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Chapter Text

The Heart of the Abyss

THE STRANGER (smirking insidiously)
My dear Corvid. I’ve been watching you for a long time. When you fight, when you sleep. When you… bathe. And now you’ve lost it all.

CORVID (shocked and confused)
Who are you? What is this cold and shadowy place? Have I penetrated the Stranger’s Void?

THE STRANGER (with a flourish)
There are forces in this world, forces some men call magic. Now you can bend them to your will. I am the Stranger, and this is my mark.

CORVID (studying the back of his hand)
Ah—It burns! What is this supernatural gift?

THE STRANGER (moving closer)
Oh, but I have many more gifts to give. What will you do with them, I wonder?

CORVID (admiring the young man)
Oh! What pale skin, what piercing gaze! You look more youthful than the legends say.

THE STRANGER (caressing his cheek)
Let me show you which legends are true.

Corvo's face was burning, letting the book fall shut and shoving it back under the book shelf where he had found it.

Who ever...? How ever had this piece of exaggerated fiction been conceived.
The horrid thought of some one somehow coming up with such a tale made his blood flood his face again with heat.
This must have been a very disturbed mind to first believe the rumors that the Lord Protector was in cohorts with the Outsider, second someone must have a rather deprived fantasy of how the Outsider is giving his chosen his gifts and third, why was this piece of utter garbage too close to the truth anyway?
Looking over his shoulder in the sudden panic of someone witnessing his red face and huffing breath he found the study still deserted.
A quick glance into the Void showed him no person coming near the closed doors. With relieve he sagged onto the chair to his right, scrubbing two hands over his tingling face. The leather strap he started to wear over his Mark caught onto his stubble and he felt new heat welling up in his chest.

If he were a man of the Abby he would start to recite the Wandering Mind to dissuade his own fantasy to go on a stroll down depravity.

How would the Outsiders touch feel anyway? Could he even touch mortals?
Not even when he bestowed Corvo with his Mark a second time had they touched in any way.

All those years the Outsider had disturbed his dreams or haunted him in the waking world, had he never touched him. They had been close enough for Corvo to easily reach him many times, but never dared, or never lost a thought about the possibility.

Just starting to think this he felt his stomach doing a sudden jump, as if he was falling from a great height. Those thoughts were not good to have for his mental state. He was already suffering from too many nightmares. How would he even fare with such a new one? He does not like to be touched by anyone. But would that also extend to the Outsider?

He was after all the one who had granted him powers to not only free himself from many ilks but also his daughter and the empire.
Corvo also trusted the Outsider. He trusted him a lot to be honest.
Again the words of the forbidden play where swirling in his mind like incense of the Outsider's shrines.

The implication of sexuality was the most aggrieving in this piece of utter trash. There had never been any sexual tension in his meetings with the dark god.

“Hello Corvo...”

Oh no.

“...your choice interests me...”

Oh by the Void, no!

“What an impressive sight you make...”

“Dear Corvo...”

The heat in his face was burning brighter than any flame. Hotter than the branding that had been pressed to his back several year ago.

Deeper than the Mark itself.

The opening of the study door made him instinctively blink up to the rafters of the room, heart beating loudly in his ears.
Looking down he found Emily stepping into the now deserted room.

“Father?” she called. He did not dare to answer, as he did not want his daughter to see him like this. He himself did not want to see how he must look now. Red faced, eyes wide, hair in disarray.

“Father? Are you in here?” she called again, not having stepped into the room completely. Not hearing a reply she finally turned and Corvo hoped that she would go to look for him somewhere else but to make his suffering only ever grander she slipped into the room, Wyman at her heels.

Emily was telling her friend something in a hushed voice, too low for Corvo to hear. He just hoped they only needed a place to have a short private talk. In and out in a flash and definitely not looking at books.

To his horror, his daughter made a direct beeline towards the bookshelf where the cursed work of fiction had been haphazardly been shoved under.
“I know it was here only yesterday.” he could make out Emily's voice.
She sounded excited.
Wyman looked equally thrilled, helping search for something by the bookshelf.

Worry started to grow in his heart.
And as if his stomach couldn't fall any lower, Emily, with a triumphant whoop, pulled forth the cursed book. By the Void, Outsider help him.
“Here, it's like the Prince of Tyvia, only even more... you know!” The voice of his daughter cackled and with even more horror in his heart he knew she had already read this humiliating piece of garbage and was about to show it to Wyman.

In a split second he decided to act.

Pulling on the Void he made time stop and in a flash he blinked down, snatching the book out of his daughters hand, pushing a different one into her palm and hurrying out of the door. As the screened door to the study closed silently behind him he could hear his daughter exclaim in confusion. “Wait, that's not it! How could I confuse it with one of Sokolov's Pandyssia stories.”

The rest of the day he spent hiding from Emily and anyone else up on the roof. Burning the cursed book in a trashcan and trying to find out who had written this piece of filth.

Chapter Text

His search went rather fruitless at first.
Frustratingly his first clue of the author had been a dead end searching for the name of them. Only finding that it was a pseudonym used by the person who had written the prince of Tyvia. Only that the person had died a decade ago and no one officially had used the moniker again in a professional setting. Or as professional as such works of sexual content would get.
After nearly giving up, sitting back with a whiskey to calm his nerves he let his gaze roam over his desk and stopped at the ledger the Abby had send to him of forbidden objects and writings. Forbidden writings.

Oh!

Scrabbling for the thick folder, he hadn't had the nerve to read for weeks as it was always the same. The Abby had no sense of humor and saw the Outsider in all and everyone not quoting the strictures directly, so what about a play of the Outsider?

Frantically he went through the ledger and finally, after reading about several paintings and a poem about “The sharpest knives in the Bank”, he found it. “The heart of the Abyss” there it was. The pen name was the right one and with glee he followed it down to whom was now under observation for it.

Oh, by the Void, how?

Anton Sokolov was the name of the person now watched for this piece of utter garbage. Together with several new and reemerged paintings of the Outsider or his so called disciples, his name was at the end of the list.

Anton Sokolov.

The question of how he had gained such intimate knowledge did not occur to him, the need to confront the man was stronger, when he left his office through the window.
The night was cold and wet.
In the distance he heard the rumbling of thunder and billowing winds blew cold air over the cities rooftops he scaled in a haste. The cold was not bothering him as the heat in his body of the embarrassment was still burning bright.

Reaching the mans residence at the Kaldwin bridge in record time he did not concern himself with going by the front door, seeing light still shining bright in the attic workroom. Blinking up he pulled open the glass pane door, ready to demand answers.

The humid heat inside was like a wall and he stumbled back a step. Not only heat but also sound was confusing his senses and he had to slow down, asses the situation first.
Looking around the numerous new structures of futuristic looking machines he did not see the inventor.
Also some music was playing loudly.

Pushing into the bubble of sticky humidity he rushed inside, blinking onto a sturdy looking beam to have a better look. He was about to gaze through the void when he heard the quarry of his ire. His speech, nearly drowned out by the music, was sounding passionate and gleeful. Following the sound of the voice, he found Anton Sokolov.

But the man was not alone.

And not completely clothed.

By the Void...

Was this Piero down there?

A renewed redness creeping over his face he blinked back to the cluttered floor, gladly out of the line of sight to the two inventors doing... he did not want to name it in the slightest.
He still intended to confront Sokolov, his anger and shock hadn't been resolved yet, so finding the Audio-graph that was playing the music too loudly was his new strategy and shutting it of to announce himself. He'd hope that the men were able to get a bit more decent before he unloaded his justified anger onto one of them.

The elusive Audio-graph found, he pushed the button and nearly regretted it instantly. Suppressing the need to cover his ears for the noises and Sokolovs' excited voice was even more disturbing than before, but his training kicked in and he stood up, clearing his throat loudly.
He had imagined them scrambling for their shed clothes in a hurry but except of Anton stopping mid sentence not much happened.
Corvo stayed behind the hulking mass of metal where the Audio-graph had been located and tried again. This time followed by his angry call of: “Void damn it, please get somewhat decent. I need to talk to Anton, promptly!”
“Corvo, is that you?”
“Yes Anton and I do not have the patience this time of night!” he groaned.

Several minutes later he found both inventors at least clothed, but still lounging on the sofa that was taking up some space in all the clutter. Piero did not meet his gaze, but stayed glued to the other man, a rather familiar blush painting his pale face. Corvo elevated his own gaze, feeling the shame of having stepped in to this intimate scene but found his anger ignite once again when he met the cool gaze of Anton Sokolov. Before the man started one of his long winded ramblings Corvo pulled out the document he had brought with him and threw it into the older mans face.

“Explain this!” he growled, waiting impatiently for Anton to look over the Abby's list of forbidden works.

“I don't know what has incited your ire, dear Corvo. These are some of my works, some of them you have recovered yourself if my memory serves me correctly.” Anton droned on and Corvo felt his forced calmness burst. “At the end of the list! The play, Anton, the ….” he could not finish his sentence without risking the shame overwhelming him once again.

“Corvo, what play?” Piero's monotone voice asked.
He could only point at the list. Anton, a bushy eyebrow raised, sighed theatrically and looked once again at the piece of paper.
Silence followed and after some tense second's Anton looked up at Corvo, meeting his gaze directly with cool eyes.

“You mean “The heart of the Abyss”?”

Corvo nodded holding his breath.

Letting the page sink to his lap Anton said: “I don't know what has gotten you in such a state but believe me, Corvo, I've never heard of it and it is certainly not one of mine.”
“But it's listed under your name, I ...”

“The Abby must have made a mistake. As I have told you, I don't know what this is and I've never heard of it before!”

Anton Sokolov was telling the truth and Corvo deflated. Sinking down onto a random cushion he hid his burning face behind his hands. All the tension he had held for the last several hours imploded in his chest and he heaved for a decent breath.

“Corvo, what happened?” Piero again.

He just shook his head and tried fruitlessly to calm down.
The other men let him to his own agony and started to discuss something in hushed voices which he did not care to listen to, as his mind was still reeling from all the stress.
Something cool was pressed against his hand and he flinched away, only to find a filled cup of wine being held out to him. With a murmured thanks he took it and drained it in one go.
Holding it out it was immediately filled again and he downed this too. His nerves settled a bit and he gathered the strength to look at both of them.

“Corvo, I am sorry that we can not help you, but I think it would be prudent to talk about what has impacted you that much.”

Sighing he took back the discarded page, folding it up and pushing it deep into his pocket before he gathered the strength to answer.

“It's personal. I really need to know who has written it and confront that person or I … I don't know.” he croaked. Anton's heavy hand landed on his shoulder, patting.

“I don't know if we can be of any help, but know Corvo, what ever you need assistance with, you are never alone.”
The reassurance of the older man warmed his heart and he thanked him with gratitude. But alas, the culprit had not been found yet and he stood, handing the cup back to Piero.

“Thank you and sorry for my disturbance! I will leave you to your evening entertainment.” he said, trying not to flash back to the things he had only seen minutes before.
Turning before they saw his reddened face he left the secluded corner and both inventors behind.


Stepping into the cold air he breathed deeply, leaning against the wall.
All that stress, humiliation and feelings running rampant where not good for his health. His heart hadn't settled down since reading that “play” and every time his mind went back to the lines he had read something in his stomach seemed to flutter.

Urgh, how could something like a work of pure fiction conflict him that much? Something made up?
Why was it even affecting him that much anyway?

The Outsider was just that.

The Outsider.

Nothing more.

A powerful being that needed some diversion from the boredom that was his existence. He had given Corvo his Mark only to watch and prod him along. For entertainment, nothing more and Corvo had reaped the benefits of it. It had been a mutual exchange. A contract. Not a … a proposition for...  sex!

The sound of the door opening was pulling him out of his agonized thoughts. Looking to his side he found Piero starring at him. His pale eyes boring in to his.
Before he could ask what the other wanted, the inventor started to speak.
“As Anton has told you, we have never heard of this play, but I think I know someone who can maybe help you find the author.”
Hope pulsed through him and he took hold of the others slim shoulders.

“Please, who?”

“Cecilia.”

“Cecilia?”
Piero nodded sagely. “Yes, she is an ardent collector of rather spicy works of written fiction and sometimes writes some herself. She might know this one too.”

Staring at the inventor hope bloomed in his chest.

“Thank you!” he breathed and let the other man go. Blinking away, course set for the Hounds pits pub.

Chapter Text

Arriving at the pub it was late enough that most of the lights had been extinguished and the main doors had been locked. Out of a corner down the streets he heard someone snoring loudly but except the most likely drunken former patron no one was on the street any longer.

The cold weather and misty rain that had started after he had crossed Kaldwin bridge, was also a big deterrent for any late wanderer. He was thankful, as he must look like a right mess. Not even wearing a coat, as he had stormed out of his study to confront the wrong man, his clothes were damp and creased, odd flecks of dirt covering the light blue gray of his shirt and weighing his woolen trousers down.

Glad for his sturdy foot wear he blinked up to the first story of the pub without slipping on the wet metal there. Following the narrow edge he found the window with the intentionally broken latch and slipped into the cool dryness of the boarding room. Several peoples snores could be heard in the darkness.

The pub had regained new patronage thanks to the small trading dock that had been built where the old tower had been and river sailors stopped by to trade and socialize. Drink their sorrows away or get a good meal.
Cecilia had truly made something better than the horrid former dog fighting ring out of the old building. Hurrying through the darkness he reached the hallway and finally the stairs.

At the top of the upper most floor he saw some light still shining from under the door.
Steeling his nerves once again he knocked at the freshly painted wood seven times in a particular pattern.
He had to wait some agonizing moments until he heard quick and soft footsteps approaching.
Clad in her usual fare of work clothes, sans the hat, Cecilia opened the door, looking worriedly up to him.

“Corvo, is everything alright?” she asked, her eyes wide and looking over his shoulder worriedly.
He did not know how to answer and instead asked if he could come in.

Nodding she made space and he slipped into the warmer room. A lantern illuminating the former run down attic space he had inhabited in a warm and welcoming light. Some rustic, but well made furniture had found it's way up here and he also spotted several art works, made by Emily and surprisingly Piero Joplin.

When the door was closed and also the lock was turned she pulled him further towards a sofa. Sitting down heavily he noticed how tired he was. Since this early afternoon he had been searching without pause.

As he was used to and also needed in this moment of turmoil and exhaustion, Cecilia waited for him to speak.

Pulling out the page with the forbidden works he gave it to her, his face burning. “I need to know who has written this.” he said, pointing at the play near the end of the list.
Cecilia's big eyes got even bigger and a dark redness bloomed on her face. “Why are you asking me? Aren't there libraries for this kind of research?”

Grimacing he turned away, looking at the carpet under him.

This was just plain embarrassing for both of them. The woman finally took the paper still held out to her and red where he had pointed.
The hitching in her breath told him that she knew that work of fiction.

By the Void, how did he deserve this humiliation.

“Do you know it?”

“Yes”

“Do you know who has written it?” Chancing a look to her she found her blushing furiously, biting her lip, her body ready to flee.

“I do not care how you know it only who is responsible for it, please. Cecilia I …” looking back down as meeting her gaze was not possible.
“I, it's personal. Please, what ever you know.” he pleaded.

Silence followed. Then a slender hand reached for his and he looked up. Seeing the woman smiling shyly at him.

“I'm sorry Corvo! Of course I will help you!” she said, getting up and rushing over to a bookshelf in the corner to their right.

He hadn't noticed it before, because it had been hidden by a curtain. Pulling the fabric back she started to rummage through several books, their titles at their spines obscured by paint, and several pages of loose paper hidden in folders that had only a number on it. It looked like the archive of the royal spymaster he thought for a moment.

While he had been distracted by this secret assortment of written pages she had been mumbling to her self. Catching only her talking to him all the time, when she finally turned, a thin ledger in hand.
“It's an honor to help a fellow enthusiast for a certain kind of adult entertainment. It's nice to have more people to talk to that I trust. Usually it's just Piero who I talk to, you know about this kind of writing.” she rambled on, coming over and Corvo felt like he had missed something.

What was she talking about?

She sat back down next to him, pushing the ledger at him, smiling warmly.
Taking it he opened it and found neatly gathered information about the play that had been agonizing him for the last hours.
Someone had even analyzed the wording to make every innuendo clear and there were even notations about “favorite” passages. His face was burning even more and he looked helplessly at the woman who was now grinning.

“I don't want to be too forward. But what is your favorite genre? I see that you must have quite enjoyed this piece about the Outsider. I have several more short stories about him. Some with female protagonist, but the majority is with males. Even some with prominent names from the Abby.” she went on, getting more excited.

Corvo felt like a hagfish on the shore. Mouth opening and closing fruitlessly. Was she asking if he liked such depravity?

“I don't like the too explicit stuff and not the weird Master and Servant types that Piero prefers, but I have a good variety, if I can say so. Please have a look.”

Corvo kept staring onto the page without blinking, not reading anything, frozen in the shame he felt. He was not a person to judge. Everyone had their pastimes. Some more destructive than others, but he would never judge. But thinking that he would seek out such writing on his own was making him curl up into a ball of embarrassment.
Sex was normal, yes, he had it before. Several times. Not only with Jess but also with a nice fellow officer after he had come to Dunwall. He was not a stranger to carnal pleasures, but thought of it as something highly personal. This was just too much... especially when there was even more about the Outsider seducing others. Pulling them into the Void to kiss them with cold lips, or ravage them at his shrines because they offered themselves up to him. What would that feel like...

Oh Void, no! Don't think about it.

Standing up in a hurry he pressed the folder into his chest and turning to the rather relaxed looking woman. In the back of his head he noticed that he had seldom seen her that content to just talk.
Breathing hard he tried to find the right words.

“The author, the information is in here?” he pressed out nodding at the folder in his arms. She nodded, eyes sparkling worriedly.

“Yes, it is. It was not easy to find out who has written it. I myself have already sent them a letter and got a reply when I asked if there was a sequel in the works, which was confirmed, lucky us! I hope this time they write a book series like the Prince of Tyvia, because I'm not done yet with the love story between the brooding Corvid and the Outsider. The old God is truly in love with that man.”
Corvo felt as if some thing was pressing down on his wind pipe. Fresh redness rushed into his face.

“Okay, Cecilia, thank you. May I borrow this?” he asked hurriedly, hoping to stop her further discussing this topic.
She only smiled, patting his arm when she rose.

“Certainly! I'm glad to share. The author will be happy to know to have even more fans of his work.”

Nodding jerkily he hurried to the door, throwing a breathless good night behind him, fumbling with the key and finally escaping this maddening situation.

He only got aware of his surroundings when he had found his way down to the water. Hiding from the rain under the overhang to the sewer he tried to regain his breath.
With his heart beating in his throat he cracked the folder open once again. This time wisely skipping any quotations and analyzed wordings to the next page. Only to find even more filth that had happened in the play.
His face burning he skipped over these parts too and finally found on the last page notes about who had written it. There were no real names, again only the pen name similar to the author of the Prince of Tyvia. But there was also an address.

An address here in Dunwall.

In the newly reopened financial district.

Running a cold hand over his burning face he hoped that this would be the last destination this cursed day.
Hiding the folder under his vest to keep it safe from the rain he blinked back up to the back yard of the pub.
Now it was only a matter of time before he could confront that person. Ask how and why they had written it and how they knew all these details.
With a refreshed surge of righteous anger he hurried to the next rail car station that would get him to the former Rudshore district even faster and hopefully dyer than the roof tops.

Chapter Text

The car stopping with the sound of screaming metal shook him awake. He groaned pushing his tired body from the padded bench.
Bleary eyed he groped for the handle and pulled himself out of the cushioned metal box. Immediately cold rain hit his face and he cursed lowly, staggering over to the next overhanging metal roof of the station. Rubbing his burning eyes with one hand he looked around. Since the draining of the flood water seven years ago the former financial district had been transformed quite thoroughly. Thanks to Emily's insistence many houses had been built to house the more financial struggling people, students and families in particular. That it had actually worked had been a victory against the stuffy council by itself, but seeing how the district had been transformed in all this time was quite uplifting, especially to his dark mood. The tiredness was still pulling his shoulders and head down but at least he knew where to go.

The address was not far from the station. The layout of the district had changed considerably but some of the biggest buildings had been preserved enough that they had been kept, which helped him navigate.
Coming out to a crossing he halted in front of a very familiar building. Adrenaline surged through his tired and cold muscles in an instant when he found his eyes zeroing in onto the still standing statue of Jessamine.
Her marble face lying in shadows from the streetlamp but still visible from his point of view. Her gaze fixed to a point in the distance. He could not help but stare up to her for a moment. It was not the most true depiction of her, the features too smooth and the clothes nothing she would have ever worn, but it was still Jessamine without a doubt.
His heart beat heavy in his chest. The pain of loosing her that violently and that suddenly and all of the hard ships that followed were still tainting his spirit.
But alas, he had avenged her. He had saved their daughter and now a fully grown Emily was reining over them all and he was still there.

Breathing deeply he looked back over the square, finally seeing the address he had been looking for. Of course it was the same building with Jessamine's statue on the corner that hold the sick person he was looking for. He nearly cursed the Outsider out loud, holding back as the now well known heat rushed to his face. How could one life be that cursed he asked. How could one building be that cursed? First holding corrupt people who robbed more than a common street thief with their banking fees, only to be abandoned after they put the money that had been put out for the flooding gates into their own pockets and then housing a gang of assassin's and the murderer of the Empress it's corner depicted. And now it was cursed with a person who wrote this... play...
He shuddered and stalked forward.
The rain was getting worse, so he was glad to reach the overhang of the entrance. Looking over the many Names posted on the door bell board he found the right one at the very top. Pushing at the door he was out of luck to go up the stairs. Ringing the bell was not an option, he needed to confront the person without them getting the chance to flee or hide. Sighing he went out into the rain and pulled onto the Outsider's gift.
Blinking upwards over a streetlamp and some balconies he reached the roof with ease. Looking for the roof access he found it nestled to a roof garden with a bigger shed on it. Only sparing both a glance he hurried to the door, which was as hoped, open and hurried inside. The dark stair way down was narrower and ended in another door, that was open too. For once luck seemed to be on his side. The hallway was as dark as the stair well. Not surprisingly as it was in the middle of the night.
Carefully he walked down the hall, cursing his wet shoes making some noise on the polished floor. There were only too doors and the stairwell for the whole building. Choosing one door he approached and yes it was the right name on the plague. Stealing his nerves he pushed his wet hair out of his face, shacking out his hands before he pressed against the handle of the wooden door.
With a silent click it opened up to him. He hurried inside, activating his gaze into the void, while pushing the door closed as silent as possible.

He was greeted by utter stillness.

Not only was there no sound but also nothing moving. As if everything had been suspended in time. Also, looking around the narrow hallway, there was no furniture, no light fixture, no carpet or artworks on the wall. And no doors, only the plain white hallway that ended in darkness. Something was not right here.
Pulling out his sword he went forward. He needed to be ready for what ever sinister power had made it's home here. The air was cool and clean, like the breeze on a ship far away from any harbor. His heart beat faster while the adrenaline made his muscles itch with his careful venture down the hall.
Nothing changed. The air was still and the only sound was made by himself. It worried him that he could not see any one. Normally his magic gaze would see any living creature, sometimes treasures or even things he needed, but there was nothing. Only that hallway and the shadowed doorway in front of him. Which was just odd by itself.
He couldn't breech the darkness with his gaze and blinking it away it stayed as dark as before. His heart now beating in his throat he extended his marked hand to bravely touch the space where nothing but blackness resides.
His hand passed nothing until suddenly he got pulled forward.
Stumbling he followed the pressure and passed the threshold. The feeling of being pulled forward stopped so abruptly that he could not keep his balance and fell to his knees. Pain shot up from his knee caps as he tried to look around through squinted eyes. He was not too surprised to find that nothing physical had pulled him forward but now meeting an empty room and no magic using assassin lurking in a corner, ready to strike confused him.
The room was rather empty, not as empty as the hallway before, but still there was not much to look at.
A window to the right let some light into it, only to be over shined by the whale oil lamps that were clustered into a corner. Between the glowing cylinders sat a very plain table with a rather decrepit looking chair in front of it. He crept further towards the only furniture in the otherwise deserted room, always expecting a hidden enemy rushing towards him. But nothing happened and he came to a stop right in front the wooden table. It had seen some abuse before. Several dark ink stains and burn marks were staining the dark wood. Following the random pattern his eyes fell onto a book lying right in the middle. Air rushed into his lungs in a gasp seeing the title of the dark purple cover. “In the heart of the Abyss” it read in coal dark letters. His hand trembled when he reached for it, turning over the cover to stare at the short paragraph, which was the authors note. The version he had burned only this afternoon had not been adorned with one. This one had been. In a rather blotchy and wobbly hand had been written the following words: “Meet me on the roof, my dear Corvo”

The cursed redness shot back into his face. What?
Someone was playing games with him and he hated that. Putting away he grabbed for the cursed play and hurried over to the window. His anger overpowered the freezing gust of wind that blew rain into his face when he pushed the glazed wing outward. Who ever was toying with him should ready themselves for his righteous wrath that would befall them soon. With grim determination the finally end this humiliation he blinked back up to the roof.

His Corvo looked like a disgruntled crow when he slipped into the shed where one of his shrines had sat undisturbed for a while now. The rain dripped from his black hair and his clothes clung to his body. What a picture he made. Perhaps he should try out painting for his amusement next time, especially with such a fascinating model to bring down on canvas.
With glee he had watched his dear Corvo follow the bread crumbs he had left to find. Watched him turning a charming tinge of red while his dark eyes blazed with anger. This now was his second favorite look he had seen on the man. How fun it was to tease him. To rile him up until he stood huffing with anger before his shrine. His eyes were wild and searching and the Outsider took his time to admire him further. There hadn't been that many mortals in his long existence that were able to amuse and fascinate him like this man. His life had been filled with many obstacles he had overcome in his own way. His hands had not stayed clean but his soul had and this was a feat that was rather note worthy, even in the eyes of a being like himself, that never thought it could be surprised. The many visions that existed in the eternal Void, showing futures and decisions of any mortal being had seldom fit to Corvo Attano's way of handling his problems and this was keeping him captivated by a mere man. A rather tired, cold and angry man, who had finally reached his shrine and he was after all quite benevolent to his most dear of his marked ones, so he showed himself.
“You?” the man gasped as he was pulled into the Void by ancient powers.
The Outsider not prone to show emotion felt his lips pull into a slight smile. Corvo's expressive eyes were dark and big as they stared up through his wet hair onto his God.
“Yes, my dear Corvo. Congratulations you have found the author of the work you. The one you have been searching for..” He gave a small bow and floated down to be more on an eye to eye level with the star of his play. “Did you enjoy my rendition of our meeting. I found it rather, what do they say....” He let his voice drop into a deeper octave, showing more emotion than he had for several centuries. “...Ah, they say it was rather spicy.” A grin stretched unasked onto his lips when Corvo's cheeks burned bright with embarrassment, clearly remembering the explicit details he had woven into the narrative of their meeting. His fingers started to long for the feeling of heated skin under his eternally cold hands. But he would not take the next step. He was quite sure of his rather uncommon obsession and fascination, but was his Corvo also in the know? Had he searched his feelings deeper than the surface humiliation and anger?

Was it cruel to keep him like this, suspended by ancient magic in his realm only for him to gaze at his dark and soul full eyes. Oh, he realized, he was smitten. How curious. How curious indeed!
Corvo meanwhile had hidden his shame behind his hands, hiding from his intense gaze. Oh, this wouldn't do.
Gentle, but with strength, no man would ever possess, he pulled away the work roughened hands. Holding them as gently as he could. Touch was so foreign but also so very familiar to him. Like an after thought he stroked the back of those hands that knew how to kill and how to safe.
Corvo had startled thanks to his touch but was now looking at him again. Eyes still wide, cheeks heated, lips parted and his heart beating fast in his chest. The Outsider let go of one if his hands only to touch the soft skin above the mortals sharp cheekbone, gliding down to the rough stubble at his strong jaw.
“Now dear Corvo. I would be delighted if you could share your input. Your opinion of my first work of writing would be very helpful with the sequel.”
“The... the sequel...?” the man stuttered.
The Outsider chuckled and the Void, his eternal realm vibrated in purple pulses with his glee.
Putting his second hand on his dear Corvo's face he pulled him as close as he had never allowed any to come. The man's uneven breaths stuttered but he did not push him away.
Getting so close that his cold lips nearly touched the burning ear of the man that had stolen his dead heart and made the Void shudder in anticipation every time they met he whispered: “Yes the sequel, my dear Corvo. You are an integral part in it, I would be remiss in not including your insight.”
Corvo could only shudder and close his eyes as he let himself envelope into the dark embrace of a cruel god.


Down in a room that was not here nor there. That was not only in the eternal Void but also on this mortal plane a single black feather rose from next to a book that had been left open on a blank page. In slow strokes words started to form under the invisible guide of magic and fate.
Black ink bled into the page.
As it dried, a new sentence could be read:

-The Heart of the Abyss Part II-