Chapter Text
1456
The sun bore down from the sky, the air was stifling. Baldur’s Gate was experiencing one of the most ruthless summers in the past hundred years. The Chionthar water level had sunk to the point where distributaries were running dry, causing the city to slowly despair. Raphael was thriving; the greatest aide in collecting souls was indeed the weather. Desperate farmers, worrying workers, spoiled nobles, they all succumbed to the unusual heat. It might as well be devil-made, Raphael mused, a bit of a joke by their great Lord Asmodeus. If that great Lord had any sense of humour to speak of, that was. But Raphael didn’t want to spend his rare day off wasting thoughts on His Highness of the Pit.
The docks were wonderfully empty, with most people seeking shelter in their shaded homes and avoiding the heated-up cobblestone near the water like a devil avoided a temple (they did not actually avoid temples, but instead had a great time picking up dejected faithful in holy houses). Raphael was currently the sole patron of the Riverside Teahouse, sat on the patio with the sun on his skin and a piece of pastry on the table, enjoying the sound of flowing water and the view of the bright horizon mirrored in the waves. There was something about the Prime that all other planes lacked. Diversity, maybe. Or just the fact that humans were so entertainingly pathetic.
Speaking of which.
“You again? It’s barely midday, brat, there aren’t any scraps yet. Come again in eight hours. Or better yet, go begging somewhere else.”
Raphael dragged his eyes away from the glistening water and glanced behind him through the open door into the teahouse. The owner stood behind the counter and waved dismissively at some beggar child dressed in tattered clothes and a layer of dirt.
“I’m not here to beg,” the kid said in a voice that was surprisingly firm. “I’m here to trade.”
The owner clicked his tongue. “Unless you want to trade money against goods, I’m not interested, brat.”
“It’s a heating plate,” the kid continued, undeterred, and held up a metal slab that looked slightly rusty. “It keeps food fresh. When you place bread on it, it’ll stay warm without burning.”
The owner narrowed his eyes. “I told you several times, I don’t need your junk. Go and bother someone else.”
“I’ll give it to you for a single cinnamon bun.” Torn sleeves slipped up thin arms when the kid reached up and heaved the slab onto the counter. There were purple bruises on the skin. “You put two candles next to it and the lines I carved into it distribute the heat to-”
“Fuck off, or I’ll tell your parents you’ve been loitering again.”
The boy paused, his arms fell back to his side. “Or a bread roll?” he murmured, but dejection made his shoulders slump and he was already taking a step back. The owner only glared at him and the boy scurried out of the door, leaving behind his metal slab.
“Fucking idiot. A hot plate in the middle of a heatwave?” the owner muttered and examined the invention. “Elena? Take this thing and see if it works. That annoying brat tinkered again.”
Raphael shook his head and turned back towards the ocean. Had he not such a strong aversion to children, he could dedicate an entire floor in the House of Hope just to their souls. But those souls were an imposition, and that wasn’t even mentioning the ordeal of having to talk to them to make a contract. No, he'd rather let their suffering stew until they were old enough to not rob him of the few nerves not already claimed by the bitch of Avernus.
Raphael finished his pastry and got up. The squawk of the child had put a damper on his mood and he thought about striking a deal to make up for it. He walked down the street and his mood soured further when he heard more of those demonic entities playing in the plaza’s fountain, their voices reaching the pitch of an angry banshee. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw, perched on a crate, spindly legs drawn against his chest and matted hair sticking up in all directions, heating plate-boy. He held something in his hands that had apparently incurred his ire with how angrily he was glaring at it. A piece of bread, either dirty or mouldy. The boy chewed on his lip. He scratched at the bread, trying to get rid of the worst parts. Raphael watched with mild disgust as he considered his work. The boy was different from the usual orphans that were bristling, desperate little things, half cast into shadow by looming death. This one looked fierce, even more so than some adult counterparts. He had declared the bread his enemy, and he was about to vanquish it. He bit into it.
“That’s vile.”
The kid’s head snapped up and his eyes widened when he realised it was indeed him the voice addressed. He stared at Raphael like he was some sort of apparition.
“What?”
Raphael blamed it on his boredom that he bothered with some filthy child, and on the fact that this one was slightly interesting. “Your bread. It’s absolutely disgusting.”
“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed,” the kid murmured. Apparently neither Raphael’s richly embroidered clothes nor his infernal aura deterred him from being a little shit. At least he looked slightly uncertain and averted his eyes.
“You are aware that you’re living in Baldur’s Gate? There’s plenty of opportunity to get something better.”
“I won’t beg!” the kid said with sudden vehemence. “I won’t.”
Raphael gave the sickly sweet insult of a smile. “Then steal like the rest of the orphans, for Hells’ sake.”
“I’m not some pathetic orphan.” The boy looked up, defiance in his eyes, and drew his legs closer to his chest. “I have a home.”
“A pathetic son, then.” Raphael noticed more bruises. Oh, this one would grow up to be a wonderfully hopeless and desperate soul. “Who, for some reason, looks even worse than an orphan.”
“What’s it to you?” He jumped up now, his pride insulted, wherever in his torn clothes he stored it. His face was dirty, there was a crusted-over wound at his chin. He should look pathetic=, but once again Raphael saw determination in that frail body. Sharp eyes, a straight back, assurance in his stance and, most bafflingly, arrogance in his expression. “Give me real food then, if me eating this bothers you so much.”
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t beg.”
“I’m not begging, I’m demanding!” He threw the mouldy bread in Raphael’s direction and bolted down the street. For a fraction of a second, Raphael just stood there. Rendered speechless by a fucking child. Which was hysterical. Unprecedented. Impressive.
The boy skittered and fell when Raphael appeared in front of him. He gasped in pain and shook his hands, scraped raw from the stone. Still there was no fear in his eyes. They were darkened with something peculiar.
“What’s your name?” Raphael asked.
“Enver,” the boy spat, as if the name was a maggot on his tongue. “Enver Flymm.”
Raphael threw a bag filled with food on the ground in front of him. “You should remember my face, Enver.” He said and smiled, making sure to show sharp teeth. When he vanished, bursting into sparks and flame, he once again remembered why he enjoyed the Prime so much. No other place allowed him to be this dramatic.
-
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sorry for anything. Come to think of it, he didn’t think he ever had been. “But you must consider my side of things, too. What I’m offering is a life in splendour. Riches beyond imagination! Fame for your yet humble shop, fortune for yourself.” Raphael gestured with a flourish. He had planned to reveal his full cambion form, had been looking forward to the shocked looks, but the room of the cobbler shop was so cramped that his wings would fill it out completely, and his horns would scrape against the ceiling. So he had to make do. He may not have the appearance of a devil, but certainly the authority of one. Well, and maybe a few flames dancing around his form. Going completely without dramatics was just so boring.
“But- but your assistant, she mentioned that one soul would be sufficient,” the woman stammered.
Raphael nodded. “And she was right. But, and I hope you will forgive me for saying this, your souls are…rather used.” He smiled unpleasantly. “I’m looking for something a little more untainted.” Mostly so he could taint it himself. When Korrilla had brought him information on the Flymms, he had genuinely planned to take their souls and see if that would make their son even more desperate, or push him in a different direction. Upon meeting them, however, he’d made a spontaneous change of plans. Their souls reeked, and Avernus was chock-full of toxic vapours already.
“Lord Devil, we have nothing…nothing else to offer you,” the man said and looked almost relieved. Korrilla had mentioned that the woman was the driving force here while the man adhered obediently.
“Nothing?” Raphael said wistfully. “Well, then I’m afraid the deal is off. I-”
“No! No, we do have something else. Someone else. An untainted soul, young and- and innocent! A son! Barely ten!”
“Oh? You have a son?”
“Yes!” The woman stood up eagerly, as if selling away her son would solve all her life’s problems. “Yes, a sweet boy, a kind boy. Enver! Come down here, dear.”
Silence.
“He, ah…he’s a bit…Dravos, where is he?”
“Didn’t you send him away again?”
She muttered curses under her breath, then tried for a dogged smile when she turned to Raphael. “Can you wait, Lord Devil, please, I can- I will get him, I only need a moment, he-”
“I don’t know, Sally.” The man glanced at his wife, then in Raphael’s rough direction without directly looking at him. Timid and insecure, a silent soul that was predestined for insignificance. “We can’t give Enver-”
A single look from her was enough to silence him. “We need to keep the business. My grandfather built it up, my father continued it, and I’m not going to be the one to lose it.”
“A generational effort,” Raphael said. “How noble. And you don’t want to pass it over to your own son? Continue the cycle?”
“Him?” the woman spat, as if she wasn’t talking about her son but a disease ridden rat that had made its home in her basement. “I mean- He’s a good boy. He will understand. You can have him, Lord Devil, he’s hardworking, smart, a quick learner.”
Raphael smiled and sat down on one of the old, worn out wooden chairs. He’d expected this to be more difficult, considering how mortals clung to their brood. But these two genuinely seemed to hate theirs. “Very well.” He snapped his fingers and let flames lick into the air, extending until they had formed a burning scroll. He blew the fire out and crossed his legs, unrolling the contract with a flick of his wrist. He took his time reading over it once more – mostly to make them nervous – added a line – nothing significant, merely small print, really, about how he would get the parent’s souls should their son ever flee from the House of Hope – and let it flutter over to the counter where it draped itself in front of the Flymms. “Feel free to go over it. But do hurry, please, since I need to go and fetch the boy myself.” Nothing like a bit of pressure to make people scramble over the wall of text. Sally didn’t bother giving her husband the opportunity to read, she grabbed the paper and her eyes flew over the lines.
“And you will keep him in that your, uhm, House of Hope? And not let him leave?”
“It says it all in the contract,” Raphael said, letting an edge of impatience creep into his voice. “If you’re having reservations, I can let you study the contract in peace and return in…” he pretended to think. It was enough.
“No, Lord Devil, no worries, no need to wait!” She grabbed the quill and signed her name, then pushed the parchment over to Dravos. He hesitated, but of course had no chance of resistance. Masters and servants were found everywhere.
“Fantastic,” Raphael drawled and let the contract float back to him, signing it with a flourish. “And that is that. You got rid of your son, you’re free to pursue your business, and I have a new servant. Everyone is happy.”
How long they would remain happy was to be seen. Raphael stood and performed a small, insincere bow to them then, in a burst of sulphur and hellfire, teleported away to claim his reward. He merely needed to let himself get pulled by the connection established by the contract.
Now, had Raphael signed for the soul of a 50 year old dock worker, he would not have been surprised. But since he was going to get a 10 year old brat, he raised an eyebrow when he emerged in front of a rough tavern. When he stepped inside, it wasn’t difficult to spot his charge, mostly because he was the only being of his kind in the room. Raphael clasped his hands behind his back and appeared behind a barmaid. She flinched violently and almost dropped her tray when he spoke.
“I cannot help but notice,” he said with his softest smile, “that there is a child in your bar room.”
The woman needed a while to recover from the shock, but with Raphael having replaced his infernal aura with his most benevolent mortal act, she eventually breathed in deeply and managed the typical barmaid smile. “Ah, right. That’s little Enver. He’s…he’s doing business. It’s harmless, and he usually leaves when they get too annoyed with him. Poor thing.” Her voice dropped. “I tried to give him free food once, but he said he isn’t some pathetic beggar. The way he looked at me…ah. Strange kid, really, I wonder how long he’ll make it with how brazen he is.” She shook her head, then hurried back to work.
How very intriguing. Raphael kept his eyes on young Enver Flymm, who sat next to three rough looking men in dirty worker’s clothes, clearly trying to spend a nice evening after the day’s grind.
“- not ridiculous!” Enver glared at them. “I don’t even need anything valuable, just the metal scraps!” He was sitting perfectly straight, head raised, eyes firm. Eyes that were so dark that they swallowed light. Eyes that hinted at more. It seemed Raphael’s intuition had been correct. He had potential and Raphael was curious to find out what exactly this one’s role was to be.
Right now his role involved getting yelled at. “And I told you, brat, you can’t have them,” a bald man sneered.
“But why? You don’t need them, and I can create something useful with it! I’ll even give it to you for free, I just-”
A loud slap. Enver flinched. Flat palm against table top. For now.
“Bugger off, kid. Go back and play with your toys.” The man took a swig of his tankard and demonstratively turned to his two companions. The boy was having none of it. Raphael admired the tenacity, just as much as he pitied the stupidity.
“With the right metal, I can craft gauntlets that won’t hinder your finger-movement!”
The man barked a laugh. “Ask your mother how well my finger-movement works!”
Enver frowned and scrambled for purchase in a conversation that had moved past him. “I- I know a wizard, she owes me a favour, if-”
The moment the man raised his hand once more, Enver fell quiet. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his hands into fists. There he sat, unaccepting of his helplessness. Not cowering before the mighty. Ambitious. Moulded and forged, he could become a weapon to use.
When the sound of skin hitting skin came, Enver flinched. Then he blinked his eyes open, confused. Stared at the hand mere inches from his face that was curled around a wrist, and followed the arm up until he reached a face. Raphael smiled kindly at him.
“I think these gentlemen are uninterested in your innovations,” he said, then looked at the men. “Undeserving of them, too.”
The bald one wrested his wrist from Raphael’s grip. “This yours? Fuck, keep an eye on your brat, he’s been a pain in the ass for hours!”
Raphael straightened and stared down at the man, eyes flashing. “I would appreciate you minding your language when my charge is present.”
The man opened his mouth on a retort, then thought better of it. He swallowed heavily as he saw the flickering shadow of wings and horns. “I- uh…apologise. Didn’t mean to.” He muttered and averted his eyes.
“Don’t apologise to me. Apologise to dear Enver here.” Raphael said with a voice dripping command.
The man clenched his jaw and when his eyes flicked up to Enver, there was a brief flash of defiant anger. But in a surprising show of intelligence, he relented. “Sorry, kid.”
Enver stared at him, then at Raphael, who returned his shock with amusement.
“Come on, child. We have somewhere to be.”
The boy swallowed heavily, uncertainty in those dark eyes. Clearly torn between fear urging him to bolt and curiosity compelling him to follow.
“Okay.” He jumped off the chair, threw the three men a haughty look – as haughty as a ten-year-old boy in rags could manage – and slunk after Raphael.
“It’s you again.” he said the second they were outside. Rain pattered on the cobblestone and on Enver’s head, but he didn’t even take note. He tried to keep up with Raphael’s long strides. “You're a- a monster, right?” Very boldly put. “I don’t need your help. Hey, is the rain ignoring you?”
“You may address me as Lord Raphael.” He smiled and, with a flash of fire and sparks, manifested his cambion form, making sure it was visible only to the kid. There he stood, the poor thing, drenched in the pouring rain and staring at his saviour like he was- well. The devil incarnate.
“A devil,” he said tonelessly. “So they…they sold me.” It wasn’t a question. His mother had been right. He was smart, quick on the uptake. “What if I just don’t go with you?” Enver’s small hands curled into firsts, his pointy shoulders drew up defensively. “I can run away. I can hide. You won’t find me, I know this city better than anyone.”
Oh, he was delightful. “Child, I’ve been here since the day the city was founded. I saw it grow and fester, infecting the land with all these wonderful human vices. In addition,” he knelt down in front of Enver and looked up at him with the most patronising smile, “a devil always knows where the souls they own are.” His wings were draped over the ground, his tail curled forward to rest over the boy’s shoulder, and his clawed fingers stroked the hollow cheek. “So, what will it be?”
Enver stared at him like he was considering defiance for the sake of it, and Raphael admired the sheer audacity of meeting a devil’s gaze straight on. But then his shoulders slumped.
“Nothing you do can be worse,” he said.
Raphael chuckled and stood, then reached his hand out for Enver to grasp. He clenched his jaw and determinedly squeezed three of Raphael’s fingers with his dirty children's paws. Raphael made a mental note to have Korrilla get the cleansing acid, then plane-shifted them into the House of Hope. When they manifested, Enver jerked away from Raphael and held his stomach as he doubled over, looking slightly green in the face. Planeshift sickness was a thing. Raphael strode over to the couch, crossed his legs and leaned back to give the kid a moment to adjust. It took a long while, and when he was finally steady on his legs again, he looked around with whatever childlike wonder his parents hadn’t beaten out of him. His eyes widened when they fell on a display case containing a hollow sphere made from intricate metal filigree. He took a step toward it, then thought better of it when his eyes flickered to Raphael.
“Go on, take a look.” He gestured to the case. “It’s a Sphere of Command.”
But Enver’s eyes had already moved on, now glued to the window. “Where are we?”
“Ah.” Raphael stood. “My apologies, I haven’t hosted anyone in a while. Welcome! To the House of Hope, soaring through the beautiful landscape of Avernus. Your new home.” He spread his wings and indicated a bow.
Enver looked at him, eyes tracing the shape of his wings, flicking to his horns. “Home.” He scoffed, like the concept alone was something unbelievable.
“Now, we’ll have to get rid of that attitude sooner or later. It’s quite unbefitting.”
“Nothing you can do can be worse,” Enver said again, but there was a trace of fear in his eyes.
“Who said anything about doing something bad? You, little one, are a special case deserving of special treatment.” And Raphael meant it. If he played his cards right, he might just turn this little feral cat into a full-grown displacer beast for him to use.
Enver glowered at him. “Don’t make fun of me.”
“Nothing would be further from my mind. You’ll soon discover that I am a very pragmatic devil. Those who bore me, who have no use, who exist only as a mere puppet in the grander scheme, I won’t even give a second glance. But those who intrigue me? Who offer potential?” He stepped closer to Enver, never averting his eyes. “Being a devil’s favoured, boy, comes with even greater chances than being a God’s chosen.” He looked down at him. “Ten years you spent crushed under the city’s feet, at your parent’s mercy. After ten more at my side, the city will grovel before you. Your parents will beg.”
Enver gazed up. Black, matted hair sticking up in all directions. Clothes clinging to a malnourished body. But the hunger in those dark eyes was for power rather than food. A little tyrant in the making.
-
“A…child.” Korrilla stared at the boy like Raphael had brought in a pet orthon.
“This is Enver Flymm. He will be living here for the next few years.” Raphael said as if he was introducing a helpful Narzugon instead of arguably the worst being in existence. “His parents were so kind as to sell him to me, and I want to further his education.”
He couldn’t deny that it was amusing to see Korrilla’s expression of sheer horror; he could basically hear her panicked thoughts as she considered whether Raphael had been replaced by a shape changer.
“Child, this is Korrilla, my right hand woman. If you have questions regarding anything in this House of Hope, do ask her, she’s familiar with the rules. In general, the most important thing to keep in mind is to not walk around and stick your nose into things that might potentially burn it off.” It was a farce, of course. Raphael relied on the boy’s curiosity to snoop around and see things that would shape his mind in ways beneficial to his later development.
Enver shifted uncomfortably. Looked around casually to try and hide it, but his eyes were unfocussed and kept flicking back towards Raphael. He didn’t know whether it was subconscious, but the boy took a small step in his direction and away from Korrilla as if she was the final drop of novelty he couldn’t handle anymore. Very endearing. Alas, there were still some changes he would need to face. The most important one first.
“As you can see,” Raphael said and gestured through the space. “I pride myself on a lavish and comfortable house. A part of that comes from cleanliness. Something I think you’ve heard of but never experienced. Korrilla, take him to the bath. I want neither the stench of dirt nor that of mortal left clinging to him. And get him something new to dress in.”
Korrilla looked at him like she seriously considered this to be the moment to try out disobedience. Then she regarded Enver with flagrant discontent. Smartly, the boy didn’t challenge her. Wordlessly, he averted his eyes, little hands curled into his dirty shirt, the only thing he dared to hold on to.
“Alright. Come on then.” Korrilla turned around and marched towards the door. “But don’t expect me to bathe you,” she muttered. Enver hurried after her, the torn shoes unbefitting of a cobbler’s son leaving stains on the carpet.
A few moments later, Korrilla returned with an expression like Raphael had just invited the eight archdevils plus Lord Asmodeus himself for tea.
“The little…thing is taking a bath,” she said and made a face. “It seems to be his very first one. If he drowns, I won’t be to blame.”
He smiled at her. “Isn’t he ever so sweet?”
“In the same way a rabid raccoon is sweet,” she huffed. “My Lord Raphael was so kind as to save me from a life spent in service of such a being. I know not why he now tortures me with one.”
“He’s creative. Inventive. Entirely wasted on his parents. Under the right influence, he can go far. I’m sure I’ll find the right way to make use of him.”
Raphael had been looking for someone to send into the eighth hell to get him a particular little crown, and it looked like Enver might just be the right candidate.