Conversation Space III.

[powersthatbe]

A poured concrete floor and cinder block walls are lit by a single bare light bulb hanging overhead. Shackles dangle from brackets on every side, and the chair in the center of the room is clearly an electric chair. A tall glass sits on top of a stool made of what looks like pure gold - but the liquid inside it is almost definitely blood.

Comments

[prolificarse]

Dorian recognizes that horn-helmed figure, and dread settles in his stomach like a lead weight. His shoulders stiffen, muscles cording painfully tight in remembered anticipation of the feel of hot breath on the back of his neck and the proximity of massive claws. He curses, loud and sharp in his mother tongue, something that translates roughly to 'goat-fucking son of a nug and a syphilitic whore', and the faint metallic tang of magic rises as he gestures a shield into being.

He knows better than to believe it's any true protection. It's still better by far than doing nothing at all.

[powersthatare]

The figure emits a low growling sound, staticky and staccato, which grows to become an unconvincing digital facsimile of a laugh.

DORIAN PAVUS. WE MEET AGAIN.

[prolificarse]

Dorian swallows back the metallic taste of horror that coats the back of his throat and asks, "Did you get tired of poisoning your little lightning people and come looking for more victims?"

[powersthatare]

MY FORCES WERE CAST DOWN. DEFEATED. I AM COME TO REPLENISH THEM.

[prolificarse]

"Maybe you should take the hint," Dorian suggests. "Find some other hobby than corruption. I've heard very good things about embroidery."

[powersthatare]

PERHAPS I SHALL. EVEN NOW, MY NAME IS EMBROIDERED ON YOUR SOUL.

[prolificarse]

"No," Dorian says, though the horror is choking, nibbling away at the edges of his resolve. "I am not yours. I refuse."

[powersthatare]

GOOD. YOUR DEFIANCE WILL MAKE YOU STRONG IN MY SERVICE.

[prolificarse]

His hands clench at his sides, bruising tight. "There's nothing you can offer or threaten that will make me serve you."

It's not quite a lie, he thinks. He hopes. It's not quite a truth, either; deep down, when pushed far enough, everyone has a price.

[powersthatare]

I OFFER THE POWER TO REMAKE YOUR WORLD ACCORDING TO YOUR WHIM.

I THREATEN TO REMAKE IT IN MINE.

[prolificarse]

"If you think there's anything to remake, you've clearly never been to a Satinalia festival," Dorian replies, drawing glibness around himself like armor, though the leaden quality of it betrays his horror.

"And if I take the power you offer to reshape the world, it will amount to much the same thing. The gifts of demons never come without a cost."

[powersthatare]

THE COST WILL BE WHAT YOU PAY ON JAUNTS.

AND I AM NOT A DEMON.

[prolificarse]

"You're no better than one. I won't doom other worlds for you. My integrity's worth a bit more than a few threats and empty offers."

[powersthatare]

DEFIANCE. THAT IS GOOD, TOO.

[prolificarse]

He swallows hard, clinging to the anger that lies overtop his dread, like a thin skin of new ice over open water.

"We'll see how well you like it when all of this is done."

[powersthatare]

WE WILL. AS WILL YOU. IT IS... INEVITABLE.