Chapter Text
It had been a long, long time to earn the trust of the Blade Lineage. She took such an effort to get in someone from the enemy, telling the person she was paired with that they would have to go in and scope out some Kurokumo territory.
She happened to get paired with Faust…And this turned out to be quite the help. Faust was a pretty face and knew quite a lot about a lot of things. Valuable.
There’s enough Kurokumo to pin Faust down, with Outis helping. Ropes were grabbed, and she was tied up.
The bindings were tight even over her clothes, and did nothing to hide her figure. The current leader, Ishmael, has a rather snark grin on her face. “Good job Outis. Think we just need a few finishing touches now…”
“...Of course.”
Outis watched in silence now, as Ishmael grabbed a bag- within it held many toys, but she only needed a few.
“Blade Lineage member. Welcome to your new home…Because we’re gonna make good use of you.”
“You should be thankful no one else came with us, or-” And the gag was shoved in her mouth, muffling all her frantic attempts at talking.
It was a ballgag, but Faust didn’t have time to try and press it out- when she did, the straps were far, far too strong.
Then she was blindfolded, ears plugged, and sat on a couch where all she could do was struggle and groan. Her hips shifted, trying to wiggle out of her binds when she couldn’t find a way out.
Ishmael grinned. “Let’s start that camera.”
A recording showed up on the doorstep of the Blade Lineage. Don Quixote bounded over with it to Meursault, exclaiming that it was likely a threat from the opposing force. Meursault gathers the others, so everyone may sit down to see what Ishmael had done.
The reaction was instant.
Shock, with a rapidly growing sense of anger upon seeing Outis on the far left, a pair of glasses and a swath of swirling tattoos where she previously was most covered. Faust, on the far right, trying to get herself out with what little she could move, and then Ishmael in the very middle.
She looked proud. “Bet you’re wondering what happened. But you’re a pretty smart group; you shouldn’t be too frazzled figuring it out right?”
Sinclair mumbled to no one in particular, “...Outis was a traitor…?”
Meursault gave a slow nod. “I didn’t think she would prove to actually be a traitor…Even her gaze now seems to hold shame.”
Don barked, “She should be! She’s a traitor! I had put so much faith in her and she was so strong for us…”
Meursault seemed to press her down, to ease her. But before he could speak, the recording spoke again.
“Now that you’ve wrecked your brain enough, I’ll let you in on a secret on how we initiate people, alright?”
She starts to undo her robes. Piece by piece fabric falls, pooling around her and onto the floor as she stands. “Outis, grab the others.” And the feed cuts. Sinclair is the one that flips the tape so it starts to play something else.
Just as figured, it continued to play. Faust is now laying down, on a table of some kind. She is on her back, and Ishmael is standing- shredding the outfit Faust was wearing.
Between Ishmael’s legs is a strap-on, Outis, or what the lineage members can only assume is Outis, zooms in- the toy ends around the middle of Faust’s stomach. That’s not including the bulbous knot currently above where her clit is.
Faust, is shaking her head. Desperately.
Sinclair has to pause it, he feels queasy. Passing the remote over to Meursault, whose gaze is only in a silent disdain. “We…Do we have to, continue? We might be losing time-”
“...We need to see. So we will know if there’s anything left to save.” And…He could skip to the end. But he doesn’t think jumping directly into the end result will help anyone. Grief is best processed in full.
So everyone settles in. They turn their gaze to the tv again, and then they press play.