Kerras found the tall, well-spoken man relatively... pleasant. Despite his rugged exterior and his sinful nature; the man never argued nor tarried. He never paused to eat or demanded to have a break to relieve himself. All he did, every day, was carve his magical runes into the women’s skins. It had been a man’s age since last he had seen the sinful inscriptions. High magic such as the one taking place before his eyes was, after all; a ghost of the now-burned past- a past that conflagrated in a pillar of fire impressive enough to light up the skies over Capita. The Circle’s arcane library had spewed out in the form of mothlike flakes of ashes- a worthy end for the last crumpets of the magi’s tyranny.

The woman beneath Asrael’s sharp dagger took her transformation with an astounding cool- not even wincing as the dagger scraped across her skin to carve the unique runes unto her. Instead; her dark eyes remained fixated on his- as if studying him, rather than hating him for bringing more harm to her. Asrael paused to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. All that remained was the mark- a gift from his anonymous, fiendish, frightening benefactor- the ungodly Satyr. He ran his fingers over her untouched, uncut, flat abdomen and saw her wince at the sensation of being touched with something other than brutality. The soft look of pain on her gentle face excited the Ogre and had him reach into his pants, where he fumbled around with his member while licking his lips.

After a moment’s hesitation and touches, he roared; “It’s been days! You ain’t done shit yet- you've only been cuttin’ em! Commander- he's stalling! He doesn’t know what he’s doing!” The Ogre shouted at the fine officer. With the distortion of his voice through the pinched nose, Kerras almost sounded comical as he scolded his junior;

“Silence! You may doubt this creature, but you may never doubt me! If you had been gentler with these women, this would not be necessary in the first place!” The Commander’s jaws tensed in pulses as he calmed himself to address his favored captive. “Are you done soon, magus filth? My men are eager for entertainment and there are precious few, free magi with which they can play.” Kerras threatened the dirty man in his tattered rags kneeling above the corpse.

Asrael straightened his back and mustered the strength to adress the depraved dog with niceties. “Soon, Sir. Your men will have all the fun they could want- they will be next to unbreakable... a night longer and I will see to it they will have their fun.” Though disgusted, Asrael was a good liar if nothing else. He could feign a smile if the situation required it- no matter how detestable said situation was.

The Ogre clapped his clammy belly and shouted; “Not soon enuff! Please, Commander- let me at the girl! I’ll pound her silly- I'll be careful, I promise-” A resounding slap sounded through the tent as Kerras backhanded his insubordinate man with his iron gauntlet. The Ogre hung his head in shame and rubbed his cheek, whereas Kerras finally televised some of his disgust in this man.

Rubbing his sore hand; the Commander muttered. “You are not to touch her, Lieutenant. She is my wife’s plaything and you would do best to remember your place! Look what I have given you and look what you have done to it! You have effectively pissed, spat and ejaculated over my gift to you!” Asrael felt his hand twitch curiously against the blade as he imagined the beast do this to Neda- his co-captive. The feeble, idiotic, helpless wench deserved no less- her weakness dictated it. But... he could not allow it. Not by these men. If anyone was to kill her, it would be him. She had spat on him, after all...

The Ogre’s monstrous thighs slapped together as he turned around to stand by the tent’s opening- leaving Kerras and Asrael in an uncomfortable silence. The Commander watched the knife slide across the girl’s flesh. He could not decide what disgusted him more- the girl, the man or the complete lack of empathy the magus held for her. The Commander kneeled down and grinned as he watched the profusely bleeding, seeping wounds to mutter; “Disgusting, do you not agree? The way your blood imitates that of us humans, that is. If I’d have known no better- I'd almost pity her this state.” Kerras chuckled as he turned to look at Asrael’s fiercely concentrated gaze.

He had seen him before- he was almost certain of it. The dark bags in the middle of his pale, gaunt face. The green and the wisdom of his eyes- that black, greasy, long hair and the exceptionally large nose... but where had he seen this creature? And how could he have forgotten? Asrael bit back his words. He could hardly blame the idiot more than he could blame a shovel for being a shovel. Simpletons said as simpletons did- spread their foolish hypotheses without a care to better themselves whatsoever. The reason the whore’s blood was red was no feat of imitation or camouflage, but simple, because it contained molecules that were, in fact; red. Kerras stood up with a shrug and scoffed at his most recent acquisition.

“You have until morning to finish this. If you need something- take it with the Lieutenant.” Kerras was the air and dismissed himself through the flap without waiting for Asrael to grovel at his feet.

“Squire!” The Ogre shouted as soon as he was certain the Commander had stepped out of earshot. A moment later; the flap fluttered again and through it, Asrael saw a transformed man. It was Rallo- deathly pale and just as sick as the women. In the few hours since last he had seen him; all color had faded from his face- leaving his skin as pallid as his hair and stubble. With hurried, shallow respirations, he stepped inside the tent and fell to a knee- spreading a drizzle of sweat down on the dusty ground. The Ogre scoffed at his ‘Squire’ and sat down on the cushioned chair to grin at the sickly, miserable, young man. Asrael cast a glance beneath his arm to look at Rallo’s hands and, as expected; the reason for his sickness was clear as day. From the cut on his hand, purple, red and black streaks ran up along his swollen arm- leaking contaminants into his blood stream.

“You! Squire! Help ‘im!” The feverish, pale man’s head jerked in tremors over to stare at Asrael’s back and as he caught sight of the carved women, he froze.

“S-Sir, M-My L-Lord... I don’t know this kind of magic, I-” The Ogre planted the sole of his boot to Rollo’s face- sending him toppling backwards, where he crashed into an improvised lavatory- a simple, filthy bucket. Somehow; the smell got even worse as the servile fool scrambled about in the feces and crawled across the dirt to seat himself next to the Necromancer.

“Don’t do no funny business. I’m getting some wine and when I come back- I'll fuck one of yous!” The Ogre promised as he stood up to laugh at the sight of the pathetic Rallo gripping his knees in remarkable tremors.

As soon as the disgusting fiend had disappeared from the tent, Asrael scuttled sideways on his knees to distance himself from the disgusting, soiled man to inform him: “Get away from me- you reek worse than ever.” Rallo hung his head in shame and continued to shiver with an infuriatingly loud, few, breaths. Asrael paused the carving to look the man up and down before calmly continuing his stream of informative observations; “You are dying. The septic agents from your hand have leaked into your vasculature- you do not have long.” To his surprise, it seemed Rallo took a measure of comfort in hearing his lack of empathy.

Rallo swallowed and nodded. “I know... I’ve known for days. The fevers are worse in the morning, but I can hold it together around Neda.” Asrael calmly blinked before returning to face the women, doing his best to ignore the ‘Squire’ whose infuriating mutters continued; “You think I’m pathetic... you think we’re pathetic... you don’t know anything about us, but you judge us for doing... this...” Rallo motioned for his shit-stained, reeking clothing.

Asrael nodded and confirmed; “I do. You are no more human to me than they are- than these women are. You have reduced yourself to a lap-dog and now; you will die a lap-dog.”

Rallo’s hurried breaths scoffed a bemused laugh.“Damn right I will... and I’d do it all again if it meant I’ve spared Neda the pain...” The disgusting beast was crying- sobbing tears upon the woman’s pale flesh. Asrael swung out and slapped the diseased creature away with an astounding result. It seemed that his new magic-fueled muscles were, in fact, quite a deal stronger than his human, non-dead musculature had been. Rallo flopped over the dust as Asrael looked at his pale hands with surprise.

Once on the filthy dust, Rallo groaned; “I-I d-don't know... what you’re planning... but you’re smart- a real magus. Only real maguses know how to do that.” Rallo forced himself to point at the still women.

The necromancer was tiring of this maggot-feed's intrusions and muttered: “It is magi, you fool. And yes, I am a real magus. Now; be quiet or I will cut your tongue out. You have already disturbed me enough-” The madman wildling boy rose to a crawl and forced himself closer to Asrael. The magus could not understand why a man would ever force himself to endure such pain- to put all his weight onto a diseased, inflamed appendage, but it soon became clear to him that he had not intended to merely plague him, but rather... ask him for a service.

Through tremoring lips, he begged; “Please... When I die; p-please take c-care of N-Neda... She’s everything to me...” He could not handle these constant interruptions! Especially not if all the man wanted was to spout his emotional garble- his nonsense! Asrael tipped the knife towards the madman and rested the bloody tip of the blade in the air- a finger’s breadth from his pale, dark eye.

“I owe you nothing. Your pathetic partner will die as hopeless- as useless as you are.” Rallo collapsed to the dirt and finally sell silent- moving only to breathe his short, ragged breaths. Asrael had just about resumed his careful work on the mark, when he heard the faintest whisper; “I will do... anything... just... please... save her.” The magus shot him a glare and rested his eyes on the supple skin of his neck before returning to work- ignoring the dying man on the ground next to him with a muttered question... “Anything?”

The few times he had cast this spell had left him drained for days. Now; he would have to do it several times in rapid succession- empower the mark to bind their souls to their flesh and an anchor; himself. Following the ignition and the binding; the careful runes would carry their magic out to their muscles and allow them their locomotor functions. Hopefully... they would awaken following the procedure. Though he doubted they would be anything akin to himself, they would still function- at least for what the disgusting, drooling men had in mind.

The Magus focused his magic on the poorly dagger and looked across the bodies- his fine work one, last time. They stared up at him quizzically, but with an unmistakable glint to their dead, apathetic stares. For days; they had watched him carve into their flesh and never once questioned his motives, but now- that he rested the blade atop the mark of the middlemost, naked body; they held their breath in expectance. The many depraved men had gathered around the watch the momentous occasion and eyed the glinting, green dagger with disgust and intrigue. Without warning; the dagger jerked downwards- plummeting into the mark inscribed on her stomach.

Before the Ogre could rise from his chair and protest; the green, magical energies shot out from the dagger and dispersed along the markings- connecting Asrael and the very core of her being. He was inside of her- conjoined to her. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his experiments. Tumbling, falling into the abyss that had once been her mind; he saw flashes of her life- her birth, her capture and the subsequent, violent torture of the men. Then... he felt her presence- her soul. It wrapped around him- kissing his cheek while speaking her gratitude into his mind, not with words, but with intention and emotion. He took hold of her being and prepared to force her into submission, only to feel her... relent. She willingly subjugated herself to his will and wrapped herself around him, accepting her new bindings- her new Master.

Asrael fell backwards. It had all taken place in a moment little more than the standard blink of an eye, but it had felt like a lifetime- her lifetime. Now; he could feel every bit of her body as if it was his own and ahead of him lay a green-eyed... smiling... woman. He could see himself staring down at her, just as he could see her staring up at him. He was on consciousness split between two beings, each with their own fully-functional sensory apparatuses... but there was something more in there- a consciousness- a warmth. For whatever reason; she had thrown herself to his feet to embrace this new existence and waited patiently for him to turn her sisters. To his continued confoundment; he was scarcely tired at all- as if he hadn’t just spent the majority of his magic on animating her. He looked down at his hands and verified that magic still flowed freely through his fingers, as powerful as ever before. The blood stopped flowing from her wound and when she sat up; the men all roared with excitement- hardly capable of keeping their pants on at the sight of her lively frame.

This... was what Asrael had deserved. This was true power.