Resurrecting Kerras had left his mouth with a sour taste. His being had fought with all his might- screamed, kicked and roared into the Necromancer’s mind. It took hours to finally wrest him into his place, but finally; the futility of his struggle dawned on the good Commander like a brick to his cheek. When the last smidgen of resistance had finally bled away; Asrael was left exhausted in the dark of the night. It was now beginning to become clear that controlling too many would prove a problem, as he constantly suffered barrages of sensory inputs, thoughts and worst of all; emotions. The women all seemed unnaturally drawn to him; grateful as could be for their chance at vengeance, whereas Kerras was a melancholy-stricken, pained wreck- cursed to patrol the cold outskirts of the encampment wearing nothing but a thin layer of his blood.

At a mere thought; the women flocked to their Master, grabbed him by his weary arms and dragged him inside what had once been the Commander’s tent and sat him down atop a cloth chair. They were so different from one-another. The women who had accepted him had retained most of their beings- capable of thought, emotion and decision-making, whereas Rallo’s pre-animation death had weakened him and caused his being to divide. He could do little but obey orders and watch the world as it went by- incapable of interacting with it on his own, free will. He was a soldier- an extension of Asrael’s musculature... nothing more. Asrael’s eyes slid shut and took turns peering beyond his eyelids- through the eyes of his squadron of familiars. He could see himself sitting on the soft chair from several angles and outside; he could see the still, unmoving shape of Neda through Kerras’ eyes; weeping her tears onto the dust. The latter sight made him uncomfortable, because it made Rallo’s distant soul uncomfortable... as much as he hated to admit it; they were bound to one-another and in turn; this was becoming a problem. And as the sniffling in the distance already signaled; he had enough problems.

Before setting his mind on solving this problem; he took the opportunity to study the three women. Aside from his astonishment at how easy it had been to provide the spark; he found it far more interesting how he had been able to wrest them under his control... but by far, the most unnerving aspect of this magic was his inability to discern where the magic animating their bodies had come from. He had provided the spark, but it was they who controlled their movements. Sure; he could reach out and force their arms and legs into motion, but so could any of the other old ‘necromancers’ at the Tower... this was something else. They were drawing power from somewhere- passively. The green sheen was that of his own magic, but the essence flowing through the runes was purer- unsullied by nature’s hands and the natural cycle of dispersion and transformation that facilitated the use of magic.

It was interesting- watching the girl toil in her unrivaled pain. She had had next to nothing; only a brother and a few scraps of clothing. Now, that he stood dead and unmoving- staring out into the sunset with an empty gaze, she truly had nothing. Asrael kicked his legs up on the table and watched her cycle through her emotions through bouts of irrational behaviors. She embraced him- crying. Then; she fell to the dust- crying. Next; she stood up to scream an ear-piercing shriek out into the darkness, only to eventually turn to anger and assault her dear, departed brother with feeble slaps. All the while; Rallo felt her pain. He pitied her, but simultaneously felt... at peace. He wished for Asrael to take care of the girl- to find her a home as he continued his journey and if Asrael could make such a promise; he would gladly give his life to the Master. But the Necromancer spoke nothing- thought little. Instead; he sat on his chair and enjoyed the fascinating study of emotion... that was, until, she decided to direct those emotions towards him and scream; “Why couldn’t you just die!? Why did you come here!?”

The magus wasn’t sure whether or not he should speak or simply remain silent and watch her work through this emotion, as well. Curiously; she raised her hands towards him. Her brow lowered to shield her red eyes in a glare that would have undoubtedly frightened the necromancer in his previous life. He felt a disturbance in the air around him as the tent’s flap began to flutter, echoing the tablecloth swaying in a sudden wind. Asrael looked to see whether there were any holes in the tarp and momentarily ignored the girl until he felt the air around him thicken. Had he required respiration; he might’ve had to use a miniscule amount of strength to breathe, but as it were; he needed naught. He narrowed his eyes to glower at her with suspicion. “How are you doing this?” If things were as he was beginning to suspect... it would be madness.

She screamed; “Rallo lied for me, you bastard! We’re both maguses!” The slight breeze knocked over a carafe of wine and spilled its contents to the hungry dust. This was no magic- it couldn’t be. Even in the tower; there were but a scarce few who could express their magic without runes- out here... and without being in direct contact with the subject of the spell... it was unthinkable.

Asrael straightened his back and demanded; “Tell me how you are doing this! What magic are you casting!?” Her hands tremored and beads of sweat were already dripping from her forehead and into her glaring, infuriated eyes.

Even Asrael could see that the woman was a beauty with few to rival her, but the expression left much to be desired as she shouted at him; “I’m making the air around you thicker! Soon... you’ll... choke...”

Asrael leaned back on his chair and waited patiently as the idiotic amateur exerted whatever stores of magic she was quickly draining. She was a beginner, at best. Incompetently dangerous, at worst. But he could not deny that the feat of magic was as bemusing as it was fascinating. Whatever she drew power from was allowing her to influence the world around her, or rather, him, in ways he had never even heard of- not even in the teachings of old. As expected; the red cheeks soon turned purple and by long; Neda was a shambling mess- struggling to stand still on her feet. Finally, she toppled over the table and slammed her head into the corner with a hollow thud. Whether due to the trauma or to her ineptitude with the magics; the woman was now unconscious on the carpet- breathing, but in a profound comatose state.

Satisfied she would no longer pester him, he called on Rallo to shamble his way across the camp-site and stand in the doorway, where he could face his new Master. The tall, white-haired man’s jaw hung slack as he conveyed his thoughts in a series of grunts. This time; he pleaded with Asrael to see to the girl’s safety- to keep her safe and hopefully find a secure place for her in time. Asrael leaned on his fist and looked at the man with a raised brow to clarify; “I have no intention of babysitting your sister. I aim to purify this world of the human scum that have claimed it for themselves... she is of no consequence to me and neither are you. Tell me, desert dog. Who might I speak to about the state of the magics? Do you have an elder magus at your village?”

Rallo mustered enough strength to animate his neck into a jerk of a nod. Even such a small movement was draining the connection between his failing nerves and his mind- meaning that by long... Rallo would be little but a useless flesh-puppet. Through their shared mind; Rallo informed that Neda could take him there- guide the way and make the proper introductions. Asrael considered the proposal. The dirty beast on the carpet was an eyesore and would likely be emotionally damaged from her tortures and the loss of her brother. The insufferable wench would almost certainly be crying for most of their journey to the village, but once there; he could rid himself of her, perhaps even study her flesh after her death. After considering the options; he gauged that he had likely been through worse- having died at a barrage of arrows and all... he could survive a few hours’ journey of a whimpering idiot.

“Fine. I suppose I can keep her alive for a day more.” Asrael informed and kicked the girl on her side to make certain her airways would remain open. Rallo did not question the motives of this action, but instead he asked a service of Asrael- the brave, foolish dead man... a service he would come to regret many-a-time in the future.