Chapter Text
Bodies fell to the ground, Lucanis's blood burned under the skin, every thin vein exploding underneath, bruising dark purple as the Venatori tried to command it, channel his own life into their control. Movement was agony and liberation, pain controlled every action, but the cries of fallen mages and the adrenaline left a euphoric glow. Their magic could only control so much without the phylactery at their disposal. Spite's miasma infected their minds, lethargic and slow, they stumbled, magic disrupted as the demon flooded the area with their own.
But this was a prison. No matter the number of guards he felled, the trap was already in play, architecture designed to aid the wardens, not the victims. Corralled like a crazed animal, Lucanis skulked behind the ice, a new capture, but not an aviary for a Crow like himself. He could find a way out with an opportunity, but more was needed to escape. From his vantage point, the way out wasn't clear.
Through the murky ice, warped crystals with rough edges, someone new approached. It wasn't real. They never were. How many times had he seen Illario's visage, heard Caterina's cane, seen faceless Crows donned in leathers, only for it all to dissolve into the drugged water? Was this entire escape some power fantasy Calivan let play out for his own sick amusement?
(Real. He's real.) Spite's scream rattled Lucanis's teeth. Over exuberant, joy, the pulsing heat of his body like it was on fire. But Spite said he was real, and a huge shield-bearing qunari was just the kind of diversion any good Crow could make use of. Enough to escape this place at least.
(Trust, we can trust him. Patience-) Spite cackled, but Lucanis pushed the demon from his mind. Their rambling never made sense when the two of them were alone, least of all in the middle of a battle. He could focus on cracking the Venatori's neck and on the newcomer, not on the ramblings of a half-mad demon.
When Lucanis and qunari stood alone, post-fight adrenaline tempting a smile to the other man's lips, only then did a glimmer of hope reach Lucanis's heart. The qunari extended his hand out, a big smile forming on his face, "Heard you needed help. Help is here."
Months Lucanis had been drugged. His own freedom was the subject of hallucinations and visions. All of them fell short.
Illario's hand outstretched, so close, he just had to scrabble across the floor, reach out and grab it. Blood slicked under his hand, his body fell hard on the concrete, legs unresponsive as he tried to shift himself forward. Just a few inches, why wasn't Illario coming any closer? His fingers were just above Illario's, salvation within reach, only for his hand to fall through.
Laughter filled his ears, dissolving the images in front of him as it got louder. Illario's smirk shimmered away as did the entourage of Crows behind him, while Calivan's sneer grew, Decimus's gaffing, and Lucanis felt the sharp stomp of Nonus's boot on his back. "You're never getting out."
(Can't drink the water.) Spite murmured in his mind. (Drugged.)
(I have to, at some point) Lucanis surrendered, but spat as the other boot came crashing into his cheekbone.
Screams. The baby's screams echoed off the wall, angry cries, tinged with red and wrath. Need and Fear encompassed everything. Dread settled in his stomach, the taste of blood in the air, the horrors of what they might do to a child was beyond the pale. How many times had Lucanis been cut deep and often, blood magic knitting the skin back together, the blood drained to fill vials. He was a Crow, trained to withstand torture; a child couldn't handle it.
But the demon was worse than he was - he could feel his own body trembling, every bone sought to escape, break free of the skin and muscles, cages, and the sinew that held it back like chains. The demon's screams, audible only within Lucanis's mind, a secret held between them, flashed with torment and rage unlike any experience, but one that Spite had lived.
(I won't drink the water. Calm, please.) Lucanis pleaded, his mind on the verge of collapse, (Please, please, please)
He lunged forward again, and again, and again. The skin pulled clear off, muscle exposed as he thrashed against the manacles around his wrist. Chains screamed in agony, the metal clinking as he rebelled against the restraints. Last week, Lucanis had managed to tear one ring out of the wall.
He would die before remaining on the Ocean floor. Crows completed their contracts.
He'd been resisting drinking for days, now they didn't give him a choice. Lucanis struggled against the bonds, but the Venatori forced him to drink. Enough times, and he could feel the drug taking hold, the way Spite's simmering presence became heightened, the hallucinogenic cruelly crippling the demon's stability. Body and demon were separated, disconnected from each other.
A hand closed around his throat, air expelled, cut off, the water was the only thing left. It stopped for just a second, but the pressure around his throat didn't go away. Lucanis blinked back and saw nothing near him, no hands on his body, but Spite scrambled, the demon's mind conjuring the clenched hands.
(Not again. Not again. Not again. I want to stay. Want to stay.) It hissed in agony as the water poured down again. Lucanis didn't know if he or the demon would die first. It wasn't the Venatori, but a memory of Spite's that left the pair gasping for air.
Lucanis put his hand in the qunari's, instantly grabbed into a firm handshake. "Caterina said, Get you out of here. Let's go."
This was real. He was getting out.
It was hard to concentrate. Spite wouldn't stop touching Rook - Basalit'Reth - no matter what glares he shot the demon's way. The demon curled around the Qunari constantly, hands covering the large man's pectorals, rubbing itself against his back, and at one point even sat on his lap.
(Get off of him.)
(No. My spot. Basalit'Reth okay.)
(Seriously, stop this right now. He doesn't even know.)
(No. My spot. Patience-)
"I am losing all of my Patience right now-" Lucanis hissed, realizing too late he'd spoken aloud.
"So…. care to fill us in on your hmmmm other half?" Neve asked coyly, leaning forward across the table, her finger circling the rim of her wine glass. At least Spite was correct about one thing, if the Qunari knew he wasn't put off by it, but more likely was completely unaware.
"Their name and nature are Spite." Lucanis acquiesced. His shoulders tightened. "The Venatori fed me something, forced them into me-"
(I want to talk to Love. I want. To talk. To Love.) Spite demanded.
(Love? Do you mean Rook? Basalit'Reth?)
(Love. Let me talk to him.) The demon was usually content to limit itself to admonishments and quips, but such tantrums weren't unheard of. But something was different, frantic nerves and wild flailing as the demon sat atop the Qunari, not that the man could feel anything.
"Lucanis?" Bellara's voice was soft.
(Need to talk to Love. Need to use the body. Need to-) Spite screamed. Its control seeping into the bloodstream, magic affixing itself to his nervous system. His mind felt like it was splitting as the Demon battled for control. Lucanis rebelled back, expelling the demon from his nerves. Courage struck, memories of good moments were usually enough to assert control; however, the demon's need for dominance pressed in. Blood leaked from his nose, the synapses shuddered as a migraine pressed in, light shifting in color, more vibrant and varied than it had been a second ago.
"Sorry, I am -" Lucanis stopped.
"Does happen often?" Basalit'Reth asked softly.
"Only when they don't get what they want," Lucanis sighed - a cry broke out, echoing off the stone walls of the dining hall. No, no, no, the hallucinations should be over. Spite swore it wasn't them who caused the sounds and visions, claimed it was the Venatori, the poisons in the food, the manipulation of the blood.
This was real, the sound emanating from a large basket perched on a chair next to the qunari.
"Baby woke up." Basalit'Reth pulled the bundle with a gentleness he didn't think Qunari were capable of. He'd only seen the damage of Treviso, the viciousness of Antaam attacks, the destruction of their magic and gaatlok. The cries abated, not hallucinations of the demon, but a real baby. "Demon named Spite. Baby named Luz. All know each other now, so no problems."
Large eyes, bright blue, stood stark against the grey qunari skin as the father held his waking daughter. Blinking back dreams, groggy murmurs replaced the caterwauling; every baby babble seemed to excite Spite, the demon's eyes trained on every motion.
The little baby pointed its hand at Lucanis and pierced him with a strike that no Crow's blade could have paralleled. "Mama!"
"Luz, that's Lucanis, Lu-ca-nis," Basalit'Reth said softly, pulling each syllable with excruciating detail.
But the toddler was undeterred, "Mama! Mama!" and some strange dread settled in Lucanis, while Spite's grin only grew.