Flexing still-foreign claws, Willem found himself sniffing the air with a wince as he watched the demons scramble about the land. The stench of oil and charcoal was ever-present, many of the demons managing massive firepits dug into the ground upon which hung buckets full of metal ores. Charcoal burned brilliantly as three demons tended to the flame, the vibrant colors stunning even at this distance. The mixture inside the buckets would be skimmed to be rid of impurities by the diggers, who then poured the molten iron into casts. Water taken from the aqueducts was hauled over by more demons, the air filling with steam as the metal was cooled and hardened.

More diggers were gathered in the mountains, where instead of mining ores as they had been for the past months, they had now turned to forging. With crude hammers and great force, they bent the metal from the simple molds, shaping them into hollow claws and hooked scythes that were wickedly tipped. There were large plates of armor as well, each sheet sliding over the other like scales on a lizard, the ribs perhaps twice as large as a grown man. Others took to the chisel, carefully engraving strange runes into the surface.

Hearing footsteps crunching the ground behind him, Willem turned to see Kha slinking over. The snake-like demon blinked those unnerving eyes, apparently meeting his gaze. “What are the runes for?” he could not help but ask the demon, gesturing towards the strange tools that were being made. They were weapons, clearly, but what weapons could the demons possibly need? And, perhaps more importantly, what weapons could hope to work against the skal’va?

Kha was silent for a moment, its eyes disconcertingly focused on the distance before it gave a response. “Those are runes of fire...inactive...” it replied before cocking its head curiously to the side, as if in question. ”Have you never learned...of runes?” it asked Willem, and he gave a shake of the head in response. How could he have? There was never anyone to have taught him such things—certainly not in Mea Vatal.

The demon gave a nod then, proceeding to explain. “Runes are a form of storing...spells to protect from decay...each carving corresponds to an aspect of the design...I can see heat...hunger...growth...all aspects of fire...” Kha pointed towards the racks filled with finished weapons, their surfaces unpolished but the runes clearly visibly etched. “Those runes are inactive...they have not been given any magic...when given magic the carvings will interact...become blurred and indefinite...from there it is but a simple thought...to trigger the magic in the rune and unleash the spell...”

“Only a thought?” Willem asked in surprise, turning his head sharply. “So then those who are not channelers can use these runes as well?” When Kha gave a nod in reply, a storm of thoughts and possibilities flashed through his mind.

“The veils we give...to those of us that go beyond the mountains are runes...defensive ones, fashioned into amulets...these weapons too are meant to be worn...although for what purpose...my king has not told me…” Kha paused, seeming to muse for a moment. ”What foe dies to a flame...but not claws and fangs...I wonder?” it asked

Willem opened his mouth to speak in reply for moment, yet decided against it. If the king had not told Kha of the skal’va, then surely there was a reason for it. He proceeded instead to continue with his questions. “Must the runes be carved into steel? Can it not be done into the flesh?”

Kha blinked in surprise, that purple tongue darting out for a brief moment before it hissed. “Truly you ask...curious questions...indeed, it need not be steel…” Yet after a moment of consideration the demon shook its head. “The flesh is...mutable, changing...the runes would change shape as the flesh grew...become unstable…” Kha gestured to an arm, to the scales that lined the surface of its skin. “Should a rune break...the magic inside is released in an explosion...a poor choice for a body, then…”

Kha peered at Willem with those slitted eyes, the gaze discomfiting as it suddenly jerked its head in a nod. “Truly curious...but my king has called for me...you must excuse me…” Willem started with surprise, managing a short, “Of course.”, but the demon was already slinking away as if not even listening, its tongue tasting the air. Willem was left alone on the hill, watching the war proceedings below him as the demons began to get fitted for the runed armor, the diggers carefully clasping the metal over muscled frames and massive bodies. The diggers seemed nervous, the demons restless wherever the metal was too tight, or the claw-sheaths were grating, or the armor pinched against the flesh. On occasion, a digger would prove himself too clumsy and the demon would lash out, tearing off a chunk of a limb and sending away the crippled man to go fetch for another with calmer hands.

Willem found his thoughts turning to Kat and her disappearance. Too much had changed too quickly, ever since they had came into the Outlands. From the crude reception to his learning about Oa’kul, to this new body that he still felt like a stranger in, not a day had passed without the world around him shifting on its axis. And yet, somewhere, somehow, amidst it all she had slipped in through the cracks. Was she dead? That was a question that even the king had no way of answering. Yet she had vanished without a trace, despite his attempts to free her from the twistings that Faith had done on her mind. Slowly, Willem crushed his claws into a fist. Truly then, it seemed that she had left—he did not wish to think any longer on the reason.

Too much had changed in too few days; Willem found himself flinching still when he saw the reflection in the water. Part of him recoiled still at the smooth, alien face that greeted him. Featureless and lined with a fine coat of hairs, it was utterly foreign save for the Maes that covered him still. His mouth was filled with slender teeth, his tongue far thicker than he was used to. His neck too, was thin and covered with short, stiff hairs that prickled when touched. His arms were long, hanging almost below the knees and ending with four claw-tipped fingers. In comparison, his legs were broader with thick muscle and ropy tendons, ending with spade-like feet that dug into the dirt with every step. It was a body made for speed, a streamlined shape designed to do nothing more than run with the wind. His greatest want, to run across the fields and plains with exhilaration, that was what this body of his promised.

“You…” came a low growl from behind him, and Willem spun around hurriedly. He knew that voice, knew what he would see even if he was not expecting it. Indeed, as he turned he found Norus staggering up the hill, behind him one of the boneguards watching impassively. Willem found himself rooted, his heart suddenly racing despite all that he was feeling. There was a nervousness to him, a sudden uncertainty. Does he know it’s me? What will he think of what I’ve become?

“You’re Willem?” the soldier asked, rubbing a hand against his throat. “What the hell did they do to you?” Willem found himself unable to look away from that heated gaze, despite the weakness in Norus’s actions. His face was pallid and devoid of any color, the skin covered with a slick sheen of sweat. His shoulders heaved with labored breaths just from walking to here from underground, an unmistakable tremble in his legs that he would not possibly have been caught dead with before.

Willem had to swallow hard before answering the question, trying to keep any stammer from his voice. “This was...an opportunity. The demons gave me a new body.” He threw his arms out wide, gazing at the rolling hills and barren plains of the Outlands that stretched on to the horizon. “Now I can walk on my own. I can run with my own legs.”

Norus paused for a moment before nodding, turning his head to spit off to the side. “Suppose I can’t blame you, can I? Blood and bones, it’s strange for you to be taller than me.” he smirked, leaning back onto locked legs and he looked up at Willem. “Enough of the—of the sugar and sap.” he coughed, clearly the effort of coming up here far greater than he was letting on. “Where’s Kat? He needs to hear this too.”

Willem could only shake his head, unsure of how to explain. “Gone. Don’t know where.” Norus raised his eyebrows in surprise, drawing in a sharp breath before striding in close.

“Dammit, listen,” he gasped out, grabbing onto Willem wrist with a viselike grip. “I’m not a normal human, surely you’ve known by now. I’m an experiment, a human spirit and mind in a magic-powered body.” Willem could only stare in shock, yet it was not quite the surprise it ought to have been; he could only remember the sight of those coils of magic being pulled out of Norus’s body, could only remember what the king had called him. Aye, this was a truth that he had known before.

“I was dead, decapitated.” he continued, gesturing to the wound running along his neck. “But I was freshly dead when they threw me in front of the doctors, and that was good enough. They stitched me onto some new body, stamped me off with a number, and shipped me off to the legions for testing. There were some ten of us that didn’t reject the body, out of hundreds. But most importantly, the doctors wove a compulsion into us. A command of sorts—one that cannot be refused.”

Willem blinked, shaking his head. This was all coming too fast; it was too much. “Wait, why would they do such a thing? Give—give you this magical body?”

Norus snorted. “Looks like we’re all having a thing for new bodies, eh? There’s nothing magical about this, other than the lack of fatigue. I draw in magic from the world around me—even more around people. If I run out, I die. As for why, to make a new breed of soldiers and slaves. No one fights better than those that don’t tire, and no one works harder either.” His eyes flashed with a sudden inspiration, a rare moment of feeling in the stone-faced man. “Imagine it, doctors running through battlefield of the dead, stitching new bodies onto the corpses and letting them rise up again. Two armies bled and died, and a new one rose up, stronger than either before.”

He shook his head, as if dispensing himself of the notion. “Of course, it’s not as if I can’t die like this. I’m just hardier than most. If you lop off an arm, I’ll keep going. And more importantly, it gives each man in the legion two lives to give for his country.” He sneered in derision. “The patriots must be shitting themselves in excitement.” he squeezed out before coughing hard, a trickle of blood flecking the side of his mouth.

Willem felt a trembling in his heart at the thought of the dead rising up, but he fought it anyways. “Then this compulsion of yours, what do your doctors want you to do?” he knew the man, a stone heart like forged steel. What could possibly drive him to such urgency and emotion?

Norus growled, drawing in a heavy breath as his face grew even more white, a vein in his temple pulsing with effort. “That’s the damned thing. It’s an order to return. HIghest urgency. But they don’t just do that for checkups or reunions. Its a wartime recall to the Heartlands.”

“The legions are under attack, and they want my arse back there.”