Bancroft woke up feeling wholly refreshed. His dreams, pleasant visions into the future where he ruled over entire cities, slowly faded into the background as the necromancer rose from his chair. An assortment of fruits, light vegetables, and sliced meats had been placed nearby and Bancroft picked through it as his focus sharpened.

The necromancer could still feel the inmortu’s presence, distant as it was, casting a great, hulking shadow over the psychic representations of his other minions in his mind. Its presence was one of dread even so far away, and yet the feeling brought with it a greater relief than Bancroft had expected it might. There were few things in these lands that could challenge an undead of its caliber, but that did not mean they didn’t exist.

A sheet of parchment had been slid under his door, and it caught Bancroft’s eye as he ate. A sinking feeling entered his stomach, and the necromancer felt his appetite begin to dry up. The servants often did such things when they did not wish to disturb him, and yet still had messages of worth to impart. By no coincidence, this particular tactic often kept preserved lives amongst them should the letter happen to contain bad news.

Well, it kept the messenger alive, anyway. Bancroft was rarely picky with the targets of his ire.

Mastering his nerves, the necromancer grabbed another slice of preserved and salted forest creature on his way to read the note. He did not know what manner of beast the servants had brought him today, but he made a mental note to demand more of it. There were depths of flavor he rather–

–Bancroft’s thoughts froze as he read. Then a sadistic smile filled with vindication slid slowly across his face. He strode from the room not a breath later, descending the stairs two at a time. Behind him, the letter filled with Sabin’s distinctive, scratchy handwriting fluttered forgotten to the ground.

M’lord,

Several of the servants were dispatched after ye creature, mounted and at a distance of course, to keep wary eyes on it lest something happen. Something did. The Inmortu ye sent fought and slew two Gold Spire interlopers, and scared off a third. It went after the last, but we have recovered the bodies. They await your attention in the lab.

Sabin

“Where are they?!” Bancroft demanded, tossing the door of his ‘lab’ with an extra burst of mana-enhanced strength for good measure. It never hurt to remind the servants of his power.

The two men stationed inside the room flinched, but one of the fools at least hastened to reply.

“H-here, my lord Morian.” The forgettable man said, quickly throwing off a covering of cloth that had been draped over the two conjoined wooden tables. “Right here.”

Both men quickly stepped back and rolled up the cloth as Bancroft strode forward, the same sadistic smile from before having never left his face. Even the stench of Life still coming from the tattered and broken corpses could not dull his mood. Dark laughter spilled forth in a rising, victorious thunder that shook the room’s still-living occupants as Bancroft rubbed his hands together in delight.

“Never so high and mighty once your heart has been ripped out, are you?” Bancroft asked the first and much larger corpse, stroking blood-matted hair off its face in an almost loving fashion. To the servants behind him, the question must have sounded as if he were expecting a response.

A response Bancroft fully intended to get… once the pair of fallen fools before him had been made ready.

“How was it, fighting against the inevitability of Death?” Bancroft asked the second corpse, gripping the face of the stout man whose arms had been ripped off and simply laid on the table near their origins. He leaned in close, twisting the corpse’s still-stiffening expression as he spoke. “Was my new minion to your liking? You made such a show of the last, what sort of host would I be if I did not respond in kind?”

His last words were tinged with enough anger that Bancroft heard both of his remaining servants quietly begin to edge out of the room. The necromancer relaxed his grip on the second man and gently slapped his cheek as he stood back up.

“Where is the third?” Bancroft demanded, raising his voice enough for the two cowards to hear him despite not bothering to turn around.

“Y-your… minion… t-the Inmortu. Our last report had it chasing the third one into the Sohl Desert, my lord.”

Bancroft’s eyes narrowed, and though the quivering man behind him could not have seen that, something in his posture made the servant speak up again.

“S-Sabin sent two more out to retrieve the third one, my lord. I am sure his body will be here soon.” The man stuttered out. “Perhaps you would like a drink or a hot meal while you wait?”

Bancroft rolled his eyes, but his hunger was returning to him now. He dismissed the men with a wave of his hand, not bothering to waste any more words on them. Why would he?

I have everything I need right here. Bancroft rolled up his sleeves and cast a quick spell over the two. One that would give him knowledge of their abilities, that he might judge what he was up against.

The result brought forth dark laughter into the room once more, though this time it was incredulous.

“Zealots?” Bancroft wondered aloud, and it was as if several notches of stress had vanished from his shoulders all at once. “And so young, the both of you. Was your leader the one who ran?”

Neither corpse answered him, which was fine. They would soon.

“Zealots.” Bancroft breathed out again, shaking his head and running a hand through his beard.

They must have had some trinket from the Spire with them. The necromancer reasoned, finally feeling as if the pieces to this ‘threat’ against him were coming together. Only they wasted it early, the fools. Something like that might have helped them against the inmortu. But without it?

Dark eyes swept over the two forms once more, amusement tinkling within them. Amusement that lasted approximately three and a half seconds before Bancroft’s now-wandering attention directed his mind towards a prompt that had been awaiting him. One he had, after last night, adjusted so that prompts of its nature would not be dismissed without his express attention.

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Your discarded minion has evolved! The ‘Slime Warrior’ minion has evolved into a ‘Gelaton’! As you are no longer paying for this minion’s mana upkeep, your total mana upkeep for summoned creatures has not been affected.

Again? Bancroft stared at the rainbow-hued prompt as it floated in his vision, confusion settling over his expression. How did it manage–

Another prompt appeared, and Bancroft’s black heart nearly froze.

Your minion has had its powers greatly reduced! Inmortu (tribody) has had two of its three empowering spirits severed from it.

The prompt continued, listing the negative effects and even the next action the Inmortu was planning on taking to make up for this deficiency – but Bancroft didn’t get even that far. He blinked at the first two sentences of the prompt, unable to make sense of what was happening.

They… severed the spirits?

The wording in prompts was never idle. Severing a spirit from this world was not an act that paladins could accomplish. It required death magic. Potent death magic, or at least an ability that approximated the same. If the last remaining paladin had indeed weakened his creature by targeting the spirits trapped inside it, then the Inmortu should have been ‘cleansed’, ‘purified’, or had its grasp on them ‘nullified’ somehow.

What could possibly… Thoughts of betrayal that Bancroft had buried earlier immediately began to resurface. This could only be a plot against him by his colleagues. Maybe even by his enemies within the family! And they would conspire with the Spire just to remove me!?

Hatred boiled its way through his veins. All he had wanted was to experiment in peace. To raise up a minion that would be unsurpassed by any other. To show him up, and prove to the family that his chosen path had always been the proper one.

And here they are… plotting against me. Bancroft ground his teeth. It all comes down to family politics.

It always did. He had been a fool not to have considered it seriously before.

How pointless.

Several moments were spent carefully bringing his rage back under control. Several more were spent mentally walking through his plans and adjusting them to fit this new information. There were precious few Bancroft could imagine being behind this. Fewer still who could be so blind.

And yet, some always are. Bancrof thought with half-bitter amusement. The ambitious are always plagued by those who have not the power to follow them. No matter. I’ll feed their spirits to the Inmortu. Use them to rejuvenate what it has lost–

Another prompt appeared, interrupting the necromancer’s train of thought.

Your minion, Inmortu (monobody), has been destroyed!

A sneer crawled up Bancroft’s expression as he pictured the surprise swiftly approaching whoever these poor fools were. He crossed his arms, waiting for the prompt that would tell him his creature had reformed itself. It wouldn’t be long. Even with only a single spirit tethering it here, he would only have to wait a few minutes.

The next prompt didn’t even take that long.

Your minion, Inmortu (monobody), has had its final empowering spirit severed from it! Your next total mana upkeep cost for presently summoned creatures has been reduced accordingly.

Bancroft’s jaw dropped, and what followed a second later didn’t help in the slightest.

Your fallen minion, Inmortu (monobody), has been absorbed by your discarded ‘Gelaton’ minion. Remnant mana from the most recently applied upkeep cost has been transferred to your discarded minion.

A platter holding food and a mug was placed gently on a nearby workbench before Bancroft’s addled mind could make sense of what he was reading. He staggered over towards it, ignoring the rapidly bowing servant mumbling words he didn’t care about. The necromancer grabbed the mug, fell into the chair, and – heedless of its contents – immediately began drinking. As the gentle burn of one of his favorite stolen wines slid down his throat, Bancroft’s mind finally began to work the problem.

Had one of his minions just slain the inmortu?

No, not one of my own… Bancroft realized, and that blasted sinking feeling from before re-entered his gut. One of my discarded projects. One of the failures.

That word caught in his mind, sticking out like a burning brand. Had it been a failure? If one of his discarded trash had ended up evolving twice and defeating the Inmortu of all things… Maybe it hadn’t been a failure after all. Not a complete one, at any rate.

Bancroft shoved some food into his mouth, chewing numbly without tasting or caring what it was. He swallowed, then took another drink.

“If it wasn’t a failure…” The necromancer muttered to himself, his thoughts and pulse beginning to race. “Then I must have it. It needs to be examined. I have to–”

Bancroft stood suddenly, the motion causing the platter to clatter to the ground even as he dropped the mug atop it. The necromancer dashed across the room to fetch the materials he needed, not even bothering to call Sabin to do it for him. Waiting on another was time he didn’t have right now. The prompt had said the Gelaton had consumed the Inmortu’s remnant mana – his mana. Which meant there was now a connection between them that Bancroft could use.

It was always possible to recall a discarded minion. Certain factors made the prospect more difficult or costly, like the time that had elapsed since doing so or any intervening distance between a necromancer and the discarded minion in question. Intelligent minions and more powerful undead could also resist such summonings, and there were no shortage of stories back home about ones who had. Such tales were often recited as warnings. Mostly because what such minions did in response was rarely to the benefit of their former summoner’s health.

Bancroft did not let such things deter him. If something about this minion’s existence was the key he needed to finish his project, then it would be worth the effort. Though he had no way of knowing how long this minion had been separated from him, nor any idea how far away it was, the necromancer was not without a few tricks up his sleeve. He had been trained by the family, after all.

Drawers were pulled out, cabinets opened, and lines traced on the wooden floor. Bancroft made what he felt was clever use of prior ritual symbols, adjusting them to shape his new intent instead of drawing out new ones. Then he laid the ingredients he needed at equidistant points before stepping into the center.

Contorting his hands into the proper configurations in the proper sequence, Bancroft summoned his mana forth and let it wash over the hastily-erected ritual circle around him. Tendrils of darkness crept up around him, billowing like smoke in an unseen wind.

When the ritual was primed sufficiently and the material components consumed, the necromancer marshaled his intent with singular focus. This spell did not have a lengthy casting time, and the ability it was based on was designed to garner a quick response. One that all necromancers familiarized themselves with early on, for a number of reasons.

Drawing in a deep breath of air infused with his own mana, Bancroft let his will lock on to the connection between it and the mana that had previously empowered the Inmortu. The mana that had been consumed by his target in turn. The mana that belonged to him.

Forcing his will to reverberate through that connection, Bancroft paused for just a second. Then he shouted a single word into the empty space before him with enough force to shake the entire mansion.

The necromancer commanded his intent to travel through the ritual and bring back his wayward skeleton.

To return his property to his side once more.