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Chapter Text

Plane Shift was a powerful spell. The ability to step through the veil of existence itself, to sweep away the reality one knows and be plunged into a deluge of new, where nothing is as it was.

This is what Abdirak had done. He had expected strangeness, but not this. Something had gone wrong with the spell, and his destination was no where in sight. Instead he stood in halls of metal, gleaming in the gloom as panels with rows of dots glowed in bright colours. The air was cold and oddly stale. He smelled nothing at all. Felt nothing but a strange faint thrum rising through his feet, permeating all around him. Existence had become metal and bright little lights.

Abdirak heard something, a clink of a chain, and the zip of something cutting through the air before a hard, wet impact. Followed by a solid, pained grunt.

Ahh, he thought with the faintest twinge of relief. Something familiar at last.

He started through the dark hallway, footsteps barely audible with his careful pacing. The air began to smell of incense and blood. Abdirak slowed further.

The delightful sounds of blessed penance grew louder as he drew closer, and he reached the end of the corridor to come to a large, dark chamber. The room might have been circular but was edged by shadows too deep to see through. In the centre a beam of light shone down from above, illuminating the penitent. A man of flesh and blood knelt facing away from the entranceway, and yet creeping up from the waist of his trouser was a swathe of metal, covering and buried into the flesh of his bare back as it travelled up his spine. He wore the marks of penance, deep gashes and rolling bruises, glazed in fresh blood.

Abdirak canted his head, regarding the man carefully, when a sharp-edged thurible, trailing smoke and a warm glow, swept over the penitent's shoulder and collided with his back. It cut a new gash and drew a quiet grunt from the man. Abdirak exhaled sharply through his nose. So stoic. Such a pity.

"You would do well to let your voice be heard," Abdirak said, his rich voice echoing around the metallic room. The man startled, but was on his feet in an instant, back straight, chin high, his thurible at his side like a flail. Whatever else he was, this man was a warrior. His pale skin and yellow hair glared in the bright light from above. "It is a waste to let such devotion be stifled."

The man's eyes narrowed, with curiosity rather than anger now. "Who are you?" he demanded. His voice had a soft accent to it, almost Cormyrean. "How did you get here?"

"Quite by accident, let me assure you," Abdirak said, clasping his hands before himself. The situation was less than ideal, but this appeared to be a man of some faith. Perhaps they would find a common ground, so long as it was clear that Abdirak meant him no ill. "I would alleviate you of my presence, but I fear I must rest before I am able to make my journey again."

The man's eyes narrowed further, curiosity spilling over to confusion. "How did you get here?" he repeated, tone a little more forceful this time.

Abdirak smiled. "A simple mishap with a spell. One that I shall not repeat, if I am able to rest. I do beg your forgiveness for my intrusion."

"A spell?" The man's lip curled as his hazel eyes narrowed, regarding Abdirak as though he were quite mad. The blood dripping from his back and to the metal floor beneath him went ignored. "Who are you?"

A creeping worry seeped into Abdirak's gut. The mention of magic had not left the stranger concerned, but utterly perplexed. Where had he managed to find himself? "Father Abdirak," he said, splaying his hands to the sides with a slight bow, "but a humble servant of Loviatar."

"Father Abdirak?" the man said, lip curling a little with distaste. "I have never heard of this 'Loviatar'."

"I find that unsurprising," he replied. "I have come from very far. Though-" Abdirak gestured to the thurible by the man's side, to the blood that dripped from the metal. "-it seems that we might show our devotions similarly."

The man's eyes travelled up and down Abdirak, no small amount of judgement in them. The Loviatan was in his usual state, his ritual robes stained with blood, his body a patchwork of old and fresh gashes and bruises. "Heretic." His tone was soft, lacking the accusation that normally came with the word.

Abdirak laughed, a warm and rich sound without malice. "Many have called me heretic, dear one. And yet they—just as others—have left me with the solace they sought. You are far from the first to call me such, and far from the last I would expect. To whom then do you dedicate your sweet suffering, if not the Maiden of Pain Herself?"

The mention of pain made the man's brow furrow, but his tone remained amiable enough as he spoke. "I am Father Lyon Allard," he began. "I hold the truth of Dualism. Through the offering, I take the sins of my people. I show my dedication to Lua and Sol through the sacrifice of both my mind and my body. Two parts to make a whole, that my people might be forgiven."

"Intriguing," Abdirak replied, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He could feel a sermon coming on a mile away. Usually from himself, but he knew the signs well. "For a moment I feared you might share the ways of the Ilmatari, but this sounds far more interesting."

"Says the man who apparently worships pain itself," Lyon shot back, a sudden lightness to his voice, only emphasising his strange accent, "and appears as if by magic inside my sealed sanctum."

Abdirak's head canted just slightly to the side. As if by magic. What a strange thing to say. Where had he found himself? "I am but a traveller who has lost his way."

"And I am a warrior of the Two Parts," Lyon replied, a subtle threat creeping into his words. They softened again as he added: "Though if you are no threat to me or the people I protect, then as a man of the cloth it is my duty to see you safely on your way. You may seek succour within these walls, but you will leave your heresy outside and there shall be no warning for ill behaviour."

Abdirak bristled slightly, but he was in no position to make demands and his smile did not falter. "I appreciate your grace."

Lyon nodded once to him. "I would be interested to hear of this journey you have taken, stranger."

"Abdirak, please," he replied with a smile. "I would be delighted to share, once you have seen to your injuries. If you would allow, I am something of a healer."

Lyon narrowed his eyes slightly. "I am not convinced it would be wise to accept such an offer from one who is so openly an acolyte of pain, though you are correct. I will make arrangements myself."

Abdirak grinned, bearing his teeth. "As you wish."

Lyon moved to the edges of the shadows, and from them retrieved some clothing that had been neatly folded and set aside for his prayers, including a rather impressive looking tall hat, before gesturing to the corridor Abdirak had paced down when he first arrived.

"This way."

As they walked, Abdirak could not ignore the question nagging within him. "I find it curious that one who sees the merit in offering penance would do so in such silence. Do your dual gods not appreciate hearing their servants' hymns?"

Lyon shot him a look that was equal parts puzzled and concerned. "Our hymns are more traditional than an agonised wail," he said. "And my silence is necessary. Pain is of the body. Discipline is of the mind. Only through both parts of the whole can I honour both Sol and Lua." Lyon fell quiet a moment, a simmering determination sinking into his features as he led Abdirak through the strange silver halls. "One day, when the metal has at last claimed my flesh, I shall have nothing but my screams. On that day, I shall give them freely. Until then, I remain Lyon Allard and I will embrace my silent meditations while I can."

Abdirak bowed his head. He was in no position to argue philosophy. Yet. Though Lyon's words drew his keen attention, and his mind was drawn back to the melding of steel and flesh on the man's back. When the metal has at last claimed my flesh. Whatever fate awaited this man, Abdirak felt an odd kinship. There was a heavy burden of expectation upon Lyon, he could sense that much. He had a mission, and a fate. Perhaps Abdirak had not arrived in this place by accident. Perhaps this man needed a guiding hand.

Perhaps Abdirak had a fate of his own.

Chapter Text

Lyon led Abdirak through more metallic halls and up a ramp until he was stricken by a stark change in environment. They passed through a doorway and left the dark, cold metal behind, emerging into a room with firm carpet and magnolia yellow walls. Everything was still so strange, and yet now there was familiarity hidden amongst it all. It should have been comforting, yet instead it was uncanny. Paintings hung upon the walls and a window with drapes provided a view into the dark world outside. There was a carved wooden end table with a fine lace doily, and yet sat upon it was a candlestick that held no flame, shielded by cloth with a glowing orb within. A similar contraption also hung from the ceiling, casting bright light into the room.

"Are you well?" Lyon asked, and Abdirak started. It seemed the strange man had almost gone on without him as Abdirak became waylaid by the lighting.

"Ah, do forgive me," Abdirak replied. "I was distracted."

Lyon eyed him suspiciously. "By the lamp?"

"So it would seem," he replied, feeling a touch silly. It appeared this was a common object here. "As I mentioned, I have come from very far."

"I see. This way." Lyon led him through to a room with a table and chairs in the middle, but a whole wall of unusual construction. "Please, take a seat. I will return momentarily."

Abdirak did as he was bid, until Lyon had left the room. Then he was on his feet again, inspecting the odd room. A kitchen, he presumed from what he recognised, but unlike any he had been in before. He identified a sink, a stove top, an oven, and many common kitchen tools, but he found many things that defied identification. A box with glowing numbers, a cabinet full of light and cold, an even colder cabinet. Filled with food, it seemed. An ingenious way to store it, especially if one were not overly keen on salt.

There was a window by the sink with fresh cut flowers in a vase, but Abdirak wasn't able to get any better clue of where he was as he peered out into the darkness. Somewhere near a population centre, if the swathe of distant dots of light were anything to go by.

Footsteps approached. Too soft and swift and light to be Lyon returning. A young woman entered with short pale hair and unusual orange eyes. She wore the veil and ruffle of a habit, but the rest of her body seemed to be encased in some sort of metallic shell. She gasped as her eyes fell on him.

"My apologies for startling you," Abdirak said quickly. "I am a guest of Father Lyon."

For all he had hoped that would placate her, it only seemed to confuse her more. "Lyon has a friend?" Her voice was incredulous, and her accent was similar to Lyon's own. A little thicker perhaps.

Abdirak caught himself smirking. "We are rather recent acquaintances. My name is Abdirak."

"A pleasure, Monsieur Abdirak. I am Sister Marie. I assume you will be joining us for dinner, oui?"

"If I am welcome," he said with a light bow.

"Of course, of course," she said, coming into the room and bustling toward the counter top. Abdirak was just opening his mouth to offer help before she added: "Please, sit, sit, stay out of my way."

He closed his mouth with a smile and returned to his seat at the table.

"Where is Father Allard?" she asked without looking at him, as she retrieved pots and pans from the cupboards. "It was his turn to prepare the potatoes today, and yet." She illustrated her point by gesturing to a small sack of unwashed potatoes.

"He is tending to his wounds following his penance."

Marie stopped what she was doing with a clatter of metal pans and turned sharply to look at him. Her eyes had turned stern and dark lips pursed as her appraising gaze finally took stock of him. He could feel her scrutiny as she looked over his scars.

She muttered something under her breath in a language Abdirak didn't understand. "Am I to assume that you are another who takes on his archaic practices?"

Abdirak's brow furrowed very softly. "Is the acceptance of penance not a usual act of worship for those who follow this Dualism?"

"Not like that," she said, jabbing her hand toward the doorway. "We pray or fast or some such other thing. Taking the discipline has not been commonplace for centuries. It is-" She waved a hand briefly as she shook her head, seemingly looking for the word. "-barbaric."

Abdirak felt his interest piquing further. So the act of flagellation was not only ill practiced among their kind, but seemingly reviled. So why did Lyon take it upon himself? Why offer his pain to gods who did not ask for it? Did he feel the need to be punished? What for?

Did he enjoy it?

"Besides," Marie carried on, interrupting Abdirak's thoughts, "what do you mean 'those who follow Dualism'? What do you follow?"

"Sister Marie." Lyon was in the doorway, having arrived while they were both distracted. He had donned the top half of his ceremonial robes, though left off the hat. "I see you have met our guest."

"Oui, and I see you have a lot of potatoes to peel," Marie shot back. "Swiftly."

Lyon took a moment to exhale deeply through his nose but otherwise maintained his composure, moving to the counter to assist Marie. Abdirak's offer to help him was immediately accepted, and the Loviatan found himself with a knife and a bowl of potatoes in front of him within seconds.

The two Dualists took to discussing something among themselves, about the food judging by their gestures, and Abdirak tried and failed to focus on the task before him. The sparse patches of exposed flesh on Lyon's back, between the cloth and the metal burrowing inside him, were adorned by impossibly white bandages. There must have still been wounds beneath. Abdirak thought on how the welts had glistened red in the light, how they had split and stretched as Lyon moved. They must have still hurt now to require bandages. Little agonies as he moved, ever present kisses from the Maiden. A small smile pulled at Abdirak's mouth. It was such a pity how stoic he was. Abdirak imagined Lyon kneeling before him, awaiting his scourge. He imagined it rending the man's flesh. He imagined Lyon's composure crumbling to dust.

He imagined how beautifully the man would scream.

"My, you certainly are deft with a knife, Monsieur Abdirak," Marie said as she took a seat at the table. She had set a pot cooking on the stove, though Abdirak couldn't see a flame to heat it.

He looked to the bowl in front of him. He hadn't even realised he was just finishing up the last potato. "You have no idea," he said with a smirk.

"This is, uh, interesting clothes you wear," she said, pale cheeks pinkening just a touch.

"As you wear the vestments of your faith, so too do I." Her eyebrow raised, and he carried on. "Loviatans prefer to let the marks of our devotion be seen."

Marie's eyes drifted to Abdirak's scarred torso briefly, and she shifted slightly uncomfortably. "I see. I have never heard of Loviatans."

"As I was telling Father Lyon, I have travelled very far. This was… not where I intended to be. Such is the way of things. Magic can be fickle, at times." His eyes moved to Lyon. "Though at others, it can provide us with a purpose unknown at the time."

Both of Marie's eyebrows rose up high this time, and she poorly hid a smirk. "Magic?"

Lyon cleared his throat to get her attention and—as subtly as he could, though no where near subtly enough—raised his fingers in an effort to silence her. It would seem they both found the notion quite mad. That sense of dread crept back into Abdirak's stomach. He was very far from home.

"Here they had a word for those who practice 'magic'," Marie carried on, looking thoroughly amused. "Witches." Her tone made it seem as though she spoke of fairy tales.

Abdirak chuckled. "Is it so preposterous? How else do you keep your supplies chilled, or cook your food?" he asked, indicating to the cold cabinet and stove top in turn.

Her expression shifted, the thick amusement sliding away to leave only a heavy confusion. She gave Lyon an uncertain glance, and Abdirak wasn't quite sure how to interpret the look he gave her in return.

"I should set these going," she said, taking the bowl of freshly peeled potatoes as she stood and returning to the stove.

"I would be interested to learn more of your faith," Abdirak said. It was a true statement, though he also hoped it would win him back some favour. "I have a great interest in the ways of others."

"Well then you will be very interested indeed," Marie said with a wide smile, her prior manner returning. "For I'm sure that you know, the trick with a priest is not getting them to start preaching, but getting them to stop."

Chapter Text

When Abdirak awoke the next morning, he was disorientated to find himself in a strange place, before the memories of last night came to him. His spell gone awry, his location unknown. A monastery of some kind, for a religion he had never heard of, in a world quite unlike anything Abdirak had ever imagined before.

He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. He could feel Her, Loviatar, somewhere far away. Too far away. Her touch felt weaker than he had ever felt. He swallowed, the lump in his throat unmoving.

Abdirak went about his morning routine as best as he could in this strange place, and it was not long before his host arrived to check on him. Lyon appeared his previous self, stern and stoic, his pale blonde hair damp as it rested on his shoulders.

"How did you rest?" Lyon asked, as he led Abdirak back through to the kitchen to take their morning meal.

"Well, thank you," Abdirak replied, despite how unusual the experience had been. The bedding was unusually soft, and the mattress bizarrely springy. Abdirak didn't even have his bed nails with him. As intriguing as Lyon was, the strangeness of this place and the distance he felt from Loviatar only strengthened his desire to leave.

"You said you intended to attempt to leave this morning," Lyon said, casting Abdirak a somewhat derisive look. "With magic. It would be ill of me to let you go without food."

Abdirak was provided with a bowl of warm, salted porridge, and the pair ate in silence. While he would normally have enjoyed conversation, too many thoughts swirled in his mind this morning. Both finished their meals before either of them spoke again.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Abdirak said, "and I hope I do not seem rude when I say I should be on my way. While I would be very interested to learn more of you and your world, I have duties I must attend to, for which I am already late."

Lyon nodded. "I take no offence. In fact, I am curious to see the method by which you leave. I may take you to the front door if required." Abdirak might have suspected the man of gently mocking him, were it not for his utterly humourless manner.

Abdirak smiled. "No need. The hall should do."

Lyon's eyebrow raised high but he bowed his head and led Abdirak out into the wide hall. A dramatic painting hung upon one wall, a tall plant stood in another. The rooms he had seen were not a monastery as Abdirak knew them, though it was likely he had been kept from the sacred spaces. Sunlight streamed in through the clear glass windows, as clear as the air itself. Oh how Abdirak had wished to explore this world, but he had responsibilities. More than that, he needed to return to where he could feel the Maiden's presence as more than a distant whisper.

"I thank you again, Lyon Allard. Not many would have been so accommodating for a stranger who appeared under such mysterious circumstances."

"It is my calling to defend the flock, whether they accept they are a part of it or not."

Abdirak couldn't help but grin. "Farewell, Father Lyon. Though Her reach seems distant here, I pray that Loviatar graces your scars."

Lyon's eyes narrowed a touch, though he did not voice his disapproval.

Abdirak closed his eyes and took a breath, spreading his arms out to the sides, his fingers splaying wide as he turned his face to the ceiling. He felt Loviatar in him, but weakly. He had to leave this place. It was time to go.

~~~~~~

The act stank of blasphemy unlike anything he had done before, but Lyon saw no merit in angering the stranger. Abdirak posed no threat and showed no signs of being swayed from his sinful ways. Lyon would allow him his strange display, let him be embarrassed over his failure, and then let him leave again by whatever route he had found himself at the monastery in the first place. Perhaps after attempting to indulge in his silly heresy, the man would be open to hear more of the truth. There was something within him, a fervent zeal, that could perhaps be harnessed and guided towards Sol and Lua.

Abdirak stood for a long moment, arms wide, and began to chant. Lyon's eyes narrowed as words unusually close to Latin spilled from his lips. There was… something wrong. Abdirak's voice became distorted, an odd echo to his words as though he spoke through a modulator, but there was nothing. Sharp discomfort crawled up Lyon's spine, from metal to flesh. This was wrong. This wasn't what he thought it was.

Red light burst to life in Abdirak's palms and Lyon gasped, taking a step back. He wore nothing but leather and cloth, no devices on his arms, no projectors. Streaks of light arched up from his hands and swirled around him in a languid vortex. Lyon's hands shook. It was real. Real. Heresy.

Witchcraft.

The red swirled around Abdirak in a haunting display, and his body flickered like a television screen. Lyon's breath caught. Abdirak really had come from somewhere else, entered through magic, appeared from no where. And he was about to leave the same way.

Abdirak faded, but did not disappear. The air became thick and crackled, the hairs over Lyon's arms standing on end. The strange man did not disappear.

The red light died all at once, and Abdirak became solid again. He fell to his knees and gasped, a deep cry of anguish bellowing from deep within him, startling Lyon. Despite his horror, his shock, despite the sheer sacrilege he had just witnessed in his monastery, Lyon rushed to Abdirak and knelt by his side, taking his shoulder in one hand.

"Abdirak, what-" The words caught. How could he ask what was wrong, when he knew what was wrong. Magic. Real. How could such a thing be true? How could this fit into all he knew of the world? Of course, Abdirak had said he was not of this world.

He was a heretic from beyond the veil.

~~~~~~~

A deep void had carved itself into Abdirak's chest unlike anything he had felt before. He had tried so desperately to draw upon his magic, blessed to him by Loviatar, but he could not muster the strength to pull his way through the planes. Where ever he was, he was too far from Her. Not completely without Her, and yet he felt as though his lifeline had been severed clean through. Loviatar was so distant, so far.

Abdirak was alone.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he was shaken from his despair. No, not alone. The strange, alien man from this strange, alien place. Lyon's face travelled through a myriad of expressions, before landing upon something between horror and disgust. Something dark simmered in Lyon's eyes. The man had spoken of witchcraft and heretics, and for a moment Abdirak feared he was about to find out to happened to such people in this world. Without Loviatar's strength, could he defend himself?

"Do you intend to strike me down, Father Lyon?" Abdirak asked, his voice a whisper.

Lyon's eyes widened, uncertainty flickering over his face. He had been thinking of it. Oh, he had. "It is real," Lyon said. "This magic."

Abdirak nodded. "Of course. What strange place is this, where your gods do not grant you their strength?"

"They do," Lyon almost spat, clearly flustered. "Of course they do. Just not… like that." He was quiet a moment, before he spoke again. His words were careful, but warm, warmer than Abdirak had ever heard him speak before. "You said that this was not your destination. That an accident brought you here. Perhaps it was not an accident. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps you were brought here to repent. To turn away from this sorcery-"

Anger lanced through Abdirak with such force that his lips pulled back from his teeth. His eyes narrowed with sharp fury but as they met Lyon's, he saw something there, something genuine. He could feel Abdirak's pain. He shared in it. His foolish, misguided suggestion did not come from malice. He was attempting to help. His eyes.

Lyon's mouth down turned, realising his mistake, but before he could speak again Abdirak's trembling hand was resting on his cheek, startling the man. He blinked, peering at Abdirak in confusion.

"Your eyes," Abdirak said, as he lingered on them. To see them so closely was a different experience. Before they had just appeared a beauteous hazel, but looking at him now. One seemed odd, the pupil unmoving the colour perfectly uniform. The other… It had not one iris, but two. The central, hazel, but then another nestled within, as though his eye were growing a second.

Lyon's face fell, his gaze dropping so Abdirak could no longer inspect them.

"I have never seen anything like them."

"My sacrifice," Lyon said. "My penance. An eye of glass, and an eye of infestation. One day they will be sensors and circuits, as will the rest of me."

"And you believe this a gift from your gods?" Abdirak asked as he let his hand slip away from Lyon's face.

"It gives me the strength and the ability to protect the flock," Lyon said, lifting his eyes again. He hesitated a moment, a faint grimace flashing across his features, before he lifted his hand to his glass eye and pulled the lid down. With his thumb, he eased the false eye out and it slipped into his palm. Lyon blinked several times before he looked at Abdirak, both eyes open. Where Abdirak should have seen flesh within, three dots of white light arranged in a triangle shone from Lyon's eye socket. "With their blessing, I am becoming their weapon. This is my purpose."

"So, not unlike my magic?" Abdirak asked, his voice gentle and without rancour.

Lyon's mouth opened, but he said nothing. Abdirak's words had struck a chord. "I see," he said eventually, tone stiff.

"Were you to lose the gifts you relied upon to serve your deities, would you relish another suggesting it was a sign to turn your back on your faith?"

Lyon took a slow breath. "No," he said eventually, glancing down at the glistening glass eye in his palm. "I would see it as a trial to be overcome. A chance to prove my devotion."

"Indeed."

"I-" Lyon faltered, looking back to Abdirak. "Perhaps I misspoke. Forgive me."

Abdirak smiled. "I know well how it feels to be consumed by adoration for my goddess. I would be lying if I said I had never been tricked by my zeal to say something unkind."

"Still, I must pay a penance for my cruelty. If I can aid you in making your journey home, then allow me to make amends."

Despite the wretchedness in his heart, a smile quirked at the corner of Abdirak's mouth. "A penance, you say?"

Chapter Text

"I am honoured that you would share your sacred space with me," Abdirak said, as he set his travel pack down to the side of the room - the very room where he had first seen Lyon, his back bared and bloodied. It was as Abdirak remembered, though the blood had been cleaned, leaving the visible metal shining in the circle of light. "Especially as you seem rather… uncomfortable with regards to the existence of other gods."

Lyon was stood in the doorway, shoulders square, back straight, as was his way. Obscuring the passage as he was, it was easy to see how some might find him imposing. Abdirak was far from a small man, and yet Lyon stood a little taller than him and was built like a barrel. His face rested in that naturally stern glower he wore, and he had replaced his false eye somewhere along the way.

"I was struggling with the revelations of earlier, I will admit," Lyon said as he watched Abdirak unpack some items. "However, you are from a different place. A different reality where magic is real and there are more than the Duality."

Abdirak smiled as he lifted a silk bundle from his pack. Though he would not voice his opinion, he found it highly unlikely that this 'reality' had a paltry two gods. That was not his business, however. Lyon had found some strange way to incorporate Abdirak's existence into his faith; he would not shatter the man further quite yet. Abdirak took the silk bundle and knelt in the central beam of light in the strange circular room, setting it down in front of himself, facing Lyon.

"You are welcome to stay, if you are curious," Abdirak said, steepling his fingers. "It is very common for those who do not share our faith to observe or partake in Loviatar's gifts without commitment to Her."

"Perhaps I shall observe," Lyon said. There was a furrow to his brow, curiosity thinly veiled beneath disapproval.

"Delightful," Abdirak said, his smile wide and warm. "Then I shall begin. Though I shall warn you, Loviatans do not worship in stoic silence as the Dualists do."

Lyon gave a nod of acknowledgement, seeming not to notice the gentle tease in Abdirak's words. Abdirak's mouth twisted into a wicked smirk.

"Or should I say 'Dualist' singular?" he carried on. "It would seem that Sister Marie does not worship as you do. I see no scars on her flesh, nor any inclination to bear the pain as I see in you. Is the flagellation not a standard part of your prayers? Why you and no one else?"

Lyon's eyes widened, his mouth falling ajar just slightly. His rigid stance loosened a touch as he fought for words. "Perhaps a conversation for another time."

"As you wish," Abdirak said, unfolding the silk cloth and revealing the scourge within. Abdirak regarded it with reverence. The ultimate tool of his faith, the nine-tailed scourge woven of black leather, adorned with wicked metal claws on the end of each of each thread. He ran his hand across the handle.

"By Sol," Lyon uttered beneath his breath.

Abdirak hid a smirk as he looked up to the man, Lyon's face thick with a mix of horror and awe. "Wonderful, isn't it? Forged by my own hand upon my ascension from initiate." He lifted it on both hands, holding it out to Lyon. "Would you like to do the honour?"

Lyon's mouth fell open. "You wish me to strike you? With that?" he asked, stricken. "Non, I could not. The damage that would-"

"That is little concern," Abdirak said warmly, "but no matter. Observing it is." He took the scourge by the handle and let the tails fall free. He sucked in a deep breath, letting calm flow down him. "Loviatar, hear my cries. I offer my suffering to you and your grace."

And then with all the force he could muster, he swept the scourge over his shoulder with such speed that it whistled before it cracked against the skin of his back.

~~~~~~

A twinge of sickness coiled in Lyon's gut as Abdirak revealed the tool of his faith. A vicious looking weapon that appeared more suited to mutilate than it did for a simple penance. His thurible caused cuts and bruises, but nothing that might put him in real danger. This was something different. For a moment, Lyon considered putting a stop to this lest he end up with a dead heretic upon his sanctum floor. Yet there was a small, disgusted part of him that was curious. Abdirak was clearly no stranger to torture, self inflicted or not, his flesh a patchwork of scars old and new.

Lyon's moral quandary was brought to a sharp conclusion as Abdirak whipped the vicious thing over his shoulder and it cracked against his almost entirely bare back. The sound was startling, but not so startling as what followed.

Abdirak's mouth fell wide and a piercing scream utterly shook the entire room, echoing up and down the metallic walls. Lyon felt it in his feet, in his chest, it was everywhere. But it was no a scream of despair. Pain, yes, but not despair. There was something there, an unabashed delight in the sound. Abdirak leaned over, propping himself up with his free hand as he gasped, an almost lustful quality to his ragged breaths.

Lyon took half a step forward as he watched with concern, ready to rush in to aid him, but Abdirak's eyes flicked up quite suddenly to meet Lyon's. They shone with glee, and a most predatory grin stretched across his face, baring teeth. Lyon's throat became a desert as his heart pounded in his chest. An awful, sinful thrill flushed through himself as the Loviatan looked fit to devour him.

"Witness my offering," Abdirak demanded, his voice practically obscene with how low it rasped.

Abdirak lashed himself again with just as much force, with just as much brutal delight as the first, sending a sprinkling of blood raining across the floor and wall. His scream this time seemed only more fervent, even more filled with that carnal edge. Lyon expected him to stop there, but Abdirak didn't. He struck again. And again. And again.

For a brief moment anxiety and concern flourished in Lyon, but it didn't last, overwhelmed by something else. Something disgraceful. Immoral. He watched the scourge cut into Abdirak's flesh as the tails crept around his sides, the way it tore and split, and fresh red cascaded down his body. His cries were raw and throaty, and the way his jaw hung and eyes fluttered suggested there was something far more obscene about this display than Lyon knew. There was an odd stirring in Lyon's gut, a shifting intrigue, and he shuffled on his feet awkwardly. His fingers tucked into the neck of his cassock, feeling hot despite the cool air on his midriff, and he prayed Abdirak would not notice the flush of his cheeks.

Between strikes Abdirak cried exultations of glee, his manner somehow filling the room thick with pain and joy. Lyon watched, utterly mesmerised. Abdirak's worship appeared to be all about indulgence and jubilance. The man spoke of suffering and yet, despite the ruin that was becoming of his back, Abdirak appeared to be doing anything but. If anything, the Loviatan seemed to be in a state of utter bliss as he rended his own flesh. It was sacrilege. This was supposed to be a punishment. Atonement. And yet…

Lyon felt a stirring within himself, and he was overcome with shame so sharp it cut his soul like the scourge cut Abdirak's flesh.

Finally, when it seemed like the heathen might tear himself apart entirely, he let the now bloodied scourge slip from his fingers and slumped forward, holding himself up with both palms pressed against the metal floor. Blood pooled thickly around him and decorated the walls as he sucked in ragged breaths.

Lyon gasped his he leaned forward, getting a full view of his shredded back. The urgency hit him and pulled him from his sinful thoughts. "By sun and moon, what have you done?" he whispered. "I'll fetch a doctor at once."

"No," Abdirak said before Lyon could turn to leave, reaching out a hand toward him, droplets of blood falling from his extended fingers. "There is no need. Come closer."

Lyon looked back to him with a fearful grimace. "You are in need of-"

"Come, dear one. You will see what I am in need of."

Lyon did his best to hide his apprehension, moving to Abdirak and kneeling in front of him just at the edge of the pool of blood. Abdirak straightened, crying out at the pain of the movement. It was mesmerising. To Lyon, everything was about control. He could not let his discipline slip, not let the pain defeat him. Abdirak was something else. He was not defeated in pain but revelling in it. Cherishing it. Lyon's throat was so dry.

Abdirak raised his hands, and that now-familiar odd prickle danced up the hairs of Lyon's arms. A shock of teal light burst to life around Abdirak's hands, causing Lyon to start. He had seen Abdirak's 'magic' previously and yet it was no less shocking. In fact, this time, it was worse.

The light shimmered and warped the air, and Lyon thought his eyes were deceiving him as the wounds licking at Abdirak's sides tightened closed. What wickedness was this he witnessed? And yet, how could it be wicked? Abdirak's sundered flesh knitted together before him. Lyon couldn't hold still, scrambling to his feet and stepping around to see the butcher's shop that had been Abdirak's back becoming orderly and neat once more. Where cuts had gashed so deeply as to bear bone, now there were mere lines of supple pink scar, as though the wounds were months old.

Mind too preoccupied for propriety, Lyon's hand moved unthinkingly to Abdirak's back. The man's skin was hot as fire, and his scars smooth like velvet. Lyon's breath caught.

"You see, dear one?" Abdirak said, and Lyon felt the vibrations of his words through his back. "No need to fret."

The sensation sent such a flurry through Lyon that he snatched his hand away. He forced his attention back to the impossibility he had just witnessed. The word miracle threatened to cross his mind, but he dare not think such a blasphemy.

Abdirak turned and regarded Lyon, a hint of amusement on his face as his eyes drifted down to Lyon's hand. He hadn't even realised how it hovered in the air as though daring to touch the Loviatan again. Abdirak reached out and took Lyon's hand gently in his own. He stared right through Lyon's deteriorating eyes and straight into his soul. That icy gaze was endless and all seeing.

"I can sense the curiosity in you," Abdirak said.

"You-" The words caught, so Lyon swallowed and tried again. "You said you were weakened…"

A solemn look came over Abdirak, his brow furrowing with a shadow of sorrow. "Indeed. My offering was heard, and I felt Her touch reaching me. A little of my strength has returned, but it shall take a far greater offering to allow me to step through the planes once more and back into Her embrace."

Lyon nodded, but he was barely listening. He couldn't get Abdirak's cries from his mind, the way his flesh tore, the incredible energy he exuded from every pore.

Abdirak squeezed Lyon's fingers gently. "You still think on it - my offering of pain? Perhaps now that you know that you are safe in my hands, you would know the scourge's sting?"

Lyon's eyes widened, his breaths deepened.

"Loviatar's gifts are not only for the faithful, if this is what concerns you. I use my methods to offer relief to those of all backgrounds."

"Relief?" Lyon asked, incredulous.

"Dear Lyon," Abdirak purred, his smile turning wry. "Do not pretend that you feel nothing but stoic reverence as you take your strikes. Allowing yourself to explore this experience will only strengthen your understanding of yourself. How can we fully devote ourselves if we do not know ourselves?"

Lyon watched Abdirak with burning intensity. Every faucet of this felt wrong and yet, after all these years of iron will and fierce discipline, he felt his resolve finally slipping.

"Very well," he whispered, and Lyon could have sworn he saw the wickedness blossom in Abdirak's smile.

Lyon's hands shook as he followed Abdirak's instruction to remove the top half of his cassock and kneel. Abdirak's blood soaked through to his knees. It was not unusual for him to take this position half robed in this place, and yet today he trembled with trepidation. The sheer mutilation he had seen upon Abdirak's back… was this what Lyon wanted?

Yes. It was.

The Loviatan paced somewhere behind him, out of view, his footsteps clear in the almost empty room.

"Now, dear Lyon," Abdirak whispered, suddenly so close to his ear. "You are going to scream for me, aren't you?"

Lyon huffed sharply through his nose. "I would not debase myself in such a way."

Abdirak chuckled, moving away again. "We shall see." The playfulness dropped from his voice. "Are you prepared?"

Lyon took a deep breath, letting his chest and shoulders rise and fall. Abdirak's sudden seriousness was a comfort. This may well be something that Abdirak found some perverse pleasure in but it was no game to him, Lyon was certain. Abdirak was reverent. Lyon was safe. He nodded his head.

"Oui. I am ready."

Abdirak's voice rose to a glorious, joyous cry. "Then in Loviatar's name, revel in Her blessed agony!"

Before Lyon could complain, there was a whistle in the air and pain exploded through his back. He grit his teeth, the barest grunt escaping in his surprise. The scourge was utterly wicked. Hooks caught in his flesh and tore. Agony rushed all through him like cleansing fire, blood pouring down his back like the floods that washed away the sins. By Sol, it was exquisite. A heat blossomed in the bottom of his gut and a rush filled his head.

"Do you feel it, Lyon?" Abdirak laughed, a madness in his wild voice. "Do you feel the scourge's sweet kiss?"

How could he not? Lyon exhaled shakily as the initial strike died down, leaving the lingering sting of his new wounds as he rested forward on his hands. Nine tails, nine gouges, Lyon would bet. "An adequate weapon," Lyon said finally, his voice far weaker than he would have liked.

"Oh dear one, this is no weapon," Abdirak cooed. "This is a lover's touch."

Lyon huffed through his nose. The intensity of the scourge must have fractured his resolve, for he instantly regretted saying: "I wouldn't know about that."

"Oh?" The intrigue was thick on the Loviatan's tone.

"My body is dedicated to my worship."

Abdirak hummed as he slowly circled Lyon's kneeling form. "And is this a standard custom amongst Dualists, or another that you have simply taken upon yourself?" Lyon opened his mouth but Abdirak was quick to add: "Do not answer, dear Lyon. I think I know the answer already."

Lyon snapped his mouth closed, glowering.

"Let the scourge be your lover," Abdirak murmured. "Let yourself become lost in its embrace."

Lyon steeled himself, and the scourge came again. It was no less a marvel this time, perhaps even more so, with his back already pained and tender, to be ravaged again so thoroughly. He could not keep his teeth together, his jaw falling low as a gasp escaped him. Even such a small exhalation drew a satisfied chuckle from Abdirak, and as the pain was dying down again a fresh strike cracked across Lyon's back, ripping open not just his flesh.

A tiny sound, some small little thing neither a gasp nor a moan, fell from his lips as something inside him shook lose. The feelings were intense and barely containable, rising up from a locked chest within. What was this fresh torment? His limbs trembled as the pain was replaced with something else, something he could not even identify, some ardent, burning ache in his heart and hurt. What was this?

"Yes, Lyon!" Abdirak cried out, voice brimming with delight. "Feel yourself open! Let the peeling of your flesh uncover the depths within!"

Lyon didn't know what he meant, but Abdirak's voice was intoxicating. His head was light but not from blood loss. It was as though he were a balloon, lifting up from the ground. His mind rose from his body, lifting from the burdens of his position, from the burdens of always needing to be Father Lyon Allard. He was far above himself, the cold, hard shell of everything he had made himself left behind.

Abdirak's scourge fell upon him again and a noise—it could barely be called a scream—escaped him. What it lacked in volume, it made up for in desperation. His flesh was on fire, his veins electric.

"Yes!" Abdirak cheered. "Let me hear you! Such a beautiful voice! Sing for me. Dearest Lyon, sing for me again."

His words only unravelled Lyon more. Who exclaimed such things as he ripped the flesh from a man? And why did it make him feel so-

Another strike, this one high on his shoulders, so close to bone, agonising yet delightful, like a vicious itch scratched. Sweet relief. Bliss unheard of. He couldn't help it. Lyon screamed. Really screamed, this time, his voice echoing in the round metal room.

"That's it!" Abdirak cackled, utterly manic in his glee. "You are exquisite! Magnificent!"

Another moan escaped Lyon without even another strike. Tears flooded down his face but he didn't know why. There was naught he could do to stop them, flowing as freely as his blood.

"You're doing so well," Abdirak purred. "So wonderfully. Can you take more for me?"

Lyon gasped as an inexplicable rush invaded his nethers, and he nodded despite how his entire body shook, his blonde hair sweat soaked as it danced around his face.

"Excellent," Abdirak rasped. "You perfect, my dear. Enjoy this. Revel in it."

And Lyon was enjoying it. Sun and moon, save his soul, he was drunk on it. To be called perfect. To be acknowledged for his boons. It was utterly intoxicating. The penance, the flagellation, all his life it was about repentance. Lyon was not good, nor perfect, nor wonderful. He was wretched, worthless, and his sins were to be beaten from his flesh. This was different. This was so, so different.

"You believe that your suffering is atonement, but it is more than that," Abdirak called out as though reading Lyon's mind, his voice fit for a sermon before a congregation of thousands. "It is a celebration of the divine, a celebration of you. Of the mortal ability to feel and experience. Embrace it, dear one. Let me hear you embracing it."

More strikes came, the pain unbelievable, incredible, overwhelming and terrible, and yet Lyon never wanted it to stop. He screamed until his voice was raw, wept until his eyes were dry, only encouraged by Abdirak's constant praises. Every so often, the twang of metal on metal rang out as the scourge's teeth bit at the metal of the infestation in Lyon's lower back, reminding him of what he was, of what he was becoming, yet even that was not enough to tear him from his reverie.

Finally, after Lyon was certain he would perish this way, not a shred of flesh on his back nor a scrap of sanity in his mind, the strikes stopped. Abdirak's maniacal exclamations silenced. It was over. His back burned. Suddenly his body made its ruin known, and the arms that held him up could hold him no more. He had barely fallen three inches before he collided with firm, hot flesh, and the spikes of Abdirak's bizarre shoulder guards pressed into his tear-strained cheek.

Abdirak had caught him.

Here it comes, Lyon thought with sob, as his heart and mind spiralled swiftly toward despair. He would be mocked and goaded for how he had failed. He had cried out his own shame at the top of his lungs, and now it crept back inside, filling his lungs and choking him. How quickly he had crumbled after a lifetime of discipline. What a worthless, pathetic excuse of a man he was.

"Well done," Abdirak whispered directly into Lyon's ear, causing him to shudder even as his brow crinkled with confusion. Abdirak squeezed him gently. Lovingly. "You did so well. I am so very proud of you."

~~~~~~~

Abdirak had felt a deep pity for the man at the start of their session, but such a feeling was far behind him. Lyon had given him such a wondrous gift. Abdirak was utterly blessed to have been allowed to share in such a precious moment with the strange priest. He laid the heavy Lyon down carefully, sliding a folded cloth beneath his cheek before brushing the hair and tears from one side his face oh so tenderly.

"Rest now. I will heal your wounds." Abdirak stroked his hair and a quiet sob escaped the man.

There had been so much built up inside him. So much locked away, repressed. He had never allowed himself to embrace the sensations of his body. Perhaps that was why Lyon chose to take the penance? Was this some substitute for release? Abdirak could not imagine living such a way. No wonder the poor man was so odd. So tormented.

"What have you done to me?" Lyon uttered, voice weak.

Abdirak put his hand gently on Lyon's head and stroked his hair. His eyes fluttered closed and he shuddered. "Do you wish that I had not? If you could take this act back, would you?"

"No," Lyon breathed after a long pause.

"Good," Abdirak replied, lips stretching into a smile. "Rest now, precious one. I have much work to do."

Abdirak reached inside himself and summoned Loviatar's strength, and he felt the power welling in his hands. Her magic vibrated within him. Even through all this distance, where ever he was, She felt his offering and delighted in it. The breaking of another god's acolyte, singing for Her, offering his flesh and his pain. Sweet Lyon's gift had so greatly empowered him. The anxiety and fear, the loss Abdirak had felt earlier were washed away. It would take work and effort to be able to go home, but he would. He had been torn from Loviatar's grasp, but She had not abandoned him. She reached for him through the planes. He would reach back and grasp Her hand, and dear Lyon would help him. Had helped him. And in return, he would help Lyon.

Abdirak spread his hands and let the soft light of healing spread over him, focusing his power deep into Lyon's flesh, knitting his wounds together. His scars would be healed, but never forgotten. Poor Lyon sniffled as Abdirak worked, and he wondered how long the Dualist had allowed himself to be buried beneath his faith. His heart broke a little at the thought. Faith should elevate, not crush. Perhaps this would be the first step for dear, sweet Lyon to give himself some much needed respite at long last.

Chapter Text

As the thurible cracked against his back, Lyon could not keep the thoughts of Abdirak from his mind. What would he say to Lyon so quickly undoing the incredulous healing the man had bestowed just the day before? A gift given, and a gift undone. Lyon could not help himself though. He had barely slept, and when he had it was fitful and without rest. The world was crumbling around him. All his life he had been so certain of everything, of the truth of the world and his path in it. He had never strayed.

Yet yesterday, something had changed in him - had been changed by the strange man from another world.

So Lyon had risen early and come to his sanctuary to soothe himself in the only way he knew how.

The strike of the thurible barely stirred a thing within him this morning. What had once brought him some sort of stillness now only left him frustrated and irate. What had Abdirak done that was so different? Granted the severity it was not comparable, but Lyon was unconvinced this was the issue. It had always helped before.

After a time, he set the thurible down in front of himself and prayed as thin tendrils of blood trickled down his back. It burned, it stung, and still no satisfaction came. No release. No relief. He prayed for strength. He prayed for clarity.

But most of all, he prayed for forgiveness.

~~~~~~~

Abdirak was feeling far more optimistic that morning. His session with Lyon had been most illuminating. He now knew that he could call upon Loviatar's might and love. He just needed to be patient. Through a connection of pain, he could strengthen the bridge to her, and become strong enough again to get home.

More than that though, it seemed that perhaps Abdirak had not been brought here by accident, but fate. He had found someone in desperate need of his help, someone who would not easily be helped by just anyone. Lyon needed Abdirak's special touch.

The seed had been set now. Lyon would come to him when he was ready, once he had time to process and reflect.

That time came far more quickly than Abdirak would have guessed.

It was mid morning, and he had just finished a pleasant session of tea and conversation with Sister Marie, and was sat in the gardens of the monastery. It was a strange building, which mixed a more traditional and grandiose style he was used to with something quite different. Sharper lined and square. It were as though someone had taken Rosymorn Monastery and attached a giant crate to the front. Damage from a fire years ago, according to Marie, so the living spaces were replaced with a more 'modern' section. He was yet to be invited to the older parts of the building, but he suspected that a 'heathen' such as himself was not welcome.

It was pleasant, to sit among the bushes and curated gardens, only the older parts of the monastery visible. It was quite easy to imagine himself back in the Sword Coast, and not in this strange land.

A quiet, familiar jingle sounded through the hedges, and a moment later Lyon rounded the corner. He was dressed primly in his full cassock—the chains of which had caused the jingling—with his tall hat upon his head and an usual patch over his glass eye, decorated by three void-like circles in the same orientation as the strangeness within his socket. One glowed a striking orange.

"Good morning, Father Abdirak," Lyon said, though his manner was stiff. He stood a distance away, chin high and he clasped his gloved hands behind his back like a soldier at attention.

"Good morning. We missed you at breakfast this morning."

"I had matters to attend to."

"Of course," Abdirak said with a faint smirk. "Would you like to sit?" He gestured to the large space on the wide bench.

"I would rather stand," Lyon said sharply, though he seemed to catch himself and let both his face and tone soften. "I have been knelt all morning. My knees and back would prefer it."

"Ah, quite. The older I get, the more the very act of kneeling becomes an offering all in itself." He watched Lyon's face carefully. The man's skin may have been far smoother and better kept than Abdirak's own, but he suspected they were not far different in age. His own face had been weathered by a life of travel, pain, and harsh conditions. Here it seemed that Lyon lived in the perfect setting to age with grace - to all but those tender knees.

Lyon nodded, and there was a silence that lingered until it was almost uncomfortable. "Regarding yesterday…" Lyon trailed off, his tongue wetting his lips uncertainly.

"I would gladly discuss it," Abdirak said. "It can be an overwhelming experience."

"I was hoping to repeat it," Lyon replied. He made an obvious attempt to sound bold, but his voice wavered just briefly halfway through. Something uncomfortable flittered across his eye. "A greater intensity, perhaps."

Abdirak smiled but shook his head, ignoring the subtle surprise on Lyon's face. "I am afraid, dear one, that I must decline that most tempting offer. You were healed well, but have not yet recovered all of your strength. It would be best to wait another two to three days at least."

Lyon's eyebrow crunched downward, bearing his annoyance. "I would not have thought that one so profane as you would care for such things."

The Loviatan laughed, uncertain whether or not Lyon was trying to provoke him or simply being amusingly oblivious. From what he already knew of the man, he suspected the latter. "As I have said, my touch is to heal, not to harm. I would not put a penitent at risk. Not only is it antithetical to my purpose, the dead can hardly offer their pain to Loviatar, can they?"

Lyon exhaled sharply through his nose but seemed at least partially appeased. "I suppose that is true. Forgive my-"

Abdirak raised his hand. "Think on it no longer. Speak your mind. Why do you seek another penance so soon?"

Lyon swallowed, appearing to roll a thought around in his mind. "It is unimportant."

"Pride can be a terrible thing," Abdirak said gently, and Lyon's eye widened a touch.

He became thoughtful a moment before speaking again. "Perhaps you are correct." His voice was very quiet. "Though there are many other terrible things that one such as I should not voice."

Abdirak canted his head just slightly. "If you do not, then do they not simply fester within? How can one be purged of ill if you never allow it escape?"

"I used to be able to," Lyon said, that sternness creeping back to his tone. "And yet this morning, when I-" He stopped abruptly and took a moment to compose himself. "This morning as I took the thurible to my back, I felt nothing."

There was quiet a moment as Abdirak considered his words. He remembered Lyon's reaction to the lash, the tentative revelations made. Pain was not all that Lyon had experienced during the session. Abdirak had seen the signs before. Had felt them.

"The penance is not simply about devotion for you, is it?"

Lyon's lip curled slightly, though his mouth opened and closed before he could answer. "Of course it is."

"Hmm. In the sense of giving offering to a greater power or of denying yourself?"

The Dualist didn't have a response, and for a while the only sound was the pleasant buzz of nearby insects and the gentle rustle of leaves.

"Yesterday you told me that your body was dedicated to worship," Abdirak said, and finally Lyon's impenetrable stance cracked just slightly, his feet shifting. "Do you think that pain and pleasure are so different?"

"They are," Lyon shot back with reproach. "One is discipline; one is decadence."

"So, two halves of a whole, one might say?" Abdirak replied innocently, and Lyon's mouth snapped closed, irritation spreading on his face as he realised how easily he had been baited. "One cannot exist without the other." Abdirak stood and stepped to Lyon, gesticulating as he spoke. "You believe you should experience pain and not pleasure but, my dear Lyon, one could not exist without the other. A limb that feels no pain feels no pleasure either. If you believe pain is important to your faith, then pleasure must be as well. For is that not what Dualists revere? Two halves that make the whole?"

Lyon looked away, glaring at a nearby rosebush as a bee busily visited its flowers. His eye narrowed as he furiously thought for a rebuttal.

"Lyon," Abdirak said gently. "Even before you dedicated your life to Sol and Lua, you have never experienced another's body, have you?" Abdirak shook his head. "You speak with great authority but you do not know the truth of it. Such an act can be deeply spiritual and reverent."

Lyon was quiet for a long moment, though his face had become less petulant as Abdirak's words effected him more. "I don't see how that can be true."

"Because you have never experienced it," Abdirak said. "You know so well the kiss of agony, yet have never known a lover's touch. Without such knowledge, you cannot meaningfully condemn it. Perhaps this emptiness within that you seek to fill can no longer be satisfied without another. We are both human, Lyon. We thrive on connection. While physicality is not necessary for all, it is for many." He smiled and added: "Perhaps you and Marie might discover as such together."

Lyon looked down at Abdirak, startled. "I could never look upon Sister Marie with sin in my eyes."

Abdirak couldn't help but chuckle at his phrasing. "As you wish. You would do well to think more upon my words, however. I think perhaps you already know that there is more truth in them than you would care to admit."

~~~~~~

Lyon's face burned and his throat was dry as he peered at the strange man. Abdirak's heresy once again pressed close to too far, and yet his words rattled around Lyon's skull. There was an awful, quiet part of himself that longed to admit that yes, he did wonder if Abdirak's words rang true. After yesterday, after all the things he had felt, perhaps there could be something divine in the physical bond between two souls.

"You… You certainly challenge my perceptions, that much I shall admit."

"Fair," Abdirak replied smoothly, bowing his head. "While the choice is your own, of course, I would recommend exploring such a thing. If you do not feel that broaching the subject with Marie is appropriate, then know that I would be most pleased to assist. Loviatans are skilled in all manner of sensation. I would guide you well."

Lyon's eye widened and he exhaled sharply through his nose in surprise. Of all the things he had expected the strange man to say, it had not been that. Though what he was truly unprepared for was the squirming of his gut that he felt at the proposition. The uncertain mix of surprise and intrigue sat heavy within him. He thought of the words Abdirak spoke to him yesterday, how they had made his flesh and his loin burn.

"How dare you." Lyon's words were tight, and simmering with anger.

"It was a mere suggestion, dear one," Abdirak said, his tone remaining mild as he raised his hands. "If you do not wish to indulge, then that is your choice. It is always your choice."

Lyon's mouth opened a little, the anger falling away from his face. He couldn't explain the clawing disappointment that pooled in his stomach. "You-" He stopped, unsure of what he was going to say.

"You always seem so surprised by me," Abdirak said, chuckling. He took Lyon gently by the shoulder and began to guide him back through the winding garden. "Come, you require food. It is almost lunchtime and, if I am to understand it, you took more penance this morning without eating."

Lyon gently pulled his shoulder away. "What I require is-" He stopped short, eye falling to the grass. He didn't know what he was going to say.

Abdirak regarded him. "Yes?" His voice was amused. Knowing.

"It… it was nothing," Lyon breathed.

"Was it nothing?" Abdirak asked, stepping closer and forcing himself back into Lyon's vision. His voice was low. "Or were you lying to me? Do you wish to know what it means to be touched by another?" Abdirak's eyes of ice bored into him. "By me?"

Lyon's mouth opened and he faltered.

"It seemed very much as though you were offended by the idea," Abdirak said. His voice had taken on a thoroughly smug tone that annoyed Lyon terribly yet made his cheeks flush ever more. "I shall need some more… solid confirmation, if I were to show you such things." His eyes glittered with mischief as he looked up at Lyon.

Lyon's jaw clenched. "You enjoy tormenting me."

"Of course," Abdirak purred, moving even closer. "As I think that you might enjoy being tormented." Lyon huffed but could not refute him, despite how much he wanted to. "Admit to me what you want, dear one, or you shall never receive it. I assure you, in this case my resolve is made of iron."

Lyon hated himself in this moment. He wanted to deny everything, to swallow the feelings he had spent decades repressing. It had never been easy, but compared to today? Compared to staring this handsome madman in the eye and fighting against his own will? He felt himself slipping. He had never met anyone like Abdirak, and never would again. If he let this chance slip through his fingers, Lyon knew that his resolve would never break, that he would be safe in his conviction for the rest of his days.

That should have been a good thing, shouldn't it? Lyon wasn't sure anymore. Was it a celebration of iron will or the loss of something precious he would never get back?

Lyon swallowed and whispered: "I do. I do want it."

"And what is that?"

Annoyance and humiliation flared through Lyon. Abdirak would not let this be a single moment of weakness. This was a choice. Lyon had to choose to turn his back on this path he had walked for so long.

"I want to know your touch," he said, the words hurting less than he had expected. The intense shame that burned within him was not alone. It was accompanied by something that might have been relief. He didn't understand. He didn't want to think about it. "I want to know your touch as a lover."

Abdirak smiled and took his shoulder again. "And you shall, dear one. Come with me."

~~~~~~~

Abdirak had taken Lyon back to the room he had been staying in. A quiet, private place quite secluded from the other domiciles and common areas the other clergy might visit. As he secured the door, he turned back to find Lyon stood awkwardly in the middle of the room like an incredibly large frightened lamb. Abdirak smirked, suspecting that would not last. He simply needed some gentle guidance.

Abdirak stepped to him, moving his hands to Lyon's thick waist, feeling his bare flesh between the sections of his cassock. "Relax, my dear. This is a release and a celebration. It should be treated as such."

A frown flashed over the man's face and Abdirak could practically hear his thoughts. This is an abomination. Sacrilege. No, heresy! The man loved to speak of heresy.

Lyon's frown deepened. "You're mocking me in your mind, aren't you?"

Abdirak smirked. "Perhaps. Were you accusing us of heresy in yours?"

Lyon blinked at him and then sighed. Much of the tension that had been in his body seemed to melt away with it. "How do you do that?"

"Anticipate your thoughts?"

"Make me feel at ease," Lyon said. "Even as you make me question everything."

"That is not my intent," Abdirak said, reaching a hand up to rest it on Lyon's face. "A deeper understanding of yourself will only make you better able to connect with your faith. How can you dedicate yourself to a higher power without knowing what it is you dedicate?"

Lyon peered at Abdirak for a long moment, and Abdirak was certain he had something to say, but instead Lyon simply leaned down and pressed their lips together. Abdirak smiled into the kiss and let his lips part, gently guiding Lyon backwards until the backs of the Dualist's legs touched against the bed. Abdirak pushed him down gently until he sat on it, never once letting the gentle kiss break.

Lyon's kisses were tentative but enthusiastic, his breath quickening as Abdirak pressed himself between Lyon's knees. Abdirak ran his hands up the sides of Lyon's face and took the tall hat from his head, tossing it to the side of the room before knotting his hands into Lyon's pale blonde hair. He felt himself strain against his undergarments as Lyon shuddered. Abdirak broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together.

"Are you prepared?"

Lyon reached up to the back of his own head with one hand, unclipping the strap of his eye patch and tossing the whole thing to join his hat upon the floor. He looked to Abdirak intensely, one eye gleaming twin circles of hazel at him, the other a star speckled void. "Oui," he breathed. "I am ready."

Abdirak's hands travelled Lyon's top, searching for clasps or buckles in the complex garment, and Lyon was quick to aid him. His top half was soon disrobed, his huge chest and shoulders bared as his half-cassock was thrown to the ground. His hands were quick to go to his waist, to deal with his skirts. As he did so, Abdirak unclasped his own shoulder guards and tossed aside his harness.

Lyon peered up at him, his eye filled with a mix of apprehension and hunger. Abdirak leaned close again and the Dualist was quick to reach up and meet him, their lips merging. Abdirak ran his hands over him and around his shoulders enjoying the size of him as Lyon held him back. It was a rare treat for the Loviatan to feel the embrace of another larger than he was himself. Lyon's arms were strong around him, and he was quick to successfully mimic how Abdirak kissed him. A swift learner and eager student.

They broke the embrace to both help Lyon struggle from his skirts and the thin trousers beneath, revealing what little was left of the man's legs. Where once there had been flesh, now silver metal reigned, gleaming in the light which streamed through the window. Over the line of his undergarments was a thick line of red, where metal met flesh. It looked raw and painful, but Lyon did not give Abdirak long to marvel at him.

The Dualist's hands went to Abdirak's hips, where there was precious little to be removed, and he hesitated. Abdirak put his hand under his chin and forced the man to look up at him. A part of him expected to see regret in him, but there was none. He was seeking permission. Abdirak put his hands over Lyon's, and guided them to the tie of his skirts.

"Take what you want," Abdirak breathed, and without removing his eye from Abdirak's, Lyon's fingers fumbled with the ties until all as one Abdirak's skirts and underwear came away, falling to the ground and revealing his already erect cock. Abdirak shuddered as cool air rushed over it.

Lyon swallowed, seemingly uncertain of what came next.

"Let us not forget these," Abdirak said, hands moving to one of Lyon's elbows and slowly removing his glove. Lyon tensed as the lack of flesh beneath was revealed, metal all the way from the bottom of his bicep to the starts of his black-tipped fingers. Abdirak knew nothing of this curse, but it seemed to him that it would not be long before they too succumbed to the metal. Abdirak took Lyon's hand and lifted it, pressing the discoloured tips of the Dualist's fingers to his own lips and then trailing kisses down his fingers and along his palm. To his surprise, Lyon shuddered even as his lips pressed to the warm, almost malleable metal of his palm.

They removed the second glove together.

Abdirak reached down to Lyon's own underwear, impossibly white shorts which strained against his eager member, and Lyon lifted himself a little to help them be pulled down. Metal flowed down the v-shape from his hips, but for now left his cock mostly unchanged, aside from a hint of black along his tip as his fingers had.

Abdirak chuckled as Lyon's underwear caught on his boots, and Lyon couldn't help but join him. Abdirak hurried to his knees to unlace Lyon's boots, but Lyon's smile fell away and his hand hurried to Abdirak's wrist. Abdirak peered up at him and saw the concern in Lyon's eyes. He looked back down to the boots. At a glance they looked like normal curled-toe brown boots, but a closer glance revealed what they truly were.

They were Lyon.

Abdirak looked back up to him and smiled, and then pressed a kissed to the inside of Lyon's knee, causing the man to gasp in surprise, his eyes closing. Abdirak did not know what type of metal could feel, but the result was undeniable. Abdirak kissed upward, where imitation boot became something else, pale cream metal perhaps meant to imitate trousers one day. He worked his way up the inside of Lyon's thigh, moving to glistening silver as a noise escaped the increasingly juddery Lyon.

Abdirak's lips did not touch flesh again until they pressed against the underside of Lyon's cock. The Dualist cried out, fingers gripping the bedsheets, and that only spurred Abdirak on more. He kissed all the way up to Lyon's tip and let it slip between his lips, gliding deep into Abdirak's throat in one movement.

Lyon gasped, head falling back with a cascade of blonde hair. "Lua!"

Abdirak smiled even through his full mouth, and began to bob his head back and forth, up and down Lyon's full impressive length. His inexperience was clear, already shuddering and twitching as though he might end at any moment. Abdirak was well practiced though, and knew precisely when to slow or change his motion to keep from halting things too soon. Abdirak continued a little while longer, letting the man twist and groan as Abdirak greedily enjoyed his member, sucking and licking, and keeping him dancing on a knife's edge, until he pulled back just enough to let Lyon slip from his lips and press a kiss to his slit.

Lyon groaned, both hopelessly aroused and disappointed.

Abdirak pressed kisses just above Lyon's member, feeling it press into his neck and chest as he trailed kisses up Lyon's platinum treasure trail, over his soft stomach, and up to his chest. Abdirak stood and pressed Lyon's chest with one hand.

"On your back, my dear."

Lyon peered at him, his eyes wide with lust and did as he was bid. Abdirak kicked off his own boots and retrieved a vial from his bag at the corner of the room. He hurried back to Lyon and leaned over him, kissing him hungrily as their bodies pressed together, all hot flesh and heavy breaths. Abdirak broke the kiss briefly to wet the fingers of one hand with oil from the vial before taking them to Lyon's black, metallic rear. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but his fingers' exploration proved fruitful. For all that had been taken from Lyon's body so far, there remained a hidden place for Abdirak's slick fingers to find.

Lyon moaned as Abdirak gently circled his entrance, one leg rising up to hook over Abdirak's hip. The metal of his leg felt so odd yet so enticing, a strange new sensation that only made Abdirak desire the man more.

"Your body is incredible," Abdirak breathed, and Lyon froze, his eyes meeting the Loviatan's, searching for sincerity.

"You mean that, don't you?" Lyon said. "Most would see a monster when they look upon me. Some pitiable creature."

Abdirak shook his head, holding himself up with one hand as his other continued to stroke Lyon's hole, drawing subtle hitches in his breath. "I do. You have made a sacrifice for your people, and in so doing have become something truly magnificent."

Abdirak's finger pressed very slowly forward, and Lyon whimpered as he was stretched.

"Do you feel me?" Abdirak breathed, eyes locked onto Lyon's, the Dualist's mortal eye and glowing void boring into him.

Lyon nodded.

"Do you want me?"

He nodded again, and Abdirak grinned, pressing his finger deeper to little resistance as Lyon gasped.

"Very good," Abdirak said. "So eager for me."

~~~~~

And Lyon was. Gods take him, he was desperate. Abdirak's finger moved inside of him, in and out, and pleasure radiated through him, down his legs and up his abdomen, twisting deep within him. It was maddening, so much and yet not enough. Abdirak pulled his finger fully out, and Lyon couldn't help a whine escaping him.

"Exhale slowly for me, dear one," Abdirak rasped, and Lyon did as he was told, though his breath hitched as Abdirak reentered him with a second finger. "Very good. You're doing so well." Another moan escaped Lyon as Abdirak's fingers moved in such away to stretch Lyon's inexperienced hole, to tease him wider for the other priest's use. "Wonderful. Almost ready to be mine."

Something about the words hit Lyon with such a flush of pleasure he feared he might come undone from that alone, yet he brought himself back from the brink just in time. Abdirak kept him like this for a little while longer, working him carefully all the way from discomfort to desperate for more. He didn't know if he could take the Loviatan but by Lua he wanted to try. He was aching to feel Abdirak inside him, and the shame of that burned within him so furiously he could feel it scarring his soul.

"I think that should be enough, don't you?" Abdirak said, and Lyon found himself trying to move his hips to follow the man's fingers as they were carefully removed. "I shall not leave you for long, Lyon. I promise you that."

Abdirak took the vial again, slickening his hands and Lyon's hole. He moved away for a moment and Lyon's attention sharpened, looking for him. Abdirak was quick to return and lay something on the bed next to Lyon.

A dagger.

Lyon blinked at it, the shock knocking him a little from the fuzzy head space he had been slipping away to, but Abdirak was quickly back between his legs, his hands hooking under Lyon's thighs.

"Remember to breathe."

It took an inordinate amount of concentration for a task so trivial, yet it required so much attention that the dagger was quickly forgotten. Abdirak pressed forward and one of Lyon's hands grabbed Abdirak's as it tried to hold his thigh, the other grasping at the bedsheets. Lyon released a low sound as Abdirak stretched him, pressing forward slowly but steadily to fill the Dualist to the brim. Lyon could think of nothing else, that huge but welcome intrusion pressing so deeply into him that all else was forgotten. The feeling was unlike anything Lyon had ever imagined, just a smattering of pain layered beneath bliss, moving far beyond the point of penetration. It caressed up his body and down his thighs, exquisite tingling and warmth deep through his core.

"Abdirak-" he gasped as the Loviatan's hips pressed hard against his ass, as deep as he could possibly go.

"Deep breaths, my sweet, deep breaths."

Lyon nodded and did so, feeling himself adjust to what was already a pleasant pain. So many emotions warred within him. This was so wrong; he shouldn't be doing this. And yet he didn't want it to stop. He longed for knowing and understanding. Some part of him that had been chained within the depths of his soul was finally clawing its way out and would not be contained.

A deep moan escaped him as Abdirak began to gently rock his hips, gliding in and out of him with a maddening rush of sensations.

"Just like that," Abdirak purred. "Let me hear you."

Lyon shuddered. The man's rich voice was soothing and arousing all at once. It set Lyon's flesh alight. Abdirak took one of Lyon's hands in his own, threading their fingers together and squeezing. Lyon squeezed back and pulled Abdirak closer with his leg, desperate to feel him even deeper within.

"So eager," Abdirak gasped. "Perfect. You're perfect."

Abdirak pulled his hand away and Lyon whined just a touch. He just barely noticed the Loviatan's hand picking up the dagger and Lyon tensed sharply, eyes widening. Abdirak flipped the dagger around to press the handle into Lyon's palm, and guided the tip to his own right shoulder.

"Take me," Abdirak gasped, his thrusts long and slow. "As I take you."

"You're mad," Lyon whispered, though he couldn't hide how his cock twitched.

"Desperately so," the Loviatan replied with a grin. "To the hilt. I am inside you, am I not? It's only fair."

Abdirak had placed the blade well. Damage would be done, but nothing that would threaten his life before he was able to use his unnatural healing. A thrill rushed through Lyon, and he pressed the blade forward in a single, brutal thrust. All the way. He swore he could feel the sensual way Abdirak's flesh and muscle parted for him, taking the blade deep within.

Abdirak threw his head back and screamed in orgasmic bliss, and Lyon was overcome with such a shocking wave of pleasure crashing through his body. His screams joined Abdirak's as his cock stiffened even further, and his abdomen was sullied with hot, white reams. His head was light as it fell back against the bed, waves of pleasure rushing over him as he tightened around Abdirak even further.

Lyon shuddered and twitched as Abdirak thrust the last little drops of delight from him. He whimpered as Abdirak slipped from of him, feeling suddenly so empty despite the lingering heat of the fluids Abdirak had left within him.

Abdirak leaned over him, blood and cum rubbing between them as they kissed, hands grasping each other's faces desperately. The hilt of the dagger still protruded from Abdirak's shoulder and was jostled by Lyon's own, widening the wound and spilling more blood over them both.

For a moment, Lyon lived in a world where there was only heat and passion and want. A world where those things were not wrong. Were not sinful. That world could not last. Reality could never be forced from his mind for long.

A sob escaped him and tears flooded down his cheeks. Abdirak pressed a kiss to his tears, so that his lips glistened as he pushed himself up to look down at him.

"Let it out, dear one. Purge yourself."

Abdirak pulled the dagger from his shoulder and discarded it on the floor, pulling Lyon up to a seated position so that he could better wrap his arms around the Dualist. Abdirak held him and kissed his sweaty hair as Lyon sobbed, clawing at Abdirak's back with his strange, discoloured fingers.

"Forgive me," Lyon sobbed into Abdirak's chest, "for I have sinned."

The Loviatan held him tightly, one hand knotting in Lyon's hair. It was so soothing, so comforting, and Lyon hated it. He did not deserve this comfort. He wasn't worthy of feeling loved.

He was a sinner, and his life was service.

"Nonsense, dear one," Abdirak whispered. "Your life is devotion. You think that one simple act that harmed none will leave a stain upon your soul?"

Lyon pulled back and glanced at the wound on Abdirak's shoulder with one bloodshot eye.

"That does not count as harm, dear one," Abdirak purred, lifting Lyon's chin with his now bloodstained fingers. "That was delightful."

"You are truly a terribly strange man," Lyon said, though even in his anguish he could not keep the faintest whisper of a smile from his mouth.

"If it concerns you so," Abdirak began, a wicked smile on his thin lips, "it might help you if I were to stab you back?"

Despite feeling utterly spent and completely wretched, a flutter went through Lyon that caused his breath to hitch. As his cheeks burned hot, he whispered: "Peut-être plus tard."

Chapter Text

The harsh glare of the bathroom light bore down upon Lyon as he sat upon the lid of the toilet seat, back straight, face blank. He had felt too much—far, far too much—and it had been overwhelming, all consuming. He could not bear it, so he breathed deeply and let the calm wash over him, let the emotions be swallowed back down into the depths.

At least, that is what he tried to do.

A flannel of warm water was placed against his neck and drawn over his shoulder, and he found himself shuddering. The dampness on his skin was quick to cool.

"Dear Lyon," Abdirak said from behind him. "You would not be trying to forget where you are, would you?"

Lyon sighed. "I know you would not allow that."

"If you wished to forget for the right reasons, perhaps," Abdirak said as he continued on his work of washing Lyon's back. "You are upset with yourself for not detesting the act we shared. Furious because you enjoyed it. Perhaps, feeling betrayed, fearing that you may wish to experience it again one day."

One day. Shame burned on Lyon's face. He could have stood and turned and pinned Abdirak to the cold tiled wall right there. He was a disgrace.

"Tell me, Lyon. Look deep within yourself. Inside your heart. You have lost someone's love, certainly, but whose?"

Lyon peered over his shoulder and looked up at the man. He had a towel around his waist, and a fresh, pink scar on his shoulder. "Que?"

"You are in pain because you believe you have lost the love of your gods," Abdirak said. "Yet in reality, the only one who has lost love of you is yourself."

Lyon wanted to deny it—pride was a sin, after all—yet Abdirak's words were closer to the truth that he dared admit. He had always prided himself on his discipline. His strength. Yet Abdirak had broken him so quickly.

"I have never loved myself," he said instead.

"Well then," Abdirak said, a wide smile pulling across his thin lips. "You have no reason for sadness then, do you?"

Lyon narrowed his eyes and sighed, turning back to glare at the door. Abdirak's rough hands on his back felt maddeningly good. "I could simply have showered," he said, and not for the first time.

"Being cleansed is only half the act," Abdirak said. "I must soothe your aching flesh and bleeding soul."

Lyon risked a look over his shoulder. "By my recollection, it is not my flesh that was of concern."

Abdirak leered down at him with a grin. "It certainly was not of any concern."

Lyon rolled his eyes as Abdirak set the flannel into the sink, and picked up a fresh towel from the rack. He brushed the soft cotton over Lyon's shoulders and back, and the Dualist's eyes fluttered closed.

"How do you feel now?" Abdirak asked as he finished, draping the large bath towel over Lyon's shoulders.

Lyon pulled it closed over his chest with one hand. He wanted to say that he felt better. In many ways, he did. In others he felt worse. His mind wandered back to the feeling of Abdirak's hands on his shoulders, and he felt himself stirring beneath the towel around his waist.

"I feel…" His words trailed off, unsure how to answer. He stood and turned to look at the man. His hair was still wet, swept over his head rather than draping down his face as it normally did.

Abdirak offered him a hand and Lyon took it, eyes watching closely as their fingers entwined. He paid rapt attention to the feel of Abdirak's skin against his own. It had been a truly rapturous moment, to be pinned beneath Abdirak, to feel him within, despite how wrong it was. And yet there was something else he longed for. His eyes moved back to Abdirak's, the colour of steel yet warm. Comforting. Safe.

Lyon stepped past the toilet and into him, startling Abdirak as their chests crashed together again, Lyon's mouth falling on his hungrily. Abdirak's arms were around him in an instant as Lyon pressed him against the tile wall. One arm went around Abdirak's waist, another into his hair, while his mouth moved down the Loviatan's jaw and kissed down his neck.

"Lyon," Abdirak breathed, and it only fuelled his lust more. He bit at Abdirak's neck and the Loviatan moaned, one leg lifting to wrap around him.

As he did so, Lyon shifted his hand to beneath Abdirak and lifted him against the wall, allowing both of the Loviatan's legs to wrap around his waist, Lyon's towel dislodging in the process. The crush of Abdirak's legs around him was intoxicating, and Lyon's teeth sunk into Abdirak's shoulder so deeply he worried for a moment he might break the skin. Abdirak cried out in delight, his hardness pressing into Lyon.

Abdirak held him tightly, one hand knotting in Lyon's hair to pull the Dualist's ear close to his lips. "Waste no time, dear one," he breathed, his hot breath sending shivers through Lyon.

He needed no further encouragement, cock aching to be inside, to feel what Abdirak had felt inside him. Abdirak may not have been much smaller than Lyon, but the infestation made him strong, and he easily shifted Abdirak against the tiled wall to line himself up with the Loviatan's entrance. Lyon hesitated just a moment, but the act had already been done. What harm could one further indiscretion cause?

Their lips met again, tongues exploring each others' mouths, and Lyon pressed forward. Abdirak's hole had not been prepared as his own had, and there was resistance as Lyon pushed, but an almost maddening delight spread through his member as Abdirak stretched over him. The lack of lubrication hurt the tip of his cock, pulling sharply, and yet the searing pain was exquisite, delicious. He thought of the knife in Abdirak's shoulder and a fresh rush of arousal hit him, and he thrust hard into Abdirak.

They cried out into each others' mouths, their pains and pleasures both different but shared. Abdirak's insides were so soft and hot and welcoming. He felt madness sweeping over him.

"Abdirak," Lyon gasped, his face falling into the crook of Abdirak's neck.

"Take me," he rasped, the nails of one hand digging sharply into the flesh of Lyon's back. "With all that you have."

Lyon needed no further encouragement, his body taking over as he thrust into Abdirak again and again, hard, full body movements that crushed the Loviatan against the tiles and made him cry out whorishly with each strike. Lyon was grunting and moaning near constantly, the pleasure overwhelming, head becoming light as the sensations grew and grew.

His voice raised in pitch, and it must have been telling as Abdirak gasped: "Wait for me, Lyon."

"Then be swift," he all but growled into Abdirak's ear, and the Loviatan laughed, head falling back against the tiles.

"As you command," Abdirak replied, voice hitching as Lyon quickened his pace.

He felt himself raising towards an end, and he bit Abdirak's neck again, causing the man to cry out his name. The Loviatan's body stiffened, back arching away from the tile, eyes fluttering closed as he moaned. His hole clenched around Lyon and bliss overtook him. He cried out, whole body tensing with bliss as he pressed as deep into Abdirak as he could go, over and over as he filled him.

A high pitched noise escaped Lyon as finally the maddening wave of pleasure stilled, and the strength left him. His legs gave out, and the pair slowly slid to the ground, his softening member still deep inside Abdirak. Their lips found one another again, both gasping for air between kisses as the hot glow of the act simmered over them.

"My," Abdirak breathed as finally their blood began to cool. "That was most unexpected."

"Do not gloat," Lyon pouted.

"After that, I would have thought it would be you who should be gloating," Abdirak drawled, smiling at Lyon with eyes half lidded. "You have taken me quite thoroughly."

Lyon blushed and pulled his eyes away from Abdirak's, clearing his throat as he carefully, let himself slip free and pulled Abdirak upright, holding him close. "Now by your rules, I should care for you."

Abdirak smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to Lyon's lips, hands resting on his chest. "By my rules, we both care for each other. Perhaps we should have that shower after all."

"Yes," Lyon breathed, even as he became acutely aware of how light headed he was. "In a moment."

#####

The pair showered together, the lust and passion gone from their touches. Now there was simply care. Reverence. A kind of worship in itself, as each ensured the other was well and replenished and cleansed after their prior engagement.

Lyon wore a long, soft bath gown, and Abdirak a nightshirt that went to his knees, a spare from their stores. They both were lying upon their backs, squished close on a Abdirak's single bed, peering at the white textured ceiling above them. Lyon was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The lines along his lower back, where metal sank into flesh, ached worse than usual. Unlike usual though, there was something oddly comforting in the pain of it this afternoon.

Lyon felt that he should say something, but words eluded him.

"You never told me why you take the penance," Abdirak said as though reading his mind. He turned his face to look at Lyon, a lock of his white hair falling over one eye.

Lyon sighed. "I read about it," he said, keeping his eyes firmly on the ceiling. "In the ancient texts."

"You did not feel the others should join you in this custom?"

"It should be a choice."

A smile tugged at the corner of Abdirak's mouth. "I quite agree."

"I think perhaps I felt I needed to focus my devotion." The bottom of his throat tightened, afraid to admit the next words aloud. They came out as a whisper. "To send away the doubts as the rot took me."

Warm fingers landed on his shoulder. Abdirak had turned to his side, and was peering at Lyon with earnest eyes. "Did you find that the pain helped?"

"Yes," whispered Lyon, turning his head to look better at the Loviatan. "I felt them in my flesh. The gods. It stilled my mind. Brought focus. Sharpness. It reminded me of the good this infestation will do for my people. Of the things I will be able to endure, and to do."

"Pain is a gift, dear one," Abdirak said. Lyon's back ached. "Precious few understand this, even with the guidance of one who does. You did well to discover this path on your own."

"Did you?" Lyon asked.

Abdirak grinned. "No, I didn't. I was fortunate enough to be found by the Loviatans, and they took me into their care. For a long time I was afraid of how pain made me feel. Those around me believed it to be abhorrent. Loviatar showed me that I was not broken." He smiled at Lyon. "I think you are like me as well."

Lyon's breath caught. "I might be," he said, words barely there at all.

Abdirak touched his fingers to Lyon's cheek. "And you are not broken. You are beautiful. And you see the world in a way others cannot."

A hint of sickness crept into Lyon's gut. "I should not though. Not like that."

"You feel a great shame where no shame is needed, dear one. This act you so revile is a service to the divine."

Lyon raised an eyebrow at him, the disbelief rife on his face, causing the Loviatan to chuckle.

"The gods are not mortal, dear Lyon," Abdirak said. "They do not and cannot feel things the way that we do. There is no shame in sensation. When we experience mortal things such as pain and pleasure, we bestow upon the gods things they cannot taste themselves. It is a gift to ourselves, yes, but it is also our gift to them."

Lyon's brow furrowed slightly. Sometimes Abdirak spoke of gods in such a strange way. Yet even though he was highly sceptical of the man's suggestion, there was a little part in the back of his mind that felt open to the idea. Still, the shame burned deeply within him, a shame so acute it couldn't be swallowed, not completely.

"Our actions here have deeply affected you, but there is more than one way to have faith," Abdirak said. "It might surprise you to know that I am not the picture of a model Loviatan. In fact, would you believe that I am seen as strange? Yet Loviatar loves and empowers me because my love and dedication to Her is in everything that I do. Not unlike the way that you defend your flock, I would imagine."

A hint of warmth crept into Lyon's chest. The pair were silent for a long, long moment, peering into each others' eyes.

"What happens now?" Lyon asked, in lieu of having to think on those feelings any longer.

A hint of a frown clouded Abdirak's brow and his smile turned wistful. "Now, I leave you."

Lyon's mouth fell open a touch, and his heart sunk so heavily he thought it might fall through the bed. He was not prepared for the statement, or for the way it made him feel. "What?"

"The glorious pain we shared together," Abdirak said. "The offering of the flesh, the bite of my whip, and now the rending of your heart and soul. Such sweet sacrifice has reached the Willing Whip." He held a hand between them and watched it, a glimmer of red light dancing across his fingers. "Through this, She has reached me." His eyes moved back to Lyon's. "It is time for me to go home."

Lyon's breath caught. "Oh."

"Indeed. So eager I was to return to my home, I did not expect the feel such sorrow at the prospect of leaving this place. At first I thought it was chance, accident, that brought me here. No more. I know that I was brought here for you, Lyon Allard. And now I know that I can return."

"You would do that?" Lyon asked with a frown. "You would risk becoming trapped here once again?"

"There is no risk," Abdirak said. "Of that I am confident. I was brought here for a reason, and that reason is you. I have set you on this path, and I would not abandon you as you walk it."

Lyon swallowed. "When you return, I will be less of a man than I am today. And that will be true of every time you leave and come back."

Abdirak leaned forward and pressed their lips together. "Then I shall have to visit soon, and often."

"I would like that," Lyon whispered, pained to admit it to himself.

The Loviatan smiled. "Good. I will as well."

~~~~~~

The pair were slow to dress and feed themselves, and Abdirak took meticulous care to pack what little he had taken with him. Despite his insistence that there would be sustenance where he was going, Sister Marie would not let him leave without taking food for his bag. As odd as the food here could be, Abdirak would be lying if he said it was not pleasant. He had tucked the strangely wrapped bars in with his dried meat.

It seemed fitting that this strange chapter should end where it had begun. Lyon led the way as the pair returned to the little circular sanctum. Even though Abdirak had set apart from his intended path, and even though he knew he would return, it was a painful thing to leave. A tribute all in itself. Lyon walked a difficult path though. Abdirak was proud to have helped him, even a little.

"I-" Lyon started, but stopped abruptly. Abdirak turned to look at him, waiting. "I am very pleased to have met you. I admit I was sceptical at first, but you are not what I thought you were."

"A heretic?" Abdirak asked, mischief glittering in his eyes.

The Dualist's facade of brutal stoicism cracked, and a smirk crept onto his lips. "No, you are more certainly one of those," he said, and Abdirak laughed. "Though I must admit, your methods have… opened my eyes. I remain stalwart in my beliefs, but perhaps as you have suggested, there is more than one way to honour the gods."

"As disappointing as it is that Loviatar has not claimed another this day, it is as it should be," Abdirak said. "I did not seek to destroy what you are. Merely… enhance it. You have a new understanding of the gifts of this world. Regardless of what you choose to do with it, I have succeeded. I hope now the heavy burden you carry within yourself has lightened a little. Devotion to one's higher power should not be a curse, but a blessing."

"I think that I believe that now," Lyon said. "In a way, you have reminded me of why I worship Lua and Sol to begin with. As you have not turned away from your ways, I have not turned away from mine. We remain separate and yet now… Now, I think that we might be two parts that make a whole."

As warm a feeling as the notion gave Abdirak, he could not help a playful roll of his eyes. "You could not help yourself, could you, dear one?"

A smirk crept back to Lyon's face, his chin lifting. "Of course not."

Abdirak chuckled, and let Lyon have his little moment. Abdirak took too much pleasure from lovingly breaking the man to feel the sting of his playful barbs. Though as the smile slipped from Lyon's face, Abdirak's heart became heavy to be reminded of where he was, and why he was here in the dark, metal room.

"It is time, then?" the Dualist asked. The room seemed so very quiet all of a sudden.

"For now," Abdirak replied, "though I will be back, to help you as you walk this difficult path, and to help you get over this ridiculous notion of shame that you carry."

"Good luck," Lyon replied.

Abdirak stepped to him, embracing Lyon in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I shall not need it, dear one." He stepped back, arms trailing down Lyon's arms until their hands met, fingers entwining one last time and squeezing, before they stepped apart. "Remember that there is no shame in what you are, and there is strength and purpose in everything you do."

"I will," Lyon whispered. His eyes glistened in the low light of the sanctum.

Abdirak took a steadying breath and raised his arms. Power flowed through them. The Maiden's touch was strong once more. Though he had taken Lyon apart, he had become whole. A precious sacrifice. A gift that he would repay.

Space warped around him, and his body became engulfed in magic. The air shifted, and everything changed. The floor beneath his feet swept away, and Abdirak was gone, for now.

He had made a promise and it would be kept. He would return for dear Lyon, for however long the man had left.