Written Wonderland

Philip swallowed heavily when the king wrapped his fingers around his wrist. His focus on the task at hand faltered for just a split second, but thankfully that only manifested as just the briefest of pauses in his movements before he regathered himself and smoothly continued on. He was a bit tenser as the king maintained contact, each gentle squeeze threatening to stall him again, but he mustered the additional effort he needed to push through it. The king seemed to be getting some amount of comfort out of the touch, and as nervous as it made Philip feel, it wasn't especially inappropriate, and very much seemed worth bearing for the king's sake. Besides, if he could just get over his own nerves about it, the touch itself wasn't unpleasant to him, either.

The lieutenant's gaze was drawn in alarm to the king's face when he groaned in pain, and worry furrowed Philip's brow again. He nodded and sped up the pouring of the mixture in his palm. As soon as the circle was complete he headed back to the shrine once again, brushing his hand off on his pants along the way.

Wait, shoot, what was next? Asking the king to remind him would burn precious seconds, though, and pull concentration from the king that he may not be able to spare in his own internal battle. Philip went ahead and picked up the glass of wine - hesitating only briefly as part of his mind wondered why in creation he should need to consume something for this process, but he shook off the doubt quickly enough - and drank a few sips of it. He then set it back down and picked up the obsidian, at least remembering that the vial came after. His long legs carried him swiftly back to the king to gently place the obsidian on his chest before moving quickly back to the shrine once again and picking up the vial to mix into the rest of the wine. That done, he let out a tired sigh, and finally picked up the dagger, intending then to return to the king's side with it for further instructions.

((OOC: And, uh, lmk if Philip doing things just slightly out of order majorly fucks anything up in your plans. It seemed both benign enough, likely enough to happen, and like it might be fun lol))

The king had just enough self-awareness beyond the internal turmoil he struggled with to see that Philip drank the wine before the obsidian was placed. Given the circumstances--dire at the least--Uranel experienced a flash of anger.

"Please take this seriously! Now you have to drink of the wine again. Exactly half of what was there before. Though I don't know what will happen to you now that you've already mixed it with the contents of the vial. Ah--" an enormous amount of pain racked the king's body again, but he managed to stifle movement, barely.

Uranel reached up to the obsidian piece on his chest and held it there with his right hand while his body strained and more sweat pooled down his forehead and bare chest.

((OOC: the wine is going to hit Philip pretty quickly, and the amount he drank is going to have a subtle effect of increasing whatever connection might exist between Uranel and Philip. Once he drinks more, it will intensify quite a bit, and the effect of the vial is that Philip's mouth is going to begin to water. Philip might also notice that there's a slight flavor of blood in the wine. Spoilers: it's the king's.))

Philip's shoulders tensed when the king spoke up angrily. For half a moment he was caught between panic and indignance - what could he possibly have done to give the impression that he wasn't taking this seriously? - but then the king mentioned the wine, and Philip mentally scolded himself for not remembering the instructions correctly. Perhaps he should have asked for clarification after all? Well, what was done was done now.

The uncertainty of the vile's contents turned Philip's stomach slightly, especially with the king explicitly pointing out that he didn't know what effects it would have. It also didn't help that his first few sips were already hitting him, but as ever, he pushed through his discomfort, for the sake of his king. He set the dagger back down to pick up the wine and bring it to his lips again, and he did his best to drink exactly the correct amount before setting the glass back down. His head reeled momentarily, and his hand came up to grip at his shirt over his chest, as though that would steady him. Perhaps it did. A part of him wanted to seek reassurance from the king - some sign of forgiveness for his mistake, or assurance that the process would still work - but he stifled it, telling himself there was no time, and even somewhat feeling like he didn't deserve it, anyway. He simply needed to follow instructions.

He swallowed heavily, not quite noticing that his mouth was watering, but certainly needing to do something about it. He also took in a deep breath, trying to clear if only for a moment the fog that was starting to settle into his mind. Finally, he started to reach for the dagger again, although briefly panicked as some part of him wondered if the king had actually given him instructions past this point and he'd simply forgotten. He felt weighed down with fear and guilt, like the king's agony was resonating in his own body and chiding him for making this man who was in pain painstakingly tell him what to do; like, somehow, he ought to just know how to fix everything all on his own.

But, thankfully, the wine hadn't totally disabled his reasonable faculties, and he was able to - mostly - shake those feelings off, if only enough to finally grasp the dagger, and follow through on his initial intention of returning to the king's side for further instructions.

Uranel narrowed his eyes at Philip as though doubtful that Philip was competent enough to follow the instructions even the second time, but when Uranel saw how delicately Philip drank the wine as to ensure that only the exact amount requested left the glass, Uranel's gaze softened once more, and in fact, his eyes began to betray just how afraid Uranel really was. He had really gone in over his head this time. 

Steadying himself as much as possible, Uranel said, "Now, in a very slow stream, pour the rest of the wine over the obsidian on my chest, and then place your hand on top of it. We are going to try to pull the demon out into this stone. I'll speak the necessary words once your hand is on it. Give the knife to your soldier." Looking at Chloe, Uranel said, "If we don't succeed at this, don't hesitate to use it. Even on your king." Uranel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself for the possibility of death. When he opened his eyes again, they alighted on Philip with a potent combination of knowing Uranel must take this risk on and an almost sympathetic look toward Philip as though he knew exactly what the king had going through his mind. Maybe even another touch of longing, but then Uranel steeled himself and gripped at the chaise with his hands, ready. 

Philip's eyes shifted nervously between Chloe and the king and back again. Chloe had certainly surprised him in battle - despite her sweet and demure nature, she was a fully capable soldier. But this was a rather heavy thing to saddle her with - in fact, Philip himself felt uncomfortable with the idea of it. But, seeing his hesitation, Chloe reached out towards him, and met his eyes with a calm, determined smile. Philip was hit with a pang of guilt at how much better Chloe seemed to be at comforting him than vice-versa, but he nodded gratefully, and gingerly released the dagger into her grasp.

Sighing, he went back once more to collect the rest of the wine. He swallowed again as he settled back into position next to the king, this time making slightly more note of just how much he seemed to be salivating, but doing his best not to pay that much mind. He gently tilted the glass to pour the rest of the wine - slowly, as instructed - and then made one more round trip to the shrine and back to replace the empty glass. On his return, he knelt down to be closer to the king, and tossed a determined glance to Chloe - which she mirrored - before turning his gaze to the king. He set his hand firmly on the obsidian on the king's chest, and gave a firm nod to indicate he was ready.

Uranel returned Philip's determined stare before closing his eyes and starting to chant something in the god's tongue. It was a short sentence by the sound of it, repeated several times at least. The center of the king's chest began to ache heavily before it finally started glowing a strange opalescent purple. A oozy black substance appeared to be entering the obsidian turning it, if it were even possible, an even deeper black. Where Philip's hand touched the obsidian, it also started to glow an opalescent purple, and though the glow seemed to be moving up Philip's arm, the black stayed tied to the stone. The purple light, which had traces of green and gray in it, wound around Philip's arm and moved toward his chest. The feeling of the light was not unpleasant. In fact, it was warm, soothing, inviting even. In its slow movements, it seemed to beg to be touched. 

Meanwhile, Uranel bucked and yelled, completely unaware of what was transpiring. He could only feel the pain, the loss, the agony of feeling his chest torn open and emptied. But, when he opened his eyes, they were purple and burning. 

It took a great deal of effort for Philip to keep his hand on the obsidian as he battled with feelings of fear and disgust at the sights that started unfolding. A very primal, animalistic part of him wanted to tear away the instant his vision parsed out that ooze seemed to be seeping into the stone. This felt very wrong. But he reminded himself this was a demon they were dealing with - of course this process wouldn't be pretty.

Although, then again... a part of it was. The purple glow was - while mildly uncanny - visually pleasant, and Philip found himself watching it as it moved up his arm. He was equal parts curious and terrified, as he felt part of himself inviting this glow, even wanting to bring up his other hand to touch it, which filled the rest of him with horror.

With something of a grunt, he refocused his attention to his hand on the obsidian, and leaned forward slightly to push down more firmly. His gaze turned determinedly towards the king's face again, and the king's agony came rushing at Philip like a sudden burning hot gust of wind off a fire. He swallowed heavily and brought his free hand up to grasp Uranel's shoulder, finally deciding that some extra comfort for both of them was worth the risk of impropriety. He wasn't sure what to make of it when the king's eyes opened, though. He had to grit his teeth through another hurdle of fear and disgust, and continue instructing his hand to stay firmly put on that obsidian despite another strong urge to tear away.

"Your majesty," he spoke up as his fingers tightened their grip on the king's shoulder, "Stay with me."

The king was completely unaware of what Philip was saying as his ears began to ring. He reached up to clutch at the hand Philip put on his shoulder and attempted to stay conscious. Meanwhile. the opalescent glow reached Philip's chest and began caressing the center of it, creating and embodying a hunger, a promise to relieve loneliness, to stroke his hair. And in fact a tendril of the light branched off to curl up around Philip's neck and wander into his hair while the main section of light continued to prod at Philip's chest. Within Philip's mind, the light began to softly whisper his name, beckoning Philip to touch it back. 

"Philip... you have to... let it inside you," the king said between gasping breath, his voice slipping in and out of his own tone and the deep velvety sound of a woman's voice, "It knows... you drank of the wine. Please, Philip, it's the only way. If you care about me at all, you must do this thing. Invite it in. Inhale, welcome it, embrace it, and then you can let go of this stone." The king's purple eyes pleaded, longing viscerally present in both his gaze and the rest of the king's body. "Philip... please... please... Philip..." 

Philip had been doing his very best to ignore the light and its whispers and its strokes. It was difficult, but he was managing to keep his focus on the king, and block the light out. But then the king told him to let it in. Some part of Philip felt relieved and excited - that he could stop fighting it, and just enjoy the comfort and satisfaction that the light seemed to be dangling just outside of his reach. But another part of him still held stubbornly on, suddenly feeling scared and hurt, even betrayed. Was he just trading his own life for the king's? But, even if he was... that was what duty would call for, isn't it? Perhaps it was unreasonable to feel indignant about that possibility.

The thing was, though... the king's voice wasn't his own, at least not entirely. The thought crossed his mind that he may have been tricked, but it was difficult to think through all the implications of that with the light constantly beckoning at his periphery, and the king's longing and pleading so palpably there at the front of his attention, seeping fear into Philip's core that every second he hesitated was causing his king to suffer all the more. But, then, a selfish part of him wondered - would he suffer just as much once he yielded? He couldn't deny he was very, very scared.

Swallowing heavily once again, Philip turned his eyes to Chloe. He knew it'd be unreasonable to ask her what to do - he was her superior, after all, and bore the responsibility of making this decision - but if she had some intuition about the situation, that would ease his mind greatly. Unfortunately her expression was inscrutable to him, in a way that felt strange - and sad. But then again, maybe that was for the best - whatever decision he made, it would be his own, which is how it should be.

"Take care of him," Philip said to her, "And do what you must to me."

He turned his eyes quickly back to the king, some part of him afraid of seeing her response. He nodded to the king, and then closed his eyes, and breathed in, allowing his attention to sink into the warm glow, and how it lapped at his chest and brushed through his hair and beckoned to him. He still hesitated a moment, as fear tensed up his muscles and tried desperately to keep up a wall, but he finally overpowered it, and let down the last bit of his resistance keeping the glow at bay.

As Philip inhaled, the tendril of light against his chest seemed to go through or into him, peering and penetrating into his core. The light warmed and encompassed him, and for a moment, everything was a bright white before the light in the scene slowly faded into a deep blackness. Though Philip would still be able to see his own body, he would see nothing else, but the air was fresher than the dank room that had housed the king, which seemed to indicate that he had traveled to another place entirely.

The light branched into more tendrils and enveloped his body in a soft bind, his arms and legs pinned together as the light gently squeezed and slithered around him, leaving traces of desire and comfort as though it, too, ached to touch Philip. Then, in a strange spiderweb of light that extended from his still-glowing chest, the figure of a woman began to appear. She, too, was opalescent and made out of the light, at least at first, but she soon began solidifying before Philip, and the connection to his chest finally broke such that the woman and Philip were separate again. The woman had exceedingly thick black hair that curled slightly at various places as it traveled a third of the length of her body. She wore a shimmering dress the same color as the light that still held Philip in place. The dress was low-cut, revealing the sides of perfectly formed breasts, though the figure seemed unaware of them or the effect they might have such that the overall effect was one of innocence, as if the woman was simply that comfortable with her body and would not dream of the possibility that it could make someone uncomfortable, let alone aroused. The dress fell gently against her body such that it unabashedly traced her curves all the way to the ground, which also solidified into sparse graying grass as she stepped closer to him, her hips rolling forward slightly with every step. 

Philip found himself leaning up against a thick blackened tree that felt as though it had some sort of sentience. Or maybe it was tangibly growing behind him. The woman bent down beside Philip, her breasts falling softly into each other as she leaned forward on one hand and stroked the side of Philip's cheek. 

"It's a good thing you've done," she said to him, "saving your king. You succeeded in trapping the demon in the obsidian. He's safe. Chloe's safe, and now..." the woman allowed her hand to travel down to the place where the light had penetrated his chest, bending down to touch her lips to that place and letting her words trailing off and fade into the air. 

((OOC: It's probably going to hurt emotionally when the connection breaks, so to whatever extent you want Philip to lean into that. Also, Dehaljadrun is keenly aware of any fantasies that might be coming up in Philip's mind at this moment, so feel free to let us know what those might be so she can use them against him. Lol.))