Regretfully; Asrael’s plans of expanding their business had been met with some resistance from the foolish tavernkeeper who had, dreadfully, raised a valid point. The Inquisitors whom they had stolen away in the night had been near-dead by the time he had finished his inscriptions- a result of the toxic effects of the ether. There were two ways for him to deal with this problem- at least from his point of view. On the one hand, he might find another way to pacify them, but relying on hypoxia or trauma was, if possible, even more unreliable on the ether. Alternatively... he could shorten the time it took for him to turn their mortal bodies into something useful, which would decrease the need for prolonged exposure to the toxic fumes, but... he looked to the sight before him and shook his head disappointedly. He was still but one man and could only work so fast... he needed a helper, but this...
“Damnit, man, is this the best you can do!?” Kester’s ears rung far louder than Asrael had the voice to outdo. He looked down at the deathly still, homeless, filthy man pinned to the cellar floor by the power of noxious fumes and a tall, naked woman. Again, he retched as he saw his handywork on the man’s abdomen. The thick, deep gashes still oozed with blood and the knife in Kester’s right hand was slick with the same, viscous substance that seeped to the floor to stain his family’s livelihood with dishonor. Asrael continued shouting in his right ear; “I did not have my soldiers lure this man in, only for you to ruin his flesh! For the last time, look at the runes and then copy them! There are, surprisingly enough, more primitive primates boundlessly more capable than you, you oaf!” Kester remained disbelieving. An hour ago, he had watched the unholy beings drag the unconscious, homeless creature from the tunnels and present him with the task of “inscribing” him.
This was unnatural and how it had even come to this was beyond him. All he had done to deserve this was raise a question and pointed out that the villages were far from Pilta. This was madness... Asrael might’ve known his daughter’s secret- his secret, but what hold did the creatures have on him now that his daughter was hidden? Killing him- a lowly tavernkeeper, would net the necromancer nothing- in fact, they would likely have to find a new place to live, which he imagined would inconvenience the darkly, distasteful magus. Emboldened by his philosophizing, he stood to his feet and dropped the knife to the half-inscribed man’s side. Finally; he shouted back at the terrifying, pale necromancer; “You know what!? Fuck you- why am I even doing this!? What are you gonna do- turn my daughter in!? I’d like to see you try- look at you! Look at her! I’ve got as much shit on you as you’ve got on me!”
Asrael seemed taken aback by the tavernkeeper’s bout of frustration and stood to his height to slap the man- relatively gently. “Calm down, tavernkeeper! You are hysterical- control yourself!”
Kester shook his head and spat on the floor before raising an accusatory finger at his ungodly visitor to continue his shouting; “No! I’m not! I’m done helping you- kill me if you want, but if not, you can get the hell out of my tavern!”
Asrael raised an eyebrow and reared his head before folding his arms atop his chest to stubbornly retort; “I will do no such thing. You will continue to obey me, lest I-” He watched as the foolish tavernkeeper dropped to the ground and grabbed the knife, before threateningly swinging it towards the necromancer. The deathly pale man took a step forward and rolled his eyes before slapping the knife-wielding hand away- further infuriating the tavernkeeper. In a bout of rage, he lunged forwards- burying the knife in the left side of Asrael’s chest. It slipped through his ribs with horrific cracks as the blunted sides stopped against his bones. The frothing madman shouted: “I’ve been pushed around for half my life- I'm done! I’m done, I tell you!”
Asrael grabbed his side and groaned. It had been long since last he had suffered a punctured lung- at least two months, by his count, but it was a sensation he would rather avoid to relive ever again, if he could avoid it in the future. He fell to his knees and continued to groan, until finally, the tavernkeeper’s rage faded for the panic of his wrongdoing. “Fuck! What have I done!?” He shouted and took a step back, where he slipped on the blood and landed on the homeless, sickly man’s wet chest.
Curiously, the woman- Asrael's closest ally and the one the tavernkeeper imagined was his most dedicated protector merely sat there- cocking her head back and forth between the hunched-over necromancer and the tavernkeeper. In his desperation, he racked his mind for her motivation- could it be... that now that he had killed the unnervingly pale, terrible man; she was now his? All he could do was try: “W-we need to hide his body, oh God, oh God, please help me!” He shouted at her.
Kester lost control of his bowels as Asrael’s body began jerking back and forth with the rhythmic movements of his sickening laughter. The terrifying man’s right arm jerked out and with it, came the knife. When next he looked to his captor, his eyes glowed green like never before and the maliciousness in his grin was unlike anything Kester had ever seen. The tavernkeeper screamed and scuttled backwards across the pool of blood and piss as Asrael defied all logic and reason by stepping over towards him to throw the knife into his lap. The tavernkeeper’s head slammed into the wall as he reached the terminal end of the cellar’s floor and could earn no more distance from his eternal tormentor- the Devil sent to punish him for his sins. With teary eyes and jerking lips, he shouted at the Demon; “Gods above- what are you!?”
Asrael raised a stern finger and spoke to his companion, still brandishing the malicious grin; “I will allow this transgression, once, slave. But if you ever raise your hand against me again, I will turn you into one of my soldiers and have you skinned and salted repeatedly until the end of time. If you think I would have to resort to perversions against your wife and daughter to punish you, I delightfully inform you that you are mistaken! Your flesh is an ample playground on its own!” Kester raised his hands to his defense as Asrael raised a commanding finger towards the homeless man.
“As for what, exactly, you will do for me, I am yet to decide. It is clear that you lack any skills of use save for kidnapping grown men... but I must say, you performed at least that duty admirably..." Asrael took a deep breath and looked at their homeless captive. After a thoughtful pause, he commanded: "Take care of his corpse. Get rid of it.”
Kester looked to the still man on the floor with disgust and stuttered; “H-he’s dead!? I killed him!? How would I even begin to get rid of a man his size- I-… I can’t believe it...” Kester raised his palms to his face and sounded a series of sobs- earning him a thorough rolling of the eyes from the impatient necromancer. “He was dead to begin with, you idiot! Do you really believe a living human bleeds like that!? I would never dare to risk having your ineptitude ruin my work!” Asrael steadied himself with a heavy breath before calmly continuing; “As... for your liquidation-efforts... you run an inn. You serve food. The human body has an astounding amount of meat- use your imagination, you fool! Just get rid of him-” The sound of the bell upstairs froze both the inhabitants of the inn. That dreaded sound meant only one thing- company...
Asrael dragged his still-clean palm over his face and spoke into his hand; “I take it you did not lock the door?” Kester joined his newfound Master in rubbing his face and wistfully confessed to his wrongdoing by whispering; ”N-no...”
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A lifetime of studies- a magical revolution like none other, but now... he had been reduced to innkeeping in lieu of his unsightly, soiled companion. Asrael slammed the hatch shut on his weeping, foolish host and took a moment to straighten his shirt before striding back into the tavern, where he was greeted by a most disheartening sight... Bartholomew... and the white-haired, smiling girl in her white, long robe.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He gritted his teeth together and muttered a silent: “Shit.”
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“You are too kind, Sir Kerras - helping Kester with his butchery... can you believe it, Lita? Here he is; a guest to our city and to this fine inn and he takes the time to help with Kester’s day-to-day business. Truly marvelous.” Bartholomew chuckled into his glass before raising it high to take a swig of the spirits Asrael had graciously poured for him. The Necromancer’s eyes remained locked on the blue baubles of the girl seated across from him.
“That he is, Sire. Truly... a magnificent man...” Asrael impatiently tapped his fingers against the table. She had all the trademarks of an untrustworthy patron- a genuine smile, deep-blue eyes, an irresistible figure and a face to put Neda’s beauty to shame. In other words; one likely well-versed in wrapping men around her fingers and swallow them whole. Bartholomew saw the intense glare of his host and passed glanced between them with a chuckle.
“Well, now... it seems we can let the pretenses fade, yes? As much as I enjoy being the middle-man, I must admit to having ulterior motives today, good Kerras. You see... Lita here wishes to get to know you better and if it does not disturb your plans, well... what is a little adultery, when the chance arises?” Adultery? Asrael almost questioned the man as he remembered the reasons for his assumption. The harlot girl’s sabotage of their alibi, of course.
Bartholomew saw a passing frown form on Sir Kerras' lips- a sign that he might be distracted enough to finally let him in on the well-kept secret he had promised. "Oh, perhaps, before you leave- how were the men I sent you the other day? Will they help your plan at all?"
The Necromancer chuckled and shook his head to reply; “I apologize, Bartholomew, but I cannot be so easily swayed. I can not tell you of my plans to revolutionize this city- not now... it is with your safety in mind that I remain adamant in my decision.” Bartholomew signaled his understanding with a disappointed sigh. Asrael hadn't lied. His safety was of concern and as the man seemed about as intelligent as the desert-dweller, the innkeeper and the driver, he could not be trusted not to get himself in trouble. Until the time was right, he would simply have to be kept out of the loupe, lest he endangered the mission... and himself. No, Sargerrei-boy... I have plans for you outside of Pilta. Asrael chuckled to himself and nodded.
After clearing his throat with apparent nervosity, Asrael accepted the offer; “Well, I can certainly be swayed to a chance meeting with someone as lovely as the good Sensate.” Bartholomew chuckled and kicked his feet up on the bench- pushing aside the Purged girl with a greedy gulp of his spirits. She hesitantly stepped over towards the stairs, where Asrael threw her a look of understanding and soon stepped past her to lead her up into the darkness- towards his chamber.
It had been years since he had felt so... tense- not since he had once explored the phenomenon of romance and found it to not be to his liking. Thinking back at it, he could hear her malicious giggle as the unsightly apprentice girl had laughed in his face... The girl had misunderstood his offer of tutoring her as a conniving method of getting into her robes, but he had had no intention of bedding her, despite his Master’s urging to do so. He pushed the intrusive memory away and set his focus on the battle to come. As the white robe stepped through the door, he swung the door shut in her wake and narrowed his eyes to glare at her. She continued in with small steps and eventually sat down on the bed- his side of the bed. He imagined he needn’t signal his disapproval more than with his glare and in truth; he did not. She understood perfectly well what violations she had wrought upon him by stealing into his innermost sanctum- just as she had when she raped his mind.
She pulled back her hood and once again; Asrael was caught unaware by the beauty beneath the white cloth. The bright-white hair, the deep-blue eyes, that mischievous, seductive smile shining towards him. Hoping it would help break her spell, he forced his eyes shut and spoke sternly; “What is it you want? What game are you playing?” Through a narrow slit in between his lids, he observed her reaction... He had expected a frown or perhaps a scoff, but instead, she only smiled wider.
That dreadfully pleasant, melodious voice spoke from beyond his eyelids; “There are no games, Asrael- not between us. As much as I wish to play with you, I know how you hate them.” He unwillingly opened his eyes at the mention of his name... he hadn’t told her his name. She was supposed to know him as Kerras- not the genius that he was. Her smile remained unbroken as she continued; “I did not lie to Bartholomew. Ever since we met, you have been all that is on my mind... the things you have gone through- from the Orphanage, to the death of your Master to this... it does not befit a great man such as you.” His hands unwillingly tightened around his elbows. What manner of perversion was this? Had she stolen her way into every corner of his mind in the short span of time in which they had been connected? Even Psychomancers were humans- bound by the limitations of their minds. There was simply no way for her to absorb all this information in such a brief glimpse into his memories- it could not be. He stood from the wall to glare at her.
“Who are you? And what do you want from me?” She stood up to her height and let her smile grow into a bright grin. She grabbed hold of her robe and began raising it over her head- widening his eyes and frankly, startling him. The body beneath was nothing short of perfect- from her shapely thighs, to her flat abdomen and the curves leading up to her centered breasts. He raised his hands to protect himself from the sight of her naked body.
“What on earth are you doing-” The giggle came from his right- just beside his ear. He turned to see that her body had moved across the room in the blink of an eye without making as much sound as a tap of her naked feet against the floor. In her bare glory; he found it difficult not to think of making use of the bed- despite his best efforts. She wrapped her soft, warm arms around him and continued to whisper; “I want to love you and to be loved by you... I wish to be part of you- to see the glory which you will unleash on this world... please...”
He mustered the strength to try and push her away, but as soon as he had laid his hands on her shoulders, the floor disappeared beneath his feet. Instead; he lay on his back- holding her naked body above his own in a welling panic. He glanced over at where they had stood a moment previous, only to see that his body was still there- gripping her tightly against the wall.
He shouted his protest; “Cease your casting, immediately! If you can invade my mind, then you can see how much I detest psychomancy! I-” She raised her hand and lay a finger against his lips- still staring her deep-blue eyes into his.
“No... you desire me, as I desire you. Let us be one and together; we can start a world anew- a world beyond the Rifts.” That word stole away his attention.
“What do you know of the Rifts?” He asked. She moved up in the bed and sat down with her knees on either side of his pelvis to trace the runes through his shirt.
“Only what he has told me... oh, Asrael. He told me so many things- such dreadful, wonderful things... He requires something of you- of us. You have closed your ears to Him, but together; I can be his mouthpiece and with you as His will, we can shape the world anew. My torment has not been in vein- not if we can...” She grabbed hold of the topmost button of his shirt and fumbled to open it. Whatever spell she had cast on him, it had frozen every muscle of his body- petrified his very mind. He was helpless to think, to act or decline- all he could do... was watch as she continued to undress him and continue spouting her madness.
“You wonder who He is- I do not blame you. None other than you might have the power to host a Demon- certainly not Azazeel... but he is in you. I saw him- I spoke to him. He gave me this power- this unending energy.” She raised her hands and for a sliver of time; her eyes flickered the same, green glow as his did... his magic. She leaned down close to continue whispering in his ear; “But this is but a taste of what is in you. The power to destroy worlds and birth them anew... together; we can destroy and we can create- the Alpha and the Omega. We can remake humanity in His image- a race worthy of His name and His grace-” He was certain that her madness had finally flourished, but he cared not the least about it. All his mind could focus on were her soft, pale breasts- the white hair hanging over his face to tickle his nose... those luscious, red lips. The deep-blue eyes. Had it not been for the hurried taps of feet in the hallway... he might've thought the world had already ended.