Magic and murder and fulfilling promises.

Word Count: 7669

Content Warnings: murder, blood, snuff, cannibalism, violence, torture

Griffin dragged the back of his hand across his brow, wiping away the beads of sweat that had collected there as he finished crafting the last of his crows.  The components in the large onyx bowl coalesced, twisted, and within a minute or so the last one looked up at him and tilted its head.  It cawed a low, questioning croak.  He reached down gently and caressed the crow’s cheek, expression fond as he gazed deeply into the ebony eyes of the transformed creature.  It was the imitation of life, kept whole and real only by his will.  If he died the threads of it would unravel and it would be nothing but a bag of spent components, like the rest of them.  He'd made a score in preparation for the evening.  

There were costs to what he had done over years and one of them was that he worked his best magic after nightfall.  Some witches delighted in light and day, some moon and stars.  There were those who felt the call of elements, or biomes.  Griffin had chosen and chased utter black.  Choices had exacerbated the inclination and now he was almost twice as strong in the depth of night as he was at noon.  

He took the large crow in hand and brought it to his lips where he whispered instructions; commands and magic that would bind it to his will and to the purpose to which he had set.  He needed his little constructs to be eyes and ears as scouts, and later, as part of something much more grand.  

Griffin knew how Julian worked, even if he hadn't seen him in years.  The other man liked theatrics and to play sweet and innocent.  He believed the illusion of himself was utterly infallible.  For a time, it had been.  He had been everything for which Griffin was weak: too much like Christian, fawning and adoring, just powerful enough, but never a threat.  He had worked well to hit all of Griffin's sweet spots and make himself almost invisible in the shadow of Griffin's ego and sense that he was the master of all he surveyed.  It had allowed Julian to glean little bits of forbidden knowledge and lore, enough to know where to look for more powerful magic.  Darker.  Griffin hadn't suspected that the little sociopath was playing him, using his arrogance and the flaws of himself to get what he wanted.  In the end, Griffin had died because he'd been blinded to what was really going on.  Because he just hadn't believed that he could have missed what was right under his nose.  

It wasn't a mistake he was going to make again.  

There was no world in which he let Julian get close enough this time.  He would play into the other man's own sense of knowing the game to trap him in his own web.  Griffin's failures would become the keys to delivering Julian into his hands.  He could play the stupid bitch when he needed to, had already done twice by virtue of his own arrogance.  Julian was a clever witch, true, and no small hand at magic, but Griffin was old and cruel and patient.  He knew how to use failure as currency.  He would use Julian's own tricks against him.  

With a deep sigh, Griffin tossed the bird into the air. It cawed as it took wing and flew out of the open window of the room in which he did his spell work.  He was a little shaky as he turned to where Balakai crouched in the doorway and grinned.  

"I hope you're hungry.  It's gonna be a long night."

It was some hours later when he walked toward the large, old house that was like so many others that lined the streets of Cambridge in this part of the Harvard campus.  They'd been massive, single family homes earlier in their lives, when the wealthy and elite had lived here.  Now, most of them were divided into multi unit, communal living.  Greek life had been on the decline and Harvard, like many others, had been moving away from it for a long while.  That had led to a rise in such community housing.  This time of year many had gone home for the summer.  Some remained to take classes or work, some because this was now home and they had nowhere else to go.  As Griffin walked with his hands in his pockets and head bowed, ear buds in his ears, he passed only one other person.

There were looming clouds in the sky despite the weather forecast claiming fair skies.  The summer heat was oppressive, though, that kind of heavy waiting before the break of the storm.  Lightning flashed from time to time, called by the heat, and maybe else.  There were dark shapes in the trees that lined the street, black-eyed and watchful.  A mournful caw broke the silence, the sound swallowed by the hot, still air.

Through process of elimination, he and Balakai had figured this was where Julian had to be.  The map had shown five witches here.  Julian and four others.  Every plan carried a certain amount of risk, but Griffin was sure of himself here.  He could count on a few things with almost absolute certainty.  Julian wouldn't be able to resist what looked like an easy target.  The more time he could kill, the better, and so he'd see if he could get him talking.  The flesh along his arms rose and he pulled one of the earbuds out as he neared his destination.  

"I didn't imagine that you'd just gift wrap yourself, Griffin darling. Did you really miss me that much?"  Julian's voice was sweet and gentle. "And how interesting to see you back on your feet as if nothing at all happened.  Even seeing it with my own eyes, it's amazing."

Griffin looked up from where he stood on the sidewalk to the high covered porch.  The blonde was leaning against one of the thick, wooden porch pillars painted a fresh cream color that went well with the cranberry and chartreuse accents of the late Victorian home.  

"No matter how many people you kill, Julian, you're never going to be me.  That's not how this works."  He sighed impatiently.

"Oh Griffin, I don’t want to be you.  That would be terrible.  I just wanted that clever trick of yours that makes death a mere inconvenience."

"And you think you have a way to tap into that?  Just bleed me a little and take what I am? You really think it's that simple?" Griffin mocked.

Julian snorted. "Simple?  You think that this was simple? I've spent two years planning this. Moving the world to get you here.  To keep you busy and entertained so you wouldn't slip off to Europe or something."

"Getting the Sinclaire's attention was a good call.  They're the only ones around here with the kind of money to pay my fees.  And the power to make me behave."  He leaned against a tree and just watched the other witch.  "I'm here.  And I'm going to kill you.  You have to know that."

Julian smiled brightly.  "Are you?  And what makes you think that it'll stick?  Hm?  That my spell didn't work the first time and I don’t just want to make sure I don't have any competition in the 'doesn't stay dead' department?"

"Because you're an arrogant little cunt, but you're not that stupid.  Getting the Sinclaires involved is risky, even for you.  How could you be sure that they were going to call me? Lir is back in the states.  He'd have happily taken the job for this kind of money, retired or not."  He studied his nails.  "That was sloppy work you left for me to find.  Using my spell weave was a clever trick, though.  And it worked. Probably shouldn’t have gotten Velorum’s attention, though. It’s never good to have Death’s eye on you."

Julian gave a little bow.  "I aim to please, and the Avatar doesn’t scare me.  Your clucking aunt has no interest in the likes of me.  Now, you just walked up here, so I assume you have some big spell ready?  Some storm or another to lay waste?  You don't usually care about collateral."

"Maybe," he answered, a little wicked grin tugging at his lips.  

"I could feel it as you got closer, you know.  Always could tell when you were casting.  That build of power like pleasure and the storm.  It's hot."

"I aim to please," Griffin echoed.  

Julian met his smile with cold, dark eyes.  "So predictable, Griffin.  That's always been your downfall."  The other witch reached out a hand and closed his fist and Griffin felt all of the air go out of the space around him.  He couldn’t move, only stand helpless as the world went black.

The townhouse was quiet.  

Balakai lounged on the couch, watching Star Trek reruns with the tv muted and closed captioning on.  The loudest sound in the house was the hum of the air conditioner and the slow, steady tick of the decorative wall clock in the foyer.  He had his feet up on the coffee table in rainbow striped toe socks, combat boots discarded underneath.  Black cargo pants and a tight, faded black tank were the closest he got to 'serious' clothes.  His hair was still damp from a shower, slow to dry in the humid air.  

Griffin's weight in his lap was pleasant.  The witch was stretched out on the couch with his head in the demon's lap, hands folded on his chest.  He could have been peacefully asleep- except he never looked this way when he slept.  He slept restless but soft.  The set of his face was wrong for sleep, for all that his breathing was slow and deep and even.  The way his eyes moved beneath his lids was not random.  It was no small amount fascinating, but Balakai took care not to touch.  Just watched him, his own hands folded on his belly, occasionally brushing Griffin's hair but no more.  

When his jewel bright eyes opened, Balakai cocked a brow.  "Well?"

Griffin didn't move, just took the time to slide back into himself wholly.  It required a great deal of focus to watch from so many pairs of eyes, his homunculi crows being good little scouts, and then the fuel for the bigger magic he was working.  It took a toll to do it from a distance, but it was safer this way in case he had miscalculated.  

"Pride goeth before the fall,"  he answered. Griffin felt heavy in his body, the threads that connected him to the magic he was working weighing him down and making his movements slow and deliberate. "You were right.  He was at the girl's house.  I'd guess if any of her roommates came back, they're long dead now.  The other locations were just proto covens or families."

He let his eyes drift closed again for a moment and just rested in the quiet of them. Took a little bit of strength from the solid of Balakai beneath him. He wasn't actually worried.  What he felt... was conflicted.  And it made him uncomfortable.  

Julian, before it had all gone wrong, had been lovely and sweet and had been the illusion of the life that Griffin had once wanted. For which he had ached with the kind of all consuming want that had left him blind to anything and everything else.  He had been too like Christian for him to look away.  To see past the pretty to the decay underneath.  And even now, he wanted to run his hands through Julian’s long, blonde hair and feel his lips on his skin.  How he would have almost forsaken everything to hear him call his name in passion.  Because when they'd been together, and it had been good; it had been everything.  

Everything but real.

There were no lies or deceptions between him and the demon.  Maybe there were games, and definitely they chose not to address some of the wildly fucked up, but there was more honesty and truth than anything else and it was something that Griffin could hold to.  Balakai didn't make him feel like he was drowning.  He didn't feel lost.  He felt most himself because he didn't have to hide and fit into someone else's version of what he should be.  

Now, he was going to keep his promise to Balakai and see what remained after.  

"Time to go, I think.  If I can count on little else, it's that Julian is an arrogant fuck and he'll assume I'm just as bad.  That I'll walk right into his bullshit thinking I can get out. Flaws, magnified."

Balakai didn't rush the witch, just carded fingers through the auburn strands of his hair as he talked, tracing the contours of his face and the column of his neck.  He'd behaved himself for the sake of the magic that had to be worked.  This was one line he had no interest in pushing.  Interfering in Griffin's work served him very little.  He liked the lifestyle that Griffin provided him, and he wasn't so stupid as to not realize where that level of decadence came from.  Besides, Griffin's work was interesting, and he was different when he was working than when he was not.  If he interfered, he would have lost access to this facet of Griffin and he wasn't nearly done being fascinated by him yet.  All of him.

Some demons, some people, might have chiseled away at things they didn't like once they'd made a cursory survey of their conquest.  Balakai was no artist.  Creation held very little interest for him.  Changing Griffin wasn’t part of his desire.  If he wasn't interested in him as he was, he'd have pursued someone else.  

He curled down to kiss the witch as he rested in his lap, tongue sliding deep, tasting the magic that lingered in every part of him, the shadow of herbs ingested that mingled with the perfume of Griffin's skin and the faint dusty scent of feathers.  

Griffin basked in the kiss, tasted the sulfur and spice of him; the way his inhuman tongue claimed every bit of the territory of his mouth and he surrendered to it with all willingness.  There was no lie here; Balakai was wildly unambiguous.  When the demon drew back, he gave a little sigh and smiled up at him.  There was an odd kind of settled and content in his expression that hadn't been there before.  As if the prospect of the mayhem and murder to come, now that it was time, brought him a kind of centering that he'd been lacking.

After a few long moments, Balakai drew up again with a low noise of satisfaction and pushed Griffin off his lap.  

"Let's go then."  

He stood up and stretched, then bent and retrieved a battered backpack from next to the coffee table.  He opened it and showed Griffin the contents, giving it a little shake so it clinked and caught the light.  There was at least one length of chain in the bottom of the bag, along with the collar Balakai had worn to Pandamonium.  "You keep your end of the promise, I'll keep mine."

His grin was wicked.

Griffin also rose and rolled his shoulders, raising an eyebrow at the sound that issued from the tattered backpack.  He threw back his head and laughed long and hard and delighted.  "You bet your sweet ass I'm going to keep my promise."

The flesh on his arms rose at the prospect, recalling the promise and threat that Balakai had made at the restaurant.  He knew what else was likely to follow.  Once he was done working, once his business concluded, he knew that there would be nothing at all to stop the demon from repaying him for how roughly he'd treated him that morning.  There would be nothing to stop him from enjoying watching the life fade from Griffin's eyes over and over.  It made him shiver, a hot flash of desire and anticipation pooling in his cock at the prospect.  

"Just make sure you keep track of the pieces, would you?  I don't know how long the Sinclaires are willing to pay the rent on this place and I can't let you into my domain if I'm dead."  There was ample humor on his lips as he slung a messenger bag over one shoulder and nodded toward the front door.  "They're playing our song."

Griffin awoke and knew where he was.  Knew what had happened.  Knew, with intimate knowledge, what came next.  He was face down on a table with his arms and legs bound to the legs.  There was a gag in his mouth, a precaution against casting.  He'd been stripped of his clothing and the air around him felt like dark magic.  Like the spell circle he'd come upon before, this was in the basement.  Everything that had been here moved out of the way and pushed into the gloom beyond.  This spell circle was much more elaborate, several layers and colors of chalk scrawled on the floor in Julian's elegant script.  There were four other people in the room, one at each of the four directions, offerings to elements and old powers.  He knew that he made the fifth. 

"Awake, precious?" Julian asked from just off to the side.  He was placing candles and overhead Griffin heard the sound of thunder crashing.  He smiled over the gag.  Julian's dark gaze flickered over to him.  "Very dramatic, the storm.  Save that power for me, won't you, love?  I want every drop of you."

Griffin moved his hand to give the other man the finger and Julian just laughed.  

"I remember this like it was yesterday, you know?  I dream about it sometimes.  Do you think about me, Griffin?  Those lovely days under the sun with the grass on your back as I made love to you so gently and you just melted under me. I think I made you forget who you were for a while.  Made you believe that there was some humanity left in you.  It was so pretty to watch you, all of that power and all of that swagger... turned into sweetness because I could be a needy little cunt for you.  God how you wanted to believe me.  You've always made it so easy."

The last of the candles were in place.  Little piles of components sat at intersections of lines and text, and the four other people who sat naked, blindfolded, and unmoving in the lotus position at their prescribed spots.  Everything seemed ready and Griffin let out a slow breath as he tried to keep calm.  

All part of the plan.

"I must say, I'm a little... underwhelmed.  I'd expected... something, you know?  I know you're more than this, Griffin.  Is it that you are tired and ready to die, then?  To become part of me forever?"  The lovely blonde came over and caressed his cheek, his expression besotted.  "That's so romantic.  I didn't think you had it in you."

He picked a thin, sharp blade from the floor and gave Griffin a little kiss on the brow.  "I promise, this will only hurt horribly for a little while, then it'll all be over."

Griffin winced as he felt the first prick of the blade sink into his skin where there had already been glyphs set.  Felt his flesh parted under it and the hot, wet slide of blood as it began to course down his back from the cuts.  He could not help the little noise of pain that he made as he buried his head into his arm and screwed his eyes shut tight.  He lost himself in the agony of it, breathed deep and slow to ride through it.  He was very familiar with pain and this served a purpose.  He had to stick to the plan and do his part.  It was the reason that he existed at all.  

Julian began the soft spoken incantation, lyrical and lovely in his rich voice.  The spell was a complicated one and he'd never quite brought it to completion with all five people.  It was a lot of essence and magic to pull and it almost hurt. It felt so good when the four senseless little witches he'd been keeping in quiet trance began to writhe.  He pulled the magic of them, gave tribute to the darkness from which such magic came, and began the delicate process of threading their magic into his own.  Expanding that of which he was innately capable to hold even more.  Like adding an addition to a house. It was agony and ascendancy and he felt as if all of him were ripped asunder and put back together at an atomic level.  He felt awash with it as he drew from them and added to himself and he understood now why Griffin had kept this secret to himself and guarded it so carefully.  

It was climax - and oblivion.  

There was something at the edges of his awareness that screamed for him to pay attention.  As he parted Griffin's skin under his knife and wove magic of the highest order, he felt it just at the extent of his perception.  And ignored it.  He was too in the thrall of it now, had too many weaves of magic twined in his fingers as he drew the life and power from the five other witches before him.  Perhaps he had expected Griffin to feel like... more.  Instead, he was oddly hollow, spun thin, and it gave Julian just a moment of pause.  

And not enough.

The room was dark, lit only by candles.  

Full of shadows.

As Griffin's blood spilled, the darkness shifted, moved in a way it should not have. Behind Julian, the shadows opened up and Balakai stepped lightly from abyssal dark, eyes bright as garnet and a bat slung jauntily over his shoulders.  Any sound he might have made was covered by the growl of thunder and the noise of the sacrifices as they whimpered, already too tied into the spell to be saved, their lives bleeding out into the runes, running along the lines of chalk.  He was careful not to break any of it as he crossed the one or two steps to arrange himself behind Julian, resettling the bat in his hands.

There was a moment when the witch hesitated, the knife paused, and Balakai’s grin grew feral.  Like he could feel the change in the air or the scent of sulfur under the candle smoke and blood.  Balakai took the opportunity and swung a short, calculated blow, catching the witch upside the back of the head and sending him face first into the carefully carved glyphs.

He paused to check Julian's pulse, then nodded to himself.  "Are all witches as dumb as you two bitches?  You can come in now."  

He glanced towards the basement stairs and waited, leaning on the bat.  He was a little pale and sharp around the edges- travel through shadows was hard, and not his strength, but since the distance had been short and the shadows plentiful, it had seemed the safer path than having to step over the circles which would certainly have alerted Julian.

The form of Griffin on the table burst apart in a flurry of black crows' wings as the dozen of them that had been held together by the force of Griffin's magic burst apart. A doppelganger, threaded through with enough magic to make it feel like Griffin to magic senses, a costly use of power. And Griffin’s specialty, the transmutation of one thing to another.  

"No, just those of us too arrogant for our own good," the witch chuckled as he walked slowly down the stairs. 

There was something very unsettling about Griffin now, as the shadows writhed and moved around them. They were restless with the demon in the room, knew he could, and had, been master of them. Griffin moved gracefully and slowly, taking a knee just outside of the circle. He shook his head and chuckled, reaching into the bag at his side to draw out a piece of white chalk. He made a few edits to the runes and added some connective spirals and lines between the layers of circles. "Dump him on the table," he directed Balakai of Julian's unmoving form.

Balakai hauled the witch up on the table as instructed, where Griffin's double had been just moments before. Pushed the scattering of components that were the remains of dead homunculi off the table. He re-used the bonds already attached to the table legs, forcing the gag into the unconscious man's mouth and trussing him with neat, experienced hands. He flourished a mocking bow when Griffin turned to view his work. For all the light heartedness of his movements, there was a weight to him and the candle light caught the deep garnet of his eyes peculiarly, the queer reflective shine of them especially prominent in the dim room.  

Into the piles of components Griffin added a few things and subtracted others. He didn't look worried at all, though the pallor of him was clear. It took him no more than a few minutes and then he joined the demon beside the table where Balakai had trussed up Julien like a perfect little present. There was a dark trail of blood down the back of his neck that soaked into his white shirt. Griffin dipped his finger into it and painted a few more symbols and runes around the edges of the table. When he was done with that, he sighed contentedly.

"Do you want to fuck me after I kill him, or as?" The question was asked as if he were trying to decide what he wanted for lunch.

Balakai considered for a long moment, just watching Griffin as he stood there calm as calm. Then he slowly sank down to crouch, rocking his weight back on his heels. His elbows rested lightly on his bent knees, hands dangling loose in the air between. His expression was intent.  

"I want to watch you do it. I want to see the look on your face."

Griffin gazed at Julian, still unconscious and motionless on the table that had been meant for Griffin’s death.  His expression was almost peaceful, none of the conflict or strain from earlier leaving any kind of trace on the planes of his handsome face. His mismatched eyes were dark with desire and power.

"I did promise, after all." His voice was sweet, a caress. His gaze flickered to the backpack where the collar and chain rested.  

He leaned down and kissed Balakai, a chaste and delicate thing, before he turned back to Julian who had just started to move, groaning around the gag.  Griffin watched the other witch with almost benign curiosity.  

"You're wondering 'how' right about now. I am not called the Lord of Crows for nothing.  It is a title I earned fair and you should have known that. Didn't notice them, did you? Keeping watch? You've always spent so much time looking at the big picture you miss the little things."

Griffin brushed a stray lock of Julian's golden hair from his brow like a lover might, his expression quiet and serene. "You left such loud messages. Screamed for my attention like a child. So, I ignored you. Couldn't stand it though, could you? I'll admit you got me when I followed you. That one was on me, but the bit at the townhouse was just way over the top. You pushed a little too much with that and gave yourself away. Never could learn, could you? That real magic takes patience, Julian."

There was a moment when he just looked down at the other man who glared up at him in cold hatred. Julian wasn't a fool. He knew what was about to happen.  

"So I waited. And watched. Because I know this spell, don't I? And I know that what information I gave you was wrong. You assumed I was the one who messed it up, because I'm strange. It never occurred to you that I might have misled you. In that infinite sense of self assurance of yours, the mistake could never have been yours. So you've tried again and again without success. It's okay, though. I'll show you how it's done this time."

Overhead, thunder crashed and lightning flashed in the storm windows, flickering along the walls. The wind outside picked up and the air around them felt heavy.  

"First, never do this kind of magic before midnight. That is for working light magic and we do not belong to the light. It's just midnight now. Second, you are too dramatic. Magic like this, really, just takes intent." The last word dropped low and Griffin reached out and placed his hand on the other man's chest.  

"Thank you for going to all of this trouble, Julian. I don't usually bother, but… waste not want not."  

Griffin smiled and began to pull. The sigils and runes around the circles flared brightly, candles throwing twisted shadows around the dark basement as the four other witches keened over their gags. None of them, however, howled with the soul searing agony that Julian did. He was the center, the focus of the forbidden magic.  

Griffin pulled the magic of them, felt it fill him and add to his own might. He had done this plenty of times before, though it had been a long while since he'd done more than one person at a time. It was too much effort and cost to work magic this big, and modern communication and connections made it hard to just vanish so many witches at once. They weren't exactly populous. He'd waited, however, and knew that Julian would do the work for him, take the fall for it too. Griffin would reap all of the rewards with little of the risk. And all he'd had to do was bide his time and play slutty bitch. His favorite role.

He threw his head back and his breathing became quick, heart racing in his chest as the magic of the others coursed into him. It was lightning and fire and ice and god it hurt. It was an agony so profound he almost stopped. A trail of blood dripped from ears and eyes and nose, no human body meant to take so much power. But he did. Drew it in as Julian screamed and he exalted. 

When the stream of power began to lessen, he looked down at Julian, writhing and weeping. His struggles became less and less. Griffin hardly noticed the other four fall over as they died, all life essence and magic of them consumed  Julian was limp as Griffin hauled him up by his bonds, looking him in the eye. He was resplendent in his stolen power; fair glowing with it. There was an almost luminous glow to his eyes and his hair moved as with an unseen breeze.  

"Icarus flew too close to the sun too. Only, I am the night, Julian, and I was never meant for such as you. I appreciate the reminder, though. It was beautiful while it lasted, but now we must end... as all lovely things do. I belong to another." He leaned in as if he were going to kiss him, and then didn't, drawing back. Instead, he wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed, watching him as the last light of life faded from his eyes.

It was everything Balakai had wanted. The rise of power that made his hair stand on end, that made his skin feel too thin and too tight. It called to that which he was, the surge of witch magic. There would always be something there that called to things like himself. In all the world there was only one kind of magic that opened the doorways between this plane and his own. Not the Faerie, with their ever present doorways and their oaths and their half step from reality. Not the Incarnum, whom were elemental and primordial but still of this world. But humans.  Witchcraft. Arcanum. Humans. In all their glory.

Balakai didn't move until the magic began to settle and Griffin's hands closed around the other witch's neck. Then he moved. Slowly. Like a creature moving in the presence of a predator. Low and slinking on all fours though he had not lost his human shape. The muscles of him moved in uncanny ways, as though they did not quite line up. He moved to Griffin's side and slid his hands over his ankle. Slowly slid them up his leg, hardly touching but feeling the aura of power in him. Like the air had weight and mass that he could eat. He stood, following his hands up Griffin's body and boosting himself on his toes, holding his balance with hands pressed against the witch's bicep and shoulder. Not interfering with his grip on Julian as the last light flickered from the bleeding body's eyes.

There was the light, hot touch of tongue, lapping at the trail of blood down Griffin's neck.  

"You are beautiful," he murmured, voice low and heated. One of his hands dropped to Griffin's hip, reached between his legs to run his fingers lightly over him there, as he pressed the hardness of his own arousal against Griffin's hip. He rested his cheek on Griffin's shoulder and looked down at the dead man.  

"Mine." It was a low growl, all gravel and possession.

Griffin dropped the lifeless form of Julian back on the table, shivering with power. The storm overhead was positively wild, thunder shaking the world as lightning crashed down around them in answer to the magic that surged in the world. The wild of the storm was like the avatar of what went on within him, an expression of the powerful threads of magic stolen from others - Julian's the worth of a dozen at the least. He'd been a busy boy in the years since he'd thought that he'd murdered Griffin, grown powerful in his own right. Against any other he might have been fine, but Griffin was an old and cunning fox. The poor thing had more power than sense and now he was dead.  

Julian had made it personal and it had gotten him killed.  

The power of him was unruly and it made Griffin’s heart race and his skin run sensitive. He felt Balakai slide up his body and he let out a little moan. No matter the husks of bodies left behind, or that Julian's was already turning gray and dessicated. Everything about them that had given them life and power was his now and it coursed through his veins like liquid fire. He tilted his head to give Balakai more room to run his tongue along his skin and he pressed against hand and hardness. For all the power that filled him, he was ever hungry and he wanted more. He wanted everything.  

He turned fully to the demon and slid a hand up his chest, fingers wrapping around his throat just as they had Julian's.  

"And aside from your own, who's are you? Who brings you such lovely power and ruin, Balakai?" His voice was magic and might and there was fell light in him.

It was reckless. To bare his throat to the hands full of power that curled around it. But, Balakai could do nothing else. He had been chasing this for years, knowingly or not. His skin burned from within with his own hell born heat and from without by the force of magic that called on him. His fair skin took on an odd translucence, until the inhuman of him could be seen like a shadow under the thin shell.  

And some part of him noted the careful way Griffin worded his question, and was grateful. Because he didn't know if he'd have refused him in this moment.

"Yours." 

The word came from him after only a heartbeat of hesitation. A pause that was less consideration and more as though the effort of speech was heavy on him. His nails curled into Griffin's shoulder and he gave a little, sullen whine. 

"I wanted to eat him." His lip curled a little in distaste, the slowly desiccating corpse not to his taste. He preferred his meat bleeding. He caught the fly of Griffin's pants with the hand that had been playing lightly between his legs, tugging the button open and sliding inside.

"Mine,” Griffin echoed.  

This was a play of call and response between them. The ritual of the thing that they had made their own. As they had this wild want and danger between them. Burning the world one match at a time. And this time, it was his turn to burn. Griffin slid his hand up to frame the demon's jaw. He'd heard what he wanted to hear, the affirmation of his possession. As he was no less possessed. This push and pull that he understood to simply be their way. He brought his lips to Balakai's as he widened his stance to give him room, gave the demon the dripping wet of him and the hard of his wonton desire. Because he wanted just the same.  

Needed.  

Hungered.

The witch pressed into him as he kissed him, voice a low growl of his own. "Then have me instead. Rake his script from my skin and claim what you were promised."  

There was no hesitation. 

Balakai growled and slid fingers deep into the witch’s wet cunt. He shifted behind the taller man and shoved him down over the table and the desiccating corpse. Kept hold of him and worked him, nothing gentle in his touch. Nor any of the deliberation with which he normally took him. There was something almost frenzied in the way the hell hound pinned him over the body and pulled their hips hard together. His teeth sank into Griffin's shoulder, not into the proper meat of it but farther back because of the difference in their heights, worrying the flesh over the shoulder blade.

He was very near lost to words and language. He wanted to bring the witch, to feel him shake and shatter before he took him. Because he could feel the thrum of magic in his blood and could feel the pounding of it in the storm overhead that way it played on his skin.

Griffin's hand slid across the blood painted symbols on the table top, streaking the warm wood surface with scarlet as he moaned. He felt the sharp of the hell hound's teeth as they parted his skin and set blood running down the pale and scarred of him. Where he had been flayed. Burned. Whipped. Where his heart had been pulled from his chest through his back. And the arcane marks that Julian had left behind. A tapestry of endless suffering that was woven of skin and scar. Muscles moved under the demon's teeth, but he did not pull away. He pressed into him, cried out and there was the echo of might in the sound.

He was not long to shatter because everything of him was alight with power and pleasure and pain and how all of them were one and the same for him now. There was no veil that parted one from the other. He was only feeling and his nails dug into the wood of the table, several of them breaking under the force of it as he broke and shook and his voice was a fractured thing that called out Balakai's name as if it were a profane prayer.

For once, Balakai didn't wait. He didn't bring Griffin through his orgasm, draw it out and along. Instead he pulled his hand free. Clothes shredded alike with skin as he ripped the shirt from Griffin's back and hitched his pants down just far enough to expose him, leaving them tangled around the witch's knees. The demon licked up his spine, licked over the mangled muscle of his shoulder. He wanted, so dearly, to drop his shape and fuck him. It was hard to hold onto his human skin. But that would more like than not kill the witch and he remembered the conversation they'd had about this. He had to die from it for the marks to stay.

So Balakai pulled his hands from Griffin long enough to just push his own clothes enough out of the way to free himself and he thrust his cock deeply into the witch’s dripping cunt with a low and eager groan. His hands reached up to the witch's shoulders, dug and then... stopped. His breath was hot against Griffin's spine and then he set his teeth back into the already mangled shoulder. Over the other glyphs, memorized over years of watching, he sank in his claws. It was not animal raking. There was a deliberate pattern in the path of his claws, plunged deep through skin and muscle, letting blood fall freely.

It was no true spell with which he marked Griffin, but old runes rarely seen on this plane. The language of Hell, before it had been called such. Before the angels had enforced order on the ranks of its creatures, when they had their own stories and their own territories. It was possession and protection in one, for the rare who could read it. Who would sense that this one was marked. He was not for anyone else. Not body nor soul, for demon or divine.

Balakai rutted him, hard and snarling. Ripped the flesh from his shoulder with the sharpness of inhuman teeth and tossed back his head to let the hot salt and copper of it slide down his throat. There was more blood than skin on Griffin's back now and it coated the demon's arms and chest and belly. It slicked him as he fucked the witch's cunt, heavy and hard and swollen but not so big as he could be. As he was without the strapping of human constraint.

It was oblivion and salvation and Griffin was utterly lost in it. If he ended now and never again woke in the world, he did not care. Over the corpse of his fallen lover, his betrayer, his demon fucked him and ruined him and claimed him all the same. Griffin’s voice was a clarion thing of piercing hurt and delirium. He sobbed as his hips cracked against the table and broke the skin there. Warm blood coursed down his back and the sharp of claws were cold fire that made his heart forget the pattern it knew best.

He felt the deliberateness of the marks left behind, knew that he should have cared as the old magic of it entwined with the new that was still settling into his own. Stolen power with natural and now grafted. He reveled in it and surrendered himself to the might that was his own and not. It would be a part of him forever now, like all of those who had come before. Who's lives had ended at his hands.

Griffin panted and his struggles were only for more. He was dizzy and sick with it, fire and ice racing along his veins and in him as magic tried to salvage what his reason had given away. His blood leaking out across Julian’s corpse and the rune etched table.

"Please..." he croaked. Begged the demon to take him. To claim what he'd promised in full. He came hard again and was sobbing as his knees gave out, no strength in him to hold him up anymore as his blood poured out of the unsurvivable carving in his back. 

Balakai came hard, shuddering and knotting himself in Griffin's cunt. He held the witch crushingly tight against his chest, nails dug into him, teeth finding purchase as though there was no way he could be close enough. Felt the way the witch's body was going weak and broken under him and reveled in it. His jaw popped as it distended, wrapped around Griffin's shoulder in a partial change that drove his teeth in. Cracked the collar bone beneath the force of the bite and shook his head sharply to one side and then the other, trying to worry the piece free. More bone cracked and splintered as he ripped at him. Crunch in his teeth as he finally dragged it free and snapped his head back to swallow it.

He'd grown heavy, much heavier as he lay on Griffin's back, pressing him down into the table and the corpse. Fingers shorter and thicker, claws heavier as they dug into Griffin to hold him in place. For all the violence the way he held him was almost tender. As he licked the blood from his jaws, the voice he spoke with reverberated on a backdrop of thunder, growling low in his chest.

"I will," he crooned. "Mine. All mine." He nuzzled behind the witch's ear, with a face no longer entirely human.

Griffin made few sounds, breath ragged as his heart spasmed because there just wasn't enough blood in him to keep it going. He felt bones break and flesh shred.  It was hell. That which he had invited into his life that was now a part of him. The storm above them gave a sputter and a final violent crack as lightning struck just beyond the narrow, little storm windows. They shattered and the sound of the thunder was a deafening roar. A car alarm nearby began to wail.

Griffin did not scream, though, just went limp as his heart failed and he slipped into darkness. Found breath for only one more word, whispered through blood foamed lips and a peaceful smile.

"Yours."