The Truth of Desire Ch. 04

It had originally been Solas' idea, but the notion of fighting fire with fire was something he'd dismissed offhand, especially after seeing what had happened at the Conclave months ago. Damon and Cassandra's relationship with Azarel—and the magical jeweled piercing she'd gifted the latter—was the whole reason they'd been looking for the Fade-strider in the first place. Azarel seemed disinterested in joining their conflict, but if there were entities like her in the Fade, then perhaps she was not the only one who was friendly. Cassandra had naturally accepted this logic and encouraged their research, though if she'd known the time cost, she might've reconsidered that—especially considering the weeks-long dry spell that followed.

And thinking of Azarel, he and Cass hadn't visited her, even through the Fade, since the incident with Tyrell. That...debacle still made him cringe. The fact that it all worked out in the end made it no less humiliating to remember. He wondered what Azarel would've thought of the whole situation.

"Solas," Damon said softly.

"Hm?"

"Did you ever discover anything more about Azarel? What she actually is? Where she might've come from?"

The elf paused his motions briefly. "No. There is no mention of that name in any of my research, or anything of similar temperament or behavior. One thing is certain: she is no mere 'demon.' But you already knew that."

"...yeah."

"Well, perhaps when I activate the circle, you can ask her."

Damon frowned. She'd deflected the question several times in the past, and being of lust-clouded mind, he and Cassandra had let her. Not this time.

"Ready?" Solas asked.

He nodded.

The elven mage gestured over the circle, brows knitted in grim concentration. As one, the runes alit with opalescent magic. Damon took and released a slow, deep breath, focusing his mind as he raised his Marked hand. He pointed his palm outward toward the Fade-strider and flexed his hand as green light poured from the limb. Gradually, then all at once, the circle's light turned to match his Mark's. Solas eyed the circle, double-checking his calculations, then giving the Inquisitor a nod.

Then Damon poured the full might of his magic into the Fade-strider, and all went black.              A moment, a blink later, and he'd stepped into familiar territory. Wooded plains, tropical ferns, a small pond of frogs—all things that felt utterly out of place in Ferelden, much less all in the same spot. Everything in the Fade always had a fuzzy tint around the edges, like a lucid dream. Well, considering that was exactly where the mind went during such an event, it seemed only appropriate.

"My dear Inquisitor..."

He whirled at the silky lilt of Azarel's voice to find her smiling at him from a throne of branches. As usual, her stark nudity drew his attention to her pierced nipples and the curve of her thighs. Damon forced down his ardor even as she bit her lip and stared at him with unveiled desire.

"Welcome back, luv," she greeted.

His lips pursed as he approached, careful not to get too close. "Thank you, mistress."

She motioned at his back, where a facsimile of the Fade-strider was floating in the air. "Quite the little toy you've acquired. Whatever is it for?"

"That's...what I came to ask about." Damon frowned slightly and eyed her up and down, though in no way observing her carnally. "I need to know the truth."

Her vivid red eyes twinkled curiously. "The truth? About what, my dear?"

"You—and any others like you."

Azarel laughed, though it seemed a bit tense. "What makes you think there are others like me, luv?"

"I don't know, but if the Fade is as vast as it is unknown, then I'm willing to bet a good bit of coin on it."

She didn't answer for a while. "Why do you want to know?"

Her voice was the most serious he'd ever heard. "We need help against Corypheus and his cult. The Fade-strider will allow even those without innate magic to consciously commune with the Fade. If we can find other friendly spirits, perhaps they can help us oppose him."

"...I see."

Damon's lips pressed into a thin line. "Azarel...what are you, really?"

Her eyes and form flared with a flicker of red flame. For the briefest of moments, he could swear she had transformed into something truly inhuman, an entity without form or substance. Damon blinked, and she was still sitting on the throne, naked legs crossed.

Azarel stared him down, humming at his overall lack of response. Then she spoke in a voice that dripped of ancient wisdom. "The demons you face, the ones your partner mistook me for on our first meeting—have you ever wondered where they came from?"

Damon knelt at her feet and sat with rapt attention.

"Nothing in the Fade has ever happened by coincidence or accident. This realm—" she motioned to their surroundings, "—is a dimension of pure thought. And thoughts are intentional."

"Whose thoughts created them, then?"

Azarel's jaw tightened for a moment. "Mine...and six others. Your Chantry has a name for what we are, though they speak it out of ignorance. They call us 'Original Sin,' the origin of the seven great temptations that plague mortals. But while they speak in hypotheticals and metaphor, the true meaning of what they say is quite literal."

"You're the original demons."

She laughed humorlessly. "Yes—and no. To call us 'demons' is akin to calling your warhorse a stout pony. The Sins are the embodiment of the Seven in their purest form. Mine, of course, is desire."

"If you're not a demon, then how did they come to be?"

"Simple: loneliness. When there are only seven of you so radically different from one another, it gets lonesome quickly in a realm beyond time. So, the first generation of spirits was born from our desire for companionship. Long ago, the barrier between our worlds was much weaker, and our spirits traveled between this realm and the material one quite frequently."

Damon frowned. "So what happened?"

Azarel smiled sadly. "You did."

"...what?"

"Mortals, I mean. Your connection to the Fade had consequences on it, especially as you learned to channel it into magic. Most spirits have little will of their own that does not keep to their nature. Mortals, on the other hand..." Her eyes darkened. "Their will to dominate, to destroy, to possess—these traits bled into the Fade, and over time, their thoughts changed the nature of many spirits."

Damon shook his head. "I don't...I can't believe that."

Another chuckle. "Why? Because the Chantry portrays those of the Fade as an invasive cancer to be purged? Those robed fools have the cause and effect of it all backwards." She leaned forward. "The seven 'temptations' are not a product of the Fade, but of your own flawed nature. We didn't create them. You created us through them. You created the Original Sins. Every spirit of the Fade was born from the collective thoughts of both gods and mortals. And you created your own demons."

Damon felt the wind punched out of him as he slumped back and stared off into the distance.

"I know what you're thinking, dearest, and no, I'm not lying to you. I never have and never will." She finally rose from the throne and sat at his side, gently petting his hair. "It is a weighty thing, to know a truth that would brand you a heretic. You are not the first. I would caution you to consider the full ramifications of taking your plan to its conclusion. If you ally with the spirits of the Fade, the Chantry will condemn you—and the entire continent that follows them will declare war on your Inquisition."

Damon's head shook. "Not if we keep it a secret within the Inquisition and only deploy them in times of great need." He scoffed. "Fuck the Chantry. I've already written them off."

She frowned. "But your companions have not. Certainly not all of them. If any one of them leaks this to the outside, it would compromise your entire mission—not to mention your life. If the 'Maker's Prophet' herself could be burned at the stake by those zealots, so can her Herald."

He met her eyes. "That's why you didn't answer Cass when she asked the same question the first time we met."

Her lips pursed. "She was not ready to hear the truth. I still doubt she is, despite all we've experienced together. Your elven mage might be. I do not know about the others."

Damon sighed hard and slumped over. "I don't know what to do, Azarel. So many died today, and that was just one ambush. What happens next time we face Corypheus in open battle? I can't match his power or his numbers. We need help, and our supposed 'allies' are too busy playing politics to understand the true gravity of the threat." He looked into her red eyes. "Can you not help us?"

She chuckled. "Help you how?"

His lips pursed tightly. "Merge with me."

Her smile vanished.

"I've heard tales of a mage who was able to do it and magnify his power."

Azarel scowled. "As have I. I saw the Fade tears the day Kirkwall fell, the wanton destruction. Is that what you want?"

"No!" He stood. "I don't mean to merge permanently, but..."

"But nothing." She stood with him, taking his hands. "Dearest, you do not know what you ask. Doing this with a descendant spirit would be difficult enough, but a Sin? Even assuming your body could withstand it, could you say the same of your mind?"

Damon's jaw tightened. "I have to try something. Corypheus' forces have demons and magic at their command that far outstrip anything we can throw at them. I've recently been finding new ways to amplify my power—if no one else, I could survive the merge."

She looked into his eyes, searching them. For the briefest of moments, he felt his recent memories flash by in a torrent and knew she'd seen them all.

Azarel's brows shot up as she chuckled. "My my...what a reunion."

Damon blushed fiercely. "His gifts are an opportunity—my body is better suited to transform now, and even radical changes won't damage my mind."

Her lips pursed. "Perhaps. And what does your love think of this plan?"

"She knows I intend to recruit spirits to our cause."

"But not of your intent to merge with one."

Damon was silent.

She sighed hard. "Have you learned nothing about keeping secrets from her?"

"I know, I know."

Azarel silently observed him for a while. "If you can withstand the presence of my true form, perhaps I will consider this." Her eyes hardened. "But I warn you: no mortal has ever accomplished what you are about to attempt and retained their sanity."

Damon squared his shoulders. "I'm ready."

Her head cocked a bit. "No. You are not. But if not me, you will try with a stranger—and I cannot allow that." She placed a finger on his shoulder and pushed down. "Kneel."

Damon gulped and obeyed, not that he had much choice. That one finger pushed with the strength of an ox. When he was all the way down, Azarel stepped back, keeping her eyes fixed on him as she mounted her throne once more.

Then she blinked, and the feminine form he'd come to know intimately vanished.

In its place was...nothing, and at once her presence was all around him. An endless void of ethereal nothingness, but he could feel its gaze upon him. His body had faded entirely from view or consciousness, and all that was left was him—his soul, in its purest form of thought and spirit.

"Damon."

The single word nearly shattered him. It reverberated in his mind, echoing off its walls like a stone hurled from Qunari slings. His awareness buckled at the feelings that assaulted him.

He was watched. He was caressed. He was pinned. He was choked.

Pain and ecstasy slammed into him in their purest form, surging through him with a ferocity that would've cracked stone. Without a body, he could only endure, unable to so much as scream. Slowly, distantly, his awareness glimpsed the presence of a hundred eyes guiding a thousand fingers. Wings of bladed feathers and tendrils of thought given form wrapped around him, twirling him in their grasp as if to examine from every angle. Then at last, the overwhelming sensations of his own awareness calmed, and the hundred eyes coalesced into just one.

Blazing, brilliant red glared into the depths of his soul, paring away every restraint and barrier with brutish determination. He wailed without voice, sheer terror gripping the deepest parts of his being. Horror and despair and sadness and regret all warred within as everything was laid bare before that unblinking eye.

"I see you."

Many desires surged through him in that moment, but the desire to crumple and weep until nothing was left overpowered all others.

Because it knew.

It saw.

Every hidden desire, every secret shame, every wild ambition and forbidden lust and potential future he'd ever dreamed of having. And he could not close his eyes—he had no eyes to close—and he could not shrink away—he had no body to curl up. His only choice was no choice at all: to submit and watch and listen.

"I see you."

Everything within him keened in despair.

"And I love you."

His being screamed and wailed its denial. Because it saw the truth—unfiltered, unobscured. How could anyone or anything see him and love him?

"I love you."

And all at once, it all came rushing in: him, as it saw him. A man whose knowledge and nature gave birth to one simple desire: to live at peace, on his own terms. To surround himself with companions and spend his days building things and sowing crops, indulging in painting and pottery, debating the merits of tits vs ass (and eventually deciding that legs outstrip both). To spend his evenings at banquets with homecooked feasts enjoyed with friends...and...maybe an orgy after.

But above all, he desired to lay down at night cradled in the warmth of another—or several others—and sleep soundly, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow would come without abandonment or heartbreak.

All at once, he was him again, body and soul.

He wept and wailed and sobbed with all his might, clinging to the warmth of another who held him and pet him and whispered sweetly in his ear.

"I'm sorry, my dear."

He held her tighter and splayed his fingers out on her back. The slight scaly texture reminded him of a soft leather couch he'd loved as a child.

"I'm sorry this life isn't what you wanted."

He squeezed his arms around her, pressed his face into the nape of her neck so hard he was sure it would bruise.

"Mommy's here for you, Damon."

Damon? Was that his name? Everything was still slowly coming back.

"I'm here, my love."

There were no words, no thoughts, no coherence of any kind. Only pain and relief and overflowing warmth. She held him and hummed and trailed her fingers in patterns along his back. He was naked in every possible way, yet somehow felt safer than he ever had before.

"You've been so strong, my dear. I'm so proud of you."

He cried harder, shaking violently.

"You can do this. You are good enough."

Slowly, Damon's body-wracking sobs began to calm. His shaking dwindled to a small tremble. Thought and words came back to him like fragments of driftwood.

"Thank you," he croaked.

She kissed his forehead. "Of course, luv."

Damon looked up into her eyes and saw nothing but affection and acceptance. He leaned up and kissed her. She kissed him back, only deepening it enough to taste his lips, but never taking it further.

They stayed there, curled up on the landscape of the Fade for a long, long time.

...

When he was finally coherent, Damon looked up from his place in Azarel's lap and smiled.

"I am so glad we met."

Azarel chuckled. "As am I, little pet."

Damon squirmed and avoided her gaze.

At this, she laughed. "Everything you know I've seen, and you can still blush." She tapped his nose. "So cute."

He nuzzled into her hand. "Thank you, Mommy."

She cupped his face and shifted so she loomed over his prone form, gazing down at him with warmth and no small amount of lust. It made his cock twitch and his whole body hot.

Azarel tapped his lips. "Why don't you bring that lovely bird of yours? It's been too long since we've spent time together."

He nodded and bit his lip. "I agree, but..."

Her head cocked. "What is it, dearest?"

"Can I be with you alone, first?"

Azarel blinked those hypnotic red eyes.

"After all that..." Damon sighed and looked away. "I just...want to feel close to you."

"Oh honey," she cooed. Azarel pressed a kiss to his nose. "My sweet, vulnerable boy. Of course we can, luv."

Then she kissed him and he kissed back. What little breath he did have was swiftly stolen away when she thrust her tongue deep, deep past his and jammed it down his throat. Damon gurgled and gagged around it, eyes rolling back as he felt her heat permeate his whole body. Her fingers danced across his skin like tongues of fire, claws pinching and pulling on his nipples. At long last, Azarel broke the kiss and let him breathe only to force a groan from his lips when she tweaked his nipples hard enough to hurt.

Damon looked up into her eyes and the breath was knocked from his lungs. He could already feel her swallowing him up, and she'd barely even touched him. He mewled helplessly, and she chuckled, breath heavy with desire. Azarel straddled his hips, finally releasing his nipples and instead digging her fingers into his hair as she fucked his mouth with her tongue. Her wetness dragged across his manhood, soaking its every inch as she rocked back and forth.

Damon reached up and grabbed her hips only to moan when she pinned his wrists to the ground. He looked up to see a wild, fiery look in her eyes. Its intensity was almost enough to frighten him. Almost.

Instead, he moaned into her mouth and laid back, helplessly squirming in her iron grasp. Azarel drew back and laughed huskily. She lifted her hips off his and scooted up, keeping her hands on his shoulders as the Fade warped around them. Suddenly, they were no longer on the ground—and his arms were no longer free. He was laying atop a curved wooden slab, with his back arched and arms shackled below him.

Azarel immediately sat on his face.

Her tangy sweetness flooded into his mouth, at once completely new and as delicious as he remembered. Lust flooded his mind, drowning out everything else as she ground her pussy into his mouth and stared down at him with a toothy grin. Her hips rocked back and forth, little gasps and moans escaping her lips with every gyration. Even untouched, his cock was twitching and hard as a rock.

She laughed. "Ahh...I've missed your tongue, pet. Such a gooood boy."

He moaned into her pussy as she pet his hair. His lips wrapped around her clit, tongue bullying it this way and that. Azarel grinned wider and tightened her grip, pulling his hair and moving his head to make it more difficult to hold onto her button.

"Fuck...yesss..."

In seconds, Damon felt warm liquid flood his mouth and gurgled helplessly as her pussy tried its best to drown him. He had about four seconds to panic over that before Azarel gave him something new to worry about. Specifically, he was no longer drowning.

He was choking.

Her rapidly growing clit forced his lips and jaw apart; she was transforming it into a cock thicker than she'd ever shown him. He could feel its spongy tip flatten his tongue and push its way past his gag reflex as it curved down his throat and cut off his air. Damon's eyes rolled back progressively more the longer she stayed there, forcing him to deepthroat her to the base.

"Fuuuuck," she moaned throatily.

Damon choked on her cock, throat uselessly trying to expel the intruder. Instead, he gurgled around her length as it twitched and deposited more slime directly down his throat. When everything started going dark, she finally pulled out and let him wheeze for breath. Air flooded in and his brain struggled to catch up. She smacked his face with her hardness and laughed when he went cross-eyed trying to look at it.