tell it to the butcher

Dygra

The call comes in the dead of night, with all the immediacy of a hot poker pressed, sizzling, to bare flesh.

Astaroth's flesh does not sizzle, granted, but the urgency of it is the same, sparking a fire in his blood that will be impossible to ignore. Not the comfort of his bed, the warmth of his lover or even the biting cold of the world outside will be enough to keep him from where Dygra bids him come, and though the goddess of chaos and entropy is, by definition, a fickle mistress, on this occasion her patience is as deep as the veins of lava that thread beneath The Climb.

And it's to The Climb that Asta must go - out of the Dusklight, through the snow to the Everlasting Bonfire, and into the portal to heat and rock and the fiendish glow of magma. His feet will take him without needing his permission, weaving through the Burrows into the dark, hot glitter of Soulfire Reach.

It's here that Dygra waits in blood and gemstones, not as a whisper or a presence, but as real as the weight of the rock that presses down from above, as tangible as a kiss or hands around a throat. Milk-pale and cloaked in rough, dark stone, her golden hair is left sleek and swept out of her face, bloody eyes aglow in the darkness.

Table coding by Sky <3

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

After the strangeness of the Peepholes, the butcher is quite pleased to be back home in the confines of the Dusklight, sunk into the very exhaustion this season often gave to him. And it’s in that deep slumber that is often difficult to pull him out of that he wakes with nearly a start – scanning over Danta as if it might have been him that woke him. It becomes evidently clear as the sleep slips from his eyes and the mental fog begins to fade that this is a calling, a beckoning by the one that had saved him.

It’s quick work for him to prep for the venture outside of the Dusklight, into the cold for however long it takes him to reach the bonfire and the Climb beyond, his bones immediately relaxing the second the heat of the region sinks into them. It limbers him up, makes the rest of the trek easier, all following along the tug and pull of a dark invisible string that he’s never quite felt before. He knows to whom the string leads and yet nothing would have prepared him for the second the butcher steps into the glittering Soulfire Reach.

It isn’t the tangible presence in the walls and the sultry voice that he often felt. His steps stutter as he steps in to find Her, in the flesh and gemstone, beautiful and radiant and even though the butcher was extremely devout, this makes that worship feel paltry in comparison. Pale skin, cloaked in stone and glittering gemstones, scarlet eyes glowing in the dark with sleep golden hair drawn out of her face not unlike how his is swept out of his own right now.

His tail twitches behind him, not in apprehension but in excitement and distraction, drawn to her immediately without even a second to think further about it, stunned and in awe. “My darling Lady, what an honor this is.” His accented voice rumbles out, a shark tooth grin aimed at her as he settles before her, taking in the full presence of his goddess.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

Dygra

"Astaroth." His name drips from her lips like a brand, and around her the cavern of gemstones seems to shift and writhe with his entrance, making space for him to arrange himself before her. Dygra breathes him in, matching his smile with one just as sharp and jagged as his own, though as he settles she shakes her head, beckoning him to draw up to his full height. Buxom and surprisingly petite in this form though she may be, Asta will find himself somehow never looking down at her despite what physics and reality might decide.

"The honour is yet to come, my gentleman monster." Once they are just so, she reaches out with fingers tipped with nails as dark and sharp as shards of obsidian, cupping his cheek in her palm. "That is, if you are ready to receive it."

The cloak of rough stone shifts with her a fraction, revealing the impossible glow of blood red rubies within, and she regards him as if ensuring all parts of him are in order. "You were at the Peepholes. You recall the strangeness there." It isn't a question. "Such chaos is to be embraced, but I sense there may be complications in it. Complications that may require a butcher, should the occasion call for it."

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Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

His name from her lips has always been a beautiful thing to hear, but to witness it from her lips, the possessiveness within it as the butcher begins to settle before her, he notices the way she shakes her head and it has him drawing back up, posture perfect and at the ready for whatever it is she requires of him. He’d already committed himself to doing anything for her, but in her presence, the butcher is even more confident in his choice.

Her smile is one that mirrors his, not even vanishing for a second as her dark tipped fingers cup his cheek. It’s the perfect mixture of chaos that thrums in his blood, that calls to her, that he can feel pulling him closer to her. He doesn’t interrupt her, even if his immediate thoughts are akin to the always, anything for you, choosing the polite means of listening as she elaborates because goddess or not, the butcher knows better than to agree without hearing the terms. Even if everything in his body tries to say otherwise.

“Yes.” He agrees by the strangeness of the Peepholes, his dark gaze like warm fire as he watches her cloak shift slightly, the heavy stone falling away to reveal the blood red rubies within. His attention shifts back up to hear that the complications may require a butcher, and what is he if not the one most notably known. It fills his ego, and the bright grin that she cups in her hand shifts toward something eager, vibrant, confident. “Of course. Am I correct in assuming that in exchange I will become completely yours?” Of higher elevation, chosen in more ways than just the renewed life she’d granted him centuries ago, just like how Flora had been chosen.

The answer, obviously, is yes. He’d do anything for Dygra, but the butcher and deal maker in him can’t help but to ask and confirm what he assumes he'll get in return.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

It hits you out of nowhere - a sudden wave of exhaustion dragging at your limbs and making it difficult to keep your eyes open. You suppress a yawn and consider, briefly, sitting down somewhere for a quick cat-nap. How strange - perhaps you haven’t been sleeping as well as you could. Maybe something to take note of when your head hits the pillow this evening.

Please note: this serendipity CANNOT be used for levelling purposes.

Dygra

"Sweet butcher," Dygra breathes, her smile growing just a fraction, sharp teeth glittering white and bright even against the shadows and the gemstone fire. "You have been mine for centuries already." Since the day she'd crowned him with fire obsidian, since he'd started to spill blood in her name. But she knows the truth in what he asks, though before she can respond she senses it, that haze in the air, the way it drags the body towards sleep and the mind towards dreams.

It isn't personal, then, the way her hand draws back only to connect with Asta's cheek in a sharp slap that echoes around the Reach. It's insurance, it's evidence of why he is needed here and now. "Knell is still growing," she continues, as though she hasn't given him quite a literal rude awakening from the drowsiness that tries to infect the air. "She does not have your years of experience, or your patience yet. So yes, Astaroth. You would be mine. My knife in the dark, my shadow on the wall, my butcher. Is that agreeable to you?"

Her head tilts a fraction then, exposing the pale and perfect column of her neck. An invitation for him to seal the deal with his teeth, as he has done so many times before.

---

Sky has used an Impossible Thing to make Asta into a demigod!

Table coding by Sky <3

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

He knows that he has been hers for centuries. He knows that it isn’t exactly what he’s asking, though. And he senses the fact that she understands just as much as he’s let on the truth of the matter. But before he has a chance to elaborate, there’s this unnatural pull against him, one that he knows isn’t from his own body and mind, because with the adrenaline of being called and seeing Dygra for the first time in the flesh, there’s very little that will try and drag him back under for a nap – a nap that sounds divine right now.

He’s helpless in the interim, the smile softening a touch, blinks becoming longer in between, but it’s the slap and the stinging to his cheek that straightens him up with a sharp inhale of breath – focusing back in, shaking his head to try and rid it of the sandman’s touch. And Dygra, blessed is he that she continues on like nothing had happened, while his cheeks flare a touch dark and he refocuses, tail flicking in jagged motions as he listens.

Knell is still growing, and he’s tried to impart some of his wisdom to her recently, but the point that his goddess makes is one that Asta will not pass up for anything. Flushed and a touch tingly, the butcher’s grin slips back into place – eager, bloodthirsty, wanting what she offers so dearly that the butcher only knows one answer. “We have a deal, Dygra, darling.” He hums, noticing the way her head tilts, the invitation there, and there’s very little apprehension when it comes to sealing the deal with her versus most others, because who is he in comparison to Her.

Shaking out the sleep a touch more from his mind, the butcher dives in with very little pomp and circumstance. Sharp teeth that mirror her own sinks into that milky pale neck, sealing this divine deal with an act that’s so inherently the butcher that it cannot be anything but perfection.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

Dygra

For Asta, Dygra tastes like wine and ash, like heartsblood and embers, and the wellspring of her is endless. There is no need for composure or restraint when it comes to her offering; the butcher can take and take without so much as scratching the surface of her eternity, until all he was is washed away (well, almost all), cleansed and seared into something more resembling her needs. Unlike most, though, Asta will likely feel more like himself than ever before when he decides to draw back - because Dygra will stand in his grip until he's finished and not a moment before.

He will be left with a souvenir of his own, though. "We have a deal," she agrees, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, one hot enough to burn through any and every resistance given to her Ancients, one that will leave a pale scar in its wake, shaped by her plush lips. "And it appears that you will not be leaving alone, either."

The faint skittering against the cavern roof sounds hollow and strange, and should Asta look up, he'll spot the shape - just - in the darkness. A skeleton of a dragon, something warped and fashioned by the chaos of Dygra's power, a creature that moves even though it ought not be able to, that lives despite the world telling it that it shouldn't. In short, the perfect companion for a man who has just achieved the impossible himself.

Table coding by Sky <3

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

He imagines it isn’t a common thing to be able to taste the divine, and here the butcher is – indulging in wine and ash, in the fire that had made him and the wine that had bolstered him, sweet and akin to a new kind of honey he knows he’ll never be able to find again. So he drinks from her, feeling the way everything in him changes and is stripped away, leaving bits and pieces behind for him to figure out on his own. It’s replenishing and it’s far different from how he had felt when he’d become Ancient.

Because this wasn’t a saving, this was a rebirth. And while he’d gotten them confused in the past, to assume he’d been reborn as Astaroth and left Ferrox in the shadows, the butcher withdraws as something more, something divine. His chest rises and falls when he withdraws once he feels nothing else within him shift, like the deal has been completed just enough that he can focus on her agreement and stand still perfectly long enough to feel the kiss pressed to his cheek, the kind that’s reminiscent of a burning brand that he hasn’t felt in centuries. He does not shy away from it, just sucks in his breath, for the pale scar of a kiss that will linger on his cheek and blot out the portions of his beard that would grow there.

But that isn’t all – dazed as he is from drinking her blood and the change in his body, there’s something else, and he wonders just how much of this he can attribute to being her version of a birthday gift for him when he spots it. This dragon scraping across the cavern, pockets where its eyes would be focusing in on him. He feels something strange snap into place the second their eyes meet. He can’t help the brighter grin that spreads, stained with divine blood, his chin jutting slightly as if inviting the creature down to join him, because deep within him he can sense that this being will come home with him. And as she skitters across the cavern walls with hands and claws of bones, an entire body of bone contorting to reach the ground and his side, he feels the name stick out like something perfectly macabre in how she’s reached his side. “Thank you.” He murmurs, looking up to Dygra once more with that same bright grin, made whole and new again, and gods if he doesn’t feel the exhaustion start to creep back in. “I shall call her Sicarius.” He hums, pulling his gaze away from Dygra to allow him to focus on picking up the dragonling, who scurries up his shoulders and winds around them protectively.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

Dygra

"And I shall call you when I next require your services." Already the blood has vanished from Dygra's neck, and with it all evidence of Asta's sharp teeth. The goddess looks more satisfied than the Butcher, in truth, and why shouldn't she be? She steps back to leave the newly minted demigod and his companion, Soulfire Reach curling its blanket of gemstones around her as if she means to sink into them entirely. 

"In the meantime, do not be afraid to test yourself and your limits," she adds, bloody eyes glittering in amusement. He may not know what he has become or the abilities that lay dormant in his bones, but she certainly does. And there's only going to be more to come as he grows in power. 

And hopefully that happens before whatever magical sleep that lingers in the air drags him under again.

~FIN

Table coding by Sky <3