Asrael had heard Ellie’s agonized scream as it rippled through the city. The Banshees were unstoppable- searching high and low in frantic sprints that went beyond what Asrael imagined he could have expected of them. As much as he... tolerated... his apprentices, the Banshees seemed to adore them and would stop at nothing- not even exhaustion in their thorough search.
Kester and Barrel sat on the stairs and stared at the trembling, furious necromancer where he sat with his eyes closed- staring out across the city through the dead women’s eyes. The two men could only see his back, where he sat hunched over the desk of clutter and drummed his fingers impatiently against the dilapidated wood. The alembic had died hours past- shortly after delivering the last of their poison... a poison that would surely go unused, should they not find the girls.
Barrel felt uneasy as he stared about the cellar and saw the frightening amount of blood that had been spilled since last he had set foot in the musty, metallic chamber. Perhaps this unnerve was what sparked the small, round man to rear backwards as Asrael rose from the bench- as opposed to Kester who seemed wholly unbothered by the spectacle.
“Foolish, impulsive, wretched women!” Asrael roared and grabbed hold of the corner of the table, before swinging the sturdy construct against the wall- shattering both stone and wood to spray the tavernkeeper with the sharp debris. Next, the necromancer grabbed the silver knife from within his coat and flung it across the cellar, where it bounced off from the wall and narrowly missed the sausage in Kester’s hand.
“Ingrates- both of them!” He roared and grabbed for his face, but the tavernkeeper’s jaws never ceased chewing. Asrael jerked upright as Media caught sight of something and warned her Master that she had made a discovery. It was far out from the tavern- over by the river Gauja. He focused his sight to peer through her eyes- down at a clumsy, scorched rune, atop which lay a collapsed mound of flesh next to a cleanly murdered wretch- stabbed through the neck by a sharp, short blade. Media glanced up and down the street, where several abused bodies lay still on the road- dead from mostly blunt-force trauma.
Had Kester not known better, he’d have thought Asrael relieved as he muttered: “They are not amongst them...” A chuckle from behind had the necromancer turn to face his dark-eyed companions on the stairs. Barrel looked about ready to spontaneously defecate- if he had not done so already, whereas Kester remained seated, chewing loudly with an open mouth. Asrael knew what he would say- he could see it in his wide, black eyes.
“Be quiet, slave! Keep your misunderstandings to yourself- you do not need to seem more of a fool than you are... I am simply angered because those two ingrates have in-depth knowledge of both my plans and our numbers. If Titus finds out, or rather, one of his more capable men finds out, then I suspect my plans will be sabotaged.” Kester raised a questioning eyebrow and scoffed- spraying the air with chunks of mystery meat.
“Right... because you don’t give two shits about the girls, right?” Asrael raised a lecturing finger and quickly corrected him: “Of course I do! Without them, I will have to do everything myself, because you two oafs lack the grace to draw as much as a straight line!” It seemed that with every passing second, the tavernkeeper’s bemusement grew. Kester clicked his tongue and shook his head before standing up to fluff his vest.
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“Tell yourself whatever you want, Assie... I’m gonna go out and look for ‘em-”
Media sought Asrael’s attention and directed their gaze to something in between her hands- something white... a hood... a message scribbled on the interior of the white fabric- written in the same charcoal that had created the runes in the street. It said: “Come.”
Asrael opened his eyes and shouted at the tavernkeeper: “You are not going anywhere, monster. You are going to stay right here and await my signal...” Kester turned around with a raised eyebrow and looked to the distraught necromancer with unease. As long as he had known Asrael, he had always seemed so certain whenever the two spoke- or rather, shouted at one-another, but now... now he sounded hesitant- frightened.
“What?” Kester questioned as Asrael gritted his teeth and raised his hands to rub his face aggressively. Of all the fates that could’ve befallen the girls, this... was by far the worst.
“She... has them.” Kester knew of her- Neda wouldn’t stop talking about how she hated the maggot, milkworm, sandlurker and whatever else the wildling had likened her to. As opposed to Neda, Asrael seemed determined never to talk of her and now that he was, Kester understood why. Asrael was afraid of her. Still, Kester could not help but poke the proverbial hornet’s nest and scoffed.
“Well, that’s great. You could just send your men in and kill them all in one, fell swoop.” He knew Asrael would be less-than-pleased, but seeing the necromancer glare up at him was well worth the poke at his conscience.
“I... would. But if they are harmed, I am still left with only the two of you...” Asrael bit his lower lip. That harlot had him backed up against the wall. By using the two girls, she had effectively grabbed him by his scrotum and set a knife to his core. A few months earlier, he might not have hesitated... no, he most definitively would not have hesitated. He took a moment to appreciate how Neda had perverted his once-clear mind- how she had twisted him by his emotions to weaken him, the same way she had with her brother. This ’love' she continued to push for, had only ever served to weaken the strong and now, Kester would have him believe that he had fallen for this trick... no... his hesitance had to come from the prospect of losing the girls’ utility- he could see no other reason for his hesitance.
For a brief moment, he stayed his hand and allowed himself a second’s silent musings. He closed his eyes and imagined a world without Neda’s incessant touches and talking- a world in which Eleanor had never stolen away every last minute of his spare time to have him teach her magics... the darkness welling inside of him reminded him that this was not only a likely scenario, but an inevitability should he act out of turn... they were, after all, deep beyond enemy lines.
He shook his head as he realized that whether or not he wished to save them because of their utility or... he shuddered... because of something else, the answer remained the same. He needed to attend this fated meeting- alone.
“Prepare to make our move.” Asrael muttered and silently turned for the dark tunnels, where his army stood ready to serve him, should he only give the order. Kester’s chest skipped a beat as the necromancer disappeared and he silently questioned... was Asrael finally about to do something useful?