The Devil and Me

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Marto paced back and forth in his room. There was not a lot of space to move, which meant his circuit was short, but that wasn’t what he was focused on. He was having an internal debate of whether what he was about to do was a really smart idea, or possibly the dumbest thing he would ever do in his life.

He could hear Berton’s voice even now, scolding him for being foolish, telling him that ‘this ploy was something that could get him killed,’ and, ‘how could he even consider doing something like this when their Ma and Pa only just got Merla back?’ As for his sister, well, hers wasn’t a voice he heard but more of a face he saw in his mind’s eye. Though strangely, her hair was more golden red than the gold and pink it normally was. An odd difference, one he didn’t dwell on.

The young knight lets out a frustrated sigh and slumps down on the bed, hands catching his head as his fingers dig into his sandy blonde hair. What was he scared of? So long as he didn’t sign anything, didn’t give away his word freely, then he should be fine, right? He was done chasing smoke, done with trying to find Adhyël in more mundane ways. That left just one option: lay back, relax, fall asleep, and let the devil in. The connection was already there – in the mark on his ribs. It should be easy.

Lightly touching it, Marto instinctively wanted to withdraw his hand but he made himself press down harder. The cold bled into his fingers and an inescapable shudder rocked through him. He stops, closing his eyes, feeling his heart race like a harras of horses over an open field. But whether it was in fear or excitement Marto couldn’t tell.

Cornflower blue eyes open and immediately fall to the chipped and fading paint of Yondalla’s symbol on his shield.

No, this wasn’t wise. He was clever, sure. Had a gift for quick thinking that had gotten him into trouble just as much as it had seen him get out of it. But he was also honest. Marto hoped, if this worked, that honesty wouldn’t see him make a decision he would regret.

“I’m coming for you, Adhyël,” he whispers softly. Marto thinks about adding a prayer to Yondalla but doesn’t know what to say.

Turning down the light, he kicks off his slippers and lays back, hands resting on his stomach. The night’s light filters in through the curtains, creating shifting, dancing patterns on the ceiling that he watches for a time before his focus begins to blur as sleep slowly embraces him. He has a thought that maybe he should have kept the moon-touched charm on him but that concern fades away quickly as the young knight falls to sleep…


When he opens his eyes, he’s in the desert. The sky is a dark and faded purple hue with stars scattered across it. The air is hot and humid, closing in on him where he’s lying on his back. In the distance he can hear rolling thunder, a low rumbling crawling across the horizon. There’s a distant flash of lightning and a sudden hand snaking across his chest again, just like last time. Adhyël’s laughter is deep and rich like the distant storm clouds, and too close for comfort.

“Oh, my feisty one. You’ve changed your mind then? Seen the error of your ways?”

A shock of black hair and a pair of dark eyes fill his field of vision, pale lips graze his cheekbone lightly as the devil speaks.

“You’ve come to give in to me?”

Marto takes a deep breath and the smells that dash across his senses makes his nerves dance. Tentatively he lifts his right hand and is surprised to see he is able to move freely. “I came…” Adhyël’s dark eyes catch his and Marto nearly forgets the words he wanted to say. The faintest prickling can be felt in his palm as he tentatively rests a hand on the arm across his chest.

“I came to speak with you. I’ve been looking for you… Adhyël.”

The hand on his chest flexes and Marto can feel nails like talons dig into his ribs briefly. Adhyël grins, revealing sharp teeth.

“So speak.”

Marto swallows his nerves, glancing at the large clawed hand on his side before turning his gaze back to the devil’s handsome face.

“Well, for starters, what made you choose me?”

Adhyël looks almost sincere for a moment.

“Who says it was a choice?” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

Marto gives him a curious look. “So, wait, you’re saying…” His mind catches up finally and a sudden flush creeps up his neck. Heart pounding, he rolls onto his side so as to face Adhyël, his right arm propping him up. He tries again.

“So you left this mark on me,” he touches the clawed hand that is still on his side, “saying to come find you. Yet now you’re saying it wasn’t a choice, that your heart told you to mark me? Which is it? Are you lonely? Are you and your friends in such desperate need of help from us mortals to achieve your goals?” There’s a mix of vibrato and genuine curiosity in Marto’s voice as he asks these questions, but behind it all is still his own confusion as to why. How could he, a halfling of little consequence who was only born because of his sister’s disappearance, could be part of anything important.

His thoughts are interrupted by a scoff somewhere close to his ear.

“Help? I’m achieving my goals perfectly well, thank you.” A heavy, clawed hand grips his chin and turns his head away. A kiss is pressed against his neck, impossibly hot against his skin.

“In fact – I’m multitasking.”

It takes a considerable effort for Marto not to fall into the feelings Adhyël’s lips pressing against his skin gives him. He still leans into the devil though, some physical part of him wanting to feel that searing heat again. It reminds him of those long hot summer days in Earthart working in the forests as the great fiery orb of the sun beats down on his sweating, aching back, Marto hefting his axe up to chop at the trunk of some behemoth tree. Instead, he tries to focus on Adhyël’s words, pushing past the allure of his deep tonal voice and honing in on intent even as Marto’s arms pull the devil closer, brushing his own lips to the muscular shoulder and neck of the fiend. The confidence and conviction Adhyël exudes is intoxicating, even now Marto wants to hear him speak again. But it comes from a place of smug assuredness of someone who knows their plans are moving along smoothly. Which means, despite the supposed victory he and his friends had the other week against Ophanim on the island where they retrieved the tome, it doesn’t seem to have gone against the Herald’s plans. Meaning it might not have been the big victory they were led to believe it was.

A painful nip from sharp teeth brings him back to the present. With a jolt of cold surprise, Marto realises just how entangled in Adhyël’s embrace he has gotten, and how close he is to losing himself. His sudden stiff stillness brings a grin to the devil’s face and Marto isn’t sure if the desire he sees in Adhyël’s dark eyes is purely hunger of a sexual kind, or if those razor sharp teeth would gladly tear into his flesh and eat him up like a tasty mortal snack.

He pulls back, disentangles himself from the fiend and sits up, one knee propped up as Marto runs a hand through his hair. His breathing is ragged which makes his voice come out low and chesty.

“You never said what I would get out of this if I joined you,” he says, purposefully looking away towards the horizon with its storm of thunder and lightning. Below him, stretching out like a lazy cat on the hot sand, Adhyël rolls his eyes a little.

“Oh, yes, we must take some time to wallow in self-hatred for giving in. Can’t skip that, can we?” Two clawed fingers walk themselves slowly up Marto’s thigh. “Lucky for you I’m in a good mood. If you join me, I’ll spare you. And others you might want spared. With a few exceptions of course – it is a holy crusade after all.”

“Spare me from what?” he asks, watching the slow crawl of Adhyël’s hand up his leg.

A surprised laugh bursts forth from the devil and he looks up at Marto with absolute delight and not a little pity.

“Oh, sweetheart. Take a wild guess.”

When all he is met with is a blank, vacant look, Adhyël sits up as well. He lifts the hand on Marto’s thigh to his throat and envelops it completely in his grasp, pulling him in again.

“We’re coming, Marto. We’re going to burn them all and dance in the ashes. We will find unending glory in our deeds and we will lay it all at the feet of the Nightbringer – but we have no quarrel with the likes of you. A simple man following the humble decrees of Yondalla could easily be left out of it.”

He leans in close enough that Marto can feel his breath on his own lips.

“The only fire you would have to worry about would be mine.”

There’s a soft, breathless chuckle that escapes from Marto’s half parted lips. “You know, you were mistaken… before.” His voice is shaking with a mix of primal fear and lust — a heady cocktail. Marto tries to swallow it, taking a moment to centre himself and be brave for what he was about to do. “I’m not filled with self-hatred for wanting you, Adhyël. I am my own man, I make my own choices, and despite my youth spent doing things I probably shouldn’t have, I don’t regret them. But when we follow our heart’s desires our actions can still hurt people, despite our best intentions.”

He lifts his cornflower blue eyes up to Adhyël’s pitiless black orbs and it is his turn to look at the devil with sincerity, almost pity. A calloused hand reaches up to softly caress Adhyël’s face.

Like a snake tightening its coil, Adhyël’s hand around his throat flexes and slowly but firmly cuts off Marto’s air supply. He leans in and presses his lips to Marto’s, drawing out his final breath in a searing kiss before pulling back a fraction of an inch.

“Is that why you let me in? Is that why you fell asleep with my name on your lips?” he whispers. “To keep me from hurting people’s feelings?”

Marto tries to shake his head, one hand pressing against Adhyël’s chest in an attempt to push him back. He’s trying not to panic but it’s a precarious position he is in.

“Tell me, what will people think when they find out what you want me to do to you?” The sharp claws dance across his ribs again, tracing the outline of the mark under his thin shirt. “Will they disapprove of your desires? Will they frown, and scold you? Will they tell you to stop?”

Lack of air is making it harder for him to hold back the growing panic. Marto begins to struggle ineffectually against Adhyël’s hold but the devil could have been made from solid stone for all the good it did him. His lungs burn and the edges of his vision grow dark, just as Adhyël relaxes his grip. The air that fills his lungs tastes like ash.

“And would that be enough to stop you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s stopping me,” Marto answers, his voice raw and eyes bright as he tries not to choke on the stifling air. He grips the arm of hand holding his throat. “This. You said you were in a good mood but look at what happens when that changes. How can you expect me to want to give in when you could so easily turn around and burn me along with everything and everyone else I care about?”

Adhyël’s eyebrows climb steadily up his forehead until he bursts into loud laughter, his entire body shaking with it.

“Did y- did you th-” He needs to stop and compose himself before he can get words out through the raucous mirth. “What did you think this was, Marto?” The laughter starts up again as the massive hand tightens its grip once more. In a single motion Adhyël picks Marto up by the throat and slams him down onto his back, kneeling above him. He leers at him, outlined by five bright stars in the purple skies.

“Did you think this was love? Did you think I’m a good man?” The condescension is a near-physical thing as it drips from his words. The sharp claws on his fingers break Marto’s skin and the devil leans in to whisper a final time.

“I thought you’d be worthwhile. Now you’re just boring. And for that I’ll kill you last.”

Marto claws at the hand at his throat, working his jaw to get words out. Adhyël rolls his eyes and releases his grip a fraction.

“Yes?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

“You… are exactly what I knew you to be: a fiend, desperate to show off his power.” Marto grins and images of his friends float across his mind, their strength and beauty, how they have been by his side and continue to support him despite this darkness that has tried to claim him. He thinks of his family, of Merla, and how Yondalla has been there for them, how she brought them together. He feels the Blessed One’s warmth, what she represents, how she protects and provides for those who need it. A newfound strength fills his heart and any desire he had for Adhyël begins to burn away.

“But we will stop you. I will be the one to end you, Adhyël. This I promise you.”

His black eyes glitter as the hand closes once more, the sharp nails ripping his skin. Around his head, five stars shine brighter one by one, as Marto’s vision grows dim and Adhyël whispers five names in his ear.

“Ulvon. Gelni. Yoara. Berton. Eina.”

And then darkness takes him.

---

The light is bright as it filters through the windows of the Multifaith Chapel. It had been some time since Marto was here, not because of lack of faith but because sometimes life just gets busy. Getting marked by a devil hell bent on tearing your world apart for his goddess would be a good excuse. But if Marto was being honest — which was the whole point of coming to the Chapel this morning — after last night’s dream encounter, he needed to reconnect with the one thing he knew had looked out for his family. Because they were going to need it. Marto had fucked up badly.

“Where do I even start?” he asks aloud in halfling to no one in particular.

Marto begins placing sheets of parchment on the blocky cornucopia he had built. His voice sounds scratchy as he works. Getting your throat ripped out by the devil you wanted to have sex with — the same devil who marked you and promised to kill you last when you admitted as such but still told him you didn’t think you could give yourself over to him, not enough benefits for the downsides of mass murder and destroying everything else you loved — even if it only was a dream, still did a number on your vocal chords.

“I found out a small piece of information for doing what I did… but in my hubris, Adhyël found out about them.” He stopped in his sketching of the massive tree he was drafting out and looked up. The window faced due south, so the shrine got the perfect amount of sunlight all the time. Its warmth barely touched him though, and it certainly didn’t fill the hollow well that had only gotten bigger and deeper inside.

Ever since he’d awoken all Marto could taste was ash on his tongue as his mind replayed the memory of Adhyël kissing him, his lips burning like fire. The devil would steal more than a kiss from him, he would claim Marto’s life if the young knight wasn’t careful. If it came down to it, if he went after his family…

“I may have strayed too far away from you. What I felt, what I almost let myself do, I…” He let his head softly thunk against the parchment covered wood. Marto closed his eyes wishing he could banish the memory of the heat of Adhyël’s touch but every time he tried, he felt a cold stab from the mark on his ribs. A cruel tortuous reminder of his immoral desires.

“Please… Yondalla, please protect them. I could never forgive myself if what I’ve done resulted in their- in something happening to them. I don’t care what happens to me. If I am damned then so be it. I was only born to fill a void…”

And that was the crux of it. What purpose does he serve now that Merla’s returned to their family? He doesn’t begrudge her leaving or her coming back, in fact he’s glad. But where does that leave him? Where is his place in the world? In his family? Is he even needed? Even truly wanted anymore?

“Ma and Pa… Berton and his family… Yoara and Eina… You have to keep them safe. Please, keep them safe. It doesn’t matter what happens to me. It’s them… they matter most.”

Then he wept, for his reprehensible and sinful desires. He wept for the family he had put in danger due to his foolhardy pride. He wept for the misplaced belief his friends had in him because he was a fraud. A knight wouldn’t lay with a devil. He shouldn’t want to. He would slay them the first chance he got.

But most of all he wept for the horrible, crushing doubt that filled his heart, that he wouldn’t be heard by the goddess he loved, that she wouldn’t even want to listen to his pleas, that Yondalla had probably abandon him, leaving Marto to face this all on his own — and that he might not make it out alive.


Continued in ‘Tit for Tat’ 🌲