Feel That Fire

The interaction was intriguing to the man’s ever-curious mind. Never had he dreamed of meeting an actual god. Before coming to this place, he hadn’t even believed such things existed. Back in Northwind, magic users were even revered as being close to gods, but that’s about as much religion as the people had. And even then, as a magic user, he never thought anything of worship. Kalt smirked, watching the deity’s ever movement. The attraction he felt to the deity was like nothing he expected to feel, but it was more than pleasant, so he wasn’t fighting it. As Frey rose from their lounging position and moved towards Ashetta with a touch to her face and a hand around her waist, Kalt narrowed his eyes slightly. He didn’t try to interfere, knowing full well he couldn’t be aware of the power a deity possessed, but he reached towards Ashe, his fingers brushing against her wrist with a soft smile. ”Got you,” he whispered to her mind. He felt the discomfort and multitude of other feels she experienced with Frey’s touch, and he wanted to stop it, to pull her away, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to. A deity was more powerful than either one of them, and he would need an actual plan to act against them. Besides, acting against a god wasn’t on his to do list for the day. They were enveloped into a world of passion, taking over their senses, but as Kalt began to feel phantom touch, unseen hands on bare skin, he wasn’t filled with ecstasy or pleasure or anything like that. The man was nearly paralyzed with fear and fury. He could only remember the touch of four people in his entire life; Ashe, Theea, Orynth, and the fucking bastard who began Kalt’s intense fear of touch. Count Stefan Westbourne. That piece of shit took Kalt’s identity when he was eight years old, so Kalt took his in Northaven. While Frey’s sensual tricks may have been the most incredible experience of most people’s lives, they had a numbing effect on the assassin. His mind was hazy, unable to think straight and instantly thrust deeply into his survival instincts. He couldn’t feel the sensations that Frey was giving him at first, but as they crept into his mind again, it wasn’t ecstasy, but an agonizing and overwhelming sensory overload that almost had pain replacing pleasure. His legs were numb, and he thought to try to clear his mind, but it was futile, until the deity vanished with laughter. Once they were alone, Kalt ran his fingers through his hair. He was out of breath, and the sound of his own heartbeat was drowning out anything else. There was likely about a minute before he was able to sort through his thoughts with any kind of success, but when he did, he would reach out and laced his fingers with Ashe’s, forcing his body to remember what safe touch felt like. Even then, he forced himself not to shudder. ”Is this your game?” Kalt spat to the empty air. ”Getting your pleasure from forcing people through hell?” He couldn’t breathe. A deity was supposed to be all-knowing, all-powerful. If that was so, wouldn’t they be aware of the sexual trauma that the assassins endured? And if they did know about it, was it just that they didn’t care? Or did they not have the gall to witness the aftermath? KALT falling apart, barely breathing broken heart, that’s still beating in the pain, there is healing