Asrael looked across the campsite with a smug satisfaction. From nothing; he had begun constructing an army of his own- one he would see grow to outnumber and overpower the Empire and with it; the detestable General. Neda lay against the beast and tore off equal pieces of bread- one for herself and one which the gentle giant took from her cautious fingers. Further away, on the outskirts of their fire; the amazingly underwhelming psychomancer tended to the horses, whereas Asrael sat amidst his corpses and eyed them with scrutiny. The ‘Camel’ had served to inspire him- a muse out in the mundane dust and the sands. Through evolution; it had developed anatomical features to boost its survival out in the hostile dunes. A brief anatomical survey told the necromancer all he needed of its adaptations; the aquaporin-rich, impressive humps, the leathery knees and lips- the eyelids... to think he would find something so close to perfection here; in the muck and grime of the Blight was nearly unbelievable.

He ran a hand along the Lieutenant’s mute frown and toyed the old woman’s bulb in his right hand. He had thought these undead bodies puppets to dance to his tune- soldiers to enact his will, when they could be so much more. Like the Camel; they could adapt- as proven by the already-improving nails of the three women. In life; he had studied the fleshmancers and seen their “surgeries”- the brutal practices of cutting, carving and stitching. He had studied their art and to some degree adapted it for his own- he had to, in order to reanimate himself. But those fools had always been to keen on limiting themselves- too frightened of the People to experiment. Once, he had questioned them why they had ceased trials on grafting appendages to replace lost ones, only to be laughed at for being ignorant in the ways of immunities. The fools...

The dead had no immunities, nor could they protest and demand anesthesia. The Lieutenant, for example, remained completely still as Asrael gouged his eye out and carefully applied his magics to mend muscle to tendon, vessel to vessel and nerve to nerve. He could feel those mysterious magics that coursed through all his soldiers- how their tissues were so rich with it that they sought to reanimate whatever he grafted to the main body of the host.

As much as Neda hated the disgusting, fat, terrible man who had terrorized her and her brother; she could not help but pity him as Asrael violated his orbit by transplanting Manjuseth’s eye into him. The pain would’ve been unimaginable, but a look over towards the grinning trio of pale women stilled her heart’s protests- reminding her that he had done enough to deserve such a cruel treatment. When the necromancer’s work was complete; the Ogre opened his eye and let the power flow through it and in turn; allow Asrael to see it. He used the Ogre’s new eye to glance across the camp and see the world anew to an astounding result. In Neda’s wide eyes, he could see a shimmer of power- an undeniable, magical flutter reflected on her retina- a reflex that the other eyes could not see.

Was this all that had nearly killed him? Had his eye been so quick to televise his nature and in so doing; left him at the mercy of the old bag? The bulb was nothing short of magnificent, he could not deny it... but if there were other mutations such as this one out in the Empire; he imagined he would do well to find a method of masking himself and his companions.

“It’s time, girl.” Barrel smiled as he approached the fire with a stick and began his scribbles on the dust- awakening Neda from her stupor. The girl merrily stood to her feet and joined him by the fireside to look across the alphabet written in the sands and as always; began with the sounds every letter signified. Asrael paid them no heed, for he had a study of his own to conduct and a look in his eyes to make the Ogre shiver with fright.