Bartholomew sat at his bed- his scars dry from a lengthy absence of Lita’s dabs. Their nightly rituals had ended weeks past- not that he missed them. As much as he enjoyed her company, he could not shake the sensation that something about her was amiss- not at all unlike his dear, crazed Brother. He looked out across the City and saw, as promised during the debrief, that the People’s stores were burning. Bakeries, warehouses, stores- Titus had been meticulous. His plan was nothing short of perfect, if his end-goal was to spread as much misery as humanly possible, but he suspected that the Inquisitor did not truly understand what it meant to hunger... not yet. A few, hard knocks on the door echoed through his mostly-empty, monstrously large, empty room. He briefly considered hiding his bottle of wine beneath the pillow, before remembering that there was little point to it. By long, it would be difficult to come by, after all.

“Best not waste it.” He said as he stepped from the bed and grabbed the red, silken nightgown from atop his dresser to announce: “I am decent. Step inside.” He ran a hand through his honeyed hair and prepared himself to see Lita or Titus, but to his unending surprise, an unsightly man in a black coat, a black shirt and with midnight black hair stepped inside. He was as pale as ever and had his green eyes affixed on Bartholomew from beneath his crooked brow. On either side of him, strong men held him by his elbows as one of them informed: “We do not know how he got in, Sire Bartholomew. Should we have him-”

The wayward Sargerrei raised his hands and quickly shot in: “Heavens no, he is still Kerras- he will not be harmed, nor will any of his associates. Spread the word.” Asrael shook the men off and glared at the tablecloths they had hurriedly colored purple and clumsily drawn the Inquisitorial emblem on.

“Yes, Lord Lieutenant-Inquisitor.” Bartholomew winced at the mouthful and signaled for the two to excuse themselves- an order both heeded without a second’s delay. Asrael stepped inside and rubbed his elbows in turn. “Your doormen could use some manners. To think they would try to capture me...” He muttered bitterly. Bartholomew took a step forward to wrap his arms around the stumped, disbelieving necromancer, only to be surprised by the lack of the protrusion usually poking his leg as he assaulted him with these untimely embraces.

“I see where that lusty harlot has learned her tricks...” He spoke as he pushed Bartholomew away to remind him of one of the few rules he had established over their time together. The Sargerrei understood, naturally, but still felt the lingering warmth as he turned towards the tall window and speak: “I am glad you are safe. You should take the others and bring them here immediately- before the people wake up to find out what is clouding the air.” The two stepped up to the window and silently eyed the moonlit night. The stars were nearly entirely blotted out by the strewn-about, smoke-spewing fires, but the bright, silvery heavenly body could still be seen through the thick carpet of smog tainting the skies above Pilta.

“Tell me everything.”

Asrael had listened to the disturbing report without moving. In fact, he had been eerily still- not even breathing as he heard Bartholomew’s bleak analysis of the days to come. All the necromancer had done was to stand still and look out across the silent city with his usual frown. When Bartholomew’s lips finally stilled, it was to raise the bottle of wine to his mouth and swallow down the last gulp of the dry, white wine.

“Interesting...” Asrael muttered. Bartholomew scoffed before sounding a bitter laughter. “You can say that again...” That, he could. He had come to Pilta to find a way to get back at Sargerrei and had been overjoyed to find his sons, but this-… this offered so much more. Killing Titus and turning Bartholomew to his cause had seemed like a good start to his campaign to topple the tyrant, but his plans paled in comparison to what was going on before his very eyes. His son had turned into a madman intent on starving his own people to death- to appease his own lust for vengeance... he would make certain Sargerrei heard of this- sooner, rather than later. Asrael spoke:

“We will remain- for now. We still have work to do and this will work to our advantage. I still plan to leave before this ‘Ingvard’ comes, but since we do not know when he will be arriving, we will continue to build our army until we know more.” At his side, the wayward son continued staring out the window ponderously- as if he hadn’t heard Asrael speak his plan... perhaps he simply did not care. Eventually, he broke from his silence to say:

“Asrael... the tunnels connect the City to the outside. They can be used to shuttle food and people.” The necromancer had to give it to Bartholomew- he was a quick thinker.

“And you suggest we do this? That we feed the People and transport the young out?” To his surprise, the grimacing Sargerrei wistfully shook his head.

“No. I am telling you not to. Titus is no fool- should people go missing, he will notice and if they do not starve as he intends, he will be suspicious... As much as I know it will pain me, the soundest option is to-…" He could scarcely even say the words. He did not have to.

“I’ve a spell to seal off the unnecessary shafts. There will be few ways in and out of the tunnels by tomorrow- we will have control of them. None will enter nor exit without my approval.” Surprisingly, the morally dubious Bartholomew seemed to take a measure of comfort in hearing it, but broke from his lengthy silence to say: “I will regret this suggestion. Not because the People deserve a better life- I was there, that night and I saw them scream for her blood... they would have screamed for Ellie’s- for yours, as well.” He let the words hang in the air between them for a moment, before continuing:

“I will regret this because it means that my brother’s sins cannot be forgiven- not by me, you, my Father... not even the Gods.” Asrael narrowed his eyes to watch the heavy suits of armor in the distance as they wandered the streets in tight formation.

“Then you have given up on saving him and turning him to our cause.” Asrael surmised, to which Bartholomew nodded.

“He cannot be saved... I would kill him now, but-”

“The guards would kill you. No, you are to do nothing. We will continue to convert while you stay here and keep me informed.” Asrael turned for the door, only for Bartholomew to reach for him and say: “You must stay- the City will be-” The necromancer turned his head to stare his bright, green eyes at the Sargerrei traitor.

“Mad? It will be no more or less mad than the world I have come to known since your Father established this ‘Inquisition’. Dogs have always eaten dogs, the only difference this time around will be that they are of the same breed... no. We will stay where we are.” Bartholomew could hardly disagree, but still felt he had to protest once more.

“It will be dangerous- not only to you, but to Neda and-” Asrael had to laugh at Bartholomew’s apparent care for their safety.

“I’ve an army to protect me. In here, he has an army to protect him.” With those words, the dark form stepped back towards the door, where he would find his way back into the dungeon, where his Army would greet him down in the darkness of the tunnels. His tunnels.