Asrael looked down at the day’s work. The cellar’s floor was covered in strong, male flesh- all unconscious and bleeding from the day’s efforts of cutting into their skins to immortalize his Magnum Opus on their bodies. The stone was hardly visible for all the blood, but the exhausted Neda and Ellie navigated the dim, lantern-lit basement with practiced precision- treading over their bodies to verify that they were still as deeply unconscious as they had been as they performed their work. The next part would be far more demanding of Asrael, but at least his two, hard-working charges in their inherited, oversized, leather aprons would have some rest.

Asrael nodded his approval of their efforts and watched them go over to the washbasins atop his desk to scrub the congealed and dried blood from their calloused hands. He had always imagined himself damaged beyond repair at how little it bothered him to desecrate living people, but seeing his two charges perform the same tasks as uncaring as he did, made him almost feel... normal. Neda hummed an ancient melody as she rubbed the bar of soap over her hands and dipped them into the water, whereas Ellie seemed far more alike her usual, apathetic self.

Asrael broke from his stupor and went over towards the middle-aged man in the furthest, darkest corner, where he knelt down- cautious as to not soil his new pants with the soldier’s peasant blood. He muttered: “Your blades are dulling. Barrel will sharpen them- he should have ample time in between tending to our beasts. Before you go to rest, leave your daggers in his cot.” He touched the deep gashes atop the man’s abdomen and mired in how quickly they have learned to separate the layers of their skin. Their cuts were deep, deep enough to direct the magic through their flesh, but to deep as to harm muscles or slice vasculature. He looked up to verify that Neda and Ellie stood there- still in their bloody aprons- watching him as he fondled the naked man’s flesh.

“You are excused.” He muttered. Ellie looked pleadingly up at her courageous companion- sparking Neda to take a step forward and request: “C-can we... watch?” He blinked and apathetically questioned: “Why?” Neda raised her freshly cleaned hand to scratch the back of her head and nervously explain: “I-… we like seeing it. I like the colors and Ellie says she likes to see them-” Neda motioned for Ellie to say: “Punished.”

He could scarcely deny them the sight of watching him continue to revolutionize the concept of magic and muttered: “Very well... but after this, Eleanor will eat and rest for our next delivery. We need to maintain this tempo if we are to ever build our army.” Ellie’s lips formed a rare, slight smile as she nodded.

Asrael closed his eyes and lay two of his fingers atop the swirl carved atop his core- the rune Asrael would use to deliver the spark. Bleeding his magic through the rune, he could feel it tremor as the core began to fill with his mysterious element. Then, he raised his own knife and sank it into the man’s chest- slicing through skin, muscle and slipping between his ribs with practiced precision. This man, as so many of the others in the region, had an atypical placement to his heart’s apex- allowing him to feel the heart’s throb against the blade as he missed slightly, before readjusting its course to slice open his right ventricle. He retracted the blade and pressed on the wound to keep the man’s blood inside his thoracic cavity- sparing Barrel the effort of scooping blood from the cellar with his now-broken bucket.

As soon as the man’s life faded, Asrael dragged his magic-exuding fingers from the swirl and out into the unknown rune, where the mysterious, alien carving began producing the magics from within the man. From there on out, the energy flowed deep within his gashes to feed his circulatory system with new life- seeping into his muscles to ready their animation... but the process was not yet over.

Next, he reached his magics into the mysterious carving on his abdomen and through it- journeyed into the core, where he bound the two cores beyond the core together- mind, soul and body; wrapped in one, but yet without a purpose. Next, entered into his own darkness- the space a much younger Asrael had called the space-between, where fifty orbs circulated around him- most bound to Kerras’ orb. There, he slapped the man’s orb unto the tree of soldiers beneath Kerras- binding him to this convoluted extension of his will.

Neda and Ellie had watched as Asrael’s green-glowing hands had gently stroked the dead man’s form to bleed magic into his runes and twist his magics beneath the soldier’s skin- all the while illuminating the dark corner of the cellar with his green, magnificent glow. Next thing they knew, the soldier jerked in clonic-tonic spasms and new life flowed through his green eyes.

The glow to Asrael’s eyes seemed slightly less vibrant as he watched his soldier lurch off into the dark tunnel. “Now, Eleanor. A budding magus must tend to themselves, should they wish to grow stronger.” He rose up and cracked his weary knuckles. Ellie bowed down low and reached behind her back to loosen the straps of her apron with a “Thank you, Master.” He scoffed at her empty platitudes- well aware that she was as uncaring for them as he were... but at least she was adjusting to her subservience. Neda lingered for a moment to watch Ellie disappear up the stairs before undressing her own apron to nervously fidget her fingers with a curious blush. Asrael had dismissed Ellie- he had wished to be alone with her. His sudden, strange mood had followed their profound talk the evening previous and during their shared nap, he had been less insisting on maintaining the barrier of blankets and pillows... this could only mean one thing.

He had dismissed Ellie to finally make her his Pa’namph- she was sure of it. After a moment of gathering her courage, she cleared her throat and asked: “S-so... h-how... do you wanna do this? I’ve only ever-… and that was with Lena’s fingers. I mean, I’ve seen that thing when you sleep and I think it’ll be painful- Lena said it always is, at first. But girls adjust-” Looking up, she could see Asrael’s wide, green eyes blink with his lack of understanding. The slight slack to his jaw meant that he had likely reconsidered, but what for? Had she not done as he had said? She must have said something wrong- made him hesitant for some reason... If she had her Elder’s courage, she would have leapt across the fleshy obstacles and wrapped her arms around him and then force him to make her his Pa’namph, but-…

He was strangely patient as he took a deep breath and reminded her: “You have scheduled a training-session with Bartholomew. As unnecessary as I imagine your training with-…" He winced as he thought of the concept, before continuing: “brutish blades is, he should deliver us his status.” She sighed and raised her hand to her chin. She was exhausted from the day’s work and was, surprisingly, feeling playful from having worked herself up over Asrael’s confusing signals.

“S-so... we’re not gonna... you know?” She raised her left hand and formed a circle between her thumb and index before raising her right to point at the ring. He shook his head. “No. We are not going to do that. If it has not dawned on you yet, this body is dead. Even if I were to fall for your seductions, I doubt I could force my anatomy to do such a thing.” Had she understood what that meant, she would have called him a liar, as she had seen his rigidity for herself on several occasions- usually in the morning as he awoke.

Dreadfully, all she could do was sit down- blue-balled and disappointed as Asrael awoke his soldiers one-by-one.

Up above, Bartholomew wandered into the tavern to hear the bell chime him welcomed. As nearly always, the tavern was void of people, save for a most unusual woman at the front of the bar and-

“Barty!” A girlish shriek sounded through the tavern as Bess lay her eyes on the silver warrior and leapt forwards to wrap herself around his pelvis. Maribelle startled and grabbed for a bottle to chuck at the Inquisitor who had wandered in to steal away her babe, only to disarm as soon as she saw the handsome face staring down at the child with surprise. He ruffled her golden hair and looked over to the suddenly-finely-clad barmaid in her black-and-white dress to say: ”What a surprise- a warm welcome, for once. Kester usually does not greet me like this.” Upon hearing the name, Maribelle lowered her brow and sang: “Pleeease do not speak that naaame-”

Ah, yes. Bartholomew had heard of their lovers’ dispute and had long since decided not to get involved. He threw a glance out the window and verified that it was high noon, which meant that Kester would either be resting in one of the spare rooms to which he had been banished, or he was out doing the Necromancer’s bidding. Maribelle sighed and pointed over her shoulder- towards the kitchen.

“I’d offer you some food, but he said not to serve it to any of his friends- or to us, so I wouldn’t touch any of the meat. But Kerras is in the basement, where they’re spending an ungodly amount of time.” He could scarcely contain his grin as he pondered the many depravities taking place in the basement. In his excitement, he dragged the girl along, only to be stopped by the bar by Maribelle who lay an arm atop his silver spaulder and said; “Hey... thanks for getting us out of there.”

In his excitement, he had nearly forgotten about that night. Up until that point, it had been years since last he felt pride, but as quickly as it had showered upon him, it had faded... now, though, as the would-be-victim thanked him, he felt it all return and that his resolve had been strengthened. “Always, Maribelle. You need only ask.”

Bartholomew’s back was straighter than ever as he walked down the steps, only to pause as he saw the two seated on the bench- staring uncomfortably out into the room as they awaited his arrival. Asrael, deep in thought, had oddly accepted Neda’s unwelcomed proximity as she took her seat on the far-too-small bench meant to seat one person, at most. Thankfully, Asrael’s bony backside left ample space for her to sit down and lean on his cold shoulder and enjoy the stolen moment with her stalwart, hesitant protector.

He, however, was deep in thought- counting his men and looking over their arms to see whether they would need to supply them with anything better before they could be used. “Sixty-three...” Asrael mumbled as Bartholomew grinned down at the blood-covered floor excitedly.

“Is this where you do your dark deeds, Asrael? Is this where you turned those lusty women!?” Asrael startled out of his musings and bit back an offhanded comment about Neda’s lack of attention before looking up at Bartholomew to say: “No. They were turned in a filthy, feces-encrusted tent-… I assure you, it was quite gruesome...” He squeezed his eyes shut as the women heard Bartholomew’s voice echo through the chamber. Though he knew he should not... he owed it to the women to say: “They... thank you for-…" He could not find it in him to form the words to remind him of the violation. Bartholomew licked his lips and looked to the dark tunnel with a distant-gazed nod.

“Oh, it was my pleasure, next time, perhaps I can bring Kester and Barrel-” Asrael raised his hands and waved them through the air to remind his associate: “Please... take it with them... for now, do you have anything to report?” Bartholomew snapped his fingers and nodded.

“Everything is going well, but we must take care to keep the losses at a minimum until I can destabilize the men... my brother’s impeccable order and his precise rosters have made accountability our main concern. But not to worry... I believe I can remedy this.” Asrael nodded agreeingly. As expected, Bartholomew had his uses.

“I have sent Kester out with some of my men to secure the night’s haul from the surrounding villages. At this rate, I would not put it past us to inscribe twelve per day- a substantial, impressive number as I once took a full day inscribing a single one.” Having seen the precise carvings, Bartholomew had to agree that the man’s legend did not overstate his genius. The silver-plated warrior scratched his chin as he met Neda’s hopeful eyes and said: “Training makes perfect. As such, I offer my humble service.” He bowed down low to retrieve the duelling daggers from behind his back. Next, he reached up into his chest plate to retrieve a black book with a front written all in runic. Asrael leapt up and snatched the book from his hands before nervously glancing about the cellar- as if anyone might’ve seen it.

“Bartholomew, take caution. I cannot imagine these priceless works being legal in any form.” Asrael reminded him as he put the book into his coat. Bartholomew signaled his agreement, but maintained his confident smile. “I am the General, good Asrael. What would they do? Set me to the pyre?” He chuckled. Asrael imagined that at best, he would be pyred. The silver-suited General lay his hand atop his companion’s shoulder to grin a confident smile and raise a thumb his way. “Do not worry. I may not be a legendary magus, but I have been smuggling poppy into my chambers for as long as I can remember. I know subtlety.” High praise coming from a man who had stridden into their dark lair in silver armor... Alas, Asrael could not argue that the man had survived on the run from the Inquisition’s men for far longer than he had.

“Fine. Barrel has set up an area in the tunnels, where you may train and run your experiments. Two of my men will be waiting for you and I will be watching through Kerras’ eyes... for now, I require rest. I have spent too much of my magic.” He looked down at his hands to verify that even if he should have wished to, he could not have willed any more energy from his fingertips. Hopefully... what came next would not be too draining on him.