Neda had decided she would not go down without a fight. The writhing chains tensed around her wrists, ankles and thighs. Judging by the sounds escaping the constricted throats of Maribelle and Bess; their suffering was no lesser than her own... but she was well used to the pain- she had lived her life knowing nothing but pain. This sensation was different. She felt rage, shame and the sting of injustice as she watched Gerathar approach her struggling form. The bindings on her hands and neck raised her from the floor and with another flick of his left hand; she slammed backwards into the wall- all the while... the madman laughed.

“Gods above; I cannot believe how stupid you desert-fiends are. You are like lambs- wandering into the slaughterhouse for feed and a promise of luxury, all the while expecting to give nothing in return.” Neda attempted to recover from her breathlessness by the wall, but struggled to rise to her feet. He raised his left brow and crouched down to grin at her- glinting his glazed eyes.

“W-why!?” She spoke with the first lungful of air that returned to her.

He chuckled mockingly and flicked her forehead with his middle finger. “Why not? If I have learned anything in my long life, it has been that fortune favors those who are strong enough to claim it. I, as opposed to my foolish colleagues at the Tower, have that strength.”

He sat down to the floor to meet her teary gaze and continued; “They died on the pyres- most of them hardly made it through the first night in this new world of ours, but I flourished. Look at what I have done- look at what I have earned!” He motioned for his surroundings before raising a hand to touch his fresh pet’s cheek- nearly earning him a dismemberment of the digit by her teeth. If only she had been faster...

Gerathar seemed unsurprised as he heard a voice from behind- from the open door leading into the rest of the mansion. “Yes, you have certainly done well for yourself. Being the Inquisition’s pet seems to have awarded you a good crate.”

The treasonous slave-trader turned around to look at his visitor with a disappointed frown. “The world is my crate, you miserable has-been. I should thank you for this opportunity- I really should. But in truth, it is the least you could do for me after what you damned us all to.”

Asrael scoffed and took a step into the chamber to study its filth-encrusted floors and walls. Gerathar continued; “Unfortunately for you... I am still not satisfied. I must say; I hadn’t planned for such an elaborate vengeance- who could? You not recognizing me surprised me- even knowing your arrogance... but it left me an opportunity-” Asrael waved his hand about as he passed Gerathar on his way to the hapless, wide-eyed girl to kneel in front of her and shine the faintest outline of a smile and speak over his shoulder;

“I do not care. I know all I need of you-”

Gerathar stomped the floor and shouted; “I was there, Asrael! That night in the Castle- do you not recognize me!? I am Spechler!” Asrael lowered his brow and turned to look at the infuriated, handsome man- cocking his head from left to right, only to come to the same conclusion. For the life of him, he could swear he had never seen the man.

Gerathar mistook his confusion for recognition and welled up with pride; “My magic has gotten stronger- we've all gotten stronger. This is Thomas’ work- do you remember him!? The alchemist!?” Thomas, he could remember. The infuriating oaf had been his rival in the search for immortality and, dreadfully, the second-best candidate to find the answer.

The captor continued with a shake of his head; “Not that you would know. For all your talk; you know nothing of magic. You are without an element- as weak-minded as you are weak of the magics.” Asrael turned back towards Neda- surprising her with an off-handed, cold embrace. As much as she had wanted to see any sign of affection from him, his timing could be better.

“When I tell you; use your magic to make sure none of it gets to this side of the room.” He whispered into her ear and dropped her back onto the floor, where she was left to decipher his message. He turned to face Gerathar with a strict frown and corrected him; “I do not need an element. My genius will not be limited to one expression- not like yours. This old friend of yours- the girl you raped for weeks on end, she told me a most bemusing story.” Asrael chuckled demonstratively before continuing; “she said you taught her of ‘ferromancy’ and showed her how you could move iron at your will. The foolish girl even believed you.”

This seemed to displease Gerathar- enough to make him raise his right hand form a circle between his index finger and thumb. Asrael appeared unimpressed, but the pouch at his hip rattled with the same, chaotic life that animated the chains behind him. The demonstratively bored necromancer reached for his hip and loosened the binding keeping the pouch in place and watched it zip across the room, where it slammed into the back of Gerathar’s hand. An explosion of gray dust momentarily bereaved the captor of his sight and breath as the fine particles covered every inch of his skin.

“Now.” Asrael whispered and watched as the dust congealed in a perimeter around Gerathar’s right hand. The necromancer proudly proclaimed; “Your elemental affinity is electricity. Running a current through your fingers, you create a strong electromagnetic field- two of them, in fact. You use one to attract- the other to repel. The vital difference is; your magic is highly unspecific- not at all like my skillful companion here.” Asrael motioned for the huffing and puffing Neda eyeing the grunting, struggling Gerathar across the room. His coughs were dry at first- then; they grew wetter... lastly; solid globules of blood spat out between his coughs. The captor looked up and flicked his left hand, but Neda had seen the motion. She forced all the magic she could muster through her pursed lips- summoning forth a highly concentrated gush of fresh, cool wind. As soon as the ball of dust entered into her stream; it dispersed into clumps- clumps that fell to the floor with silent, metallic clangs.

Gerathar fell to his fours and regurgitated a mouthful of blood. Neda watched as he turned up from the floor to reveal a face full of blisters and boils- cheeks so swollen she could hardly see his face. Asrael strode across the floor calmly- safe in the knowing that what had caused this syndrome before his eyes would not affect him. The necromancer chuckled and knelt down before the dying man to inform; “I had Kester and Bartholomew grind cutlery into dust- dust that I then coated in a flower that the wildling girl gifted me... you see; it seems she lusts for my flesh, as opposed to yours. It must be so painful- hating me so, yet being my inferior in every possible aspect... you were weak and forgettable in the tower; you threw away every speck of your humanity for material gains by dealing with the Inquisition and in the end; you still ended up here- suffering what will likely be an excruciating death.” Gerathar’s face was no longer capable of signaling any emotion, nor could his swollen trachea. It seemed, sadly, he would not last long enough to suffer the torment Asrael had set him up for. Realizing this; the necromancer turned back towards his still-blowing companion eyeing the clumps of dust.

Asrael cleared his throat and spoke; “Take care not to breathe any of that dust in. It is laced with the toxin from the flower that you threw on me and it would leave you no better off than this one.” He grinned and raised a finger in Gerathar’s direction.