Chapter Text
The feeling begins at the top of his spine. A prickling sensation that descends down his back, as if a light cloak billows and settles over his shoulders.
And then, the pulsing begins—an erratic heartbeat thumping within his skull.
Raphael sits at the grandiose table in his Feast Hall, pinching the bridge of his nose at the sound of two of his clients scarfing down every plate of food they can get their hands on. His senses become acute and oversensitive to each sip, slurp, bite, and swallow.
Momentarily, Raphael contemplates burning their tongues to ash, but they are no use to him mute. Or perhaps he could ignite the air within their lungs, though that would cause quite the internal hemorrhaging, and they would be dead on the floor before he would get his contract’s worth.
But as his own skull thumps, thumps, and thumps, he cannot stop imagining boiling their very brains, in anticipation of watching the grey matter ooze from their ears.
It is tempting, surely, but instant gratification is rarely worth the long-term sacrifice.
“Please,” he grits out, managing a smile. “Enjoy the meal. Take your time. Savor these delicacies from the Hells.” He stands in one fluid movement, and stalks toward a set of doors to the back of his clients.
Once he enters the room, the double doors shut behind him in one loud slam, and the sound only heightens the beating in his head. At once, he throws a hand up and conjures a fiery portal, glaring straight into it as he waits for the image to stabilize.
“Oh,” comes a voice from behind him. There is shuffling as the covers from the ornate bed fall off, and a figure slithers forward to stand near. There is undeniable giddiness to their tone when they ask, “What is the little thief doing now?”
Raphael crosses his arms and glares into the depths of the fire.
She is either fighting or fucking. What more could she be capable of?
The portal wavers briefly before solidifying, and finally, the image comes through, and it is merely of a small flame, hovering over a shoulder. Raphael grabs at the air, expanding the scene until he can see the face of the woman he has been tracking for the last few months.
Two trails of tears stain her cheeks as she looks beyond at something Raphael cannot see, and her flame fizzles and pops, quaking beside her, as if in fear.
She lacks control of her magic, and her emotions make it worse. Time and time again, it is something Raphael has observed and noted.
With a twist of a finger, he turns the image within the portal around to face—
Bodies suspended over a dark chamber. A shirtless singular man at the very center, with a diabolical, red staff. A look of hunger. A hint of greed. A claiming of a victory.
And just a glint of madness.
“She doesn’t seem very happy with her lover,” the voice tutts from behind Raphael. “That is her lover, yes? The vampire spawn.”
“Quiet, Haarlep,” Raphael demands, now intently watching as the staff rises with triumph, the floating bodies quivering before it.
And the man begins to speak. The more he does, the more Raphael’s jaw slackens as he recognizes the incantation.
“Ah, what a twist,” Raphael mutters, blazing eyes fixed on the bodies above that continue to vibrate, shivering as if cold, the scars on their backs illuminating a bloody, vibrant red. “Mephistopheles’ Ascension ritual… stolen?”
“Astarion!” comes the cry of the woman with the fire.
“Ah, yes. Astarion,” Haarlep hisses. “The vampire spawn… now turned Ascendant?”
Astarion turns his back to Raphael’s view, and there is the actual twist.
There are scars on his back, ones that burn an angry, hellish red, matching those on the bodies above.
“Marked,” Raphael says with delight, “for sacrifice. Oh, Mephistopheles. An extra soul for your bargain, is it?” He flicks his wrist, and the view returns to the woman, who has fallen to the ground, her flame dim and dying beside her.
“How pretty the little thief is on her knees,” Haarlep murmurs.
Raphael cannot take his stare off of her, the inconsequential flame of her creation reflected in his own fiery eyes. “Stupid is what she is.” His eyes narrow at her, at the way her head bows low—in regret, anguish, and sorrow. “And she knows it.”
“A Daughter of Adamek,” Haarlep purrs. “You know, I haven’t had one of those.”
Raphael turns around to face the male form that looks entirely like his own—albeit younger— reflection. “An untrained Daughter. A novice. She started summoning her fire not four months ago. Pitiful. Pathetic. Useless.”
“Does the girl even know that her fire is stolen?” Haarlep murmurs, turning away, seemingly bored by the revelation already.
“What matters is what she doesn’t know." Raphael pauses for a moment in consideration. "Perhaps what she needs… is a mentor. A guide. A teacher.” He taps a finger to his mouth, turning back to the woman on her knees, eyes closed as if in prayer, with an endless stream of tears dripping down her cheeks. “Train the Daughter, grow her magic, feed her fire, and once sufficiently mature…”
Haarlep looks back, and grins at their master. “You must always ripen the fruit before plucking.”
As the flame beside the woman extinguishes, so does the connection, and the portal disappears into a puff of smoke.
Finally, Raphael’s skull ceases its thumping.
A/N: I kept bringing Raphael around in Hellish Rebuke (likely more than necessary), and there's a lot that I couldn't explore with him and Lilith's relationship. So, here we are!
Thank you so much to Sneepy, my amazing co-author who has tirelessly outlined and fleshed out a lot of this story. I couldn't do this without you.
~blu