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Damien should've been happy to be on solid ground once more, but for once the familiar streets of Jaggonath offered him little comfort. He tried to tell himself that it was only natural that the threat posed by Calesta would put a damper on his spirits— that, and the singularly unpleasant meeting he'd just come from with the Patriarch— but it was only a partial truth. But how could he admit to himself that he had become a man who moped at the absence of the Hunter? Who worried about his wellbeing, even as he rightly should've wished for his death instead? The Patriarch's admonishments echoed in his mind. Were the occasional glimpses of the man, Gerald Tarrant, underneath the Hunter's facade, really all just illusions Damien had conjured up to make himself feel better? Was there nothing human left in him other than his own stubborn pride? Have I already damned my soul?
Sighing, Damien turned the key to his apartment. Inside he was met with empty rooms, as was to be expected. After spending months at sea Damien found himself suddenly unable to stand the solitude. It had been simpler before: before the journey to the rakhlands, before Tarrant, before Hesseth and Jenseny and the shocking events on the Eastern Continent, before he had lost his certainty of purpose and belonging. Once losing that had been his worst fear, something Tarrant had used against him. Now he had reached the point of no return and still there was more to be feared.
On a sudden impulse he turned the key again and turned his back on the hotel room. At this time of night the streets were almost empty, but in contrast to the turbulent musings that threatened to overwhelm him, Damien had nothing to fear from the dark. If something, or someone, was out to hurt him, they could find him at his lodgings as easily as anywhere else. Walking aimlessly, Damien realized where his feet were taking him. Normally he tried to avoid going anywhere near Karril's temple, the worship there disgusted him and the place was hardly one befitting a man of the Church , but right now he needed information— and more importantly he needed a distraction. In no time he was standing outside the opulent building. It was well lit, and despite the late hours he could see through the open walls that there were numerous people inside. Some of them probably staying the night, Damien thought, repulsed.
What in the Prophet's name am I doing here. I should leave.
"Vryce?"
He had already turned away, intent on abandoning this foolish whim and returning to the hotel, when a very familiar voice called out to him. A telltale chill confirmed what he already knew before he even turned around and took in the man's appearance.
"Gerald. Just the man I wanted to see."
"Did you really. "A flicker of amusement entered Tarrant's cold pale eyes. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Damien flushed as he realized what Tarrant was implying. "I was just passing by on the way home. You know I don't visit places like these."
Tarrant simply raised an eyebrow.
"And why are you here? Surely not for the pleasure?" I don't even want to think about what the Hunter finds pleasurable. A part of Damien rankled at Tarrant being in the city without paying him a visit first, but only a small part.
"I'm looking for information on the Iezu. My records back at home were... less than satisfactory."
"And so you're going directly to the source." Of course. Damien had had the same idea after all.
Tarrant nodded. "I already talked to Karril about various things earlier, but back then I didn't have the right questions." His face caught the light from the temple in a way that made his eyes seem like they were burning. "Let's go."
"Go—? Hey, wait a second. I'm not going in there for no reason."
Tarrant looked at him incredulously. "...This is no time for prudery, Vryce. Surely you can't be scared of some hedonism."
"It's not that." Damien shifted, uncomfortable. "I'm not scared of anything in there— disgusted yes, but not scared. But if you knew what the Patriarch already thinks of me..."
Damien felt Tarrant Work a Knowing.
"Ah. I see. I'm sorry. " Tarrant tilted his head. "But Karril can be discreet: no one will know that you were here."
Forcibly pushing aside questions about the Patriarch's unnerving accuracy earlier in the day, Damien suddenly felt a bit silly. It's just a building. And then. I've already done much worse than just entering a pagan temple. "Alright. Lead the way then."
Karril was able to provide disappointingly few answers, but he did have some literature stacked away that caught Tarrant's interest. At present Damien and Karril —for thankfully they were alone, the worshippers and their revelry all hidden from his sight— were waiting for the Hunter to return from his perusal of the scrolls and books. Damien would've rather stayed with the Hunter than here, but Tarrant claimed that he needed to concentrate and that the presence of the Iezu wasn't conductive to that. So here I am, distracting him.
Damien couldn't wait to get out of the temple. The way Karril was staring at him was frankly unnerving, the intelligent gaze deciphering him like Damien was a particularly interesting puzzle. At least he wasn't talking, that was a relief, but the staring still put Damien off balance. Before Damien could excuse himself though— surely Tarrant can handle Karril on his own— the Iezu addressed him.
"Damien. A word, please?"
He couldn't exactly refuse. Damien nodded, reluctance clear in the way he held himself even as he nodded in acquiescence.
"Relax." Karril's lips were rounded in amusement. "I just wanted to confirm something, that's all."
"What is it?" No one ever asked anything simple of him, so he felt justified in being slightly paranoid.
"Tarrant." Of course. "
"What about him? You've known him for far longer than I have." Strange friendship as it is.
Karril made a noncommittal noise. "Mm. And in all of my years of knowing him he has never changed. Until you came along with this"— Karril seemed to be trying to sum up the extent of their current troubles in a flurry of gestures— "sorry business."
"That's hardly my fault," Damien replied hotly.
"And I'm not blaming you. I just thought that I at least had you two all figured out, but then... you're really good at denial, aren't you?"
"What?"
"You sure look quite friendly with him." Damien didn't like the strange emphasis Karril put on friendly.
"We have to work together. It makes no sense for us to constantly be at each other's throats." I got over most of my moral objections to his presence a long time ago.
Even though it was the truth it sounded like an excuse.
"Yes, yes. But that's not all." Damien wasn't good at reading Karril's moods but he could've sworn that the self proclaimed god was unusually excited about something.
Leaning closer, conspiratorially, Karril lowered his voice. "You want him."
Instantly Damien reeled back. "What!?"
Surely that didn't just come out of the Iezu's mouth.
Karril nodded, as if Damien somehow with his outrage had confirmed the outlandish accusation.
"Of course. It makes sense. I should've seen it at once. My, my. You're not exactly his usual type, but considering what he does to those poor souls that's probably a good thing." Nodding, Karril had an air of satisfaction about him.
Damien reeled. He--- Tarrant! This was absurd.
"No I don't- that's it, I'm leaving. Tell Tarrant that I'm waiting by the stables." He didn't look back. Karril was saying something, but he couldn't hear it for the ringing in his ears.
Outside the streets were empty save for a few late stragglers rushing home before their fear of the dark overwhelmed them. Damien wondered what they would say, if only they knew, that the man, the creature, they so feared, had absolutely no interest in them at the present time. He snorted. Somehow everything in his life had come to revolve around the Hunter, the Prophet, Gerald Tarrant, whoever he was. In that sense, he was no different from the city surrounding him. It was no wonder that Karril had got it all wrong: obsession (for it was a kind of obsession he harbored for the Hunter) could easily be mistaken for something else.
Tarrant didn't exit the temple until an hour later. He was carrying a variety of satchels and pouches, and he didn't as much as ask about Damien's quick escape. Somehow Damien still couldn't shake the feeling that Tarrant knew about Karril's insinuations and Damien's subsequent overreaction, and his ears burned at the thought. Together they returned to his lodgings, and Damien determined to put the events at the temple behind him. Tarrant was still fiddling with his scrolls, eminently distracted, and he paid Damien no mind as he lay down to sleep on the lumpy mattress. Sleep came quickly.
Damien was before the Patriarch. He was being excommunicated, his sins all laid bare before him, his ties to the Hunter exposed as the blasphemy they were. Suddenly the dream - now he could recognize it as a dream - shifted, and Damien was back in his rooms with Tarrant. This Tarrant wasn't distant and distracted though, oh no: he was crouching on Damien's bed, his face so close to Damien's neck that he could feel his breath, his skin was all goosebumps as Tarrant sunk his teeth into the pliant flesh. Like a parasite Tarrant begun to feed on Damien's life force, the sucking motion creating a curious mix of pain and tickling, but somehow, through all these strange new sensations, Damien wasn't afraid. As the Hunter withdrew his teeth and licked the punctured skin, a thrill ran through Damian and heat began pooling in his stomach and in his groin.
Damian woke up.
It was night still. The sound of rustling paper alerted him to Tarrant, still pouring over his scrolls. He couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours, but it felt like a day had passed. His blood was pounding in his ears, and his arousal was an uncomfortable physical reminder of his shame.
"Tarrant!"
His groggy shout made Tarrant whip his head around, and suddenly those pale eyes were fixed on him.
"Tarrant! I thought we agreed, no more nightmares!"
He must have sounded a bit deranged, as Tarrant actually looked almost worried. Almost.
"I've kept my word," he said. "If you have nightmares, you've got nothing but your own mind to blame." His voice was very even as he admonished Damien. "Go back to sleep. We both need to be at our best tomorrow."
Damien sunk back onto the bed, thoughts whirling. In a way it was a relief that Tarrant hadn't witnessed... that. But the alternative, that his mind all on its own had conjured up some twisted erotic fantasy featuring the Hunter, was even worse.
The rest of the night passed without event but Damien awoke feeling restless and ill rested. Somehow he had allowed Karril's words to affect him, and that must have been what so threw him off his equilibrium. That, and the doubts already planted in his mind by the Patriarch. What was it that he had said again: that justifications could be found for anything if only the man desiring to justify himself was intelligent enough, something like that? In the dark of the room, thick, heavy curtains shutting out even a hint of the daylight outside, Damien regretted asking Tarrant to share his lodgings. It would've been more convenient for both of them had he stayed on a lower floor instead. Without the benefit of distance, Damien's thought whirled again and again to the matter at hand. He found himself playing with the idea of being attracted to Tarrant. They were already allies of a sort, would it make his sins any worse, if he desired the man as well? Of course he didn't desire him, but hypothetically speaking.
Damien sneaked a glance at the object of his musings. Tarrant was physically appealing to women, he decided. His gaze had a mesmerizing quality to it too, an intensity. Even Damien couldn't claim to be entirely unaffected by it. The Hunter's vanity was unparalleled, and his lean, well dressed figure with an always present hint of danger was not aesthetically unpleasing. Unbidden Damien recalled his dream. What would it feel like now, to have him leaning over me, licking my neck? Pinning me down on this cot and having his way with me? Shivering in the warmth of the midday, to his horror he felt himself hardening anew. Then he noticed that Tarrant had staid his pen, and the unmistakable feeling of a Knowing being Worked almost made his heart beat to the point of bursting with dread. Oh shit.
Tarrant's reaction wasn't immediate and that was all the more terrifying. He seemed to be debating something with himself, and Damien knew that now if ever was the time to speak up and clear the misunderstanding. Yet, he said nothing, waiting on the other man's reaction as if paralyzed. As Tarrant finally stood up from his desk and started to approach him with a determined look in his eyes, Damien felt like he would faint at any second. This situation was not something he had counted on happening, ever. Damn that Karril. Closing in on him like a hunter on his prey, there was no hint on Tarrant's face revealing his intentions. When the man actually bent down and licked his neck, the hammering of Damien's heart became deafening. "Is this what you fantasize about?" Tarrant's voice created vibrations against his skin, and Damien felt himself hardening further. This is crazy.
"I..." Damian tried to find his voice. "Uh."
Tarrant placed his hands on Damien's shoulders. "What is it you wish of me, priest? Do you want me to hunt you?" Tarrant's voice was more predatory than ever, but it had been a very long time since Damien had been genuinely scared of the man and this was no exception.
I'm not a woman.I don't want you. You don't want me. What came out of his mouth was instead: "I thought you couldn't have sex". Even as he blurted that out Damien felt profoundly stupid.
Tarrant's reply was sufficiently condescending. "I shouldn't. That's not the same as can't. That you have no potential to bear children makes it somewhat easier." He hadn't removed his hands, but it wasn't the coldness of his touch that made Damien shiver.
"But won't you still...?"
"I'm damned either way." At once Tarrant again looked strangely weary, and human. Damien suspected that this was a side of the man that no one else got to see. It was almost intoxicating to be able to have this part of him, this vulnerability that no one else could reach. Suddenly it hit Damien: he was attracted to the man. Somehow he'd almost had sex with him before realizing that. And if being the Hunter's ally and tentative friend was bad enough, contemplating a more intimate relationship with him made it even more clear how much he himself had changed, how much he'd distanced himself from the Church he still swore to serve. And for what? How much could Gerald Tarrant truly give him of himself in return? He killed his entire family. Damien could never, should never, forget it. But. He trusts me. He's been risking himself by even associating with me. And. He saved all those people.
"Then I'm damned right alongside you."
Tarrant quirked his mouth, vry amusement clear on his face. "A bold statement, priest. You just might change your mind when the Unnamed finally tires of my insubordination."
"This isn't just about sex you know." Realizing how that sounded, Damien quickly amended: "I'm not about to start declaring my undying love for you either." Or to even think of something like love when I've only recently become able to look at you without wanting you dead.
Tarrant's gaze betrayed nothing.
"No, this is about me. My choices. Me throwing in my lot with you." Somewhere in the city, a gong sounded, as if mocking Damien's announcement. "I could pretend that I'm only making use of you as a tool for beating Calesta."
Naturally Tarrant picked up on the word choice. "Pretend, you say. So then you aren't just after me for my skills?"
"Your power is damn useful, that's for sure. But no, I consider you a... friend, of sorts." Even if you don't feel the same, even if you never could. "I've gone so far outside my comfort zone that I don't even know where it lies anymore. Our relationship isn't the issue here, it's me. I've changed. You have changed me. And I can't undo it, and I'm tired of pretending that it hasn't happened. Even if we never saw each other again I could still never go back to who I used to be."
There was a long silence. "You've changed me as well." Tarrant's reply was reluctant, as if he didn't really want to dwell on this particular tidbit of information. "It's going to be the death of me. Worse than death. Worse than what you with your unthinking promises ever could imagine." The bitterness in his voice was palpable.
"And yet here you are." It was half a question, half a statement.
"Here I am. What is done is done, and I can no longer escape the consequences."
A silence descended over them, frozen as they were in an almost embrace.
On the other side of the city, in the great cathedral, the current Patriarch of the Church of Human Unification was pondering strange, eerily accurate dreams. He remained blissfully unaware of his own Adeptitude, blind to his own potential. There was no one there to inform him of it.
Elsewhere, the Unnamed stirred.
Damien reached out to touch the man in front of him. And as the darkness of the room contrasted with the cold fire of Tarrant's eyes, the future of Erna shaped itself anew around them.