Chapter Text
The sun beat down on Ambrosio as he trudged through the swampy fields, careful to hold the edges of his father’s cloak above the mud. Although the ends were starting to fray and pieces of fur were falling off, he tried his best to keep it clean. Despite the heat, he kept the hood up to hide his ever growing horns. They now curled back slightly and were clearly visible to anyone who paid attention to him.
As he reached the edge of the swamp, he could smell the familiar odor of ashes and smoke. The trees parted and he saw the remains of yet another town – this time one that he and Pythos hadn’t destroyed.
“No, this can’t be it…” He hastily pulled out his map and smoothed it as he found his location. If he had followed the trails properly, he should be at Thalmelle: the town Pythos had told him to travel to.
“I need you to go to this town and collect something for me,” Pythos told Ambrosio a few weeks after his prophecy was revealed.
“What do you need me to collect?” Ambrosio asked as he scratched at his arms to manage with his ever growing anxiety. He had taken one of Pythos’ calming tonics, but it wasn’t helping. His skin was still crawling, like the voices had turned into beetles living under his flesh.
“See this incantation?” His mentor pointed at the page of the spell book on his lap. Ambrosio couldn’t recognize the language and the words looked too worn to read. “It will allow me to siphon magic from one source into you, giving your soul a buffer toward death. I admit, it’s not a true immortality spell. But if we do this repeatedly, we should be able to stack lifespans on top of yours to practically make you live forever.”
Ambrosio knit his brow together, confused by the details. “So you need me to…”
“This town has a rich elf population. As you know, elves live a very long time. I need you to bring one of them back to me.” Pythos handed Ambrosio a bottle and a rag. Ambrosio could immediately smell the contents and dropped the bottle, shattering it. “Careful, that stuff isn’t easy to make.”
“I can’t kidnap someone!” Ambrosio gagged as he covered his mouth and nose. He could never forget the sickly-sweet scent of the tonic that Hendrick had used to try and knock him out.
“Sure you can. You’ve done worse things to survive,” Pythos countered, bending down to clean up the mess. “An elder should be easy enough to overpower. They won’t have as much of their lifespan left to take, but it will do.”
“Take? Oh my god...this spell is going to steal their soul, isn’t it?”
“The spell transfers the life of one creature and adds it to the lifespan of another. That’s how it works.”
Ambrosio shook his head, walking away from his mentor. “This is crazy! I’m not bringing someone back as a sacrifice!”
Pythos sighed deeply. “I know this is a hard choice to make, but if you want to avoid dying a painful death, you will need to become immortal. With the short time frame given, this is our only feasible chance.”
Despite all of the tragedy, pain, and anger he had experienced in the last four years, he couldn’t bring himself to justify such an act. His parents had saved him when he was an infant. How was he supposed to take someone away from their family to die?
“There has to be another way,” Ambrosio said as he walked over to Pythos’ potions. He dug around for the bottle that would silence the voices reverberating from the rambunctious party in the tavern below.
“Well, you could kidnap a child instead. That would be easier.”
“Absolutely not!” Ambrosio barked, feeling his anger rising like a cobra in his chest.
“You aren't strong enough to bring back one of their adults. So, an elder it is.”
“Then why don’t you go and do it?”
“Because,” Pythos said slowly and deliberately, “I need to restore this page so I can clearly read the spell, as well as gather the other necessary items to complete the process.”
Ambrosio stood still, glaring at his mentor for suggesting such an awful act. But his fear of the oracle’s prophecy seized his heart with icy tendrils, squeezing out any remnants of morality he had left.
“If I’m going, I’m taking these with me,” he growled, unable to believe that he was going to go through with this. He grabbed the sack of potions from the dresser. “I need them to sleep and to focus.”
“Put that back down. I need those to prepare. Besides, you’ll be traveling on your own. There won’t be any voices for you to pick up. Now hurry back. Time is running out.”
Ambrosio walked through the rubble of the town. There were no visible signs of life, and for the first time in a long time he was upset that he couldn’t hear anyone.
Whatever happened to this place had devastated everything.
“What am I going to do?” he groaned to himself as he kicked a stone across what used to be the main street. Now it was covered in debris. He sat down and rested his head in his hands.
He was doomed.
After sitting in the silence, he got back up and turned to head back from where he came. As he passed by the skeleton of a stone building, he heard a small, hoarse cry.
He froze, and after a few moments he heard it again. He ran over to the wreckage and began to dig around. That’s when he felt the familiar tingle at his temples, the sensation of someone’s thoughts.
“Hello?” he called out. As he moved through the home, he could hear someone calling out. He pushed away the remains of the building and found a trap door buried under the crumbled wall. After clearing it away he opened up the hatch and stared down into the dark hole. He could see the bottom just fine.
“Is someone down there?”
The crying grew louder, and so did the panicked thoughts echoing in their head.
“Hold on, I’m coming!” He jumped down and landed heavily, coughing as dirt kicked up around him. He waved the clouds away with his hand and looked around. The basement was filled mostly with boxes of items, some spare furniture, and survival supplies.
In the corner, he noticed that one of the shelves had fallen over and spilled rations over the floor. Trapped under the heavy shelf was a woman, and beside her a young child – no more than two or three years old – wailing for his mom.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” he asked as he approached. He bent down and saw that she had been crushed under the weight. Her arm was bent at an odd angle, and there was a pool of blood seeping out from her torso. His hands trembled as he checked for a wrist for a pulse. She was cold and stiff.
Killing was one thing, but finding a dead body always brought back nightmares.
Ambrosio turned his focus toward the sobbing child. Even in the dark he could make out the strange hue of red in his irises, and the tips of his elf ears poking out from dusty white hair. He reminded Ambrosio of the barmaid he left behind to die.
“Uh, hey, little guy..” Ambrosio said, clearing his throat.
The child murmured something in elvish that Ambrosio didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to in order to see that the boy was scared. He slowly moved closer, he could see the child’s bones pressing against his thin skin. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he was deathly pale.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help, okay?”
Instead of backing away in fear, the boy reached out to him, too weak to walk. Ambrosio knelt in front of him and picked him up, holding him close. The boy’s fever was so severe, it nearly burned Ambrosio to the touch.
The tiefling remembered the way his brothers used to come to him for comfort whenever they were frightened or sick. They always relied on him for comfort. Tears welled up in his eyes as he carefully made his way out of the basement with the boy cradled in his arms.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’ll be okay…”
***
Pythos shook his head with disbelief as Ambrosio laid his cloak on the ground and placed the boy upon it. “I can’t believe you actually brought back a child.”
“The entire town was burned to the ground and he was the only survivor,” Ambrosio explained, panting heavily after running back as quickly as he could. Even still, it took a few days to make it back. “I couldn’t leave him there to die.”
“He’s already close to death. I’d give him another day or two at most.”
Ambrosio wiped the sweat off his face and sat down next to the child, who had gotten worse during the trip. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He couldn’t just let a toddler die. “There has to be something that we can do to save him.”
Pythos shook his head. “What he has can’t be cured. Only the gods can help him now.”
“Then pray to them,” Ambrosio demanded, growing more frustrated at how helpless he was in this situation. “They listen to you, right?”
“My goddess isn’t cruel, but she wouldn’t waste her time on a lost cause.” Pythos paused, rubbing his hand over his chin and mouth in thought. “However, the child may still be useful…”
Ambrosio stopped and jumped to his feet. “We agreed that children were off limits!”
“He’s going to die anyways,” Pythos continued, walking back to their shelter to grab his spellbook and supplies. “We might as well continue with our plans.”
“No, we can find another person...another way to make me immortal.”
“There is no other way. We’re running out of time.”
Ambrosio felt a strange hatred brewing within him. Pythos was willing to go against their code of ethics. They were to only punish the guilty, never the innocent. This child didn’t deserve to die. He felt his eldritch fire sparking between his fingers and clenched his fist, creating a ball of flame around his hand.
“I swear if you hurt him...”
Pythos stopped. For a moment, the space surrounding him seemed to darken. He turned around, and his eyes were dark like tarnished metal. He had never looked so deadly.
“Swear what? That you’ll kill me?”
Ambrosio flinched. He hated that Pythos knew what he was going to say.
“Believe me, if you don’t go through with this spell, you’ll need to be okay with killing in order to survive. You won’t last long with compassion or sympathy.” Then his demeanor shifted again like a passing breeze, and the heavy aura around him seemed to vanish. The corners of his lips turned upward gently into a confident smirk. “But you should be angry. You should want to punish me for my actions.”
Even after four years of being his mentor, Pythos had a way of catching Ambrosio off guard. He followed up criticisms with compliments, and his accusations with praise. Ambrosio could never tell what angle he was playing or what goal he was trying to reach.
Pythos walked over to him, and Ambrosio realized he was almost as tall as his mentor. He no longer had to look up to him, but Pythos radiated power that Ambrosio couldn’t possibly match. He wouldn’t even be able to scratch him if he tried.
“I know these are dark decisions to make, but know that I’m only doing this to help you,” Pythos insisted, his gaze softening; gold ingots melting in a forge. “ Everything that I have done has been to protect you; and while it has required some sacrifice, I know that the end will justify the means. My goddess has shown me.”
The warlock reached out to take Ambrosio’s arm, and the eldritch fire vanished in response. Even though he was upset, Ambrosio still couldn’t intentionally hurt Pythos. He couldn’t hurt someone he cared about. So Pythos held onto him firmly, as if trying to prepare them both for a difficult choice.
“Without this spell, the oracle’s prophecy will come true. You’ll never live long enough to find out who killed your dad. You’ll never be able to avenge him.”
Ambrosio finally broke eye contact, staring at his feet. Out of the corner of his vision he could see the boy sleeping. He knew that Pythos was bringing up his father because it was his one weakness, the one thing that would make him break all resolve. It was a low blow.
“My dad wouldn’t want this.”
“No, but he would want you to be safe. He would want you to do anything you could to survive. I’m willing to let one suffering child pass away if it means giving you a better chance at living. Are you?”
So, Ambrosio swallowed back his guilt and watched Pythos draw the caster’s circle in the middle of the field. By the time he was done it was nearly sunset, and the air was humid and filled with mosquitos. Ambrosio brushed the mosquitos away from the boy, trying to keep him as comfortable as possible as he withered away.
“Is this going to hurt?”
“We are taking one soul and forcing it into another,” Pythos said as he brushed dirt off of himself. “So, most likely, yes.”
Ambrosio hugged himself, trying to console his conflicted emotions. “I just don’t want him to feel any more pain. He’s already suffering enough.”
Pythos rested his hand on Ambrosio’s shoulder. “I’ll give him a low dose anesthetic to ease the process. Now, go and carry him into the center of the circle while I set up the crystals.”
Ambrosio walked over to the child and carefully picked him up, his movements slow and deliberate as he cradled him against his shoulder. It felt like carrying a bag of sticks: light and brittle, like he could break at any moment.
He stepped back as he watched Pythos set massive chunks of raw crystal around the circle, sprinkling a mixture of salts and ground crystals in between. Drawn into the dirt were the ancient symbols that he had seen in the spell book. His mentor then went to the boy and injected him with a tonic.
With everything set in place, they waited patiently for the sun to fall just behind the ridge of trees, casting the field in shadow. Pythos removed the white gloves he always wore and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the myriad of tattoos stained into his dark skin.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Pythos then began to chant.
Ambrosio didn’t understand the language. It sounded a lot like infernal, which was a language he inherently understood thanks to his bloodline. However, this sounded much darker and chaotic. The words scrambled together, almost as if being reversed and mashed together. It sounded like the voices in his head.
As Pythos chanted, he moved his hands in erratic gestures, each sign quick and deliberate. The tattoos on his skin seemed to glow, different runes and symbols hidden in the design awakening from the magic.
The crystals surrounding glowed with a pulsating light as Pythos’ incantation grew louder and more aggressive. Ambrosio could see heat waves surrounding the circle, shimmering like a protective film.
Lost in the mix of words, Ambrosio thought he heard his birth name, and then Pythos waved his hand at him and he felt a strange tingling sensation crawl over his skin. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were glowing red on his palms.
“What’s happening?”
Pythos pointed to the child. “Go and press your hand against him. His life force will be transferred into you. Do not pull away until the incantation is complete.”
Ambrosio stepped into the circle and was immediately overwhelmed by stifling heat. He could barely breathe as he approached the child, who was tossing and turning uncomfortably in his sleep.
“Is he in pain?” he called out, but he realized that he couldn’t hear his own voice. There was a zone of silence around the circle.
Pythos!
“Do not distract me,” Pythos ordered in his mind. “Forge the connection.”
Ambrosio looked back, but he could barely make out Pythos’ form outside. His image wavered in the heat, blocked out by shadows that seemed to dance around him. Ambrosio knelt down next to the child, he rolled over onto his back and was gasping for air.
Without thinking, he reached down and cradled his hand against the boy’s face.
There was a jolt up his arm and into his chest, and molten lava filled his veins. His body convulsed as the innocent life of a child was injected to his bloodstream. He jerked his hand back, but found that he couldn’t remove it. All he could do was scream into the soundless void as his vision faded.
***
He woke up later to rain.
It was the middle of the night. He was still outside in the field, but the caster circle had been washed away from the downpour. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up. He felt like he was filled with lead, and his head was throbbing. Shivering, he pushed himself up and nearly lost his breath as his hand burned. He looked down and saw that there was a mark branded into his skin, the edges red and inflamed.
Carefully he stood, wobbling as his legs felt numb. He slowly stumbled back to the camp. Inside the tent, Pythos was sitting by the fire. The child lay with his head resting on his leg. He was still thin, but color was returning to his cheeks and his chest rose and fell steadily.
“He’s alive?” he asked, his voice raw from screaming.
“So it seems.”
Ambrosio laughed with relief, thankful that the boy managed to live. “It’s a miracle.”
“It’s a curse.” Pythos’ tone was grim. Any joy Ambrosio had felt was sapped away.
“What do you mean?”
“During the incantation, your desire for the boy to survive was clouding your motives. The spell misinterpreted your will. Instead of taking his soul and compounding it with yours, it created an archaic bond between you two. One of protector and protectee,” Pythos explained tersely, staring at the dancing fire.
The young tiefling shook his head with confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Pythos pulled out his dagger and dragged the tip against the boy’s arm. Ambrosio winced as he watched a paper thin cut appear on his arm. When he looked back up he saw that the boy was uninjured.
“The spell made the boy invulnerable: he’s immune to old age, disease, harm, pain...every negative experience is redirected to a surrogate who can manage the distress. You.”
Ambrosio’s head whirled as he tried to make sense of everything. Ancient Bonds. Invulnerability. Surrogates. He held his head in his hands as he began to shake. “B-but even I feel his pain, you’re saying that he can’t die. That means I can’t die, right?”
Pythos shook his head. “Your soul was linked only to protect him, not the other way around. If he were to die from disease or wound, you will now die in his place. Only then will he be vulnerable again.”
Ambrosio sat down dazedly. After everything, it didn’t work. The spell was supposed to save him. It wasn’t supposed to link them together. No, this couldn’t fail. It was his only chance. “You just made me more vulnerable than I already was! You said this would save me!”
“It was our only option.”
“You should have warned me!”
“I didn’t know this was a possible outcome!” Pythos squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, trying to reel in his anger.
Ambrosio glared into the fire, squinting as smoke burned his eyes and made them water. His father had warned him that many curses took the form of gilded blessings. This truly was a twisted consequence.
I should have just left him behind. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.
After several minutes of brooding silence, Pythos reached into his bag to grab medicinal supplies. “Give me your hand.”
Although he was upset, Ambrosio held out his hand. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to stop his tears from falling as Pythos cleaned out the dirt. He then took out a bottle of black ink and mixed it with a healing salve. The ink soaked into his skin as the salve was applied. As the marks darkened, Ambrosio noticed that the burn was the shape of a bursting star. “What is this?”
“It’s a warlock’s mark,” Pythos said tensely. “They symbolize your patron.”
“Is it the same as yours?”
“No.”
“Then who did I just make a pact with?” Ambrosio asked anxiously.
“I’m afraid your patron was chosen for you at birth,” his mentor said calmly, but Ambrosio could sense the anxiety in his thoughts. “He is an ancient evil…it’s best if you don’t know his name. That would only give him power over you.”
Ambrosio pulled his hand away, staring at the mark in his palm. Anger and frustration welled up inside him. “That’s not fair! I want to choose who I work for!”
“Who would you choose instead?”
The tiefling felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. The truth was, he didn’t feel connected to any of the gods. Although he didn’t want to make a pact with an evil god, Asmodeus was the only one who ever seemed to answer him when he was in crisis. Would Pythos understand if I wanted to choose him?
“Believe me, any god is better than the patron you were contracted to,” Pythos assured.
“I…I guess Asmodeus,” Ambrosio said quietly. “He’s helped me…maybe cause I’m a tiefling, I don’t know…”
Rather than asking further questions, Pythos took Ambrosio’s hand and grabbed the dagger. “This will sting, but I will be quick.” He then began to cut thin lines into Ambrosio’s palm. The teenager winced as he felt the knife cut into his skin. His eyes focused on the tattoos etched into Pythos’ hands. He could now see that they weren’t really tattoos at all, but burns and cuts that were later dyed gold.
“Are those marks from your patron?”
“I have done many things in my past that have brought me to where I am today,” Pythos revealed, finally sharing a piece of his past. “These tattoos are reminders of the roads I have taken. This mark on your hand will be your first.”
They both fell quiet, with only the sound of rain and the crackling fire surrounding them. Even Ambrosio’s mind was silent. Pythos finished cutting the new design into Ambrosio’s hand. The star was now disguised within three triangles: Asmodeus’ mark. Pythos stained the skin with ink and placed a salve on the wound to help it heal.
“I promise I will find a way to safely break the bond between you,” Pythos said quietly. “I may have to travel back up north to do research and gather the proper supplies.”
Ambrosio looked back over to the child. Though still asleep from the tonics Pythos had provided, he could feel deep in his soul that the child was getting better. Whatever illness had nearly killed him was fading.
“And the kid?”
“I need you to protect this child at all costs. He literally has your life in his hands. You’re going to continue heading south with him until you reach a town called Dwarvenshire.”
Ambrosio looked over at the child. It was a good thing he had practice taking care of kids. “Why can’t we come with you?”
“You’re a wanted man, both as Eythan and Ambrosio. The last thing we need is to have you heading north while you’re this vulnerable.” Pythos tightly bandaged Ambrosio’s hand, making him wince. “There is a merchant in Dwarvenshire who may be able to help you gain immortality while I try to find a way to reverse the incantation.”
Ambrosio nodded, steeling himself for the journey alone. The stakes were higher now that he had a kid to watch over. “How long will it take to get there?”
“Honestly, it may take a few years. Dwarvenshire is very far south, which will ensure your safety. I will meet you there as soon as I can. If I arrive there before you do, I will wait patiently. I need you to do the same if I’m not there when you arrive. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand. But how will I know if you’re there?”
“I’ll think of your birth name. Hopefully, enough time will have passed for no one to have Eythan Addler on their mind. Speaking of that, you need to take on a new alias and come up with a reason as to why you’re traveling with the child. Your life depends on how well you can lie.”
A gentle roll of thunder passed over them as the storm broke. His given name had been given to him from his father. His warlock name had been given to him by his mentor. Now it was his turn to give the gift of a name to his new life and to the boy he had damned.
“The boy is my young step-brother. Our parents died in a fire and we are traveling south to find a new place to call home,” Ambrosio rattled off the top of his head, watching as the shadows flickered against the wall of the shelter.
“And your names?”
Their identities came to him quickly, as if brought on by a spark of genius. It seems no matter how hard he tried to burn away his past, Tomas would always be there. It only seemed fair to honor his memory.
“His name is Ciaran, and I am Basile Graywing.”