Chapter Text
There was no surprise when you woke up in that pod on the Nautiloid — just a slight disorientation and a frustrated resignation. You used to be disappointed, but you’d far outgrown such a feeling. It was, after all, your fiftieth time waking up in that damn pod.
Well, you thought it was your fiftieth; you lost count a while ago.
You merely glared at the mind flayer, not even bothered to struggle as the tadpole squirmed its way past your delicate eye socket. You learned a long time ago that squirming was no help.
The Nautiloid crashed, as always, and Lae’zel tried to kill you before realising you could be of use to her. Usually you saved Shadowheart but you ignored her this time, even if you knew it would cause problems. She had been the one to end the last reset, killing you in the Gauntlet of Shar. While technically, this Shadowheart had done nothing wrong… you were still pissed.
Of course, you didn’t expect the consequences of leaving Shadowheart to be immediate. But, low and behold, you had a sword through your stomach and sighed in frustration. You did the whole process again, but saved her this time. Lae’zel, as always, disapproved.
Perhaps you had grown mostly numb to this routine, knowing it like the back of your hand, but your heart never ceased to squirm in displeasure when you saw him. Him with his white curls and red eyes. Seeing Astarion always was bittersweet… Painful.
The hand that used to hold yours tenderly now held a dagger to your throat. It was funny how he thought he needed a dagger to kill you when his mere presence caused your heart to shatter.
You still remembered the first time these torturous resets began; Lae’zel’s confusion, Shadowheart’s brow furrowing. Rushing straight to Astarion, wanting nothing more than to be in his arms… only for him to have no idea who you were.
Lae’zel, untrusting of your manic behavior and the information you had on all of them, was the one who killed you. Honestly, you were glad for it.
It didn’t take long for you to learn that acting any other way than entirely clueless resulted with your blood spilled. And, no matter how many times you died, you always ended up waking in that stupid pod, doomed to restart all over again.
So, you did what any good performer would do; you sunk into your role. You acted as clueless and scared as the others, seeking answers restlessly when you already had all of them. You learned your lines and you learned them well, lest you said the wrong thing and put you right back in that pod. You played the role of the optimistic and charismatic bard perfectly. Usually.
There were slip ups; fifty resets of the same bloody thing would make even a saint violent. You slaughtered many and, where’s your heart used to find guilt, it had numbed itself.
The Goblin camp fell and the Shadow Curse was lifted fairly swiftly. Perhaps your companions had questions regarding how you so easily navigated the wilderness and shadow lands so well, but you simply brushed those concerns off with buttered words and a charming smile.
Ketheric Thorm died by your hand, robbing his Reaper’s Embrace from his corpse. The armour slipped on like a second skin at this point, your mind and soul familiar with it even if your current body was not.
You used to attempt to reason with him, once going so far as to permit Shadowheart to kill the Nightsong if it meant she would not interrupt. Unlike Gortash and Orin, Ketheric had regret. He was ruthless and cold and, by all means, an evil bastard but he felt remorse for what he had become. Alas, retribution was not for him.
The only one you could actually ever avoid a fight with was Gortash. Perhaps he too planned on betraying you after he got what he wanted, but time was not generous enough to roll out a carpet for such a fate; the brain always had his insides spilled to his outs before he could bask in victory. Besides, you liked killing him. For Karlach.
Baldur’s Gate was the same as it always was; miserable, holding secrets, erupting with brain quakes. You were sent to prison and made a deal with Gortash you did not plan on keeping.
You told your party to set up camp and then… Well, you decided you would do something different. Different in a way that had the possibility of destroying Faerûn; you would make a deal with Raphael.
For a long while, you were terrified of making bad decisions. Of doing bad things. You figured the gods hated you so much that the one time you did something awful, that would be the timeline to stick.
But now you were just exhausted. And frustrated. You were fed up with waking up in that pod and having that tadpole slither into your brain. A large part of you was willing to allow a narcissistic devil have the power to dominate worlds if it meant breaking you from your hellscape of resets.
You visited Raphael at that stinking bothel only once, his ‘deal’ enough to make you avoid any interaction with him for the rest of the resets. You did, however, break your way into Hell yourself to steal the Orphic Hammer.
To be frank, you had your ass handed to you and it hurt. It hurt your pride and your body enough to never attempt such a thing again.
And yet, like a lamb to the slaughter, you still walked into the Devil’s Den once more. Breath smelling only slightly like alcohol. Confused and intrigued glances catching your figure as you paraded around in Ketheric’s armour.
“Ah, my favourite potential client,” Raphael acknowledged with his devilish grin as you entered his room. “I’m so glad you came. Welcome to the final reckoning.
Your eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion; hadn’t he said something different last time?
“I’m glad you came. Not to my door, not yet, but the final reckoning.”
You brushed it off; you probably just greeted him differently.
“One more thing before we can begin, however.”
Snap.
With a simple snap, the tadpole in your head stopped its squirming and you were free from the Emperor’s scrutiny.
Perhaps he was expecting a reaction to his greatness, but you couldn’t be bothered.
“I want to make a deal, Raphael.”
You noticed something that was barely there; a small, minuscule glint in his eyes. What was it? Interest? Confusion? Fear? You didn’t get time to properly decipher it, because it was gone in a flash, replaced by his mask of calm and arrogance.
“But, of course, my dear client — that’s what I do.” There was a drink in his hand that hadn’t been just a moment ago, coloured a blood red. “I’ll admit — you’ve impressed me. I wasn’t sure you’d—“
“I really don’t need convincing, just let me sign the fucking contract,” you interrupted, doubtlessly earning his ire. He loved to hear his own voice and he was probably imagining ripping your tongue from your mouth. Ah, well, it wasn’t like he’d remember it.
There was a raise of an eyebrow, his eyes morphing to surprise rather than irritation. Odd.
“I need Orpheus to destroy the elder brain and I need the Orphic hammer to free him,” you drawled on, voice bored. “ You have the Orphic hammer and I’m well on my way to having the Crown of Karsus in my palm which is what you want so you can… I don’t know, do evil things? Just give me the damn contract and I’ll sign.”
There was silence, a cold calculation taking place behind Raphael’s eyes. You knew he wasn’t stupid, and now he knew that you knew too much. Perhaps it was dangerous to catch the intrigue of a devil, especially one like Raphael but it was of no concern to you. By the time the crown was in his hands, the timeline would reset and any thoughts of you and your knowledge would be wiped away.
He chuckled, his desire for the crown outweighing his suspicions of you. “Eager pup, aren’t we?” With the flick of his wrist, the contract was right in front of you. “I assume it’s self explanatory, then, that your soul is collateral should you fail to give me the crown?”
“No shit,” you muttered as you signed the infernal contract, dread seeping into your stomach and anchoring down like a stone. Perhaps it would all be erased, but your friends would still hate you for it.
“Perfect!” His tone was down right jolly, probably shaking with glee internally at the thought of getting the crown. The poor devil had no idea it would slip from his fingers the moment he got it. “One more rhyme, for old times sake.”
Oh, goody.
“The master was slain within his own house. They dined on him both; the cat and the mouse.”
And then they woke up to the master being alive and all they’re hard work being for nothing.
“The hammer is now yours. You will find yourself in Orpheus’ presence before the end comes — when you do, shatter the chains that hold him. Be sure to keep the hammer safe until then. Your survival depends on it.”
“Yes, because I’m just going to allow someone to steal the Orphic hammer.”
He ignored your remark, continuing to talk his own ear off. “I will keep your contract safe in my House of Hope.”
You mean the house where you’ve chained and tortured Hope?
“I’ll be seeing you. And when I do — we dine.”
With a snap of his fingers, he was gone and you were left alone in the Devil’s Den, silently praying this would not be the timeline that stuck.
You couldn’t risk it, you decided.
There was a stone of dread and guilt settled inside of you ever since your signature graced that parchment and, even if the world would just reset itself, you couldn’t risk it. If the gods really did hate you — just as you thought — this would be the timeline that stuck and it would be your fault that Raphael had limitless power.
It was suicide — you knew that — but you went alone, not being able to bear the thought of your allies knowing you had signed such a contract. They may forget, but you would always remember their disappointment and betrayal. It would be engraved in your memories for the rest of your life… however long that would prove to be. You simply told them you had errands to run and would be gone for the majority of the day… Little did your companions know that you were playing the lamb, walking in a lion’s den of its own free will.
Helsik, as usual, demanded money. You told her you would instead retrieve something from Raphael’s collection. Whether you actually got to that was anyone’s guess.
You met Hope’s flickering spirit once again — frantic and panicked as she was the previous time. Begging you to save her, to use the hammer to release her chains. Frankly, you didn’t know if you could risk such a thing… You didn’t think you’d be able to without help. You warned her as much, but she still gave you a disguise.
“CURIOSITY KILLED ALL THE CATS IT WON’T BE SO KIND TO YOU.”
The words echoed in your tadpole-infested mind, knowing all too well how true they were. You weren’t as familiar with the House of Hope as other locations or dangers you had encountered, and found something almost unrecognizable grip at your heart; fear. Not many things made you afraid anymore — your greatest fear and dread was constantly waking up in that pod. Death didn’t scare you. Loss didn’t scare you. You’d been so numbed to the emotion that it was foreign in your chest.
Perhaps you should’ve given up on your ventures a long time ago, resigned yourself to an endless torment of death and rebirth, for there seemed to be no end to your repetitive hell. But Hope was correct when she said she was the very thing that kills you and keeps you alive; you hoped that, if you did things differently… did things right, the cycle would end. Truth be told, the endless resets were not your torment… your constant hope for change was.
“The paper cage for your soul. Such a tiny thing, but it’s one of his favourites. The favourite.”
Most of what Hope had said unnerved you, but that especially. The last (and only) time you visited the House of Hope, you had practically spat at Raphael’s deal and decided to steal the hammer. He had been angry enough then, you wondered (feared) just how angry he would be if you dangled his most coveted power in front of him… only to snatch it away. He had been merciless and cruel when striking down you and your party last time but you had a terrible feeling he would be worse this time.
You needed to take your contract before you broke Hope’s chains… if you broke her chains. She frantically cried that the chains breaking echoed through the planes of hell and that’s what alerted Raphael of your presence. Could you not just take your contract and sneak away?
You still remembered the password to unlock the impervious sphere from stealing the Orphic hammer and could only hope it remained the same for the contract. You figured it would be harder to find, but it was not — grandly displayed as the centerpiece of the archive room. There was a sickened feeling in your stomach as you read its label; “The contract of a most cherished client”.
“Give me my heart’s desire,” you all but whispered, preparing for a battle you would surely die in.
The contract was released from its binds, alerting the archivist of such a thing. You didn’t think or pause, you simply grabbed it and downed a potion of invisibility. If the gods were on your side (and they never were) you would get through the portal before Raphael got home.
The debtors, servants, and imps aimlessly attacked and rampaged panickedly through the halls of the manor, doubtlessly terrified their master would punish them if they did find you and the contract he treasured so dearly.
You got to the room with the portal, heart clenching with guilt as you distantly heard Hope’s begs and screams. One day, you would save her. But today was not that day because Raphael was already waiting for you. Looking right at you. Had your potion worn off?
“Such tricks do not work on me, mortal, ” he sneered, glaring at you from across the room. You could hear his minions coming. “How dare you break into my house, betray our contract, and bring the chaos of your world into mine.”
Oh — he was cutting the lecture short this time. Maybe the contract was less important than the hammer? No, that didn’t feel right.
“I should flay your skin from your body and hang you but, fortunately for you, I am in a merciful mood—”
Your brow furrowed. He hadn’t come close to mercy when you stole the hammer. How odd.
“—and will allow you to correct your stupidity. ” His face was nothing short of a grimace, as if this act of ‘mercy’ was physically paining him. As if he wanted to do nothing more than end your very existence. Then why hold back? “Give me the contract, and I shall let you leave to save your precious Baldur’s Gate. We’ll continue with the promised deal and this… misadventure will go unpunished.”
You took the contract out of your pocket, looking down at it and then back at Raphael. He held his hand open with a tight smile, as if restraining himself from burning your insides. You began to approach him…
…Only to rip the contract in two, right in his face.
Fires of rage consumed him as his true form was shown and you knew this death would hurt.
Strangely enough, you didn’t see Raphael for another two resets. Perhaps you were lackluster in battle, or simply hadn’t given him the opportunity to approach you in the wilderness, meaning he wouldn’t bother to find you in the city. You learned very quickly that cause and effect were extremely important and that the change of one simple action or word could alter the course of everything . You assumed that’s what happened with Raphael — you either forgot to do something, or did something differently enough to not provoke the devil to bother him.
Not that you were upset at not seeing him. Frankly, after how suddenly and painfully he had slaughtered you when you stole the contract, you’d rather be spared his face.
Whatever it was that kept him away, you unknowingly corrected it because he was quick to be turning up out of thin air, offering you deals in every reset. You rejected them, avoiding him like the plague.
Until you didn’t.
You had a theory in the back of your mind; the resets kept occurring because someone always suffered. Karlach would die or end up back in Avernus. Wyll would lose his father or also go to Avernus with Karlach. Astarion would be forced to live a life in darkness or become evil incarnate. Gale’s ambition permitted him to become a god or simply be ended by it. Shadowheart would leave or be bound to Shar or die by your hand. Lae’zel would always leave because you failed to get the hammer.
Sometimes, you did a few things right and your friends would be happy but never all of them. Someone always suffered. Perhaps these resets occurred because everyone deserved a happy ending.
But why was that your responsibility?
You cared for your friends — grew to love them, after being with them so long. Knowing them deeper than anyone else ever would. You would do anything for them… but this? Being forever stuck in a constant loop without even someone to hold your hand through it all? Having to dig your way into their hearts all over again when they were already in yours?
It wasn’t fair.
You could complain about it as much as you wanted, but the world would not stop turning. The resets would not cease, even as you begged them to. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but you had no choice but to play along.
Meaning if you wanted everyone to be happy, you had to steal the Orphic Hammer and kill Raphael. Fortunately for you, your friends were always on board (hardly enthusiastic, but on board).
You grew accustomed with the house of hope, learning the layout like the back of your hand. Knowing Raphael like the back of your hand; his attacks, his weaknesses, his movements. It had taken just shy of ten resets but — finally — the devil was on his knees in front of you, paling as you prepared to give the final blow with his own hammer.
His minions were gone, as were the pillars; he was all alone. He was weak. After ten repeats of the same damn things (the Nautiloid. Ketheric, Orin, Gortash) you would finally put an end to the devil. You couldn’t help but gloat a little, even as your party was on death’s doorstep behind you.
“I have a rhyme for you, Raphael — for old time’s sake,” you mocked. Perhaps he had absolutely no memory of giving you this stupid poem, but it burned in your brain. “The master was slain within his own house. She dined on him alone, that unkillable little mouse.”
There would be no alliance between cat and mouse — only blood.
He grit his teeth, a flash of something in his eyes. You gave yourself no time nor care to decipher it before you smashed the hammer against his skull, hope in your heart that this would be the cycle that ended them all.
So imagine your rage when, in a flash, you were back in that damn pod.