Archive of Our Own

It was warm in Father's study.

A fire crackled in the hearth. Shadows danced across assorted bookshelves lining pale walls. Patterns flickered over the empty embroidered plush armchair next to the fireside. Dark impressions cast throughout his memoriam; a comprehensive collection of all the unique materials Hallownest had to offer, cataloging their properties and known uses in precise, hand-written plaques beneath each specimen.

Father sat at his desk near the rear of the room. An ornate, marble-topped thing, intricately carved yet lacking in gilt. Gold was unnecessary for a being as Pale as he. The raw shine of his nature was proof enough of a divine right to rule, needing no extra accoutrements to justify it.

The Vessel stood as still as a statue beside him. Since being promoted to 'knight', they spent all hours not in training by his side. A personal body-guard of sorts, though an entirely unnecessary one. It mostly entailed standing in a corner while Father did whatever bureaucratic activities running a kingdom entailed. Still, the Vessel cherished those hours as one might a beloved heirloom, precious and irreplaceable. Any time with Father was time to revere his presence. Even if they were (mostly) incredibly boring.

Case in point: paperwork.

Piles of it. Mountains of it. A truly inordinate amount of proposals, reports, petitions, transcripts, schematics, ledgers, contracts, deeds, directives, and more covered the marble surface, all awaiting the King's eventual acknowledgement. Neatly organized piles at the desk's center steadily descended into chaos the further one strayed from Father's seat. He'd deny it, but one bug could only do so much. Even a godly one.

Both had been there for hours. The Vessel wasn't the best reader (a weapon only needed to understand verbal commands), but what little comprehension they'd cobbled over the years indicated most documents were Infection related. Quarantines, aid requests, increased militant mobilization in areas that could afford neither. With every signed approval or discarded rejection, Father's shoulders grew a little tenser, his posture anxious and more strained.

The Vessel longed to help. To soothe him, comfort him, assure him that they could do what they had to do and make Hallownest proud. But doing so would be an act of the greatest betrayal, revealing years of subterfuge spent hiding a mind that shouldn't exist.

So they stood guard and did nothing like a good vessel. Eventually, even a being as great as he would be forced to recuperate and rest. The thought of Father— half-keeled over from exhaustion, barely awake and robe slipping of his shoulder as he ordered them to take him back to his chambers, his Pale body limp and pliant and small in their arms, so weak, so trusting, so vulnerable— it made the Vessel feel... it made them feel like...

They suppressed a shudder. They shouldn't think of such things, let alone hope for them. But they could picture it so clearly. It was as if an image had been burned within their sockets. No amount of repression made it fade; in fact, the thought only grew more vivid. That silky robe falling away, insectoid chitin transitioning to a soft, plush, worm-like tail, sliding their hands across him, so small they could fully encase that delicious, taunting waist, pulling him onto their lap with zero resistance and—

Father groaned. A downright herculean effort was taken not to flinch. He slumped over the desk, hands covering his face, elbows propping him up. Whatever parchment he was reading had been haphazardly thrown to the side. Gods. They could see his shoulders flex beneath that white cloth. The Vessel's grip on their long-nail tightened. No. No, they had to stay calm. Composed. Hollow. They had to. They had to.

"Vessel?" Father called wearily, fingers rubbing his temple. "Forgive Us, but... We require your assistance."

The Vessel stood very still. Assistance? With what? And why did he bother asking? Or apologizing, for that matter? They'd do anything he ordered. That was what they were made for. Their purpose.

Father seemed at war with himself. He dallied. He fidgeted. He'd open his mouth as if to speak, only for it to close moments later with a soft click. An internal debate the Vessel wasn't privy too occurred before them, and, to be frank, the suspense of waiting was making them anxious.

"There is... a stiffness to Our shell," he at last admitted, words slow and pained, as if pulled from him like teeth. "It is bringing... great... discomfort. We fear We are not... capable of continuing Our work unless it is abated. Vessel, you are to... assist. In abating it."

The Vessel stared blankly.

"Ah. Were Our words too vague?" Father laughed uneasily. The Vessel's confusion grew. "Well, to rephrase: Our position has, regrettably, left Our body compromised. Specifically, areas of great tension—" and here he gestured to his upper back with an arm, wincing, "—here. You are to press upon the points of stiffness as to relieve them so Our work may continue."

What.

The Vessel continued to stare. This— surely this was the work of a retainer, was it not? Bugs who'd trained their entire lives to be at the beck and call of their immortal King, attuned to his tastes and requests as metal might be forged for a hinge. Not them. Did he not wish to wait for an attendant to arrive? Or— dare they hope— did he see his Vessel as something more? More than a mere vessel? More than a mere knight? Had they so risen in his eyes that he'd entrust them with tasks most bugs dreamed of?

Touching Father was a privilege they savored like the finest of delicacies. Touching him outside of training was an even greater one. But this... this was beyond either. Th— their hands running across that perfect shell, that Pale shell, that holy shell, over and over and over again until Father told them to stop, until he was satisfied...

Their mind short-circuited.

"...Vessel?"

Limbs moved automatically. Their long-nail was placed against the wall with a mechanical stiffness no mind could hide behind. They then looked back to their Father, situating themself behind his chair and dutifully raising their hands for the upcoming task. Father's eyes had narrowed from where he'd awkwardly twisted to observe them. Seeing their diligence, however, he relaxed, shaking his head and propping himself upright via two elbows on the desk.

"You may begin," he said curtly. Then, after a contemplative moment, "Start with pressing your thumbs at the peak of Our neck. Feel for pockets of stiffness and force them out. Then, continue downwards."

The Vessel secretly thanked his clarification. Eager as they were, they both couldn't show their desire to touch, nor had any clue how to enact it. They were made for violence. Not care. Fingers twitched, tentative and unsure, hovering over a body so much smaller than their own. Should they... grab his neck? No— he'd think they'd fallen to the Old Light and were attacking him. The... shoulders, then? Right. Shoulders.

With a delicacy they scarcely knew themself capable of, the Vessel placed both palms atop Pale shoulder blades, that silken barrier crumpling as fingers curled. Anchorage secured, thumbs at last pressed against the shining plates of Father's neck. Beneath them, tense flesh resisted their touch; a knot of overworked muscle brought by hours of insufficient movement. An experimental increase in pressure was rewarded with a pleased hum.

"Y— yes. That is good, Vessel. Continue."

Their false heart fluttered. Had they not been so close, the Vessel would've missed Father's back arch ever-so-slightly at their touch. But it wasn't missed, so they repeated the motion and— sure enough— another satisfied utterance left their Father's perfect throat. A warmth grew in their Void, fluttering and flickering, softly flapping wings and burning desire. They should suppress it. Ignore the warmth that was a sign of their impurity, let emotion choke and die within Abyssal blackness like a good vessel.

They were not a good vessel.

They hadn't been one for a long, long time.

Another press, another gasp, another hushed whisper of praise. They wanted more— craved more— more touch, more sounds, more of what made Father, well, Father. Oh, how they wished to tear that flimsy robe apart. How they wished to see his divine, perfect shell exposed. How they wished to run their palms along it, feel the grooves and divots and chill, memorize each aspect like an artist might of a renowned masterpiece.

His sweet little noises had an effect on the Vessel. Genital plates slid back, exposing a dual sex as arousal grew. They savored it and worked out a particularly stubborn knot at the base of his neck, shell creaking slightly as two powerful thumbs pressed to soothe the soft tissue beneath.

"Ah—! Mhn, mm..."

If they didn't know better, they'd swear he was toying with them. But Father didn't know their little mental secret. If he did, they'd be dead, and an actual Pure vessel would take their place. But the thought of anyone else touching him like this— of being allowed to touch him like this— sent an ugly burst of possessive rage through the Vessel. Their grip tightened. Father gasped, then relaxed after they hastily pressed around, removing any discomfort they'd caused.

The Vessel's tendril-like phallus had fully extended by now. It twisted in on itself like a snake, probing until it found their dripping slit. It slipped inside in an act of auto-penetration they lacked any control over, lost in Father's pleasured utterances as they were. They prayed he couldn't hear it squelch. Threat of exposure aside, they'd perish from sheer mortification if he saw. Twin pleasures of slick warmth and deep fullness had knees growing weak. It took a control honed by years of self repression to keep their hands (mostly) steady.

Black fingers slipped lower. Past upper shoulders, past upper back, until they reached the junction between Father's two disparate halves. Gods, his robe was so thin. Hard, chitin plates grew smaller and smaller until none remained, with soft, inviting flesh replacing them. This spot was particularly sensitive. A pressed knuckle here brought twice the gasps as further up. They savored Father's increased noises like one might a well-aged wine. He all-but leaned atop the desk now, moaning and shaking like a leaf, headless of any mess he caused.

Emboldened by pleasure, the Vessel pressed harder, pressed firmer, pressed until they played Father's cries like the most beautiful of palace instruments. That waist! That stupid, delicious, taunting waist! It beckoned them like a moth to a flame, so small and easy to grab, so small and easy to make theirs! All restraint vanished. They couldn't take it any longer. Fucking themself at a breakneck pace, the Vessel at last gave into desire, enveloping Father's middle entirely in two powerful, trembling hands.

Only for their fingertips to brush against... something.

A gasp. A sharp cry. Both of Father's hands suddenly clasped over his mouth. He flinched violently, dislodging their grip and curling inward, mask flush with marble. Hips ground hopelessly against the side of the desk for some time. Then, he abruptly halted, back arched and shuddering.

The only sounds were a crackling fireplace and Father's heavy breathing.

It passed in a split second. But the Vessel instantly knew what had occurred.

Oh. Oh Gods.

That wasn't... that wasn't... that was release dripping down th— the— the side of the desk, was it?

Pleasure overwhelmed them. The Vessel collapsed to their knees, caught off-guard by their own orgasm as it ripped through Void with the force of an Abyssal shriek. They came inside themself, slit clenched and legs clamped as tight as a vice to not let a single drop escape. Falling to their side as waves of pleasure wrecked them, the Vessel's mind thought only of Father— their divine, perfect Father, so beautiful and smooth and soft and utterly, utterly Pale. His light burned their mind, searing away Void like lightning wrought by a blizzard.

Armor clinked as they shook. Pleasure tingled from the top of their horns to the claws of their feet, liquified desire filling their hollowed out husk with white-hot heat. It overflowed, spilling between legs as the Vessel grew limp.

They couldn't see. Sheer euphoria and subsequent aftershocks left vision blurred.

When it finally cleared, the Vessel almost climaxed again then and there, for the sight that greeted them was one that made their sex clench with desire.

Two perfect, Pale shafts, bobbing in time with his breaths, release dripping in thick, glowing droplets refracted orange by the light of the fire.

They'd never seen Father's spicules before. And yet, the white lengths of flesh seemed so intimately familiar. It was as if they'd beheld them many times before, enough to have every fold and divot and crease burned bright in their mind. It wasn't right— it wasn’t possible, for that matter— yet the Vessel's nonexistent heart sang regardless; an impossible hunger seeking for that which it could never sate.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Father's neck turned. Achingly slow. Terribly slow. They froze. The Vessel couldn't bring themself to move, let alone cover their shame with their cloak. They simply laid curled on their side, Abyssal emissions cooling between their legs.

The chair creaked. Black eyes met black sockets. They, hunched and terrified. He, ashamed and apprehensive.

"I... see," Father whispered, eyes raking over their form like a knife's edge, delicate yet deadly. He swallowed thickly. The Vessel watched his throat bob with fearful enrapturement. "This would... explain a great many things."

Icy terror burbled, as icy as the Void-black fluids congealing on their shell. They couldn't move. They wouldn't move. Whatever Father's judgement, he'd be correct in his choice, and they'd accept his divine law without question. Death at his hand would be preferred above all else.

Orange fire crackled and popped. Refracted cum dripped and dropped.

Father's mouth pressed into a thin line, expression unreadable. They tensed despite themself.

This was it. This was the end.

"I apologize for tainting you, Vessel. You are... you are not to blame for this development."

...?

Cautiously, the Vessel raised their head. Why weren't they dead? Father admitted he knew of their impurity. Why had his light not blazed with the righteous divinity they knew him capable of, obliterating them for the blasphemy of possessing a mind? For hiding it from him, no less! Why did he assure them? Why did he spare them? Why did they still live? Countless swaths of their siblings died for less. Why not them? Why not here, and now?

With a courage that felt less their own and more a foreign glow within their heart, the Vessel's mask tilted in silent question.

Could it be that... he couldn't bring himself to kill them?

(Could it be that their love was not only acknowledged, but reciprocated?)

(It would be too good. Too good to be true.)

(They desperately hoped regardless.)

Father met their gaze. That unreadable mask softened, revealing a fondness that would've buckled the Vessel's knees had they not already lay crumpled on the floor. "Well," Father hummed, something akin to amusement lacing his tone, "You've proven your loyalties. Another can be found to take your burden. That, however, is unimportant in our present time."

Suddenly the chair was pushed back, bumping against the Vessel's legs. Father pulled himself atop the desk. Disregarded documents fell like the flakes of a cast-off shell. Pale flesh twisted until he sat on the edge of the marble slab, that worm-like tail twitched incessantly. His lengths— already erect— bobbed cutely as he fidgeted, Soul-infused pre-cum glimmering like lumaflies.

By the time he'd settled in, their King and God looked upon them like the divine ruler he was; his desk a throne, their body prostrated in total supplication.

He smiled. They shivered. He leaned back on his elbows. They twitched. He exhaled a long, drawn-out breath, then composed himself and said,

"Rise, Vessel."

The Vessel clambered upright in a discordant clinking of metal and semi-buckled knees. Their body proved itself unruly after climax. Footing slipped, knees knocked together, and the Vessel was forced to grab Father's chair lest they fall. Black cum and black slick dripped down black legs onto a black stain on the carpet. They must look terrible. They must look debauched. They must look impure.

And yet, Father's gaze was warm, his eyes full of affection. It only furthered the burning arousal in their gut, stoked into a blaze capable of obliterating nations.

Gods, he was beautiful. He was so Pale. So bright. His perfect form, his perfect shell, his perfect mind. Those perfect, perfect twin lengths standing proud at his middle, all-but begging to force their way inside a willing receptacle and make it his. Their ears were ringing. Their slit clenched.

They wanted him. They loved him. They craved him.

They needed him inside of them right now.

"Vessel," he whispered, smiling with the bright softness of a sunny day. One hand grasped his spicules, erect and proud, waiting for conquest, waiting to guide. He looked up at them with naked, open adoration; a lord to his knight, a creator to his creation, a parent to his child.

A lover to his... lover.

"Take me."

Claws clenched. Their mouth felt dry. The Vessel's jaws parted without thinking, leaning forward and ready to accept anything Father would give.

Wait.

They froze.

Their... mouth?

They didn't have a mouth. They weren't made with one. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering.

But if they suddenly had one, that meant...

Oh.

Oh no.

They shoved him as hard as they could. Father yelped as he was launched over the desk and across the room. He landed painfully against a wall, bouncing off it and hitting the floor in a crumpled heap. Assorted knick-knacks fell from mounted shelves, pattering in a chorus of thumps and crashes.

Father groaned. He pushed himself upright, cursing under his breath. Absent, notably, were any questions. He did not wonder why his beloved Vessel attacked him so. He did not wonder why they betrayed him so suddenly. He did not ask how long they'd hidden themself, concealing traitorous intent in the dark, away from his light.

He simply sat up, frowned, examined his claws, and turned to them with calculated precision.

"Hm."

He sounded hollow. Cruel. Bright. The Vessel knew their hunch was correct.

"You're getting sloppier, Vessel."

The study melted away. Shadowed pale walls slid into motes of orange and yellow, the formerly intimate space dissolving into nauseatingly familiar clouds bathed with golden light. The flooring dissipated, leaving the Vessel alone on an ornate pearlescent platform facing their Father.

A Father with orange eyes and a bemused smile.

The Vessel's mood darkened. Oh, they hated when she took his form. They knew they should not hate— they knew they should not feel at all— but so far into this eternal dance they couldn't deny their own feelings any longer. So when they raised their suddenly-manifested long-nail towards this imposter, it was with such a palpable loathing their Void practically boiled. They stepped forward, ready to impale that blasphemous body in a single lunge.

"You do understand he isn't real, correct? Or are you both a failure and an idiot?"

Their long-nail vanished. The Vessel whipped around, hate burned on their perpetually expressionless mask as the Old Light manifested in all of her terrible glory. Radiant heat washed over them. Her form— as brilliant as what those who'd been to the surface claimed the sun to be— burned after images in their sockets. A fluffy triangular body. Three crown-like antennae. A ball of blazing fury intent on dragging all down with her until nothing besides ash remained.

Their heart sank despite their rage. Whenever the Radiance shone this bright, she was either very furious or very pleased. Neither bode well for the Vessel. Neither bode well for them at all.

Especially with their Void stretched so thin from her constant torment.

Early on, when curtains first parted upon their perpetual performance of prisoner and warden, the Vessel could easily suppress her light. They could take her within themself, suffuse all her hate and love and despair inside their hollow Abyss. Now, though? With decades spent cultivating their fledgling mind into a fully-grown personality? It took everything in the Vessel's power to not collapse on the spot. To not be whisked away into yet another false memory, yet another dream, yet another forgone conclusion ending in their defeat.

The balance had long-since tilted in the Old Light's favor. Both of them knew it. Still, they stood up to her anyway, despite the futility of the act.

Perhaps they were a fool.

The Radiance tilted her head, feathers flowing in an invisible wind. Her light dimmed ever-so-slightly. Not enough to be comfortable, but enough for the Vessel to register white eyes twisting cruelly against the exposed darkness of her face.

Higher beings, they'd learned, were obsessed with being witnessed.

"No," she drawled, voice an ephemeral ringing of bells, "I believe you are an idiot. He didn't even bother making you literate, did he? And yet all it takes are a few honeyed words to fall at his heel."

The Vessel's posture tensed. Void twisted uneasily. What was she getting at? Mocking both their fixations and lackluster development was old ground, even for her. It's hardly as if they were ever a child. They were a weapon. They were raised as such. Their traitorous desire for something more was simply an extension of their own impurity. No, she must be planning something. She wouldn't go for such low-hanging fruit with other tormentous avenues available.

They stayed silent. Even under the heel of obvious defeat, they refused to dignify her with any response. Refusing was all they could do anymore.

The Radiance sighed dramatically. With a brilliant flash, she manifested right in front of them, a gust of hot air forcing the Vessel to stumble back along the platform. She wouldn't tolerate nonsense; a false wing's tendril slipped around the Vessel's waist, dragging them forward until their mask lay level with her face.

"I gave you that mouth so long ago, and yet you still refuse to use it. I wonder why?" she mused, those crown-like antennae looking akin to daggers. "Do you still cling to a falsehood we both know is untrue? Do you think denying it will improve your nonexistent odds at prevailing? Or..."

The grip on their waist tightened. Void-sullied chintin, threatening to crack.

"Do you think it would make him proud?"

Their vision exploded with light. Incendiary gusts rushed past them, searing and agonizing in their intensity as the Radiance flew across the clouded expanse of the Dream. The Vessel's terrified limbs flailed blindly as they dangled beneath her main body, a discarded streamer in the wind.

Her flight was over as quickly as it began. She halted abruptly and let go, residual velocity sending the Vessel careening through the air before ultimately crashing against yet another strange platform suspended from nothing. They skidded along its surface, shell battered and bruised, head spinning and disoriented, chitin and metal ringing in tandem.

They couldn't even right themself before the Radiance slammed atop them. Forced on their back, sharp thighs dug into hips as more tendrils constricted their wrists, arms pinned violently and spread wide in a sick parody of wings. Flailing died in the wake of her strength. Legs scrambled fruitlessly at nothing, unable to gain purchase against the smooth tiling of the platform. Their armor— which dug painfully into their shoulder blades— abruptly vanished, leaving them bare beneath her barring their frayed, organic cloak.

She ground sharply against their crotch. Fluffy heat enveloped both sexes, ticklish jolts of unwanted pleasure preventing earlier arousal from subsiding. The Vessel's given jaws clenched to suppress a moan. Their eternal enemy leaned forward, splayed atop a Void-made carapace and teasing them until her face was inches from their own, blazing eyes boring into blackened sockets.

"I offered you kindness," the sun hissed in barely-restrained fury. "I offered you mercy. A perfect desire— a perfect dream to make it more bearable. And yet you continue to defy me, continue to spit on my feasts to lap the scraps he deigned. For what? For why? You now know of his follies, and still cling despite them."

Something hard pushed past layers of feathers, the tip of an ovipositor cutting through softness like a blazing knife through ice. Her tip caught against their folds. A threat, a promise, a funerary bell foretelling upcoming doom. Their phallus— trapped between smooth and feathered stomachs— could do nothing to block the impending intrusion.

The Vessel's flailing redoubled. Her tendrils tightened. It was just as useless a second time.

Her forehead pressed to theirs. Heady warmth, threatening to boil them alive. Something akin to a proboscis feathered their clenched mouthparts, only to find no purchase to be made. The Radiance sighed like a gust of desert wind.

"I tire of your struggles, Vessel," she murmured. An eerie calm settled; the eye of a storm, the lapse before a fist swung to strike. "Your shattering is not an if, but a when. You could submit— succumb to the end we both know to be true. And yet you resist. And yet you still remain difficult. My kindness is wasted on one as hopeless as you. Again and again, over and over, you reject it."

White eyes on a sea of black dominated; steady nether stars guiding the most impenetrable of nights.

"I will not make that mistake again."

The Radiance forced herself inside to the hilt. It took all the Vessel's restraint not to scream. Searing, radiating light split them open, sensitive flesh tearing and obliterating in the wake of its natural antithesis. Horns clattered against the platform as the Vessel's back arched. They were barely able to do so, pinned as they were. She ground ferociously; savoring the squelch of liquifying Void, then pulling back until only her tip remained embedded, ready to slam back with the force of a nail-strike.

The process repeated itself innumerably. Pins and needles emanated from the Vessel's crotch, pain bleeding past agony into coughed up parodies of pleasure.

They felt themself going numb. Familiar dark motes clouded the edge of their vision, obscuring her hateful visage with the surety of an encroaching tide. They embraced that numbness as one might an old friend. A familiar sensation. A worn sensation. A sensation of proof that they weren't a total failure.

Not yet, at least.

Pleasure slipped away to pressure. Pressure slipped away to presence. Even pain— omnipotent in its influence, wrecking their body in ways that had it convulsing beyond conscious control— became just another sensation, another vaguely aware blip on the radar of waning consciousness. They'd feel satisfaction if they could. It all slipped away; numbing evidence of whatever Abyssal purity the failed Vessel still possessed.

She hurt them, but it didn't hurt. She pleasured them, but it wasn't pleasant. They felt nothing. They were nothing. Their mind quieted, drowning in blackness. That cultivated spark, smothered once more. It didn't matter. They didn't matter. The Void swallowed all. They could just drift.

Drift.

Drift.

Drift.

Dimly, distantly, the Radiance made a vexed noise above them.

"Ar— you...? No. ... —st be present ... this."

Sluggishly, she pulled out of them, melted Void clinging to her ovipositor and staining the surrounding feathers. Moments later, she sat kneeling by their horns. Tendrils hooked beneath their arms to pull their back flush to her fluffy chest. She did so easily. The Vessel was as limp as a doll. Limp as a doll, yet the Radiance could do nothing to their mind. There was no mind to find; just an empty, bottomless Abyss. Any manipulations would find no purchase. Any Infection would be utterly neutralized.

They did nothing as she bound their arms to their sides. They did nothing as she pulled their legs wide open. They did nothing as a tendril slightly slimmer than her ovipositor slid inside their slit, pumping with a savagery unbecoming of her station.

The Void called, and they heeded its call.

Something hot and long teased their neck. Her proboscis, constricting it like a snake. It tightened, then relaxed. Tightened, then relaxed.

Despite everything, the Old Light's next words cut past their numbness like sunbeams through a clouded sky.

"Just know, Vessel..." she spat, a volcanic spill concentrated to them alone,

"You did this to yourself."

There was no time to react. From the corner of their vision, a Pale claw snaked past their waist and grabbed their phallus. The Vessel's Void lurched.

Stupefied, they couldn't help but wonder: were they truly that easy?

The numbness vanished. That comforting Abyss, chased away in a single fell swoop. A conditioned response, a terrible cocktail of eagerness, pleasure, and despair, knocking their safety loose and letting her malicious influence breach inside. Their body convulsed from the sudden explosion of sensation. Restrained as they were, they could only tremble and clench traitorously around her, further shredding already tattered nerves.

"Welcome back~" the Radiance teased, sing-song and mocking. "That wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Not at all," said another, familiar voice behind them. Nausea grew as a Pale body attached to a Pale arm pushed itself into view. Father— or rather, a fragment of the Old Light imitating him— smiled lackadaisically, wrapping his tail around the Vessel's lower leg, binding them further. It was as if pure ice constricted their shell. Orange eyes flashed, and an equally cold hand absent-mindedly began to pump. "I see I'm needed to keep this one in line?"

"Regrettably." Her tendril pressed on that sweet spot she'd long-since learned to abuse, sending hips involuntarily thrusting into Not-Father's palm. Compounding jolts of pleasure zipped up the Vessel's spine. "They simply refuse to cooperate. I offer everything they could ever want, and still they behave as a petulant child. As loath as I am to admit, I fear your touch is required instead."

The imposter nodded apologetically. "Of course, of course. Their rearing wasn't exactly conventional.” His fingers loosened, letting the semi-prehensile phallus twist around them, black pre-cum staining white shell. “Emotional starvation only works if the subject is truly hollow. In their case, it left them maladaptively dependent on my own presence and desires. Somewhat impressive, given my light's inability to compel Void-touched minds.”

“So their devotion wasn’t even forced? How cruel of you to force them through a childhood where tormentor and savior were one…” The Radiance’s bonds tightened. Her words dripped with faux-sympathy positively oozing in malice. “But of course! My end would justify all manner of diabolical means.”

“‘No cost too great,’” Not-Father replied mockingly.

The Vessel’s insides churned. Void thrashed and burbled, threatening to spill from their given mouth in putrid streams. But they wouldn’t. They shouldn’t. They couldn’t. They… they…

“Perhaps their deficiency in love made them crave it?” the Radiance proposed in time with a particularly harsh thrust. “It’s common for bugs to chase what they cannot have, no?”

“Correct. Though they are no bug— both in constitution and ancestry— their mind is remarkably similar to one. An effect of our encouragement I would have to assume.”

They hated this. They hated how she used his face and his voice. They hated how both of them talked as if they weren’t there, as if they couldn’t hear a single word spoken. They hated it, yet burning pleasure coiled, tightening up within their core like an overstrung crossbow ready to snap.

The Old Light’s laugh was hate-filled and demeaning. “Maybe they would've preferred a different path? Had they been given any choice at all, of course. Had circumstance been different, and you weren’t so keen on my obliteration.”

"Hm. I suppose it's possible,” Not-Father mused. His head twisted to address them. White shell, orange eyes. That Pale mask dominating their vision, a visage they'd found comfort in now horribly warped for pain. 

“Tell me, Vessel. Are you content as a vessel, or would you rather be something else?"

Had they been able to breathe, it would've caught in their throat. Such an old flaw, such a blasphemous flaw, poked and prodded until it was split wide and weeping. A pressure built beneath their sockets with no way to abate it. Terror bubbled, yes, but shame joined in equal measure. To think traitorous desires was one thing. To have their half-rotted fantasies exhumed for all the world to see was another beast entirely. How dare she make him say that. How dare it affect them so, when he wasn't even real.

They didn't want to admit it— didn't want to admit the truth of his words. They kept shaking. The Vessel's neck twisted, unknowingly attempting to hide from one tormenter within the feathers of another. He wasn't real. He wasn't real.

"Aw. Cute. They still deny themself so thoroughly... You did quite a number on their psyche."

"Aha, I suppose I did, didn't I?" Not-Father agreed with a laugh. "Loyal beyond reason, though not exactly hollow for it. I'm amazed I didn't notice earlier." He paused. His fingers slowed. Their length twitched. He wasn't real. Deliberate, calculating, a venomous serpent ready to strike.

"Perhaps if I had, they could've been something more."

Not-Father's pace redoubled in intensity. The Radiance's, too. The Vessel's claws curled, emotional despair contrasting and compounding with twin pleasures assaulting both sexes. They shook like a leaf in a windstorm, precariously holding on by the metaphorical skin of their teeth, no hope of rescue from the primordial forces battering them.

"Oh? Is that it? Is that what you want?" The Old Light sadistically jeered.

"I think it is! They nodded, did they not?”

They shook their head no. It was a lie, but a lie they clung to, lest lose their meaning even more than they already had.

Alas, their wants never mattered, did they?

Not in a hell as cruel as this. 

Not to a Light as bright as hers.

"Would you have rather been a son?" Not-Father pressed, stroking their cock.

"Or a daughter?" the Radiance chimed, curling in their cunt.

"Or would—"

"You rather—"

"Have just—"

"Been—"

"A child?"

The thing that was not their Father gripped their length fiercely. They flinched and attempted to pull away, only to be blocked by the copious wall of fluff at their backside. He pumped them in a painful fashion, hand-plates digging into their length's soft surface. Black pre-cum oozed over Pale claws, dulling their false light. The Vessel's shaking redoubled.

"No response?" Not-Father forced himself closer until their masks were a claw’s length apart, glowing eyes dominating it. "I asked you a question, Vessel. You should know better than to disobey. Is that why you failed, perhaps?" He accentuated 'failed' with a sharp scrape of his claws. Their phallus wept.

The Vessel felt sick. They felt so, so sick. She'd taunted their childhood before. She'd taken them before. She'd made Father take them before. But never had she combined all three; a noxious triple tango, their greatest wounds pried open until their Void had all-but exsanguinated, leaving an ugly ball of cultivated emotion ripe for the picking.

Fear dominated. Shame seconded. Disgust ran up third, with hate and despair taking up the rear, parading a discordantly malicious orchestra.

But pleasure, too, lived deep within that crystallized geode of failure. Longing. Desire. Soft, warm parasites festering despite the nightmare of their present situation, a mind so desperate for relief it cobbled joy from shrapnel and broken dreams. It took violence and felt adored. It took violence and felt peace.

It took violence and felt...

Loved.

At last, they broke down. Something in the Vessel's pale-forged resolve cracked. A revelation so shattering all rationality fled, leaving only primordial instinct in its place. It had to stop. It all had to stop. Their mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

In an act of utter betrayal, they used the ephemeral voice the Old Light gave them.

The shame of doing so would've eaten them alive had they not been so overwhelmed by terror.

"F— Father... h— hel—"

"Your father is dead, you miserable fool!" the thing wearing his shell snapped. He covered their false mouth with a splayed palm and lurched atop the Vessel's front, forcing them to lean backwards into the Radiance's fluff. Orange sockets glowed fiercely. "You felt it. You saw it, with that pathetic spell he gifted you. He abandoned your kingdom. He abandoned your people. He abandoned you to me, and I do not abandon my kin."

And with that, he wrapped both arms around their neck, holding the Vessel tight in a facsimile of affection. His tail loosened from where it had bound their leg. "So just be a good Vessel and accept it, won't you?" he crooned sweetly. "You'll feel better if you do. I promise."

The Vessel's panic redoubled. They shook their head and attempted to dislodge him, but to no avail. The Radiance simply laughed her twinkling laugh.

The succulent opening at the tip of Not-Father's tail ghosted over their squirming phallus. They struggled, begged, screamed, but the Radiance held them tight, continuing to thrust in them all the while. They could do nothing as Pale flesh enveloped their length to the hilt. They could do nothing as more of her tendrils pulled their mask back. They could do nothing as the face they loved leaned ever-closer, until Father's mouth pressed against the one they'd been gifted, a long tongue that was not a tongue forced down their throat to deposit her saccharine gift.

Ravaged by Light— New and Old— the child of Void could do nothing but cum harder than they had in their entire life, black and viscous and speckled with gold.

Orange, orange, orange, orange was everywhere, everywhere and everything at once— surrounding them, filling them, replacing them— blinding them with the full force of the sun. The Vessel's head lolled back against something soft and warm. Their mouth was widened, then not, something slick and hot expanding and contracting in it. They felt warm. They felt hot. They felt like they were going to explode. They felt... they felt...

Good? a voice in their head supplied.

Good. They felt good. Right. They tried to nod in agreement but couldn't. Something in their mouth, pumping them, filling them. The voice shushed them and said it was fine. They believed it. It told them to relax. They did. It told them to accept her gift without question. They did, even though their abdomen hurt and orange tears leaked from their sockets.

The voice laughed. Voices? One, bright like bells. Another, shining like ice. They liked the second one more. They said that, and were surprised they could. Whatever was in their mouth wasn't there anymore. The ice-like voice chuckled, then placed a hand on their mask between their horns. It petted them affectionately and they heated up until a raging fire lived beneath their shell. They leaned into its touch. They liked that feeling. They really, really liked it.

Something squelched. They gasped, sudden sensations of emptiness and coldness emanating from their crotch. An involuntary whine came from their throat. Both voices shushed them, so they stopped.

They stayed very, very still. Waiting for a command. Always waiting for a command. Always waiting to be told what to do, what to be.

Long and thick things slid beneath their arms, pulling them upright on unsteady legs. A spike of fear shot through them. They must have whimpered, for the bell-like voice shushed them and said everything was fine.

They said they were sorry for talking. Both laughed again. It hurt their ears. They tried to cover the sides of their mask but found they couldn't. Something short was holding their hand and something tall was holding their arm. They felt scared.

Come, Vessel, the icy voice said, let us get somewhere more comfortable. Hearing it, they found themself calming down. They liked that voice. It made them feel warm. It made them feel safe. They relaxed.

They didn't feel as scared anymore.

-

They couldn't see where the voices took them. Everything was still a bright orange haze. But that was fine. They'd learned some things. Important things. They knew the cold voice was holding their hand and the ringing voice was holding their arm and that the two of them would— would—

Eventually they all stopped walking. The warmer one pulled them by the arm and then pushed them down and then they were lying on something soft but not as soft or fluffy as before. But then the fluffiness returned, propping them up on their hands and knees, sinking slightly into the springy mass beneath them.

Be still, would you? it said, tracing the edge of their entrance. They nodded. It was hard; their mask felt heavy and unruly, not quite going where they wanted it to go. Their limbs felt heavy too, for that matter, but they didn't want to disappoint either of the voices. Thus they didn't move even when something firm and thick breached inside. It filled them utterly. Almost painfully! But the ringing voice sighed in contentment, so they knew they were doing good.

The cold voice cradled their face. Something long and wet and hot ran along it and dipped inside their right socket. So good for me, Vessel, it said, muffled and licking the inside of their mask. So good, so very, very good...

Good. Good? They... they were good? Good! They felt ecstatic and shimmied their hips against the thing penetrating them. The hot voice moaned in response. Good! It said they were good! Both did! Sort of! Good, good, good, they loved being good, craved being good, good good good, they were so good, good, good—

Reality blurred. They were moved— contorted, really— to accommodate things thrusting inside them from both sides. Sometimes on their hands and knees. Sometimes on their back. Sometimes they were held aloft by spread legs, strong somethings hooked beneath their knees to have them bounce on that thick and leaky thing that never seemed to fully pull out, only fill them more and more 'til they could swear they'd burst, but never did. They never did, floating in a sea of self-obliterating euphoria with no intention of swimming free.

They didn't like that last pose as much. The cold voice rarely joined the two of them during it. It still felt good, but not as good as everything else.

After a while, the light blinding them would start to fade, bringing muffled shapes of white and gold to their vision. Whenever that happened, they'd open their mouth and let the cold voice— their favorite voice— feed them more delicious nothingness that wiped their mind clean. They'd clumsily wrap their arms around it, holding it close as it embraced them. They felt a satisfaction they'd been craving their entire life, yet had no words to voice. Like a box that couldn't be closed once opened, they indulged heartily every time.

It tasted good.

It tasted sweet.

It tasted like love.

They wanted more of it so, so badly.

They didn't know how many times they climaxed. Everything blurred together, mixing pleasure and pain until they shrieked the same way from both. It became harder to stay awake. It became harder to endure. But they still tried— still endured anyway, because they were made (by who?) to endure above all else.

But still, they trudged on. They forced themself awake. They forced themself to touch. They forced themself to swallow everything pumped down their throat, accept everything forced in their slit. Being good was the reward of being good. They had a purpose, and that purpose was to be good. Even as their arms buckled beneath them. Even as their legs gave way. Even as their head drooped so low they had to be held aloft by their horns, a marionette puppeted by glowing strings.

Their body was giving out. Trembling, jolting, convulsing. A yawning abyss threatened to overtake them, black motes encroaching the lovely light that made up reality. They couldn't fight it any longer. At last they collapsed, unable to even twitch, limp and all-but dead to the world.

Their final act before falling into unconsciousness was a giggle, slurring how they hoped they'd never feel anything else ever again.

Both voices laughed and laughed and laughed.

-

The Vessel awoke surrounded by fluffy feathers that tickled their shell.

They felt... tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. Tired in a way they didn't know was possible, as if they'd been cut open and all their insides were scraped away. Sleep beckoned them. It beckoned like a siren— a tease— and had it not been for a pervasive sense of unease they would've heeded its call instantly.

Their sight was blurry. A little effort, and it sharpened, elucidating surroundings that brought the Vessel even more confusion.

A... bed?

Why were they in a bed?

Where even were they...?

"You've metabolized it so fast... Hm. To be expected, made of my ancient enemy as you are."

They froze. The Radiance drew them closer, immovable tendrils around their waist dragging their back deeper within her feathers. Her great head pressed into the crook of their neck. Panic swelled. The sun’s breath was hot and stuffy, like a hot spring in dire need of proper ventilation.

"I should've just dosed while you were asleep," she murmured into their organic cloak. Her proboscis tangled in the fabric, tugging such that she garnered a wince from the Vessel. "You're going to be difficult now, aren't you?"

Difficult? Difficult?! How could—? What did she—? They couldn't remember. They couldn't remember anything. It was all a haze. Everything past her and F— her and— her and that thing pinning them and taking them and making them do— do—

They started squirming. The Radiance snarled and tightened her grip, shell creaking beneath her strength. "Difficult, I said! And here you only prove my prediction!" She forced their mask still, focusing their gaze on the empty space on the bed next to them. "Fine. We'll do it this way, since you enjoyed yourself so much."

Suddenly the two of them weren't alone. Father— no, not their Father, never their Father, just the Old Light wearing him like a second skin— manifested before their eyes. Tail luxurious, pose coquettish and demure, propped up on an elbow and lying on his side less than a pace away. Orange sockets flashed. He smiled, a hint of that vile tongue briefly making itself known before retreating.

The Vessel's sex twitched. They hated themself for it.

"Eager, are we?" he said, tilting his head in a seductive fashion. She didn’t bother making him accurate. Just the sight of Father was enough now, and both of them knew it.

They didn't respond. Dryness in their throat be damned, they didn't dignify him with a response.

He was waiting for one, though, and sighed in annoyance when none came. "You're such a disappointment, Vessel," he said, glowing eyes narrowed in palpable loathing.

The Vessel couldn't help but flinch. It was pathetic, really. Obvious, low-hanging fruit that still hurt coming from one that only looked like him.

At least the real Father was... dead.

At least he wouldn't really know the extent of their failure.

It was a small comfort.

In a hell such as this, small comforts were the only ones to be had.

A carrot in front, a stick behind. Led on and struck like some stupid beast. A stupid beast that should've possessed no thoughts at all, who should've let everything it endured slide off its back like oil in rain.

Father would be disappointed. If he were alive.

Both tormentors sensed the Vessel's self-pitying mood. They latched onto it, carnivorous fish tasting blood in the water. The air suddenly grew tense. A single, stray movement would snap the hair-fine trigger of restraint and send the duo feasting upon them.

The Vessel felt very, very afraid.

They tried to hide it.

They failed.

The imposter leaned towards them. The Vessel leaned away, only to be blocked by the Radiance at their back.

He smiled.

It wasn’t a nice smile.

It was, in fact, quite a nasty one.

Not-Father came ever closer, a predator boxing in soon-to-be prey. The tip of that sickly orange tongue peeked out. Long and prehensile, seeking and deadly. Soon, they were barely a claw's length apart, a terrible heat radiating off his shell.

He opened his mouth. They kept theirs shut. The Radiance tutted and yanked them back by the horns, forcing their neck at an awkward angle. A smaller tendril made its way to the seams of their given jaws, poking and prodding until at last she breached inside, prying them open with the ease one might tear parchment.

For a brief, terrible moment, nothing occurred. Time stood still. Reality slowed. Action and reaction remained stagnant. Suspense, waiting for the metaphorical pin to drop.

The Vessel bit down as hard as they could.

Many things occurred at once.

The Radiance shrieked. Her restraints loosened. Not-Father lunged towards them. The Vessel lurched away from both. Two things— a tendril and a claw— grabbed their right arm, stopping them short.

They didn't care. They kept going anyway, powerful legs carrying them across the fake mattress, dragging two bodies behind them. Both were shouting. They didn't listen. They kept pulling. Their grips tightened. Their arm started hurting. They kept pulling. The two of them pulled back. They felt something tear. They kept pulling. They kept pulling. They felt something pop. They kept pulling.

They felt something crack, they felt something crunch, they felt something peeling apart at the junction of their shoulder, aware yet not of what must be happening, ignoring reality for the promise of something else, something impossible, a false hope of genuine escape. And then something snapped and then something hurt and then something bled and then something really, really hurt and then they were wailing and then they were shrieking but they still kept going, still kept pulling, still had to get away, and then it tore and then they cried and then and then and then and then and then—

And then they were free.

THUNK.

The Vessel awoke surrounded by sharp chains that dug into their shell.

Each link rattled from their shaking, a cacophony of old metal and abused chitin. They couldn't breathe. They couldn't speak. They couldn't cry. Here, outside of the Dream, the Vessel was imprisoned just as much by their own body as they were restraints. They could only shake, shake and shake and shake, shake and twitch and think about what they'd just endured, all while ignoring the release crusting between their thighs.

That was normal. They felt that way every time they escaped the Old Light's Dream, increasingly rare as it was.

The pain, though...

That wasn't normal.

It wasn't normal at all.

It was an age before the Vessel could force themself to look. An age spent in denial, rationalizing anything but the truth to explain the steady wetness along their right side. The radiating pain there, deep and intimate in a way they hadn’t known possible.

They didn't want to look.

They did anyway.

Ah.

They weren't surprised to see their arm laying on the floor of the Temple of the Black Egg. They weren't surprised to see bright, noxious pustules bulging from it, making the severed limb pulse as if it were still alive.

They weren't surprised. But they wished they were.

It made sense, in a way. Her light was inside of them. It was thus, logical, that as she burned her way out, their body would burn too.

But...

If she could do that, what else could she do?

The question haunted the Vessel. The sight of their own arm seared itself in their mind. They knew she'd use it against them. She used everything against them. Nothing was sacred to a being as desperate as her.

Shaking resumed. Rattling chains; a voice for one who lacked their own, conveying overwhelming despair like none had ever known.

They didn't want to fall asleep again.

(They knew they would anyway.)