Chapter Text
Oh Gods! He fucking fell in, he fell in! Fuck!
Karlach swung her axe, tearing through the last of the attacking devils, desperately wished she had a soul coin left. Fucking imps. Fucking cambions. Fucking Zariel.
It had been going so smoothly, yet another battle. Blending together with all the others; this time an attack by Zariel’s forces, no doubt delivering a personal message to Karlach. Her response was to start tearing through the strike force, with Wyll and Astarion picking off weaker foes, including any that managed to survive Karlach’s axe.
Then it all went wrong so godsdamn quickly.
Astarion had dodged a blow, then clambered up onto a ruined bit of former dock, preparing to cover her with his bow. No ships moored to the pier any longer; it extended out over a deep chasm that was filled with eternally flowing lava.
Only for one of the cambions to set the base of the structure on fire. Its supports crumbled almost instantly, the whole thing tumbled down into the lava. Astarion tried to leap to safety, but was lashed in place by a well thrown bolo.
His scream echoed out over the battlefield.
Then stopped, terrifyingly abrupt.
Wyll was closer; he nodded at Karlach, tapped a rope into the cliff side, then rappelled out of sight.
Karlach flung her smaller axe through the air, decapitating the cambion that burnt the dock; the fucker had been distracted, laughing at his handy work.
She was barely aware of her actions after, only knowing she had to slaughter them all, as fast as possible, then she could see what happened to Astarion. See if… if he fell in all the way. Find out if…
If he followed her here only to die!
The uncertainty powered her rage; she couldn’t afford to disengage, racing there would leave her wide open. What good would it do to see he had not instantly evaporated, if knowing was paid for with an axe in her back. She had to trust Wyll. She did trust Wyll. But gods, she was so scared.
Those thoughts repeated again and again as she screamed and kicked and flamed and slashed and hit and bit, becoming a one-woman whirlwind of destruction. The leader of this little strike force, a green woman with ornate horns, turned to run, only to get an axe flung into her back. The blade penetrated deeply, causing her to burst into flames. She dropped, reduced to nothing more than a smoldering corpse.
Karlach systematically scanned her surroundings, keenly listening all the while. She saw nothing of interest and heard only her smoothly humming engine.
She dashed towards the cliff, not bothering to retrieve any weapons.
Each step seemed to take a million years, her legs growing heavier and heavier with each step, her infernal engine of a heart spinning faster and faster.
“Don’t drop me, you horned fool!!”
“Stop moving!”
Karlach breathed a sigh of relief, barking out a laugh, almost collapsing out of shear joy.
“I’m not! That is my skin sloughing off!”
The rest of her laughter died in her throat as she flung herself to the ground, sliding forewords, not caring about the scrapes, desperate to see over the edge, to know what had happened. As a bonus this put out the last of the active flames flickering over her form. Even as she first peered over the edge, heart in her throat, she was already reaching for the rope, to help pull them up. “Fangs?!”
Wyll was clinging to the rope with one arm, trying to climb up the cliff face, holding what remained of Astarion with his other arm.
The vampire spawn’s right arm was flung around Wyll’s neck, clinging on for dear unlife. His left hand was horribly burned, glimpses of bone and tendons under the charred flesh. By some degree of divine mercy, most of the rest of his left arm was uninjured. The same was not true for his back, his armor had been burnt completely away, the skin it was supposed to be protecting was now bright red and covered in bubbling blisters. Wyll had his arm around his back, trying desperately to prevent him from slipping into the lava again; despite his best efforts his arm was slowly sliding upwards, as Astarion’s skin was separating from the muscle below. Due to the way the men were positioned, she couldn’t see Astarion’s legs, hopefully they had escaped the lava.
Karlach tugged the rope while calling out, “Hold on!”
The moment he was close enough, Astarion grabbed onto her forearm with his grievously injured hand. He hissed out in pain, but somehow managed to stay clinging to her. It was a good fucking thing he did too, as just then Wyll finally lost purchase on his blood-slippery back. The huge tiefling scrambled to her knees, tugging with all her might, pulling them clear of the cliff edge, to solid ground. She yanked so strongly and quickly that the pair sailed up and over the edge, Wyll colliding with her and Astarion losing his grip on both of them, rolling down the slight slope.
Astarion screamed in agony as his burnt flesh and even worse injuries scraped against the rocky ground, as he tumbled away.
After making sure Wyll was uninjured and securely on the less molten ground, Karlach scrambled to her feet, racing towards her injured partner. She planned to immediately scoop him up off the ground, finally able to keep him safe in her arms. However, when she reached him, she could only stare; covering her mouth with both hands.
If she had any doubt he had fallen into the flowing molten lava, it burned away instantly. Exactly as so much of her love’s body had done. Astarion’s left leg was gone; melted off above the knee, where there was only the charred end of a femur sticking out of a charbroiled thigh. Her stomach lurched as she involuntarily thought of roasted turkey legs. Above the exposed muscle was blistered flesh, horrifically merged with his melted leather armor. His right leg matched his left in many aspects, except it ended barely below his knee.
Astarion groaned, laying on his back, dark blood pooling around him as it seeped out from less immediately visible injuries.
When Karlach failed to move, he looked up and shakily said, “Do not worry, love, I’m still beautiful…” Astarion motioned at his face with his intact hand. “No need to look so upset… ah, wait, yes, I see the problem…” He slicked his hair back in place again, his white curls glistening with blood highlights as he grinned.
She knelt down next to him, softly saying, “Gods,” and stroking his hair while trying to determine their next course of action. Astarion offered her another smile, flopping the hand not oozing blood onto hers. Karlach sucked air in past her clenched teeth and turned slightly to call out, “Wyll! Bring the healing potions!”
“No, don’t waste them,” Astarion grunted out, “Those are for you two. What with your… limitations on healing. Blood, darling, I just need blood. And time, I suppose…”
Karlach growled at him, her tail still lashing in barely restrained anger. “Sometimes I hate it when you’re right. Fuck. Fine.” She scooped him off the ground, a sickening wet noise accompanying the motion; the skin of Astarion’s back peeling off, deciding it would rather cling to the rocks than the vampire.
He screamed again, before clamping his mouth shut and whimpering.
“Shit! Godsdamnit! Sorry!”
He weakly laughed while patting her shoulder, otherwise limp in her arms, “Love, shhh. I scream easily, you know this! You would think after everything I have been through, I would be… quieter. Alas, no… one of my few… failings.”
She pointed at the tattered remains of his back still on the ground. “Soldier, you left that behind! That’s not godsdamn screaming easily.”
“I have been flayed fully before, remember!”
“That doesn’t make this any fucking better.”
“Says the woman who has never been fully flayed.” He grinned at her, wagging an index finger that was missing half its skin in her face, booping her nose with the bony tip.
Leaving a dollop of blood on her nose. Astarion giggled nervously and went to wipe it away.
Only to leave a streak of blood for his efforts. His somewhat frantic attempt to get rid of that left two streaks.
Wyll walked up, having finished tending to the devil corpses. He raised an eyebrow at the multiple smears of blood on Karlach’s glaring face, but only said, “Gods, Astarion, I’m sorry I didn’t reach you sooner.”
“My dear, you were quick enough.” Astarion smiled, his one intact limb over Karlach’s shoulder, gripping the back of her armor. He motioned at his face with his far from intact hand. “The important bits are all still here.”
“Wyll, he says he’s fine.”
Astarion nodded, smiling, only a hint of agony visible upon his face, in how he clenched his jaw. He could not fool Karlach. Not anymore.
“And we both know we can’t fucking trust him about that.”
“Hey!”
Karlach held him out so Wyll could help her examine his burns, both of them looking over the undead man for any sign of damage beyond lava burns, infernal wounds had proved to be more powerful than vampiric healing.
“I think, as grievous as his injuries are, there is nothing to be concerned about. These are true lava burns, not infernal fire.”
“I said I was fine. Just please, do not roll me across the ground again, darlings.”
Astarion’s charred shinbone plopped onto the dirt, hanging on by a thread no longer. The trio looked at the new addition to the landscape, quickly realizing its origin. Astarion’s giggle broke the silence.
Karlach glared at him, then rolled her eyes when he only winked at her and made kissy noises. She held him close again, trying to ignore his various fluids seeping out, running down her body.
“It is fortunate that to you he is as light as the donation plate at the patriars ball after the reporters have departed.”
“She could carry ten of me, I have no doubt! Ah, no more tromping about for a time. I knew I would one day get you to carry me about. See, you have to look at the positives!” Astarion shifted around in her arms, so he was facing her again, to grin. It was mostly a grin. Only barely a grimace.
He motioned at the tattered skin that was until recently on his back. “Why, so many of my nerves are now laying down there, and others are burnt to a cripst why… I am in hardly any pain at all!” He grinned at her once more, with only the most minor of whimpers at all of that movement, Karlach’s arms fast growing slick with his blood.
“Don’t hurt huh? Mmmhmm.” She sighed. “My poor honey. Come on, time to eat.” She started carrying him over to the freshly killed cambions, Wyll walking with her, pointing out the one with the most remaining blood. They had discovered the half-devil blood qualified as vampire food with no ill effects… after they were slain.
Astarion gingerly rested his head on her shoulder, dropping his attempts at cheer once she couldn’t see his face, his mouth a flat line as he looked out over the landscape, glaring at the lava spouts.
Which put him as the only one to see a blade emerging from a rip in the air, a glowing purple wound in the very fabric of Avernus.
“Uh… Karlach? Love?! I do not know what is happening, but I doubt it is good. Look, hurry, behind you!”
“Fucking shitting cocks!!”
Wyll drew his rapier. “An incursion from the abyss, a scythe of planes, I believe.”
“Shit! This must have been why that strike force was here! I thought that was too much for Zariel to send just for us.”
“Ah. Um. Hrrrm. I… … Oh dear.” Astarion clung to Karlach tighter.
“Wylly, you’re up. Don’t need to defeat ‘em, don’t do no hero shit. Hide somewhere then keep whatever pops out of there from following us if you gotta.”
He nodded, scanning around for a hiding spot, one hand already glowing. “I will be in touch on the secure stone when I am able.”
“Good luck, Soldier. Fangs?”
“Ye-yes, my love?”
“Hold on tight.”
With that, Karlach took off, not like a bat out of the hells. Not this time. She knew now there was no escape from this pit. Not today, at least. But she ran even faster than she did the day she finally broke ranks from Zariel’s forces. An amazing and terrifying day, that led to her catching that ride out on a passing nautiloid. This time she had something more important than her freedom to safeguard; Karlach kept one arm tightly around Astarion as she ran. Her engine roared, spinning up faster and faster, fueling her incredible acceleration, settling down into a rhythmic purr-like churning once she reached cruising speed. She was a red blur, racing away from the portal, practically leaping from stride to stride.
Astarion clung on tight, not uttering a single word of complaint as he was jostled and shaken. Nor when jets of flame shot out of her shoulder vents, nearly setting his hair ablaze. Instead, he used the flames to cauterize his injured hand, grinning when he staunched the bleeding.
She leapt from sharp rock to sharp rock, smashing down onto a chunk of obsidian, shattering it further into countless needle-sharp shards, doing a number on her boots, but not slowing down. Cresting the ridge, she flung herself behind a large rock, one of a number that lined the ridge, as if they were spikes in some sort of fuck-off huge creature’s back.
Karlach leaned against the rock, panting, allowing herself to stop and think. Anything that had come through that portal couldn’t see them here, even if Wyll failed to distract the abyssal incursion. They were safe, for now. But only for now. There was no time to rest, not here, not yet. That was just how it went, being back in this shithole. Hardly had a moment to think.
Think about anything but how to fucking survive, anyway. While there was no day or night in Avernus, there was still a schedule, set by the archbitch herself, in her flying fortress. Karlach shielded her eyes and scanned the red sky, searching among the ghastly clouds. There. A speck way off in the distance, had to be over the hellwasp nests.
Good thing devils loved their fucking routines so much, none of the marching schedules had been changed in a direbadger’s age. She couldn’t bring Astarion back to their little hidey-hole for hours to come, but they didn’t have much blood stored back there anyway. No, there was a much better spot to head to currently. So long as she was careful about it.
She looked down at the sand dunes in front of them with a grimace. A blasted sea of sand, no doubt filled with devils. Good thing it wasn’t only her battle skills that made Karlach Zariel’s prized champion. After taking a deep breath, she readjusted her grip on Astarion and pushed away from the rock, starting to slowly and evenly walk over the sand, making as little noise as possible, eyes constantly searching for tell-tale signs of movement under the sand.
Astarion had been quiet this whole time, watching her and keeping an eye on their surroundings in turn. He spoke up now, interrupting her thoughts, “How much of my armor is fused with my remaining skin?” He wiggled the stumps that used to be his legs slightly and winced. “It feels like… rather more than I would like…”
“Stop moving, Fangs, stay still and be quiet.”
“Why? Trust me, my dear, it will not hurt less if I don’t move.”
“Because I fucking said so!” She roared, jets of flame shooting out of her shoulder vents.
Astarion went stone still, not even breathing, eyes wide.
Karlach sighed and started to apologize, “Gods, soldier, I—” An eruption of sand right next to them cut her off.
A blasted sand devil grinned up at them, showing its seemingly endless teeth, its long pointed ears wiggling all about as its eyes widened and it patted at the sand like a delighted child.
“ZaRiEl’S eScApEd PeT!”
“Sand devil, not that strong, problem is they’re fucking tattletales. Lurk about reporting everything to their bosses,” Karlach automatically clipped out; explaining their foes to Astarion was how most battles in Avernus started for the trio.
The sand devil screamed, its thin arms flailing widely, a dagger sticking out of one eye. Astarion flung a second dagger, hitting directly in the middle of its other eye.
Karlach didn’t waste a second, turning tail and running at a breakneck pace once more, clutching Astarion tightly. All manner of foes were moving about now; the sand shimmered and moved on either side, but all of the fiends ignored the mismatched pair, much more drawn to the anguished screams of the sand devil.
An agonizingly long few minutes later, she leapt over the last sand dune, feet finally on solid ground. The land ahead of them appeared to be glowing with the last embers of a dying fire. When Karlach had first come to this miserable pit she naturally assumed a raging fire had just swept through, and soon the final glowing sparks would fade. It looked exactly the same now. The same as it had for centuries, ever since Tiamat’s infernal fire set the lush garden aflame. These embers would still glow long after her bones were dust, and no one in all the realms remembered a woman named Karlach Cliffgate once lived.
Even by Avernus’s standards, this miserable patch of ground was dangerous. The lingering dragon fire roared back to life after anyone trod a single step onto the smoldering ground. It was as if was a living thing, pursuing interlopers until they managed to either escape or became but more ashes on the ground, soon compacted down into the mass.
Anyone, that was, except those already burning with infernal fire or the dead. Only those went ignored by eternally voracious flame, otherwise it hungrily sought even devil-kin.
Shifting Astarion to put more of his weight on her hip, she took a drink from her canteen, allowing herself a moment of recovery. They were relatively safe. For now. After orientating herself off the terrible jagged peaks in the distance, she started moving again, shifting into the same marching cadence she had done so many times before, under the threat of Zariel’s lash.
She silently marched on, more bloody marching through the literally godsforsaken literal hellscape. After ten minutes or so, Astarion broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Cazador would open me up. Literally. Crack my rib cage open. Pull my heart out. Cut some vessels, but leave enough attached that the curse could keep me… going, I guess? Alive doesn’t seem like the most fitting word...”
“That doesn’t make this any—”
“He’d hold a wooden stake near it. My heart. Where I could see. He’d press the stake against it. Sometimes, he would even barely, oh so barely, piece it.”
“Why the fuck are you telling me this now?!”
“That is, I think, the worst physical pain I have ever felt, in all of my undeath. It does make sense, I suppose. A stake all the way through would properly kill me. One of the few ways I can truly cease to be.”
“This still happened to you, because of me! Not even you can come back if you up burn to godsdamn ashes.”
“He’d make me beg him not to do it. Once…” He bitterly laughed as he continued, “Once I told him to do it already, quit this farce and end me! Mmm. That was what we call a mistake, my dear. We always had to play along with maaaaster’s little games.”
“What… what did he do?”
“Jammed the stake in. Not fully, of course, but… enough. I was in agony! Then he walked away. For half a tenday.”
“Fucking gods…”
“Karlach, I am used to pain. My present… state is not what I would call fun. It is not pleasant. I do not enjoy it. I will scream when I am undressed. But I am, honestly and truly, fine. I will heal.”
“I just fucking hate seeing you hurt…”
“I know, love. I appreciate it. I hate seeing me hurt too!”
She sighed and finally would look him in the face again. “Dammit, Astarion…”
He smiled and asked, eyes wide and bright, “Can I move again?”
“What?” Karlach groaned when the realization hit. “Fangs! I just meant… argh!” She held him out and glared. When his only response was giggling, she starting shaking him, the vibrations distorting his giggles.
She sighed and held him close again, laughing slightly herself as she kept walking, coming to the edge of the forever burning field, demarcated by a crude stone wall that looked like it would crumble at any moment. It had also been here, looking exactly the same, when Karlach arrived in this foul smelling pit. She pressed up to it, peering around the edge.
Astarion repositioned himself slightly, peering around as well. He whispered, “Ooooh, that is where we are going?” He grinned. “Karlach, love… does this mean?”
On the other side of the wall was the ruined mess of houses, a mockery of a settlement that Karlach called Temptationsville. Flo had told her how, in ages past, parts of Avernus looked almost nothing like a literal hellscape, instead there were streets paved with cobblestones formed out of precious metals that led to lush gardens, elegant fountains, and luxurious mansions. All constructed to show mortals what they might gain out of a contract or three with a blasted devil.
Ruinsville might be a better name for it now, really, as Zariel didn’t particular care about mortal souls, except in how she could use them in the bloodwar. The lush gardens were naught but more ash, the mansions luxurious rubble, and the fountains elegantly ran with blood.
“Yeah, yeah, you win. It’s been a while since you took that swim that I swear almost made my engine even up and explode here, but you haven’t grown extra eyes or forgot who are you are—”
“Not again, at any rate,” he chimed out with a giggle.
“Not the time, Fangs.”
“…sorry.”
“Can’t get distracted, gotta be ready to duke it out with more fuckers.”
“I… I know, my love. Believe me, I do know. I simply… mmm. Heh… I do tend to… prattle on, don’t I? My apologies.”
“Gods. Astarion….” She hugged him tenderly. “I like your jokes, my little funny pointy soldier. When you fell in, I thought I’d lost you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. If something really happened. If you had been all burnt up to nothing.”
“You would go on. The same way I would if something happened to you. Or Wyll, if something happened to both of us. You would survive and carry on. For that is all we can do…”
Karlach blinked. “Wow, broke out the serious deep voice and everything.”
In a much higher pitch, Astarion squawked out, “First I have too much levity and now too much seriousness?” He pouted at her. “Karlach, darling. I’m going to play the I have been horrifically burnt card and simply insist you have to be nice to me.”
She laughed and kissed his pout away, making sure to rub the tip of her nose against his. At least that wasn’t burnt. “My sweet, toasty darling.”
The ruined road to this section of Ruined-Temptationsville was deserted. Only a couple buildings of any note remained standing. Karlach had seen most of the others fall during her first week here. She had been scavenging for something to remind her of home, when a portal opened and a huge fuck off demon bird thing with too many limbs and beaks and teeth and wings made of knives flew through, screaming and screaming and screaming. Blood ran from her ears and buildings fell all around her, then almost on top of her as she ran and ran and ran.
She thought she was going to die.
Instead, she met Florenta the Garrotter.
Karlach sighed, shaking her head, no, she couldn’t get distracted now. Even if all seemed calm. They were sitting ducks, forced to walk down the street rather than run, going fast was far too risky, the road was a pitted mess, most of the cobblestones were long gone, melted or looted by an optimistic mortal. She was heading to a fountain, battered and ruined; the ornamental statue at its center missing more bits than Astarion at the moment. That didn’t stop it from working either, bright crimson blood flowed from the mutilated statue, down into the jumbo bathtub sized basin.
Astarion’s bony hand shot in front of her face, he played it off as if he was merely stretching, but he lingered a tad too long for that to be the case. She flicked her eyes at him, keeping her pace steady and her face blank. His ears twitched, his own eyes jerking towards one of the remaining structures, looked like part of a mansion. Karlach’s hearing was pretty damn good, but it was no match for a vampire elf’s. Whatever was in there had to have seen them already, no point in turning tail and fleeing. It couldn’t be anything too nasty, or it would have already burst out to attack them.
She marched right past the fountain, as if it was never her goal, right up to the building Astarion indicated, and flung the door open.
It was a fancy pants looking kitchen. With a handful of pale purple imps wearing blackened metal armor. Most were sitting on the scratched up table, with one pressed up against the window, all looked towards Karlach and Astarion with wide surprised eyes.
“Dis imps. Spy fucks. Hot armor.” Karlach snatched the one at the window up and flung it at the table, sending imps flying all about, most not under their own power. “’sides that they’re just extra sneaky imps.”
The battle was over almost before it began, the imps’ corpses disintegrating, their essences already back in Dis, working to reform. Even without weapons and one arm busy with Astarion, the only advantage any imp had over Karlach was speed; not a very useful trait when fighting in a small space. There had been a lot of spinning about during the battle as she grabbed the little fucks as they futilely tried to flee.
Astarion had buried his face in the crook of her neck. He weakly said, “Why… oh… why can I get motion sick… I… would like to put in a complaint with the originator of my curse…”
Karlach sat him down on the table then started searching the kitchen. “Anyway. Dis imps. Not Avernus imps. Being away from home and just imps might mean we walked in on a fucking spy report and we’re safe cuz they’d find a clear spot to gossip…”
“Annnnnd the less appealing possibility?”
She finally found a cabinet that would actually open and was not simply carved onto the wood as part of the illusion of opulence of this false estate. “They were here because something is going down soon, they heard about it, and showed up early to get nice and cozy in their spy hole.”
“Ah. Hrm. Well. Another question!” He clapped his hands together, smiling brightly and somehow not wincing in the slightest as he wiggled the remains of his legs. “Ready for the fun of removing my armor?”
“Want me to go get you something to eat first?” She waved the goblet she found in his direction.
He blinked at her, then said firmly. “No.” He smiled at her once more. “Ah, no. Let us simply get this over with. Then, my dear, it shall all be downhill!”
Removing his armor was as much of an ordeal she feared. Like foretold, Astarion contributed a healthy amount of screaming, with some swearing from the both of them and a spot of crying from Astarion to round out the experience. Finally, though, he was undressed, Karlach carefully holding her nude and trembling partner, trying to avoid his re-opened wounds as much as possible. She stroked his hair gently, both of them even more streaked with his blood than previously. Karlach was still somehow surprised by how much blood one body could hold…
“Well, soldier, that was horrible.”
“Karlach!” He fixed her with his most offended glare. “That is not what a man wants to hear when his love beholds his naked form.”
A good performance, but he started shaking slightly again and panting as soon as the last word left his mouth. “Least we found something to cover you with.” She sat him on the remains of a gingham curtain, kicking his ruined leather armor to the side. Neither one of them wanted to repair it, or to allow Wyll to repair it. Let someone else unlucky enough to end up here scavenge it.
“That is the least of my worries, love. I am no shrinking easily embarrassed violet. That is our sweet Wyllyam. Though the effort is appreciated!” he said with a giggle.
“Well, if you don’t mind if the wind blows grit into your open wounds, then I’ll just take the damn thing back.”
“Ah!” He batted her hands away from where he was holding it shut at his midsection. “Well. When you put it like that how can I refuse your generous gift.”
“There you go.”
She snatched him up and carried him back to the fountain, on keen alert for anything else lurking in the wrecked courtyard in the meantime, even as she held him over the fountain to give the flowing blood the smell test.
Astarion took a tentative sniff, then licked his lips. “It’s good! You can let go.” He started to struggle in her grip, snarling out, “Let me go!” His eyes were wide, spittle flying out of his mouth as he snapped his jaws, hands frantically clawing out for the flowing blood. She had no doubt he would be kicking her as well, if you know, he had feet.
Karlach moved her hands just so and he fell from the curtain sling, plopping into the fountain. “You know, Fangs, sometimes I forget about that whole bloodlust thing… then you gotta go and remind me,” she said, knowing full-well he could not hear her.
A few minutes later, she was sitting on the edge of the fountain, watching him scurry about under the blood, his white hair an excellent position marker. If only this was water, clean fresh water and not blood… it would be nice to take her shoes off and stick her feet in. He breached the surface dramatically, splashing Karlach with yet more blood as he flung his head back, laughing and laughing.
(thanks to AlwaysMauria for the amazing shot!!!)
“Good, huh?”
“Delicious!” He grinned at her, the blood running off him faster than it really should, eager to rejoin the rest of the mass in the fountain.
Blood worked weird in Avernus, but then, what didn’t work weird in Avernus. Still, Karlach never got used to how quickly blood spilt on the ground soaked in, being pulled towards the nearest underground stream of blood. One of them was feeding this very fountain. Others would join to form the famous blood rivers of Avernus, all eventually flowing into the most famous of them all, the River Styx. Astarion had deemed that river most unappetizing. They all looked the same to Karlach, but who was she to argue with a vampire about blood taste rankings.
“Hurry up and grow your bits back.”
“Behold, my dear,” he purred out, holding his previously horrendously injured hand up at her. It was now pristine, as if he never even had a hangnail in all of his unlife. “Ta-dah!”
She whistled in approval, leaning forwards to inspect his hand more. “Shit, Fangs, it’s like nothing happened!”
“See! I do not get hurt that much. Not if you are still impressed by my healing.” He started slurping up more blood, using his hands to drink.
“Mmmhrmmm.” She commented, kneeling down at the fountains edge, wiping blood off, holding the curtain over him afterwards and wringing it out, smiling at him as he held his mouth open for the dripping blood. She then sighed and said, “Still feel bad, dragging you into my nonsense. Fangs… you gotta stop getting hurt. You say it’s not that much, but it breaks my heart a bit every time… you never got hurt like this before!”
“I was not fighting alone before.”
She tilted her head to the side. “What?”
He ducked down into the blood pool again, drinking heartily, then popped up next to her, sitting on the edge of the fountain, covered in blood once more. He kicked his legs and motioned at them with a grin— both of his legs had functioning knees again! Karlach softly said, “Fuck,” as she really took in his legs. They were pristine above his knees, and they were growing in front of her eyes; each time he kicked his legs there was a bit more length emerging back out of the blood.
Astarion waggled his eyebrows at her and then explained, “Back in the worm days, our little wiggling friends, well… I would use them to give me, oh… hints here and there, tiptoeing into your minds in the midst of battle to discover what the much more experienced of us speculated our foes would try next.”
“You little cheater.” She pondered for a moment, flipping the last month’s worth of battles through her head. “Shit, Fangs, that makes a lot of stuff make way more sense. You are getting better but…”
“I am… still rather a novice, my dear. Yes. I was also rarely on the frontlines during our adventures, as well and… it seems that fighting here, at times, has nothing but frontlines…”
“Ugh, you can say that again. Speaking of…” She stood up, making sure the frontlines were not creeping up onto them even as they spoke, walking a few paces away for a better vantage point.
All seemed quiet still, good. At least behind them. She turned to patrol the other side, only to stop in mid-step, lucky she didn’t trip over her own feet.
Astarion was still sitting on the side of the fountain, kicking his legs, but it was his back that drew Karlach’s attention so and made even her blood run cold. Enough blood had dripped off him that she could see the skin on his back and also healed. Fully. Including those scars. They were back. The contract came back.
Which meant the contract was still active. A contract with fucking Mephistopheles
Shit. Shit. SHIT.
“Shit,” Astarion said, lifting his legs up fully out of the blood, peering down at them. They stopped at his ankles, showing no further signs of healing, ending in smooth stumps instead of open wounds. He looked back at Karlach and laughed. “Ah, only a small miscalculation, my love, that is all. No need for such a horrified look on your beautiful face. I simply need a few more sips and—”
A cacophony from above interrupted him. A legion of flying devils, scuffling with each other, far above the pair. Zariel’s vanguard. Her fucking fortress was flying directly towards them. Fuck, this wasn’t her regular pattern!
As Karlach tried to make sense of this, something exited the floating fortress, some sort of ship. Right. Enough was fucking enough.
She snatched Astarion up and started running, heading away, not towards anything in particular, only away. He clung to her tightly, keeping watch behind, saying, “Keep running, love, they haven't spotted us yet. Keep running.”
Karlach didn’t need to be told that, she had survived here ten years already. Surviving Avernus was an awful lot of running. Though this was the first time she had done so much running carrying her naked and feetless vampire boyfriend.