Void. Darkness. Floating in an endless, empty space, without a feeling of his body. He doesn't feel his horns, doesn't feel the wings on his back. Did Mephistopheles take them away? Was his torture finally over? Was he granted a relief of death, a relief of finally being devoured by his sadistic father?

'What do you mean, something is blocking you?' he suddenly hears a soft, worried female voice.

Curious. It sounds oddly familiar, but so distant. It feels as if it's been millennia since he heard it. Yet, it fills him with something. A sensation... How to quite put it.

Suddenly, another voice echoes through the endless abyss he seems to be drifting in. It's much deeper, with the same kind of hint of concern.

'In my opinion, this has all the symptoms of a curse. I am sorry, I won't be able to help. It's nothing quite like I witnessed before, my usual magic will not lift it.'

The voices are now a bit clearer.

'I could heal his cracked skull, but it took a lot more of my energy than it should. I think the healing is delayed because of the curse. I might come back to treat the wings later.'

'If it's outside of your power, then there is no need for you to be sorry. You shouldn't focus on something you can't affect,' the same female voice says. He wants to frown, but he doesn't feel like he owns a physical body. 'Besides, I think Raphael might have some knowledge of that curse.'

Raphael? How familiar his name sounds when rolling off that woman's mouth. He tries to look around the dark void, but there is no light or image in sight.

'It wouldn't surprise me. And it seems that he might awake soon,' the man notices. 'Have you received the invitation from Withers?'

'I did, will you come to the meeting?'

'Of course! I can't wait to catch up with everyone.'

'Same, I want to hear everyone's stories. It is so crazy, isn't it? How we all met, bound by the threads of fate and how we all just continued our personal adventures, separately, but not lonely.'

'Have you ever felt it?

Raphael listens in carefully, the voices finally sounding like they are right next to him. The void is still there, but the darkness gradually disparses and he gains awareness of lying on some sort of a disgustingly cheap bed in a dimmed room.

'The fate threads?'

'Yes.'

'I might sound like a lunatic,' said the woman. 'But yes. You know how shugenja monks take vows, undergo training and then lead a lifestyle of a wanderer, helping wherever they can? I was only a year after starting my lonely journey and then all of that happened. I am beyond grateful for every single one of you. I hold you all so very close to my heart.' There is a rustle of fabric and a small happy sigh leaving the woman's mouth. The man chuckles. 'I've grown so much from having the honor of sharing each and every one of your experiences.'

'You always sound like you owe us, well... everything,' the man responds softly.

'Do I not?'

'We owe you just as much, if not more. You were put in a life threatening situation and did everything to pursue the cure for yourself and the team, while still finding time to help me, help us out with our own goals. You are a born leader.'

'I always preferred to be on receiving end of orders.'

'A one cannot lead if one doesn't know how to follow.'

There is a moment of silence and the woman chuckles softly.

'Thanks, Halsin. You are such a big teddy bear.'

Halsin? An image of a druid started crawling its way back to Raphael's memory, but before it finished assembling, the man laughed and responded:
'Anytime, Tav. Anytime.'

Raphael manages to open his eyelids. He is looking up at the ceiling, while lying on an awfully stiff bed. It's almost as stiff as his own bones and limbs. The room he is in is very small, and has a surprisingly pleasant scent of freshly cut wood, but that's about the only positive thing that he can muster.

'You know where to find me if you need anything else,' Halsin responds from somewhere behind the closed door.

A short while later, he hears soft footsteps and the door slides open just a tiny bit. He recognizes the person walking in - the little mouse - and the second he does, the mysterious sensation resurfaces, but this time, he is able to name it very well.

On your way back to the room, you grab a cleaning brush and a little bit of cold water inside a metal bowl. You add a few drops of lemon juice inside and stir it with your hand, then head towards the room. You carefully open the door and step inside, leaving just enough of the light sinking in so that you can take care of the bloody stain in the center of the floor.

You glance at Raphael and set the bowl down on the floor and just as you are about to start your task, you catch a glimpse of his muscles tightening in the dimmed light. You turn your head towards him, observing, but for a long moment nothing happens. It is then, when you notice the tip of his tail moving uneasily.

'Raphael?' you ask gently, then lift yourself up and stand next to his bed. His eyes are partially open.

You gasp at the sight, immediately moving back to the living room to grab a candle. You come back to his side and gently cup his now completely healed jaw, moving it just a tiny bit while bringing the candle towards his face. His pupils don't seem to react and you place your palm on his forehead. You wonder if cambions can have a fever.

You set the candle aside and return to his face, staring into his half-lidded eyes. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm and his pulse is finally stable and a lot stronger than half a day ago.

Suddenly, his pupils focus on you, making your heart jump with anxiety, but before your muscles have a chance to react, he grabs your throat and rolls to his side, knocking you to the ground. You are startled by the fury inside his burning eyes, but following your instincts, you wrap your legs around his neck, locking your ankles together to choke him, while trying to push his hands away.

'Let. Me. Go.' you struggle and roll your scapulas on the floor, attempting to position your feet on the bedframe.

When you feel the support under your soles, you let go of his throat and hands, then grab his horns and pull him down towards your chest, while swinging your body and pushing your legs on the bedframe. You roll him over your head and land on his torso. As you feel his fingers trying to dig into your skin, you suddenly realize how smart was it to have Halsin skip healing his claws and let them regrow naturally.

'Raphael!' you snap at him and he uses your own move, lifting his legs to kick you all the way to the doorway.

You smash your knees on the floor and crawl deeper into the living room, hearing him standing up behind you.

'You,' he simply spits out, gritting his sharp teeth.

Something tells you that he feels the same way about you as you feel about Mephistopheles. There are no curses known to him that would be sufficient enough to describe his current hatred.

You lift yourself to your feet and jump above the smoldering open fireplace and look at him, standing in the doorway.

'Is this how you greet me after I rescued you from Cania?' you ask with anger in your voice.

'Rescued me?' he regains some composure and you can hear the venom dripping from his low baritone voice. He starts walking around the fireplace, the two of you eying each other with sheer fury. You can tell that he tries to flex his broken wings, but his futile efforts make him glance at his own back with annoyance. 'Do you have any idea what you've done?'

You stop and pretend to think for a second. 'I don't know. Maybe... Saved you?'

In a one big leap, he pins you to a wall and grabs your face, pushing it to the wooden surface. 'You humiliated me!'

He throws you from the wall to the fireplace. You burn your palms on the smoldering wood and roll to the floor next to the guest room doorway, quickly taking off the shirt which caught on fire. You throw it to the bowl with water and feel Raphael's leg push you down. 'You pathetic, disgusting, revolting, meaningless, worthless, weak, slimy insect.'

That's a handful...

'How dare you open your mouth to address me,' he tries grabbing your head and smashing it to the floor, but you resist him in his weakened state. 'You took everything from me. You dare break in and plunder my house, delay me from getting what is rightfully mine,' he grabs your right shoulder and tries to dislocate the arm, but you manage to angle yourself to decrease the tension in the joint. His clawless palm starts bleeding again and you can feel the burning liquid smearing your back. 'How dare you disturb and flaw the order of my life with your chaos. You disgusting creature.'

You manage to free yourself from beneath him, enough for you to swing your open palm straight at his vital point - throat. The punch isn't amplified by Ki, so it doesn't have any lethal effect, but it is enough for his weakened form to let go of you.

You switch sides and this time you grab a kitchen knife, threatening to stab his neck if he tries anything funny.

'We could have had an agreement, but you, being the proud narcissistic bastard you are, didn't want to take it,' you say to his face. 'And I humiliated you? Do you even hear yourself?!' you can feel tears of anger blurring your vision, as you fight with him for the knife. 'When did I humiliate you? When I blew out a literal bomb on top of your stupid head? When I had my team fire multiple fiend slaying arrows at you? When we outnumbered you because I never dared to think of you as a weak enemy?' He squints his eyes but doesn't say anything. 'When Yurgir, mad at you for keeping him away from his beloved Blood War, dealt the final blow? I would humiliate myself and give you the crown knowing exactly what you were planning to do with it,' you can feel his grasp weaken and you subconsciously start to relax your wrists in response. 'But you know why I didn't want to give it right off the batch? Because I knew there is no way in hells, that you will unite the Nine!'

He throws you again and you smash your back on the near table, immediately standing up to your feet.

'You would have died yourself!' you shout at him, tear rolling down your cheek. 'You'd go against Asmodeus, are you out of your fucking mind?!'

He is back on his feet, glaring at you with the hellfire fueling his eyes. The both of you pant heavily and you throw the kitchen knife towards the entrance door and wipe the tears off your eyes. You take a shaky breath and bend your back, supporting your weight on your knees. The mix of a sudden adrenaline shock caused by his assault and the things the two of you said during the argument is making your body tremble. You glance back at him, his damaged claw now relaxed next to his side, as drops of blood fall to the floor.

'Switch your forms, your wings are still broken.'

'Don't you dare order me around.'

You take a deep breath and straighten your back. You suddenly realize that you are shirtless and so is he, standing with only a towel wrapped around his hips. His intense eyes don't leave yours but a cloud of cinders covers his body and before he fully appears in your vision, the towel drops to the floor and you turn your head away from him. There is a moment of silence, when you just wrap your arms around your torso and stare at a wall opposite of Raphael, doing your best to keep him out of your vision. You know that it is not exactly smart, but you are also aware that he no longer wants to fight you, at least not in this exact moment.

He snaps his fingers of the non-damaged hand and for a second you are tempted to look if he is still there. He snaps once again and you can't help but look around your body, as if looking for any new signs of damage. In the meantime, he sneaks behind you and pushes your chest to the table before you.

'Raphael!' you shout at him.

'Hush now, don't get too excited,' he replies quietly and you quickly realize he is checking the scar on your back. You move your right arm to swipe your hair away from your skin.

He is silent for a prolonged moment which in this suspicious position feels like eternity.
'And, what is it?'

'A scar.'

You roll your eyes and keep lying patiently on the table.
'Can you be less vague this time?'

'Cursed one.'

'Raphael.'

'I told you not to speak to me.'

'Then what, would you rather communicate in a sign language?'

'I'd rather rip out your tongue,' he says slowly, his words gentle like a touch of silk despite the awful meaning behind them.

He lets go of you and walks around the living room and pushes the door to the bathroom open. You have no idea how he guessed that the bathroom is going to be behind that specific door, but you don't care enough to want him to elaborate. Not that he would anyway.

'Get me my clothes,' he says from inside of the room.

You wonder if it is worth replying verbally and pissing him off even further, but you decide against it. Instead, you enter the guest room and slide open the drawer. The clothes are already there prepared for him. You took them some time ago, when Hope wanted to throw away all of the Raphael's silks.

You pick up the burnt shirt from inside the bowl and notice that the water dripped from the fabric, wetting the floor around your feet. A sigh leaves your mouth and you suddenly feel nervous, knowing that you will need to enter the currently occupied bathroom.

What a ridiculous situation one can find themselves in, you think to yourself as you fetch some simple, fresh shirt and put it on.

You take a deep breath in and courageously march towards the neighboring doorway. When you step inside, Raphael stands in front of a mirror, assessing his state while cupping his chin in his usual Raphael-style-pose. You tear your eyes away from his hair, nicely falling down towards his muscular back and walk to the other side, just to grab a cloth. You leave the room, then go to your knees in order to scrap off the blood stains you initially wanted to remove.

A few long minutes later Raphael returns to the room and purely on purpose stands in front of you. You avoid looking anywhere else besides the stain.

'My, my. If I had known that the sight of my glorious unconcealed body is enough to bow your head and keep you on your knees, I would take my pants off long time ago.'

'Get dressed or I will bite it off,' you snap and point your left hand at the open drawer.

He extends his stay but eventually moves towards the other side of the room, muttering something about humiliating mortal tasks. You are not sure, but you suspect that he might be referring to the need of dressing himself instead of just snapping his fingers.

'Well?' you ask after a moment as he covers his body in some pretty black nightgown. 'Did you figure something out with the scars?'

'I know everything there is to know about them!' he announces with a chuckle. You definitely do not like where this is going.

You risk looking up at him, comfortably seated on the floor and immediately notice that he has now shifted into a very good mood. You can feel a claw of dread, slowly closing on your sinking heart.

'But, how to quite put it,' you look at him, clearly in his element. 'Oh, it must have left my head.'

'Raphael, don't play with me,' you warn him.

'Why, are you not entertained, little mouse?'

You stand up to your feet and regret it for a moment, feeling your head spin. 'No? Are you?'

'Very much, I am so delighted you asked,' you try to see any signs of deception on his face, but it is as unreadable as ever. His big brown eyes, framed with perfect eyelashes burn right through the dimmed room, straight into your soul. 'I think I might even forgive you your little... improvisation of your part, as a display of my boundless generosity.'

'What happened?' you ask, feeling the fear settling in at the base of your spine. 'Please tell me, Raphael, don't play games, it's important!'

'Tut-tut. Don't raise your voice at me, dear,' he raises his finger warningly. 'Are you ready for the grand reveal? Can you hear the drum rolls echoing through the stage?'

You look at him, knowing damn well he is relished to see the expression on your face. Oh hells, if he could just freeze you in time he would, just so that he could revel in this moment for the rest of eternity.

'My dear little mouse,' he generously bows before you and tilts his head to the side. If you weren't so terrified, your eyes would probably be dreamy at how gorgeous he looks in this low light. 'We are now soul bound.'

He grabs his chin again and can't help but smile. He studies your face with a keen eye of someone who has done it for literal millennia; there is not a single micro-expression that would slip past his notice. But he doesn't need to try too much, because you were never a person trying to conceal your feelings.

You put your hands on your knees and exhale, trying to calm your heart.

'What does that mean?'

'That we are bound to each other,' he grabs your palms into his strong, warm hands. 'Like eternal lovers.'

'Can you please be more specific? Can we not lift the curse?'

'We can,' he nods and keeps smiling. 'It's quite simple, actually.'

You can't help but swallow and hate that he notices that as well.

'All we need to do is perform a simple,' he waves his right hand in the air a few times, while still holding you with his left palm. 'Transaction. I lend you my power and you obey my command.'

His piercing gaze returns to yours. You keep studying him, feeling your brow muscles tense in deep thought.
'Become your warlock? I'd rather die.'

You want to turn around and walk away.
'A-a-a,' he pulls you towards himself and places his hands on your shoulders. 'I'm afraid I have bad news for you, little mouse,' he purrs the last part in your ear and you allow yourself for no other reaction than a slight twitch of your fingers. Your instinct or sheer paranoia tells you that this didn't go unnoticed. 'If you take your own life, your soul goes to Mephistopheles.'

'To your father?' you glance at him above your shoulder and you are glad to see the disgust spread all over his features. 'Why would- Wha- How could,' you grasp your forehead with your right palm and descend down until you crouch. 'I don't believe you. It doesn't make sense. You know what?'

'What's on your mind, dear?' he asks and sits on the bed, then grimaces briefly again, clearly displeased by the quality of the furniture.

'I think you are just lying.'

'Lying?' he raises his eyebrows, disguising himself behind a puppy-like expression. 'I am so deeply wounded. Have I ever lied to you?'

You open your mouth and then close it, looking away from his smug face. No. He really never lied to you. Sometimes he even warned you or shared something that seemed personal to him, like the history of the Crown for example.

The realization hits you like a bull, almost knocking all of the will to live out of you. You find yourself unable to reconnect with your constantly shaky, uneasy breath. You grasp the roots of your hair, feeling the cambion's eyes burning a hole through you. You don't even care anymore how much satisfaction you bring him in this exact moment.

This is awful. Terrible. Helpless. You feel like a cornered animal, without the ability to move to the left or right in order to escape the predator. But then again, has your mind ever worked in such a simple way? If there is no way of going left or right, you either jump above the obstacle, climb it or dig under it. You always went against the current and you always will.

Suddenly, a spark of light slices through the darkness and the grasp of helplessness rocking your crumbled body back and forth goes away. Your head shoots up as if you were a rabbit leaving it's hole.

'HA!'

Raphael watches you curiously as you stand up with a victorious expression on your face.

'First of all, I have to piss,' you announce and leave the room. It takes you a few minutes, but when you return every single one of your thoughts is already back in its place. 'Second of all, you do not lie, that is true. However you are not very descriptive and share things that only benefit you, my dear,' you retort with the same nickname. 'I have learnt at least that throughout all of our interactions. And knowing your loving father Mephistopheles,' his eyes dart away from you and his nose twitches in disgust, 'and having the displeasure of meeting him personally I know that he would not want to benefit you.'

'What makes you so sure of that, little mouse?' he asks with a velvet voice, the nickname so breathy that it takes a moment for you to regain your composure.

'I do not trade valuable information to someone who won't provide me with any. I will keep that to myself this time around.'

'What assurance do I get that I am not being the one deceived?'

'The same one you provided me. A confession. I never lied to you, Raphael. And as a matter of fact, I don't lie at all, because I follow my vows.'

He rolls his eyes and spreads his legs just a bit, part of his silk gown sliding to reveal his knee.

'Now that we have that established,' you say and glance at the now stainless floor, before returning with your gaze back to his face. 'Halsin didn't manage to treat your wings today.'

'I've noticed as much.'

'Well, then can you share your knowledge and tell me what can I do to treat them? Or shall Halsin visit tomorrow?'

'You already know.'

'I am not signing a pact with you. I will ask Ha-'

He leans forward, eyeing you carefully.
'Why the concern? Why do you want to see me back in my previous shape, little mouse?

You duck down and fetch the bowl with dirty water inside. You think for a long moment, your face completely relaxed, as you place the bowl against your belly and allow your shoulders to rest easily. You wonder for a bit if that slice of knowledge in his hands possesses any kind of threat to you or your allies.

You look at the bowl, then back at him.
'Do you want to know why I specifically want the wings to be back or why I went to Cania to get you?'

'Both.'

'You're so greedy,' you notice.

'It must be the devil in me,' he responds with a slightly raised eyebrows. You turn your head to the side, as a gentle smile creeps on your face.

'Korrila told me something that well... set my mind to it,' you frown and glance at the bowl again. You make a mental note to put some wood into the fireplace for the night. 'Apparently, when I was foolish enough to trust the, how was she called, Priestess Gut or something like that. One of the Absolutists at the goblin camp... It was you who saved me through Korrila. She set me free from the goblin cage and you never told me. And you never demanded anything in return.'

'It was a simple investment. You have zero value to me dead, unless your soul is already signed.'

He puts on a mask of boredom. He notices the bright unjaded sparks in your eyes, a sight he convinces himself he hates to see, then watches you turn towards the doorway.

'Sleep well.'

You grasp the door and freeze in your step.
'Oh and about the wings. I have noticed that all of the paintings in House of Hope that supposedly portray you are of your cambion form. I thought,' you stop for a moment, considering how to properly phrase the sentence to not step on dangerous grounds. With everything that you witnessed near Mephistopheles calling him a 'half thing', it appears to you that Raphael takes more pride in his winged form than the surface one. 'I thought that it would be just sad if the prolonged treatment would result in a permanent injury, and have such a huge part of your body, literally, no longer bring you joy.'

You glance at him staring at you with his usual, slightly furrowed brows.

'They are quite pretty indeed,' you add and leave the room, closing the door carefully behind you.