The smell of fresh blood in the air, the taste of its iron, and the thick of it slipping down your skin, still quenched a thirst and satiated your soul. Such delicious appetite for death remained even after you denied your father and were born a new. It appeared old habits die hard, especially ones you're not too keen to break. You still enjoyed killing.
Your foot pressed into the thick armor of the devil's chest, pinning the bruised, bleeding, growing pale red Raphael to the ground. His weapon out of reach. His eyes glared at you and flashed with anger, but under such anger, you recognized the familiar sight of fear. A brief moment of recognizing his own mortality. Your memory remained fragmented, but in those snippets of the past, many eyes, all holding fear. Fear of you. Fear of murder incarnate. To see the same fear on the heir to the archdevil Mephistopheles, the very devil that seemed so inclined to use you and your companions as pawns in his own quest, left you almost breathless in excitement and yet . . .you had not swung the final blow.
"Oh the little mouse hesitates," Raphael's words sharp, likely sharper than he wished, "Are you hoping to make a deal out of my precarious situation?"
Hesitation? Were you hesitating? You do not often play with your food as your diluted blood sister often did, an unnecessary waste of time. You had known immediately how Raphael should face his death, to split his skull with the orphic hammer would offer poetic irony. You imagined the crack his skull would make and squish of his brain, blood spattering over you. Yet the excitement of such thought felt equally tainted with a feeling you could not quite process. "I do not deal with devils," you said, not to provide an answer but to justify more time to understand your own hesitation. No dark urge forced your hand forward. You had control in your actions, true control. You wanted to kill Raphael. He certainly deserved it, for his manipulation, arrogance, and torture of innocent souls. But if he deserved it, didn't you? Ah, guilt. A sensation you had not fully grown accustomed to. Since this adventure began, you had felt "feelings" that appeared fragile and new. Friendship, sympathy. . .possibly even love. Such precarious emotions made life choices far more difficult.
"What are you waiting for?! Kill him!" Hope squeaked. "We wait too long, and our story begone," she almost said in song like melody. Your companions equally concerned or confused.
"Darling, everything alright. You are making that face you have before reaching a terrible decision," Astarion bit out.
"Time is clicking," Gale chirped.
Shadowheart remained silent but you felt her eyes on you, reading your expression for any hidden understanding.
Raphael smirked and the fear in his eyes dissipated to a mask of confidence. As the saying goes, give them an inch and they take a mile. "Oh mortals such fickle creatures. Let me help you, you can kill me certainly," the words came out far harsher than his normal charm, as if the idea of you, such a lowly creature, killing him should not even be spoken, "You will gain the attention of many throughout the hells, potentially a target on your back or a goal of conquest for another devil. Or you can recognize the uncertainty of your future and the benefits that I provide and have provided. So quick to forget that your little vampire lover's freedom is because of the knowledge I offered."
An interesting point, but not the reason for her hesitation. Of course, Raphael had his advantages, though seeking them often meant navigating numerous traps through his manipulative words. Any benefit however was drastically outweighed over the revenge Raphael would likely seek in the future. You know arrogance and fragile egos. You, yourself, are victim to such. Even though you have abandoned Bhaal, the thought that your diluted blood sister managed to infect you with a tadpole made you sick with disgust. How could someone so weak have bested you? Even after defeating her, the embarrassment of failure lingered. You wanted to revive Orin simply to kill her again and again and again. And you expected Raphael similarly would not willingly let the lash of his own failure linger for long. If you let him live, he would return with vengeance.
"Since he feels so inclined to use me as justification. I want to state that we have no use for him. If you prefer, I'll happily stab him myself if you are too incompetent to handle it." Astarion quipped. His patience often too short, and even shorter since he became a vampire ascendant and you declined his offer of eternity. You had never been against Astarion achieving power, not even phased with the 7000 souls, actually the blood bath that followed in the ritual had made you quite giddy...or had it been the urge? Unclear. You had less control over yourself then, but that very lack of control was the reason you had to decline. Yes, you trusted Astarion more than any other, understood him and revealed parts of yourself you had not done before. He made you laugh. He saw you at your worse and still accepted you. Maybe it was love you felt for him, you still felt for him. But you could not give him the control he sought. A spawn? He called it a consort, but it was simply slavery. Bhaal already had control, why would you give another? You wouldn't, and after you shook off Bhaal's chains, you knew you had made the right choice. No one controlled you. Not Bhaal, not Astarion...well, the tadpole still filled your mind, but you would handle it in time. You hoped Astarion would understand, and possibly one day he would. Until then, you would deal with his impatience and dagger like words in your direction.
The thought of Raphael's death coming from someone's else hand made you ill. You would kill him, or no one would. Then why have you not crushed his skull? As difficult as it was to admit, you have grown fond of this devil and his shenanigan behavior. Each time of his arrival often brought about entertainment. While you would not go as far to claim him a friend, you enjoyed him? Related to him? Possibly sympathized? You, yourself had changed, Daughter of Bhaal, a former chosen, the architect of the absolute plot. You have felt the ambition, the power, the thrill of death, and the entertainment of pieces falling into place. When Gortash informed you that you had planned and nearly succeeded in carrying out a plot to take control of the Faerun, you felt proud of yourself. Even as you clean up the mess you created, you still felt proud. But meeting people, kind people. Seeing dreams accomplished. Watching as families reunited. Witnessing the pure resilience of hope. . . The world offers far more than murder and chaos. You could have returned to your role as Bhaal's chosen, and power and Faerun at your fingertips taunted you in such a direction. The choice. You had a choice to make a right decision. Maybe not right decision for you, power still felt far too painful to lose, but the right choice for Faerun and the life, laughter, and joy within it. You also finally had freedom, and as you had explained to Astarion's deaf ears, power does not equate to freedom. You had the opportunity to change, and not only you had said opportunity. Shadowheart had the opportunity to make her own choice. She could have followed her god, but instead saved the Nightsong. Lae'zel, had the opportunity to choose between Vlaakith principles and her own dreams or the Githyankis' future and Prince Orpheus. While not every choice of your companion was what you considered wise, each individual had the opportunity to make said choice. You question helping Astarion receive accension, but it felt like his decision to make not yours. Similarly, you question Gale's desire to reforge the crown, but you will leave said decision to him. As you look at Rapheal's piercing eyes, reminded of yourself and your horrible past actions, did a devil not deserve the same opportunity to choose a better path? Likely not, but to deny him one felt far too hypocritical.
The weight of your hammer slammed down with the full force of your might. The tiled floor next to Raphael's head smashed and echoed in the room, dust spewing onto the devil's face and onto your own armor. You bend down and grab him by the throat. "I have changed my mind. I do want a deal." Your hand appears delicate, but only a fool would underestimate their strength. You know exactly where to squeeze to crush his windpipe. "You keep your life in exchange you are not allowed to kill me or any of my companions or any person I or my companions love or care for in the past, present and future, and since I know you devils love your terms, let my terms be clear. That means you cannot kill us with your own hands or the hands of others. You may not even conspire with others to kill us. You may not find ways to set up accidents, adjust luck, use magic, or shift weather to kill us. Our eventual deaths must be wholly unrelated to you and your actions. I personally know that there are far worse things than death, and as an additional term, you are prohibited from doing such things to us or having others do such things to us. Such things include but certainly are not limited to torture, imprisoning us, turning us to hags, forcing us to face fears, lowering our intelligence, and even granting immortality without permission at least. Myself and companions under this contract are defined as," you then list out your full name and your numerous companions' full names, including Hope. You pause for a moment, debating if you addressed everything.
You did not need to turn around to feel Astarion's glare on you, nor know that his arms crossed his chest and his lips pursed. "If you insist on this stupidity, he should give us far more in return. The last netherstone, defeating a giant brain, or just a thought, how about simply having our tadpoles removed?" Astarion snapped in the background.
You understood Astarion frustration and considered the same. The risk did not seem worth it. Confidence, or arrogance, you knew you would defeat Gortash, defeat the brain, and remove said tadpoles. The more you fit in the contract, the more chances for hidden terms, like the crown of Karsus. You had not gone through all this trouble to steal the hammer to simply sign the crown away anyways. No, this agreement was to provide Raphael the same opportunity you had without the potential risk of negative repercussion. You knew Astarion would curse your name later and likely lecture you about your unnecessary selflessness. After all, you would receive no benefit, or the benefit you seeks through the contract could far easier be accomplished through Raphael's death. On the other hand, your eyes glanced at the hammer. "Finally, I keep the hammer. Do we have a deal, Raphael? If not, this is our final goodbye." Your fingers squeezed threatening. Nails broke skin.
"Do not make a deal. Do not make a deal. Do not. Do not. Always tricks." Hope starts mumbling and squeaking, as if going into a panic attack.
Raphael's anger seeped from his form. His dark eyes flicked between your fake eye and real one. You watched as he ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, clearly struggling to reach his own decision. "You ask nothing more?" Raphael, a devil and a contract writer himself, knew the risk of any agreement.
"Within the terms of our deal? No. But if you accept, I hope you will use this new chance at life to be a tad more considerate to us mere mortals. May I suggest, no making unfair deals with children for a start? Or assisting those attempting to save Faerun without a need for a deal? I was given a second chance to change, and I give you the same."
It started low. You felt his chest begin to shake, until an eruption of laughter escaped his mouth, mixed with hacks of blood and coughing. The laughter continued through. You frowned and kept your grip on his throat. His laughter slows but the large humorous smile, covered in blood, remains on his face. "You foolish little mouse. I am a devil," he said, as if that answered your assertions alone. "But should I be surprised? I have witnessed for thousands of years how mortals can hold on to the tiniest strand of hope in making such poor unwise decisions. I will not change my colors, and in said similar vein, I will not attempt to explain how utterly ridiculous your hope is." Raphael lifted his hand, "You have a deal." He snapped his finger.
Two infernal arbitrators appeared with a contract. You remained on Rapheal. Not inclined to move until you are certain of agreement. "Sign first," you demanded. Rapheal is still humored, yet you can sense his anger returning. The presence of two infernal arbitrators to witness his near death is likely not one he wished for. His hand reached for the quill and he signed. You finally retracted yourself from his body and stand, taking the hammer in hand, in case Rapheal attempted an attack. You reviewed the contract, taking your time to read and ignoring your companion's stares. You sense each disapproval. After reviewing the terms, and feeling satisfied, you signed. The infernal arbitrators spoke, confirmed the contracts enforcement, and vanished once more.
Raphael appeared furious. He managed to stand, clearly unstable. You broke something, bones, ribs. He was in far more pain than he would admit, but you suspected the pain was minuscule next to his bruised ego.
"I was the last true Bhaalspawn, daughter of Bhaal. You likely know more of my past then I, but the memories I have, I killed. I killed thousands. I sought disruption. I sought not simply death, because death arrives to all. No, I sought murder. Plucking a life from this world and watching as everyone and everything around said life crumbles as well," you find yourself smiling at the memories that brought so much joy and yet also an underline of sadness of what a monster you were, still are in many ways. The urge, Bhaal's control, was gone, but you are still you, you made many of those decisions on your own, not because the urge commanded it or Bhaal demanded it. Mortals are far more complicated than the gods ever gave them credit. "You know why Bhaal chose me, because I saw the truth of murder. Murder is more then the moment itself or the pain before. It's the chaos, and oh, in sweet chaos do you see the truth of what mortals are capable of. Horrific and terrible things," you paused and glanced at your companions. "But before this, before them, I ignored the other truths I did not wish to see. That while mortals commit terrible crimes against one another in times of grief, stress, and chaos, there is a strength, a perseverance that cannot ever be defeated. Good? Hope? Love? I do not know. I have not figured it out myself. It used to disgust me because it disgusted Bhaal, but as I witnessed, as I felt it, I have grown to admire it. If we lose, and the Absolute win, I know that the Absolute will eventually face defeat because this thing, this feeling," you can't put a word to it, nor may you ever be able to. "It may take centuries, but eventually it will persist and win against any force. I am no Paladin on some great mission. I do not even think myself a hero. I am correcting what I put into motion. You think my hope foolish, ridiculous? I would have said same, and very likely it is. But if I, after what I have done, each day, can try to do better than my last, then why not a devil?"
Raphael did not appreciate your speech, nor had you planned to give one. He seemed annoyed, furious, and insulted. He shifted to the doors of his home. "Get out of my house," he demanded and walked, or better yet limped away.
No one was inclined to stay, and so you all left. You likely had many long conversations ahead of you at camp.
Six Months Later . . .