Meanwhile, Tarro goes to another cabinet, opens it, and—gets distracted by the look on Serik's face.

Maran, breathing hard, tosses the bloody knife onto a table. He looks down at Luar in front of him, runs his hand up her inner thigh where no blood has yet been spilled, and then digs his fingers into the mess he's made of her hips and starts fucking her with violent force.

Serik beckons to Tarro without taking his eyes off this mesmerizing sight.

Not without some hesitation, he stops what he's doing and circles around within arm's reach.

Serik grabs him, pulls him close, and kisses him hungrily.

He melts into it with a quiet whimper, barely audible over Maran's snarls and Luar's ragged high-pitched sobs of pain.

"I like you," he murmurs. "You're lovely."

"—thank you," he says breathlessly. He may be clinging a little. "I—I need to—"

"Mm?"

He gestures back at the open cabinet.

Serik kisses him one more time, passionately and at length, and then lets go. "Mm, go on then."

He stumbles a little as he walks away, but recovers by the time he's back at the cabinet. He picks one from a selection of iron rods hanging inside; it's bluntly pointed, about as long as his forearm and as big around as his delicate wrist, with a long cord-wrapped handle. In context its purpose is fairly obvious, even more so when he applies his magic to it and the tip starts to glow a dull red.

He flows across the room as a breeze, materializes with his arms wrapped around Tarro's waist, murmurs in his ear: "Want some help with that?"

Shiver. "Yes please," he murmurs back.

The whole length of the rod upwards of the handle is now bright cherry-red, glowing with heat. "Are you going to use it," he breathes, "or is it for him—"

"For him."

"Can't wait." He kisses Tarro's neck and slides a hand into his trousers.

Despite this interference he manages to make his way to Maran's side.

He comes with a full-body shudder and stands there for a moment, panting, slowly unclenching his hands; then he steps back and holds out his hand to Tarro, who passes him the hot iron rod.

Luar by this point is barely conscious, a mess of blood and shivering flesh, sobbing continually.

He touches the end of the rod to the back of her thigh.

She flinches and cries out sharply, making a futile effort to pull away.

He trails it over to her bruised and bleeding cunt, holds it there for a moment, and then shoves it in all at once. It sizzles viciously.

She screams.

He fucks her with the hot iron, yanking it out and then thrusting deep, over and over and over again while she screams and struggles and cries.

Eventually, when the glow has faded to a dim sullen shade of red, he stops. He leaves the rod buried deep in the ruin of her cunt, and he turns to Tarro and kisses him fiercely, biting his lip and pulling his hair.