Asrael’s eyelids crunched against his dry corneae. He had stood there- wide-eyed and agape next to Bartholomew- both of whom had been shown sights beyond reason. Bartholomew had been the first to break free of the mirror’s spell and had fallen to his knees in a vain attempt to process the horrors that he had witnessed- before and during his gaze into the mirror. He was distraught- to say the least. With every blink of his eyes, he would see the phantom images of his brother’s sins- the gargling, dying wretches writhing against the purple tentacles. The child that had disintegrated before his eyes, only to be swallowed up into the now-still, now-unimpressive silver mirror.

He looked up to see Asrael shine a maniacal grin, whereas he, himself could barely muster the strength to even open his mouth. Bartholomew might’ve experienced a start, as the necromancer began hurriedly spinning about to look for something in the shadows of the dark chamber, but fright was a gift reserved for those who had something to fear... from where he sat, he could not imagine there being anything more frightening than his now-gone brother.

“Lita-… Lita! Where did she go!?” Asrael shouted in a sudden panic. Lita was nowhere to be seen- that magnificently terrifying, mysterious creature that had stolen his seed. Bartholomew shook his head and looked down at the golden blade in his hands.

“I could not do it... I was about to, but before I could raise my blade, he had left.” Asrael grimaced and looked to his hopeless companion on the floor, before questioning: “What in the Hells are you on about? I need to find Lita- who-…" Only then did Asrael notice that the runes around the room seemed to thrum with power. The state of the blood and feces covering the scratches had split- as if a tremendous amount of energy had heated them to produce vapors- recently. His mind was aflame with questions- Lita's pain and his subsequent violation, Capita’s burning- the magic and the mirror. He needed time to think above all, but the sight of his own, powerful form and the nightmarish army- seemingly under his control filled him with determination. If that was to be his future, why, then, should he be dawdling around Pilta?

“P-please... Asrael... We need to deal with my brother- he cannot be allowed to go on.” Bartholomew’s voice reminded Asrael that he was not alone. He looked to the distraught Sargerrei runt to see him cradling his face to dispel the horrors he had seen but to no avail. In the darkness of his palms, he could still see the cloud of dust that had once been the little girl.

Asrael narrowed his eyes with suspicion and commanded: “Tell me everything.”

Neda woke up in a stupor, groaning loudly into a lavish pillow. Her mind spun, her breathing labored and her face was covered in drool- as was the brown cushioning against her face. She rose up and only then, did her mind begin to make sense of her surroundings. The sandlurker- that white-haired bitch had taken her somewhere... she had made her poke a needle into her upper lip. Her eyes popped open as she realized that this time had been different. As soon as they had turned to look at her, their minds had been whisked away by those deep, green, damnable eyes.

“Ellie!” Neda screamed and leaped from the bench, only to collapse on the floor. Ellie lay motionless and deathly silent atop a bench of her own, but Neda’s scream had served to awaken her. Her eyes slowly opened to see the wild, sun-bleached hair approach her along the floor... she, as opposed to Neda, seemed almost unsurprised to find herself in the luxurious chamber with its fine furnishing and the well-spent bed over by the wall of glass. They both caught sight of the paintings simultaneously and swallowed at the sight of Asrael’s many faces of pain and anguish. Stabbed, beaten, burned, shot- his deaths were numerous, but all shared the same detail. Holding whatever weapon that delivered his bane, was a pristine warrior with a scratched-out face- clad in an armor shimmering with a spectrum of color.

“Neda- wh-what the fuck...” Ellie spoke and rubbed her intact palm against her forehead in a series of grunts. Both women struggled to get to their feet and scanned their surroundings to verify that they were, indeed, alone in the chamber.

“I don’t know-… we gotta get out of here- c'mon!” Neda muttered and rose up to the floor. Together, they sluggishly staggered towards the open door. Ellie’s hand ached, but the pain was far from as pure and overwhelming as it had been. A glance down revealed that it was still bent and broken, but the lingering toxins in her body seemed to deprive her of most of the pain-… before it set it... she hoped she would be back in the tavern.

Curiously, both could feel a strange scent in the air- a warm and honeyed scent of sweat, one that made both their stomachs grumble with the unspoken implications, but neither had the time to pause and philosophize over the nature of the fragrance.

They hadn’t gotten far in their shambling, by the time they realized something was... off... all the guards were missing- no... nearly all. Up the stairs from where they were standing, they could see a pair of guardsmen’s still bodies- both of whom lay on the floor beneath a trail of blood on the wall. The women perked up at the sound of familiar voices coming from inside the dark room and immediately began staggering their way up into Titus’ chamber.

Asrael heard the two simpletons arrive, but his attention was split between Bartholomew- still on his knees and the burning chaos screaming in his mind. All this talk of Demons, copulation, and Capita’s fate at his hands was overwhelming, to say the least... but... most unnerving by far, he found Bartholomew’s recount. It spoke of how Titus- a non-magus could both inscribe and power runes that were far beyond Asrael’s understanding- meaning... this Azazeel must have had a hand in the ritual. He could see no other way that a man such as the ‘good Duke’ could do what Bartholomew promised he had done... a ritual to sacrifice the lives of others- something Asrael had thought to be an impossibility up until this recount. Trades with Demons were, after all, a personal affair between the creature and the Man- not something that he might’ve assumed could be done by another.

“You said they swore their loyalty-”

“Asrael!” Neda shrieked as she lay her eyes on his tall, dark frame. Ellie winced, but Bartholomew and Asrael alike both ignored the wildling girl charging for the necromancer with her arms wide open.

“Y-yes... they did. It was as if he needed them to do it to go through with this-…" Asrael could hear the word ‘spell’ at the tip of his tongue, but the hapless Sargerrei kept his mouth shut. This was no spell- this was a ritual and somehow, he sensed that Bartholomew knew it. Neda wrapped her arms around Asrael from behind and buried her face into the back of his coat to sob:

“I-I’m so sorry! I d-didn't m-mean t-to-” Bartholomew saw Asrael’s fists tighten at his sides. A darkness passed over his features as he grimaced and lowered his brow.

“Unhand me, immediately. You’ve no right to touch me- not after what you’ve done.” The cold in his voice made Neda’s and Ellie’s skin crawl. They had heard him displeased before- in fact, they knew that voice well. But this... this was something far more profound than displeasure.

“I told you not to touch me!” Asrael roared over his shoulder and glared a green, bright eye at his so-called disobedient apprentice. Her tremoring lips jerked downwards to form a mourning frown- her chest ached like never before as she saw that heartbreaking fury in his eyes... a fury directed solely at her. Hesitantly- painfully, she released him from her grip, only for Asrael to depart past her- still with his hands trembling at his sides and with a rage to his eyes none had ever seen before.

Ellie swallowed as the wrathful necromancer strode past her- holding back her desperate plea for her rescue from the returning agony. She held her head low with a frown nearly as profound as the frozen Blightlander looming over Bartholomew’s distraught form and in her peripheral view, she watched Asrael descend the stairs- back out into the hallways.