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From an outside perspective, Oswin appeared to be a feminine figure, wrapped in a brown black cloth outfit of a bishop, skirt pushed aside to reveal honeycombed patterned tights, and a hand-knit scarf wrapped around those slender shoulders.
But once you interacted with the one with the epitaph of the Bishop, you would learn the man was a heretic of the highest degree.
And that was something that Sachie despised. He hated every bit of the man and his tricky face that deceived everyone into thinking he was a woman at the first glance.
His stupidly perfect face.
Those sharp yellow eyes of his were lined with an eyeliner he'd watched him apply with a delicate hand, the same one that smudged lipstick around his mouth with no consideration of neatness. It blended into his skin. Soaked into it. Enough Sachie wanted to scrub his face with a rough washcloth.
White freckles covered his skin, a mockery.
Then there were the piercings. One across the bridge of his nose, which he dangled gems from at times, usually garnets. Then the hoops along his long pointed ears, along with the studs, simple silver.
Pathetic. Gold was the best metal to adorn oneself with, but the moron insisted that it was a sinful metal. As if he wouldn't commit sins for the fun of it.
His blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail on the top of his head, several braids thrown in. Two wrapped around his ponytail in a mock bun, and two more fell down the sides of his head. They framed his face perfectly. He hated that face so much.
The only thing that even remotely ruined his face were the scars, surrounded by bruising. Because despite having another scar, across his eye, that one was annoyingly perfect too. Symmetrical.
Those scars were a sore spot, despite how much he knew about them. He had 5 across his forehead. One was a cone shape, the others more of a triangle.
Then the fatal one, across his neck, practically revealing his vocal cords underneath the surface. You could tell when he swallowed, much more than the typical person, and you could also see his voice vibrating his throat. Those bruises… he hated them. He wanted to have left them himself on the man, strangle him.
Oh he hated him. He hated him, as he watched him from across the room. He was working on what seemed to be an embroidery piece, on leather. He was far too relaxed for his own good. He should do something to change that. He smiled, as he flipped one of his cards over from the deck in front of him.
An auspicious future, indeed.
Oswin could feel Sachie's light green gaze boring into him from across the cavern. The fortune teller did this fairly often, enough it never caused him to break in his stich-work. He looked up in return, catching a look at the man he despised so.
Most mistook him for a woman at first glance, with how he dressed and wore his hair, until he talked. A soft, yet deep voice. Soothing you into bliss, before he struck.
He wore a very light pink sleeveless dress, almost white, and a large robe over top, a sheer pink skirt tucked under the belt he'd reluctantly asked him to create.
For the epitaph of the Teller, he seemed… far too disarming. Oh how he despised how much he wanted to pull that dress up to soak in the milky skin.
His mouth hid pointed teeth, proof of his devilish nature, as well as the gold entwined horns, that seemed to have previously been one, the center snapped off. He'd never bothered to ask. He should press even more on that. Get Sachie to press at the bruises on his skin again. Feel those dead nerves spark again.
And most annoyingly of all, he wore a blanket around his shoulders, woven from a soft wool. He'd never once revealed where he'd gotten it from, something that annoyed the other residents of the immense cavern they found themselves in.
Sachie flipped another one of his tarot cards over, frowning at it, as the little blob demons floated around him, occasionally flipping around in the air, as if they were mini acrobats.
He played with the rosary in his hand, yearning to banish them to the depths of hell again, much as he wanted to condemn their master back to that place as well.
But Sachie could never return. Just as he could never return to the church that had been his home for his entire life. The brick hanging by his side by the rope was the proof of that.
He normally would sympathize with him, a man much in the same situation as him, a home they never could return to, but they still loved dearly. He could hear Sachie mumbling to himself about the things he missed to the demons and devils he employed. Much as he traced the brick from his home, the sole remaining thing, aside from the rope, the two used as a weapon. For his own uses. Not anyone else's.
But both the men held their hatred towards the other, shooting silent glares across the way until they were forced to interact, to demand something from the other. Sachie needing something punched into his belt. Oswin needing a reading from his cards.
They would admit the other had good things. But they were fundamentally different.
And yet… Oswin was drawn to him, although despising literally everything about him. He was a beauty. The type of man he used to beat himself up over feeling attracted to.
Now, he didn't have to. Now, he was free.
The Bishop was staring at him. He'd stopped his work. Sachie pressed his nails into his palms, feeling blood leaking down his wrists, just like he had all those centuries ago, as he pulled his deck back together. He stood, as he pulled his fan out, flipping it in front of his face in order to hide his emotions. The way to control the situation. For Oswin so often tore control away from him, simply by being himself.
He stood, before walking to the table where the priest was set up, the fan concealing his face. There was nothing else on the table, aside from the glass of crimson juice.
"I would kindly request you stop staring at me, Oswin."
"I would ask the same, although much less kindly." Sachie had already dismissed the minor demons following him, knowing they would be killed the instant they got near the former holy man. And he didn't need more of a headache than he was already getting.
"How exactly would you ask?" He questioned, gritting his teeth. How dare he suggest he'd been… looking at this man's stupid face! Or even his lithe body. His damned robe was slit to reveal his legs, long, ending in smart shoes, with pumps that made him slightly taller.
Still nothing compared to his own height. He could change his physical form at will, but well. He preferred staying at the height he'd been while he was still… around. But he had his geta, to show his status. Important to do so, even here.
And while he was lost in his own thoughts, he was shoved to the ground, his blanket thrown behind him and his robes tangled as he smashed to the cold stone floor, his head smacking hard against the ground, getting smashed open, by the smell of his own blood.
It all occurred in a fraction of a second, Oswin moving fast, and slamming his boot down hard on his shoulder, at the very least dislocating it, if not worse.
"That is how I would ask, Sachie." He purred, as he pulled the rope tied around a brick off his belt, then digging his foot into his shoulder more.
He wouldn't scream. He was above that. It didn't hurt.
That brick simply hung right above him, the idea of the holy energy in it meaning agony for him. A standard demon could not withstand the power Oswin still held.
But he wasn't a normal demon. He was stronger than that.
And yet it would still hurt, burn him inside for days on end.
Oswin would simply drop it, and he'd be...
Oswin smiled as he continued to hold Sachie down, the idea of his holy weapon simply dropping a couple of inches down meaning the demon was something… simply intoxicating. He dropped the rope an inch, seeing his eyes blow up.
"You're still staring, you damned devil."
"I- Don't you dare inflict that on me again-"
"OY! Fuck boys. If you two are gonna keep fightin', do it somewhere else other than the fuckin' cavern floor." Vee shouted from the bar, their lips split by a long scar, making their gaze menacing, before they went back to their cigar, and washing the mugs they were working on.
Sachie flashed his teeth up at him, trying to wriggle away, as he dug his heel in deeper, hitting bone with his foot. Oh that was… beautiful. His pale skin was marred by the deep red of his blood, the black of his bones also contrasting with his skin and clothes. He never saw those bones, unless he broke his body like this.
And then the two of them were in another room. He looked up, seeing Paul's face peeking through the portal the Scientist had made, before waving, and closing it.
He snapped his focus back down to where Sachie was. And he felt a sharp pain in his leg, his blood dripping down through his tights.
The devil's claws were jabbed into his leg, almost all the way through, those sharp claws made for tearing flesh.
He pressed his foot down even more.
"Get your dark claws out of my leg. Now."
"Oh, is just a simple leg wound too much for you?"
"No. But I would rather not have to scrub blood out of my clothes. And I doubt you'd appreciate it either, with those white clothes of yours, princess."
"Fine. Remove your foot, and that brick from my presence, and we can both disrobe before we continue this." He felt those claws retract, and he pulled his foot off, as he set the brick down, undoing the rope and wrapping it around his belt once more, before he moved his hands to his collar, undoing the clasp on the inside. Fingers moved to the buttons, deftly pulling them apart, belt getting thrown away, before he cast his robe to the ground, not caring for cleanliness, as he kicked his shoes off, shortening him even more compared to Sachie.
In front of him, Sachie was also disrobing, but setting his things down in neat piles. First that blanket. Then the outer robe, revealing his thin arms, two long scar lines along the interior of each, and that beautiful wound he'd caused, flesh slowly knitting itself back together over ichor black bone. Muscles worn and frayed joining once more, as the nerves and blood vessels slowly formed together once more. He could feel his leg similarly healing.
Sachie's delicately sculpted claws undid his embossed belt (a favor he had practically forced himself to beg to do. And he'd done so. After he'd torn the devil's leg off in a fight, before agreeing to do the work.
The veil covering the bottom of his dress was next, undoing the buttons delicately sewn onto the fabric, then folding it. He was tempted to snag it, tear it with his nails. But he'd rather not.
Waste of good fabric.
Then he pulled his dress off, revealing the silk shorts he wore underneath. From personal experience, that was all the fortune teller had. And fuck. He could see the thin outline of his dick, hardened.
Had the fight gotten both of them worked up, again?
Oswin had paused his undressing, revealing his olive skin, parts of it covered with short white gloves, his tights held up with garter belts attached to his underwear, that… obsessively tight leather undergarment that showed off every curve of his body. Including his hardened cock.
And then he felt such a draw to the man. The one he hated. The need to fuck, warm each other's flesh with their own.
He made the first move, shooting forward in a fraction of a second, to catch his lips in not exactly a kiss… but more a need to feel each other. Oswin pressed back, their tongues clashing for control, as he bit into the Bishop's lip, drawing blood. He was shoved to the ground in return, getting Oswin's weight sat back on his hardening cock, damn near breaking his bones, as both of them returned to their not-kissing, grinding their barely clothed dicks together, snarled moans pressed into the other's mouth, as their hands scrambled against each other, gripping onto flesh. That warmth. That need for companionship, for another to be in their presence, that damned cardinal need to copulate. To fuck.
His claws grew, stabbing into Oswin's back, feeling warm blood dripping down his arms. The heretic responded by moving his mouth to his neck, sucking hard to draw as much blood to the surface, before those blunt teeth of his cracked into his shoulder, tearing skin and muscle from his bones.
"You need to stop destroying my shoulders, you holy freak."
"Well, it isn't my fault you're dragging those horrid claws down into my nerves. They're hell to heal, and you're aware of that."
"I can feel you getting harder."
"You are too, pretty devil." They both shut the other up, as they not-kissed again, their tongues entertaining, as Sachie's claws moved downwards, unclipping his tights, feeling those half-gloved hands moving towards his horns, then gripping them tightly. He moaned, his tail whipping the ground in a banging noise, unable to really control his noises, as he heard something getting whispered into his mouth, a prayer. To go against him.
They continued to grind against each other, spit swapped as their chests were stuck together.
His claws moved to that idiotic leather underwear, finding the edges, before tearing them off, then flipping the two of them so he was on top.
Oswin's jaw audibly snapped as he was disconnected from where he'd been chewing his muscle open, the pain nothing compared to the utter excitement he was feeling to the two of them pressed against each other.
He'd wipe that look off his face.
Oswin's gloves were thrown off in an instant, his tail wrapping around the man's neck, those bruises feeling… euphoric against the skin.
The tip wiggled into the area between his skin and muscle, to wrap around his diaphragm. They didn't need to breath. But he could see how much Oswin's vocal cords enjoyed it, how much the man was letting out breathy noises, unable to inhale much.
"Oh, you like that, don't you, heretic." He said the last word as though it were a curse. Between the two of them, it might as well have been.
And he felt Oswin getting harder underneath him. Good.
He reached for his own underwear, throwing it to the side, no longer caring where it went, as their cocks met skin to skin. He growled as he moved his hips, hands dug into flesh, right to where his organs were.
Pulling one of them out, he moved his hand to his hole, his claws turning back into nails, before he began working himself open with the oozing blood from Oswin.
The man was too busy with his tail to notice, before Sachie sunk down onto him, groaning from how good it felt.
He may have hated the man, but his cock was one of the few good things about him. He tightened his tail, as he began moving his hips, chasing his own orgasm above the Bishop's as his hands dug deeper and deeper into his body, laying his head down on his chest to listen to his heartbeat as he tugged at intestines and nerves.
Neither of them spoke, the only thing exchanged between them being moans, groans, and feral noises, mostly from Sachie. He'd made a proper hole in Oswin's stomach, thrusting his hips to feel the man's dick inside him, and the injury he'd clawed open slowly healing around him.
The idea of the two of them becoming one would normally be entertained between the others. But not them. Both of them would rather slaughter the other.
…Did he care about this man? Through his hatred, really?
Oswin made an even breathier noise, before almost screaming, bucking his own hips upwards to come deep inside Sachie, who in turn released into his guts.
Fuck. He hated that he was still aroused by the situation.
Those delicate nails tore the skin along his back, just not too deep.
Surface level pain to be tolerated.
Oswin's hair was coated in blood. As was Sachie's. Both of them had bit into the other's skin, tore into blood vessels to let them spurt out over both of them.
And yet both of them continued to hurl insults at the others despite them being clearly attracted to the other. Refusing to admit it.
He most definitely wouldn't be admitting it at any point. Finding a sworn enemy attractive? Horrific.
The devil panted from overexertion, finally extracting himself from Oswin's guts, where he now felt cum splashing around, pulling himself off his still slightly hard cock, and letting his tail flop from where it had been borderline choking the breath from him. Something he didn't mind from the princess in the slightest.
Because he was attractive, despite everything.
"So. Are you done, heretic?" Oswin has begun creeping his fingers towards the blessed rope he had. And similar to how their… fight had started, he had Sachie on the ground.
Quick nimble fingers began tying knots around his wrists. Then the rest of his body. Not caring much how pretty they were, because it'd piss off Sachie's perpetual need to keep himself looking pretty.
And yet he was.
Oh well. Making him mad was the least he could do, as he stood up again.
"I think I'm done now, princess. Or we both are. Bye!" He said, as he heard explitives shout out from where Sachie was wriggling on the ground.
Any other Eaten could have torn themselves from the rope by breaking their limbs off. But Sachie, well… he was a devil.
If anyone tried to tie Helga up, with her undead nature pre-Eaten, they'd achieve a similar result. But no one did.
He hummed an old prayer tune as he collected the holy brick, before exiting the room.
A bath sounded lovely at the moment.