Asrael was back in his study, deep within his dreams. The Satyr had showed him something- something wonderful and terrible; all he had done... was agree to something. For the life of him; he could not remember the details of their deal, but it was one that had left him with a sour taste in his mouth... he had learned to recognize that taste. It was the flavor lending away a corpse to one of the healers provided- the same, overwhelming sourness that plagued him for days on end after having been... hugged... by the old man, once. He was disgusted with himself- a foreboding warning that he had agreed to something he knew he would regret. Looking down on the paper; he could see that it had not all been in vain... for there it was; black on white- the prize he and the rest of humanity had searched for, for time immemorial... it was the mark.

The desk shifted and transformed before his eyes- the chair he sat on disappeared and a dreary, dramatic darkness snuffed out every source of light in the room. He was standing in the Emperor’s hall- his fine, marbled, gilded dining hall. Ahead of him lay a pale, deathly still girl no older than twenty- covered in cuts, bruises and wounds as grave on her flesh as those of her genitals. The Emperor had provided it, himself- it had been one of his well-used, well-beaten whores and although the Necromancer had protested, the young Emperor had insisted that he used this plaything of his to display his magnificent spell.

Two full days had gone into repairing her flesh and bones and another day had passed as he inscribed her flesh with the runes- a would-be-painful endeavor he imagined the girl would have begged to escape, had she still been alive. Even he had to admit that the girl was objectively attractive- pale, freckled and with a length of red hair to provoke the envy of every face-sculpted woman in Capita. The Emperor’s donated whores- his virgin chambermaids; were dropping like flies these days. One moment; they would be tending to his bedlinens and in the next... they’d be staring up at the Necromancer. Not that Asrael minded. Any flesh was good flesh, but the Emperor seemed to expect something more than a display regarding this particular, beaten girl... which meant that he, ever the anatomist, would have to get uncomfortable. The most challenging task of them all had been his work on her genitalia- he had never once seen one of the damnable, fleshy pockets when blood still circulated their tissues and the reconstruction had been a painful, embarrassing task. But nothing could be short of perfect on the momentous occasion- this was, after all, history in the making. It wasn’t without a reason the Emperor had gathered the entire Council to behold the spectacle.

Opposite to his bench; the fat, dumb emperor rubbed his hands greedily at the prospect of tormenting the poor creature for another eternity and next to him; the old man sat next to a gut-wrenching, terrible critter. His red hair, the chiseled chin, the intense, blue eyes- that detestable suit of gold-trimmed armor belonged to none other than the disgusted-looking Sargerrei.

He broke from his disgust to grin and question; “Are you going to resurrect her or make love to her, Assy?” Even the magi around the long table chuckled in a low hum as the General goaded- the fools. None of them had ever produced anything new- none of them had ever had the ambition and wit needed to discover and whenever they actually found something in their research; Asrael could pick it apart on the go. Determined not to let the General get the better of him;

Asrael smiled in turn and stated: “I would not dare touch the Lord Emperor’s Subject with indecency- certainly not before his impressive council of the Law.” Whereas Sargerrei seemed immune to the Necromancer’s charms; the rest of his men grinned at the compliment. Sensing that the Emperor was losing his patience; the young magus decided to move things along and cleared his throat to deliver his speech;

“Emperor Tumur the Second; I have come before you to display my research- the secret our Order has searched for for a thousand years. A spell that, until very recently, only ever existed in the minds of us, few loyalists who have remained true in our vision-” The Emperor’s many folds of fat battled his white shirt and nearly burst his buttons as he slammed his heavily jeweled fist into the table and demanded;

“Get on with it, Assy! Show me you have what it takes to grant me eternal life- I demand it!” And with that; the Emperor- the most powerful man in the entire world had dismissed Asrael’s carefully prepared words and bereaved him of the quote on his would-be golden funeral plaque. His lips tensed slightly before he nodded and reached for the knife next to the dead, naked woman on the slab.

“Y-yes, of course, your Majesty.” Asrael bowed and positioned the silver dagger over the woman’s abdomen. He drew out his magic and focused it into the ritual knife- enough to make it hum and sing its slight song. Every magus, General and officer of the law in the grand hall held their breaths as they awaited the Necromancer’s next move- the jerk that buried the blade in the middle of the mark inscribed on her abdomen.

Asrael’s very mind was in agony. He felt as if his head would be split open- the ringing in his ears shook his entire being. Through the stupor of his concussion; he attempted to see the aftermath of his Grand Work- the resurrection that would solidify the Circle’s position for another thousand years. The transient loss of vision faded and in its place; he saw the images flash before his eyes. She had awoken with a scream to shatter glass and immediately swung out- sending his supple form soaring through the room, where he had an unfortunate meeting with a marble pillar. From his corner of sprinkled dust; he had watched in horror as she had raised her finger towards the Emperor and risen from the slab in hurried jerks- constantly barraging Asrael’s frail mind with the details of the disgusting Emperor’s methods of tormenting her... They had been bound together- one mind and one soul, only for the briefest of moments, but it had been more than enough to influence him.

He had let go of her reins and allowed her to charge forth- leaping from the table with wide, green eyes and a rabid expression. The pale, naked skin soared beautifully through the air in a lethal pounce towards her aggressor, already licking her lips with the taste of his blood... but the blood would never spurt- not his. Before she could land; Sargerrei’s silver blade had sliced her open- cutting through her cheeks before continuing through to carve her in two, beautiful pieces of long-since faded magic... and already then; Asrael had known.

“Seize him!”