Rallo struggled against Asrael’s will, but as both were learning; resistance was painful. For both. He would have to explore this, but not now. Before the sun would rise; Asrael had plans for the man writhing beneath the trio of unnerving women. Tears streaked both his cheeks, tendrils of snot hung down along either side of his scruffy lip. The infuriating, false confidence had faded- as had that smirk. The Necromancer approached him with a rare smile and leaned down to meet the Commander’s terrorized gaze. Even his eyeballs trembled with horror as he sought to digest the sight of the unnerving magus and the horrifying trio of naked, blood-stained, grinning women pinning him to the soaked dust. At that moment, as Kerras glanced about the camp-site, it dawned upon him that the demon looming above him had a plan- a dark, terrible, disgusting, inhumane plan involving his own, writhing body. His mouth trembled as he split his lips to whisper. The smiling, pale creature leaned down;

“P-please... A-A-Asrael... s-spare me...” Asrael froze as he heard the whimpers. The grin faded as his mind struggled to understand- to process- what this fine ‘Commander’ had just requested of him.

Asrael spoke “How long has it been since last we met- Kerras, was it?” and turned back to the man. His pale lips were contorted in a sour frown- a stark contrast to the pained, tortured, flecked teeth of his target.

“P-please! I was only following orders-” At the Necromancer’s mere whim; the naked woman pinning the man’s legs down clasped her hand around his scrotum and squeezed it threateningly.

Asrael repeated; “How many years has it been, Kerras?”

In between yelps; the Commander shouted; “Thirty years- give or take, Sir! P-Please! Spare us! Spare me and my wife- you can have the others!” Three decades? To Asrael; it felt as if he had fallen asleep a week prior before awakening in the maddening desert. But much had changed- it was undeniable... for one; the weeping man had grown ancient in the span of this figurative week, but more unnerving by far was the air.

He had been to the Blighted Lands before; he knew of the plight here, but this... this was different. Thirty years made sense, when he considered the damages to the arrows that had protruded from his pale flesh... but what did it all mean? What had happened in those three decades to transform the upset fabrics of the world- to fill the atmosphere of the blighted lands with magic? This sniveling oaf would know nothing of it- only a magus could feel the shift in the magics of reality... but perhaps he could tell him a few other things- the lay of the lands, the condition of the empire and most importantly... Sargerrei’s whereabouts.

Asrael did not care to silence Kerras- despite his initial desire to sever his tongue. Instead; he took a measure of glee in the wet, hoarse screams of the man who had once used his now-lost voice to alert the Inquisition of his whereabouts. The mark proved an especially painful finale to his great work, as the sensitive skin of Kerras’ chest caused him to writhe and jerk... but by nightfall... it was done. Somewhere along the procedure; Kerras’ strength had faded and a thick glaze now misted his eyes.

Like the women he had watched being brutalized; he had momentarily departed from the physical world to seek comfort in the calm of his mind. Either that, or he had begun to recognize the markings as the ones covering the women... a moment longer... and Kerras would be one of them. Asrael rose to his height and wiped the sweat from his brow before stretching his pained arms. Looking down at his work; he took a moment to appreciate his dedication and the fruits of his labor- not only of the night, but of the many years leading up to Kerras’ redemption. For a thousand years; his feeble-minded, thoughtless predecessors had idiotically scrambled to find the solution- the precise engravings needed to deliver the spark. Of course; it would take a cosmic genius such as himself to solve the mystery and finally reanimate the dead. It was as his thoughts began to darken to how he had gotten there, that he heard the disgusting sound of... desperation.

“Rallo, why won’t you talk to me!? Rallo! What did he do to you!?” Of course, the wildling fools could not understand his genius. Whereas any higher Magus could see that the miracle standing between them, a bumbling idiot such as her would not be capable of seeing past that remnant of humanity- the canvas. Asrael glanced over to see the gentle creature embracing the empty-eyed, tall form of her now-departed brother. Beyond the veil of existence; Rallo exuded arcane emotions- not of sadness, but of joy and satisfaction. It felt as if he disagreed with his sister’s desperate sobs, but his body refused to act upon it. The division between his soul and his physical being was simply too great- too permanent to allow his body, soul and mind to connect.

Asrael commanded “Stop your whining, girl” and set his sights back down on the still, bloody, naked form at his feet.

She repeated “What did you do!?” - this time in a piercing shriek loud enough to echo in between the distant, dry mountainous formations. To think that such a moment of victory would be soured by a simpleton- a primitive beast. He waved her off and stated; “Fine. Take him and go out in the desert, where you will surely perish within a day. I have no use for either of you.”

Her tremoring lips opened up for her to reveal her clapping jaws. She wiped the tears from her eyes and stomped the dirt to stubbornly demand; “I will! But first you’re gonna turn him back to what he was- give me my brother back!” Asrael looked to the fool with disbelief.

He informed: “While you were suckling at your Master’s teat; your brother died- shivering with a fever from that accursed wound of his. I would much rather watch you die out in the desert, but if you wish...” He raised his hand and readied his fingers to snap the air. He was not certain whether the spell even could be broken in this manner, as much about the mysterious workings of the mark were still left undiscovered.

She pleaded “No! Please! Don’t!” Again; she pathetically fell to her knees- sobbing while folding her hands towards him almost reverently. As much as he deserved her praise... he felt disgusted with receiving it on such a false pretense. Instead of snapping his fingers; he reached across the aether and tightened his grip on Rallo’s body- forcing it to move against the wildling boy’s will. Rallo took a step forward and grabbed her by the hair to drag her to her height. Yelping; she attempted to turn around and face her aggressor like a pup caught unaware by a predator in the night.

It pained Asrael- physically, mentally and magically to resist the strong will of the wildling, but none in all the Empire could be more stubborn than the Necromancer. He spoke; “He is not your brother. He is a soldier- my soldier. His body and will belongs to me, but his soul is entirely disconnected from that body of flesh. Even now; he begs for me to release him from my spell... as expected. He, like you; cannot see the genius of my creation.” With another wave of Asrael’s hand; Rallo threw the girl to the dust and cocked his teary eyes at her. Neda remained curled up on the desolate land- sobbing uncontrollably as Asrael turned to return to his true purpose. Reanimating the dead.