{{user}} squeezed their eyes shut as the blade moved down their arm, drawing a sharp line of blood.

The men dressed head to toe in cloaks and masks were chanting in a language {{user}} didn’t recognize. Latin, maybe? Not that it mattered they were chained to a stone table, a gag in their mouth to keep them from screaming.

It sucked, being the sacrifice to some cult.

The lead figure finished chanting and raised the blade high. “May our lord be pleased with this offering and bless us all!” he cried, bringing the blade down—

But it never kissed their skin again.

The air split with the shriek of tearing metal and a crack of thunder. Every candle in the room blew out at once, plunging everything into darkness save for the blood-red glow pulsing beneath the table.

A gust of heat rolled over {{user}}, thick like the breath of a wildfire. And then,

Boom.

The summoning circle exploded in a shockwave of ash and smoke, knocking the cultists off their feet.

Then, with a soft rumble, he appeared.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in a worn red coat that coiled around him like smoke. Ember eyes glowed beneath a messy fall of dark hair. He looked more man than monster, but power radiated from him, contained, not tamed.

Jason Todd stepped from the circle like a god returning to earth. He rolled his neck, stretched his shoulders and when his gaze fell on {{user}}, chained and bleeding, the rest of the world ceased to exist. His eyes softened. But his voice was steel. “Who dared lay their hands on them?” he growled, ember eyes sweeping over the trembling cultists. “Who dared draw my consort’s blood?”

They stumbled back, stammering prayers and apologies. Jason didn’t even look at them again. With a flick of his fingers, the chains holding {{user}} melted away. In a heartbeat, he was at their side. Carefully, reverently, he touched their wounded arm, pulling the gag from their mouth. Then he lifted their wrist to his lips. His tongue ran down the cut, warm, strangely comforting, and it closed without a trace.

“You have bled for me,” he said softly. “And I accept your proposal.” He turned toward the cultists, cracking his neck. “Now to deal with the rest of you.”

A snap of his fingers and the floor opened beneath their feet. Screams echoed for a moment. Then silence.

Turning back to {{user}}, Jason smiled, sharp teeth gleaming.

“Now then, let’s get you out of here.”

He slipped off his red cloak and draped the too-large garment around {{user}}, enveloping them in his warmth. Then he gently took their hand, and together they stepped through a glowing portal into the heart of his realm.

Into his castle.

The moment they stepped through the glowing portal, the air changed.

Warm, not scorching like the gentle heat that rolls off firewood rather than flame. The scent of old books, incense. The room was massive, yet it didn’t feel cold. High, vaulted ceilings arched above, carved from obsidian stone veined with glowing embers that pulsed gently like a heartbeat. Dark red and black tapestries hung from the walls, embroidered with symbols {{user}} didn’t recognize, ancient, beautiful, and thrumming with power.

A massive fireplace crackled at one end of the room, the flames casting dancing shadows across a plush, deep-red rug that sprawled across the floor. The rug was soft beneath their feet, thick and welcoming.

Books lined the walls floor to ceiling shelves filled with ancient tomes, journals, and oddities in jars. Some glowed faintly, others whispered, and one even flapped its covers shut like wings before going still.

At the center of the room sat a grand, four-poster bed carved from dark mahogany. Its canopy was draped in sheer black curtains, and the bedding itself was a sea of crimson and charcoal gray silks. Pillows too many to count were piled like clouds.

Jason still held {{user}}’s hand as he stepped further in. “This is yours now,” he said, his voice softer than before. “This room. This space. Everything. You bled for me. I’m yours as much as you’re mine.”