As Kha finished his magic, the wild energy that filled the air slowly faded away. The men in the room blinked slowly, their wits no longer clouded by the influence of suggestion. Many of them seemed confused at first, their gazes unfocused as they slowly twitched and regained full control of their faculties. Mors watched impassively, his stoic face masking whatever multitude of emotions he felt behind his eyes.

Joy was worried about the man—it was only reasonable to be. No human ought to be that strong of will, nor that steeled of mind. What does he seek? Why does he play along so willingly? The doubts clung at the back of the demon’s mind like so many insects, like so many skal dancing in the corner of his eyes.

“Well then,” he growled out, recapturing the Swords’ attentions as they recollected their wits. “If we are all in agreement, there is much still to be done.”

“My king… the men in the legions still need to be… commanded…” Kha hissed softly in Joy’s ear as a reminder. Joy felt his ears twitch in irritation, a short hiss of annoyance escaping his opened maws.

“You Swords will sort out your own mess.” he growled finally, after pacing about for some heartbeats. The more he tried to comprehend the intricacies of army bureaucracy and logistics, the more he wished to claw open his own skull. Each Third Sword would come with their own needs, their own reasons why their men needed more steel and more rations. Each man would plot and scheme in an effort to curry favor with his superior. To Joy, it felt as if he was watching so many ants fighting over a single drop of honey, the bugs attempting all manner of subterfuge and trickery over something utterly inconsequential.

Let them squabble over whatever mess they have created, he finally decided, throwing up his arms in exasperation and hoping that his attentions by needed in this matter no longer. “So long as I only need to go to one man to command the legions, I care not how you carve up the pig and fight over the meat.”

Almost immediately, he could see the hungry glances in their eyes as the Swords glanced at their competition. Even facing the end of the world, they still could not help but fight like pups mewling over scraps. Of course, they still do not think this threat real, no matter how loudly I tell them. That would prove a problem as well; the legionaries themselves largely were unmotivated in this fight. They would draw their swords only because their superiors told them to, and that line would not hold against the skal. The first time that they meet the shadows on the field, half of their number would be frozen in fear and the other half running in an instant.

He needed to warn them, but more than that, he needed to show them. Show them why they were up against. Show them why they needed to fight. Show them why they had to fight. If he could convince them that this was something worth dying for, only then would that line hold against the skal’va.

Or so Kha had promised him. Joy himself proved no more a master of human hearts than a tree was.

Indeed, this sentiment was proved to him not a minute after to left that strangled, confined room. Mors had hurried to catch up to Joy, the man’s expression one of mingled pain and fury. There were old hurts behind those eyes, but he controlled himself so that none of it bled out when he spoke.

“What was that?” Mors seethed slowly, his veins popping out of his skin as he whispered. Purple mahji still clung to the edges of his eyes, crackling a little as it mingled into the air. His voice was trembling at the edges, as if he was barely able to suppress himself.

Joy paused and stopped, turning to gaze back at the man square in the eye without giving a response. Mors dragged in a ragged breath before elaborating.

“The men back there—what did you do to them? Y-you’ve tried to do that before, haven’t you?” he accused.

“Not tried.” Joy replied simply, tossing his head. “Did. With the others. You were the only that resisted.”

Mors’s expression grew dark at the admission, his fingers trembling gently and his eyes growing unfocused. “Aye, I remember. I didn’t—didn’t want to remember until you reminded me with that damned show back there.” The mahji popped in his eye, singing the skin near the eyelid and causing a small rivulet of blood to trickle down the side of his cheek, but he was too deep in thought to notice.

“Why? Why did you magick their minds away?” he asked, his expression stormy and glassy, seeming to drag the sunlight away in spite of the halfday sun.

Again, Joy shook his head. “The mindshackles are more of a compulsion than a seal. As Kha describes it, certain emotions are magnified. Others are repressed. Do it to enough of an extreme, and any word I speak will carry the weight of a god behind it.” he explained, his tone gruff.

“But why?” Mors demanded, insistent. Joy could only snarl in irritation. Men were such petty, such simple creatures. They valued their independence to the point of idiocy, fighting because agreeing would be too easy. Even this man, this supposed commander, could not see how an army that did not question him, how an army that listened to his orders flawlessly, was a boon. Truly, his crow-cursed morals had left him blind.

This was no time for morals. This was no time to be righteous. This was a time to rule, to seize. There was no room for error against the skal, and that meant there could be no room to be questioned.

“The legions are like a man, yes? The legionaries are the limbs, the blood, the body. But it is the mind that controls them, the Swords that command the men. It is the First Swords that command the shield walls, and it is the Second Swords that command the Firsts.” Joy explained with a delicate patience, as if speaking to an impetuous child.

“And above them all, are the Third Swords. A normal legion should have three, but this blasted creature has over ten. So if I want to control my legion, I need to control its head. And I cannot have ten-and-two men squabbling like pups, only half-heartedly carrying out my commands while they try to fight for power.” Joy clenched his fist tightly, irritation causing him to draw blood from his palm.

“I need absolute obedience. That is the only way to get this mess of ants to listen. Control the Swords; control the men.”

Mors paused at this, his mind wrestling with his instincts to reject the notion. “And me? How am I supposed to know that I don’t have these mindshackles on me?” he asked.

Joy merely shrugged. “You are questioning me right now, are you not? If you had them, why would you question my words?”

Mors narrowed his eyes in suspicion, the man’s mind starting to chase itself in circles. “Unless that it what you wanted me to think.” he started, and Joy sighed in exasperation.

“If you with to swallow your own tail, then so be it. Then I suppose you will have to trust me on that account.” Joy snarled out, having enough of this conversation.

“Now then, Third Sword. Will to return to your legion? Your men need to receive their runeblades, and that means they need to turn over their swords. I am told that will be a mess to manage, and I am glad that I have someone ready for it.” he growled out pointedly, gesturing with a tilt of the head towards the camp for Mors to get to work. The Capital had proved too much of a mess to house the legion, and the complex of tents and small wooden buildings had merely expanded with the inclusion of the former Mace legion.

Mors drew his mouth tight in a thin line, but he gave a slight nod of the head before starting towards the tents. “And do check on Jhossa. The man seems a little too intrigued by the runeblades for my taste. They are difficult things to manufacture, and I would much rather that he did not pilfer one for his own studies.” Joy called out after him.

Joy turned as Mors left, his gaze stretching out over the mess of men that covered the hills like ants. Slipping into his thoughts, he was startled slightly as a voice called out for him in the distance.

“You might be able to force the men to listen. You might force them to fight. But you cannot force their hearts to kneel before you. Not unless you can magick the minds of every legionary here.” Mors yelled back as he walked.

“You need to win their hearts if you want them to die for you.”