TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic Sexual Content | Non-Consensual Sexual Themes (Dream / Psychological) | Sexual Violence (Implied / Dream Sequence) | Choking / Asphyxiation | Intrusive Violent Thoughts | Psychological Horror | Religious Trauma / Cult Indoctrination | Mind Control / Loss of Agency | Violence | Death (Implied) | Gore (Referenced, Not Descriptive) | Manipulation and Coercion | Nightmares / Disturbing Dreams

I lie in my bedroll; the night is long and quiet. Despite my efforts to settle, I feel my head swimming once again. Every night is restless for me. It seems Bhaal does not wish for me to get a decent night's sleep.

I run my hand across my face, and with a heavy sigh, I get up. Maybe a walk will help quiet the voices.

Astarion and Shadowheart are neatly tucked in, sleeping next to the smoldering embers of the campfire, but to my surprise, Bex is nowhere to be seen. I look around and see footprints meandering toward the willow. I follow them, finding her standing beneath the great tree. She's in her camp clothes, looking up into the branches, as if she's waiting for them to tell her something.

I don't know what noise I made to alert her, but she turns and sees me. "Oh! I didn't realize you would be awake."

"I'm having trouble sleeping. What are you doing out here?"

She runs her hand across the bark of the tree before closing her fist. "I want to get a head start on looking for clues. We might be able to return sooner than anticipated."

I glance around and feel the quiet air rush past me before walking up to her, giving her a subtle side-eye. "Are you so keen to be rid of me?"

She laughs quietly. "It's not you, it's this place. It feels off. I can't sense it in the weave, but I feel it in my bones."

"Psychosomatic, maybe? You can't believe everything I say." A cheeky grin plays across my face.

She snorts, shoving me. "My feelings are my own; don't try to brush them aside so easily."

Her point rings true; I've got no stance to argue. I feel my smile, and she returns it in kind. I can't help but feel a pang of serenity. But the moment my heart settles, I am assaulted by another sensation. Fear—and it smothers my mind.

I feel the presence of Bhaal growing stronger on this night. I know, despite my desires, his will is stronger than mine. Whatever is to come, I can do nothing to stop it. The tranquil sound of the river around us is drowned out by the thunderous sound of my own heartbeat.

"I should go," I mutter, turning myself inward as I step back.

Bex isn't blind to my turmoil. She sees my face fall and reaches out a gentle hand. "Is everything alright?"

I shift and run my fingers through my hair. "Yes. I think the day is finally catching up to me." I see the concern on her face, not that I deserve such a thing. "Don't worry about me. I'll finish my walk and head back to my bedroll. Have a good night."

She grabs my arm, and I look back at her.

"Come, Vash. Sit with me."

I'm wary to remain, but maybe... only for a moment.

She sits cross legged with her back to the tree and pats the ground next to her.

I gently sit where she beckons me and close my eyes for a moment before I hear her speak.

"So, how have I been doing?" Her question is sincere, but I have a one-liner in the barrel. Something-something, all you want is validation.

I look over at her; the delicate circlets of her hair catch the moonlight in a whimsical way. I hear the wind drifting through the hanging branches of the willow. The gentle flow of the Chionthar bends around us in a lazy cadence.

I take her hand, weaving my fingers into hers, and rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes once more. The tumultuous fear subsides, and all I feel is her warmth next to me. She reaches over and pats my hand, resting her head on mine.

My mind begins to drift away.

After what only seems like a moment, I feel her hand slip out of mine as she gets up.

I barely open my eyes, my lids heavy and uncooperative. “Great conversation. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” My voice is labored and groggy.

I feel her chuckle as she rests my head against the trunk of the tree. I fully intend to go back to my bedroll, but my body refuses to rise. Perhaps it's for the best.

The night is quiet once again. Bex has likely left to camp without me, but then I feel a soft, warm weight settling in my lap. She giggles as I open my eyes, seeing her looking at me expectantly.

She has effortlessly commanded my attention. "I suppose a conversation is best had face to face." I give her a flirtatious smile as I rub my eyes back into focus.

Bex grips the back of my head and pulls herself close to me. I feel her breath against my mouth as she hesitates, not sure if she should or not. It feels dangerous, enticing me deeply. I dare to run my fingers through her soft curls, and her scent fills my senses. Our eyes meet, and she leans in closer. With another brief hesitation, she presses her lips to mine. It sends a pulse of comfort through me. I sigh and take her in, softly dragging my fingers up the ridges of her spine.

Is this really happening? Why? What did I do to warrant this?

I want to know so I can keep doing it.

Her pulse races with guiltless pleasure as her fingers drift across my chest. I pull off my tunic and quickly toss it aside. She leans down, giving my collarbone a gentle kiss before dragging her teeth against my skin. "I just want to bite you." Her tail lashes with excitement.

I laugh softly and begin to pull her tunic out of the waistband of her skirt. Her breasts are freed from the garment. Cut them off. Feed them to her. They are slight and glow with the soft pink tint of her hellish skin. With a craving, I reach up and cup them in my palms. A soft moan escapes her.

I want her to make that sound again.

Her lips caress my neck. Tender kisses dot my chest and track down my stomach. She runs her wet tongue up my shaft, watching me. "I want it." She moans, pulling me into her hot mouth.

I sigh and close my eyes. "Say it again."

I become slick in her care, her voice, languid and greedy. "I want it."

My eyes track her as she crawls into my lap once more, lifting her skirt. She licks her fingers and caresses herself with an exhale, eyes rolling back, head lolling with the pleasure of her own touch.

I run my fingers up her thighs before gripping her hips and pulling her onto me, possessively. She gasps deeply as I enter her.

Gods, she feels like velvet.

Each thrust sends a shock through my body. Each sound that escapes her lips elicits a wanting in my heart.

I lift her, pressing her back against the smooth, silver bark of the willow. She clings to the tree in desperation as I orchestrate our shared reverie.

She pulls herself up by my horns, rolling her hips, breathless and flushed. Her body quakes and she throws her head back, crying in pleasure. "Gods, Vash!"

I hold her tight against me, carrying her to a bed of leaves below the willow. I take a moment to savor the sight of her beneath me. Her skin glistens in the glow of the night sky. Her breasts lie beautifully across her chest, delicate and supple. I lean down, sucking and nibbling.

She runs her hands down my back, and her voice hums seductively in my ear. "Fuck me."

My words return with a playfully feral bite. "Beg me."

Her lips are flushed and pouting like a supplicant, locking her ankles behind me possessively. Her face twists from unsatiated desire.
"Please!" She cries. "Please fuck me, Vash!"

The pain in her voice drives a shift within me; I need to become her exaltation.
I glide myself into her.

She gasps sharply. The anticipation has worked her into raw bliss. "Gods!"

I grip her hair as sensual whimpers carry forth from her lips. Her thighs tighten around my waist as she reaches the crescendo of her desire. She cries my name, her voice echoing across the river.

My fingers drag across her neck to find her quivering pulse. My palm presses.

Her throat swallows reflexively. A tapping on my shoulder. Her body writhes.

Her hand on my face. I pin it down. Her other hand pushes me weakly.

My arm shakes from the strength of my grip. Rallied and alive by her undoing.

Her eyes roll back, pulse growing shallow beneath my hand. Her light is consumed by my frenzied desires, luring me to the pinnacle of my own satisfaction.

I will plant my seed in her corpsed womb, consecrating her body like a hallowed grave. She should feel honored to be venerated by me in the name of Bhaal.

"I wish you could live long enough to appreciate this."

No!

I am dropped back into my body and I double over, clutching my chest. My heart is pounding in my ears as I dry heave in the mud.

Not again.

The willow tree looms over me, a lone witness to my desperate need for air.

I stagger to my feet, and fall against the willow's trunk, chest heaving.

The moons hang high, and toads chirp along the riverbank. The tranquility of the night is a cruel mockery of my disorientation.

Bex is nowhere to be seen. Is she still alive? Did I tear her apart?

I look at my shaking hands. Clean.

It doesn't feel like I've been doing anything except sleeping for the past few hours. No ache in my arms, no sensation of fighting through a struggling victim. It doesn't even feel like I've had sex.

Searching the ground, circling the tree. There is no sign of her.

"Bex?"

My tone is urgent, as if commanding her to appear.

She's not here.

The camp. Hopping the stones two at a time, I make my way back.

Everything is exactly as I left it. Her bedroll is still empty.

I grip my head to try to contain my mania.

Why in the hells did the wretched thoughts have to permeate my dreams of all things? Do I have no sanctuary from Bhaal's whispers? Even for one gods-forsaken night?!

Deep resentment grips me, and I take a sharp breath in through my nose, giving an even longer exhale.

Focus.

I should head back to the willow to collect myself. I am unnerved.

I'm searching as I walk back, as if looking twice will manifest her.

A pathetic notion, that a butcher would beg to be coddled.

I was so undeserving of her touch, but now it's all I desire. The only gift I could offer in return is a quick snuffing out.

It's all I'm good for.

My body settles into a cold acceptance.

This is the nature of who I am. Fighting it won't keep me from my killing fate.

By Bhaal's will, I live to serve and care only for Him.

But I've already broken that tenet. I care deeply for myself, and I do not regret doing so.

How long have I been falling?

Was I punished for my heresy?

Is that why I'm here now?

The sharp blades of the Weave cut at me like I've never felt before, and I hear a sniveling voice coiling into my ears from behind.

"Mi'lord?"

I turn swiftly to find some sort of profane goblin in a suit and top hat. He jumps as I turn my eyes to him. "Mi'lord!" He pulls off his hat, genuflecting with adoration. "I've been searching the whole of the Sword Coast to find you!"

I stare at him, not sure how to process his theatrics. "Who… are you?" I swiftly look around. "Is this another dream?" I can't trust my own mind.

His giddy laughter is sharp and grating. "This is no dream, young master! I've come to aid you." He bows deeply. "Sceleritas Fel, your most loyal butler!"

The silence between us unnerves the creature, and he begins to gibber, animated in his reverence. "The sacrifice of the bard was a master class in ritualistic murder! It's what called me to you. Father was so proud! Oh, Master, I'm so happy to have found you!"

My hair stands on end at the mention of her. "You know about Alfira? Can you tell me what happened that night? Why did I black out? Why did Bhaal demand I sacrifice her?"

He jumps with delight, holding his hands out to me. "Instinct happened! Bhaal did not predestine her as a victim, mi'lord, you marked her yourself. A clever choice, and your lure was flawless. Even in your ruined state you continue to behave with the decorum befitting your station."

His dark, beady eyes watch me like a proud uncle, though his oily grin reeks of deception. I can't get a handle on what he might be lying about. "I didn't mark her though. The voice that beckoned her to join wasn't mine."

He scoffs, "A voice inside your own head? Not yours? Young Master, you have always needed... Extra care. I am loath to consider what lapses you have suffered without my guiding hand."

"Lapses." I feel a pang of desperation. "Can you help me control them? I can't keep stumbling around slaughtering allies in my sleep. One whiff of blood could break their faith in me. I need these people if I am to survive in my current state."

Sceleritas grins wide, an air of mischief about him. "It is in knowing yourself that you can gain the control you seek."

With a sweeping gesture of his gnarled fingers, he summons forth an object that manifests in the space in front of me.

I reach out and grasp a neatly folded garment. An invisibility cape. Mine. It even smells the way I remember. "The Deathstalker Mantle." My eyes grow wide. "I was a Deathstalker." A rush of pride surges through me to be counted among Bhaal's most elite assassins—a lofty title. I look down at my light armor: ominous, dark, and whisper-quiet. I would be a ghost on a night hunt, if I left behind my precious greatsword and sabatons behind.

He postures, his voice warbling with conviction. "As a Deathstalker, you are sworn to make a sacrifice in His name every tenday, or the killing urge will overwhelm you. If you honor your lord, you will remain in control."

I cling to the cape and shake my head. "I don't understand. Deathstalkers are usually clerics, why am I a paladin?"

He grins, approving of my questions. "You are a paladin because you are suited for such an honor. It is who you were made to be."

"Made?" The word lingers, and suddenly everything clicks into place. Bhaal's favor, the unyielding urge to kill, and the Deathstalker's pride. It's almost like I knew it all along. "I'm a Bhaalspawn."

He jumps and squeals, clasping his hands with delight. "I knew master would catch on! You were always such a clever boy!" He turns wistful as he recalls my younger days. "So hungry for knowledge, curious to a fault. Such an easy boy to teach."

My skin crawls as he speaks of my past. Remnants of that child have survived the ruins of my mind, but only to guide me back to The Father. It seems my devotion is what anchors my tempestuous soul above all.

He places a hand on his chest in veneration. The familiar acrid magic rushes through me like probing fingers and fills me with desire and dread. My body shudders with the pull of sensations. "Reclaim yourself, mi'lord. Follow the path of Conquest once again."

His words break open a prescient awakening within me. At last, my hungry heart has purpose. My Oath, in the name of my Father, is Conquest. This is who I am—who I was always meant to be. In a flash, the light of my Oath appears above me. I feel time slow, and the night grows still, hushed by the presence of Bhaal. I bend the knee and reach for my inevitable fate.

For every seed Chauntea sows in life's fertile soil, I am the pestilence that blights her fields.

I am The Reaper who tallies the dead, triumphant.

Where I cast my judgement, the Damned will fall.

My name is the hymnal of fear that foments devotion.

My conquest will be unrelenting, until the world falls silent at my feet.

I swear this Oath to Lord Bhaal.

By His will, by my hand.