Asrael was a heaving mess- drawing in hurried breaths to fill his dead lungs with the atmospheric magic to feed his nearly empty tissues. Due to the tavernkeeper’s murderous outburst, he had been forced to work faster and more efficiently than ever. The girl had helped in his efforts, but the process had still taken well over a day, but had landed them with four more soldiers and although he might’ve been thrilled to see some initiative on any ordinary day, he was less-than-so on this fated evening. The carvings took a monstrous amount of concentration and skill- more so when he had to watch over the girl’s work in addition to his own.
She stood next to him- eyeing the red, drawn runes on the stony walls and floor with awe as the last of the turned soldiers stepped off into the tunnel to bombard Kerras’- the real Kerras'- mind with their frantic thoughts and pains. The bloody runes shimmered a faint green in tune with Asrael’s breathing- concentrating the atmospheric magic around his face and mouth for his consumption. The last spark had nearly deprived him of his consciousness and midway through the binding ritual, he had stared into the wide, white eyes of a peaceful slumber... but this was no time for sleep- not by far. He needed more if he were to go through with his plan.
He turned to look at the girl to see her stare at the bloody walls- her hair as wet with sweat as the rest of the drapes she wore for a dress. In between his heaves for air, he spoke: “Good. At least one of you are not entirely useless.” Upon hearing him speak, she immediately turned to stand at attention.
She stuttered: “S-sir... w-what are these... things?” She motioned for the bloody floor and the runes glowing through the pools of blood. He raised an eyebrow and took a moment to mire in his work, before falling victim to his disappointment in the state of the world and the youth's lack of appreciation for the arts, once more.
“They are obviously runes, child!” He saw her stare down at her feet and nod. He struggled to stand to his height and staggered upright before proudly proclaiming: “Simple ones. They harness magic from the air and concentrate it within this unsightly cellar. Come here.” He motioned for the girl to stand atop the circle in the midst of the room with a demanding beckon. She swallowed, but heeded his command and stepped over towards him. He sat down on the bench to grab his forehead and continue to order:
“Empower them in my stead. They should shift to your element- earth. Do it.” He ordered. She looked down at the circle and sat down, just as he had and touched the blood with her tremoring fingertips. He groaned aggressively and hissed: “Bleed some magic from your fingers!” As commanded, Ellie forced a sliver of her own element from the scarce pores in her hand.
At once, she could feel the entire room shift around her, as if her mind extended beyond her physical form. The very atmosphere surrounding her thickened with nurturing energy. Even as she closed her eyes, she could both see and feel the magic swirling about the room to congeal in front of her face and feed her the precious, scarce element. With every breath, she felt as if she grew stronger and less exhausted from the lengthy day’s work. Through tremoring lips, she spoke: “T-this is-”
“It is basic magic, girl. Although I must admit... I thought it a foolish mission, even as I made the inscriptions. Thankfully, this new, dreadful world of yours is full of magic.” He rubbed his forehead- miring in its cold lack of perspiration, despite his exhaustion.
“S-sorry, Sir... but what are runes?” She was nothing if not polite. Therefore, he thought it prudent he at least humor her by informing through his fingers:
“You may as well ask me what the ground you step on is construed of... but in short; runes are slivers of the Demonic languages. They hold great power in this world, but any who would claim to understand them would be a liar.” He awaited a follow-up question, only to see her... nod. He had to blink twice to verify that his eyes were not deceiving him. He had become so accustomed to the harlot’s incessant questionings that he had expected more confusion, but instead: she seemed to accept her ineptitude.
“Can you teach me some?” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but before he could scold her, she continued: “Some that can kill?” He leaned back on the bench and looked at the oddly determined, apathetic girl with a studying gaze. After a moment’s observation, he spoke: “Even the best magi can misshape a rune. It may well kill you as much as it would kill your target. You can see how that would interfere with my plans, yes?” She nodded, but responded: “I don’t care. I want to kill every last of them- not only the Inquisitors, but the ones who watched my mother burn and did nothing to stop it. Teach me something I can use to kill them all.”
The girl had gall, he would give her as much. He looked up at the raven-haired, wide-eyed creature tremoring with suppressed anger and mired in the beauty of a true monstrosity- a terminal pathway bred and raised in a world that knew nothing but depravity; a beast... his beast. He waved his hand at her and judged: “Perhaps, in time. For now: I need you for other tasks. Do well and perhaps one day I will teach you to understand some of these runes... until then, I will ask Bartholomew to secure some of the books from the fiend’s library.” A passing, brief, slight smile contorted her lips, but soon faded as her demons came back to haunt her.
Hurried taps above warned Asrael that the harlot had returned and by long, she had sprinted across the tavern to tear the hatch open and stare down at him with the widest, shit-eating grin he had ever seen before. He knew that grin... he was well accustomed to it by now. It meant she had misunderstood or simply ignored his command and done as she pleased and inevitably disappointed him. She held a pair of training daggers in front of her as she stepped down the stairs and exclaimed: “Look! I got these from Bartholomew! He’s teaching me how to use them!” Asrael pinched the bridge of his nose and released a deep exhalation.
“Spare me the recount of your day. Tell me of the psychomancer!” The factum it took her a moment to rack her mind meant she had forgotten about her mission alltogether- as expected of his feeble-minded associate.
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“Oh, right... yeah, she wasn’t there. Didn’t see her at all, actually. But look!” She flashily showed off her trick- switching the small blades over in her hands. Ellie seemed slightly impressed by the feat, whereas Asrael betrayed no emotion. Well... at least she hadn’t pestered him with her incessant touching. Seeing him glare up at her with such intensity made her cheeks blush.
“H-hey... why are you looking at me like that?” She asked, only for him to continue glaring at her- hoping she would soon understand that his expression was, in fact, meant to convey his disappointment, but to no avail. In a particularly foolish venture, she smiled slily at him and suggested: “Are you... jealous? I didn’t cuckold you, y’know.” His jaw fell agape as he heard the profanity.
“You have wasted my precious time with your... training.” He bit back the bile before continuing: “And now, you spout profanities and absurdities in my face!? We are in no position to-…" He had to lean on the table and rub his temples to dispel the pain of his budding headache. The sly desert-dweller came from behind his back and lay her hands atop his shoulders- remembering his plight of disliking touches only a moment later.
“Hey... If you’re disappointed, I’m sorry. But I’m going back there tomorrow- I can find out more about your girlfriend then.” Up above, she shone a hopeful smile down at his black scalp. He winced and stood from his seat to push his way past the confused desert-dweller to make his way up the stair, only to hear two pairs of disheartening footsteps follow closely in his wake. This... was going to be a long, infuriating evening.
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High up in the Garrison’s towers, Bartholomew sat on his knees and patiently awaited his Purged servant’s attention. She stepped over the floor with her light feet and unfolded her kit of bottled ointments and cotton swabs while pondered the day’s strenuous excercises with Neda. Lita dabbed the cotton swab on Bartholomew’s back while humming a joyous tune. He looked over his shoulder to see her smile beneath her hood, but never broke from her hum as he met her gaze.
“Lita- if I hadn’t known better, I would say you sound cheery...” He spoke with a smile of his own. She giggled and retorted; “Yes. It is part of my Curse- I am influenced by your mood.” She could see he did not entirely approve of her use of the word ‘Curse’, but hesitantly moved on- leaning forward on the bed to grunt as she dabbed another thick globule of the yellow paste on his scarred back. He spoke over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow to gauge her reaction:
“I had a lovely day. And a lovely yesterday, too- not that you asked...” He muttered. Her warm smile brought his shoulders down with its calming, genuine radiance.
“I apologize, Master Bartholomew. It... drains me... to use my Curse.” He nodded his understanding and stared out the tall, clear glass panes- up at the twinkling stars and the bright moon illuminating his cold chambers. After a moment’s deliberation, he asked: “How does it work? Your ability- it is psychomancy, is it not?” If he hadn’t known better, he’d say she was taken aback by the question.
“I... cannot answer that question. None can. Psychomancy is said to be poorly understood- even by the Magi of the ancient Council. I-… If you were to ask me how I do it, I would say that it comes naturally to me. I can walk through the minds of whom I need to... yes, I suppose that is a good way to put it. Walking- it comes as naturally to me as walking.” He imagined having her gift for himself. He would casually stroll through Kerras’ mind and see the depravities first-hand, taste his sister’s lips on his mouth and re-live the Pa’namph binding ritual Neda had so grittily detailed. Thinking of the pair, he turned stared ahead and hesitated in asking:
“I... understand. Lita, if I may be as bold as to ask... does it offend you that I have offered to train Neda? Do you view her an antagonist- seeing as she and Kerras-… you know...” She released another warm giggle and shook her hooded head. “Not at all, Sire. I-… I still enjoy the stolen moment we shared and I expect we will have another soon.” He turned over his shoulder with pursed lips- uncertain as to how he should react. On one hand, Kerras and Neda were both his friends and he enjoyed being in the midst of their unusual relationship, but on the other... seeing Lita so radiant- so full of expression and life was an equally enjoyable experience.
“Do not worry, Master Bartholomew. He has a plan for him involving Neda. As much as I-… I want him for myself, I understand that there are obstacles that cannot be so easily overcome. But I am patient.” He had no clue what any of it meant, but by the volume of her mutter, he imagined the words were more meant for her rather than him.
When she had finally finished the evening’s duties, the Sensate stepped from her Master’s chamber and headed right- down the cobbled corridors, pausing only to throw a passing glance at the tall painting portraying a well-known scene. Between the two, dancing braziers, the famous painting showed the heroic High Inquisitor Sargerrei as a young man- still with his familiar, rusted beard and hair.
She smiled as she looked down at the cowering form on the schorched grass- shielding his face from the beautiful, handsome Sargerrei’s blade, but to no avail. It still pierced his chest. The unmistakable steps of her colleague approached from her side. Petrus stood and stared up at the painting with awe- his brown eyes shimmering with the profound respect he had for their Glorious military Leader. He followed the High Inquisitor’s blade down and paused to look at the cowering form and momentarily paused as he drew a faint recognition on his pale features- that oversized nose and the filthy, black hair.
“Petrus. You were outside the Master’s chamber- listening as I applied his treatment. May I help you?” Petrus raised his hand to scratch his smooth, sharp chin and spoke: “I needed to verify that the two of you were not being indecent.”
She raised her hand to giggle softly into her palm. “And did you find it to your liking? Do you approve of my work?” Petrus dropped his hand to his side and scowled at her from beneath his white hood.
“Your work... the Men tell me that you have been avoiding your duties as of late... that you have been claiming to be in recovery. As your superior, I have come to ask you to explain yourself- what, Lita, do you need to recover from?” She chuckled another infuriating giggle into her hand and shook her head. He knew, better than anyone, that he would do best to avoid looking into her eyes- no matter how much bemusement she feigned.
“That is between myself and Him, Petrus. You may peep all you want, but I would advise against digging in my affairs.” In his peripheral view, he could see the same, unmoving, slight smile. He had always known she was far from as ‘Purged’ as she seemed to be, but this all but confirmed it. He looked away from the picture and readied himself to scold her, only to find-… she was not there. He glanced either way down the long, abandoned hallway, only to come to the same conclusion. It was as if she had never even been there alongside him to begin with.