Dead? Shamus was already dead.

Blood magic? Blending? He had so many burning questions. The general had revealed secrets that only exposed more mysteries. Things he didn't understand. Things he yearned to know.

He looked down at the body of the frost mage captive. She wasn't safe to keep around, but Horace insisted that she not be killed. Not yet anyway.

"I see you have questions," Horace Burns said. "Like why you are still alive even though you aren't. Why I didn't let you kill this frost mage. What the plan is?"

Shamus stared back silently.

"Very well," Horace sighed. "I'll indulge you, but only because I need a lieutenant I can trust."

"I'm a corporal," Shamus said.

"Consider this a field promotion," Horace said. "With more to come if you deliver on your promises."

"Thank you, sir," Shamus said. That was a massive promotion. Not only had he been promoted several ranks, but he was now an officer. A dead one, apparently, but still an officer.

"There are thought to be five magical powers in the world," Horace said. "Though they were, for the most part, silenced ages ago. The dominance of the frost mages saw to it that magic was...frozen in time."

"Why would they do such a thing?" Shamus said, clenching his fists.

"Because they're vile," Horace said. "But that doesn't mean that everything they did was wrong. We have science and technology precisely because the world has learned to not rely on magic. Perhaps that was their reasoning for it. I don't know."

"But if you're a ..."

"Blood mage," General Horace said. "The dirty secret of the Flintlock Empire is that it's ruled at the top by blood magic. Even the emperor himself is himself an endired blood mage with far more power than I'll ever know. Only those that survive the blending make it. As much as we value technology and progress, we are still ruled by ancient ways."

"So you want to restore the old order?" Shamus asked, scratching the back of his head.

"By no means," Horace said, scoffing. He held out his hands. "This, this is far better than anything we could have come up with on our own."

"What?" Shamus asked. Ash, blood, and water mixed together in the swampy battlefield. Half-dead soldiers lay stricken and dying on the ground. This wasn't much to look at.

"The frost mages erased magic from the world thousands of years ago, and then departed from civilization. In ancient times, frost mages conquered the world. They rooted out all forms of magic other than their own. Then they left. The world was forced to grow up without magic or even superstition."

Shamus scratched his head.

"Sound shockingly dull?" Horace said. "Yet it was brilliant. The world flourished. Science. Progress. Not tied down by the crutch of magic, people were forced to innovate. The Flintlock Empire is the primary beneficiary of that technological progress."

"Interesting, Shamus said.

"Yes, of course," Horace said. "But we could never let common people rule themselves. Under the secret influence of blood magic, we've influenced the course of that scientific progress to enhance that which we value most — death."

Shamus stood silently, unsure of what to say.

"The march must go on," Horace said. . We have armies ready to die for us. All without the use of magic."

"But I thought you just said," Shamus said. "That you're a blood mage, and we use dire soldiers."

"Yes," Horace said. "Because it helps to have a little bit of an edge every now and then. But it's certainly not something for the masses. Only the strongest can handle real magic, which now includes you, Shamus. You're one of us. If you survive and help me destroy Hailstone Keep. The real Hailstone Keep."

"But how can we possibly destroy something like that?" Shamus said.

"By raising an army," Horace said. "Of dire soldiers and things far more powerful. You'll see. You have to fight fire with fire. Or, in this case, magic with magic. We'll either win or die, driving an assassin's stake through their heart. Either way we win. We're already dead anyway."

"Through blending?" Shamus said. "What does that mean?"

"Blending," Horace said, his hands clasped behind his back. "Is exactly as it sounds. It's the comingling of essence. Mine and yours. Every magic has its base liquid element. For a frost mage, it is water. For a blood mage, it is blood."

"That sounds," Shamus said, grimacing. "Disgusting."

"And yet you've never experienced such power," Horace snapped, his eyes turning red. "Blood magic is by far the most powerful form of magic in its fullest form, yet it is also the most costly."

Shamus scratched his head.

"You'll learn eventually," Horace said.

"So you've made me powerful? But how?"

"This," Horace said, pointing to the soldiers. "Is the tip of the iceberg. True blood magic can transform. But it requires...sacrifices."

Shamus cocked his head. "What kind of sacrifices, sir?"

"Any kind of blood sacrifice," the general said. "Animal sacrifices work, but they can be messy. Occasionally, animals survive and become endired. Then they can spread it to other creatures in the wild. Not a great result. Too imperfect."

Shamus gulped. This was a dirty secret. "Are you saying that the Flintlock Empire is murdering its own people?"

"I suppose," Horace said. "It depends on how you define a person. Is a dying man on his last legs without full consciousness really a person any longer? Is a homeless drunk a full person? Even more so, consider a murderer or a rapist. Hasn't such a person who's committed atrocities relinquished a right to be called a person. This is a very difficult question, you see."

Shamus wasn't sure what to make of it. It seemed...wrong. But who was he to question this man? "Aren't we committing atrocities?"

"Perhaps," Horace said. "But such a question depends on perspective. We are higher life forms. Immortals. Gods."

Shamus tilted his head.

"Besides," Horace said, brushing his shoulders. "We find ways to sacrifice without disturbing society too much. We cannot encumber progress and stability. The old and dying can be finished off, the homeless can be recycled, prisoners can be executed. You see, the killing must continue. But we find ways to make it efficient. Neat."

Shamus started to shake his head. He wasn't fully buying the general's argument. Even if he was himself dead now too.

"Consider also," Horace said. "The civilization we've granted the world. We've just conquered Capascatia to the south. What was the state of their country when we arrived?"

Shamus stroked his chin. "Medieval," he said. "A thousand years behind our own."

"Exactly," Burns said. "You see, the Flintlock Empire perfectly combines the most powerful form of magical rule with advances in science and technology. We've figured out how to synthesize the two ways of life in a way that the frost mages never could. We've blended two principles that allow us to deliver the perfect society."

"But all this," Shamus said. He glanced around, looking at the death and destruction all around. "Is it really necessary?"

"Of course it is," Burns said. "You can't make an omelet without cracking eggs. We need death to fuel our powers. And to fuel progress. But I see you are not convinced. So I'll let you in on a deeper secret. The reason for our entire campaign."

"What is that?" Shamus said curiously.

"We don't like killing," Burns said. "Well, some do, but that's not the point. We've realized there are more potent ways of fueling blood magic."

"Not sure I understand," Shamus said.

"There are two things that make a death more powerful to us," Horace said.

"Such as?" Shamus asked.

"The first is a willing victim," Horace said. "That's often what determines whether blood sharing successfully endires a soldier. Those who resist cannot become endired."

Interesting. That was perhaps why Shamus has been so successful. He enjoyed having these new powers. Five, to some extent, he also enjoyed killing with these powers. The bloodlust ran strong within him. "And the other way?" he asked.

"Perhaps you can figure it out," Horace said. "I'll give you a hint, despite what you're taught in school, not all people are created equal. Far from it."

Shamus pondered the point. Suddenly, it hit him. The Flintlock Empire killed in battle, yes. But it ordinarily didn't kill the peoples it subjugated. Except one type of person in particular. "Frost mages," Shamus said.

Burns' lips curled upward to one side. "Exactly."

"That's why we're hunting them," Shamus said. "Killing Frostmarked grants some sort of power to you?"

"A single frost mage," Horace said. "Is worth a thousand normal soldiers. It's enough to create an army of dire soldiers or a dozen monstrosities that on their own would level entire villages."

"That's why you're here then," Shamus said. "It's a way to grow your power."

"My power would rival the Flintlock Emperor's if we destroyed Hailstone Keep," Burns said, his eyes glowing red. "But even if we don't, I'll settle for a dozen outlying villages."

Shamus looked down at the frost mage girl on the ground. He thought he should feel sick to the stomach, but Horace was right. He'd been taught from his youth that frost mages were the enemy. They weren't real people, having given up their rights to be considered human through their practice of this hateful art — frost magic.

Strangely, his heart didn't even beat as he pondered her sacrificial fate. His blood didn't pulse. Perhaps that was what being dead felt like? "Do you want me to finish her then?" Shamus asked.

"No," Horace. "It is better if I do it." The powerful general walked toward the girl, who was slouched down on the ground. Horace pulled out his knife.

Shamus watched without feelings. It was as if his emotions had been ripped clean out of him. Was he even a man anymore after what Horace had done to him?

As he observed the general, Shamus realized why for so many years of his military career he had been asked to hunt the Frostmarked. His orders had always been to keep them captive while awaiting a senior officer. That was why this frost mage girl was still alive. She had been one of the prisoners kept outside the encampment. Waiting for the right person to execute her.

Shamus had killed the occasional frost mage, of course. When no senior endired officials were nearby, the mages were executed on the spot. But Shamus was now an endired officer himself. Five, did that mean that Shamus would start to absorb powers now when killing them? He wasn't sure.

As questions raced through Shamus' mind, Horace lifted his knife into the air, staring at it like it was some sort of prized possession. The general's eyes burned red as he then bent over and pulled the girl up by her hair. She was fair-skinned and still unconscious. General Burns looked his knife over for a brief moment, his eyes flicking between the weapon and the girl.

Then he plunged it into her heart.