to choose a side prematurely. Not to mention the odd voice in the back of his head, that seemed to ramp up whenever Enver considered a deal. Carixim shook his head, his greasy dark hair shaking like a dank black curtain.

“You see many open doors. Be mindful to go through one before they all start slamming shut.”

Enver huffed, flicking his eyes towards the titan.

“Why should I contract with Bel?”

He asked, drawling in a dramatic sing-song. 

“Bel is an intelligent devil. Shrewd. He has ruled the first layer, the most unstable realm of the Hells, longer than anyone. He’d return it to the oasis it once was. Do you know what Avernus used to look like? It was a purgatory, a middle ground between the Hells and the material. Beautiful, or as beautiful as the Hells could be.”

“Hmm. I thought Avernus was always a wasteland.”

“No. Layers are changed by the spirit of Archdevil’s ruling over them. The layer of lust, Phlegethos, is a regular metropolis. While Cania is even more inhospitable than the first. Zariel’s very spirit has corrupted this place into a permanent warzone, her lust for total victory did a terrible number to this land. Archdevil Bel could restore it back to how it was previously.”

“I’m not an environmentalist, I don’t particularly care about the ecosystem of the Hells and restoring it.”

Enver said, a sarcastic sharpness creeping into his voice, but there was an honesty there as well. He truly didn’t care.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Perhaps it’s the bones of the celestial in me that wishes to see it restored to its old state.”

He paused, realizing his pitch was falling flat, and leaned in close, so Enver could see those needle like teeth, the black pulsing veins in his neck. His breath so close blew the mortal’s hair, causing him to squint.

“Bel will offer you a contract like Feonors. He cannot keep her alive due to her loyalty to Zariel, but he’s seen the power of having a mortal general firsthand now, we all have. The fluidity, the ability to plane jump, that sort of usefulness is indispensable. And you will not be a toy, or a means to an end, you’ll rule over 
many, have your own legion. Be one of his top men, and live like a king.”

Carixim tailed off, shrugging.

“You will have me as well. For allowing me to get my revenge, I’ll be in your debt. Eternally.”

As usual Enver detected no lies in the smith’s voice. The titan’s honesty, almost to a fault, made him easy to play. Enver could see how he ended up the position he was in and the human would not allow himself to end up in a similar bad way. He’d also seen what happened to Bitter Breath. Betraying Archdevil Zariel so directly was very dangerous. The mortal mirrored the empyrean’s body language, shrugging.

“I’ll hear what he has to say.”

Enver replied, noncommittal as he continued to work, his dark hair slick with sweat sticking to his face. Carixim grinned wide.

“That’s all I can ask of you.”

Carixim replied simply. The rest of their day together continued without much of a hitch. Enver found his mind returning to his escort over and over. While he usually didn’t look forward to his lessons ending today was different, he’d felt as if his and Mizora’s conversation were interrupted. He was pleased when Mizora reappeared just as Enver was finishing his work, her sudden presence making the forge's flames flicker wildly. She leaned against the doorframe, tail flicking lazily behind her. Carixim frowned.

"Puppy…”

She purred.

“I do believe we need to finish our conversation."  

Before Enver could respond, or even really react she snapped her fingers and the world dissolved around them.  

They reappeared alone in a small, dimly lit blue chamber, the room filled with interesting bits and bobs. Enver barely had time to register his surroundings before Mizora pressed him against the nearest wall, her claws digging into his wrists.  

"Now.”

She muttered, her breath hot against his neck.

"Let's discuss your ambitions."  

Enver’s lips twitched, though his pulse quickened. 

"I thought we were discussing my mouth."  

Mizora laughed, low and throaty. 

"Oh, those things are very interconnected." 

Her tail coiled around his thigh, pulling him closer. 

"But first tell me, little mortal. In your own words. What do you really want?"  

Enver met her gaze, his own sharp with calculation. 

“I want power. And freedom."  

Mizora's grin widened. 

“Ohh~ Sweet little liar..." 

She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered into it. 

“What you really want is your master to see you as more than a pet. An equal.”

Enver's jaw tightened, and his face flushing with embarrassment.

“That’s not true. I don’t care what he thinks.”

Mizora's hand slid down his chest, chuckling softly her claws tracing the outline of his ribs. She pecked the side of his reddened face.

“Oh but you do. Listen pup, Raphael will never give you that.

She whispered, pulling away only after linger a moment.

“But I can. Zariel has turned Feonor into a warlord. The same could happen for you. With the right people backing you of course.”

Enver arched a brow. Her pitch and Carixim’s were sounding quite similar. The problem with Mizora’s was- was it real? Would she truly get him to a deal with Zariel? Or was she just playing with him for her own pleasure? Gortash knew better than most that cambion’s were deeply mercurial, selfish creatures by their very nature. Then again, he’d didn’t particularly feel the price of losing this gamble was that high. As long as Raphael didn’t find out anyway.

“And what's the price of that backing?"  

Mizora's tail around his thigh creeped into his groin, brushing against his clothed crotch. 

“Well, I think we can work something out, for me to put a good word in.”

Her grin sharpened as her claws traced down his chest, slow, deliberate before undoing the ties of her tunic. Enver’s pulse quickened, but his face didn’t change, only looking at her with cool amusement. She seemed to take lack of reaction as a challenge, her tail releasing suddenly as she shoved him back onto the bed. As he caught himself the cambion’s claws hooked into his waistband, freeing him in one sharp tug. His breath hitched as Mizora began to tease him to hardness.

“You talk a lot. Most cambions do. They usually can’t back it up.”

He said idly, his brown eyes meeting her red ones for a moment, before dipping down to catch the way her breasts moved in her dress, the way her slender hands pulled at him. She pressed flush against him as she worked, leaning over him as she snickered, a mean, pretty sound.

“Oh, poor puppy. Don’t mistake your unfortunate situation with everyone else’s. There’s a reason they’re cambions by the million.” 

His head tilted up, and their lips brushed.

“We’re master seducers. For survival we must be. Well, the ones who don’t have daddy to rely on.”

He chuckled and their lips met once more. It was hungry, teeth and tongues battling, a young man knowing he was overpowered but not willing to just let her win, all while she continued to steadily work his cock. When they parted she looked pleased, her breathing slightly uneven, and her eyes glittering with mischief. He kissed her again, biting her bottom lip and pulling at it, his hands clutching her waist and pulling the cambion into his lap. Mizora allowed herself to be, chuckling at his initiative. Her hand quickly found him again, squeezing just enough to coax out a stifled groan, the pain only amplifying his pleasure. Her freehand tore his shirt the rest of the way, her claws digging in and leaving rivers of blood as she worked. She was, tracing over old patterns Raphael had left. Which was smart. Enver was pleased, knowing any foreign marks might cause him problems, and she at least didn’t seem interested in getting him in that sort of the trouble. He moaned again as she went over a nipple, a jolt of that mixed pain-pleasure shooting through him.

“All that clever talk and here you are, already squirming for me.”

“I’m not- I’m not squirming-“

He snapped, breathy and sharp. He couldn’t help but reply, even though he knew Mizora was one-hundred percent correct. His hips were twitching into her movements, and he didn’t want her to stop, the human not so subtlety grinding up into her.

Mizora laughed, leaning down to kiss and nip at his jawline. 

“Everything out of that pretty face is a lie.”

She moved faster now, stroking him with long, deliberate pulls, her thumb flicking over his slit with every upward pass. Gortash’s hands came up, his nails digging into her thin waist. He was glad he had his gauntlet on, the points biting into her bare skin, drawing blood in such a pretty way. In a blink she’d gone from dressed to not, and it seemed she was enjoying herself as much as he was, from the wetness dripping onto him. 

Release was beginning to coil tight in his stomach, and his hands moved downward, pulling her hand away from his prick. She smirked, but didn’t resist. Instead she let out a low throaty laugh, her tail flicking playfully behind her.

“You’re going to quite the little problem, I can already tell.”

Her claws traced down his chest again, before she straddled him fully, positioning herself over his painfully hard cock.

She didn’t sink down immediately, teasing him, rocking just enough to make his hips twitch upward, his eyes flashing to hers, dark and hungry.

“You talk too much.”

He muttered, more to himself than her, and she threw her head back, delighted as she allowed the human to shove her down. 

“Such a little man!”

Mizora purred, but her typical patronizing tone was a bit breathier than normal. The cambion didn’t let him have any more control, setting the pace easily, keeping him still with a strength that belied her build. Her movements were slow and deep, drawing every ounce of pleasure she could from him, without tipping the human over the edge. Her claws now scraped freely over his chest, his shoulders, his throat, leaving red marks that stung sweetly in the moment.

Gortash’s hands roamed freely too, gripping her waist, squeezing her thighs, her breasts, marking her with the same similar scratches. They couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, and when his mouth found her breast the devil gasped.

“Cheeky little pup~”

She hissed, voice high and thready. Enver smirked, his hips finding their rhythm again as she lost hers.

“You want control so badly?”

She purred into him.

“Take it~”

It was a challenge, a dare, and he wanted to. He needed to be in control, to chase his own release, and chase the feeling of control itself.

He pulled her down hard into him, thrusting up into with rough relentless movements. Enver was close, she’d been teasing him at that edge for too long. His own breath was uneven, panting, her whispering filthy things down at him, spurring him on.

Mizora, groaned, throwing her hand back as he thrust up into her, her moans mixing in with Enver’s own. With a final, shuddering thrust he came hard, orgasm crashing over him like a tidal wave. Mizora came with him, cumming hard on his cock. For a moment the room was silent, minus the sound of the twos labored breathing. Enver’s scheming never really paused though, and he looked her over, gauging her reaction. He was pleased, but was she?

It seemed so, she smirked at him, slipping off of him with the fluidity of a cat, a wet pop as she climbed off. Then she chuckled, her tail running lazily against him.

“Decent, for a mortal.”

Enver broke eye contact with her for a moment, grunting an acknowledgment as he tucked himself back in. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror. His tunic was in tatters, and he was more covered in scratches then he thought initially. He’d have to heal himself, which was doable, as long as Raphael wasn’t home. Hopefully he wasn’t.

“High praise.”

He drawled, tearing his gaze from his scratched up form.

“Mmm, don’t let it go to your head.”

Though she was looking at the human with a pleased expression, her dress reappearing in seconds.

“I’ll put in a good word for you. My lady can change your world, you and I both know this.”

He didn’t reply, and didn’t react when she grabbed at him. The world changed fast, back in the same place he started, the dining room of the House of Hope. Mizora was looking at her nails, seemingly bored.

“Is there any chance I can speak to Zariel directly?”

He asked, his eyes flickering to her face. Enver liked the cambion, but he was well aware her interests could be skewing the situation. It was hard to know if Zariel even truly wanted him. Mizora certainly did, but that wasn’t enough, in the face of offers like Bel, or Raphael. The cambion snickered, and that was a reply in itself.

“Ta-ta puppy, we’ll be in touch!~”

And with that she was gone in a cloud of smoke. Enver strained his ears, listening for the master of the house or anyone else. When it was silent he bee-lined for the bath, throwing the tattered shirt over the balcony edge, and peeling off his pants. The bath would get rid of any marks on his body, which was definitely necessary. Raphael would be furious if he found out about Mizora, both her offer and her actions. There was a twisted part of him that almost wanted him to find out, perhaps it would upset him enough to have him around more. His eyes flickered to the bed. When was the last time Raphael had been home? Weeks. A dull pulse of unhappiness. He dragged a thumb over where the fresh scratches on his chest used to be. Raphael would’ve noticed. Would’ve cared. He should’ve let him see. Then at least he would’ve stayed with him. If only to fight. The twisted thought bubbled up before he could choke it down. The human forced himself to clean and shave mechanically, not get stuck in the thought loop of where the cambion was. He would not get bogged down in the heavy, embarrassingly intense jealously he often felt. If he was free, he wouldn’t feel that way anymore. Certainly not. Enver focused on that thought instead.

Raphael wasn’t everything.

There were other devils.

But, Mizora was playing games. Perhaps she and Zariel did have a legitimate offer. But it was hard to certain. Carixim certainly did, and was pushing Bel. A dull buzzing of discontent in the back of his head. But did Enver really want to contract with these devils? That thought felt foreign. And what about Raphael? What was Raphael doing? He’d offered a contract, and then seemingly rescinded.

He wasn’t sure of anyone’s actions, and the truth behind them, except Carixim’s.

Enver’s finger’s twitched at his side. He slipped out, toweling off and throwing a robe on. Perhaps that was what set Carixim apart. And therefore Bel. The buzzing in his head. The twist in his gut. He ignored them.

Gortash would hear out Bel. Carixim was the most trustworthy after all.

What could go wrong?