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It all seemed very harmless, so thought Corvo, to pray to a random god out of sheer boredom and perhaps spite.
Peace in Dunwall was a fragile thing. These days, Corvo's duties involved more ink-stained petitions than blood-stained cobblestones; a petty theft, a stabbing in an alley... the common grime of the city learning how to breathe again. Nothing that required his mark, nothing that really made him fight for survival by the skin of his teeth.
In fact, the mark had been dormant for months, little more than a scar. He'd long assumed its power was a loan, not a gift, that one morning he'd wake to find it faded away. A part of him hoped for it. The silence from the Void was almost worse than disappointment.
Not that he missed it, certainly not the way that damned deity would manifest. He remembered one particular night, deep in the witching hour, that familiar static buzz crawling over his skin. He'd simply groaned, rolling over in bed and squeezing his eyes shut, waiting. Seconds bled to minutes, and when he finally cracked an eyelid, the Outsider was there.
Its little visits was never about urgent news or world-ending plots. Sometimes, it seemed, the Outsider was just bored. And that boredom was worse than any assassin.
Now... the silence felt different. A turning away. Corvo found his own gaze lingering on the shadows in his chambers, half-expecting a shape to form, but it never did. The only thing watching him was a portrait of Emily on the wall. The thought, petty as it was, picked at the back of his mind: Perhaps the god had found a more interesting human to bother. Replaced him.
...But no matter. He had a life of his own, he could spend his time how he pleased. He didn’t need any bothersome god peering over his shoulder and he certainly had no need for the Outsider's powers now that he had some semblance of a peaceful life. As peaceful as Dunwall would ever be. At least it didn't wreak of death and rat plague anymore.
Therefore the logical option, he thought, was to free himself from the chains he’d placed on his own shoulders. The idea that he must be loyal to this one being. It had been a transactional relationship, after all. He was granted powers to fulfill his own goals, and the Outsider got a show to enjoy. Well, the show was over. It likely had been for a long while.
He had never specifically said he was forbidden from praying to other gods, after all.
From there, it was easy enough to find a small cul- er, assembly- from world-of-mouth on the street, another group The Abbey would very much consider heretical. There weren’t many of those these days, many either squashed out years ago or too small in number to keep up with the changing times.
The group he joined was one of those quickly-dying religions, a sect of people who worshiped an entity they called The Brass Saint. It was supposedly some mechanical deity tied to Dunwall’s industrial mechanizations- very likely just something some poor drunk bastard came up with while looking at a Tallboy. But he could care less how logical or outlandish the concept.
He’d spent the last month whispering from ear-to-ear and coming up with a story of how lost he felt, and after the members let go of their hesitation about inviting someone with such a reputation as him, it was easy enough to attend his first gathering.
It was nothing special, just a communion with a person who spoke of horrifying visions and some people who exchanged their “experiences” in a rundown hovel of a house. He held in laughter through the majority; even he could hardly take any of the hogwash seriously. But it would do.
They'd given him a few trinkets, namely little bits of metal in various molds that had likely been melted down and repurposed specifically for use with large shrines. He didn't have something so spectacular as the ones he'd seen when some of the other members invited him to their homes, nor did he feel particularly compelled to take things that far, but he'd set up a tiny altar on his dresser. Facing his mirror, there rested a square, copper-colored cloth with a tiny bag of salt he was to sprinkle before each prayer, as well as some coins and some of these metal trinkets. They weren't very well made, rusted and cracked in a few places, but neat to look at- even if they left the acrid scent of metal on his hands. So inconspicuous likely nobody would notice it unless they were either part of the cul- group or looking very, very hard.
O Brass Saint, he silently prayed, kneeling down by the altar, Forged in fire, tempered by time, hear my call. Let my failures be smelted into lessons, sharper than any blade.
It was short but decent, he thought. He'd listened to some of their sermons and listened to their prayers; they were all pretty much the same. Pleas for strength, courage and endurance through hardships. Beginning to stand up, he could’ve sworn he felt his mark sting a little, making him look down at it curiously. Just a fraction of a second, there a moment and gone the next. The sensation was so faint it could’ve been a bug bite.
He ignored it, walking across the room and climbing into bed with a yawn before blowing out his candle. The night passed by as usual, in fact he fell asleep easier than normal. The idea that he’d have a nightly routine outside of walking the perimeter of the palace for the billionth time now gave him a sense of comfort. Even if that routine was just making up words to a fictional deity, it was better than nothing. Better than laying awake wondering what the Outsider was up to now.
The next day, passed by quickly; he went about his duties, assisted Emily however he could, helped out with little odds and ends people brought up for him and taught combat lessons to new guard recruits. He ended the day with a long walk out in the streets, ensuring he’d be exhausted enough to fall asleep right after prayer time.
And so, as night fell and he retreated into his bed chambers, he knelt down in front of the altar and clasped his hands together. Cool air whistled through the cracked-open window, the palace creaking as it settled into another long dark.
His knees hurt as he steadied his breath and closed his eyes, unused to prayer. He’d never prayed to the Outsider, come to think of it. It didn’t feel right, somehow. From the way the whale god talked about its cult, it sounded like he didn’t enjoy their worship.
Brass Saint, hear me he silently prayed, You who turn the great wheels and stoke the eternal furnace, grant me the strength to bear the weight of my labors.
Another simple prayer, just a bit longer this time. Almost immediately after he opened his eyes, though, his mark stung again. This time it was more noticeable, less a bug bite and more a sunburn. He stared at it incredulously, looking around to see if there were any spectators. He was entirely alone.
He yawned as before, but this time it was exaggerated, for show. While the sensation was almost certainly just placebo, he couldn’t help but play into it. See what would happen, if anything.
The next few weeks went about much the same. There was always something to do in Dunwall, but Corvo went out of his way to find extra tasks to fill his time. He didn’t pass up a single quest, gladly accepting even the most menial task, ensuring each day he busied himself from dawn to dusk, every second full.
And just as before, he prayed in the same place, at the same time, to the same god. And every time the mark seemed to burn a little more.
It was easy to ignore at first, but it quickly started to really hurt. What started as just a prick became a jab, then searing heat that felt like his flesh was being melted, even if his body showed no sign of injury. He thought maybe it had something to do with the charms on his altar, but he hadn't touched them since setting them there, and he most certainly didn't have any allergies to metal. So that just left one possibility...
At this point, he knew the Outsider must be toying with him somehow, trying to get his attention. Yet the idea that he could be causing genuine irritation to the creature encouraged him to keep ignoring it and continue praying to this pretend god. He pretended he didn’t notice, poured all his focus into this industrial deity as if it was his night and day, his sun and his moon and every star in the darkest sky.
Ah, but he could only ignore it for so long, as soon enough it started to last longer than a second. It became a minute. Ten minutes. Thirty. An hour. He considered himself to have a high pain tolerance and due to his history, he was used to pain. Sometimes he liked it. Sought it out. But this wasn’t that sort of pain.
There was no relief from dousing his hand with ice water, distractions such as practicing fencing with Emily or trainees, or trying to sleep through it. He couldn’t rub a salve on it or drink something to soothe the pain. There was no control over the intensity, frequency or severity. A pain infuriatingly just out of reach.
Last night was particularly difficult… It went on most of the night. He writhed about in bed, shaking and clutching at sheets with a sweat-stained grip. No matter which way he turned or how he tried to block it out with thoughts about plans for tomorrow, it just wouldn’t ease up.
He’d once gotten a bad infection in his leg, the skin swollen and red, throbbing like a jagged blade to a raw wound; it felt something like that. At least back then he could down something to kill the pain, if only a tad. And that had been very visible- The fact that he could experience such pain without his hand showing any sign of damage whatsoever made things infinitely worse.
And yet he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t. He was going to follow this trivial battle down to the bitter end, even if it cost him both sleep and spirit.
Ah, how he’d grown to dread and anticipate prayer time. Tired both mentally and physically, he already knew tonight was going to be even worse. His legs fought against him as he knelt down by the altar, knees nearly refusing to bend.
His own manic heartbeat sounded in his ears, pulse rising as he put his palms together, a drop of sweat rolling down his back.
Brass Saint, keeper of the unyielding gears, he began in his mind, that dull ache starting up in the center of his hand, a warning throb before the real pain started. There was always that little warning, a chance to stop and just fall right into bed. To sleep and forget it all. The room was colder tonight, freshly-washed blankets tempting him from just a few feet away. He could give this all up right now if he wanted. But he didn’t.
Grant me the strength of tempered steel, he continued, thoughts muddying as the sensation of a thousand needles stabbing into tender flesh shot through his hand. It never got easier. He’d long-since given up on trying to hide his flinch as he jerked forward and forced himself to stay upright.
Let my heart beat steady, like a clock unwinding. He grit his teeth as the pain intensified, scorching him as if fire licked at him, making him involuntarily clench his hands into fists. He’d dealt with torture before, but it hadn’t broken him yet. If anything, it made him more defiant.
Biting his lip, he steadied his breath and thought a new line: Mold me into the image of your industrious design. From this day forth, I pledge my spirit and my soul as a tribute to y-
But he couldn’t finish the sentence before the pain overcame him in a tidal wave of pure agony, flooding not only his hand now but his entire body. He shook with the intensity of it, lurching forward and clawing at the dresser, teeth clenched so tight together he might’ve chipped a tooth.
He dry heaved, head spinning and vision swimming, a headache so intense he thought his skull must be caving in on itself. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks, and he forced himself to gasp in shuddering breaths, the air suddenly heavy and hard to breathe.
I’m sorry, he frantically signed, not even noticing as his hands jerked out movements, too wrapped up in the moment. Please make it stop, make it stop, make it stop-
And all at once, it did.
The pain was immediately lifted, replaced by a sense of complete and total peace- very jarring, considering how sudden the switch was, but entirely welcomed.
Corvo breathed long sighs of relief, trembling and sweating all over from the aftershock. He continued to quietly sob, his arms wrapped around himself in an instinctual self-preservation, terrified the excruciating pain might start up again.
He was no longer in his room but the ever-familiar embrace of the Void… though, somehow it seemed much more empty. Darker, very little light to see in front of himself or illuminate what little objects lingered around. He thought better than to attempt walking. Not that he would, his body still shivering on the ground as he tried to recover.
The cold, normally uncomfortable, was a much-needed solace from the all-encompassing feeling of being scorched from the inside. He drank the feeling in, groaning as he breathed in full lungfuls of air- or whatever the equivalent was here. He didn’t even really need to breathe, the hammer of his heartbeat calming down to a mellow patter every now and again, out of habit rather than necessity.
He didn’t bother looking around. He knew who- or what, rather- was watching him.
“You certainly took your time, didn’t you? I’m impressed, really. No matter what, you still find ways to surprise me, Corvo.”
The royal protector shakily rose to his feet, coughing and blinking as he tried to both adjust to the dark and figure out where to turn and look. He looked down at his mark, feeling it hum pleasantly, a far cry from the unbearable heat just moments before. The sensation radiated, blanketing the rest of him in comfort.
Immediately he felt ashamed at himself for giving up so quickly.
You interrupted me, he signed after a long breath, angrily jabbing his finger towards the whale god for the first signed word as he felt him manifest in front of him. He didn’t need to sign, he was entirely sure at this point the Outsider could read his every thought, but he did so anyway for his own sake if nothing else.
“Did I? What were you so busy with?” A tendril of inky darkness wrapped around Corvo’s waist, pulling him closer.
None of your concern, his hands communicated in sharp movements, brows drawn into a deep scowl.
“Isn’t it? Is it unfair to know what my Marked are doing? And it would seem you’ve picked up a new pastime as of late...”
You never told me I wasn’t allowed to worship other gods. He hesitated as he signed the word ‘worship’, feeling his mark tingle with a pleasurable glow at the mention of it. Pray to, he corrected.
“I didn’t. However, I’d like to know your reasoning.”
He shrugged.
“What does this all powerful god of machinery offer to you that I cannot provide? You’ve been content, haven’t you?”
Corvo wanted to laugh at that, the serious manner in which he spoke about what really was just a silly piece of fiction, but there was no humor in the Outsider's voice.
More dark tendrils curled around him, sneaking around his legs, fading into themselves and the air. They felt like whispers, a breath of cold that lingered just for a moment and then faded, only to be replaced by another a second later. Corvo tugged at them, trying to walk a few steps farther away, but they held fast, lapping at him, drawing him in.
He shot a defiant look at the god, who watched him intently with its own pitch black, bottomless stare.
I was bored, came his slow signs, drawing them out with a blank expression to emphasize his point. It wasn’t the point, he wasn’t honestly sure why he was so insistent upon this, but he wasn’t about to stand here and explain himself to a god that likely thought of him as less significant than a grain of sand when not busy entertaining it.
“Has this new god once answered your prayers?”
What does it matter? He glared harder on the last sign, growing agitated. He reached for his pocket knife in some stupid attempt to cut away the tendrils that flowed about and crawled up his torso, disheveling his freshly-pressed shirt.
The shades made no attempt to stop him as he unsheathed his blade and swiped it through them, but it was like cutting through air. They dissolved the second the knife came lashing through them; in fact, he only succeeded in causing more to appear, like a hydra made of shadows. Each grew longer, coiling around him, holding him not painfully but very snug.
“It doesn’t, and that’s what perplexes me. Why put your faith in a random god when you bare my mark?”
He tried to turn his head away as the Outsider approached, unblinking, watching his every move. The tendrils wouldn’t allow that for a moment, two wrapping around his neck and turning it back, holding it steady.
He flinched, not having noticed the Outsider was so close to him till they were eye to eye, and, after a moment, the creature’s mouth brushed against his.
It was an odd, brief, and very cold sensation. Like dry ice against his own rough, scabbed-over skin. There for a moment and then gone the next. As if it was the most casual thing in the world, bearing no weight in either meaning nor emotion.
It was the first time the Outsider had ever intentionally touched him. Even though he was very familiar with the being at this point, no longer feeling the stomach-lurching dread when he heard the void’s timeless hum of arcane energy, it was still a god.
Nothing about the touch felt natural; there was a vibrating undercurrent just beneath the skin, as if it barely contained whatever lay beneath. Primal human instincts compelled him to run or bow. Still, Corvo didn’t let his shock show.
“What a strange custom,” the god finally said after a moment. “Surely there are better ways to convey possession over another.” His eyes remained keenly fixated on Corvo’s twitching mouth, studying his expression. “I watched you and Jessamine share many of these.”
He tensed up at that, not even wanting to consider the implications of how long it’d been watching him before their first encounter. He could’ve sworn the edge of the Outsider’s mouth twitched upwards for a brief moment. He was definitely toying with him now. Trying to get under his skin.
Affection, not possession, he signed with a huff, looking to the side, I kissed her because I loved her.
It was getting more difficult to move his arms as those damned shades tried to coax him to still enough to wrap around them too. They lingered around his elbows and shoulders, curiously prodding as if waiting for invitation to cover more area, but it was clear the whale god was using some restraint to allow him to continue signing freely.
“Is there really such a difference between the two?"
Yes- and you don’t own me.
“But I do, Corvo. I thought that was obvious from the beginning.” His voice was firm, but there was no bite in its tone. As if stating a fact he was not only sure about but very proud of.
You never mentioned a payment for the- His hands faltered. Obviously, he just wanted to play with his emotions, get him reacting.
He held up his marked hand, glaring behind it all the while. Is that why you burned me?
“Burned? I see no injuries on you…” His face remained impassive, but the amusement in its tone was blatant now.
Before Corvo could withdraw his hand, two of the tendrils wrapped around his wrist and brought it close to the Outsider to inspect it. After a moment of looking it over, he cupped it with its own hand, touch feather-light and cool as marble. He turned it around slowly, tracing the mark with his fingertip, each circle around it sending little jolts of pleasure through Corvo’s hand and up his arm.
“Perhaps you were being punished by this god for reaching out to it when you are clearly owned by another.”
You don’t own me, he repeated in his thoughts. I never agreed to anything like that.
“Or perhaps,” it continued, “You felt such guilt that it manifested physically in the place we’re most connected. This is more than just a source for the power of the void to intermingle with your world, Corvo. You didn’t choose the first mark I gave you. After Delilah took it, you had the choice not to accept it again. And yet you did."
Without another word, it bent down slightly to kiss the mark. A blissful sensation swept through through the royal protector, so intense and unexpected it caused him to cry out in surprise, knees going weak and buckling under him. The shades were quick to catch him, gathering him up and lifting him up, too high for his feet to touch the ground.
The Outsider walked over to a basalt throne and sat down, waiting patiently as Corvo recovered with a few shaky breaths, shadows eagerly wrapping around his arms now that he could barely hold them up.
Corvo resigned to the writhing mass’s whims and allowed it to carry him closer to the throne, knowing there was little point in resisting. Every limb was hugged snug and tendrils snaked around his throat, tangling into his hair, caring not for a moment about how they tousled his clothes.
The mass forced him forward till he straddled the Outsider’s lap, tendrils pushing against him, inching him closer despite his resistance.
“Now tell me,” it murmured, clasping Corvo’s hands together and holding them up to eye level, “Why did you pray to this god? Explain it to me clearly. I’m ever so curious...”
You hadn’t reached out to me for a long while, he signed after a long pause, gaze locked at his own hands.
“That’s not a reason. Humans don’t join new religions if they’ve spoken with their god face to face. They do when they’re lost, devoid of meaning, have nowhere else to turn... You’ve had all your wishes fulfilled. You live a comfortable life. Are you unhappy?”
No… He bowed his head, but the Outsider tilted it back up with a finger to his chin. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not ungrateful for the help you’ve given me and Emily.
“Then what’s missing? Tell me.”
I thought you’d lost interest in me. That’s all.
It stared at Corvo a long moment, tilting its head, as if weighing the information and yet still finding it puzzling. “ Are you saying you went through all that to get my attention?"
The protector didn’t even try to sign, he just quickly shook his head, face heating up.
“Oh Corvo, dear Corvo, you’re hardly the first to do that. Do you know how many have gone to great lengths to call to me? Some have built elaborate structures, wasted their entire lives praying to me, carved a crude ‘mark’ into their own hands with a blade. Some have sacrificed other humans in my name. None of it ever matters. You, though? You’ll never cease to fascinate me.”
Don’t lie came Corvo’s sharp sign, the movement so quick it might’ve been a yell had it been spoken audibly. He reigned it back in, taking a slow breath. I don’t care either way. Just be honest with me.
“Why would I do that? The reason one lies is fear. Fear of punishment, fear of failure, fear of the unknown… Things for which I don't have any concept.”
He waited, but Corvo’s expression remained bitter.
“What would help you understand? You do fascinate me. I enjoy watching you. How you stretch out like a cat when you wake, the hesitation before you pull away from the warmth of the blankets. How your face lights up when Emily hugs you. The way you slip into a practiced sort of trance as you practice fencing. Your favorite places to hide away from crowds when you've had too much from public appearances. The flush on your cheeks after a couple glasses of wine, how soft it makes you, the tiny hiccups as you rest your head into armchair cushions. I count every breath you breathe while you sleep. The way the muscles in your face tense and the little sounds you make when you dream. You dream about me quite a lot, I’ve noticed.”
Fuck you, he signed furiously as a blush overtook him, shades busy pulling at his collar so they could lap against his throat.
"Held within the grasp of your god and you speak obscenities at it.” The mass of tendrils vibrated like a purr, wisping out in every direction only to curl tighter around Corvo. “That's one of the things I like about you, crow. None other will have you, not man nor deity."
It leaned in to kiss him again, this time with more force.
Corvo felt somewhat naive for assuming a god would understand such a simple gesture, because the experience could be more accurately described as being digested.
The cold from the earlier touch couldn’t begin to compare to this. He might as well be wading into a frozen sea, up to his neck within seconds, pulled down, down, down till he could barely feel anything else. A great fog overtook his thoughts; he struggled to form a clear thought, but it was useless.
It was even more difficult to tell where he stopped and the god began, blurring together into a wellspring of gathering darkness as he struggled to breathe. The Outsider ensured he wouldn’t get a chance to, keeping his mouth occupied while shadows covered his nose. He didn’t need to, but the sensation alarmed him. His hands jerked out instinctively, but the god held them steady. If he was going to suffocate, he would’ve long ago.
When it finally eased up, Corvo felt as though he’d been unraveled and put back together. He’d stopped shaking some time ago, but it all returned at once, teeth chattering- as if he was finally aware of his own body again. He gasped for air, finding his lungs weren’t starved in the slightest, but the feeling of breathing helped steady his nerves somewhat.
His body still didn’t quite feel like his own, buzzing with aftershocks. Tiny noises came up his throat, which the Outsider swallowed up with a few smaller, lazy kisses, slowly petting his back.
“I think I understand now,” came its voice through the haze only just beginning to clear from Corvo’s mind, “This entire time I thought you could feel my presence in the same way I feel yours. You wanted to see me. Hear my voice. You were lonely.”
Corvo started to sign a rebuttal but the god stilled his hands and kissed each lightly, the mark blooming with a pleasant heat. “Most spend their lives wishing for the powers I can offer. I thought if I provided for you, showered you with gifts, you’d want for nothing.”
The shadows, having been dormant during the conversation, stirred back to life. One wound around the protector’s throat and slid up to his mouth, prodding at it curiously, as if waiting for invitation. Another played with his collar, rolling it down just a little more, exposing his shoulder.
“It’s no wonder you’ve felt neglected,” it continued, pressing feather-light kisses to his chin, his collarbone, his throat; each seemed to coax new and very interesting noises out of him, “One taste of you and now I wonder how long I can go without it.”
The tendril against the protector’s mouth pushed against it harder, firm but patient, finally sliding in only when Corvo parted his lips himself. The sensation felt strange on his tongue; cold as before, somewhere between a breath of frozen air and brushed velvet, confusing the senses as it felt around and curled against his teeth.
“May I touch you?”
The question made Corvo choke on both the shadow and laughter, relieved when it backed out enough to let him cough.
Now is the time you ask?
“I thought it was customary for humans, is it not? Courtesy, if nothing else. I know your desires, seen your dreams mapped out like constellations on clear waters. I wouldn’t have so much as gotten near to you tonight if I didn’t know how you wished to be touched…” It watched the color bloom in Corvo’s face. “But I’d also like you to say it.”
Must I? he signed with a groan, but the Outsider didn’t move, watching, waiting. He was quite certain it would wait an eternity if just to get the point across. Fine then. Yes.
“Yes what?”
Yes, you may touch me. Is that enough or must I also beg?
“Don’t hover such a tempting offer as if it bears no weight… but for now, it will suffice.” It was hard to tell whether that was a tease or a warning. Maybe both.
Faster than he could process it, the darkness was back between his lips, slipping into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat and then sliding down into it. The sensation shocked him as before- the shade was definitely solid, filling up his throat and making him feel like he might choke. Yet, he could still breathe, if he wanted to. Air seemed to pass freely through them, like any other shadow.
Closing his eyes, he relaxed as best he could into the sensation, strange as it was as it traveled down, down. It was difficult to relax when so many shadows crowded around him, gliding under his clothes. He suppressed a laugh, a little ticklish. By the Void were they curious about him.
The tendril in his mouth didn’t stop till it had nearly reached about as deep as his sternum, finally sliding back up, only to dip right back down. Pathetic little noises spilled from him, the airy thing doing little to muffle his voice- only growing in volume when finally the wisps traveled down, beginning to prod at the strained outline of his cock through his trousers.
“They seem to have a mind of their own, don’t they? Each a branching projection of my will. Pardon them, they may be a little overwhelming.”
That was an understatement if he’d ever heard one. They were quite literally everywhere, exploring him, enjoying him. They seemed to favor the most sensitive spots, his nape, behind his ears, his inner thighs. Two in particular threaded into smaller, more precise shoots to coax them open.
His back was entirely exposed now, shirt bunched up around his elbows, and this time he shivered less from the ever-pressing cold and more the burning heat just beneath his skin. The Outsider hadn't touched him much with its actual hands till now, finally trailing fingers from his shoulders and down his chest, mapping out the countless faded scars etched in his skin.
"You got this one the first time you tried fencing," he murmured, thumb brushing over the faintest one, "You were a good student, but not quite fast enough at the time. Your instructor scolded you for not focusing, boxed your ears after bandaging the wound…”
Its hand moved to another one, thin but long, more recent, “This one was from Emily, during one of your training sessions. She was always your best student, strong-willed enough to overcome any challenge, desperate to prove her skills to not only Dunwall but to herself. She looked forward to every minute practice, and after she managed to land a hit, you went on the rest of the day about how proud of her you were.”
It continued, moving to a curved, jagged one that stretched over the side of his stomach. "...And this one is from when Daud managed to land a cut while your back was turned. You were red in the face, heart bitter and broken a thousand times over, filled with more wrath than any one man should be fit to hold. That was the day I truly began to understand what a strange creature you are."
Its hand moved to his ribcage and then slid up to his heart, holding it there, feeling the frenzied thump under its palm.
"Time and time again I watched humans use any ounce of power for their own gain. I've watched civilizations fall to ruin over money and greed, so many lives extinguished to sate the rage of the vengeful. It's always interesting, yes, but predictable. You? You surprised me every step of the way.”
Corvo might’ve responded, had he the ability; the last shreds of his clothes were off before he could react, leaving him bare and trembling. Darkness wrapped around his thighs and held them open, one wrapping fully around his cock and another starting to prod at his hole.
The Outsider drank down Corvo’s little cry when it slid in, his jaw going slack; it wasn’t painful in the least, his body hardly having anything solid to clench around, but once inside it quickly began to explore… and expand. With every heartbeat, it grew in size just a little, pressing about as it went deeper, soon finding the spots that made him squirm the most.
His back arched off the throne, knees digging into the god’s thighs, quickly losing control of his expressions and vocal cords. His hands fumbled uselessly against the creature’s shoulders, nails leaving half-moons on the exposed skin of its throat, which bled a shimmering blue before healing in scarcely a second.
“Look at you,” he continued, petting him, as if it might slow down his erratic pulse, “Your body recognizes its master.” The tendril in him thickened abruptly, stretching him out with ease as it found a rhythm that got him choking out groans. “You wear my mark, yet you groveled to rusty idols… Now, your nerves alight at my touch, your every muscle drags me deeper. This is worship. Far more honest than your pitiful prayers to gears and scrap. Did you truly think I’d let you slip away so easily?”
The darkness in Corvo twisted on itself, coiling deeper, tearing moans out of him as effortlessly as if they were made for him- or, rather, he was made for them. The shadow around his cock stroked faster, not never letting him tip past the edge. Always keeping him right where the god wanted.
“You’ve longed for this…” Corvo’s breath hitched when the shade drove into his prostate with precision, his hips jerking forward into the tightening grip around his cock. “You imagined this”, he continued, watching Corvo gasp around nothing as the tendril in his throat finally slid from it, freeing his mouth so the god could press the sharp points of its teeth against his trembling lips. “So many hours in the quiet, when you thought yourself alone. You pictured yourself unraveled by my touch in so many hundreds of ways.”
Corvo was so close now he could barely stand it, jaw clenched till it was close to painful. Each shadow felt like the touch of a hand or a tooth, flicking across his throat, his ear, tightening against his throat in the way they knew he loved. Everything was so icy cold against his own burning skin, the contrast doing little to settle his nerves.
He tried to steady himself on the throne’s armrest, but darkness pooled over his arms and yanked them back, holding them behind his back. Of course, he fought against it, trying to shove his hips back into every thrust, but it was useless. He might as well fight the darkness itself.
“Patience,” the Outsider’s voice cut through the haze in his mind, “You’ve earned this, haven’t you? Weeks of defiance, of theatrics,” the shadow surged deeper, the grip on his cock denying him release, “All to provoke me. You wanted my attention, and now you have it. Aren’t you pleased?”
The protector’s vision grew blurry with tears, moans spilling from him uncontrollably. The shade twisted beneath the reddened head of his cock every time he neared climax, just to drag him back to that maddening place over and over again.
“I could keep you like this for centuries, crow. You’re beautiful like this, teetering on the brink but never quite falling through… How long would it take for you to go mad, I wonder? Or… you could admit that you belong to me and me alone. What will it be?”
Corvo’s hands clawed at nothing, sweat cooling till it was close to freezing, body shaking so much he could barely control his movements. Still, after some effort he managed to nod, small and desperate.
“I thought so.”
The shade released its grip on him and finally Corvo came with a strangled cry, shadows continuing to stroke as he spilled over himself and the god’s lap. He spasmed and jerked a few long moments, mind entirely blank, not processing anything except blinding pleasure.
He didn’t even notice he’d bitten into the creature’s neck till he tasted something brackish and floral, moving back with his slacked jaw and lolled-out tongue to see teeth marks oozing with glowing blood, like moonlight reflected off an oil spill. He nearly choked on it, hiccuping as he struggled to catch his breath.
The shadows softened and thinned, retreating like tidewater till they curled lazily around Corvo, petting him. The Outsider’s hands worked over the protector’s cheeks, wiping away tears and dabbing at the iridescent blood dripping off his chin.
“You’ve marked me in return, have you?” it hummed, the throne beneath them dissolving, reforming into something akin to a nest of shadows that rippled under their weight. They settled together in the hollow of it, the god cradling him close. “I’ll keep it for a time, wear it like an offering given in earnest.”
Corvo made a weak attempt to sit up, but the dark easily pushed him back down. His hands twitched, too spent to sign, but the whale god clasped them anyway. It brought the mark to its lips, just the barest hint of cold against feverish skin.
“Foolish crow, you thought I’d let you go so easily? Sleep… I’ll be here when you wake."
—
Why were you so irritated? Corvo signed sluggishly against its chest when he finally stirred, watching a whale somewhere far in the distance. You knew it was all pretend, you knew as well as I did. There was never any other god to pray to.
"Oh, the Brass Saint exists. I've spoken to them."
Corvo wondered whether it'd be better to try and guess if it was trying to make an attempt at humor or actually telling the truth, but decided not to question it.
