83rd of Ash, 4621
Though Arkash had been an expert in his mark's application for some time, he'd gotten there through slow progression, using novice and apprentice-level abilities to scale. He was very proficient with those abilities as a result, but he'd never even learned Journeyman and Expert-level abilities. It was only under Raphael's guidance that Arkash began to realize the power he commanded.
Arkash was capable of obliterating the environment around him, rending men and women in two with naught but a scratch of his blade. He could command torrents of lifeblood that ripped through everything in his path and blast fortifications to rubble with little to no expenditure of his personal pool of ether.
That power, to one who'd begun life so downtrodden and broken, deprived of even the right to live and be as he was, should have been intoxicating, moreish. The promise of power enough to keep himself and that which he held close safe should have been overwhelmingly desirable, above the cost of the comfort and safety of the world around him, but it wasn't.
Arkash hesitated, found trouble in trying to use his magic to harm people... At least, such was the case for people who'd done him no wrong.
He was told to experiment with his vile abilities, exercise and strengthen them on the blood of Druskai rebels, all under the watchful eye of his once-master, Raphael. Despite his hesitation, he carried through anyway. Why? Was it not obvious?
He did crave that power deep down, beneath the vanity of his moral compass. Above the cost of the comfort and safety of the world around him, Arkash craved power. Part of him recognized that and resolved to bury the realization under thoughts of valor and misconstrued goodness.
After his shallow display of compassion and hesitation, he commanded the Bile Construct to take its weaponized limb to the bound Druskai. Five captives remained, soon to be four. Arkash knew such would come to be while he watched the construct drag its bladed arm across the seafoam green of the Druskai's chest, rending a gash of red in the man's skin.
To see the elf writhe against his bonds in such a manner should have averted his gaze, but it did not. Instead, he watched as the ethereal skin he'd formed around the man drank from the wound, forming blight in that invisible skin.
"Another," came his command to the Druskai's dismay. The elf began to struggle again through his labored breathing, pulling ferociously against the ropes that held him to the wooden post. The construct did not slow or pause at the sight and freely cut another gash in the Druskai's open chest. Muffled screams rang from the Druskai's wrapped lips, and he began to thrash the moment that blade came away.
It wasn't as though Arkash held any resentment to the elf, but even though he knew he could find another victim to practice on if he so wished, he didn't. The Druskai was a dead man regardless of whether or not he dealt the killing blow, he reasoned. Raphael would not let any of those elves live. But did that mean their lives were his to take?
More blight poured into that ethereal skin, further building the power he'd gathered there. Arkash nodded in approval, then looked to the construct once more. "Again," he ordered. Desperate, wailing cries came from the Druskai, who pulled so desperately away from the jagged edge, only to pause instinctually as it met, and tore through his skin for the third time.
"Very good," Raphael congratulated as Arkash continued to drink from the elf's wounds. "Next, you need to route the blight into the host, make it stockpile, and form together within the body," the mage instructed.
The rathor furrowed his brow. How was he supposed to do that? Ether leech only worked one way, and that was to pull the blight out of his target, not put it back in. Uncertain, Arkash cast sway from afar to seize the material, then wove and bent it before forcing its way back into the elf. He watched the captive Druskai's skin shift and move as volumes of blood wormed through the elf's wounds. Blind, with naught but the tension that opposed the press of his sway, Arkash guided the blight deep into the Druskai's chest.
Vaguely, he felt all about the host's respiratory system, the quickened thrum of his heart, the tensing muscles between his ribs, and the pull of the diaphragm. He circled and coated the interior of the man's ribs, filling the shallow empty space between the ribs and the lungs. The Druskai seemed to choke with restricted breathing, compressed lungs that could only pull so deeply made it hard to gather the air he needed to remain conscious... And with so much pain in his guts, it was only a matter of time before he fell limp and unconscious.
The rathor breathed a sigh of relief; he could continue without relent. "...Now?" Arkash asked with a squint and looked to the mage, who'd been admiring his work.
"Now..." Raphael spoke before lowering his opaque mask. "Now we take a few steps back, lest you want to be caught in the... Hmm, how did you put it? The splash zone...?" The noble chuckled darkly as he took a step back, then pivoted on the spot to walk some paces away from the bound Druskai. Arkash looked between them, then followed the Necromancer away from the scene.
The bile construct followed, trudging its way in an awkward shamble to the pair. Raphael rose a brow at the sight, then looked to Arkash who grinned reassuringly; the construct wasn't coming for him.
When the three stood in line, Arkash looked upon the post with one broken, sacrificed Druskai, and the unconscious host of his weaponized blight. His heart still beat, Arkash knew so. He alone would be responsible for stopping it, but without all the struggling, his uncertainty and hesitation were naught but a distant memory. There was only a moment or two of silence before Raphael cleared his throat. "Then you must activate the blight, set a spark to the fuel and the rest should take care of itself," he instructed and turned his head to set eyes on the rath, then re-donned his mask.
Arkash watched the bound Druskai intently and set his mind's eye on the Living Bomb in the man's chest. He tried a series of commands in his head, simply willing the detonation, but none seemed to work. There was a sort of feel to magic, Arkash found. Not unlike the weight of pushing a stone up a hill, with a landing above that sooner or later turned to another slope, all downhill, which ran out of control. Arkash normally aimed for that balance above, without overstepping, but he couldn't even seem to lift the stone with his thoughts alone.
So, he began to pour some ether into the act, and at the first drop, the blight within the man ignited like lamp oil, and explosively rippled outward in the blink of an eye. The force made Arkash reflexively lift his arms to shield himself, but he wasn't nearly fast enough.
Raphael stood still, confident in his stance as the force of the boom ripped outward in a violent, messy display of red. The sharpened, fast exertion completely destroyed the wooden post, the body of the sacrificed Druskai, and the ground all around it.
At some distance, the flood's sharpness and hardness waned, and it returned to its liquid state as it lost momentum, then rained in an arc in all directions. Reflexively, and uncertain, Arkash caught the rain of blood with sway, pushing it from below to suspend it above himself and Raphael. All around them, blood fell. The sand and earth was utterly painted in a bright display of elven insides, with naught but a perfect circle of clean earth to border them from the mess.
"...Impressive!" Raphael spoke with a voice that seemed to smile beneath his mask. As Arkash threw away the harmless blood, Raphael began to clap. "Very good! Very good," he continued, beside himself with joy until his tone tapered off, and the clapping ceased. "That's just about everything, bar the last resort. How are you feeling?"
The Vandikar measured himself, he'd done a lot of magic, but almost all of it was powered by blight from Leeching and Sacrifice. Even so, he had used a decent amount of his own personal ether. The whisps of lightheadedness licked at his eyes. Somewhere on the horizon, overstepping was abound. "Tired," he admit. "I might overstep if we keep going,"
"Then let's call it a day," Raphael declared with a final clap, then rubbed his hands together. Arkash rose a brow. Getting off work early seemed appealing. "Besides," the mage added, to his dismay. "I think you're more than strong enough to initiate me now," Raphael went on to explain with a smile. Arkash frowned for just a second, then nodded to the noble. The human tilted his head. "Is something wrong with that, my reptilian friend?"
Arkash curled his nose briefly. Raphael had caught his frown, the remark that he wasn't pleased about initiating the noble, per their agreement. "No," he replied flatly. "Strong as I may be, I still don't know anything about Necromancy," he crossed his arms.
The mage hummed, then straightened his back. "So it would seem." A sigh followed, and he pivoted rigidly before lifting his boot to the bloodied earth. "Well then, let's get to it while you rest your ether. That's the beauty of World Magic, no strain whatsoever." The mage continued some paces before he stopped and looked over his shoulder to the rath, who was still in wake of the revelation that he would not be getting the day off, after all. "Coming?"
A nod of his head yielded a sigh, and Arkash set one step toward the noble before he cast a glance to the mess in the area, the numerous bodies that piled high in the middle, the construct, the remainder of the slaves. Another glance cast to the mage, almost asking permission.
Raphael rolled his eyes. "Fine, meet me at my study when you're done," he instructed, then resumed his walk away. Arkash looked to the construct, then grinned before he approached the bodies of the Halamire and slaves both, rubbed his claws together, and began to dig in.
