The Ecstasy of Gold

“It should be around here somewhere,” the vampiress muttered, half to herself and half as reassurance to her companion. Her brilliant, golden eyes pierced the darkness effortlessly, scanning each brick of the alleyway for hidden signs. Trailing her by a dozen paces, a garishly dressed warrior carried a torch in one hand and a stack of scrolls in the other, his human eyes less suited for the midnight hours. “The Syndicate keeps these stockpiles hidden for good reason; some of the things interred stretch the definition of 'legal'.”

“Oh trust me,” Zermat said, squinting behind his horned mask as Petra's shape moved further into the gloom, “that's my favorite kind of 'legal'. But you're sure whatever the Pontiff has locked up will help us? Could be nothing but dusty ledgers and tithe receipts.” The wan, delicate lawyer had told him of her findings earlier that night; that her superiors in the Orzhov Syndicate kept vast repositories hidden in plain sight, away from where their competitors would ever look. At first, Zermat was overcome with visions of gleaming treasure and enchanted trinkets. But as the hours crept by and he felt his eyes growing heavier, the more he doubted Petra's reliability. This was the sixth alley they had combed over, looking for secret entrances and hidden clues. And while Zermat felt himself growing sluggish and weary as the moon dipped beneath the city's skyline, the deathless advokist remained as alert and aware as she was at noon. “I sure would hate to be kept up all night just to find more old papers.”

“Oh I assure you Mr. Yetinsyny, a cache of secret records would prove a far superior weapon than some magic staff or ensorcelled blade. At least as long as they're in my hands, I mean.” Petra tapped the foot of her staff against a curious, hexagonal brick, stroking her chin and biting her lip. “Please keep up, I need to see the frottage kit again.”

“I really wish you'd call it something else,” Zermat mumbled, trudging forwards and offering Petra one of the scrolls. “Keep thinking we're going to rub something other than charcoal.” Petra took the paper and unrolled it, spreading it over the flagstone. Ignoring the Rakdos' complaints, she fished through her voluminous white robe, eventually producing a stick of ebon-black charcoal. She quickly rubbed it over the paper, producing an impression of the stone beneath. After a quick inspection, Petra leaped up in excitement, nearly falling over before Zermat caught her.

Petra recovered quickly, needing no time to catch her breath. “Notice anything?” She said, holding the rubbing up to the light so Zermat could see. Peering at the blackened parchment, Zermat could vaguely make out a few markings that stood out from the flagstone's rough surface. An oblong diamond near the top, then two sets of figure-eights on the far side of the stone.

“Nothing different from the last four,” Zermat muttered, straining to pick out any further details from the carbon. He wondered how long Petra had been a vampire; he was old for a Cultist, and for the better part of the past decade he'd felt the weight of those years. While he had to exert himself to perform the stunts and contortions he once did with ease, his partner seemed as capable as any girl in her early twenties. Dainty-figured and elegant, her porcelain-white skin and gem-like eyes the only signs that she was anything other than human. And yet despite her tender appearance, Petra's mind spoke of countless years, decades even, of patient, cloistered study.
He envied her, her eternal youth and beauty, how she could ignore cold and hunger and fatigue while he struggled with the failings of his mortal body. His mind ruminated, wandering in places it normally avoided in the waking hours. If he lived to see fifty and his red hair turned gray, would Petra's still be a perfect midnight black?

“To the untrained eye, yes,” Petra said, rolling up the scroll and taking another from Zermat's arm. “But  to someone with two degrees in clerical cryptography, these symbols punctuate the sentence we've been deciphering all night.” Petra unrolled the second scroll, then a third, then a fourth, laying them out next to each other. Each one displayed another charcoal rubbing of an alley flagstone, the fruits of the pair's night-long excursion. “The first,” she said, indicating a rubbing with her staff, “contains coordinates for the second, which contains coordinates for the third, and so on.”

Zermat lifted his bovine mask and pinched his brow, chewing on his beard in frustration. “Some of us have to sleep, Mrs. Cartographer. And while I'm always up for an all-nighter, I'd rather not spend it looking for bricks numbers six, seven and eight.”

Petra smiled, revealing her needle-like fangs. “That won't be necessary, Mr. Yetinsyny. Because the fifth,” she pointed to the newest rubbing, “is ecclesiastical shorthand for 'here'! And if my readings are correct,” Petra turned and faced the far wall of the alley. The passage was a dead-end, hemmed in on two sides by condemned tenement buildings and an sanatorium on the third. “We should be right on top of the Pontiff's secret vault.” She tapped the tip of her staff against the sanatorium's exterior, examining every section of the wall with a scrutiny that would rival a master mason's. After a few minutes of fruitless probing, Petra yelped in exclamation, nearly losing balance again.

“What is it? Gold?” Zermat asked, approaching the wall and shining the torchlight on the spot Petra had surveyed so excitedly. In a way he was right; a tiny gold disc no larger than his thumbnail was inlaid in the stone, just a few inches above the ground. Zermat's eyes widened. “Incredible,” he said, crouching down to examine the circle. Up close, he could just make out the symbol of the Orzhov guild embossed on its surface. “A pile of rubbish or a dumped body and you'd never know it's there. Though I guess if any random bum could end up napping against it, getting in won't be as easy as saying 'We're here!,' will it?”

“What you're looking at is a lock,” Petra said, squatting next to Zermat with one hand on her staff, the other brushing dust off the gold disc. “Fortunately for us, I think you have the key.”

Zermat turned his ox-masked face to glare at Petra, waiting for her to clarify. His normal razor wit was dull with exhaustion, and his patience for word games was wearing thin.

“Blood, Mr. Yetinsyny. Fresh, mortal blood.” Zermat cocked his head at Petra's remark. He could swear he saw the vampire's pale tongue lick her lips. “It's a common Church sacrament, and we value it just as much as gold.”

“Oh I'm certain of that. Any chance there's a Guildless beggar on the corner who could help us out?” Zermat tossed the scrolls aside and rose, a wicked rapier having appeared in their place, its tip barbed and hooked, its blade as black as the midnight sky.

“No, stop!” Petra shouted, running back and blocking the way out of the alley. “You don't—there's no reason—please don't hurt anyone!”

Zermat sighed dramatically, sheathing his sword with an artful flourish. “A shame. Its been such a dull night, I was hoping my key would open up something, one way or another.”

Petra rolled her eyes, shifting her staff from one gloved hand to the other. “Just, I don't know, prick yourself with that awful thing. We don't need to get anyone involved with this, especially not when the Church is liable to come looking. I can heal whatever you end up doing, if you get hurt that is. I know the psalms. The, uh, healing ones.”

Zermat nodded in submission, slowly withdrawing his sword. “Oh I'll prick something,” he said as he undid his left gauntlet, he pressed the barbed point against the palm. “I get no pleasure in this,” he hissed from behind his wooden visage as blood trickled down his wrist, “but that dosen't have to make two of us.”

“I have my reserves, thank you very much.” Petra parted her robe, showing a collection of gold-trimmed vials, each full of a telltale dark red liquid. “Now just press your hand to the signet and repeat after me; 'Platete dŭlga, kŭm Vizkopa'.”

Zermat complied, kneeling to rub his palm against the wall and repeating the Orzhov prayer. A bloody hand-print encircled the gold disc and Zermat mouthed the High Ravi words, wiping his hand off on his breeches. “Pay your debts? Is that what that translates to?”

“A command,” Petra said, rushing to Zermat's side. “And a reminder, to the spirits bound here. Now if you'll let me see to that hand.” Clutching her staff, she began to intone another Orzhov hymn, each syllable causing a luminous rune to appear in orbit of her outstretched hand. As her prayer concluded, the magical halo arced from her palm to Zermat's. The ring of characters surrounded his wound, their luster quickly draining as the injury sealed itself closed. In an instant, the magic faded, Zermat's palm again unblemished. “Now, if you'll get to a safe distance, Mr Yetinsyny,” Petra said as she backed away from the bloodstained wall.

“Safe from what?” Zermat stood up and turned to face the vampire, when a rumble shook the alleyway. Zermat darted back, brandishing his jagged blade at the creaking stones. The wall surrounding the disc had begun to shift, rising up as the alley beneath sank. Sections of the cobbles dropped away, forming a set of stairs. As the rumbling continued, the stone of the hospital wall parted to form a tall, cyclopean door. Even in the dim torchlight, he could make out the proud Orzhov sun emblazoned across the entrance. As the rumbling settled, decades of dust shaken free and floating in the air, Zermat and Petra stood atop a steep staircase leading down to a gilded, rune-encrusted gate. “Ah, from the city itself baring its hidden entrance to us. Perhaps there's some excitement in store tonight after all.” Zermat advanced towards the door sword-first, waving for Petra to follow.

Inside, the sanctum was lavishly decorated, far more evocative of a hierarch's seraglio than a forbidden crypt. In contrast to the weathered cobbles outside, the walls were polished marble, decorated with luxurious drapes and deep, velvety carpets. Gold-trimmed lumenglobes lined the walls, bathing the opulent refuge with ethereal white light. Zermat signaled to stop, inspecting a squat ivory urn that sat nestled in an alcove. “Is this...human?” Zermat hefted the vessel and peered inside it before looking for Petra's answer.

“Elf, I think, and I'd be very careful where you put your fingers, Mr. Yetinsyny. The Orzhov dead serve the Church just as tenaciously the living. Regardless of their will.”

He gently put the urn down, side-eyeing Petra as he did. “Does that apply to you too?” Petra's lip curled at Zermat's remark and her gloved knuckles tightened around her staff. The vampire pushed past Zermat, left hand balled into a fist. “Oh come on Mrs. Mortician,” Zermat called after her, “don't tell me you can't take a joke!” Petra's white robe disappeared around a corner, Zermat half-halfheartedly giving chase. “I know you're no Syndicate thrall! Same as me; no lost love for your guild, only a part because you have to be.” She was near the end of the hall, facing another yawning archway with her back to Zermat. “We're a pair of hecklers, you and I! Dressed in our Guild's costumes while we sift through their secrets. ”
When he caught up with her, he grabbed Petra by the shoulders and spun the waifish revenant around to face him. Her golden eyes pierced his devilish mask with their annoyance, her gray lips pursed in a tight frown. “You're a piece of this motley troupe, and more than that, you're my friend, Petra. I trust you, no matter what colors you wear or whether your heart beats.” The girl's eyes drifted from the costumed fencer to the armored hand firmly gripping her shoulder. Zermat stepped back, raising his hands off of her and backing down from his impassioned appeal. “Sorry,” he said, folding his arms and inclining his head. “You've probably been dead longer than I've been alive, hearing the same tired jokes the whole time. I'd be sick of 'em too at this point!” His shoulders sagged, a huff of exasperation emanating from deep within him. “Truth is, I've got no clue what part of you is living and which part is dead. Spent my whole life slicing folks apart, never spent a minute learning how to make 'em whole again. Hell, could you even tell that I grabbed you?”

“A hand touched my shoulder,” Petra said, wiping the wrinkles out of her robe. “But it's not the same; I haven't been...the living can tell when...have you ever ridden in a cart and hit a...no, that's not right.” Petra shook her head, bright eyes momentarily hidden behind a short bob of black hair. “I appreciate your interest in my...condition, Zermat, but it's not something I can readily put into words.”

“Then try using something else!” Zermat advanced on Petra, taking her hand in his and clasping it between them. “We're in this together, remember? I've got your back, and I want you to have mine. That's the oath we swore. In blood! So how am I supposed to keep up my end of the bargain if I don't even know what you are?” Zermat exhaled, gently letting go of the advokist's trembling hand. “So please, for me, just try. Whatever's easiest for you, I'll try and understand.”

Twin suns stared from her pallid face, the vampire's arm shaking in the space between the two adventurers. Slowly, her luminous stare unblinking, she extended her slender hand towards Zermat's neck. Placing her palm against his skin, she met his gaze, cold silk glove resting against warm flesh. Zermat's hairs stood on end, goosebumps rising in stimulation. “That's how it is for you,” she said, lifting her hand from his collar. Shifting her touch to his shoulder armor, she tapped the pauldron with her middle finger. “And that's how it is for me. It's almost like it's happening to someone else; like you're being told someone touched you rather than just knowing it.”

Zermat lifted his mask and smiled, his rugged face uncharacteristically warm and soft. “Like you're riding in a cart and it hits a bump, right?” He patted her on the shoulder, walking past her and into the archway. “You'll have to tell me all about it, once we've carted off the cartel's heirlooms.”

“You're awfully compassionate for a Rakdos, Mr. Yetinsyny. Or is that just another mask of yours?” Petra trailed after him, a relieved smile on her face. “Will I ever see you stripped of such pretense?”

“Ok, you're doing that on purpose now.”

The pair descended deeper underground, the passage switching back on itself and leading to a wide, cylindrical chamber. The walls were lined with stylized sarcophagi, each seven feet of black granite set in their own globe-lit recess. At the mausoleum's nave stood a octagonal altar draped in burgundy and trimmed with silver lace. Staff clicking against the stone floor, Petra approached the altar, eyes taking in the splendor of the cavernous space. “We should be right on top of the treasury,” she said, her left hand clenched in a nervous fist.

“I don't see any doors,” Zermat mused, examining the monolithic slabs surrounding them. He could make out a string of High Ravi characters chiseled into the stone. They appeared to be numbers, but without the years of schooling necessary to read them he could but guess. Slowly pacing around the exterior of the room, the costumed cutthroat took a moment to rest his eyes. It was getting hard to focus, his head feeling heavier by the minute. By the time they'd hauled out whatever treasure was to be found it'd be well into the morning, he thought while stifling a yawn. “What about you?” He groaned, his speech slurred. “Does it take a man of the cloth's eye to navigate this place? Or a woman's, either or.”

“You're not far off,” Petra replied as she bent over the altar, peering closely at the glossy facade. “After all, it took and a scholar's insight and a tithe of blood to access this repository. Now if you would be so kind; it seems we again need both to make our withdrawal.” She pushed the carmine linens off the pedestal revealing a gold disc just like the one outside. Zermat nodded and approached, cutting his palm and pressing it against the altar's surface. Slowly, it began to sink into the floor until it settled with a heavy thunk. For a moment, nothing happened.

Zermat looked around the room, dismayed at calm. “Alright,” he said as Petra began her healing chant, “what else do we need? I'm not seeing any hoard of cartel riches. Not even a pile of dusty records.” Again the radiant runes sealed his injury, but before he could say any more another sound rocked the chamber. The lid of one of the coffins fell to the floor, then another, then a third, each landing with a resounding crash.

In each sarcophagus was an armored figure clad in gilded plate, each standing a head taller than Zermat. They bore huge broad-bladed swords clutched in a golden grip, every one a statuesque symbol of martial decadency. Then, as one, the giants stepped out of their resting places, silent save for the clink of their armor.

Zermat hesitated, blinking in disbelief as the gaudy warriors surrounded them. Two of them cut off the exit, another three advancing on the altar, a sixth hanging back and circling the pair. Already he could see the trio of knights bearing down on him raise their swords, the massive blades shimmering with killing intent.
“Wake up, Mr Yetinsyny!” Petra shouted, jabbing him in the ribs with her staff. Zermat shook his head, raising his sword at the last minute to turn aside an attacker's. His arms felt like lead, his feet dragging as he shifted to a fighting stance. Another strike thrust towards him, and he felt his heart stop as the blade moved faster than he could react.

Petra bashed the head of her staff against the warrior's vambrace, knocking the attack off-course. The giant turned its helmet towards her as if in disbelief, before striking the slim vampiress with a dismissive backhand. “No!” Zermat shouted as the blow sent her sprawling, the goliath turning back to face him. Finally, Zermat's nerves woke up and he darted forwards, bringing his black blade to bear. He swung low, forcing the gilt colossus onto its back foot to guard against the blow, then feinted high. Catching him on the underside of the head, Zermat's blow tore off the knight's helmet. The warrior staggered, sinking to its knees as the other two stepped forward to take its place. Helping Petra up, Zermat backed up from the silent giants, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “You alright?” He said as he vaulted on top of the altar, a greatsword crashing against the stone where he once stood. “What in the Rix is going on?”

Petra nodded, rubbing her cheek. “Didn't feel a thing.” She pointed her staff at the grounded knight and began to intone another prayer, a corona of esoteric letters appearing in the air around her. The wounded combatant rose, turning its exposed face towards the pair. Deprived of its helmet, a bare skull stared back at the would-be tomb robbers, a High Ravi rune carved into its forehead. Petra's prayer completed, the aura of light burst like a popped bubble, sending spears of brilliant energy stabbing into the skeleton. The creature buckled, crumbling to dust before her otherworldly rebuke.
“Defaulted templars!” Petra shrieked, scrambling atop the altar with Zermat. The Rakdos kicked one of the knights that drew too close, following up with a wide slash across its chestplate. “Church shock troops! See the character on the skull? That's how long they're to be interred before their debt is paid!”

“So you're telling me this isn't a treasury,” Zermat scoffed, “it's a garrison!” Another of the silent giants swung at him, but he tumbled below the sentinel's wide swing, rising to his feet at the altar's side. As one of the warriors raised his weapon, Zermat saw his chance to strike, thrusting his sword into the gap between curiass and fauld. The blow struck true and the armored behemoth buckled around the serrated shaft, but as Zermat withdrew he could already see the undead recovering.

“You can't stop them!” Petra shouted, raising her staff. “Not as long as they owe!” Her eyes began to glow, and she gestured for Zermat to move closer to her. “I can, I can get them off of us, I just need more time!” Another greatsword swung her way, and she instinctively turned her body away from the blow. Zermat was too slow this time, and the blade found purchase, cutting deep into the Orzhov's robe with a spray of crimson blood.

Zermat bellowed in rage, barreling into Petra's assailant. The lithe swashbuckler crashed against the templar, his own weight not enough to bring it down. But his charge did push the undead away from Petra, and allowed Zermat to press his attack. He ran the skeleton through, skewering the hulking creature and bringing it to it's knees. As the undead tried to rally, Zermat tore his blade free and struck again, swinging the sword in a wide arc and bringing it crashing down on the templar's neck. With the debtor incapacitated, albeit temporarily, Zermat turned back to check on Petra.
He found the vampiress still standing, shrugging off her torn robe and throwing it ineffectually at the nearest skeleton. A steady drip of blood trickled from the red-saturated garment, but underneath Petra's black-clothed body seemed unharmed.

“Just my reserves,” Petra shouted reassuringly between verses of High Ravi. The glow of her eyes had extended to her mouth, light bursting forth after each utterance like the flames of an angry dragon. Zermat could see the words taking shape in the air around her, the baroque psalms far grander and more intricate than the mere healing orisons she had used before. Zermat nodded, turning back to the templars.
The one that had been stalking the perimeter of the melee bore down on Zermat, striking him in the flank with a cumbersome slash. Zermat swore, rolling with the blow to disperse its force. His armor had taken the brunt of the attack, but it would not do so again. Wrapping his free hand around the golden blade to prevent the warrior from readying another swing, Zermat kicked off the towering templar, slamming his boot into another knight's helmet.

 “Tsŭrkvata shte,” Petra chanted, golden words filling the air. The two skeletons guarding the exit, perhaps sensing the vampire's intentions, abandoned their post and rushed towards her. Petra reacted too slowly, losing her footing on the altar and landing on her backside. One templar raised its sword to deliver a killing blow, but a barbed rapier tossed like a spear impaled itself through the creature's torso. Momentarily staggered by Zermat's missile, Petra kicked the skeleton's knees, dropping the undead to the floor. “Vi izlekuva sreshtu,” she intoned, rolling to one side to avoid the second templar's strike.

“I can't hold them off much longer!” Zermat pulled a dagger from his boot as he shouted, parrying another otherwise-fatal stab. The thin blade did little to absorb the strike's power, and Zermat felt his arm nearly tear out of its socket. It was all he could do to withstand his muscles and bones screaming in protest as the relentless warriors continued their assault.

“Vi izlekuva sreshtu, Zaplashtane Obzedat!” With that final syllable, the light that suffused Petra's eyes burst forth, surging out from her like a radiant cyclone. The spell complete, her manifested words transformed into lances of divine power, each seeking the mark of deficit upon the templars' brows. The ones attacking Zermat fell first, slowly falling apart as their debts were forgiven. One of Petra's assailants crumbled, the skeleton attempting to raise its sword for one final death blow before being relieved of its obligation. The final templar clung together for a few moments longer, however, and its blade was already poised to strike when the final words of magic were uttered. Even as its legs turned to dust, the debtor brought the sword down like an executioner's ax. To Zermat, the golden weapon seemed to move in slow motion, inching further downward with agonizing lethargy. He cried out, but the words were equally sluggish and by the time his warning escaped his lips, the wet sound of metal on flesh echoed throughout the empty tomb.

A cloud of bone ash coated Zermat as he scrambled from the beneath the pile of golden armor. He tore his mask from his face, coughing as atomized debtor clouded his lungs. It had all happened too fast. He was too tired. Petra hadn't warned him. She was already dead. More and more excuses sprouted like mushrooms in his brain, each trying and failing to convince him it wasn't his fault. Lurching towards the altar, he felt his own heartbeat skipping, color draining from his face.
He could see Petra's leg laying motionless on the far side of the altar. A blade that size, striking a girl that small? There was only one way that could've turned out. Still, his legs carried him forwards, his mind overriding the futile, desperate protests of his heart.
He had to see for himself. Holding his breath, he rounded the altar.

She was like a wax doll. At once pristine, serene, and so, so wrong. A wide gash separated Petra's shoulders and collarbone from her lower torso, the body held together by mere threads. The wound shed no blood, the vampire sliced as cleanly as a loaf of bread. Zermat fell to his knees, his stomach churning at the sight before him. “You didn't deserve this,” he blubbered, eyes welling up with tears. “You had all the answers. You did everything right! It was me who made the mistakes! It should have been me!” Slamming his fist against the altar that had taken his blood and his friend, he raged against the desolate tomb, seething with all the passion and fury of his demonic Parun.

“..yny.”

It was the faintest of whispers. At first, Zermat thought he was merely imagining it, another aberrant thought echoing across his enervated mind. Had he fought so hard that he was delirious, conjuring a phantom to answer his call?

“Come closer...Mr. Yetinsyny.”

Zermat did a double take. Despite the grievous, horrific injury, he swore he could see Petra's lips moving. He leaned closer. Petra's chest, what remained of it, lay motionless. He was sure the vampire had no need to breathe. Her colorless hue betrayed a heart that had not pumped blood in years. Could she survive a blow that would strike an ogre dead in an instant? Again her lips fluttered, the weak sound barely reaching Zermat's ears.

“It...worked. Did you see it?”

Blinking back tears, Zermat nodded. “A light show that'd draw a standing ovation at the Revue.” Zermat gripped her left hand in his, feeling the lifeless dead weight of the woman's arm. Though he tried to hold it reassuringly, he could not help but notice the strange deformation of her hand. As much as her glove tried to disguise it, the advokist's middle and ring finger were fused, the two digits warped into one large claw. His emotions unstable with grief, his face contorted into a confused grimace.

With what little control she had over her body, Petra's lips curled into a thin smile. “Orzhov blood. Unstable. I was hoping...you wouldn't notice.” She broke his gaze, looking away with eyes that were now dim like dying coals. “I was trying so hard to impress you. And now...now you think I'm repulsive, don't you?”

“That's a funny thing to be thinking about now, Petra.” Zermat squeezed her malformed limb tight, bringing the limp deformity close to his chest. “Because your wisdom, your beauty, your nobility in self-sacrifice, that's what I'll remember of you, not some silly blemish! The scholar who's brilliance outshone the stars, who gave what life she had left to save a tired old mountebank. If you think something so trivial as this,” Zermat placed a gentle, somber kiss on Petra's hand. His eyes were as red as his beard, the chaos of the night taking its tole on his spirit. “If you think this will do anything to sour that legacy, then put your mind at ease. It may not be the immortality you're used to, but you will live on forever in my heart, Petra.”

“Memory?” Petra looked down at the gouge across her chest. “Zermat...you're a lovely poet. But...like you said, you're...ignorant, as to the particulars of undeath.”

“I...? So you're not dead then? Or not any more dead than you were?” He rose and dusted off his pants, pulling the sword that did the deed from his companion' wound. “I don't think I need explain how relieved I am to hear that. You're now a member of a exclusive troupe of women who've seen me tear up. Once you've healed yourself I'll do my best to keep you from joining that club twice.”

Petra's eyes closed for a moment, the vampire mouthing something to herself. She shook her head, jostling the chunk of her body still connected to it. “My...spine. The templar...must've crushed it when it hit me. I can't move my hands.”

He squatted down next to the cripple, looking despondently at her injury. “And I suppose you can't cast any spells without them? You can't just say the magic words?”

“It's not that simple Zermat. There's Prŭsten's circle...the obvod nodes...ghost modality. All necessary earthly, er, physical, er...well, in short, no. The mana will have nowhere to go. So unless I can draw the signs...”

“You're as mobile as sliced sirloin.” Zermat chewed his beard, considering his options. “I could carry you back up to the street, get us into that asylum. They're bound to have sutures, gauze, potions. Like I said before I'm no healer, but with your help I could try and put you back together.”

“No!” Petra's reply was little more than a loud croak, her wrecked body unable to muster anything approaching a shout. “I...what if I fall apart? And besides...medicine provides for the living. Undead...a hospital's worth of...”

“Healers' tools are meant to keep the living from becoming dead, not in reverse.” Zermat slumped against the altar. “But what other options are there? I can't so much as leave you here while I fetch another priest, and I doubt finding an Orzhov who dosen't mind that we've broken into their secret garrison will be easy.”

“I can...persist like this. It's not comfortable, but I've become insensitive to pain since...since my death. Though that's of little consolation I suppose, unless you wanted to enroll in a seminary for the decade it'd take to grasp hieromancy.”

Tracing rings in the air, Zermat looked at his hands. Somewhere in his beleaguered mind, a flower of an idea was blooming among the field of foul mushrooms. Petra still had command of her voice, and he had control of his body. All they needed was to join them. “No, I've never been one for study,” he said. “I've always learned quicker by doing. Sure it can get messy, but there's no better education than that gained hands-on.” Moving to her side, he flashed a sly grin. “Show me how to do it, Petra. Whatever pentacles need painting or sigils need signing, I can make them. With me composing and you lending the vocals we'll make a fine duet, fine enough to fix this scrape of yours at least!”
He mimed waving a baton to some imaginary orchestra, improvising a low baritone cadenza to accompany his conducting. The vast ossuary's acoustics served his performance well, each note as resonant as one sung in a concert hall. As the coda of his warbling ballad wound to a close, he laid his hand on Petra's, staring attentively into her eyes. “We swore an oath. In blood. I may not have a brand of debt on my head, but I intend to honor the terms all the same. So tell me, Petra, tell me what I have to do.”

“Ok,” Petra mouthed. Zermat was unsure if the vampire was capable of crying, but the furrows on her brow and squint of her eyes betrayed her intent all the same. “You really meant it, didn't you? All those...every word about...about empathizing with me. I guess I got what I wanted then, in the end. I just didn't expect a Rakd—that is to say, I didn't expect you—for you to be so forthcoming with...oh goodness, now I'm sputtering like it's my barrister's exam all over again.” Eyelids fluttering alongside her lifeless heart, she nodded in the direction of Zermat's sword. The weapon remained impaled through a now-vacant breastplate, and its owner turned his head towards it with a quizzical look on his face. “First...before we start, you're going to have to cut off my clothes.”

There was an awkward pause. Zermat blinked rapidly, looking slowly from his blade to Petra's prone  form. He felt some shame in being unable to stop his gaze from wandering, tired eyes drawn to the unblemished white skin exposed by her injury. A lifetime in Rakdos' bloody circuses had met him with scores of similar sights; young bodies rent asunder, still offering carnal delights as death claimed them. Yet his heart had long since hardened to those strapping men and sinuous women. A tally of liaisons had of come and gone; some uninhibited, others unsavory, all unstable. None of them truly saw beyond the devilish masks he wore, be they fashioned from wood or from words. And while the role had been one of his own devising—for those cultists who allowed the Guild to consume them soon found themselves consumed—his past paramours had shown little interest in separating him from it.
“My vestments, Mr. Yetinsyny.” Petra's voice snapped him back to the task at hand and he sprung to his feet, retrieving the rapier without a word. “You'll have to make direct contact with...with my skin for the mana to circulate.” Zermat wrinkled his nose as he kicked the sword free of the armor, breastplate clattering away in a cloud of dust. “And please...try not to move me too much. I'm afraid of what might happen if I...separate.”

“Don't worry,” he said, returning to her side and clutching the rapier. One hand rested halfway up the forte, just before the blade's serrated edge. “I'll be gentle.” His other hand gripped Petra's good shoulder as he slowly punctured the outer layer of her garb, starting with a spot near the wound where the cassock was torn. The tip of his sword brushed against her skin, but the vampiress gave no protest, so Zermat began to cut. Cautiously, he ran the blade down her side like an oversize needle, dividing the fabric from collarbone to hips. Zermat withdrew, then repeated the process, this time around her sleeves, then again, and again, until the garment lay in tatters on the floor beside them.
Only the high black collar of her clerical garb remained, doing little to stop Zermat from taking in the milk-white skin and delicate contours that lay just inches below him. Even with her dire injury, Petra was a like an ivory sculpture, as sleek and immaculate as the very marble they sat upon. A soft, perky bust, scarcely bigger than his palm, rested tantalizingly at eye level, and it took composure Zermat was amazed he still had to tear his eyes from them.

“My curse may have one...upside,” Petra muttered, looking away. “When you look at me like that, for one, my face dosen't turn red.” Sighing, she looked to the blood-drenched robe that lay across the room. “The frottage coals should still be in my inside pocket. They aren't necessary for channeling, but I'll need some...some visual frame of reference. Sacred geometry, if improperly inscribed, could turn a spell of healing into one of...one of certain energies that don't interact well with the undead.” Petra bit her lip, watching Zermat as he fished through the damp shreds of her mantle. “On a positive note...it won't be stone you're rubbing them on!"

Nodding his head as he poked through broken glass and ripped cloth, Zermat stifled a laugh. The girl was right. In a cruel twist of fate, he had gotten his wish, though only the most sadistic Rakdos would celebrate it. And while the thought of laying hands on lithe, smooth skin, of having such soft flesh at his mercy sent his heart racing, he chided himself for having such thoughts. Turning aside a cracked vial, visions of pearly limbs entwined with his own flashed through his head, a four-fingered hand dragging its claw through his hair. He almost ignored the feeling of flaky coal between his fingers, the cool stone breaking his reverie. He inhaled deeply as he returned to Petra's side, brandishing the coal even as his limbs quivered with restraint.
“Good,” Petra said, her face lighting up at Zermat's discovery. “We'll do this in...stages. Make sure you're proficient with each step of casting the spell. First is...first you'll have to establish a mana-circulating ring.” With her guidance, Zermat traced a large circle around Petra's wound, encircling breast and sternum with black markings. His brow and mustache had become damp with perspiration, his chest rising dramatically as he took deep, controlled breaths. Petra craned her neck as much as she dared to examine his handiwork, her smile fading. With a shake of her head, she asked him to wipe off the circle. “You have a remarkably stable hand...Zermat; your swordsmanship is...perfect. But your penmanship...it could stand to be improved.”

With a shrug, he complied, gently rubbing Petra's torso with the edge of his cape. She gave no outward reaction to his caress, and Zermat breathed a minute sigh of relief. However, just as he finished cleaning her of blemishes, the edge of his hand brushed the nape of Petra's neck. The vampire gasped, recoiling from his touch, eyes wincing and teeth clenched. “What's wrong?” Zermat exclaimed, dropping the coal and gripping Petra's shoulder, desperately trying to hold the frayed undead together. “I thought you couldn't feel pain?”

“My body can't,” Petra winced, “not...below.” She inclined her head, drawing his attention to the ring of black fabric that still encircled her neck. Carefully, Zermat peeled back the collar, exposing the pale flesh it concealed. Underneath, two tiny punctures stared back at him, the flesh around them red and raw. “The bite,” she gasped, “that...changed me. Everything else...is like I said. But my neck...it feels like it did the day it happened.” She squinted at the Cultist as he slowly, gently traced the extremity of the bite, scarcely brushing the inflamed skin with his fingertips.

“So you can still feel something after all,” he muttered, replacing the covering. “It still hurts?”

“No, it's not...it isn't painful. Back then, back when I...changed, I remember rather enjoying it. But that one spot is...well, it's kind of like... ,” Petra sighed, shutting her eyes. “If the rest of me is like a suit of armor that absorbs any stimulation, then my bite is...it would be a 'gap' in that.”

Zermat nodded slowly, picking up the coal again and beginning to retrace the circle. “So it feels the same as it did when you were still alive?” Petra nodded, her expression softening again.

“If my memory serves me, it does. Though my reaction was much more...animated then I would have liked. The feeling of...I haven't had a man's...it caught me off guard, is all.” She bit her lip, meeting Zermat's curious gaze. “You have me at a pronounced...disadvantage, Mr. Yetinsyny. I'm a hair's breadth from decapitation, unclothed and reliant on a...on your improvisational capability to recover. So please, forgive my mind from wandering.” Pausing to regain her composure, the vampire nodded her head in the direction of Zermat's coal. “Please, resume. A few more repetitions, I think, and you'll have the requisite...muscle memory. And...don't refrain from putting your hand on my neck, if you need to.”

As Petra had predicted, after eight odd attempts at the circle he could craft something that earned the advokist's approval. And as Petra had invited, he had gently held her neck as he practiced, his touch seeming to comfort the frayed woman. Then had come her instructions on the various High Ravi characters he would need to scribe, and Zermat had playfully drawn the letters on her bust, encircling her meager assets with sooty runes. His tutor voiced no protest, instead offering words of encouragement as she nuzzled against his hand.
How long they had practiced, Zermat didn't know. The hours seemed to melt away as he drew, erased and drew again, his coal whittling down to a nub. Petra had confided between rehearsals that her ailment stemmed from a censure by her guild's oligarchs; an eternal forbiddance from the Orzhov afterlife for the crimes of integrity and intelligence. Zermat had, in turn, retold the troubled youth that had led to him joining an Undercity spike-gang out of self-preservation. By the time he'd been introduced to the Cult's darker vices, abandoning would've proved twice as deadly as enduring them. Eventually, as they ran out of tragedies to share, each stared at the other through half-lidded eyes with a warm smile on their face. “I think I'm ready,” Petra muttered, while Zermat's fingers cradled her chin.

“I think I am too,” Zermat replied, drawing closer and angling her face towards his.

“For the spell, Zermat! I mean I'm ready to help cast the spell!” Petra stammered, looking from Zermat's amorous expression to her open wound. “Not that I...not that it would be a bad thing. Just...not while I'm a quadriplegic, please.”

Zermat blinked, momentarily stunned, then nodded. He exhaled, placing his hand against Petra's chest. “If you're sure this will work,” he said, as he began to draw the magic circle. With the vampire's guidance, he ran his thumb, middle and forefinger in a broad loop around her injury. Petra began to speak the words of power, each silvery verse completing as Zermat transcribed a rune. A glow began to form along her skin as the mana took form, illuminating the letters with gentle gold light. Like a solitary flickering star, the spell's radiance wavered as Zermat's amateur sorcery fought to contain the energy flowing into it. He gripped Petra's shoulder, both for his patient's comfort and his own.

“Tovi zhivot,” went her chant, as the sparkling ring cast their shadows to the far wall of the chamber. Zermat had to look away from the glare as the runes flared, bright white sparks flying from the golden light. “Vse oshte ima.” Like a river flooding its banks, the light spilled out of the circle, crackling and sparking with energies that looked far from restorative. “Si Struva!”
The blazing luminescence burst outwards, heat washing over Zermat as the spell completed. His retinas burned as sunspots blinded him. The light even penetrated the black fabric of his cape as he tried to shield his eyes, unrestrained mana flying free about the room. Laugh lines vanished from Zermat's face as his skin was healed, then new ones took their place as magic drained him. He could feel the tickle of his beard hairs retracting into his chin accompanied by the pain of them burning up in their follicles. The spell had gone wild, soothing and searing in equal parts as it poured from his sigil.
Through clenched teeth and fist he weathered the torrent of conflicted energies, still clinging to Petra. Even if the pyre of mana stole the sight from his eyes and the hair from his face he would not let it keep him from his treasure. His heart burned, hotter and brighter than the light show around them, regret and indignation only fueling the fire of defiance that burned within him. There were no gems or jewels to be found in Pontiff's vault, but he'd discovered something more valuable than gold all the same. And even if it was solely through force of will and stubborn grit, he would not lose her.

Though it felt like an eternity, the spectacle lasted only a few minutes. Eventually the light began to fade, and with it, normalcy returned to Zermat's constitution. Hairs and wrinkles settled, everything feeling like it was in its rightful place. Breathing deeply, he sought to slow his hammering heartbeat. If his body was as it had been before the spell was cast, his mind drew one conclusion as to Petra's fate. He steeled his nerve, allowing his eyes to fall upon the form below him.
Zermat did a double take. Gone was the horrid cleft that split the vampire in two. Without thinking, he ran his hand across her bust, feeling the smooth, cool flesh. No trace of the injury remained, nor the mess of black charcoal. The spell had fulfilled its goal and more, leaving Petra's body as pristine as the day it had died. “It...worked?” It was Zermat who faltered this time, his mana-blasted eyes growing wide in astonishment.

“Oh don't act so humble Zermat,” Petra cooed, rising on her elbows and grinning warmly. Her eyelids fluttered languidly as she stretched her reconstituted muscles. “The most thrilling shows are the ones that keep building suspense right to the end. That Rakdos flair for the dramatic had me on the edge of my seat.”

Zermat nodded, returning her smile. “I wish I could say it was all part of the act, but it made for a ringer of a grand finale all the same.” He leaned over and offered Petra his hand, motioning for her to get up. “Can't do much for the dress I'm afraid, but I'm sure we can stitch something together with all these rags lying about.”

Petra reached to take Zermat's hand. For a moment, her clawed left hand hung in the air, the fused digit wavering as though it were a flag in stormy winds. Then, her arm fell, the vampiress in turn collapsing in a slump. She sighed, pouting her lips as she righted herself and adjusted her hair. “Fine for a first attempt,” she said through clenched teeth, “but not perfect. You seem to have healed me a little too well. Your spell did something to my body, pulled out—or burned up maybe, I do feel rather hot—things from inside me. Most would be left with an empty stomach, but in my case, you've left me with empty veins.”

“And to a vampire,” he replied, crossing his arms, “that means you're starving?”

“Hunger? No, not exactly. It's more....” Petra stared at Zermat with bewitching eyes, one golden sphere hidden behind her hair and the other by a half-closed eyelid. Her upper lip curled, revealing her fangs, and she ran a shaking hand along the side of her neck. “More of a thirst. You must be so tired and—I mean, you cast that spell for me and now I—wouldn't you want to lie down and close your-”

“You can stop, Petra.” Zermat chuckled, rolling his eyes and sitting back down. “It's been a long time since you had to seduce a man and drain his blood in secret, hasn't it?”

“I get my reserves from a monthly tithe,” she admitted sheepishly, brushing the hair from her eyes. She looked away and buried her face in her hands. “I'm so sorry,” she muttered into her palm, “this drained of blood, the undead survival instincts, they just sort of...take over.”

Zermat reached out, again taking Petra's hand in his own and moving it from her face. Like him, she had been wearing a mask the whole time. “There's nothing to apologize for, Petra.” His eyes met hers. He placed her hand against his neck, letting her feel his pulse. “I even thought it was cute to see you try.” Her eyes widened. Zermat nodded. She looked moments away from salivating. “Though you could use the practice.” With his free hand, he cupped the back of Petra's head, running his fingers through her hair. “And to tell the truth, I wouldn't mind seeing more of that side of you.” Their fingers interlocked and he pulled Petra in closer to his throat. Petra flashed a silent smile of affirmation. She shut her eyes, and Zermat felt his skin prickle as her lips brushed his neck. Her mouth was cool, like the touch of a fresh Conclave stream. Petra laid her free arm across Zermat's chest, returning his embrace as her fangs grazed his skin experimentally. There was a sharp intake of breath, but he held her against him, heart pumping blood faster and faster through his veins.

He would be lying if he said he didn't want this. The painful thrill of the act itself meant little to him; there were few nights where he hadn't shed blood, be it his or an other's. It was ordinary. Nor was he so masochistic that his own suffering brought him much pleasure. Instead, his pulse quickened from stimulation of a far more intimate sort.
His mask was gone. For a lifetime he had lived in fear of exposing his true self to his peers. Not only did he risk his neck in showing weakness, he risked losing that seed of inspiration which withered to dust in the face of such scorn. If his passion was thus spurned, how could he open himself up to another and not expect the same?
And yet, in Petra, he had bared his soul and found those fears unfounded. And though it had been exposed through strife and misfortune, he had seen what hid beneath the facade of stoic decorum the vampire wore. Her immortality demanded blood, yes, but that life had other needs that were far harder to come by. Intimacy. Affection. Acceptance of her parasitic affliction. Though she would be young and beautiful forever, that immortality had sequestered her heart from the joys that gave life meaning. Her longing, desperate touch told him all of this and more. It was a primal language that no High Ravi rune could articulate but was universally understood all the same. And as Petra's canines pierced his jugular, he was happy to fill those needs.

It hurt. But it didn't. Petra squirmed against him, body writhing as she sucked on his vein. He was aware that he had been wounded, that the vital force that animated him was being slowly drained out. But it was like recalling a memory of the sensation; as though it were happening to someone else.
It dawned on him that if he was feeling this way, perhaps Petra was experiencing the same dichotomy. He kept petting the back of her head, offering gentle encouragement as she drank deeper and deeper of him. His other hand sank lower, first brushing the sensitive spot along Petra's neck. She gasped, looking up at him with eyes as wide as golden Zinos and lips like precious rubies. It was a dreamlike moment; neither feeling truly themselves, yet at the same time more than they had ever been. Zermat's hand went further down, moving from shoulder blade to spine as he traced the curve of Petra's back. Her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened wordlessly as she squeezed closer to him. She raised one leg over his waist, climbing halfway on top of him as he ran his hand up and down her back. Her once-blue tongue now a vibrant red, she lapped at the two punctures on his neck before returning to her kiss with renewed vigor. Not only was her mouth sanguine, but her cheeks too were florid with a rosy glow that should've been alien to the undead. Zermats touch continued, moving to the small of Petra's back and her wide-spread hips. She moved in time with him, rubbing her lower body against his, muttering little moans of pleasure into his neck between sips of blood. Through his trousers he could feel the warmth of the vampire's sex, his own organ stiffening as they spooned.

Petra clearly noticed, as her hand cupped his bulging crotch. She let go of his throat, turning to look at the growing member she caressed. Two red lines trickled down her chin as she grinned, with blood pumping into his cock and every heartbeat causing it to grow. Squeezing and stroking him through his pants, Petra's chest began to rise and fall in time with her ministrations. Zermat responded in turn, moving his hand between Petra's thighs. He circled the space between her navel and hips, his fingers drawn closer and closer inwards like a raft caught in a whirlpool. The warmth of her sex called tantalizingly to him with the promise of its silky folds, and Zermat was all to willing to answer that siren call. A jolt shot through Petra's leg as he brushed her labia, the vampire grinding her hips forward to welcome his teasing touch. A deep groan of need shook Petra and she again collapsed atop Zermat as he stroked her wet entrance. “Been a long time since you've done this too, has it? Those tithes will only get you so far,” he teased, the first joints of his middle and index fingers sliding into Petra's entrance.

“Too long,” came her throaty reply as she rolled her hips to accommodate more of Zermat's probing digits. He could tell she was ready for him, but he had no need to rush into things like a freshly blooded spike-ganger. In all his years of service to the debauched cult, he'd learned how to savor these moments. Petra ran a hand through his beard, clawed finger tugging at his orange curls. She lifted her head and stared longingly into his eyes, cupping his chin and giving his cock a playful squeeze. He was hard now, member painfully struggling against the confines of his trousers, and he was sure she could tell. Petra's ruby lips slowly parted and she descended, not to his neck this time, but to his mouth. Zermat's tongue picked up the coppery taste of his own blood as they kissed, lips meeting gently and chests rising together. It was her tongue that entered his mouth first, playfully goading him with little jabs and thrusts nearly as quick as his own swordsmanship. Zermat shut his eyes, awash in the sensation, his free hand cupping one of her breasts as they embraced. The vampire had no need to breathe, and held the kiss for longer than most mortal lovers would tolerate, only breaking it to look down at her rescuer-cum-victim. Zermat was sure his lips were just as red as hers, an opaque string of crimson-tinted saliva still connecting their lustful mouths. His heart leaped as he felt Petra's fingers unfastening his belt and sliding under his pants, her silken fingertips circling the head of his cock. Petra again bore her fangs in a lustful grin, examining the length of his penis with her touch before again kissing him. She was sloppier this time, messier, her motions betraying the flush of arousal her awakened senses had wrought, and Zermat obliged her zealous embrace. He alternated his techniques, squeezing her nipple and probing her sex, pushing in with the latter as the former's grip loosened. Barely-contained shudders and muffled gasps of pleasure rewarded his efforts, the advokist's nails digging into his cheek as she gripped him tighter.

Soon, their bloody kiss was little more than the two panting into each other's mouths as their reciprocal affections brought them both to a higher and higher peak of pleasure. Petra leaned back, looking slowly from Zermat's eyes to his groin, the turgid length of his cock half-uncovered from his clothes. She looked back to him, biting her lip. He nodded, slowly withdrawing his hand from her own sex and pulling down the rest of his pants. Wetness clung to his fingers as Petra turned around, laying down on top of him and facing what he had unsheathed.
Petra was smaller than him by an order of magnitude, measuring only up to his collarbone. And though he had never considered himself particularly well-hung, as Petra's compact features examined his cock he felt a surge of masculine pride well up in his chest. The wet, cool touch of her lips against the head of his dick sent shivers up his spine, her mouth slowly kissing its way down its length. As she did, he gripped her rear end, squeezing the tender flesh while she lavished him with wet pecks. There was a reverence to her caress, as though the meaty rod was the holiest of relics. She licked and kissed and stroked the organ, lingering conspicuously around the pulsing blue veins that lined the turgid length. Though she did so without a word, he could feel the anticipation building throughout her body. Her sex ground against his chest and her toes tingled as he fondled her cheeks. Soon enough she had coated him with her saliva, and he again felt her lips closing around the head of his cock.  The tip of her tongue lapped at the underside as she slowly bobbed her head down experimentally, savoring the taste and sensation of his throbbing, burning rod.

“By the Rix,” he mumbled as she took more of him in, lips enveloping his length centimeter by centimeter. His own legs bunched up as the warmth of her throat engulfed him, fighting the urge to buck his hips and hilt himself in her mouth. “That feels...damn...feels so good I don't have the words for it.” He ran his hand lower down her rump, rubbing his middle finger along her dripping slit and up to her clitoris. “You could've fooled me Petra, because I'd swear you'd had practiced this for years.” He gave the mound a flick, which sent a small spasm of pleasure up her back.

A wet 'pop' came from her mouth as she relinquished her lip-lock, casting a seductive smirk back Zermat's way. “There's a few fringe benefits, I'll concede, to my condition. This all just sort of comes naturally to me, though you've no idea how hard it is to resist the urge,” she brushed the tips of her fangs along the side of his dick, causing his spine to tense up and eyes to wince in apprehension, “to bite.”
His grip tightened around her ass as she held his cock between her fangs, teasing him with the power she had over him. Canines and incisors pinched the skin of his cock between them, little jolts of pain shooting up his groin. She was gentle enough not to break skin, but only just, and she rolled her jaw back and forth, toying with his member like a cat with a caught mouse. His own teeth grit and his eyes squinted. Adrenaline had already sent his heart racing, and now Petra's stunt had goaded it into a full on sprint. He didn't dare move a muscle, Petra's rump turning red from how hard he was gripping it with every inch of him on edge. The conflicting needs to bury his cock deeper and tear it away from Petra's mouth had every muscle below his waist bunched as tight as a wire, and he held his breath for agonizing seconds as the vampire nibbled at his cock. Again her maw engulfed him, the constricting warmth of her mouth inviting him in only for her bite to traitorously nip at his shaft. Rings of red marks began to encircle his length, and Zermat feared the undead's awakened hunger would overwhelm her self-control. It was a common derision that a Rakdos would lose his manhood in the throes of passion, but as his veins bulged and scrotum tightened Zermat feared it coming true.

Then, she let her jaw go slack and his penis popped free, a bead of precum dribbling feebly from the tip. “How was that?” she said, placing a tender kiss on the tip of his rod and cleaning off its drippings. “You wanted to see what I can be like,” she moved to face Zermat, straddling him, “with less human inhibitions.”

Zermat gripped her waist, sighing in both relief and arousal. “I must be losing my edge,” he exhaled, “because you had me fooled again.” He pulled her down to face him, biting his lip and matching her gaze with a challenging stare. “Do lawyers always pull this stuff off in bed?”

“You've given me some better ideas for using this silver tongue,” she cooed, leaning in to his embrace. Again they kissed, no longer merely exploring but hungrily mashing their mouths together as if trying to grind the other to dust. Zermat guided her hips, rubbing her sopping wet entrance against his spit-slathered rod, relishing Petra's needy moan as the tip brushed her labia. She bit his lower lip, pulling it towards her and making him feel the sharp points of her fangs. He needed no further signal and slid his cock inside her, forcing her to let go as a volcanic cry of pleasure erupted from within the vampiress' chest.

“Zermat,” she moaned as her nails dug into his chest and his dick dug into her. “I can feel you, Zermat. Feel you like I was alive. Like I'm not...like I wasn't...do I feel good to you, Zermat?” She gasped, shuddering as his length passed some long-dormant sensitive spot inside her. “Because you feel really, really good to me.” Zermat responded with a pleased grunt, thrusting his hips up and driving himself ever deeper inside his lover. Petra's moans grew sharper and she leaned down, arcing her back and pushing her chest out. His tool was the second to penetrate her this night, but she bounced atop his far more eagerly than his predecessor, tight walls welcoming him each time he sheathed his weapon. Soon they found a rhythm, hips moving in time and allowing Petra to slide further and further down his prick.

Zermat leaned forward and kissed her breast, nearly fitting all of the meager bust inside. He suckled and nibbled on the soft skin, repaying Petra for the distress she had subjected his cock. He soon felt her deformed hand on the back of his head, pulling him in closer. “Harder Zermat,” she whined through gritted teeth, “I can take it, I can take it better than any of your living girls.” He looked up at her, seeing Petra's eyes shut and her mouth lolling half-open, her free hand pinching the nipple of her other breast. She noticed his pause, and opened one luminous eye to peer at him. “Please. I don't know how long this will last, I want to feel everything.” Her walls tightened, squeezing around his member, wringing pleasure from the burning rod. “You won't hurt me, no matter how hard you try. Your teeth aren't silver and your cock's not a wood stake, no matter how...how it feels.” Punctuating her request, she dragged her claw along his back, leaving four red streaks across it.

“You're in luck,” he said through a wince. “This is the role I was born to play!” He stood, hefting Petra in his arms and lifting her into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist, resting her weight squarely on his groin. Wasting no time, he began to thrust, driving deeper into the small pale girl. The wet slapping sound of flesh on flesh filled the oubliette, accompanied by a duet of groans and ecstatic cries. Zermat placed a crude wet love-bite on her neck, mimicking her own parasitic repast by pinching the sensitive skin between his front teeth.

“Yes!” She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning back, giving him the deepest possible angle to penetrate her. His affections left a blue-black bruise just above her bite wound, a mirror to the bright mark that she carried in shame. Each told of very different transformations that had wrought Petra; one a curse, the other, liberation. And indeed some transformation had overtaken Petra, for the once reserved and stately advokist moaned deeply whenever her lover bottomed out inside her, teasing and taunting him to spur him on to even more wanton displays. His grip shifted to her thighs, and Petra's torso was laid on the ground, Zermat towering over her as he adjusted his position between her legs. Draping her calves across his shoulders he drove her against the ground, putting his whole body into each mighty thrust.
Zermat himself too had taken on a frightening countenance, the restraint he normally carried himself giving way to the frenzied self-indulgence that typified his guild. What fear did he have of harming an immortal partner? For once in decades of playing lip-service to the Cult he had finally found someone with whom he could cut-loose guilt-free. It was a great hindrance, being born with a compassionate heart, and one that had cost him many a sleepless night lamenting over the acts he'd performed. But that temperance had finally been rewarded, and years of moderation had melted away to unleash the ox-faced hedonist buried deep within his soul.
Soon his cock began to tense with the onset of orgasm, and he sank to his knees atop Petra, gasping for air. She untangled herself from beneath the panting Rakdos, her voice desperate with unfilled need. “What's wrong? I was getting so close, why'd you have to stop?!”

“Some of us still have to breathe Petra,” he said, shaking his head and grinning. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his muscles were already protesting his wild outburst. “If you met me eight years ago I'd have the stamina of a krovod, but these days? Can't always keep up with the youngbloods.”

“Here, sit up and take a deep breath, I may have something to fix that,” Petra chimed in, helping him to his knees and drawing a sigil in the air, her own legs quivering as wetness dripped down them. “Because I am not letting you take a nap after getting me this close.” She traced the runes along his abdomen, a rush of fresh energy shooting through his core as she intoned the prayer. Like a cup of dark coffee, the spell cleared fatigue his head and weariness from his limbs, a jittery need for movement quickly settling in to replace them. Petra finished her spell and stepped away from Zermat, lying down on hands and knees and presenting her ivory rear. “That's the best I can do short of turning you into a vampire. Now, come here and fuck me before it wears off!”
Though her spell had indeed not rendered him a mindless thrall, he responded all the same, taking up position behind the waiting vampire. He rubbed the tip of his cock against her dripping entrance, eliciting impatient whines as she pushed back against him, physically begging for him to put it back inside her. His teases continued, prodding her clit and her burning entrance with his head but not fully entering her, only spurring the vampire's need even further. She bunched the fabric between her fingers and whimpered desperately for him to put it in, to pound her like a revue whore and fill her with his throbbing, scorching manhood.
Only when her cries had devolved into High Ravi curses did he oblige her, parting her walls and slamming his cock home. From base to tip he sheathed himself, lingering at the deepest part of Petra for moments before pulling back and thrusting forth again. And again. And again, until Petra's screams of pleasure drowned out the smack of his crotch against her ass. “Hit me, Mr. Yetinsyny” Petra howled, falling face-down on the sacral cloth and wiggling her rump between Zermat's continued assaults. He hesitated, his mind overwhelmed with stimulation, before Petra repeated her command, turning to stare hungrily back at him. “I said hit me!” His hand collided with her ass with a sharp smack, a loud 'oooh' from Petra echoing soon after it. “Again, harder! I want to remember how this feels,” she shouted, curling her lip in a defiant sneer, “what being alive feels like!”

“It feels pretty great on my end,” Zermat retorted, spanking her as his cock prodded the deepest recesses of Petra's sex. He stabbed forwards harder and faster, slapping and squeezing her tight cheeks until a red impression of his hand marred the alabaster skin. Again he felt his member twinge and his balls tighten, small spurts of pre releasing inside Petra. “I'm getting close, I'm gonna cum soon” he whispered, leaning over her prostrate form. “Where do you want it?”

“Inside,” Petra whined, reaching up and pulling Zermat down for a sloppy, awkward kiss. “I need you to finish in me, Zermat.” One leg snaked itself back around Zermat's waist, holding him halfway-in and preventing him from withdrawing his cock. “I need it so badly, to feel life inside me, even if only for a little while.”

“Alright,” he grunted, righting himself and pulling Petra up by her shoulders. He folded her arms behind her and seized them by the elbows, then began bucking his hips. He started out slowly, tenderly, keeping in rhythm with Petra's limited motion. It was clear, however, that neither of them were looking for a tender finale to the night's events, and be it Zermat's decreasing ability to hold back or Petra's squirming beneath his grip, he quickly gave in and started pounding her with reckless abandon. Both his dick and Petra's ass were especially sensitive from bites and slaps, and whatever composure either party had remaining was quickly crumbling under the weight of stimulation. Zermat pulled his hand back and struck her rear end with a mighty 'thwack', which sent spasms of orgasmic pleasure shuddering up her back. “Oh Rix,” he groaned, falling into a rhythm of short, rapid thrusts as he felt himself unable to hold back. “That hard enough for you Mrs. Masochist?”

“Gods, I love that,” Petra whined. “The way your heartbeat increases when you spank me, the blood pulsing through you faster and faster.” Thick rivulets of arousal dripped from her entrance and eyes shut. “Your body tensing up when I clamp down on you.” Her legs spread as Zermat split her as wide as she could go, stretching her lithe body as he pounded relentlessly on her slit. “I love that adrenaline spike that makes your cock stiffen, it's enough to—enough to—oh gods!” The vampiress came, sex squeezing down tight on his dick as waves of bliss shot through her body like lightning bolts.

“I love you too Petra,” Zermat howled, the wet constriction of her silken prison overcoming the last holdouts of resistance in his body. His orgasm followed swiftly, sweet euphoric release filling his body as hot, sticky semen filled Petra's. Holding her impaled on his dick, his balls emptied their load deep inside the advokist, thick droplets of white fluid leaking out the corners of her sex. Only once the last drops of seed had been milked from him did he let Petra slip from his grasp, collapsing in a heap of post-coital ecstasy as cum pooled between her legs. He soon joined her, chest heaving as what little remained of Petra's pick-me-up spell wore off and the afterglow took hold.
How long had they been at it? He was sure he could hear the sounds of hooves and feet on cobbles from the street above, the hustle and bustle of the city slowly waking up. Though with how fatigued he was and how loud his heart was beating, he wouldn't doubt that he was imagining things. A wet slurping sound accompanied the clamor, and he looked down to see Petra nursing his softening dick, cleaning the rod of both their fluids and looking up at him with softly-lidded eyes.

“I can't sleep, you know. All those legends about coffins are just that; legends.” She crawled up beside him, pulling a section of the stained fabric over them in an impromptu blanket. “But if you need to, there's nothing I'd want more than to stay right here by your side.” Placing a soft peck on his cheek, Petra wrapped her clawed arm around his chest and nuzzled against his shoulder. “But, um, about that thing you said, right before you, you know, finished.”

“What about it?” He rubbed the back of her head, the long night weighing down on his eyes like anchors. “I swore our oaths in blood. Both the first one and this.”

“So you mean, not just while we're-”

“I mean always. I came here to find gold, but even precious metals will one day lose their luster.” He turned to his lover, staring into her beautiful shining eyes. “But what we shared tonight? That will last forever, as long as you keep me in your heart.” Zermat exhaled, surrendering his battle with sleep and sagging into Petra's embrace.

Resting her head on his chest, feeling his living heart beating slowly within, Petra smiled softly. “I love you too, Zermat.”