Magnolia in the Mold (Closed)

[Mathias]

Mathias felt Morian's hidden gaze pierce him, as the robed lich looked over the young vandal. He knew he was being scrutinized and inspected, with his captor taking in the details of change since the last time they met. "To be honest, I'm somewhat glad you've eluded me. The Syndicate is going to have a much easier time finding all of your allies, since you've started to unite them," he said. His voice was cold, hoarse, and airy. It sounded hollow, and yet, it evoked a feeling like needles digging into one's spine whenever it was heard.

"Fuck you," Mathias said, spitting into the folds of the shadow-enveloped hood. A cackle erupted from whatever was left of the necromancer's throat, and that laugh did more to break down Math's confidence than waking up in this place. To him, that was the sound of captivity and slavery. It was the one thing that completed the realization that he, despite his running and evasion, was back in Hell.

"Yes... that is what I expected. It's a shame, though... It seems you haven't been keeping diligent in the pursuit of reaching your potential. You should be thankful you've landed back in my hands, Mathias Vinkuzri... Yes... you will thank me someday." The lich turned his back to the planeswalker, who thrashed and rattled his chains, screaming curses and shouting until his voice went hoarse. Morian floated, slowly and leisurely, towards Lillian. "And a fine specimen, too, my young prodigal has found for me," he mused, reaching out a skeletal hand, draped in gray and rotten flesh, caressing her cheek with a phalange. "It seems to me that you have an impressive array of abilities... very unrefined, however. You're going to be a very fun case to work on." With that, he took his leave of the room, the door slamming shut and blocking out the voice of the still-screaming Mathias.

...

"You might think this is cruel, or sadistic... but I want you to face this. I want you to face me, and tell me that what I'm doing isn't for your own good. It isn't making you better than what you are," said Morian, leaning over and staring Mathias directly in the eyes. The young man was certainly glad the magic shadows that covered the lich's face were ever-present... because the last thing he wanted right then was to look into the folds of that hood and see that gruesome visage. Through the pain, Math grunted, his voice breaking as he tried to hiss out a hate-filled vow, but it was lost to the agony.

Needles was a creature that resembled something once long-ago human. He was short, hunched over, and had red flesh that seemed bruised and burnt and raw, all at once. He was mostly bald, with stringy strands of hair matted to his scalp, and enormous bulging eyes, split by a big nose and underlined by a crooked, insidious smile. But his hands - that's where his namesake was from. Implanted into him, grafted into his anatomy, were needles that had replaced his fingers. He had the ability to retract and extend them at will, and thus, he was a perfect vehicle for the bloodletting experiments.

"Now, I have yet to figure out why... but you want to be Human. I'm still wrapping my mind around how it works, but your magic allows you to be Human. And yet... you are not one. Not in the least. Your flesh and your blood only seem as such because that's what it needs to look like. For all intents and purposes... you have a truely Human body. But beyond that mask and intricately woven facade is magic. Pure, untouched, completely raw and unrefined magic," Morian explained. His voice was a mock-sort of soothing, as if he were a mother at a child's bedside, calming her babe who had come down with a fever. It was a twisted sort of fake comfort, only done for the irony and comedy it provided to the lich.

"So, if we draw out the blood... if we force it to show itself as what it really is... as mana... as the essence of magic... you will slowly find your body leaning towards the tendency to display its true form. You will become, instead of a false, if convincing, Human being... instead, a conduit. An unbound nexus of the Tap."

The pain was excruciating, although Mathias could not help but hear every single word uttered from Morian's lips. He tilted his head away from the necromancer to look at Lillian, chained to the wall and helpless. He locked eyes with her, hoping to find some sort of comfort or haven inside that gaze... he wanted her to be able to give him the strength and fortitude to endure... As their eyes met for one brief moment, the vandal stopped screaming. He grit his teeth, but he stopped his banshee wail of agony, finding the solace he needed in her averting eyes and the concern and sorrow they held.

But Mathias knew from experience that this was barely even the beginning for himself. The torment he was suffering was only a fraction of the long and bleak road ahead of him - a path he had no choice but to be dragged along on.

[Ataraxis]

How long had it been, she wondered, since Mathias first started screaming? Lillian had witnessed every excruciating second, had no choice but to watch as the boy’s flesh was lanced open again and again by the claws of his torturer, each dark drop of his blood collected into a pewter bleeding bowl for future, ungodly uses. At the beginning, she had seen him struggle against the agony, repressing his cries whenever their eyes crossed as if from each of those shared moments, he could derive a thimble of strength.

But with each laceration, with each stab of those skittish needles, a chip of his resolve would come away, carried off by the bleeding of his body and the bleeding of his mind.

Sometimes, the misshapen creature holding him at its mercy would laugh in rat-like jitters, a warning that its pea-sized brain had schemed new and creative ways to misinterpret the tasks given by its master. It would carve strange designs into the raw flesh or incise it with blood-stained obscenities, but the being known as Needles found his greatest enjoyment in removing patches of skin, either by grating or by peeling. Needles would then store them in its oily pockets, where they joined an assortment of other gruesome trophies – old knot of hair, countless broken teeth, removed fingernails that were chipped and oozing. There were even pieces that, through the fabric of its linen pants, vaguely resembled the shape of earlobes. Each of these sick rituals would end with the creature smiling like a bastard child of rodent and hyena, mumbling about birds, stones, erotic thrills and a copious dinner before returning to its work like an artist to his masterpiece.

Without the sifts of sand or the tick-tock of a clock, Lillian could not guess the time it took for the lich to finally grow weary of the repetitious spectacle. “That will be enough for now, Needles… be on your way,” Morian said in a dusty, hollow sigh as he turned to Mathias. The hunchbacked creature bowed in deference before simply slinking out the cell with a limp and a wicked grin. “Why you feel so strongly for your mortal coils is still a foolish mystery to me… yet I am forced to admit that, were I to bleed you any further, you would run a very likely risk of believing yourself into lethal haemorrhage.” Shrugging with a groan of bones, the necromancer adopted the world-weary tone of a teacher faced with his trouble student. “Are you starting to see? How ridiculous it is? How silly?”

Morian was almost dejected by his test subject’s lack of repartee. Upon paying a tad more heed to the boy, the lich realized with disappointment that beneath the clotting of his blood-matted hair and distant, deadbeat eyes, Mathias was tenuously hanging to the edge of consciousness, his mental grasp slipping with every piercing breath and jarring heartbeat. “To say I hoped your time outside had made you stronger… but here you are, already seeking your last breath on the very first day.”

His voice became sharper, almost acrid. “Then, shall I wake you up, Vinkuzri? Shall I give you reason to postpone yet another of your pathetic deaths?”

“Go fuck…” Mathias grunted, spitting out to the side a ball of blood and phlegm. “… yourself.”

“What a kind service, reminding me so of the few… drawbacks of attaining Lichdom.” The necromancer turned his back to Mathias, slowly drifting away without a sound. “But trust that mine is no common undeath: whereas the pleasures of the body may die and decay, the pleasures of the mind are forever honed.” Reaching the wall opposite to Mathias, Morian outstretched a rot-infested hand with skin grey as that of waterlogged corpses. It took hold of the prevalida chains bound to Lillian’s shackles, playing with the pale blue links that rattle under its touch like crystal rain. “The loss of a sense sharpens the others, renders them keener, more acute…” He yanked on the chains, hoisting the girl to a painful stand as the fractured bones in her arms were tugged apart.

Lillian shrieked. Tears of pain came to her eyes, but they only urged him on – fuelled his sadistic needs. “Loss opens you to new realms of sensation, and practicing the old…” The delight in his sandy voice was no longer mimicry; he shook the chains further up, forcing the girl to stand on her tiptoes. His free hand hovered near her neckline, grazing it with the tip of an exposed phalanx. It was alluringly delicate, despite the blood and grime marring her skin. So delicate, in fact, that it was hard not to reach out… and snap it. “Practicing the old can procure new heights of satisfaction. Do you understand, Vinkuzri? Or shall I make her understand? Shall I wake her instead?”

“Leave her the fuck alone!” Mathias snapped, but his outburst of rage caused a violent fit of coughing that painted the stone cold floor a vivid shade of red.

“Ah, but I intend no unnecessary harm to her – as I said before, she is quite the specimen.” He turned to look the girl in the eyes, intent on drinking every last drop of the fear and terror. Instead, he met a steadfast gaze that betrayed no delusion or flimsy bravado, and behind it lay something… unnervingly indescribable. “However…” Morian continued after a wary pause, facing Mathias once more, “she remains expendable. I trust that you will be more cooperative, what with the, ah, sanctity of her body, mind and soul depending solely on your good behaviour.”

“Now... are we agreed?”

Mathias slumped back on a wall that felt colder than it had ever been. His lacerated arms were straining with silent fury, the angry rattle of his bindings but a pale reflection of the murderous compulsions that stormed within. To keep his silence like this was preposterous, for it was an admission of defeat. Yet, he could say no more, for that would spell Lillian’s most unpleasant demise.

And he knew... Morian would have no hesitation whatsoever to use the slightest slip of the tongue against him. Against her.

“Are we agreed, Vinkuzri?”

“Yes,” Mathias answered at last, lowering his head. “We are.”

[Ataraxis]

“Just lovely, when we can all get along,” said the lich in a poor, hoary excuse for a singsong voice. “Now, miss… Lillian, I believe? Please, do accept my humblest apologies for making you wait. There were a few loose ends left that I just had to tie… which you might agree is a rare and commendable quality in such a world of, ah, laissez-faire?” Alas, the teenager showed little to no interest in his prelude. When it seemed he was cursed to receive no honest reply from his captives, the necromancer shrugged and trained the topic back to the crux of their business, albeit with a touch of disappointment.

“You, my dear, intrigue me,” he began, finally letting go of the chain from which Lillian dangled. The teenager fell to her knees and collapsed in a heap there and then, yet there was still no reaction from the girl. “That a fair child, so young and so fragile, can call upon the strength of a colossus at the drop of a hat… and that this very same child knows how to weave sorcerous webs with a tensile strength far superior to that of steel, from the results my latest analyses…”

“… Is nothing short of wondrous. Perhaps, even… divine?” Morian was lurching over her, and she could sense the twist of his wicked smile beneath that darkling hood: he had caught a sudden glitter in her dismal blue eyes, and that alone ascertained his assumption. “So, you do know more of this Welkin Body than you let on at the pier. Ah yes, I was observing you both – nothing uncharacteristic of any scholar worth his salt, wouldn’t you say? But oh, I digress. Divine… you reacted to this choice of wording. You know it to be… accurate, but you wish it to be… erroneous. Now why is that? Is it because your powers are, as of yet, unrefined, or is it that you are not able to control them? Then, is it that you … fear them?”

“Do you think by listening to the sound of your own voice, you’ll be able to get what’s left of it up?” Lillian asked with a faint tilt of her head.

“That language is a lovely shade on you, dear. At least, much more than it is on him. But I agree: the time for idle conversation is long past. I have my own theories on the mechanics of your powers – and, conveniently enough, I know a number of ways to test and measure them. Though I must warn you… none of them are pleasant!”

Not so long ago, Lillian had been introduced to the pain of being stabbed through by the length of a sword. She remembered it vividly, the cold slip of metal inside her stomach, then the overwhelming feeling of loosening and unravelling in that puncture wound. Still, there was mercy in that pain, for such sharpness offered both quick relief and, sooner or later, sweet release. This… was not so. This pain was of a brutal kind, like beasts of thunder running amok inside her body, laying waste to everything as they devoured her from within. Five rips in her dress, five widening tears in her flesh. Five skeletal fingers buried into her abdomen, squelching left and right in a visceral search for clues and answers.

Lillian doubled over, retching a mixture of scallop bites and scarlet blood. Her life was pouring, pouring through those five, gaping, darkening wounds in her stomach. She thought she heard a scream, but she had only heard herself as if from a great distance, and drifting further away. Mathias… he answered with his own furious roar, but it too was dulled by the numbing of her mind. And then, there was laughter… Morian. Morian was… chuckling. Not guffawing madly, but chuckling with such peace of mind and light-heartedness that it disturbed her. How? How could he be laughing so innocuously after gutting her alive?

The necromancer began to pull out his fingers one by one, each accompanied by a wet pop and spurt as streams of warm, red mists rushed to fill the void they left. Lillian’s knees struck stone, and this time there was nothing controlled in her demeanour: she was repressing the screams, biting the pain down so hard her gums began to bleed. The image of guts sliding, the thought of their stench, of the bleeding, of the cascading viscera … though none of that happened, she still seemed overwhelmed by the mental shock, writhing there on the dank and dirty floor.

Lillian struggled madly against the pain, but the fire was slowly guttering in her eyes, their lights doused by the darkness until the girl moved no more.

“I always enjoy a good act,” Morian said in jest, wiping the sheen of blood on his hands over the folds of his black robes. “But I have a keener eye for deception than my lackeys. Child, I don’t need a sense of touch to know when I meet resistance.” He unceremoniously picked up her carcass by the neck, dragging her left and right before lifting her high overhead. “Your arms were broken when I first pulled on your chains, but they felt more solid the second time. Moreover, in your abdomen… I struck something.” And then, he saw it, saw the dark gloss beneath all the blood like liquid shadows.

“Impressive… you weaved your webs inside your own body. And not only are they harder than steel, but they can also heal. No… regenerate.” Indeed, the five wounds were already growing smaller, and the bleeding had been promptly stalked by that gauze of webs.

“You... talk... too much!”

Her left fist sailed straight for his face, though it was stopped by the sudden tensing of her restraints. The blue-metal was too strong to be broken, even by her strength it seemed. Perhaps that was why Morian had not budged even when her balled hand came inches from the swirling shadows of his cowl: because he was confident in the effectiveness of his preparations. It was with that same confidence that he stood his ground as she made a second futile attempt. A third. Then another. And another. He could already hear the gasps of fatigue, feel her rage wear out, see the flaming blood in her eyes cooling down to a deathly cold.

He could also feel a chip of stone bounce off his chest.

With her seventh strike, the wall neatly broke apart where the chains had been affixed. She threw her body into powerful spin, every muscle in her body spasming as she turned her bindings and the fragment of rock at its end into speeding ball and chain aimed for Morian’s temple. They collided with ludicrous force, on par with the sheer force of a small cannonball: the lich’s skull flattened and shattered inside the hood before the balled pieces flew away, tearing off the cowl’s fabric as they careened for the opposite wall. The debris crashed and were ground into even smaller pieces, which then rained down and pelted a dumbfounded Mathias like a storm of salt.

What they saw lying in the rags of torn black cloth, alas, resembled nothing of a decapitated head. All she could see were chinks of clay and clotted blood, lumped into the vague shape of a head and topped with a wilted shock of grizzled, mismatched hair.

“Why, that deserves a golden star, miss Lillian!” came Morian’s disembodied voice from the shattered remnants that clung to Mathias and his blood-soaked clothes. “By observing your quick disposal of my puppet, I have come to understand two things about you.”

“First, is that you have yet another asset to you arsenal: your mind. I made it clear from the beginning that you could not break the chains, but rather than despair on this insurmountable hurdle, you merely chose to break the walls – a choice obvious only in hindsight. Not only that, but you also turned your shackles into weapons, which exceeded my expectations. My highest compliments. Really.”

“Second, and more relevant to my interests, is that your strength relies on two conditions: powerful emotions… and luck. What is more, this strength is ultimately more harmful to you than anyone else. As I had thought, an unrefined power… but I must still thank you for your invaluable cooperation. After all, these tests have provided absolute proof that my initial conjectures were correct – conjectures, that is, on the nature and workings of your abilities.”

“Shut up,” Lillian snarled in between heavy breaths, swaying dazedly on her feet.

“Ah, and this explains why you fear your powers. You are afraid of what people will think of them… or rather, of the way you acquire them. How adorable.” Morian laughed, his gravelly voice momentously blurred by interference in whatever channel of communication had been implanted in his double. Lillian stayed her tongue, obviously troubled by what Morian had revealed… troubled by the pressure of Mathias’ enquiring eyes. “Until the next session, Mathias Vinkuzri, and… miss Wendigo.” A loud burst of static, and silence returned to their dank and mouldy cell.

“Lillian,” Mathias whispered after a moment, when he was certain that Morian’s presence had left the necromantic puppet. The wounds on his body were still bleeding, and his maddened shouts when he believed she had been killed had worsened many of his injuries, but the boy remained conscious through sheer willpower, if only for this moment to speak. It was, however, very unfortunate that he was too tired to coherently word what he wanted to ask. “What just… and what did he… and, Wendi… go?”

Though no words were spoken thereafter, there had been a meeting of eyes. Much like during the time he had been tortured, she hoped that it would give him a morsel of strength, just enough to last the coming days. Just… just a little while longer…

In his answering gaze, he complied. Yeah. Just a little longer… and you’ll tell me everything.

With that, he slipped into unconsciousness, at last submitting to the long overdue call of slumber. Lillian followed him mere instants later, and in the dying lights of her mind, she repeated a last lucid though, on and on, in the rhythm of a guardian mantra.

Everything… after we escape. Everything…

[Mathias]

Mathias opened his eyes and realized that his body was slumped against a wall and his head was staring down at the cold gray stones of his cell. Groggily shaking his head and looking about, he saw Lillian sitting across the room, her knees drawn up to her chest and gazing down in an absent-minded daze. "Hey," the planeswalker strained to say, groaning a bit as he tried to will his body to start working. "How long have you... ah... been awake?" he asked.

"A while," she replied shortly. Her eyes didn't lift to meet his.

The awkward silence that overtook them had already grown familiar to the two, and they knew that there would be a great deal of it in the coming days. The solitude was, for Mathias, unwelcome. It was full of foreboding and ominous tension that weighed heavily upon the young man. He was wrestling with himself over the guilt that he felt about Lillian's involvement... the condition she was in. She did not deserve to be here... What she was experiencing was not a destiny she was supposed to be involved in. Mathias felt he had inadvertantly drawn her into a hell that had been made for him and him alone.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm... I'm so god damn sorry. You... you shouldn't be here. This.. it's all my fault. Fuck, I'm such an idiot," he said, burying his face in his hands. He grit his teeth and choked back the tears that were preparing to flood out his eyes - he let out an exasperated, frustrated combination of a howl and groan.

"Hey," she said softly. Her voice barely broke through into Math's thoughts and he looked up from his hands to meet her gaze. Her crystalline eyes seemed like glass to shatter, wetted by tears and full to burst. "Let's... let's stop apologizing to one another? Okay?" she said, forcing a contrite smile.

"Okay," he replied. "Can we... can we try something?"

"What?" Lillian asked, regarding him with a confused look on her face.

"Let's try talking. Like we were, before, on the pier. Honest. Amiable... before I... Can we talk about ourselves... to keep our minds off of this?" he asked, stumbling over his words. He was about to seek forgiveness once more for the things that he had said to her and the harshness of what had actually been said.

The scholar shifted the position in which she was sitting. "Alright," she said. "You go first."

Mathias sat for a moment, pondering the perfect question to begin with. After a bit of silent deliberation he asked, "Do you have any family?"

"I used too," she said bluntly.

"Shit... I'm sor.. rrr, you know," the vandal muttered stupidly, bumbling about with what he was unable to grasp and convey in words.

"It's fine," she told him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "They died when I was eight. They went out to the desert.. to look for something." She paused and took in a breath, sitting pensively. She brought up her tone to as chipper as the circumstances could allow her to be, and she went on. "An old man named Merkah took me in. He owned the town library, and he was like... a sort of one-man family to me."

Mathias smiled at her weakly. He tried to chuckle and shook his head. "So that's why you seem like such a bookworm."

She smiled back, and shrugged. "How about you? I mean... do you? Considering you're a... an avatar."

"No parents, obviously. But I had a brother. A polar opposite. We didn't get along... to say the least. I used to be known as one of the Rogue Brothers - I was one half of it. The other was a friend who was like a brother to me. His name was Torin. Now, though, I'm a member of the Scara Scourge. I'm a Chapter - it's what they call someone who leads a chapter," Mathias explained, rambling on without any real direction as he reviewed the events of his life that had led him to this point; how he could trace all these things back to his brother, Ramirez.

"Not a very imaginative group are you?" Lillian poked.

Mathias shrugged. "Not really. But, it fits. But, yeah... so. We're a group of six. There's Cleric... you actually kind of remind me of her. She's a meek, shy, scholarly type, like you. About as cute, too, but eh. And Fingers and Knuckles. They're good guys... Logo, he's like... an apprentice, sort of. And then there's Lady. She's... she's hard to describe. An Elf, way out of Raiaera. But if it werent' for the ears and eyes and beauty. Shit, you couldn't ever tell. She's a bit more Human than any of us, I'd say."

Lillian reflected on all he said, absorbing it all slowly. She looked down at the ground and smiled weakly. "Sounds like a tight-knit group."

"Yeah... kind of," Mathias said simply.

"So, my turn, then," the librarian announced. "Is Morian... he's probably listening, isn't he?"

"Kind of a waste of a question, don't you think? It's pretty obvious," Mathias said.

"No, that's not... that wasn't my question question. But, should we really be... talking like this?"

"Uhm... I'm pretty sure he doesn't give a shit about our life stories," he replied somewhat bluntly. He grinned sardonically and shook his head.

"Well... I wanted to ask... how did you escape last time?"

At that moment, a groan resounded from Math's left. Almost jumping out of his skin, he looked over to the set of manacles which held the corpse, only to see it move about. "What in the hells?" he said, his voice shaking. The body started to rise, and then collapsed, letting out a long, husky sigh. "By the Sway," he cursed. "Scared the piss out of me."

Lillian nodded in solemn agreement, her eyes also wide with fear. They sat for a long time, observing the corpse in anticipation of it moving again. When the both of them were rather settled, she attempted again to ask him her question. "So... escaping? What happened? Could you do it again if Morian knew how?"

Mathias looked at her and smiled. "That's nothing he doesn't know already. But... it was my crew. They found my caravan when I was being hauled between the Duke I had to work for. I was on my way back to Scara Brae... to here... when they attacked it and released me. So... fat chance of that happening down here," he said.

As soon as he did, he regretted it. It definitely made the situation seem much more hopeless than they were trying to convince themselves.

[Ataraxis]

They fell deeply quiet after that, though not from a lack of topics to tackle or questions to address. It was clear on their faces, how troubled and concerned they were about the predicament they were in: though they had attempted to ignore it with their simple, everyday conversations, the two were no less the unfortunate captives of a deranged necromancer, a sadistic, self-proclaimed scholar who felt no compunction in shattering the walls between empirical trial and egregious torture – in fact, Morian even seemed to take hair-raising pleasure in doing so.

When they would hear the cold, dead wail of that slatted door, when they would next see the darkness staring sinisterly from his hood, and what cruelties the lich will have prepared for them, what it would do to them… Lillian wanted to know, if only to prepare for the worst, but she also feared this wicked knowledge, feared even the slightest hint of it. Mathias… he had tasted it before, and for how long? He had tasted it, and the disquiet carved into his expression was proof that knowing in advance would offer no measure of help or comfort.

The more she brooded over these matters, the more she grew sick of her surroundings, of the incipient smell of rot and mold. Behind those layers of dust and dark grime, the walls enclosing them were impregnated with the stench of old sweat and even older blood, and soon it would drink theirs with the nauseating zeal of a thirsty whore. The emptiness was already beginning to wear her down, for the cell contained no more than its prisoners, their chains and their chamber pots, save for markings carved at the base of the walls - somewhat intriguing, but not quite nearly enough to break their dullness. Moreover, the notion of having to use those pots in the presence of another horrified her, and furthermore the idea that they would have to live with that stench until those pots were filled to the brim – if even that – was upsetting her frail stomach.

She could last a few days, having regurgitated her only meal in so long before passing out, and she doubted they would be given proper meals to speak of… but this was all too silly, she suddenly realized, chiding herself for being such an idiot. This was no question of pride or propriety: that had already been stolen from them along with their freedom. This was about lasting as long as they could, no matter what, until they could find a means to escape. No matter how filthy and humiliated, how broken I become… no matter what.

“It’s your turn again.” Trawled from the darkness of her musings, Lillian had to blink thrice before returning to the outside world. Mathias was staring across the room with a soft glint of worry in his eyes, searching for her silhouette with what little light came through the door slats. “Are you okay? Ah, what am I saying… of course you’re not. I just meant that, if this is bothering you, well… Well we don’t have to continue, is what I’m trying to say."

“No, it’s not that. Sometimes my mind wanders off, and I… momentarily forget where I am. I’m fine, now.” If there was any victory she could claim this day, then it was how she managed to fool the boy with that dismissive lie, albeit a bitter victory indeed. “Alright, I think I have one. What are your aspirations for the future? Goals, life projects, anything like that? From what you just said, you have quite a curriculum, but I was wondering…”

“… Wondering if I did any of that because I wanted to in the first place, right?” Mathias answered, sighing in the dark. “Yes and no. I never felt any real compulsion to do anything specifically, that is… I have no ambition to do one and only one thing, and set my whole life on a predetermined path towards it. I guess what I have… you could call it wanderlust.” He paused to muse for an moment, in an attempt to formulate a more cogent explanation. “I’m… more of a drifter, always doing something, but never for too long and never with all my heart. Goals and projects… they don’t really mean much to me.”

“But, when you think of the future… it’s not just a blank slate, is it? You still want something, even if it’s not clear or tangible, don’t you?”

“Well, I guess you could say… you could say I just want to keep on living. Experiencing new things.” He gave his thoughts a pause, if only to clear his throat embarrassedly. “It’s a bit silly, but when I imagine the future, sometimes, I’m not on my own.”

“See a pretty, buxom lady at your sides?” Lillian quipped teasingly, attempting to whistle. Mathias gave her a mocking grin when she only managed an awkward sputter on her dry, cracked lips. “Settling down and having children, then? That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, maybe. And it’s a big maybe,” Mathias said a bit grumpily, sounding exhausted. “One, I’d have to actually find someone first, you know? And two, well… can I even have children? I’m not… missing anything, but ‘reproduction’ might not be there on the long list of human attributes a fragment of the Tap can mimic.”

“And you’ve never, uhm… tested it?” Lillian asked, a bit shyly.

“Well I… that is…” Mathias was stammering, visibly and audibly uncomfortable by this new direction. “You remember the rule you set? Nothing too… personal? I’d like to pull out that card now.”

“O-Oh, yes, okay. That’s alright, I have been asking you question after question, too…”

“Well what about you? Does anything stand out in your future?”

Upon asking, he witnessed a bright lightening of her countenance, which had been somewhat closed and remote until now. “Oh, there’s so much I... so much I want to do, yet I'm certain of so little. If I want to find a home and settle down, or if I should even care about finding, uhm, well, finding someone to come home to.” Though embarrassed, Lillian seemed to smile more and more genuinely, the expression on her face growing less tense by the second. “But... I do want to open a library somewhere in Fallien, and and fill it with rare books, manuscripts and scrolls, most of which I’ll have discovered on my own. There’s also going to be this immense dome, bigger than the one in Ankhas, and shelves will be lined up all around it on half a dozen – no, a dozen floors! There’ll be a laboratory and workshop annexed to it, where I’ll be able to research various phenomena, either magical or physical nature, with a team I'll have handpicked myself…

“Though, I also planned to start an orphanage in Knife’s Edge, for all the children I met on the streets - and it won’t be like those stuffy and strict establishments, but there’s going to be a quality cantina, and both facilities and the faculty necessary to provide them an education while they wait. There weren’t any when I was young, and there still aren't, so... I know what they feel, left like that to their own devices. When.. when people stop caring about you, you start not caring about them either, and that’s just… just…”

Unable to say it, she went on, the resolve deepening in her voice. “That’s why I have to do this. I’ll even teach there at the beginning, if I don’t gather up enough capital to start it. Oh, and wouldn’t it be great if it could also turn into a prestigious school in the end? But I’ll have to figure out how to get from the library in Fallien to the orphanage of Salvar under a day… And then I’d have to deal with the fact that very few people are allowed to visit Fallien in the first place, and…”

It finally came to her that she had been rambling on and on, and about things she had never dared to say to anyone before, in fear of being mocked and laughed at for her delusions of grandeur and her naïve ideals. “But you shouldn’t have to listen to all of this, especially when we’re here, like this. It’s just… it’s silly, I know.”

“What? N-No!” Mathias interjected, and quite strongly at that. “No, I didn’t say anything because I was… well I was impressed. Heck, I was damn impressed. Not only because you managed to say all of that without taking any visible breath, but also because… because that was really wonderful. When you asked me about my future, I only thought about myself, but yours – sharing knowledge, making the world a bit of a better place to live in for the little ones, and enjoying every moment of it… It’s huge, and so selfless.”

“What if I’m just being selfless for selfish reasons?” Lillian murmured, somewhat unconvinced.

“You are,” Mathias said, bluntly. “If you weren’t, then you’d just be an automaton. In that light, being selfish… it’s the good thing that makes us human, don’t you think?”

“Human,” Lillian repeated under her breath, contemplative. “I guess… we are,” she concluded in a more cheerful tone. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she managed a faint little smile. “Now isn’t that something.”

[Mathias]

Their conversation dwindled on in the dimly lit cell for a time. Idle chit-chat became the remedy for the dreariness of the situation and the distraction which allowed them some semblance of an escape from the harsh reality they were faced with. But as time wore away, so too did the amount of topics they had to discuss. Before long, they were once again sitting in silence, until it was broken by the opening of their cell door. The familiar cloaked figure of their tormentor drifted into the room and floated towards the planeswalker, until there was only a foot between them.

Mathias looked into the deep shadows of Morian's hood, knowing full well that he would be unable to gaze into the hellish visage beneath it. But the fact that there was no grotesque face to look at did nothing to lessen the ominous dread that permeated the air and ran its course through the planeswalker's body. For a moment, he looked away at Lillian, being escorted out by two hulking flesh golems - creatures grafted from various body parts and stitched together in a vile mockery of anatomy. From what Mathias could see of only one, it had a face made up of what seemed to be several, with clashing and unmatched skin tones and textures. Then, Lillian turned her head - their eyes met for just a moment, and it was enough for him to convey the unsaid message of hope. Be strong, he wished he could say.

When she left, all that remained was Morian and Mathias. "Today, I have an interesting experiment. One that I believe will be hysterically amusing. One I am sure that you will enjoy."

The young rogue thrashed against his chains as the necromancer reached out his hand to touch him. It glowed with a sickly, eerie green aura as it raked across his skin. He felt a chill run through his body, but with it, came ease and comfort. The sheer paradox of the situation caught him by surprise and he skeptically regarded Morian with fiery eyes. "Healing magic?" he asked cautiously. "A fucking corpse like you can actually mend something?"

The cowled figure laughed in his harsh, raspy tone. "How else could I give you the advantage? Stay your anger, little Vinkuzri. You must save your ire for your... exhibition," replied.

...

"I am not fighting her!" he screamed into the darkness. The chains binding his manacles were released, although the cold iron bracers remained shackled to his wrists. Though he was not bound to a wall, he knew well enough that there was an enchantment in place, coursing through the metal that bound him. It was sufficient enough to keep his magic in check - enough for use, but only by Morian's will. "And certainly not for your double damn amusement, you husk!"

Instead of being met with silence or mocking laughter, he was instead greeted by the unbearable grating of stones and gears working as a door opened up in front of him. An intense, bright light flooded through the threshold and washed over his unadjusted eyes so quickly that he had to raise his hand to his face to shield it. The chamber that he saw was a small, domed roof colosseum lit by floating spheres that hovered near the ceiling. On the opposite end of the room, a similar set of doors gave way and Lillian slowly shuffled out from the darkness.

You know, said a voice in the back of his mind. She is not who you think she is. How else could you explain it? How else would she know?

The very fabric of reality around Math's hand warped and bent, with black tendrils of energy being released from his clenched fist. In it, Lysander was willed to the material plane, retrieved from whatever pocket realm it had been stored in. His trustworthy sword glinted in the light, its polished steel blade reflecting perfectly. It was mounted into a beautiful gold hilt and set in the crossguard was a crystalline black onyx. "You're normally an emerald," observed Math, frowning. He was used to sarcasm and wit emitting from the personality inside the sword... but it was replaced by malice and contempt.

And you are normally a fucking pushover, old sport. It is time to wake up, Math. I have been sitting in that pocket plane, watching all this, and I have to say that I am pretty disgusted. Do you not see? You are being so damn pathetic over a lass who is the whole damn reason you are here, Lysander snapped back hastily.

"What the hell do you mean?"

It is highly unlikely that the Blackhoods would have found you immediately after your first fight. But even if they did... what about the Hunter? It was waiting for you. It was there. And why did she choose you for a fight? Of all the other warriors there, why was it you? And armed with a poison that inhibits magic. YOUR magic. YOUR very being. She is his puppet, and she has been all along. Open your eyes, mate.

Mathias knew that Lysander was saying what he was really thinking, deep and buried in his subconcious. He also knew he had a lot of unasked and unanswered questions and plenty of doubts to go alongside them. But if what his alter-ego was saying was true... why was she here, suffering alongside him? You are his pet project. You are a god in the making. Like he gives two shits and a shake about her. She is expendable, he said. You... you are being tempered. He is making you stronger... technically... you could say that this... is a chance for vengeance. Vindication. Redemption.

This is his gift to you.

[Mathias]

The more Mathias thought about it, the more it began to make sense to him. After all, what could possibly be more appealing than the thought of harnessing a living embodiment of the Eternal Tap itself? The Dvaita's poison ran a phantom course through him, and he remembered the agony that it had caused him. That whole fight, he had felt helpless and totally at her mercy. He had known that feeling so well... he had learned it from Morian himself. Linking two and two together, it slowly became truth to him that Lillian was one of the lich's many puppets, and that his recapture had been organized. That all of their suffering together was a test of his willpower, personal strength, and resolve. How long would it take before he cracked? What would be the final straw, under heaps and heaps of lies, torture, revelations, and abuse?

To him, this epiphany had served it. Gripping Lysander in his hands, he began walking towards his opponent - an enemy turned friend turned back to enemy. "Are.. are you really going to do this, Math?" she asked, staring him down. He could see her shake in a very slight way, and he knew that she was drained - not even close to being up to strength. But it didn't matter to him. He was thinking of himself, now... for once, he was going to be selfish and partake in the lust for battle that he had so adamantly refused to indulge in before now. This was going to be his step towards becoming Morian's weapon... and he was going to use it to his advantage and then take his turn at killing the bastard himself. It would be his opportunity... he'd take it when he saw it. If that meant playing as his pawn for a while, then so be it.

Lillian brought up her arms and weaved several thick, black links of web between her wrists, catching Mathias' blade as he brought it down. Her knees buckled as she averted the oncoming force to the side, and Mathias stumbled forward a bit, his boots scraping along the cold limestone of the dungeon floor as he attempted to stop himself. But what he caught a glimpse of... was her pain. He had yet to even truly attack, and he saw her wince... How perfect that her wrists must still be broken, and every ounce of strength left in her would be made defending against what would be his complete onslaught.

That is right, old sport. Let us see you really angry. Let us take a view at the real you. The Planeswalker, Mathias. I know you have got it in you. I have got it in me... and I am you. Let us be a monster, Lysander whispered into his mind.

The vandal turned towards Lillian as she scuttled away from him as best she could, to no avail. He took two great strides towards her and brought his sword down again, meeting with more strands of webbing. She tried to divert him again, but he followed her parry and rammed his shoulder into her, knocking the wind out of her and pushing her back several steps. With a great heave of his strength, he lifted his blade back up again and swung towards her before she could recover.

A loud thwack resounded as the flat of his blade crashed against her skull, sending the young librarian's assistant sprawling to the ground. Her body lay strewn across the cold floor and her body convulsed. A hollow satisfaction coursed its way through Mathias, and he frowned. His victory was a bit too empty... it wasn't feeling as good as it should. The monstrous force that occupied him wasn't sated in the least. Was there supposed to be more blood? More agony? Cries of pain or something? He wasn't used to causing true anguish... He was a combatant trained in decisive blows and calculating strikes. Not woe or suffering.

Jolly good show, old sport, said that all too familiar voice that cut through his thoughts and brought him back to reality. Turning away from Lillian, he looked upwards towards the glowing spheres of light.

"Are you happy now, master?" he said, his voice full of venom and seething hatred.

The dark figure of Morian Fleshbane materialized slowly in front of Mathias, his sleeved arms folded and his head bowed. For a moment, a beam of light from the suspended globes above caught a glint of bone white through the shadows of the hood, and the planeswalker swore he saw the sadistic smile of Evil itself. "Not yet," the lich said, making a sweeping gesture of a point behind Math. A skeletal hand peaked out from the robes, the bony index finger extended and shooting an invisible line of direction.

The young man followed its indication and turned around to see Lillian, slowly rising to her feet. In one instant, the rogue's mind flooded with the very recent memories of their encounter with the Hunter, and the rage that had consumed her before he fell to the sway of unconsciousness. Shit, was the solemn thought that echoed through his mind.

[Ataraxis]

Why… why do we have to fight again?

This had been all she could think of, the only thing that occupied her weary mind as Mathias charged and hacked away. The bones in her arms and in her hands had broken twice, and their second mending was proving far more difficult than the previous one; she doubted she would manage a third. Each blow to those strings of web she used as a makeshift shield was answered with a yielding of sorts, almost audible to the girl, but definitely felt. By the end of this night, they would be permanently crooked – if she could even live through it, that is. Yet even with all this pain, all this fear of being crippled for the rest of her life, she could only think of how unfair the universe was being, of how tasteless it was for it to inflict such irony upon Mathias and her. The sheer guilt she had felt ever since causing his death in their battle… could it only be purged by her sound defeat at his hands? Is this karma, then? the girl asked herself with another wince, feeling the throb at the core of her broken bones. Must I die, now?

There was no need for her to answer this. She had known it ever since she held the man in her arms, ever since she had cried and cradled him to ease his passage into death. And so, in her mind, it was with a smile that she greeted the fall of the blade.

The library, the orphanage… only unfulfilled dreams… to keep me going. But, I guess… no more.

There was a numb ringing, then silence. Lillian felt the world shift around her, then a sudden pressure on her side. Warmth seeped from her wounded temple, trickling down her cheek as a raindrop from a leaf, warm from the summer's heat. Everything felt… soft, like the world after a great storm. Felt of devastation, yet also of a long awaited peace. The darkness before her eyes was not frightening, much to her surprise, but came as gently as a greeting from the door. But… what door? she wondered, before realizing the answer. The last one for me to cross… and, perhaps, the one that will finally lead me home.

But something felt strange. As her heartbeat faded away like a breeze of the past, she could sense behind her the growing pressure of a tempest to come. It was strong... a strong pulse that did not belong. Then, why does it feel so familiar? The quietude that surrounded her was disappearing, melting away as the currents brought in a storm of emotions, of pain and solitude she had done her best to repress, all throughout her life. Every ounce of negativity she had pushed behind those bolted doors, every painful memory she could never forget, but only push away into the darkest recesses of her mind, was resurfacing all at once. Resurfacing, and given life, given identity – given rage.

The world shifted beneath her once more, and she had the odd sensation that she was standing. Suddenly, the darkness parted before her eyes, and what had become her world of serenity was flooded with harsh light. Little by little, she could make out shapes in this luminous torrent, until she saw with horror the figures of both Morian and Mathias. What alarmed her most, however, was the fact that she saw them as if through a screen of thick, sanguineous red rather than with her own eyes. I remember… I remember this. This feeling. When I fought the Hunter… the exact same thing. But that means…

This time, it was not the world, but her whole body that shifted. Lillian could not understand; somehow, her legs had begun sprinting against her own volition. Within moments, she could see with such clarity the face of Mathias, see his eyes slowly widening as he noticed her presence. Her shoulder made contact with his sternum, and an instant later he was gone, vanishing beneath a cloud of dust and debris that fell from a stone wall a dozen feet away. Lillian screamed, though no sound seemed to permeate the world in which she was now inexplicably trapped.

“And so, with a bang, you return,” Morian said with an all too evident glee. “I remember your eyes, as red as carnations… much more enticing than your host's eyes, which on the contrary were as blue as the blood of the Hunter you eviscerated. Such an awful color, wouldn't you agree?” He seemed to approach with caution, unsure whether he would be knocked back the same way Mathias had been. There was no doubt he was yet another clay puppet, manipulated by whatever obscure necromantic powers the lich had mastered, but crafting these was most likely an arduous process that he would rather avoid repeating. “Not in the mood to talk? I know you have the capacity.”

“You won’t be enough, either,” Lillian heard herself say. While on some level, she had always known, it was something else to hear the third presence within herself speak through her own lips. Something highly... unnerving.

“I will take that as a good thing,” Morian answered, his tone amused. “Might I ask your name?”

“I am the Welkin.”

“Lies,” whispered both Lillian and the lich, the latter of which followed with his analysis. “You are neither miss Sesthal nor the enigmatic entity that is the source of her powers. You are… a fragment. Nascent. Incomplete. I even suspect that you are too underdeveloped to have fabricated yourself an identity, which is why the young miss remains in control of her body… most of the time,” he added in a crooked, singsong voice. “Yet, you are strong. You house her untapped potential, act as the limiter that keeps her from going beyond the limits of her meagre body… but you are not content. You seek… freedom.” In a transient ray of light, she caught a glimpse of his skeletal smile, frozen in death. “And freedom, I can offer you.”

“Freedom is no gift,” it whispered coldly, startling even the necromancer. "Freedom is a privilege, gained through the spilling of blood. Freedom… is taken.”

“Ah, then shall I offer you an opportunity?” The lich asked, extending with his decaying hand a dagger of blue steel. “The Dvaita, was it called? I would enjoy to observe its effects. If, however, you attempt to stab me, I would be sad to inform you that my body will quite likely spill nothing but dust. There is, however, one personage in this room – or the next – that may fit the bill.”

Without a word, it took hold of the metallic handle and began its slow march toward the unnatural scree under which Mathias was undoubtedly buried. Lillian watched the stone talus with fear, the desperation in her heart fighting the thimble of hope she had that the young man was still alive. Alas, with every second of stillness, this hope faltered like a candle in a storm.

As the being drew near, something shifted in the wreckage. A raging roar echoed through the chamber as the rubble exploded outward, behind which stormed the bloodied planeswalker. The strange blade he had conjured from nothingness was arcing for her neck and a possessed, almost fevered smile was drawn upon his lanced lips. There would be no parrying this strike, not without her webs.

And there was none, indeed.

It dodged, instead. Precisely, it threw Lillian’s body back, showing a measure of flexibility she herself was never aware of possessing. The blade sang inches above her curved abdomen, and the moment his arms were out of the way, the being followed the backward motion by a rapid lift of a leg – the girl’s heel struck his chin with a force that should have sent his head flying high. Both her feet had now left the ground, and another kick followed, this one aimed at his abdomen. He flew back once more into the dark depths of the shattered wall, right as she ended her reel and landed on her tiptoes with the poise of a gymnast. Without dawdling, it resumed its unhurried advance, lifting the Dvaita high overhead in preparation for a downward swipe. Mathias writhed beneath her, the hatred in his eyes painfully reminiscent of the loathing he expressed in their last, tragic bout. Not again, she cried within. He was only just beginning to forgive me… stop it, please. He’s being manipulated, I know it. He’d never… please, stop it!

You are not in control, the being answered defiantly.

Wind whisked. The dagger fell. Flesh tore open, and blood gushed freely. Lillian screamed.

The poison was set free, and it began its ravaging work once more. Only this time, it did so from inside her body. The pain was unbearable, and she could feel burst of chaos eat her from within, disrupting everything they met. However, it was her pain, her own, that she was feeling. "Who's not in control now… you… freak!" she hollered, digging the blade even deeper into her thigh. She was feeling fevered, nauseous, and her blood felt as glutinous as acid, but it worked. The same way she had suppressed Mathias' powers with the Dvaita, she had managed to suppress it, whatever it was, back to the confines of her mind. All it took was one moment, one single moment to overpower it with the strength of her willpower.

"Mathias…" she murmured, suddenly coughing blood. Her sight was growing blurry, and the dizziness was becoming too great to withstand. "I don't know… what he did to you… what he told you… but to me… nothing's changed." Carefully, she brushed the dripping blood from his mouth. "I'll still tell you… everything, after we… escape." She could see nothing now, the tears in her eyes blinding her to everything before her. "And I swear… I swear… we will."

The teenager screamed one last time, as the sheer torture of the poison finally overtook her. Unconscious, she fell to his side, her hands tainted thick with blood. Oddly, even with all the pain wracking her body, with all the sweat and the convulsions, there was still a ghost of a smile upon her lips. As she lay there, her hands clenched into little red fists, unseen by all – holding on tightly to this blood that was not hers.

Lillian smiled in her sleep, her hands and lips warm with the blood of Mathias.

[Mathias]

Mathias wondered when it was that he first realized he was awake, and how long before that had he just sat there, numb and stupefied. The cold iron bracers were clamped around his wrists, and he knew, without even having to check, that he was back in his cell, chained to the wall. Was he there, with Lillian? What did she say to him... before they both passed out? What had he been thinking? Lysander... inside of him. The sword that was merely an extension of his vast and untapped willpower, it had told him of his own subconscious suspicions. But it had brought them all out into a very bright and clear and utterly obvious light.

But now, it all seemed like paranoia. Completely manipulated, cultivated, and groomed angers, frustrations, self-doubts, and insecurities had welled up inside of him and then brought forth. It couldn't have been Lysander... its thoughts were not his... his sword may be a sentient being, but it was only a distorted reflection of Mathias, himself. No... it had to have been the lich. Morian. Was it even possible? Could that undead wizard affect and somehow corrupt the blade?

What was the point? To awaken the... Welkin thing? To test Mathias' martial prowess? All of these questions, and a dozen more, swirled around and around inside the planeswalker's head. Constantly, they pelted and belted, smashing and crashing against the walls of his will and fortitude, until he broke down and curled up into himself as best he could. He gritted his teeth as his eyes watered up, and he cursed himself for being so pathetic, so weak... so easily puppeteered into being his enemy's pawn... turning against the only one who was coming close to understanding him... the only one who was able to share this torture, to support him through it. What had he done?

Then, some chains rattled that were not the vandal's. Immediately, he sat up and looked over at Lillian, his eyes piercing the darkness as best they could. However, she was strewn across the ground, completely still and obviously unconscious. Math scanned the room and looked to his left, to the wall opposite the door. There, in the space that was previously occupied by a corpse was a man, sitting up and looking directly at the planeswalker.

Taking a good look over him, the young man absorbed the details about him that were clear to observation in the dank, dim atmosphere of their cell. His skin was tanned bronze, and he had dark brown hair that was made short by a crew cut. He had a rugged swath of stubble along his round cheeks, and deep-set eyes with a color undiscernable in the darkness. And then, he spoke, his voice gruff and gravelly and yet, somewhat monotone. "Mathias Vinkuzri, the Planeswalker, I presume?"

"And... if I am?" he replied, hesitantly.

"Thank the Thaynes," the man said, leaning his head back against the wall and staring up into the ceiling, murmuring another, smaller prayer under his breath. "I've been waiting for you."

Mathias felt his guard raise, and, although he knew they were both chained to the wall, his defensive instincts immediately kicked in. "Congratulations. Your wait is over," he said coldly.

The man merely grinned and shook his head. "If I were a Blackhood, you think I'd be here? So, if I'm not one of them, that pretty much makes you safe, and us allies."

"Sorry if I don't retain a similar sentiment."

The prisoner shrugged. "I didn't expect you to. But perhaps... if I told you that I've been waiting for you, simply to save you from this place when you inevitably ended up here, what would you say then?"

"I'd ask you to kindly tell me who the fuck you are, first of all," Mathias spat back, his voice full of venom and unease. This man was too friendly, too fast. He was so familiar with the vandal, and his cryptic words left the boy lost in any attempt to divine what his motives were.

"My name is Hassad. And I'm here on behalf of Concord. On behalf of your brother."

"Ramirez?!" Mathias started to say in bewilderment, but was cut short by a groan that emanated from Lillian, who subsequently started to rise and attempt to find her bearings.

"What's... going on?" she asked in a hushed, strained, and clearly pained whisper.

[Ataraxis]

As the lights of her mind flickered awake one by one, Lillian grew aware of the changes in her surroundings. The young girl was glad she was no longer sprawled at the bottom of that gladiatorial pit, feeling her body grow cold as it siphoned blood in gushing streams through the wound in her thigh; yet, she still felt her heart give way when she noticed those four familiar walls and the strange carvings running along their base. There she was again, back in that dank cell that smelled more than just a little stale, back in this maddening hellhole she felt would soon become her deathbed and her grave, if she did nothing.

A breath of despair overcame her during those brooding thoughts, almost strong enough to numb the fractures of her forearms and the gaping wound in her thigh. The gash was no longer bleeding as profusely, somewhat healed by what little power remained in the webs she had weaved into her own flesh, but she knew it would not be enough to realign and mend the fragments of her bones. Sighing in defeat, she struggled to sit up, every muscle of her body flaring up with the effort. With that done, she took a moment to recover, her back resting against the cool stones and her labored breaths the only audible sounds in the darkness of the dungeon.

It was a moment before she could make out the silhouette of her cellmate in the gloom, and another before she did that of a newcomer. “Where in the hells did you come from?” she asked in one breath, hacking at the end from the dryness in her throat. “There… there was a… a corpse where you’re… where you…” A fair bit of wheezing later, she gave up on her sentence, focusing instead on regulating her breathing.

“A corpse? I admit to poor hygiene, but I must say I take offense to the comparison.” True to his words, the man straightened up defensively, crossing his arms over his chest as far as his shackles allowed. “Plus, it’s not as if either of you smell like a bed of roses.”

“That’s… not what I meant,” Lillian answered back, slightly annoyed. “I just remembered that someone sat there before. He didn’t move, except maybe once, but then it might have been our eyes tricking us…”

“So you believed me to be dead?” the man asked, loosening his arms.

“That was you? But… you we’re moribund!”

“I was merely recovering,” Hassad said with a note of pride, his imperious smile flashing in the dark. “As I told him while you were unconscious, I was sent here to help you two escape – it says a lot about fraternal bonds when a man makes the steps to bail his brother out before he’s even arrested, doesn’t it?

“In any case, it takes a lot out of you to get captured without dying, especially when you’re trying to fool a magical sack of bones into sealing away only the powers you used as decoys. If it hadn’t been for that, we could have escaped much earlier.”

“Are you an idiot?” Mathias cried out, the chains that bound him rattling as he tried to lunge forward. “You do realize he’s listening in on us, aren’t you? Knowing that you’re not completely incapacitated, he’ll send his damn minions to take care of you! They’re going to burst in here at any moment! You’ve ruined any chance we had at escaping! What can you possibly do for us now?”

“Yes, yes, yes, no, and… a whole damn lot,” Hassad replied, amused. Without a moment’s waste, he lifted his manacles before his eyes. The steel glinted in the shadows, shining brighter with every second until the whole room was alit. Lillian turned her eyes away, hurt by the sudden surge of luminosity, only to hear a loud detonation. The unnatural lights were dimming, and she could see on the other side of the room a standing Hassad, his wrists hissing with white smoke as pulverized steel stream down from them like dust. “Enchantments that can suppress more than a single type of magic are hard to come by and even more difficult to craft, even for one such as Morian Fleshbane. When I was captured, I only fought with one of the many I have at my disposal. As such, Mathias, if you need to believe something, believe that your brother has sent a man capable of adapting to any situation that may crop up during our escape.”

At that moment, the door to their cell swiveled open, slammed against the back wall by the gravelly fists of an ogre, or at least something not unlike one. It lurched forward, slipping in its humongous bald head as it stepped through the threshold. Its skin was a strange fusion of flesh and veined minerals, as if its skin were a layer of fluid stone, the pate of its head was crowned with darkened, crystalline horns while its bared fangs and spiked knuckles seemed like miniature pickaxes – yet another of the lich’s experiments, another sample of his amoral amusement in toying with the sanctity of life.

There might have been a shroud of sorrow running across Hassad’s expression upon seeing the mutated ogre, but none could be certain. If there had been one, however, the man did not let it get in the way of the things he was required to do. Without hesitation, he brought a hand to the creature’s chest, just as it was about to pummel him into oblivion with its two boulder-like fists, hefted high above his head. There came the same burst of blinding light suffused throughout the room, followed by a detonation much more deafening than the last. The stale air smelled of smoke and charcoal, and Lillian did not need to look to know what had just transpired. She only needed to hear that gentle sifting in the distance, like the sprinkle of dust... or ashes.