Chapter Text
Two Time paced restlessly within the confines of his private chambers, his mind consumed by thoughts of Chance. The gambler's parting glance lingered in his memory, stirring feelings he wasn't prepared to acknowledge. It was foolish to become attached, especially to someone like Chance—a man who lived for risk and thrived on chaos. Yet, Two Time couldn't deny the strange pull he felt towards the reckless gambler.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his musings. His eye twitched, but a part of him hoped Chance’s face would greet him on the other side once more. "Enter," he called out, straightening his robes as the wooden panel slid open to reveal a young acolyte. The boy bowed low, his eyes downcast. "High Disciple Two Time, the Elders request your presence in the Hall of Sacrifice immediately."
Two Time's heart stuttered in his chest. The Hall of Sacrifice? Now? Something was wrong. He knew what was expected of him, the role he must play in the ritual. It was a part he had performed countless times before, a dance he knew by heart. Yet tonight, for the first time, the prospect filled him with a bone-deep unease. Unsure of what could be awaiting him.
Chance's heart hammered wildly in his chest as the cultists dragged him toward a raised dais at the center of the chamber. In the flickering torchlight, he could make out intricate symbols carved into the stone floor, glowing with an eerie phosphorescence. Atop the dais lay a massive obsidian altar, its surface stained dark with old blood.
Rough hands forced him onto his knees before the altar, careful to not allow the gambler to hit the ground too hard as they began to bind his wrists tightly with coarse rope. The cultists stepped back, forming a circle around him in eerie silence. Hardly daring to breathe, and it made every movement and noise that Chance made even louder.
He searched desperately for some weakness in their defenses, some opening he could exploit. But the cultists moved with militant precision, their formation impenetrable. They’ve performed this song and dance countless times before.
As Two Time entered the Hall of Sacrifice, Chance's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. The cultist cut an imposing figure in his ceremonial robes, his face obscured by a dark veil that cast his features in shadow. That dagger- the ghostfire danger that he had been wielding so casually not long ago, now rested menacingly in a sheath on his waist. For a moment, Chance dared to hope that Two Time would intervene on his behalf, that the man would save him from whatever horrific fate awaited him at the hands of the cult.
But as Two Time approached the altar where Chance was bound, his expression remained impassive, betraying no hint of recognition or concern. Cold dread settled in the pit of Chance's stomach as he realized the truth—that Two Time was fully complicit in this, as if he had known all along what would happen to him.
"I trusted you," Chance choked out, his voice cracking with emotion. "I thought... I don't know what I thought. That you cared?"
Every fiber of his being screamed at him to act, to go after Chance and save him from whatever fate awaited the gambler at the hands of his fellow cultists and himself. But he hesitated, torn between his growing feelings for the irreverent human and the rigid doctrines he had sworn to uphold.
The cult's teachings were clear - outsiders who learned too much about their ways had to be eliminated, their knowledge purged from existence. It was the only way to protect the Spawn's secrets, to ensure its continued ascendance.
But Two Time paused mid-stride, his gloved hand tightening imperceptibly on the hilt of his dagger. Chance's broken whisper struck him like a physical blow, cutting through the haze of ritualistic detachment he had carefully cultivated over years of service. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting back the surge of conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm him. When he opened them again, they burned with an intense fire.
He took a shaky step forward, then another, drawn inexorably towards the altar where Chance was made to kneel. The cultists parted before him like water, allowing him passage. He could feel their gazes on him like a physical weight, expectant and knowing. He wanted to go to Chance, to reassure him, to tell him that this wasn't what it looked like. But he couldn't. Not here, not now. Too many eyes watched, waiting for him to slip up, to show weakness. His entire life purpose could not be collapsed due to one measly gambler.
Chance's breath caught in his throat as Two Time approached, the cultist's mere proximity setting every nerve ending alight. He tried to read the intentions behind Two Time's inscrutable expression, searching for some sign of the gentle soul he'd glimpsed during their intimate encounters. But the veil masked any traces of tenderness, leaving him cold and alone in the face of the coming horror.
Chance recoiled, instinctively jerking backward until he slammed against the cold stone of the altar beneath him. His fingers clawed futilely at the ropes binding him, drawing thin lines of blood across his wrists. Desperation and fury burned through him in equal measure as he fixated on the silent Cultist before him. Why won't he say anything?
Two Time advanced slowly toward him, each deliberate footstep resounding in the cavernous hall like the tolling of funeral bells. Chance could see the flicker of internal turmoil warring behind Two Time's blank expression. There was pain in his stare- it was all there ever was- and the look made Chance ache in sympathy somewhere deep in his chest.
"You son of a bitch," he snarled, feeling his own heart harden in defense. “You’re just like the rest of them. Just another liar masquerading as someone I thought I could trust. I should’ve known better than to trust someone like you...” Chance’s words were harsh, but there was a note of desperation behind them. He didn’t want to die, despite how many times the Grim Reaper called his name. Was this really the end for him?
His voice trailed off as Two Time stopped mere inches away, looming over him like a vengeful spirit. The cold press of the cultist's dagger grazed his jawline, tilting his head back. Up close, Chance could see the faint tremor in Two Time's hand, and could hear the raggedness of his breathing beneath the veil. There was doubt, an uncertainty, hidden under the mask of ruthless devotion.
Two Time's gaze locked onto Chance's, his resolve crumbling under the weight of the gambler's accusing stare. He could see the fear and betrayal swirling in those familiar pink-red eyes, mingling with a spark of stubborn defiance that stirred something deep within him.
With a shuddering breath, he lowered the dagger, letting it clatter to the stone floor beside them. The sound echoed through the chamber like a gunshot, startling the assembled cultists into tense silence. Two Time ignored them, his gaze going glassy and distant, as though listening to something far away. His non-dominant hand rose to his head, touching his temple gingerly.
“The Spawn has spoken.” He announced suddenly, his voice stern and even. Almost commanding. “Tonight is not right. In 4 days, when the moon reaches its brightest phase, that is when we shall offer his strength to the Spawn. While the veil is thinnest and Its light may accompany us.” Two Time turned slowly, his gaze scanning the gathering of robed figures. They muttered amongst themselves, but who were they to argue the informed word of the High Disciple?
He was falsifying the Spawn’s great word. He knew he was misguiding everyone.
Chance exhaled slowly, his entire body slumping as the realization washed over him—Two Time had lied to save him. Against his loyalty, against the cult he swore everything to, he chose Chance. Staggering relief replaced the adrenaline, his muscles growing weak under him as the terror subsided.
Once he was steady once more, he looked back up at Two Times' darkened expression, struggling to read him, but the cultist gave him nothing to use against him as he turned to his acolytes. He tried speaking again.
But what was there to say? A thanks? After nearly signing his death sentence by deciding to drunkenly visit the enigmatic cultist, only to be kidnapped by his people? And to thank him when, minutes prior he held Chance at a blade's edge, while the gambler screamed 'liar' and 'hypocrite'. He could choke on his apology, all the words that clawed at his throat. But Chance knew this wasn’t the place for them. Not in front of the other cultists.
Two Time kept his gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet Chance's eyes lest the gambler see the conflict still raging within him. He could feel the weight of the cultists' stares upon him, sense their confusion and suspicion. This was unprecedented—never before had a sacrifice been postponed, let alone by the High Disciple himself.
He addressed the assembly once more, his voice ringing with false confidence. "Brothers and sisters, the Spawn has guided my hand. We shall prepare for the ceremony four nights hence." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Go now, and spread the word. Let all who have been chosen know that their sacrifice draws near. Until then, I will personally ensure the sacrifice’s care and protection."
As the cultists dispersed, murmuring amongst themselves, Two Time allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had bought Chance precious time, but at what cost? His position within the cult was already precarious; this latest transgression would surely draw scrutiny from the Elders. He would have to deal with them another time. Two Time turned back to the gambler, hefting the man up by his arm and grabbing the dropped dagger in the same motion. “We must go.” He urged in a whisper, the urgent words sending a shiver down the man’s spine.
Chance nodded stiffly, rising unsteadily to his feet. His legs trembled beneath him, still weak from the adrenaline coursing through his system. He leaned heavily against Two Time, grateful for the support even as he cursed himself for needing it.
"Care and protection," he muttered bitterly, casting a wary glance at the retreating backs of the cultists. "That's rich, coming from the guy who almost fed me to whatever fucked-up god you're worshipping."
Two Time's grip tightened fractionally on his arm, a warning squeeze. "Not here," he hissed, steering Chance towards a shadowy alcove. "Save your venom for when we're safely away from prying eyes."
They slipped into a narrow passageway, the air cool and damp against Chance's flushed skin. Torchlight faded behind them, plunging them into darkness. Two Time led without hesitation, guiding the other man through the passageways that were achingly familiar to him. He could remember vividly, hours wandering them, panicked moments of being unable to find an exit. So he memorized them, just like the Spawn symbols carved into the back of his hands.
Two Time quickened his pace, eager to put distance between them and the Hall of Sacrifice. His heart raced, pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. What had he done? Postponing the sacrifice went against everything he believed in, everything he had dedicated his life to. And for what? A reckless gambler with a nice face, pretty eyes, and a sharp tongue?
The gambler stumbled occasionally, his exhaustion evident in every labored breath and faltering step. Two Time gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to scoop Chance into his arms and carry him the rest of the way. Instead, he maintained a firm grip on the man's elbow, keeping him upright and moving forward.
Yet as he navigated the twisting corridors, he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision. Chance's presence beside him was a constant distraction, his warmth seeping through the fabric of Two Time's robes.
After what seemed like an eternity, they emerged into a small, dimly lit chamber. Two Time breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the heavy wooden door behind them, sealing them off from the rest of the compound. Here, at least, they could speak freely without fear of being overheard. His dagger made quick work of Chance’s restrains, wincing quietly at the marks that the rope left behind from the gambler’s struggle.
Turning to face Chance, he reached up and tugged off his veil, revealing his pale, angular features. He shoved the delicate fabric into his pocket. They were shaking badly as he rested them both on Chance’s shoulders. Bringing their faces close together to speak amongst only themselves.
“Are you okay?” He questioned lowly, his brow furrowed in uncharacteristic worry.
"Am I okay?" he repeated incredulously, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. "No, Two Time, I'm not fucking okay. I just came damn close to being sacrificed to some ancient, sadistic entity by the very person who promised to keep me safe!"
His anger flared hotter, burning through the last vestiges of his fear. "What the hell was that all about back there? One minute you've got a knife to my throat, the next you're spewing cryptic shit about the Spawn postponing my death? Which is it? Do you want me dead, or not? I’m not gonna play this back and forth game with you."
The steadying hands fell away from his shoulders, and Chance immediately missed the contact. Even in the midst of his simmering rage.
Two Time's shoulders slumped, his earlier bravado evaporating like mist in the morning sun. He ran a hand through his long, dark hair, looking suddenly weary beyond his years. "I never wanted you to come to harm, Chance. Never." His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with emotion. "When I brought you into my space, I truly believed that you would be safe. That you would understand my ways, accept them even. I never imagined..."
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. The memory of Chance's terrified face as the cultists dragged him towards the altar flashed through his mind, making his stomach churn. How could he have been so foolish? So arrogant?
"But you were right to question me. To call me a hypocrite," Two Time met Chance's gaze, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “But seeing you there, bound and helpless... It awakened something in me. Something I thought I had buried long ago. With… With my previous partner.”
Chance narrowed his gaze, his mouth tightening slightly as a pang twisted sharply in his chest. He hadn’t expected Two Time to admit so readily that he’d felt guilty. And now there was more. The mention of his former lover once again. Whatever this was turning out to be, was quickly shaping up to be an emotional mess for him.
He stepped forward, grabbing Two Time gently around the wrist and halting him. Smoothing the creases on the robe’s sleeve with his thumb before dipping under to brush over the scars. "So what does this mean now, huh?" he asked quietly, traces of his anger still smoldering. "You can't let me leave here because I'm a liability to you and your little club. Am I supposed to sit here and rot in one of your rooms for the next 4 days while you walk around and prepare yourself to kill me?"
"What kind of future is that, Two Time?"