When you are alone with your thoughts, you allow yourself for a moment of vulnerability. You subconsciously move towards the tall bowl with the dirty bedsheets and fill a nearby bucket with some water from the hot springs pool, then pour it inside and start doing the laundry.

You can feel a discomfort at the back of your throat, a grasp, not too tight, but enough to be noticeable. You readjust your neck, but you know that the sensation is caused by the anxiety and your rampaging mind.

Following your wisdom, you decide to give into your thoughts and become an observer, trying to find the root of the crippling discomfort. Your hands continue to work on a scrubbing board as you venture deep into your mind.

Almost immediately, you are greeted with memories from the last few hours spent at your monastery. You can feel the trace of a man's fingers on your chin and without even realizing it, your face twists with disgust. You tense for a moment, and wipe the water from your cheek, then continue scrubbing the bedsheets.

The shadow trace on your jaw vanishes and you see three old monks in front of you, the one in between them, the oldest and most experienced one, pointing his veiny but strong finger at the door.

You huff and bring a hand to your neck, rubbing the top of your spine. You acknowledge the reactions of your body, the lump at the back of the throat, the rising feeling of anger inside your chest, making a mental note of them. Then, you allow your mind to alter the course of your thoughts and soon you observe your thoughts showing you the memories of Haarlep - them standing in front of your tent, telling you about them making fortune with Raphael's body. You immediately notice how your body responds in the same way, the same anger starting to boil deep inside your chest, tightening your ribs.

You move to your knees and take a deep, controlled breath inside, allowing it to expand your stiff chest, push the ribs and travel down to the belly. The muscles retract as you exhale and you consciously start synchronizing your body with your mind, as you now managed to address the issue at hand.

There is a small cracking sound and the door to the bathroom opens. You glance above your shoulder and see Raphael in his human form. You twist your body to face him, while comfortably sitting on your knees.

'Do you wish to use the bathroom?' you ask him.

He looks around the steaming pool and cups his chin with left hand.

'It will need to suffice,' he responds.

'Alright,' you say and lift yourself up to your feet. 'I know for a fact that this is not what you are used to, but I promise the quality of the hot spring will exceed whatever low expectations you set for it.' You stand by his side and point to a drawer mounted on a wall opposite of the door. 'Bottom drawer has fresh towels, upper one has some soaps and scents.' You glance at him, his eyes bearing into yours. 'No cherries and musk, though.'

You turn around to leave the room, but he grasps your wrist and pulls you back where you stood.

'What?'

He stares at you with a smirk on his face, before slowly raising his right hand to your eye level. You follow his palm with your gaze and allow your eyes to settle on his torn nails.

You frown.

'You need my help?'

His eyebrows angle slightly, emphasizing his sharp face and eyes.

'I do not require any assistance.' You raise an eyebrow at him. 'However, it is my wish to be bathed, rather than doing so myself.'

'Who said I am obliged to fulfill those wishes?'

He chuckles once.

'You are not, that is true,' he nods and allows his eyebrows to relax as a satisfied grin tries to twist his lips. 'I thought you will need further persuasion,' he drops the eye contact and looks somewhere above your head, pretending to wonder about something. 'Hmmm, a small curious detail, really. How many of the refugees and other inhabitants of this fine settlement use the local source of water?'

When his eyes return back to yours, the contrast between the romantically dimmed lights, the steaming pool behind the handsome man and his burning, malicious eyes is insane. Is he threatening to poison the village you and Halsin built? All the blood, sweat and tears the two of you poured in this place would go to waste.

'You wouldn't,' you say quietly.

'Would you rather have all those innocent people find out?' he fakes blamelessness and you close your eyes for a moment. In a way, you already bathed him once. This is just another case of taking care of your patient. It's just that the patient continues to be an awful asshole.

'No. What do you need he-' you catch yourself and he raises an eyebrow at you.

'Close call, little mouse.'

'What would you like me to do?' you ask and trace your thumb on your fingers, feeling awkward.

He closes his eyes and raises his chin, tilting his entire body backwards just a tiny bit, clearly enjoying the change of dynamics. He moves his palms like a bandmaster, satisfied with orchestra's performance. 'Was it so hard, dear?'

You stare at him for a moment and sigh.

'It's not hard. It just feels wrong. So? What do I do?'

'Undress me.'

You tense your jaw, but then become conscious about it. You move your palms to the front of his doublet and grasp the material around the buttons, quickly untying them. He chuckles a few times, clearly amused, then raises his hands defensively.

'Are we in a rush? Control your eagerness, pup.'

You follow his command, avoiding his penetrating gaze. You roll your shoulders, releasing some of the built-up pressure, then shift your awareness to your footing.

'That's it,' you think to yourself. 'Do not allow him to worm his way into your mind. He already took your soul through the curse. The body and mind is mine to keep.'

You stop and close your eyes for a moment, expanding the awareness of your body. With closed eyes, you render the image of the room inside your head. You are standing in a bathroom; you ground your feet by shifting the weight of your body from the toes to heels, then to full soles. You are standing near the hot spring pool, fingertips tracing a very expensive fabric. You take a deep breath, separating yourself from emotions the cambion is trying to stir. You exhale slowly, relaxing the muscles on your youthful face, then take a deep breath once again and open your eyes.

When your eyes meet, it feels like a raging inferno meeting the calm waves of the ocean.

'I know what you are doing, Raphael,' you say and stare into his eyes, still feeling the gentle sting of your blushing face, but it's not as severe as before.

He smirks at you and remains quiet for a moment. You take off his doublet, fold it and set it aside, then move your hands to his collar again, untying the buttons from the top to bottom.

'And what is that, my dear?'

'A display of power.'

You peel the shirt off of him, then look down at his pants and back at him again, while folding the white fabric. He nods slowly. You try really hard to not have your eyes lingering on any part of his now half-exposed body, despite the task being difficult. A part of you would want to see all the smallest details of his entire being, but the wise part wants to treat him with the same respect you would want to be treated with.

You go down and place your right knee on the outer edge of his right shoe. He has some decency to not be completely idle, and soon after both of his boots stand near the pile of his clothes. You lift yourself back again, then grab his belt, untying it - not too fast, but not too slow either.

'Are you fully healed? Besides the claws?' you ask him.

'Yes.'

'Do you want me to brew a healing potion?' you throw the belt at the pile, earning an irritated look from him that you don't acknowledge. 'It should speed up the regrowth of the nails.' You glance at his damaged right palm.

'I don't need your pity,' he spits out, eyebrows angling sharply once again.

'Then you won't receive it,' you reply simply. 'Do you want it or not?' You unbuckle his pants.

'Yes,' his response came out in the tone of a command.

Hells, how annoying you are! Every single time, every single interaction he has ever had with you - you always end up introducing improvisation to your role. How he contemns such behavior! He is the one who is the director! He is the one preparing the stage for the prologue, for the main show and for the epic finale. He is the one pulling the strings of his puppets, making them dance exactly as he wishes them to.

No matter. He always comes out on top when the curtain falls. He will find a way to grasp you in his claws and wipe the bright sparks from your eyes forever. Oh, how he deeply desires to see them fade away.

He knows the values of souls and yours has always been on the spectrum of his interest. At first, he was not paying a lot of attention to it, but ever since defeating the Chosen Three, your soul was like a treasure desired by many. And he is going to be the one to claim it.

You glance at his unreadable expression, after you think you heard a sound of grinding teeth. You gently grab the fabric of his pants and descend to your one knee, helping him step out of the pantlegs. You add the pants to the pile and stand up before turning around towards him. Even from the corner of your eyes, you notice how beautifully the lights of the lit candles lick at his muscular, perfectly hairy breast.

'Let me guess, you want me to do the honors?'

'Absolutely.'

You stand in front of him, the two of you staring at each other. You have no idea how, but you can smell cherries and musk on him, but you are certain that he has no way of re-applying his fragrance. It's either your own brain fabricating his smell, or it's permanently engraved in his skin. The air between the two of you is so tense, that the steaming pool suddenly feels like a breeze in the summer.

'I hate you,' you say quietly, to his face, taking off his underwear.

'We both know it's a lie.'

'Not entirely.'

He steps closer and out of his underwear, invading your personal space. You move to the side, allowing him to enter the pool, turning your head away to give him some privacy.

'Oh, little mouse,' he says almost affectionately. 'Is my sight so unwelcome to your eyes?' You can hear the gentle splashes of water and glance behind you, relieved to see him submerged with only his shoulders above the surface. 'But do not fret, you will have an eternity to get used to it.'

You start unwrapping your bandaged feet and calves.
'I adore your wet dreams, Raphael. But there will be no future in which you and I are stuck together,' you approach the side of the pool, then pull up your pantlegs just a bit above your knees and sit down, transferring your unclothed legs into the warm water.

'You are surprisingly correct. There is no such future, because it is me who will come out on top,' he says confidently, keeping his right hand above the surface.

You smile faintly to yourself, thinking of a stupid joke. He watches you carefully, a bit tauntingly even, but you don't fall into his trap. The surface of the water dances around the both of you, glistening in the candlelight.

'How does that work, the warlock pact?'

'I lend you my power, you become my servant.'

You swing your feet inside the pool and lean backwards, looking up at the ceiling.

'Hmmm, then something doesn't add up.'

He turns towards you and takes two steps forward. You could probably kick him from your sitting spot if you wanted to.

'As of now, you are powerless, aren't you? What kind of power are we talking about? Power to grow out horns and wings?' you ask sarcastically, dropping your chin a few centimeters to look askance at him.

'You're an icon of comedy, dear,' he bows his head gracefully.

The two of you fall silent for a minute.

'Will you tell me or not?'

'Such impatience and demand. Convince me.'

You wonder for a moment, then look at his hand, hanging above the bath's surface. You stand up, spraying a few drops of water on the floor behind you, then circle around the pool and reach for the top drawer. You pull out two bottles, one with soap and one with shampoo, then close the drawer and reach to the other one, preparing three different towels.

You return to your previous spot and set the bottles next to you, then move your feet to the side, making some room for him.

'Very well,' he tilts his head to the side, his gaze darkening just for a moment, like a flickering light. Despite being in a pool, he approaches you with cat-like gracefulness. His left hand wraps around your right ankle and he pulls your leg apart from the other, his eyes capturing yours. He then rotates himself and stands in between your legs, not touching your skin.

You lean backwards and fetch a brush made of wood and boar coat. Then, you gently slide your hand on his dark hair, guiding the brush, careful not to pull on his roots, but you soon realize it barely requires any brushing. You set the item aside. You push his head just a tiny bit and he takes it as a signal to submerge his head underwater. When he straightens back up, you brush the wet strands from his face with your fingers and pour spicy smelling shampoo on your dominant hand. A few moments after you begin scraping his scalp from the bottom of his hair, he breaks the silence and his voice is raspy, sending shivers even to your submerged calves.

'I haven't been rendered powerless. Not completely. Robbed, rather. Twice now,' he tries to pin you down with his intense gaze when you tilt his head a bit towards you.

'I returned your items.'

He moves away and laughs coldly.

'I'm sorry, are you serious?' he stares at you in disbelief and the next words are spat out with arrogance and venom. 'You compare the two items from my Archive and my own, personal armor, to centuries of my work? Gathered souls and contracts? The lavish House of Hope itself?'

You look at him seriously and shake your head to the sides. He glares at you but turns his back to you again and you begin to massage his scalp, making sure the foam reaches all of his roots.

'No. I am aware that the value is not the same. Can we discuss the situation to settle on a ground where both parties are satisfied?'

'You found out first hand what is my greatest desire, you know what will satisfy me.'

'The Crown is outside of our reach now. There must be something else.'

'Your service.'

You brush the strands past his ears, scratching his sides a tiny bit.

'You'd send me on an impossible mission, just so I would die and you could toy with my soul for the rest of time.'

'Foolish mouse,' he retorts. 'You've proven yourself to be a valuable asset and I excel at putting those to the best of uses.'

You go silent for some time, tilting his head backwards to rinse it. You watch the foam fall to the surface of the water, slowly drifting away from the two of you - a small island floating on the waters of the ocean. It always blew your mind how amazing this hot spring pool is. Beneath you, there was Underdark and Grymforge - area with high volcanic activity and thanks to your efforts of lifting the Shadow Curse, some of the refugees appearing on the now cured lands happen to be gnomes, who know how to put such volcanic energy into a good use.

'Even if you don't plan to send me on a suicidal mission, I would bring you many souls, many debtors,' you respond, observing how his shiny hair falls towards his back.

'You will, little mouse,' he corrects.

You reach to the basket with various bathing supplies, taking out a small bottle of hair oil. In the same time, Raphael moves away just a tiny bit and switches his forms while inside the pool. The water hisses, steaming away from the top of his infernal body. He stretches his wings and you catch yourself staring at the way the joints flex, pulled by strong muscles of his back. When he turns towards you and steps forward, you notice that he is now eye level with you, but you feel a lot smaller than you actually are; his intimidating aura much more noticeable in this shape.

'Besides, I will not allow you to come back to House of Hope. I won't stand seeing Hope imprisoned again. There must be another way,' you say silently. 'I always find a solution.'

He looks at you pitifully.

'Not this time.'

'You don't know that.'

He chuckles again, clearly amused by your hopefulness.

'I beg you pardon, are you suggesting that you have grander knowledge of an infernal curse?'

'No,' you shake your head. 'I am saying that there are things that even you are not aware of. This might be one of such cases,' you hand him over a bottle with soap, but he steps even closer and you roll your eyes, popping the lid of the bottle open.

You go silent, trying not to look into his blazing eyes, instead focusing on the skin of his neck, that you wash with confident moves, not allowing your palms to stay particularly occupied with any of the parts of his hot skin. You are careful to avoid getting the soap on his cursed scar.

'Indulge me, little mouse,' you shoot him a glance saying 'Again?', but he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head before continuing. 'And tell me... you didn't think this through, did you?'

'What? If I were to think my plan of going to Cania through too much, there was a chance that the voice of reason would become much louder than anything else.'

'Than anything else,' he echoes with a low, deep voice. 'Define those 'elses' for me, little mouse.'

'Why do you even want to know?'

'Because, truth be told, you were always a puzzle to me. Much like Hope. And if there is one thing you should know about me, is that I adore puzzles. I adore examining each of their pieces, but...' he furrows his eyebrows, unsheathing his sharp teeth. 'In reverse, if you will. Taking them apart, rather than putting together.'

'You make me sick,' you say quietly and frown yourself.

'So tell me, my dear,' he ignores you and continues. 'What were the puzzles that snapped together and led you to Cania?'

'I already told you, Korrilla saved my life on your behalf.'

'But you didn't know that when we were fighting, did you?'

'No,' you reply honestly, pouring water around his upper torso and neck.

'And yet, I recall you sitting on my body with tears staining your cheeks, begging the commander-'

'Yurgir,' you remind and he squints his eyes dangerously.

'-to stop. Begging me, to take your altered deal. A deal, shall I remind you, that would have entitled me to the Crown, even after you discovered what my plans are.'

'I also told you why. I never believed you would be allowed to rule over the Nine. You would make so many enemies for yourself that you would fall. It is a very mortal trait of yours. Setting yourself up for an ambition you aren't quite capable of fulfilling.'

The fury inside of him bursts ablaze, but he doesn't show it in any way except for the inferno inside his orange iris. For a brief moment, his gaze lands at your neck secured with a bandage, as he feels a sting of metallic taste on his tongue - his brain wanting him to sink the teeth inside your flesh, give in and tear it apart or at least pierce it enough to make it bleed. How he would love to savior the taste.

But he knows he cannot do it. He cannot hurt you physically. Not yet. Not now, when his claws are wrapping tighter around you than ever before. He is so close. So close to achieving his goal. So close to fulfilling his revenge. So close to seeing the bright sparks disappear from your eyes, perhaps forever. There are only two puzzles he has to peel away.

'I wanted to give you the Crown, but I wanted you to be smart about it. If it is half as powerful as you describe it to be, you could maybe take the throne of your father and pledge your loyalty to Asmodeus. I wanted you to have it, so that the Blood War could end and no more people from the Material Plane would ever be sold or kidnapped and be drafted to join the War. I've seen what Karlach felt. She was ready to die, she was ready to burn alive if it meant not going back to Avernus,' you look into his eyes and wave your hand for him to turn around. He hesitates, just to prove a point that he is the one in charge, and turns on his heel. You begin to wash the base of his wings. 'For some time, our goals aligned. In one way or the other, at least.'

'You knew I would invade Material Plane.'

'My gut knew it when you first told me about the Crown,' you admit. He raises his eyebrows, amused and a bit... proud? 'It was the way you phrased it. I remember it clearly, much like other things you told me.'

'Would you mind quoting the sentence, little mouse?'

'Raphael, if you want to stroke your own ego and listen to what leaves your mouth, I know of a nearby cave with great reverberation. I think it would suit your needs.'

'I am much capable of appreciating a conversation partner.'

'You literally told me not to speak to you the second you woke up.'

He chuckles a few times, the anger inside his heart calming down just a hunk.

'Repeat the sentence, dear.'

You sigh and look up at the ceiling, taking your hands of his back as you think. You reach for the hair oil and apply a tiny amount of it to the tips of his hair.

'You said this,' you shift in your seat, preparing for a performance. He turns around just enough to look at you. 'With the Crown, I would impose perfect order. Unity. Efficiency. Control,' you count the nouns on your finger just like he did, moving your head in sync with the words. Then you make a pause and raise a finger as if trying to grab his attention. 'And this one: 'My kingdom would control its borders and stay within them.' You never specified what you consider as your borders. You also didn't say a word about how long does the contract last, because if I were to complete it by handing over the Crown, it might as well be no longer valid,' your eyes return back to his. 'You don't lie, but play with words, Raphael. And this is precisely why I think there is more to what you are telling me about the curse.'

'I was always fond of your intellect.'

This takes you off-guard. You take a sharp breath in, as if trying to say something, but you stop to stare at him. He smirks knowingly, aware that he knocked your defenses.

You fall silent for some time, your thoughts rampaging through your mind. The words start to push against the root of your tongue, desperately attempting to escape. You tense your jaw and pour some soap onto your right palm and stroke Raphael's left wing.

'I hate being fond of you.'

A burning sensation fills his chest. Triumph, satisfaction, the feeling of a definite victory after a prolonged struggle. He chuckles, catching your attention.

'Is that it, little mouse?' he asks and registers the micro expressions of your entire form, trapped in a moment of vulnerability. This is it. The last, final piece. How beautifully unaware you are of the tight leash about to be put above your head and tightened around the neck. 'The final piece of your puzzles?'

'The final piece was compassion,' you admit. 'Your... fate,' you say quietly, your gaze dropping to the surface of the pool. 'Reminded me of someone, of something that happened in the past.'

He uses the moment of your lack of attention to allow his lips twist into an awful smirk. It vanishes a moment later.

'Compassion. Such a pure, undiluted emotion, isn't it?'

Your sharp eyes snap back to him. He submerges his left wing under water and turns towards you.

'Aren't you just an icon of compassion? Maybe your deeds and contribution will finally be enough for you to return back to your monastery.'

The top of your head turns cold and the freezing blood spreads across your entire body, all the way to the tips of your toes.

'How do you know?' you ask with a weak voice.

'I know everything there is to know about you, little mouse. I know of your swift progression within the ranks of monks, I know of your mentor and of your exile,' he grins devilishly.

'I never told anyone,' your voice trembles and your heart starts beating faster. 'How could you possibly find out about those things?'

'My insight reaches far and beyond, dear. There aren't many spellcasting monks in the West of Fearun. And certain attributes of your very being almost immediately made me think of the Order of the Yellow Rose,' he continues to smirk tauntingly. 'An exile from the monastery.'

You try to abruptly stand up and leave, but he grabs your calf, securing you in one spot. His claws almost dig through your skin. You stare at him, heart pounding like a hammer. You grit your teeth and furrow your brows, your intense gaze challenging his own inferno.

'If you know so much, then surely you must be aware of why I was exiled.'

Oh, he is so ecstatic, he could sing from joy.

'You attacked your master,' he says only the half-truth, tossing the bait that you immediately swallow. 'Disrespected your teachers, defiled your god.'

'No,' you snap, the familiar flames of your destructive anger rising again. It's been so long since you felt it. So long since you allowed yourself to fully relive these memories. 'My mentor, the one I entrusted my very life with, he promoted me to a Guardian. I was to take care of a group of younglings at the monastery, I was to introduce them to our traditions, teach them the ways of living off the land, respecting the nature, respecting one another. I saw him as my idol, someone I wanted to become, my true father figure I had ever since my own family abandoned me. He was a wise, greater monk, a disciple of the Open Hand,' you grit your teeth until they grind, looking somewhere above Raphael. You try to stop your fury, but when the words leave your mouth, you can barely recognize your voice, full of rage and hatred. 'And a pedophile.'

You set aside the bottle with soap before you crush it into pieces, damaging your skin.

'The whole group under my care... They were all beaten to keep quiet. Every. Single. One. All punished for looking up at the master, when he chose his victim, a boy or a girl, he didn't care,' a hot tear dwells inside your eyes and you look down, feeling your lips tremble. You take a deep breath, bringing your opened left palm to your heart. It takes you a moment to calm yourself down. 'One's body is a temple, Raphael. It's just as sacred as the mind and the soul,' you breathe out and he loosens the grip on your calf. 'And a body of a child? Only a demon could ruin it, shatter its curiosity, confidence, corrupt its development,' you quickly wipe the tear escaping your eye. 'I cut off his dominant hand. I would have gone for his dick as well, if there was no one to stop me. I'd cut it and I feed it to him.'

Raphael watches you carefully, suddenly noticing a faint red glow coming from somewhere on your back. He knows its already too late, so he allows himself for a small smile, curving his crimson lips.

'My wards were terrified. Both of me and of him. Of him because of obvious reasons, of me because my rage would bring more punishment to them. I got thrown away, they told me that my heart is poisoned with hatred, that I couldn't make logical decisions because of the revenge taking control of my mind. It took me a few weeks on exile, but I eventually recognized that there was truth in that. The Order of the Yellow Rose serves Ilmater. The god of compassion, amongst other things.'

You go quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath into your lungs, feeling the back of your throat burn from sorrow.

'So I left the surroundings of the monastery, I ventured wherever my feet and intuition would tell me to go. I helped a few, then I landed in the nautiloid. You know the rest,' you glance at him, his expression now unreadable. 'When Haarlep told me...' your voice cracks and you move your head to the side, trying to hide from his gaze, but your effort is futile. 'That your own kind... Your own kind rents out your form,' you close your eyes and tighten your fist. A small, red, flaming aura suddenly bursts from your body, but you are unable to see it. Raphael smiles again. 'I wanted to tear the place apart. I would impale your father all the way from his asshole to his throat. Or kick his ass and leave him to you, whatever you'd find more appealing. But I knew I couldn't. In the best outcome, I would die,' you breathe in and glance at him being suspiciously quiet. 'I know you are partially a devil. Incinerate me if you want, but I saw and I still see humanity in you. I probably shouldn't, but I see my wards and,' the tears fall in your eyes again. 'I see myself, in a way. I would leave you alone, if you were to die peacefully. If one of the sacred three - the body - remained untainted.'

He hesitates. As the tears flow down your cheek, he hesitates. Something deep within responds and he wants to tear it out of his own body. The sight of your tears - flowing for him - somehow too much, but too little at the same time. The inferno in his eyes flickers brightly again.

'I expect many things from you, but I have never witnessed such a level of sheer hypocrisy,' you raise your head to look into his eyes. 'Compassion? Please, don't make me sick. You did what you deemed most suitable for your state when that happened. Compassion?' he chuckles coldly. 'You were simply plagued by the dreams of guilt. Did they stop, since you ventured to Cania, little mouse?' your face twists, as your eyes burn with tears. 'Was the compassion what you had in mind when you rampaged through my house, seeking my private information and once you did, what have you done, little mouse?' You stare at him through tears. He shoots his hand and tightly wraps it around your throat, bringing your face closer to his. 'You indulged yourself with my own body. You keep speaking of Haarlep, selling evenings in my form, but how are you any different? Do your vows have a closure on how to justify your actions when it comes to cambions?'

Your thoughts try to defend your actions, but you know that he is right. Haarlep tried to charm you during your first meeting. If they were to succeed, your soul would be lost. They were defending the place and Archivist forwarded you there on purpose, possibly suspicious of your appearance and actions.

You swallow your anger and open your heart, taking in Raphael's perspective. He is right. In no way, shape or form, were you ever granted consent for his body.

'Or, will you just return to a different monastery and conveniently retake them? Answer me!'

You shake your head.

'Look me in the eye,' his voice is a quiet, bone chilling command.

The fiber holding your resolve snaps and suddenly, the bright sparks of your eyes are replaced by an empty void.

'I don't deserve to.'

When he finally lets you go, you leave the bathroom, feeling your body being absolutely drained from any energy. The second the door closes behind you, Raphael leaves the pool and snaps his fingers, curing his right claw and drying his body.

Oh, how ecstatic he is. The only thing missing now is a goblet full of his finest wine, aged over centuries.