The following is an RP transcript from Discord, capturing a series of dialogues between Kazumi II and Mordekai. The transcript spans several days and remains in its raw, unedited form. As such, you may notice shifts in writing style—this is perfectly normal. Each post has been separated to highlight changes in authorship and writing tone. Enjoy~
As the rest of the party began to talk amongst themselves, Kazumi’s eyes drifted toward Mordekai. Ever since her sermon, she’d noticed a shift in him—a quietness that hadn’t been there before. Something unspoken lingered in the space between them. With gentle steps, she crossed the distance, leaning close enough that her words would reach only him. Her voice was soft, a whisper meant for him alone.
“Would you care for a walk, Mordekai? I could use a bit of air… and your company.”
Mordekai -had- been more quiet and introspective since they’d rescued Kazumi. For the most part he had tried to pass it off as considering how to deal with Cassidion – he thought his idea of tainting his celestial power with that of the Hells would weaken him enough to stop whatever scheme he’d enacted. But the others did not agree, at least not yet. But two of the individuals they had encountered had now suggested rebellion against the Seraph of Ao. And Devils – plus their followers – were excellent at rebelling against virtue.
But it was more than that. Something had begun to shift. Memories he’d buried in the pursuit of maintaining and growing his power after being damned were starting to slip through the cracks. And certain individuals were trying to exploit that.
And here was one now. He looked up and shook his head.
“If you need air, take your husband for protection, not I. I would rather be left to my thoughts about how to deal with our ongoing problems.”
She offered a soft smile, unshaken by the rejection, and glanced briefly toward her husband before returning her gaze to the tiefling.
“I trust my husband to protect my heart, Mordekai—but you…” Her voice lowered, not in accusation, but in quiet earnestness, “you carry burdens no one should bear alone.”
She folded her hands gently before her, patient as the moon.
“I’d rather walk with you, as nothing more than simply one who is willing to listen. Besides, perhaps it’ll get my mind off my own burdens. And, if talk of tactics arises, well…” her smile gained a playful edge, “I’ve been known to entertain the occasional dangerous idea.”
Immediately, Mordekai’s glowing emerald eyes narrowed, his suspicion confirmed. She was, at least to him, trying to pry into his thoughts and use them against him. While in reality this was simply not the case, for one who had been steeped in the political machinations of the Hells for so long, it was extremely difficult to not see enemies looking for a gap in the armor. Not to mention the fact that he considered Cassidion a mortal threat, and he had not forgotten how Cassidion had begun to try to discredit him in the eyes of the others.
In short, celestials could not be trusted. What if he unwittingly relented, talked and then she fed that information to his enemy? Then he would be at a disadvantage, possibly a lethal one. No, this was dangerous, too dangerous a game to play given the stakes.
“All I am burdened by is research and trying to solve the puzzle in front of us with all available information. I know you are dealing with your own thoughts and feelings right now but I cannot help you, it would be akin to trying to provide water from an empty goblet. Let me work. Please.”
That last word was not one Mordekai commonly used. He very rarely asked for permission, he just took action (though in cases of intimacy, consent was critical, violating that most sacred contract was even a sin that the Master would not abide). The word revealed more than the diatribe about wanting to do his work. He was asking her not to do this.
For a fleeting heartbeat, her serene mask cracked. A breath caught—sharp, involuntary—as if his words had struck not her pride, but some tender part buried far deeper. She did not argue. No divine light shielded her expression now, only the quiet ache of a woman bearing more than she dared show.
“Alone after all…” The words escaped in a whisper, not meant to be heard, yet too heavy to remain unspoken.
She bowed her head—not in deference, but in quiet acceptance—before murmuring with a voice steadier than her heart,
“As you wish, Mordekai.”
Then, without another glance, she turned and walked away into the dim edges of the campfire’s reach. The starlight failed to catch her form as it usually did. There was no radiant halo, no celestial bearing—only the outline of someone who, despite wings unseen, carried sorrow far heavier than flight could bear.
Moments later…
The woods opened gently into a clearing veiled in moonlight, where a still lake mirrored the heavens in perfect silence. Silver ripples lapped faintly against the moss-lined shore, as if even the water dared not intrude upon the sanctity of grief.
The seraph knelt at the water’s edge. Her trembling fingers brushed the surface—only to recoil. It was cold. Real. Grounding. But it offered no comfort.
She sat there for a moment, unmoving, her breath shallow, her eyes wide and unfocused. The weight everything—of duty, of rejection, of pain long buried—pressed down upon her like a cathedral of stone. She had endured torture. She had survived Hell itself. But this? This unexpected quiet refusal… it had touched something deep within her.
“You were only trying to help….” she whispered to herself, a thin protest to no one but the stars. Then the dam broke.
A sob ripped through her throat, raw and sudden, and she clutched at her robes as if she were trying to hold herself together. Tears fell freely, staining the earth. There was no divine radiance here, no ethereal song of grace—only the sound of a woman unraveling beneath the weight of sorrow and isolation.
“Does no one see me for who I am? Do they only see what I am?”
The lake shimmered under the moon’s gaze, but offered no answers.
After long minutes, her sobs quieted into trembling breaths. She sat up slowly, wiping at her eyes with shaking hands. Her face was streaked with tears, her voice hoarse from the force of what she had buried for far too long.
Still, she looked to the water again, and murmured: “Tomorrow, I will be stronger. But tonight… please, just let me be broken.”
And with that, she remained—kneeling by the lake’s edge, a lone seraph humbled not by blade or curse, but by the ache of a heart that still dared to care. The ache of a heart that reaches out. The ache of a heart that has long felt alone for as long as it could remember.
For all his strengths and abilities, there were times that Mordekai was as blind as a bat. He could read emotions and intent easily and manipulate them to his advantage but there were just as many times where he got so lost in the process that he ignored the simpler explanation, which in many cases was the correct one. Not everything was part of the “Grand Game”, as he so put it. Sometimes, people told the truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but mostly. Kazumi was offering him a way out, without anyone else seeing or listening to what he had to say. But more than that, she needed the same in the moment and he had rejected her.
He didn’t feel relief when she’d left in that dejected manner. He’d felt dread. The moment that washed over him, he stood up and clenched his fist, cursing quietly in Infernal. At the very least, he wouldn’t allow her to be alone, not after what had happened last time. Last time was his fault, he blamed himself for not suspecting that someone could and would kidnap one of them, especially on his watch. It wouldn’t happen a second time, whether that was out of pride or something else, he couldn’t say.
When she’d gotten just enough distance away that he thought she wouldn’t notice him, he focused and quickly utilized Misty Step to get closer and follow her to the water’s edge, watching and listening as she broke down. Only when she was finished did he say anything.
“I see who you are, angel. You’re the one who doesn’t want others to suffer. Even if it means suffering herself. You put far too much on your own shoulders, in more ways than one. You’re right. You will be stronger tomorrow, but it’s perfectly fine to be broken right now.”
Kazumi hadn’t sensed his presence—her heart had been too full, her defenses lowered too far. So when Mordekai’s voice pierced the quiet, she let out a startled gasp—then promptly lost her footing and tumbled headfirst into the freezing lake.
The splash shattered the stillness like glass.
She resurfaced with a flurry of flailing limbs and gasps, fur plastered to her head, soaked robes clinging to her form. Her wings and halo, hidden in her moment of sorrow, now flickered into view in reflex—then promptly vanished again with a frustrated sputter as she clawed her way back onto the shore, soaked to the bone and utterly breathless.
Once upright, she stood there shivering, her teeth chattering as she wrapped her arms around herself. Her cheeks flushed—not from the cold, but from sheer embarrassment.
“…By the gods…”
she muttered under her breath, casting a half-hearted glare in his direction. Then, with a watery cough and a sheepish smile, she looked up at him through damp lashes.
“…You scared me.”
And despite herself—despite the vulnerability, the chill, the mortifying slip—she laughed. It was small, hoarse, and waterlogged, but genuine. A single ripple of warmth amidst the frigid night.
Mordekai facepalmed at the sight of her tumbling into the lake, and promptly put his hands on his hips as he watched her scramble out and proceed to glare at him for scaring her. He shrugged and sighed. “Yes, that is my job you know, to scare and control the masses with overwhelming power and pure magnetism.” He rolled his eyes with the faintest flick of a smile. He clicked his fingers, where a small ball of controlled fire weaved around his hand, before sending it to her to help her dry out.
“Though on this occasion that wasn’t quite my intent. The opposite, actually. To reassure, not scare. For once.” He sighed and shook his head. He considered chastising her for going off alone again but he could hardly fault her given his behavior was the cause. “…The moment you mentioned your burdens, that should have been my warning to listen more carefully. I was – and have been for some time – so wrapped up in this puzzle of ours, among other things, that I… thought you were trying to find something about me that you could use, somehow. I’m.. sorry. You were only trying to help. And asking for help yourself.”
“Yes, yes… big ol’ scary demon lord,” she replied with a grin, voice lilting with mock yet playful reverence. “All fire and brimstone—with a heart three sizes too small. Or perhaps…” she offered a genuine smile as she corrected herself, “three sizes too big.”
The warmth from the conjured flame washed over her, and she exhaled a soft sigh of gratitude. Without hesitation, she peeled off her soaked robes and laid them carefully on a nearby rock, unbothered by her state of undress. Her wings unfurled—majestic and moonlit—wrapping around her like a feathered cloak both to preserve her modesty and offer herself a measure of comfort from the night’s chill.
She sank back down onto the grassy shore, patting the spot beside her with a flick of her hand
“Come, sit. You’ve already seen me at my worst—and my wettest~.” A half-smile played at her lips, though the sadness in her eyes hadn’t entirely faded.
She looked out over the water, watching the stars ripple and fragment in the lake’s reflection. “I meant it, you know. I’m here to listen. If you want to speak your burdens aloud… I’ll hold them, for a while.”
She paused, the vulnerability returning to her voice as she added more softly, “And yes… you’re right. My burdens aren’t just scars or memories. They’re choices I’ve made—ones I still carry, even when they hurt. Especially… when they hurt.”
Her gaze grifted to him, gentle and sincere. “But I don’t regret offering you kindness, Mordekai. Not even for a second. So please… share your burdens with me, that perhaps they might be lighter for you. If only for just a moment.”
“Devil. Not demon. Demons hurt people because they enjoy it and don’t need other reasons to. Devils hurt people because we’re smug bastards who like to feel superior by doing it by the book instead of by any means necessary. I know you know I am no demon.” He chuckled. “Yes, all hellfire and no chill.”
He averted his eyes as she stripped before him, waiting until she covered herself somehow – with her wings in this case – before looking again. “…I have not seen you at your wettest. Worst, perhaps. Wettest, no. If you want me to see that you’ll have to take me out for dinner first, maybe followed by a show in a local theater somewhere.” He shook his head with a small smile before it faded as she spoke about his burdens again, casting his gaze away before sighing openly and going to sit down next to her, crossing his legs and looking out over the lake.
“…I can’t do that. I can’t drag you down into the Pit with me. I won’t do that. It’s why I’m constantly working, constantly thinking. I can’t stop because even I will get dragged down, and.. I don’t want to take others with me. It’s always been like that. It’s why you all don’t see me all that often when we’re back at the castle unless I need something. But.. the sermon. It did something. I.. I’m not sure what. And it scares me. It feels like I’m losing control, but if I lose control then.. I drag others down with me.”
She let out a soft, amused breath at his remark, her smirk playful, eyes glinting with mischief. “Dinner and a show? Careful, Mordekai. Invite me out like that and you might just find yourself smitten. Though I should warn you…” she leaned in slightly, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “…I don’t think you’re quite ready for an angel’s appetite.”
Her teasing faded as he began to speak in earnest. The light in her eyes gentled, her posture shifting from playful to present. She hugged her knees close, wings curling subtly around her like a shield—not to block him out, but to draw herself in, a quiet echo of his own hesitation.
Her voice, when it came, was low and steady, like the rhythm of waves against the shore.
“I felt it. During the sermon. Like something cracked—but not in a bad way. More like…” she hesitated, searching for the right words, “…more like something long buried finally shifted toward the light.”
She looked at him then—not with pity, but with reverence, as one might regard someone holding back a flood behind trembling hands.
“You don’t have to protect me from your darkness. That’s not what I’m asking. But carrying it all alone? That’s not control, Mordekai. That’s a cage. One you built so well, you can’t even feel how heavy it’s become.” Her hand reached out, brushing his arm—not forceful, not clinging, just there.
“Letting someone see inside isn’t weakness. It’s choosing not to drown.”
“Excuse you. I think if I can handle legions of horny women who love my books and want to say they’ve slept with the author of them as some kind of bragging rights, I can handle an angel’s “appetite”. Even if she is the Voice of Sune herself.” He laughed, grinning and shaking his head. “There would be only one way to find out, and neither of us are mentally in a place to uh.. you know.”
At the mention of being in a cage, his gaze cast downwards. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, continuing this as he spoke again. “Maybe.. maybe I deserve that cage. It keeps me contained. It keeps people away so I don’t harm them, unless I so choose to. I think I deserve it. The things I have done to survive, or to get stronger.. or..” He cut off. He wasn’t ready to talk about that, vulnerable as he was. That was going too far, it was too much and too raw for someone whose metaphorical castle of class had some cracks in it after the last few days.
“…Besides, you aren’t practicing what you’re preaching. You’re taking the burdens of others, like me, and holding onto them like your own while not resolving your own problems. And.. that’s hurting you. I can see it.”
She let out a soft, musical laugh, the kind that lingered like the warmth of a campfire on a cold night. Her eyes danced as she leaned slightly closer, giving him a conspiratorial wink.
“Another time then~” she echoed, the tease still present, but gentled now—an ember rather than a flame. There was truth behind her words, something quiet and sincere beneath the flirtation. She wasn’t posturing. She meant it. Just… not now.
When he spoke of his cage and perceived punishment, her smile dimmed, not in disappointment, but in empathy. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t challenge. She simply listened, letting the silence honor the weight of what he didn’t say. And when he turned that insight back on her—when he held up the mirror—she tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a breath.
Then, slowly, she smiled again. Not wide. Not playful. But something softer. Something honest. “Touché.” she murmured, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she turned to meet his gaze.
“You’re right. I’ve carried others for so long, I sometimes forget which burdens are mine.” Her voice remained calm, gentle as the breeze brushing against the lake’s surface.
“So let’s make a pact then, you and I. I know just how much you enjoy those~. One truth for another. One wound at a time.” She extended her pinky toward him, a small but oddly sacred gesture, eyes glinting like moonlight on water. “Deal?”
“I’ll.. hold you to that. I promise I’ll leave the whips and chains on my level of the castle the first couple times.” He smirked. Despite how he felt, there were those moments of levity that made it easier to talk.
“You’ve carried others for so long, and I’ve done things that.. would shame a normal person, and seen things that no person should be forced to see. We’re both suffering. Just.. in different directions.”
When she mentioned making a pact, his head slowly creaked towards her, eyes widened. She knew that even such a deal would be binding upon him, that if he refused to talk or share a truth, he would be struck down by the artifacts he held in his control. “You bitch…” It wasn’t said with malice, or anger. It was said like they’d been friends for millennia and she’d just pulled a fast one on him. He shook his head with a smile, before curling one manicured pinky around hers. “Fine. But you have to uphold your end as well. If you don’t… then I get to decide what to do with you.” He winked.
“…Now. Do you feel like you want to go back to camp yet? Or sit here? I’m sure the others, especially Haruki and Enialis, will love to see you without clothes on.”
She snorted at his quip, eyes gleaming with mischief as her grin widened. “Oh, Mordekai… you’d be amazed at what I’m into.” There was something unapologetic about the way she said it—sultry and sly, yes, but also honest. She didn’t flirt to deflect. She flirted because it was part of her truth, just as much as her sorrow.
Her pinky lingered in his a moment longer than expected, squeezing gently before slipping away with a featherlight touch. When he offered to return to camp, she shook her head, exhaling softly.
“No… not yet. If I’m going to ask you to share your truth, then I should be willing to bare mine—metaphorically this time, I promise.”
She smiled again, but there was a tremble beneath it now. A fragile thread she had finally decided to loosen. Drawing in a breath, she wrapped her arms loosely around her knees, her voice quieter, the words carrying the weight of ages.
“I fear being alone.” It wasn’t dramatic. It was a simple, aching truth.
“My mother died two and a half millennia ago. I watched her carry her sorrow like a crown, refusing to let anyone ease her pain. I thought, if I could be stronger than her—if I could help others instead—maybe I’d never feel what she felt. But the truth is… I do.”
Her gaze drifted toward the water, unfocused, distant.
“Everywhere I go, I’m either worshipped or feared. Enialis reveres me like a relic. Haruki loves me, but…” she hesitated, “…I don’t know if he sees me. Or just the version of me that makes sense to him.”
Her wings drew in, subtly, like the closing of a flower. “When they captured me, they weren’t cruel out of malice. They were terrified. And for the first time… I was, too. Not of them. Of me. Of what I could become.”
Her voice cracked faintly, but she continued. “I don’t want to be a symbol. Or a warning. Or a goddess-in-waiting. I just… I just want someone to see Kazumi. Not ‘The Voice of Sune.’ Not ‘The Seraph.’ Just… me.”
She glanced toward him, eyes shimmering—not with divine light, but with raw, mortal pain. “Does that make sense? Or am I just unraveling in your presence because you’re the only one who won’t pretend I’m already perfect?”
Mordekai listened intently, and when she was done, including asking him the question about whether she was making sense, he opened his mouth.
“It makes sense to me. You don’t want to be alone, so you surround yourself with individuals who want to be around you but.. not necessarily for the right reasons. Like you say: Enialis, your pacted one, treats you like an object of divine worship rather than as a comrade and mentor. Haruki.. that’s tougher – yes, he loves you, but you question whether he is loving all of you and not just the parts he can understand. Am I right?”
He bowed his head for a moment and thought on the other points. “To a point, you cannot control what others think of you. You can only control your own thoughts and actions. I know it sounds trite, but those that captured you and cruel to you were scared because of their own thoughts and feelings which were maladjusted. To be fair, they’d been victimized by corrupted celestial energy and its creations, but that doesn’t justify their behavior. You showing your powers to others is a choice you made to live your truth. If others do not like that, or cannot handle that.. then they need to be the ones to change. Caging yourself doesn’t work, as you so rightly put with me.”
“But you also have the responsibility, to a point, to try and mitigate these issues yourself. Have you ever talked to Enialis about feeling like he worships you as some kind of divine idol? What about talking to Haruki about how he sees you, whether he sees all of you? The only way to try and solve those issues is by talking to them. Demonstrating that you’re not some wicked celestial that is looking to purge the world. But you’re just.. Kazumi. You’re there to help, to love, to laugh. You’re just.. you, not this divine avenger or paragon of love or what have you. Your actions will speak louder than your words, yes, but sometimes words are needed to start that process.”
He smiled a little as he looked out over the lake. “I don’t pretend that you’re perfect because I know that you are not, and there is no such thing as perfection. We’re all flawed. We all fail from time to time. What makes us.. us.. is how we choose to pick ourselves back up.”
Kazumi stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly parted as if caught off guard by just how much truth he had managed to uncover. Then, without warning, she laughed—not a dainty chuckle, but a full-bodied, soul-liberating laugh that echoed across the still lake and into the trees beyond. It was the kind of laughter that only comes when a dam breaks—not from joy alone, but from years of pressure finally given release.
She fell back into the grass, arms splayed, wings tucked beneath her like a blanket of stars. For a while, she just laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks, not of sorrow now but of relief. When she finally sat up, brushing the dampness from her eyes, her expression was radiant—unguarded and glowing in a way no divine aura could mimic.
“Gods, I needed that.” She grinned, catching her breath. “You’re right, of course. We’re all a little broken, and maybe that’s what makes us real.”
Her gaze drifted toward the sky, searching through the stars as though the memories might be written there.
“My mother… she was divine in blood but all too mortal in pain. Addictions. Mistakes. She made a deal with a demon—not a devil, mind you—hoping to bring back the children she’d lost to her drug addiction. It worked, but not in the way she expected. They were corrupted, save for one. It broke her more. She held everything in until the day she died, trying to protect everyone else from herself. It was only then I learned the truth—that she was forced to kill her wife who’d become oppressive in her name.”
She sighed, a wistful breath carried by the breeze across the lake. “I didn’t understand it back then. I judged her, I think. My sisters and I tried our best to help her. But now… I think I carry her same weight. The difference is, I want to be understood and to understand before I break.”
She looked back at him, expression softer now, yet more focused. “That’s what I struggle with. Reconciling me—the woman, the friend, the fallible daughter—with the angel, the chosen, the ‘Voice of Sune.’ I want to honor my family, and the goddess who gave me purpose. But I also want to be Kazumi II. Not a symbol. Not a prophecy. Just… me.”
A smirk tugged at her lips as she reached out and nudged his shoulder with playful familiarity. “So. You agreed to a pact. One truth for another.” Her smile sharpened with just a hint of teasing challenge. “Your turn~”
“A deal… With a demon?” Mordekai looked a little taken aback by that. He was well aware of the possibility, and such deals were often the cause of angels who fell and began to serve the infernal powers, but it was rare enough to cause him to pause. “Ah. Yes. See my point: demons cause harm for the sake of their own pleasure. A devil would likely not have brought them back as being corrupted or shells of their former selves. We’d be more likely to watch and see if the person had changed enough to get it right this time..”
“She had to do something no person should do: slay a loved one. Or let them die. I couldn’t do it.” A hint of what he was going to divulge later.
“Well, you know what I’d suggest? Honor your family and your position, and your goddess by just being yourself. Be the person you dream of being. By being that woman who loves fiercely for no other reason than she enjoys it in all the different ways. You will honor your legacy and your goddess by doing that rather than trying to be all these multiple identities at once.”
He looked at her when she nudged him, before looking out to the lake again, taking a deep breath as he thought how to word his admission.
“I.. am the opposite to you. I fear connection. The last time I felt connected to someone.. I had to do the unspeakable to try and save her life. And it worked, but.. when she saw what I had done, what I had become to save her… She left me in disgust.”
Kazumi listened in stillness, her gaze never drifting, her wings pulled tight around her shoulders like a shawl of starlight. When he spoke of demons, devils, and the moral calculus between them, she did not interrupt. She simply nodded, accepting his insight with the quiet reverence of one who understands the difference between theory and pain.
But it was when he bared his truth—when the carefully held mask slipped and the raw scar beneath revealed itself—that her heart truly stirred.
She didn’t recoil. She didn’t flinch.
She exhaled slowly and softly, like one breathing in another’s sorrow to share its weight.
“That’s a heavy thing to carry… to give everything of yourself to save someone, only to be abandoned by the very person you sacrificed for. I can’t imagine that pain.”
She shook her head slowly, eyes shimmering not with pity, but with ache—for him, and the silent echo of his suffering.
“And yet… I can hear how deeply you loved her. That kind of devotion? That isn’t monstrous, Mordekai. That’s human. Divine even. There are angels whose wings are soaked in blood not because they enjoy it, but because they had to make impossible choices in the name of love. My grandmother, Kazumi Ventrass I, literally slaughtered an entire race to avenge her beloved—a story for another time.”
She tilts her head gently, voice softer now, stead as a heartbeat. “If I may… what did you do? I won’t recoil. I won’t run. Whatever horrors you think will drive me away—believe me, I’ve walked through fire for lesser truths. So please…”
She placed a hand gently on his, not demanding, not pleading, just offering warmth.
“Let me see you.”
“She was sick with a disease that no-one knew how to cure. So many Clerics, Druids.. I think even at one point they called in a retired Paladin who still retained his connection to his powers to try and cure her. But she wouldn’t improve, or if she did it was only momentary before she relapsed. And it was always quick.”
Mordekai took a deep breath and looked at the sky. “I was a researcher back then. A brilliant one, a scholar of the arcane. Not like that Gale person who was mentioned who had relations with Mystra, not on that level but.. I was good. But even everything I tried be it arcane or herbal or even praying to the divines.. it all didn’t work, all went unheard. That.. only left one real path left to attempt, and I dreaded it because.. well.. I am a Tiefling. We are disparaged because we look like oversized imps, and our connection to the Hells makes all of us untrustworthy by default, even if we serve greater causes.”
He looked back at the water and closed his eyes. “I.. I reached out to the Hells. And he responded. Adramalech. Someone so high-ranking to notice my plight.. and make me an offer I could hardly refuse. He offered me the knowledge, as is his usual modus operandi, to cure my love. But the price was that I would serve him on the mortal planes. I would steer souls to him and his own master to ensure their supremacy in the war below. The one between the Nine, not the Divine War with your kind. He sweetened the deal with knowledge of the dark arts – the more I served him, the more I would be taught.”
“I accepted the deal. He suffused me with devilish energies, and the knowledge of how to cure my beloved one. He said he would come for me when the time was right. And so I set to enacting the cure.. but.. when she woke.. she didn’t see me anymore. She saw who I had become. My eyes weren’t always glowing, my skin wasn’t always dark and neither did it have metal sigils etched into it as if molten brass had just been poured in ritualistic fashion. She knew. And so she cast me out, as did my order.”
Kazumi didn’t speak. Not once during his confession. She didn’t flinch when he named Adramalech. Didn’t shift away when he spoke of sigils burned into his flesh. She simply sat with him, wings draped loosely around her form, her presence still and patient as moonlight on the lake.
She didn’t listen as an angel.
She didn’t listen as a priestess.
She listened as a friend.
When he finished—when the weight of it settled between them like the final page of a sorrowful tome—she didn’t rush to fill the silence. She honored it. Held it.
And then, with quiet gravity, she asked:
“What’s the price… if you walk away?”
Her voice was soft, but steady—devoid of pity, devoid of judgment. Just a single, honest question from someone who had chosen to stay.
“What does he take from you, if you stop playing his game?”
Mordekai made a sighing noise as he considered that. It would also involve potentially revealing a second truth about him, which would compel Kazumi to do so in exchange (she hadn’t specified how many times they could do so as part of the deal). But he could at least insinuate there were multiple things that would happen without outright revealing them. But she asked what he’d have taken away, and to lie about that could be construed as failure to uphold the deal.. and then he would suffer for that thanks to the Obsidian Pactstone.
“I would.. need to revisit the contract to be sure, but I am relatively sure that if I refuse to comply with his ongoing wishes, I would firstly be punished by the Obsidian Pactstone that I have been given. Breach of contract, no matter how noble, while using that artifact leads to my very soul being attacked. It is possible to survive it. But if it causes me to fall unconscious, then my Grimoire… it captures my soul and sends me to his side. Permanently. No resurrection possible outside of divine intervention. And I will not ask anyone to make wishes or invoke the Gods on my behalf.”
He closed his eyes and looked to Kazumi before opening them again, downcast. “There’s also more to it than that. Adramalech.. he.. knew that the end of this world was going to happen. He didn’t know exactly when, but it was close. He.. offered me a way to survive the cataclysm should it come to pass.” He stopped there, to give her time to process what he’d said so far.
Kazumi watched him closely, not with scrutiny, but with reverence. She saw the weight behind his words, the way they dragged at his posture, the quiet pain that lived between every careful breath. This wasn’t just a truth—it was a confession wrapped in survival, soaked in fear.
Her pact had been made in jest, but the moment had revealed how sacred it had become. So she said nothing at first, letting silence hold space for what had been shared. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before—gentler, but no less certain.
“You carry more than any soul should bear alone, Mordekai.” She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees, eyes cast toward the water. “And I don’t say that with pity. I say it with understanding.”
Her gaze met his, unwavering.
“You said your pleas went unheard by the divine. But hear me now: they are heard. I hear them. Not only as a seraph, but also as a woman who’s wandered far too long through the dark and knows what it means to scream into the silence.”
She exhaled slowly, a wistful smile playing at her lips.
“I won’t offer help like a blessing. I won’t make promises of redemption. But if you want someone to stand beside you—not above, not beneath, just beside—I will. No strings. No expectations. Just someone who wants to see you live… truly live. There are ways to survive the consequences of breaking your pact, and every artefact has a way of destruction. There is light at the end of the tunnel, of that I will promise you.”
A pause, then a soft laugh escaped her lips as she glanced skyward.
“And since we’re still honoring the pact…”
She turned back to him, her expression shifting into something more self-aware, almost shy in its sincerity.
“Here’s another truth: I have a fascination with mortals.”
She chuckled, a flicker of fondness brightening her tone.
“I know that probably sounds strange, but… it’s true. My celestial kin are often so obsessed with order, with divine will and higher truths, that they forget how beautifully chaotic this world can be. Mortals feel things more sharply. They grieve deeper, love harder, fight louder… and yet still find joy in the smallest moments. It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. It’s alive.”
Her wings shifted slightly, curling closer as if wrapping herself in the warmth of her memories.
“I’ve lived over three thousand years, and yet… I feel like I only began truly living when I stepped among mortals. When I stopped looking down and started walking beside them.”
She looked back to him, a glimmer of humor returning to her eyes.
“So yes… perhaps that’s why I find myself sitting here, on a lakeside, sharing truths with a devil-marked warlock under moonlight. Because even now—especially now—you remind me why I chose this path.”
“…That’s not the only reason I have an issue with breaking the pact though, Kazumi. There is an added wrinkle to it all. I’ll preface this by saying that this one is an extension of what I said previously, so you don’t feel compelled to reveal a third secret or what have you. But.. they have my children down there too. Mortheim and Morticia – imaginative names, I know – are down there. They were the price for me to survive the Apocalypse we’re now staring down. Mortheim is being trained as one of the Master’s own bodyguard as a Hell Knight. Morticia.. is following more in my footsteps.”
He bowed his head and closed his eyes, the weight of it all coming to bear. What was worse was that he didn’t understand why he felt that he needed to chase after Kazumi and make sure she wasn’t attacked again, and how all that had lead to revealing his darkest sins, the crosses he had to bear. It felt wrong to say all of this out loud. Like someone would hear and use it against him.
“…That is why I don’t want anyone to walk alongside me. No, that’s a lie. That’s why I didn’t. Past tense. But… I can’t be saved, Kazumi. I’m damned, in more ways than one. Could the pact be broken? Yeah, it could. But it would leave me weak and useless to you all. What good would I be if I couldn’t harness the magicks I have to further our cause?”
He opened an eye and looked towards her. “You are right. You’re not like any celestial I have met, you are markedly different from Cassidion. And all this time once I realized that he was potentially manipulating us, and I saw the struggle you were facing between doing your duty and doing right by the world.. I.. I had to try and save you from that. Because something deep down told me to. It wasn’t anything else, or some hellish order I was given. It felt wrong to see you bring manipulated. You deserve better than that.”
The seraph didn’t recoil. She didn’t look away when he spoke of Mortheim and Morticia—children bound to the Hells, offered up as collateral in a war between survival and damnation. Once, long ago, such a confession might have ignited righteous fury in her breast, the fire of celestial judgment burning bright and absolute.
But that was before.
Now, after millennia spent walking beside mortals, feeling their hearts break and mend, watching them falter and rise again, her gaze held no wrath. Only sorrow. And understanding.
She inhaled softly, the night air cool against her skin, and let it settle before she answered.
“I won’t lie and say I agree with that choice. Offering your children…” She paused, pain flickering in her voice, “…it shakes something in me. But the world isn’t black and white, Mordekai. Not anymore. Maybe it never was.”
She turned to him fully now, her expression open—vulnerable, but resolute.
“I’ve seen mortals do unthinkable things out of desperation. Some lose themselves in the process. Others claw their way back and become something more—because they remember why they made those choices in the first place. Love. Fear. Hope. Survival.”
Her voice softened further, almost a whisper now, laced with quiet reverence.
“Redemption isn’t something I can give you. And I wouldn’t try. It has to be something you want. Something you fight for.”
She smiled, wistful and warm.
“My grandmother believed in the right of all beings to choose their own path, no matter how far they’ve fallen. And—gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud—my great-grandmother, Sune… she believes the same.”
She reached out, placing a hand lightly over his, not demanding, just there. A gesture of presence, not penance.
“You’re not useless. You’re not weak. You are burdened. But burdens shared are burdens lightened. And strength—real strength—doesn’t just come from power drawn from the Hells. It comes from what you choose to do with it.”
She held his gaze, firm and steady.
“If the time ever comes when you want to change course… I’ll walk that path with you. Not to lead. Not to save. Just to remind you that you’re not alone. And perhaps, assist you on that path.”
Kazumi tilted her gaze toward the heavens, the stars glimmering like distant lanterns scattered across a velvet sea. A gentle shiver coursed through her as the night air wrapped its chill around her damp fur. She rubbed at her eyes, not from weariness, but as though brushing away the remnants of emotion that still lingered behind them.
“We should probably head back,” she murmured, her voice quiet and a little wistful. “My clothes will dry better by the fire… and I imagine the others are starting to wonder if we drowned in the lake.”
But before she stood, she shifted closer, just slightly, just enough to cross that final inch between them. Then, with a tenderness that transcended words, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Mordekai’s cheek.
It wasn’t charged. It wasn’t theatrical. It was a whisper of affection, soft as moonlight on still water. A thank-you. A promise. A gentle, unspoken acknowledgement that something between them had changed—subtly, irrevocably. She lingered only a breath longer, then pulled back with a small, serene smile.
“Come on, let’s get back.”
He didn’t expect her to understand, nor forgive. In his mind, he was doing his master’s bidding and getting a boon. At least, that’s how he thought at the time. Now, he was reconsidering that. Maybe he wouldn’t of had to do that had he known the Guild would defend him despite his.. eccentricities. It was a bargain made out of fear, fear of death and not leaving anything worthwhile behind. Or fear at what would happen upon his death.
“I’m.. not sure what I want anymore. For the first time in a very long time.. I’m confused. Indecisive? Both? Both, most likely.” He stopped when she mentioned that Sune was her great-grandmother. She was a direct descendant of the goddess herself? That was.. unknown to him previously. It explained a lot though. “…I’m not sure what path I’m meant to walk. Who I’m meant to walk it with. Who to walk it for. Until now I was convinced it was the Master, or his Master. But… I’m no longer certain. And that thought terrifies me, I won’t lie. But I’ve used my abilities not only to control and manipulate.. but at times to defend through offense. There’s just.. so much to think about.”
At the kiss on his cheek, he stood as still as a statue afterwards. How long had it been since anyone had done that out of affection and not lust? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly. Not out of rejection, but to clear the thoughts from his head. He had enough running through it as it was. In the space of an hour or two, he’d gone from wanting to keep the celestial at reach due to the powers she wielded and the powers she served, to caring for her welfare after she left. Maybe it had changed much before this point and he’d refused to acknowledge it. He was no longer sure. But there he was, standing stone-still and contemplating before he shook himself out of it.
“Yes, let’s go back. Though given you’re.. ahem.. in your natural state, we’re going to have to convince the others that we didn’t engage in some rampant act of hate-lust… though now I’ve said that you’re going to tell them that and I’m going to have to think of how to deny it. By the Hells…” He chuckled, turning and beginning to walk towards the camp again to see what the others were doing and saying.