Chapter Text
To this day, Rhys is not sure whether or not Moxxi was being extremely kind or horribly cruel when she hired him on to help out around the tavern. At the moment he's kind of leaning towards the latter, because seriously, who makes a one armed person drag around kegs of ale from the storehouse? Surely she's got to have someone else who can handle that part of the job.
Still, beggars can't be choosers. Better to work here as her busboy and janitor than over at the Apothecary with Cleric Zed. That assistant job had just one too many 'mysterious' position vacancies than Rhys was comfortable with. At least with Moxxi he only has to mop up blood once in awhile, and it's not his. Yet.
He's just managed to roll another barrel behind the bar when Moxxi pats his shoulder. “Thanks, sugar. Do me a favour now, would you?” As if he can say no. “Rush hour is starting to pick up. Think you can handle taking over a few drinks to some of the tables?” She smiles, leaning forward just enough to show off her 'assets', as if those would really convince him to agree. It's probably more out of habit than anything, Rhys has caught her out of character before. “Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. Just a couple drinks here and there. You can do that, can't you?”
“Yes ma'am,” he answers with fake cheer. Honestly, the last thing he wants to do at the moment is serve the jerks who hang around Moxxi's Tavern while they stare and make their little jokes, but sucking up to the boss hasn't done him wrong so far.
“Great. Start with Table five and work your way through to the right,” she waves him off, heading over to talk to some newcomers.
“Sure thing,” Rhys responds a second too late. She hasn't heard him, and obviously doesn't care. Oh well. He shrugs it off and grabs what he can to serve the people waiting.
There's a small party of men at one table, having more than a few drinks and laughing a little louder than what's considered socially polite. Another table hosts a couple women practically sitting in each other's lap. The rest are full up with regulars, unmemorable strangers, and some big guy with a permanent frown huddled up in the corner booth.
Rhys manages to serve almost all of them without issue. He's just reached the party of heroes to serve them yet another round of ale when one of them decides to be funny.
“Need a hand with those?” the blonde guy on his right asks, faking concern as he raises an eyebrow at Rhys. His buddies snort and snigger, and ugh. Service industry; it's the pits.
Rhys pastes on a smile and shakes his head. “Ha ha, never heard that one before! Doing just fine, thanks. Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”
The guy (a paladin, it looks like. Figures. Paladins are such dicks) frowns when Rhys doesn't rise to his little jab. Then he and his party order enough food to feed the Hamlet of Swift Passing Through, smirking again when they finally finish their list. “You gonna be able to carry all that, kid?”
“I'll manage,” Rhys answers flatly. “You gonna be able to eat it all?”
“Ha! This is nothing. We need a hearty meal to ready us for the journey tomorrow!” The guy laughs and pats the sword sheathed at his hip. “Once we've climbed that accursed tower past the forest, we mean to do battle with The Sorcerer residing there!”
The table beside them hosts a small group of women who must have overheard them. Hard not to, the paladin doesn't seem to understand the complexities of volume control. “Surely you must be joking! They say the Handsome Sorcerer is the most powerful fiend this side of the world!” one of them gasps. By the looks of her mug, she's probably reaching the flirty end of tipsy and is just a little too dramatic in her shock.
“They say he controls dragons! And the elements themselves!” One of her friends adds.
“Bah. No match for us, rest assured,” the rogue of the guy's party speaks up, shooting the girls a flirty smile. “Just you wait and see, this time tomorrow the Handsome Sorcerer will be vanquished and you lovely ladies will be able to live in this village at peace, free of his tyranny.”
“Best get our drinks ready in advance,” their warrior says to Rhys with a wink.
“Yeah, I'll uh... start the preparations,” Rhys mumbles, rolling his eyes as the men sidle up closer to the women and start explaining just how great their defeat of The Sorcerer will be. He grabs the drink tray and walks away, eager to get away from them. They don't seem to miss him.
“They'll be dead in less than a day,” a low voice murmurs nearby. Rhys turns his head, caught off guard. The frowny guy in the corner booth swallows down the rest of his ale and nods towards the 'brave warriors' Rhys had just escaped from. “Those jokers. They won't even make it halfway. Better tell the town mortician to get ready for business.”
Rhys arches an eyebrow, unable to keep the smirk off his lips. “What, you don't believe such mighty heroes will save us?” he shakes his head. “But they seem so prepared!”
The man snorts in amusement, the bare hint of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. Rhys takes a second to look him over, trying to place what kind of customer he's dealing with. The black and white streaked beard on his chin makes his jaw seem hard and strong, and the broadness of his chest and arms are nothing to scoff at. While the other men he'd just talked to reeked of arrogance and narcissism, this guy gives off a different sort of confidence. Wiser. More observant, despite the obvious opaque glass eye in his right socket. Definitely much more dangerous.
“You see it too then,” The guy says, nodding towards the group.
Rhys shrugs. “A lot of parties pass through here from the docks looking to fight The Sorcerer. We don't see many of them come back.” Usually the ones that did were much quieter afterwards. Not nearly so boastful as they had been.
“Hm. Suppose you wouldn't.” The man holds out his empty mug, waiting until Rhys has his tray ready before setting it down. It seems like such a small thing, but it's greatly appreciated. Having only the one arm means having to set things down and pick them up again to the point of being extremely annoying. “I'll have another one.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up.”
The rest of the night passes rather uneventfully. The loud guys go to the inn with the flirty girls to get laid one last time before their untimely deaths, The grim, bearded guy heads out to who knows where, and Moxxi hands Rhys a mop and bucket to clean up the vomit and spilled booze before he goes home. What a night.
*
As he'd guessed, barely two days later and only one member of the party from earlier has made it back alive. The rogue isn't nearly so dashing anymore with most of his hair gone, half his face covered in burns, and a constant tremble running though his hands. He keeps looking towards the door at the slightest sounds, muttering something about dragons under his breath.
“Told you,” the grumpy guy with the eyepatch says to Rhys when he brings him another stein of beer.
“I mean. Technically you said they'd all be dead in less than a day so...” Rhys jokes. The guy just rolls his eye and grabs his drink with a giant hand.
“Smartass.”
Rhys just grins and heads to his next table. Unfortunately, it's yet another annoying adventurer party, eager to pick up where the last one left off.
And just like the last party, they insist on making stupid jokes at Rhys' expense and ordering ridiculous combos off the menu, laughing when he has to make multiple trips to bring them their food and drinks. A pathetic means of entertainment, but an unfortunately common one for him.
It's bearable at least, even with their stupid comments right up until one of them reaches out and pinches Rhys' ass.
It takes him off guard, and he can't help it when he stumbles over his own feet. In painful slow motion he feels himself topple towards the ground, the tray holding several drinks flying out of his hand. Some of them crash to the floor with him while others hit the table and spill all over a few of the men sitting around it.
“You stupid, crippled idiot! Look what you've done!” Their warrior shouts, rising to his feet while beer drips down his chest.
“Sorry, I didn't mean-”
“What kind of establishment are you running here, lady?” Their archer sneers at Moxxi, who'd been standing nearby at another table. “Hiring one armed servers who spill our drinks on us? That's just bad service!”
Rhys scowls and slowly gets back to his feet. “It's not like I meant to do that, one of you jerks pinched my-”
“Are you sassing us, kid?” The warrior asks with a glare, stepping closer.
“Gentlemen, there's no need for that here. Rhys is sorry, right?” Moxxi asks, shooting him a dangerous look.
Fuming, Rhys looks away. “B-But!”
Her glare intensifies as she puts her hands on her hips.
“...Yeah. Sorry.”
“See? And naturally, your spilled drinks will be on the house tonight. So will your replacements. Is that satisfying enough for you?” Moxxi bats her eyelashes, pouting just a little. It does the trick and the party seems to ease off a little.
“Fine. But we don't want no crippled klutz serving us no more.” The warrior crosses his arms and sends Rhys a dirty look.
“Of course. Rhys, clean up and go home.” Moxxi nods her head towards him.
“But!”
“I said go home” she hisses. “We'll talk about this later.”
Fuming with anger, he swears under his breath and heads to the back to grab a rag to clean himself off with. When he's just beyond the party's direct eyesight, he stops as an idea comes to him.
Rhys is no fighter. He can barely even lift a sword, or aim a bow and arrow. But he's always been a little more proficient when it comes to magic. Nowhere near enough to even think of using it in battle, but in his lifetime he's managed to pick up a couple small tricks here and there.
He thinks of the perfect one as he focuses on the table of adventurers across the room. His left eye twitches as a sort of burning sensation builds up behind it.
The food. Focus on the food.
A minute later and the party's bard pauses mid-swallow. “Does this meat taste funny to you?” He asks the archer at his side.
Satisfied, Rhys starts walking again to finish cleaning himself up. He takes his sweet time too, hoping to see if his efforts paid off before he leaves.
They have. When he strolls back out from the back room ten minutes later, he sees a couple of the party members already starting to wince and hold their stomachs. One of them excuses himself suddenly to rush outside while others start to groan.
Food poisoning. It's a bitch.
Rhys smiles happily to himself, satisfied with his small win when he hears another chuckle to his right.
“Nice trick.”
He turns to see the buff bearded guy smirking in his usual corner seat. Rhys smooths out his hair and puts on an innocent face.
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
The guy shakes his head, but keeps the amused look on his face. “Cut the bullshit. I know magic when I see it.” He points to his glass eye. Which, okay, that makes no sense but whatever. “Even unrefined magic like that stunt you just pulled.”
Rhys frowns, looking away. “Look, whatever you think you saw-”
“Not saying they didn't deserve it. Don't get me wrong. But you look like you could use some help. In more ways than one.”
Rhys arches an eyebrow, curious. “What do you mean?”
The man hums and takes another gulp of his drink. “Dealing with a missing limb is a hell of a thing, isn't it?” He glances towards Rhys' pinned sleeve.
Rhys' hackles instantly rise as his left fist clenches. “What the hell would you know about it?”
“Heh. More than you think.” The guy reaches down and slowly starts pulling up the left leg of his trousers. Rhys is just about to tell him to fuck off, he's had enough bullshit and harassment for the night, when he sees what the man's leg is actually made of.
It's metal. Maybe bronze or iron? Some kind of shiny yellowish and black materials Rhys has never seen before. A purplish light seems to emanate from some of the joints and seams between the metal. When the man moves his leg, the motions imitate a real limb flawlessly.
“Wh...where did you...how...?” Rhys stumbles for words, amazed at the sight.
The guy covers himself up again and takes hold of his stein once more. “That Handsome Sorcerer your little friends keep babbling on about slaying? He's got some tricks of his own. So long as you get on his good side, maybe he'll use those tricks to help you too.” He takes another swig.
“Hell, maybe he could even train you to tune up your own little abilities. You could use some refinement after all.”
Rhys can only blink, trying to take it all in. “Everybody who goes to find him dies. And I can't even fight.”
The man shrugs. “You wanna stay here suit yourself.” He stretches out his arms and finishes up the remains of his beer. “Don't matter to me. I'm heading out of this dump tonight.” He rises to his feet and drops a few coins on the table. “See you, kid.”
He's already out the door when Rhys finally comes to his senses and runs after him.
“W-Wait!” He calls out, catching up to the guy down the road. “How do I find him? What do I even say?” he manages to ask while gasping for breath.
The man grunts, then turns and points in the distance towards the forest. “He's over in that big tower there. Dragon's Keep. You gotta get through the forest, but if you're quick and smart you should be able to do it without getting killed. Go through the mines, then climb up the mountain and the stairs to the keep. When you get to the door, ring the bell first. If he doesn't kill you on sight, tell him Wilhelm sent you. Maybe that'll buy you a few minutes to convince him.”
“M-Maybe?”
Wilhelm shrugs. “Or maybe not. He's a fickle guy. Bad mood swings.”
“That... that's not reassuring.”
“Wasn't meant to be. Anyway, I've talked long enough. I got a ship to catch.” He readjusts the sword at his side and waves. “See ya, kid. Tell him I said hi. Oh. And also tell him that Pierce has been taken care of. He'll know what that means.”
“Um. Okay.” Rhys waves as Wilhelm nods and walks away again. “Thank you!”
He doesn't get a response, but he supposes it doesn't matter. He's got some packing to do.
*
Rhys navigates the forest by a combination of hiding, sprinting, and sheer dumb luck. Mostly, he waits while whichever warriors that are braving the forest that day distract the roaming enemies, and then he makes a run for the next best hiding spot. Then he repeats the process.
He does the same thing in the Immortal Woods, making sure to steer clear of the graveyards and basilisks roaming around. If any would-be heroes notice him, none of them show any signs of it.
He gets through the Mines of Avarice by accidentally guessing the password (Ugh, this place smells like a wet fart!) and narrowly evades the small orc campsites just under the castle in Hatred's Shadow. In the end, his worst enemy proves to be the millions of stairs leading up to the front gate. He's thankfully spared extra orcs being catapulted at him, since apparently The Sorcerer finds the groups of adventurers hanging around bigger threats to be dealt with.
Dragons screech in the distance, and a few times Rhys thinks he sees some dive down at some wandering parties, but he hides too quickly when he sees them to be sure.
Rhys climbs and climbs, and at long last, he finds the main entrance. He nearly bursts through it out of happiness, but then his eye catches sight of a dangling rope next to the doors. A bell. Right, Wilhelm had told him to ring the doorbell first.
Taking a second to catch his breath, Rhys reaches out and pulls on the rope. He thinks he hears some kind of echo inside, but he can't really be sure. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he pulls again. Still, no answer.
He pulls one more time.
“Ohh my freaking god WHAT?” An annoyed voice suddenly bellows around him. Rhys is not entirely sure where it's coming from, but it sounds pissed. “Look, whatever the hell you're selling, I don't want it. Piss off!” A pause. “Wait, what are you selling? Actually no, you know what never mind, prepare to die anyways!”
“I-I'm not selling anything!” Rhys quickly explains to... no one. “I'm here to uh. See the Handsome Sorcerer?”
“Ha! That's funny. He's busy doing important shit, kid. Go and run off of one of those cliffs now,” the voice replies, laughing at him.
“Hey! Listen pal, I came a hell of a long way and almost died like a million times getting here. I just want to see the Handsome Sorcerer!”
“Nobody gets in to see the Sorcerer! Not nobody, not no how!”
“I-what?” Rhys crinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Come on! I just want to talk to him!”
“Are you deaf? Buzz off, kiddo! I told you, he's too busy to talk to you. Now, you got like ten seconds to get the hell out of here before he sends a lightning bolt right up your ass. Ten. Nine. Eight...”
Panic fills Rhys immediately, but there's no way he can get away in ten seconds. He'd fall on those god damn stairs and break his neck.
“Seven...”
“Wilhelm sent me!” Rhys blurts out. “He has a message for the Handsome Sorcerer!”
The voice goes quiet for a second. Rhys worries at first that he might get zapped anyways, but nothing happens.
“...Alright, countdown paused. What did that old cyclops tell you?”
Rhys tries to recall the message and prays to any god listening that he's remembered correctly. “Uh, P-Pierce, he said Pierce was taken care of, who or whatever that means.” He looks up and around, trying to see some way to connect with the person on the other end of the voice. “So uh. Yeah. That's the message. Could I maybe, please see the Sorcerer now?”
There's a few more moments of nervous quiet. Then he hears a groan on the other end. “Ugh. Fine. You can have a five minute meeting with the Handsome Sorcerer. But hurry up, he's a busy guy!”
A lock turns somewhere and the doors in front of Rhys swing open, revealing an large foyer with an elevator and switch in the centre of the room. Seeing no other way up, Rhys wanders over and puts his hand on the lever.
“WAIT!” The voice calls out, instantly making Rhys recoil and put his hand over an ear, while his right shoulder rises. “Don't pull that! Unless you wanna fall into the dungeon pits, hehe. Actually, never mind, go for it, I could use some entertainment about now.”
Rhys scrambles off the elevator platform as fast as he can.
“Aww, spoilsport.”
Rhys glares up at the ceiling, unsure of where else to look. A nearby wall grabs his attention as it slowly slides away to reveal a set of hidden steps. Ugh.
“More stairs...” Rhys mutters bitterly as he heads towards them.
“Hey, you're the one who wants a meeting so damn bad,” The voice chides him. “Get climbing, cupcake.”
*
By the time Rhys finally reaches the top of the stairs, his lungs feel ready to collapse at any second.
He has to crawl across the hallway floor leading to a heavy wooden door. Before he can reach out and touch it, it swings open. When he lifts his head, Rhys is greeted to the sight of what looks like a workshop of some sorts. Magical artifacts and bottles of various liquids are lined up on shelves everywhere, along with several dozen old leather-bound books. Floating flames encased in odd glasslike bubbles hover around the room, casting it in a warm light. Large windows line the opposite wall of the door, where Rhys can see the full moon and stars shining bright in the night sky.
In front of the main window is a sturdy looking wooden desk, covered in scrolls, vials, skulls, and other random creepy objects. And behind the desk, Rhys finally sees the legendary Handsome Sorcerer himself.
Adorned in bluish grey robes, and a matching wide brimmed wizard's hat, the Sorcerer stands with his back to Rhys. When he finally turns, Rhys sees he's wearing some kind of mask clasped to his face as well. It's eerie and unsettling, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it.
“Your five minutes starts now, kiddo,” the voice from before says, much clearer without the echo from earlier. “Better start talking before I toss you out this window.”
Rhys scrambles up to his feet, still trying to catch his breath. “S-Sorry. Never seen such a powerful sorcerer in person before. I'm a little, uh. Star-struck, I guess?”
That seems to be the right thing to say. The Sorcerer raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, you are in the presence of the most powerful mage in the world. It's only natural to feel like a lesser being around me.” He steps around his desk and perches himself on the edge of it. “What's your name, kid?”
“It's Rhys,” he answers awkwardly.
“Rhys, huh? Weird name. Anyway, what can I do for you, Rhys? Must be important if you managed to drag your scrawny little ass all the way here from... where was it you were from again?”
“Flamerock Refuge.”
The Sorcerer's eyes narrow suddenly. “Flamerock? That piece of piled dog shit?” He leans forward. “Are you one of that pain-in-the-ass white knight, Roland's spies? Are you?”
“What? No!”
“No? Then what about that witch-bitch, Lilith? She promise to suck your pathetic dick if you assassinated me or something? Huh?” The sorcerer's eyes almost seem to glow in anger. “Because spoiler alert; She won't. I'll kill you first. Also, she's a lying skank.”
Rhys glares back at The Sorcerer and holds his hand up to try appeasing him. “No, I'm not here to-to assassinate anyone! Roland didn't send me and neither did Lilith, or anybody! I don't even like those guys, they're kind of jerks if you're not in their special circle of friends!” Rhys huffs and shakes his head. “I'm here because Wilhelm said you could help me!”
“Oh.” The sorcerer backs off, his eyes dimming back to normal. “Well. Never mind then. What do you want, kid?”
Rhys tries his best to put his game face back on. “Okay. Well, first off, you've probably noticed I'm short a limb.” He gestures to the space at his right side where an arm should have been.
“I did notice, yeah. Wasn't gonna comment but uh. Now I'm curious. How exactly did a one-armed toothpick like you get all the way here from the Refuge?” The Sorcerer tilts his head, looking genuinely interested.
“W-Well I mostly hid and waited while the adventurers and monsters were killing each other. Then I ran past them,” Rhys explains, embarrassed when he sees the Sorcerer stifling a laugh. “I can't fight, okay? All I can do is insult people, run like hell, and sometimes curse their food into making them shit their guts out.” Rhys pouts, unable to help himself. “Which brings me to the other point. I can't do magic like you or any other like... 'class mage', but I can do some stuff. Nothing fancy, but-”
“You want me to train you to not suck so bad?” The sorcerer finishes.
“I mean... yeah if you want to put it that way-”
“And you want a new arm like what I did with Wilhelm's legs?”
“Y-Yeah, pretty much.”
The sorcerer nods. “I see, I see. A brand new magical limb and the ancient guarded secrets of my carefully honed craft... You don't dream small, I'll give you that Rhys.” He smiles and stares back at him. “Okay. So now I know what you want, buuut... I gotta say kid, this whole conversation is sounding pretty selfish of you. This whole time it's been all about you and what you want from me, but no mention about what you're willing to give in order to get it.”
“Anything,” Rhys says quickly, hoping he hasn't missed his chance. “Anything you want, I'll give it.”
The sorcerer scoffs. “Right. Nice try. You don't have jack shit, kid. I can tell that much already. Shitty clothes, no money, no talent, not even a nice pair of tits to interest me. Nah.” He turns away and waves him off over his shoulder. “You're not worth the effort. You can leave with your life still intact, that'll be your reward from me. Go on then, thank me and get out. I got stuff to do.”
“I'm not leaving.”
Suddenly, the room seems eerily quiet. The Sorcerer turns slowly, that sharp and dangerous look returning to his eye. “Excuse me?”
“I-I said I'm not leaving.”
The Sorcerer lets out a humourless laugh. “You have some balls, kid. Do you realize who you're talking to? What I can do to you with just a flick of my freaking pinky finger?”
Rhys gulps but stands his ground. “I know. B-But I can't. I can't go back with nothing. Not back there. I refuse to be Moxxi's busboy and janitor again.” His hand shakes as a small burst of confidence (or maybe stupidity) takes hold of him. “And I absolutely cannot deal with those god damn adventuring parties anymore!”
The Sorcerer watches as Rhys steps forward, heart thumping madly in his chest. “I can't go back to Flamerock. I hate it there. Hate, hate, hate it! Everyone there is such a pretentious asshole, acting so high and mighty and full of themselves, like they aren't just as morally grey as everybody else on this freaking continent, not to mention how much smarter they think they are-” he's ranting, it's spilling out like word vomit and he can't stop “-and I mean who elects a horse as their Queen, huh? Their reigning monarch? It's so stupid! It's a horse! It can't even talk, even if it is made out of diamonds!” Oh, he's just getting started. The gates have opened now. “And don't even get me started on-”
“Holy crap, calm down kiddo, I get it!” The sorcerer interrupts him, his mood clearly changed. Now it seems he's trying not to laugh. “Boy do I get it.” He looks Rhys over again, gaze hovering around his left eye. “Been holding that back awhile, have you?”
“...Maybe.”
The Sorcerer seems amused enough. Maybe Rhys hasn't completely botched this yet then.
He clears his throat and reaches up to smooth out his hair. “Um. Right. S-So please. There must be something you want. Something I can give you to make it worth your time to help me. Please, I'll do anything.”
“Hmm.” The sorcerer raises a hand to stroke at his chin. “Anything, you say?”
Rhys nods, trying to ignore what looks like a lecherous smirk on the other man's face. “Yes. Anything.”
The Sorcerer looks him over again for a long while, then turns towards the window. He seems to make some kind of decision in his head and quickly turns back to Rhys.
“You're willing to commit your blood, sweat, and tears to me? For the rest of your mortal and immortal life?”
“Uh...Y-Yes?” Maybe he should have thought about this more carefully...
The Sorcerer takes a step closer. “You're willing to obey my every command without question or hesitation? To do exactly as I say, when I say it?”
“Yes...” Well, he was in this deep already...
The Sorcerer comes even closer, staring directly into Rhys' eyes as he leans forward. “You're willing to devote your very existence to me and be my faithful servant? To follow me wherever I go even if it be into the depths of the inferno itself?”
Aw, fuck it.
“Yes.”
The Sorcerer smiles, and Rhys absently notices that his teeth look almost sharp. Like a shark's grin.
“I can work with that.” The Sorcerer snaps his fingers and a scroll covered in lines of red writing suddenly unfolds in his hands. Rhys isn't sure what it's made of but it sure isn't paper.
The Sorcerer brings one of his own fingers up to his mouth and bites down, hissing a little when his teeth break the skin. He scribbles something in the bottom corner with his bloody finger, and then holds the scroll out to Rhys. “Your turn, pumpkin.”
Rhys hesitates for a moment, pondering whether he'll be able to bite himself that hard when The Sorcerer pulls out a small knife from his sleeve. “Here.”
Nervously, Rhys reaches out and slowly drags his finger over the edge of the sharp blade, wincing as he feels it tear into him. As soon as he draws back, he sees blood bubble up to the surface of his skin, bright and violently red.
The sorcerer motions to the scroll again. “Tick tick, Rhysie. I haven't got all day. You want that arm or not?”
Biting his lip, Rhys flings the rest of his fears to the sideline for the moment. Doing his best to keep his hand steady, he scrawls his name out in the bottom left corner of the scroll and hopes he hasn't made a terrible mistake.
The second his finger leaves the contract, the scroll rolls back up into The Sorcerer's hand and then disappears in a puff of dark smoke.
“I-Is that it, or...?”
The flames in the floating lamps go out. Suddenly all he can hear is the Handsome Sorcerer's laugh echoing all around him.
“That's it, Rhys. Time to get your wish.”
*
The arm is more than Rhys could have ever asked for. It's perfect.
Made from some kind of dark obsidian material, the joints are all held together by a pale, glowing purple light. The sorcerer calls it 'eridium', and apparently he uses it all the time in magic to his advantage. In this case, somehow he's enchanted it to Rhys' brain so that it works just as well as an organic limb, fluidly graceful in it's movements, as well as physically strong.
Rhys can't stop staring at it, turning his new right hand this way and that, gaping as he twitches his fingers.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” The sorcerer gloats, grinning ear to ear. “One of my best works so far, I'd say.”
“Thank you,” Rhys manages to gasp, still enraptured by the sight of it. “Thank you.” His eyes are actually wet. He never thought he'd ever have this again. “It's...it's beautiful.”
“My pleasure, kid.” The sorcerer rises from his seat and rearranges some papers on his desk. “So it's pretty obvious I've held up my end of the bargain. This lovely contract here states pretty blatantly that it's your turn to hold up your end of the deal now.” He raises a hand and the scroll Rhys had signed only moments ago in his blood appears again. His name in the bottom seems to be glowing menacingly, but he doesn't care. It was worth it.
“Rhys? You paying attention? I'm talking about payment here.”
“Y-Yes, of course. A deal's a deal.” Rhys finally manages to tear his eyes away from his new arm for a second. “Whatever you need from me, I'll do it. I'm here to serve you.”
“Oh, kitten I'm so glad to hear you say that.” The sorcerer steps around his desk, coming closer to Rhys as he reaches out and gently touches his jaw. “It's good to see you so obedient. Been a long time since I've had a faithful human servant.” His thumb traces light circles over Rhys' cheek.
“Have I got a job for you.”
-