Ben’s plain black cloak fluttered in the chill autumn wind as he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the cold, refreshing seaside air. He relaxed his shoulders and felt the power of his newly acquired concept begin to fade as the slow billowing flames dissipated with black and red wisps of smoke. The Gang Leader lay prone on the cobbled street before him, his body convulsing in sporadic, violent pulses. He whimpered and sobbed; knees ruined by the young man’s blows earlier.

Ben closed his eyes, almost instinctively, to find that he could feel the pathetic man’s presence near him. Scally’s light was a dim, sickly yellow that pulsed and writhed, folding within itself in an unending loop. He cast his attention further away from his position, and he found what he was looking for. His Keeper’s presence was a soft, warm light that caused his lips to involuntarily quirk into a smile, which, when compared to the ruffian’s aura, was like looking at two completely different creatures.

He frowned as he considered the implications of the connections. As far as he knew, he had not used the concept on Ann, yet her connection was similar in that he felt he could manipulate the Gang Leader as he could do to her. He felt a questioning pulse from his Keeper’s light, which he replied with the thought of contentment so as to assuage any worries she may have had.

Wait. I was only ‘looking’ at Ann’s presence, but she felt my… attention?

Ben regarded the dim presence before him, yet he felt no sign of awareness from it. He willed the emotion of displeasure to the man, and the yellow, sickly light spasmed and withdrew into itself, becoming smaller as if cowed.

Okay. So, Mine and Ann’s connection is different. This man can’t feel my intentions unless I will it.

Ben opened his eyes to find Scally curled up in a ball on the cobbled street.

“Hmm. Subjugation versus submission,” the young man mused aloud.

Ben felt the burning emotion of hatred mixed with fear and a blooming intention of revenge radiate from the dirty, oily man. He frowned.

“You,” he spoke to the writhing form of the Gang Leader. “Where did you and your gang come from?”

Ben had the thought that Kieran would’ve recognized the men if they were from Honeydew, seeing as he grew up in the city.

“Fuck you!” Scally spat as he met his eyes with desperate defiance or resignation; he wasn’t sure which.

Ben’s jaw clenched and his eyes widened. Heat flushed his cheeks and he found himself bending down to grab the man’s neck. He exhaled in an attempt to regain control over the impulsive emotion, and he straightened before he could strangle the impudent man.

“All right, I asked nicely. Now we’re going to see what we can do about your attitude.”

He closed his eyes and grasped the sickly yellow presence with his will. He sifted through what he could only describe as tendrils of emotions and… traits? He asked himself. Ben found a tendril of defiance and immediately strangled it; he felt the man’s presence shift. He searched for more to find another that tasted of dishonesty and lies, which was more substantial than the defiance he had killed. With the same exertion of will, he smothered the trait and felt it dissipate. He repeated the process with hatred and vengeance, only to find that the yellow light began to fade.

He opened his eyes to see the oily man lying on the floor, still squirming, yet he lacked the defiant expression he’d expressed prior.

“Let’s try that again,” Ben said as he regarded Scally. “Where did you come from?”

“I don’t want to tell you that,” The Gang Leader replied, voice monotonously abrupt.

Ben frowned and considered that he may have broken the dirty gangster.

He closed his eyes once more to find the dull yellow light. He willed forth obedience, loyalty, and, reluctantly, a sliver of dishonesty, thinking that it was a significant part of the man’s character. Yet nothing happened.

He tried again and again, yet no matter how hard he willed his thoughts, intentions, or impressions toward the presence, the ideas slid off its dull surface and evaporated into nothing.

“What did I do wrong?” he asked himself aloud. He almost thought he heard the huff of his avatar as the idea of amusement drifted lazily among his thoughts.

“Scally?” came a shaky voice from behind the young man.

Ben turned to see Polly, the dirty woman, amble to her feet. She flinched as she met the young man’s gaze. Ben thought it was impressive that she stood so soon after he recalled her head colliding with the cobbled street.

“Relax,” he said to the frightened woman as he considered her for a beat. “You’d be willing to answer a few questions for me, wouldn’t you?”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she brushed clammy locks of dirty blonde hair out of her similarly dirty brow. “Why, yes… milord. Sir. I dinna do anythin’ I swear. Please don eat me soul,” Polly pleaded, hunched over with hands raised. The rusty dagger lay on the ground beside her.

Ben’s head tilted at the woman’s words.

Ah, she saw me use my concept.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Hmm. I’ll consider it,” he lied. “If you tell me where you lot came from.”

“We’s from Hog’s Tail, milord… Is he… Is Scally dyin?”

Ben looked at the oily man who had gone still. His chest still moved with the intake of air, yet his eyes were opened, and his mouth drooled.

“I think he’ll live-”

Polly crouched and grabbed the rusty dagger before lunging at Ben with a scream. He sighed, lifting his halberd up to intercept the shoddy surprise attack, before pausing with raised brows.

Polly fell onto the scrawny form of the Gang Leader and stabbed. She stabbed and stabbed and screamed and screamed until her voice went hoarse. Venting what he thought to be suppressed anger and hatred toward the oily man. The dirty woman lifted and plunged the rusty blade, creating a bowl of thick red stew in the cavity that was Scally’s chest.

Ben felt a sharp pain assault him, and the beast growled, resonating within his being. He fell to one knee in agony and clenched his teeth in anger toward the woman. It was as if a limb was torn from his body. He gripped the haft of the sleek halberd with white knuckles before feeling a radiant warmth calm his rioting fury.

Shit. So, this is what Dee felt when she lost all those subjects during that battle.

Ben realized that if he were to Subjugate another, he’d have to be prepared to deal with the consequences. He stood and took a deep breath in an attempt to expel the disdain he felt for the crying woman. He watched as she lifted a spent arm to drop the bloody blade with a squelch into what was left of the Gang Leader’s chest.

The young man cleared his throat and drew Polly’s attention. She turned her head with puffy red eyes and flinched as she met Ben’s gaze. “I’m sorry milord. He had ta die. Polly can’t live like this no more…” she said between sobs.

“Why did you kill him?” Ben asked simply. His jaw clenched as he strained to keep his tone even.

Polly looked at him with slanted brows, tears running freely from light brown eyes. “He’s a monster milord. A real monster. Made us do things, we cana say no ta. Like dark magic… Every night he comes ta the girls, and if we say no, he guts ‘em,” she wailed, unable to maintain what little composure she had at the recollection.

The embers of fury began to abate within the young man. He considered the woman and felt a nagging pull in his subconscious. “Fine. Get out of here. I never want to see your face again,” he said coldly.

Ben turned without waiting for a response and walked to the entrance of Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles. He sidestepped bits of skull and brain on the highest step and entered the store before slamming the door shut. He collapsed to the wooden floor of the chaotic room, with his back against the wooden door. His chest heaved at the sudden bombardment of emotions he felt at the loss of a subject. Even though he didn’t hold much regard for the Gang Leader’s life, he felt the severance of the newly formed bond to be excruciating.

Ten heartbeats later, footsteps down the creaky staircase revealed a tired Apprentice Necromancer. Kieran regarded Ben in the dim light of the store, brows furrowed in concern.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

Ben exhaled. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just. I’m dealing with the backlash of a bad decision. Don’t mind me.”

The Caster’s frown grew severe. “Of course. If there’s anything I can help with, don’t hesitate to talk,” he paused, relaxing his frown. “Come on. I could use a hand with some of Aunt’s belongings.”

Ben nodded and forced himself to his feet. Grateful for the concern and the opportunity for distraction. He followed the red-haired man up the staircase and helped him carry several large burlap sacks of clothes, odds and ends, and the pure-white set of basilisk armor. He asked about Ann’s belongings, to which Kieran handed him a small leather backpack. The pair of young men made their way down the stairs with their moderately heavy cargo. They stepped outside to find most of the injured ruffians gone, yet two men, including the obese man, had had their throats slit; their corpses added to the new total of four outside the eclectic store.

Kieran sighed as he locked the front door and incanted a spell under his breath. “Father hasn’t returned from his trip to the tribes yet. I hope he makes it back safely, considering the state of affairs.”

Ben walked a distance to inspect the corpses. “Right, you mentioned an evacuation? I was surprised to find no Guards on our way here.”

“They’ve all left after the cleanup. The people still in the city are either too old to travel, unwilling to leave, or opportunists like our friends here.”

Ben adjusted a heavy sack on his shoulder. “You think your old man will be okay?”

Kieran hesitated as he descended the steps from the store. “I… hope so. He’s quite tough, yet… the years are starting to catch up to him. Naturally, I worry.”

Ben dipped his head and decided to let the subject lie. “I was hoping to buy a few things,” he gestured to the hefty coin pouch on his belt. “For Ann and your Aunt. I’ve been meaning to pick up something for them.”

Ben frowned as he considered the long walk back to the Archmage’s house. He had three heavy sacks slung over a shoulder, his Keeper’s backpack on his back, and the beautiful weapon in his free hand. Kieran was similarly burdened; the undead kitten sat atop his messy red hair. The Apprentice walked and stood beside the young man before dumping his cargo on the cobbled street next to him.

He gestured with a hand to the sacks of belongings. “You can put those there. As for gifts, I propose we make a detour to the market street. Many of the stores have been looted, as most of their owners didn’t survive the attack, but I’m sure we can find something that might tickle your fancy.” He said with a grin of sharp teeth.

Ben raised a brow at the pragmatic man, as he complied and unshouldered his burden next to the sacks on the street. Kieran swept his gaze over the corpses and glanced at the luggage on the floor. “Two should do it,” he said before clasping his hands together, fingers interlaced. He whispered, “Raise dead.”

Immediately, two of the nearest corpses twitched and contorted on the ground before ambling to their feet, eyes dull. The Apprentice pointed to the pair of bodies, and the raised corpses turned and, with a short sword and a cudgel, began to hack and pulverize the heads of the lifeless forms. After they had completed their task, Kieran spoke.

“Wipe your dirty hands. Pick these up,” he pointed to the luggage. “Follow.” He said tersely.

“That’s… pretty handy,” Ben commented.

“It’s a Journeyman-level spell. They can’t perform any complex tasks, unfortunately. And the spell has to be actively maintained, so as you may imagine, it becomes quite a strain after a while.”

Ben nodded as if he understood exactly the extent to which the Caster would be strained —which he didn’t, of course. “Ah, like Miss Fiona’s cat?”

Kieran frowned, then grinned. “No, very different,” he gestured for the pair to walk, the undead thralls following shortly behind. “Animate is an Adept-level casting that requires a toll to anchor itself in a corpse of a small creature. It’s permanent and beyond the initial sacrificial component; it requires no intervention from the Caster to keep active —it draws in ambient mana as if it were a construct. It was a failed experiment by one of the Great Sages, Naethorul, to bring the dead back to life, yet I find it to have interesting applications, such as this.” Kieran scratched the head of the kitten, who uncannily mimed a purr.

Ben shivered at the white, near-lifelike kitten with greying eyes.

“So, what are you going to do with it?” he asked.

“Ah, yes. I thought it’d be a suitable companion for Master Issa.”

Ben nodded, yet internally, he shook his head, doubtful the boy would be ecstatic about having a dead cat as a pet.