"Aaaah….this is nice…" Absolutely nice, he can freely admit. The rivers of the Underground City were murderously cold, quoted by Above-Worlders who accepted their beliefs and lived the way of the Serpent. Having bathed in waters for so long since birth, he had developed an immunity for cold temperatures. A blizzard can still kill him but a simple snow wouldn't and only the Northmen could hope to match. Having to bath in warm waters like this is nothing short of pleasurable. He could feel the stiffness of his muscles, accumulated from the last harsh battle he suffered aside from that assassin in the loot house, loosening pleasantly.

Having known the location of the bath thanks to information given by the maids who are still recovering from their sickfest, he was quick to come here with a new skeleton in tow, created from the bone dust in his pack. But after this, he's in a bit of a loss as to what to do next. He did say he'll find answers but only at night time where he is most comfortable. It's not like he's in a hurry or anything. Should he continue experimenting? Should he tour around the mansion and know its layout? Or simply sleep till night?

He looked at the lone, jawless skeleton standing in the corner, empty voids staring at nothing while awaiting its next orders.

Maybe he'll look over Mother's arms and check for damages. She had been severed the day before, after all.

He splashed some water into his face, wiping his eyes and smoothing his white locks back. Turning to his right hand, he could still see its sorry state though the waving waters. Frowning darkly, he raised it above his head and smashed it against the waters, creating a larger splash and overflowing to the tiled floors.

"Fucking burden…" He was not supposed to be alive? Why the hell is he still on this side?

His head snapped to the direction of the sound of a door opening—By the Dragon!

"Hiii, may I joooin you?" It was Lord Mathers.

And he was fucking buck-naked!

Without the make-up and the outrageous attire that would make women jealous, his true flesh is seen for all its glory: he was well-built, he had a pretty face, but his manhood…

….it was the most horrifying sight of his life, worse than the most dreadful hell-spawn he subjugated to the Dragon, worse than the darkest corners of the Void…how was something like that even possible…..!?

He quickly looked away and stared into his dead hand, hoping to forget the sight with his misfortunate and destructive decision. Yes, his decision is far worse than that thing! This dandy's manhood holds little relevance! Having a large dick doesn't matter in any way!

"What's wrooong? Was I too dazzling?"

"You may enter…" He gritted his teeth as he ignored the question, eyes wide at what he just saw. "…but keep your distance."

"Ooooh, have I offended you or something?"

"You haven't," He snapped, using all of his will to get that image out of his mind, "Just get in."

"Then don't mind meeee." The water sloshed and waved as it accepted the new occupant, but Lord Mathers was seated barely a few inches away from him. Haven't this dandy heard a damn thing he said!? He said keep distance! "Woooon't your skeleton friend over there come join us? It must be lonely in the corner."

At least he gave something for him to think about instead of that monster in-between his legs, and he was quite surprised that the dandy would allow a skeleton of all things to join him in the bath. This lord is clearly above common idiots who are easily repulsed by such things.

Mentally shaking himself back to a composed state of mind, he answered him, "A friend is someone I trust other than myself. That construct is just an extension of my will. It has no autonomy and independent thought, merely another pair of arms and legs. It's simply there to assist me once I need to leave."

Lord Mathers stared at his stumps through the water, his cheery face cracking slightly in sympathy, "I seeee that. But why not have Ram or Rem help you? I diiiid tell you that they are at your disposal as well. Or are you just shy?"

He chuckled, thinking about their green sick faces. "Considering what I've made them go through, I don't think I have the will to overwork them at the minute."

Lord Mathers tilted his head, "What did you doooo to them?"

"Due to being present while one of my experiment samples with the most atrocious odors are outside their containers, they didn't have the fortitude to hold on to their breakfast for long and instead retched on my sink and toilet."

The lord stared, blinking as he processed this information, "Weeeell, that's quite a happening. And what is this about experiment samples?"

"An extract that will increase my immunity against poisons and other venoms." Not exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. The shit-jar was also supremely capable of heightening toxin resistance as well as increasing the corrosiveness of his own personal poisons that he could create from practically nothing. "It's absolutely disgusting, believe me. Do not attempt drinking it as I did unless you have the will and courage to eat your own feces."

That got the dandy lord to recoil, cringing backwards with his mismatched eyes widening at the information. Oh, he's very happy now! He's been looking forward to that reaction ever since meeting him! "M-myyyyyy…..I fear the lifestyle you lead, Ser Emurdol…."

He threw his head back and laughed, his cruel-sounding laugh echoing throughout the bath, shaking the waters with his twitching movements. As his mirth was spent, he replied with a smile, "The Fair Maid said the exact same thing, but I did warn you, Lord Mathers: my habits are your taboos."

"I don't think I have the will to ask what they aaaare anymore…."

"That's the smartest decision you'll ever make, trust me." His eyes then flashed, he's not sure if Lord Mathers saw them through the steam, "My people work better alone, and I'm no different. Avoiding the living has its benefits."

"So you prefer people who do not aaaaask questions? Or do not talk at all?"

He smiled wickedly, eyes flashing green momentarily, "One of the reason why I prefer working with the dead than those with a heartbeat."

Lord Mathers wore a smile, "Then I am deeeeply honored that you are willing to talk to me."

He hummed indifferently, "For following along with my request and treating me like a human instead of a potential threat, you earned it along with Emilia."

"Oh? And what about Ram and Rem? Are they treating you well enough to eeeeeearn the privilege? Are you getting along with them?"

He huffed through his nose. These questions are starting to wear him down. "I have no quarrel with them. I find myself liking the Fair Maid, Ram the more she talks. Though, it may be take a while before the Dear Maid, Rem earns my good graces."

"Go eeeeeasy on them. Those sisters live for each other and support each other, it's only right for them. Whatever Ram could not do, Rem will cover for it. There's noooo one else who could do better in doing their respective roles for the other than themselves."

"And just like that, they earn my respect." He smoothed his wet white hair back using a comb he made out of his attendant skeleton's jawbone lined with sharp teeth, "Siblings must help each other. Only a few select people could survive on their own."

"Do yoooou have a sibling, Ser Emurdol?"

His eyes wore a sad look, something he was not afraid to show when this topic comes up. "I wish I had. In my culture, siblings are as valuable as your own life and families with only one child are….uncommon. When working outside the City, siblings are the only ones we can easily accept as company aside from ourselves and the dead."

Lord Mathers hummed in interest before splashing some water to his face and smoothing his long dark-blue hair back, starting a new topic, "I haven't gotten to mention it but you're actually very pale. It puts my cosmetics to shaaaaame."

Hmph, "I wouldn't doubt the Dear Girl, Emilia to be any different. When I met her in the capital, I was actually surprised for her having silver hair other than me or my people."

"Do all your people caaaarry the same appearance?" The dandy rested an elbow on the edge of the bath and supported his cheek, "Pale skin, white hair and greeeeen eyes?"

"Only the eyes have any form of distinction," He remembered those having onyx, grey, pale-blue, and the rare red. What made them unique compared to common folk was due to how bright they are despite the dark climate of the city they lived in. Only those of the Order could make them flash or glow brightly in their spell-casting, "Everything else will be an easy indication of who we are to Above-Worlders."

"And I remember you saying that you suffered rather uuuuunjust treatment for such a thing."

"Unjust is too understating." He held his bone-comb before him, tapping into his powers to melt the solid anatomy before it reshaped itself into a shaving razor. He didn't have a stubble but the memory of the church and its zealots brought back the time when he slaughtered a party of holy knights who hunted him down. He used the same razor to gouge out their eyes before he sent back the one survivor home as a lesson. He had a jar of their remains to remember the day. "My people suffer for it from idiots who blindly obey the church. They just don't get it. Our magic is hardly any different than the ones they use." He was getting even wearier. Whether it was from the bath or from the memory, he wasn't sure, but he sure as hell is not going to speak any more of it.

"I'm sorry to bring it up." The dandy apologized.

He whipped his hand on the waters in front of Lord Mathers, sending a large wave of water to the dandy's face.

"Deserved!" Lord Mathers exclaimed with a wet-faced smile before he wiped his pretty countenance and said, "But I truly must say: your magic's really unique. And I know well that you are a necromagus. While raising the dead is rare nowadays as well as difficult to execute, it iiiis not actually unheard of. But your bone spells are unlike anything I've eeeeeeever seen."

He hummed indifferently, his gaze still transfixed at the water ever since before Lord Mathers entered. Then a thought came to his mind. He asked, "I'm curious. What kind of magic does this land adhere to?"

Confusion fell on the dandy's face, "I don't know whaaaat you mean by that but in this kingdom, we live in a society built on the uuuuse of magic. Magic crystals, specifically. Do you know what makes the waters warm?" He asked, lifting his hand out of the water and the accumulated liquid on his palm streamed past his fingers.

"No, and I never think too much about it." It's not like he must get too attached to hot water baths anyway. It will deteriorate his developed immunity to the cold.

"It's quite simple. You seeeee, underneath the floors, there are fire-crystals that makes the water we are indulging ourselves in warm. To triiiiigger them, it needed only the presence of any living thing. Thus the waters rise in temperature."

"….astonishing." He said in a quiet breath. This was actually mind-blowing to him. From what Lord Mathers have said, it was a complete clue that this world is absolutely not like his. Completely paralleled.

"In what way iiiis your society is built on?"

"Not like this. The common people are primitive." He answered, still in the midst of his shock. Externally, he betrayed no such emotion. "Only magi lived in a lifestyle supported by magic, and my people are the only ones that are a close second, but the Above-World is built very simply. Wood, stone, and fire. That's all they lived by." For the second time, he turned to face the dandy, "Do your common folk utilize these 'crystals'?"

"Well, yeeees." The dandy confirmed, as if it was something everybody knew. Well, in this case: everybody except him. "It made life eeeeeasier for them."

He stared owlishly before turning to face the waters once again, "Huh…." Definitely paralleled. This world is absolutely not like his own. He's been everywhere in the charted as well as uncharted territory of Pandemonium, and this place did not exist in his home world, especially those animal-men he saw in the capital coexisting with humans. If anything, they were the same spawn he slaughtered in the behalf of villages and settlements who were terrorized by them.

If this world's spawn are capable of living like a human, he's going to be very conflicted if he's ever faced with one. For now, that's not important. He'll ask this, "In terms of spell-casting, what are the basic elements that one could manipulate?" If anything, he's dying to know. If this world is paralleled, it has to be different.

"Instead of maniiipulating the elements of the world, we basically have an affinity to them. Four, specifically." He held up a finger, raising another in each enumeration. "There is fire, to manipulate temperature. There is water, to regulate life and healing. There is wind, for movement outside the bodies of living things. And then there's earth, for movement within bodies."

He was speechless for a second, "Strange….in my land, healing is a separate form of magic. And my people's magic is based on life, another separate form of magic." He pointed at the skeleton in the corner, motionless as always. "That construct has nothing to do with water."

The dandy held his chin, brow knitted in thought, "Yes. It iiiis strange. Maybe your people's magic is on a league of its own."

He nodded in agreement, "That is true."

"And you saaay that healing magic is a separate form of magic." He hummed in thought, "In my theory, it might be because your land has a raaaaather limited perspective in regards to the utility of elemental magic." He turned to face him. "If you will allow me, may I look over what kind of affinity you have? I'm very interested, you seeee."

Count him in. He's very interested in how his magic is viewed in a different perspective, "Yes, you may. How will you find out?"

"Weeell, for an accomplished magician such as I, I can simply identify it byyyyy touching you."

The boast in his voice was clear, but it had a legitimate place so he did not say anything to demean it. "Be my guest,"

"Then excuuuse me." He placed his palm on his forehead, then began to chant a strange phrase, "Myon. Myon. Myon. Myon."

What the hell? How is that the way to identify magical affinity? If anything, it's just stupid. Practical and quick, yes, he can agree to that, but still stupid. Most of the well-trained magi of his Order would do so simply by reading the magical signature and circulation.

"Oh myyyyy…" There was a sincere look of surprise on the lord's face, "….commonly, all individuals are capable of only 1 element but you master 3, and one among them is a raaaaaare element."

He was admittedly surprised, but not so much. He may have manipulated some form of elemental magic in his talents but he doubted to have any stronger inclination to them. He's far versed in the arts of his people. And he had 3, as opposed to the norm of 1 in this world? It must be because of his origins. It has to be the case. Magi in his land could learn any elemental magic and as many as they can instead of being restricted to one, "What are these three?" He asked, eager to know but his inflexion betrayed no such enthusiasm.

"Earth. Fire. Darkness."

The first two he can understand but the third one was actually different from the four Lord Mathers mentioned, "Darkness. I didn't hear you mention darkness."

"I have not mentioned it buuut there are actually other elements besides the four, namely Darkness and Light. Hooooowever, because they are such uncommon elements very few people would have an affinity with, I deciiiiided to exclude them."

Darkness and light…pfft. Typical. It's how the idiots differentiated the magic the Holy Order and the Order of the Serpent wielded. While not far from the truth, their views on good and evil magic are absolutely narrow. Good or evil magic does not exist, only the magi casting them is subjected to such labels. The only time that a form of magic is considered evil is when even the Order would agree to the label.

He asked the dandy, "What is darkness capable of?"

"Well, it's a very iiiinfamous affinity." He told with favor, "You can obstruct an opponent's vision, slow his movements down, deprive him of his hearing, and so many others. Quite convenient."

…What the hell?

"….We call those curses." He pointed out.

"Curses?" There was the light of interest in Lord Mathers' mismatched eyes, "Are you a shaman from Gusteko?"

If this lord has no love for shamans, he shares that dislike. Cheap imitations of his Order, and he's personally proud of having the eradicated an entire clan of them.

If he's going to make things straight with this dandy, then it's better to be blunt.

"I am a Necromagus," He told, the pride and dignity of a Priest of the Serpent lacing his tone. He decided to fully cement what he is to this archmage, uncaring of whatever opinion he'll get out of it. This is who he was and he won't change himself for anyone's sake. "A practitioner of the dark arts and a wielder of the energies that govern life and death. We create bones, manipulate the flesh of living things, even our own. We drain the life force of others, expel poison out of our bodies as if it was sweat, we are even capable of giving life to the unmoving."

Eyes burning green, he held up a fist and watched his necromantic energies brew starting from the knuckles and spread all over his entire arm, shifting the mana in the air, almost tainting it like a disease. "What your darkness element does, it's what we call curses. Not only are we capable of weakening or depriving the physical senses of living beings, but we are capable of bending the rules of their reality. You hurt me, you'll suffer the same wounds. Come closer and you will turn against your allies. Stare into my eyes and you will see your nightmares come to life. Come at me with murderous intent and you'll no longer be able to lift your own body. Touch me and you will fall to illnesses quicker than you could breathe."

He turned to the dandy, shutting off his brewing mana and allowing the energies in the air to revert to normal, the acquired taint quickly dissipating, "Others may attain these feats but no one else can master all of them except the Order of the Serpent. No one else can."

The lord stared without blinking all throughout, his cheery expressions put aside as it revealed a grimace, turning him from an eccentric pretty boy into the very dignified archmage that he truly was. "Your magic truly is interesting, Ser Emurdol." Then his smile returned, brushing off what happened as nothing special, but it was clear to him that the dandy's opinion on him hadn't dropped. It only rose, "And that was such a grandiooooose performance. If you would have the time, will you please shooooow me an exhibition of your people's magic?"

Now this is a strange request. If he could remember right, no one….yes, no one has ever wanted a demonstration of the dark arts. Not even the archmages he known to have held the principle of never wasting mana, even if for a demonstration, would want one.

The open-mindedness of this dandy of a lord intrigued him. And just for that, he'll humor the request, "I'll allow it, but I strictly forbid teaching them to anyone, not even you. My people's belief regarding magic is simply put into this, and I know very well that the magi of my land uphold to it as well: To learn magic is to earn utility, knowledge and truth. To learn magic for the sake of power is perversion. To have more than you needed….it makes you an outsider in our eyes." He lifted up his good arm, holding the bone razor before shifting it back into a jawbone as he scanned its structure like a jewel, "All the spells I learned is predated by need and preparation for certain circumstances, never for the sake of learning it. Why learn a fireball spell to kill someone when a bone spear could lend the same result? Why learn a frozen bolt to slow down something when a fang of decay could do more? Why learn a protective layer of frost when you could learn the bone cyclone, capable of both protecting and harming as well as creating."

"Simply puuuut, you prioritize the practicality of the spell." Lord Mathers said with a smile.

"Exactly." He nodded in agreement, "My curses are built solely for combat and operations that demand subtleness, disruption and immediate success. But they are all costly spells so I tend not to use them unless I have to."

"But you doooo know the saying 'Better have and not need than need and not have', yes? Sometimes having moooore than you need tends to give you an advantage."

"I know, which is why I prepared for every situation." With a smooth flick of his wrist, the jawbone in his hand flew to the skeleton in the corner, landing precisely in the right place of the construct's skull, giving it the perfect grin the dead are known for. "My experiments are a testament to my efforts, as painful as it is." He faked a gag, "A price to pay for your dedication."

A grim smile crossed over the lord's face, staring into space rather seriously, "I, for one, understand dedication veeeeery well."

And just from that tone and line, he discovered something about the lord of the mansion: He will do anything to achieve his goals, even if it meant discarding something precious. The sociopathic devotion that cared for nothing else but its own purpose.

He once harbored such a thing, and he paid for it in a way that struck deep. And after that, he changed.

It surprises him that sometimes, once in a while, people Above-World are sometimes no different than the ones who lived Underground.

He inclined his head and lifted himself up to the edge of the bath after dunking himself beneath the waters for an uncertain number of minutes, "I will now depart." He snapped his fingers and the clicking sound of bones cracked through the air as the skeleton was now mobile, coming over to retrieve its master.

"Finished bathing?" Roswaal asked.

"Yes." The skeleton picked him up under the arms and he was placed in a backpack position behind the construction as it held the opposite arms of its master in front of its chest, "If I stay any longer, I might pass out. Thank you for your time, Lord Mathers." He and a skull nodded as one, "It was refreshing to share my capabilities with an open-minded archmage instead of the idiots who think they're above others just because they just learned a very amateur spell that I could eat at my leisure."

"You're veeeery welcome. See you before nightfall. We'll have that eeeexhibition before dinner."

"I'll be waiting, Lord Mathers."

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

The Dear Maid's eyes went wide when she saw him and his current company, and light blue eyes steadily grew colder and warier as he was nearing her. He was quite amazed that she could change the impression of her eyes while everything else doesn't. Then again, that's a poor mark in regards to emotion suppression in the Order's criteria.

"Ser, what is that?" She finally asked as soon as he was in a proper speaking distance.

He stopped walking, the skeleton he was pushing with his good hand smoothly stopping in the same beat as its master. "I'm sending this fellow to its recycling." He won't try to mention that he felt her eyes when he walked with it onwards to the bathroom. Her questions were literal bullshit, done just to draw information out of him or gauge his reactions in case he tries to dodge it.

"Recycling?"

Except this. It's not a bullshit question, but it had the undertone of wariness. "It served its purpose, now it must return to dust." He answered simply. If his right hand had been mobile and active, it would be clenching and unclenching into a fist, expressing a sour mood. "But since it is wet, I have to send it outside to dry in the sun before I destroy it. Wet bone dust is useless, you see."

"I…see." The Dear Maid conceded, blinking owlishly before her eyes caught the dark sickle in Mother's right front arm. "And you need that weapon and that cloak to recycle it?"

She veiled the suspicion in her words really well, even though he expected such as he had donned his dark cloak, sans the hood. Compared to everyone else in this mansion, only this little girl has expressed the highest amount of suspicion towards him, expertly subtle it may be. Unfortunately for her, he had this dance so many times already that he could see the pattern already.

"No." He answered, then instantly felt a pang of unpleasant emotion cross over him. Damn it, he was trying to keep his mind off it and he, of all people, just brought it back to his own attention just by that one word. His wrinkled face creased in displeasure, eyes burned bright and his teeth gritted at the mere prospect of it. Damn it all to hell.

Why? Why? WHY!?

"Ser? Are you alright?"

He shook his head mournfully, taming his expressions back to its stoic state and failing miserably, showing only a brooding look. The glow of his eyes have dimmed, but it still shined amidst his bone-white complexion. "No. I won't be once I'm done." At least his tone of voice didn't change since the start of this conversation.

"Why? What will you do?" Her questions were cleverly disguised with concern, and the true emotion behind those words did nothing more than piss him off even further. His skills in emotion suppression did its magic well. His brooding expression didn't lapse to anything else from her words. If he had been alone with her, there would be no mask and the skeleton would bare its fangs.

"I made my choice, Dear Maid." He dared not look at her, only facing forward and revealing his dead hand by letting it hang beside him, making sure it's revealed from the opening of his cloak. He saw her face it in his peripheral vision, "I'm severing this hand, and it won't be inside this Mansion nor near here."

He didn't wait for a reply and walked onwards, he and the skeleton passing by her in a quicker pace compared to earlier, not having any inclination to discuss the matter. He's doing his best to ignore the inevitable and even if he can't, he's forcing his mind to be casual about it, and any distractions will only force him back to the truth. The truth itself he can accept without question, but the meaning behind that truth was what horrified him. Not even a second he wants to think about it.

The body is merely. The soul is eternal. The body can be shaped. Souls are eternal. The body can be broken. The soul is eternal. The body means little. The soul is eternal. As a Priest of the Serpent, your own flesh is your greatest weapon as well as your greatest hindrance to your passage to the Dragon. You are a soul given a body in order to live, to find their place and purpose in the living world, to learn truth and seek knowledge. What's the loss of a hand going to do to that goal?

"Wait, Ser. Where are you going to sever it?"

DAMN IT!

"Outside." He snapped coldly, voice no longer stoic. "Some place where no one will disturb me."

"But where outside?" He could hear her pacing after him, "Are you planning to do it in the gardens?"

"No." His breaking point was coming close, and every word out of that damn maid's mouth is wearing down his patience, "It will be outside the gates, so you will have nothing to clean up afterwards."

One more question and he will—

"Then Rem shall accompany you."

He stopped walking.

….

…..

…...He came close to snapping out of control there. If she had dared opposed him, he would have lashed out at her right then and there.

Alongside the skeleton, he slowly turned his head towards her, cold green eyes glowing in fury meeting light blue through the tresses of silver, and the suspicion in her mien continued to linger.

That was not supposed to be surprising. Distrust is a constant in his daily life. He had handled himself properly in this situation many times before, always being the one in control over the other. Why was he about to lose his composure now?

He sighed tiredly, Emotion Suppression at play. His eyes returned to their neutral dim and the fires of his anger is doused by his will of iron. "While you do, do not speak to me."

He began walking again, his skeleton mimicking his every movement with uncanny accuracy from the hip up. The construct's movements were rigid, tempered by an aggravated mood. Even its footsteps had a light stomp. She felt a twinge of guilt when she saw how the man equally expressed a sullen demeanor. He was about to amputate an arm that suffered necrosis and she's obstructing him with meaningless suspicion.

And when she stared at the skeleton's back for too long, its head suddenly snapped to twist 180 degrees backwards, fully facing her once again. Its face had completely warped into something that's absolutely not human: the round sockets for eyes distorted into the impression of a glare and its teeth had grown pointier, sharper, a silent death threat escaping its moving jaws.

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

He should thank that damn maid. She angered him just enough to make him become firm in what he's about to do. Just then, he's been stuck in his own head, mulling over everything. Thinking over everything. Remembering everything he had done when he had a full-functioning right hand. He dared not think too much of what's to come when he no longer has it, when he finally separates the remnants of it. Such thoughts wore him down, and if he had even come close to the door outside, he might have turned around and instead retreated to his room.

And all she did to make him realize how those thoughts were irrelevant and useless was just piss him off.

Yes. He's thankful. He's very thankful. He's no longer having any second thoughts. There isn't any more uncertainties in his decisions. He's doing it. He'll definitely do it. There won't be any regrets when the deed is done.

His hood drawn on his head, blocking the sun from attacking him without mercy, he headed for the gate. His skeleton was already sent to stand in the middle of the yard like a morbid lawn decoration, a contradicting element amongst the life around it, just so it could dry off the remaining drips on its person before coming to his room to be recycled.

The sickle in his left hand and the metal gate before him, Mother bent her legs, lowering his torso close to her knees before ejecting off the ground, reaching a height appropriate enough to brush his soles at the top of the gate and slamming his steel boots back to the soil upon crossing over it, creating a puff of dust.

Without waiting for the maid, he continued treading forward but towards the forest instead of the road ahead of him. He won't be doing this in an open space where many could see him. Somewhere private would be good, a place where a clear view of himself from afar would be very difficult, obstructed. Someplace heavily vegetated. A clearing or just in the middle of the forest is enough.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, he exhaled pleasantly as the abundant smell of life graced his nostrils. As a Priest of the Serpent, he always found peace and security in the places where bones and decay are many, especially graveyards, crypts, catacombs and mausoleums. It's what the Underground City was practically filled with besides its enlightened citizens. Life was never the center of focus for his kind unlike the Order of the Silver Tree, mages of nature; their polar opposites, but there's no rule against respecting their views. He has a strange respect for their culture, and Emurdol himself has a particular fondness for the animals they are close with besides the little ones. The smell of trees has never been so exquisite after his time there.

The memories made him feel at ease. He expanded his knowledge there, understanding the essence of life and the sustenance of every living thing. It's how he mastered the specialty to manipulate that essence, to manipulate life, making the revival and creation of dead and inanimate things become fairly trivial. It also led to the discovery that the mana of plants are particularly wild, attempting to drain it would led to a rebellion of his mana core that would eat him on the inside. Dead trees are apparently the ones for him to lord over, not the live ones.

He stopped walking, looking over the area around him to notice that he has gotten a bit far from the mansion and the thicket around him is quite dense, marking the area as untouched by human hands for a long time.

He nodded. This is the place.

Without further ado so he doesn't draw any second thoughts, he knelt to the ground, drew out the sickle and readied his right arm. Passing the weapon to Mother's front left grip, he pulled the sleeves of his robes back to his shoulder, revealing his bone-white skin, and held his forearm very tightly while 2 of Mother's right arms followed suit, grabbing the elbow and wrist to make sure it doesn't thrash.

And as quickly as his grip on his arm was firmly secure, Mother instantly chopped his dead hand off past the wrist, without any warning. She didn't warn him, she didn't even give him time to steel his mind nor time to prepare for the pain, she just did it.

To his credit, he did not scream despite the horrible sensation that began from the cross-section before it slowly moved to his head. Even so, he couldn't hold down his voice. A choked sound escaped him, then followed with a throaty growl as the searing pain took over him. Without a second wasted, the healing elixir he brought with him that was held in Mother's back left hand was put to good use, pouring its restoring liquids down on the amputated spot, sounds of sizzling and searing filling the air as the bleeding flesh and exposed nerves closed off, quickly clotting and turning it into a stump in an instant. Half the contents of the vial gone, Mother feed the rest to his lips, to relieve him from the pain.

It took several seconds for the effects to take in, from searing pain to a dull headache. Hacking the bitter taste the elixir left in his mouth, he spat out the saliva beside him and made sure not to look at the piece of himself he left discarded on the soil in a puddle of blood. And to make sure he doesn't look back, he passed a little bit of his energies to Mother's artificial body, allowing her to release a corrosive cloud from her hands that could melt any material: a green noxious cloud that seemed to move like it was alive, and it ate the decaying fist on the ground, melting down to the muscles, then the sinews, then the finally bones.

Seconds pass, the bones was consumed to nonexistence, as well as the organic material nearby it.

He was already gone before his mind inclined him to watch the entire thing happen, Rem remaining behind as he walked passed her just for a few seconds to spectate the devouring process before she followed after him.

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

Rem was harshly dismissed as soon as he was back at the gate, not even sparing her the slightest glance as he told her to get out of his sight before he leapt over it and returned to the yard, desperately trying not to think about his loss.

"What do you want, Fair Maid?" He told to the face staring down at him as he laid on the seats found on one of the gazebos of the expansive backyard. He would not be giving anybody the slightest damn even if they stared at him for too long but not this time. He desperately needed to be alone, and shouldn't this girl be doing her duties?

"You have mediocre tastes in regards to sleeping spaces."

"That's what you've been wanting to say?" He asked her rhetorically, his eyes shining unamusingly. "If my sleeping places are mediocre, I consider that a good thing, as not many people are privileged to sleep in soft beds."

"And yet no one is going to judge you even if you take the chance. Come the pass of 4 more days, you might not be able to get the opportunity again."

"You shouldn't strike me as one who cares, Fair Maid." He smoothed the silver hair that's lying atop his face to the side, shifting just a bit as his head lied atop his folded cloak on Mother's steel lap. "You should sleep in hard surfaces once in a while, it will strengthen your body."

"A pretty and cute girl like Ram would not have a place in regards to becoming burly nor does a refined maid like Ram would have a place sleeping on the floors."

"Narrow, Fair Maid." He said in a flat tone, appreciating the meaningless banter. It allowed him to forget the funny sensations he's been having with the place where his right hand should be. It still feels like he has it. He's been curling his fingers, twisting his wrist, even made many rude gestures that were close to murder in the Order towards Ram. The physical sensations one would feel when doing these things are nonexistent. He held back a horrible negative emotion from falling over him whenever he thinks too much about the emptiness.

"Listen, Ser, about Rem's behavior…."

He turned his eyes towards her, face stoic as he awaited her to finish speaking.

"Don't think too hardly of her. Compared to Ram and Lord Roswaal, she's the one who trusts you the least."

"My, how kind of you to tell me." Sarcasm dripped out of his lips like venom, his eyes beginning to glow dimly in the dislike growing inside him. He stared at the ceiling of the gazebo. "Be useful by telling me something I don't know."

Irritation was fluidly veiled with a single eye blink, keeping her features neutral and professional. "She's prone to do things without thinking. Your apparel and current personality is just nothing but oil to the fire of her suspicions."

"As if everyone I've met did not have the same thoughts, including you." He stoically retorted, his only remaining hand resting at the top of his boneless robed chest. "And just like everyone else before her, including Emilia, she should learn to come to terms with it. I speak as I wish, I act as I will, and I will not change my behavior for anyone's sake but my own."

"Any further and Ram, or Lord Roswaal, or even Lady Emilia might not be there to stop her from silencing you."

A thunderous snap erupted everywhere around her, nearly deafening her. It wasn't like a thunderclap, it wasn't like snapping wood either, but something sharper, solid, and massive. Her head swiveled erratically in all directions, trying to find the source of that sound. There was nothing in her field of vision that indicated its source. She turned her steeled eyes to the man lying down, "What have you done!?"

"Tell me, Fair Maid." He spoke as if a booming sound hadn't erupted seconds ago, staring up at the ceiling with a plain visage as emotionless as his voice, though his green eyes have glowed brighter than before. "Do you need to find out what happens to people who try to kill me without the slightest provocation?" The headless skeleton placed a clawed thumb against the side of his neck and slowly traced it all the way to the other side. "Instead of planning to kill me, your sister should prepare to die instead."

"Mind your words, Ser." Her cold tone slipped out, all notions of professionalism gone. "Make an attempt on my sister's life and Ram will make you regret saying those words."

Another thunderous boom, but even louder than the first. It forced her to clamp down her ears with her hands to protect her eardrums….only to realize that there wasn't any ringing. The conclusion was immediate from there: the sounds were an illusion. She turned to him—

—her nerves instantly ran cold, genuine fear overtaking her heart.

Elongated arms and fingers, black wicked claws, a pale emaciated chest that was 3 times bigger than the average man, a large head topped by mop-like white hair with a loose jaw, threatening to come off but stubbornly holding on, only revealing the stretched tongue and the sharp teeth. Lastly, the eyes were nothing but pure black through the gaps of the silver tresses. There was no pupil but it was clear that she was being stared at.

The monster had no legs, only a black mist beneath its hips and ending in a thin trail. She was not sure if she imagined the impressions of faces amongst the shrouds but the monster itself did not have the inclination to let her figure out the answer. Her eyes never left the horror, an unnatural wave of fear atop the genuine one she felt was forcing the intention to run and hurry to put her little sister in her safety in her mind. But she held fast and fought back the terror this creature was forcing on her.

It spoke in a voice she did not recognize. It was a mixture of bones rattling, steel scraping together and flesh churning against each other, the sounds knitting as one, arranged in such a way that it could form coherent and understandable words. Its eldritch resonation did not hide the pure malice behind it.

"Do not underestimate me, Fair Maid. An army could not kill me. Stone trolls of a twenty strong could not come near me. Not even a Supreme Sin could. He died to a small cut from a knife."

Its mouth did not move to speak, its sharp-teethed lower jaw continuing to drool blood and lolling out its tongue against the stone floor. The voice seemed like it was coming from all directions, not just from the creature itself.

"Do I even have to tell you about the elite knights who died having seen this as their last memory before I took away their lives and kept their eyes for myself?"

The smell of grass, the heat of mid-morning, and the unnatural fear clouding her mind—these details brought back her confidence, easily fighting back the influence riddling down on her as she spoke calmly, "Showing me these illusions just like when you did at the table isn't giving me any reason to believe your claims."

She watched the corner of his shredded lips extended even further, amplifying its terrifying visage with its smirk, "You have not seen everything, Fair Maid."

And just like before, the shade had disappeared as soon as she blinked, delivering her to reality and revealing the actual image behind the Terror. Emurdol was simply there, lying on the stone seat of the gazebo with his Mother's lap below his head.

His eyes no longer glowing, he finished in his usual stoic and human voice, "Not a damn thing." His voice finally revealed color, boredom. It was as if he had expected this exchange to happen, knew what was going to be said and had planned his responses beforehand.

It gave her the implication that this had happened to him before….

Ram's brow furrowed at the slightest.

He turned to lie on his side, facing away from her. His voice held non-confrontational softness amidst the emotionlessness. "I only have one order for both you and your sister: treat me as a guest regardless how I act and I will not cause trouble nor harm anyone. Allow the five days to pass, and this mansion will finally be rid of me."

Ram held a conflicted look as she regarded the man, the shift from a sullen and hostile demeanor to an image of weariness and vulnerability baffling her. It was beyond her how the pale one managed to change the air around him so easily, especially when all he did the entire time was lie down. The metallic hand that stroked his head as if a mother would didn't help either.

She really must talk to Lord Roswaal about this. If this man could just be someone caught in the middle of their circumstances instead of a spy, then it is within her best judgment to do as he says: let him be.

She lifted up the hem of her skirt and curtsied, even if he wasn't looking at her. "As you wish, Ser."

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

He's used to sleeping on the ground, as he's far more inclined to get away from society and civilization unless truly necessary. Hard ground, soft ground, he could easily sleep through such surfaces, but the gazebo was actually unpleasant. He slept in and out, had to shift several times, and at some point, murderous rays of sunlight to hit him right in the face. He growled and crawled away from such brightness as if he had drank too much Fire Spirit till Mother picked him up and placed him on the second unlit bench on the gazebo.

He would have resorted to using the curse of Weakness on himself, but what he saw destroyed any prospect of a siesta anymore when he unwittingly brought his right hand to his face, thinking it still had a hand: the stump on his wrist now had a skeleton hand as his proxy right hand, connected around his forearm by a meticulous arrangement of bones that locked it in place. It even moved according to the motions of his phantom hand.

"Ho….how….?" He breathed in disbelief.

"Weeeell, you're attendant was geeeeenerous enough to sacrifice a part of himself for your sakes—why are you looking at me like that?"

The mere fact that he was caught by surprise was utterly belittling that his eyes glowed extremely bright in indignance and his teeth sneered as he glared at the damn clown that stood by the waist-high wall of the gazebo behind him, looking at him amusedly as he asked his question in his usual drawl.

"How long have you been there, Lord Mathers?" His voice hid none of his displeasure, especially when a guttural growl laced his words.

He pointed a delicate finger passed him, ignoring his hostile-sounding inquiry, "Since the skeleton fellow oooooover there started marching towards you and offered you a replacement hand for that stump."

He turned to face where he pointed and was shocked to realize that the construct he was supposed to recycle stood right in front of him and he didn't even realize it, even as he sat up and regarded his new hand seconds ago. Looking at its right extremity, its entire right arm was missing.

Did the thing just move on its own?

That is NOT supposed to happen.

He did not put a Soul in this construct. He never does outside of combat, as they're prone to walking off on their own unless he reins them in. He built this creation entirely from the essence of life, making it a soulless being without freewill that lived just to serve his will. Such beings never did things independently.

So how in the Seven Hells did this thing just give him its arm and reshaped it into a fully-functional prosthetic hand?

Unless….

"Mother, was this your doing?" He asked the nearest possible culprit, and to his surprise, she didn't answer. She rarely ever does. "Mother? Mother? Mother, answer me!" His calls became audible enough for Lord Mathers to notice his distress.

"Something wroooong?"

"Shush!" He hissed, annoyed. "Mother!"

His fully-audible shout finally brought the whispers he's been expecting to fill his head, waves of apologies and excuses gathered to his knowledge. Creasing his brow, ignoring everything she had to say, he forced out the question out of his lips, "Were you responsible for this?"

There was an affirmation, but there were twinges of a negative as well. It confused him. Whispers of the dead were never like clear and legible words from a mouth, more like feelings and emotions to convey thoughts as well as images and impressions to convey ideas and hints. Leaving it all to the listener to interpret them into words. What Mother had relayed was something he couldn't decipher properly.

"What do you mean?"

He did his best to form the messages he received into a sentence….her work….her assistance….the skeleton's initiative…!?

This construct suggested the idea in the first place, not Mother!?

He got a full affirmative.

"You!" He pointed a bony finger at the skeleton, then surprised himself for such a gesture as he realized that his original right hand has decayed, been separated from him and melted hours ago. This prosthetic hand was imperfect, his sense of touch was still missing and he has no way of knowing how much strength he'll exert with it. If he was to handle an egg with it, he is more than likely to crush it by accident. Its downsides outweighed its practicality.

But that's not important right now. He pointed at the skeleton again and called in an audible voice, "You, come close." It obeyed without question, taking 2 steps so it could be at arms-length from him and he placed his left hand against its ribcage. "Who the hell are you?" He asked the inhabitant inside.

…..nothing. There was no response.

Gritting his teeth, he asked again, "I said: who are you? Is there a Soul inside this frame?"

The response was the same. No reply. He only had his own thoughts with him and not someone else's.

What the hell? "Mother, are you certain of this?"

He got the equivalent of a rhetorical question that could only be translated as 'did you really think I could lie of all things?'

The Dead cannot lie. That has been the truth of the world, as there is no flesh to hide the mind anymore. In death, your Soul is laid bare to the Dragon, every secret and every thought and every memory naked before its eyes. The Order learned to do the same in the living realm, to better understand the language of the Dead and speak to them in turn.

…..he sighed, his hand slipping off the bony chest as he leaned back against the low wall behind him. All this questions piling after another as soon as he wakes up annoyed him to no end. He'll find his answers later in his room, see if there's any reference to this phenomena in the books he have read in the Order.

"Iiiis your private conversation finished?" Lord Mathers asked, leaning on the top of the low wall with his elbows and peering at him with his mismatched eyes.

"Forget it happened, Lord Mathers." He told, snapping his left hand's fingers before Mother secured herself to him once again, granting him his legs and her extra arms. "These concerns are for people in my line of work." Rising to a stand and donning his cloak, he faced the dandy, "Now, what gave you the mind to come here?"

"My, haaave you forgotten?" The lord cringed back in exaggerated surprise, "You were supposed to exhibition your maaaagic to me. I'm hurt, Ser Emurdol!"

"Keep those remarks to yourself, Lord Mathers." He turned to the skies, noticing that it was starting to get a bit orange. Has he really slept that long? "That amount of time has passed already?"

"You slept soundly, you seeee. I would have woken you up sooner but you looked so peeeeaceful that I could not do such a thing!"

An unfamiliar chill ran up his spine, and it was not pleasant. So Lord Mathers watched him sleep the entire time? This lord….is dangerous. He's going to be very careful around this man next time…

"Well?" He crossed his arms, then felt the satisfaction of doing this again without a dead hand obstructing the comfort. Now he has a hand with a different context of the word 'Dead'. "Where will you have me demonstrate?"

Follows after a long walk outside the gates and into the forest found at the left side of the road. 30 minutes passes in their trek with a conversation or two in-between, especially with the acquired knowledge that Lord Mathers has rights over magic stone mining, they reached a wide field that provided air and so much space. A fitting place for a showcase of power….or to kill somebody with no one the wiser.

"I hooope you don't mind the location." Lord Mathers said beside him as he regarded the area, "What we're about to dooo is very hazardous and I would like my property to not be caught in the proooocess."

"A wise decision." He nodded in approval for thinking ahead, though he had nothing to approve in regards to the dandy's hint of concern about his property. It reminded him of the moronic obsession nobles had in regards to appearance. "The fresh air is nice, however."

Lord Mathers clapped his hands, "Then as we have no complaints, shall we begiiiin?"

"Let's." He moved to a bit of distance from the lord, then faced him. "Now, he's my first spell. Earth."

The ground in front of him churned like a cauldron's contents, the essence of life and an artificial soul fusing together with soil, and with a grabbing gesture of his hand, Life emerged from the earth. A bulky hand of 4 fingers grabbed at the sky before slamming against the earth, the owner dragging itself out. Massive shoulders that held a disproportionately small head came first, followed by its hulking torso that progressively thinned towards its small waist and legs. Now free from the ground, it stood gorilla-style and awaited its orders silently. The thing itself was made entirely out of clay and mud, its hands and feet hardened into stone compared to the rest of its body.

"Aaaah! How maaaaarvelous!" The Lord applaud fervently, glee coloring his clownish features, "An artificial life-form straight oooout of the soil! It's like a reverse buuuurial!"

He was taken aghast at how his performance was received. This isn't even the most advanced form of creation the Order was capable of, and isn't this man an archmage? The golem itself isn't any different than his skeletons, merely an extension of his will with a lot more strength and fortitude compared to them.

Ignoring the input received, he proceeded with the next trick. "Fire…" Creating a golem would wear down the physique, and it's considered rare for a Priest of the Serpent to create even 2. Luckily, he's not subjected to such consequences like the average Priest of the Serpent, and even if he is, he has his ways around that. It's not like he's the one to create another. Transferring his energies to Mother, she formed the arcane symbols underneath his cloak with her metallic fingers, the fire magic from his world forming beside his golem and she infused necromantic energies to the mix.

Compared to his creation process, Mother's work was quick and immediate: in a flash of heat and light, like a flicker of a torch, the Fire Golem came to existence. But to his slight surprise, instead of being bulky and imposing it took the shape of a slender humanoid made entirely out of living fire. It may look dangerous but it's as harmless as a bonfire. Getting close and touching it will harm you. The larger one is far more destructive, capable of incinerating an entire village simply by its mere presence.

While Lord Mathers appraised the smoldering addition with sparkling eyes of blue and yellow, he settled to the all-known personal favorite of the Order: "Bone."

Using the remaining energy Mother had, she summoned a full set of bones from the soil. Her part done, he'll finish the rest. With the common knowledge of the human anatomy easily coming to his mind like second nature, thanks to meticulous study in the Order, he formed the bones together like a puzzle. A puzzle he's beaten so many times he could do this without looking, and in the aftermath of bones reconnecting and snapping in place, a Giant Skeleton stood beside the Mud Golem, towering over everyone present with its 10 feet height as it eyed Lord Mathers with a void gaze.

It was thanks to the Queen of Ivory, Mother herself that allowed the creation to not crumble on its own weight. Creating the stone-hard bones of trolls and giants out of nothing and giving it life is a feat of exceptional skill, especially when it is a very costly ability to do so. In the history of the Order of the Serpent, only Mother has been the most gifted Bone Mage that ever lived, the greatest in her generation besides Lady Sabarra. The most basic affinity of all necromagi is her super weapon, the most basic creation is her apocalypse.

And he was gifted as well. Whether it was by the Dragon's blessing or by Mother's power passing on to him, it was clear that he was above the average necromagi as well. But instead of bone, he had greater affinity over Life.

To give life to a body, to breathe life into something that has long since died, to even make the things that never moved mobile; these were the final feats that makes a Priest of the Serpent complete, and he had done so at an age earlier than anyone. Compared to common necromagi, he had no difficulty in making dead trees move or giving life to a statue. To give life to a set of artificial bones, built from nothing and has never been nor will be inhabited by a soul, just like the Bone Giant? That's not possible for anyone to achieve, except him and Lady Sabarra. It's rare for a Priest of Serpent to create 2 golems? He can create 20 hulks of whatever element before he could fall under the strain. Having supreme power over Life had its benefits.

Together with Mother's artistic and resilient constructions along with his life-giving properties, the two of them are a mobile force of nature. The feats they have achieved back in Pandemonium is evidence of the fact. Every Supreme Sin there is dead thanks to the both of them, and that gave good publicity to the Order of the Serpent.

"Beware our power, Lord Mathers." The three creations took a stance, his hand—his skeleton hand aimed towards Lord Mathers, palm forwards as he sent them their instructions, "This is what we can do; what the Order of the Serpent can do. Now quiver, in the face of Lady Sabarra's power!"

And they charged towards the dandy. The ground shook underneath the mud golem's lumbering movements. A trail of ember and flames followed behind the Man of Fire, its shape shifting into something that's no longer human. And the skeleton giant simply sprinted, adding more intensity to the shaking ground with its own humungous steps as it reared back a bony fist to land a strike.

"Then behoooold…." The lord floated, his feet off the ground and levitating upwards to the air, his hands brewing with the unique energies of this world. "….the magic of the greatest magician of the Kingdom! To start, let me introduce to you! El Fula!"

Violence ensued and bones went flying.

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

The wind sent his hair flying behind him as well as his cloak, revealing the front of his bone-inlaid robes as Mother's swift dash allowed him to cover 100 meters under 7 to 8 seconds as he headed back to the manor. The exhibition and impromptu battle has long since ended, leaving him a little winded but nonetheless invigorated and satisfied. He's been stressed for some time and he needed to vent them out in a physical manner, and due to Lord Mathers' compliance to his actions, he was not disappointed.

Speaking of the dandy….

"You're truuuly fascinating, Ser Emurdol." He remarked as he flew above him, hands neatly folded behind his back as he smiled at the running necromagus below him, "To think that your artificial legs could allow you to ruuuuun that fast without breaking itself."

"I studied hard in order to avoid that, Lord Mathers." He replied, eyes a bit droopy in tiredness and his voice somewhat steady amidst the sprint. They weren't his legs anyway so that explains it, "And I was rewarded well for my efforts."

"I could teeeell!" Roswaal agreed with an exhilarated drawl, "To think that you could cut the distance between you and me in a blink of an eye, I was absooooolutely flabbergasted!"

"If I had allowed my other arms to be put into play, it would have been a different outcome." Instead of decking Roswaal right in his pretty face covered in makeup, the archmage smoothly spun in place, his pale fist grazing his high-collar and exposing his back for a quick hand-chop by the lord, punctuating the word 'pork' as he did. He would have felt the full extent of the strike if it weren't for Mother crossing her arms to block it.

For a dandy, and a mage at that, he hits like a hurricane.

The lord smiled, eyes sparkling at what happened earlier, "To think that you would summon an entire skeleton aaaaarmy on me….." He didn't sound displeased, only exhilarated as he was.

A wicked smile crossed his lips, "You won anyway, Lord Mathers. Other than that, that wasn't even the worst of it. Those skeletons could be holding arms, wielding magic, moving so quickly it evades your eyes, maybe even carrying the souls of long passed archmages like you. That army was simple-minded, nothing more than mindless animals recklessly throwing themselves at you." Any self-respecting necromagus could create a small army of skeletons, but the truly skilled ones would employ even more fighting power in their creation. And he's not one to show these abilities so openly in a play-fight. If he's going to do so, it must end with somebody no longer having a heartbeat in the aftermath.

"You were hooooolding back!?" The lord's pitch rose in shock and exasperation. By the Dragon, his mannerisms are otherworldly. "And just when I fought so seeeeriously!"

"Bull-shit, Lord Mathers." He shot that claim down, throwing a spiteful glare in the dandy's position. Lying to a Priest of Death is a grave offense, and this bastard's lucky that he's only receiving a verbal lash instead of getting his tongue melted, "You held back by half. I held back by eighth. You of all people should understand that hiding your strengths is very essential."

"Aaah, I was seeeen through!" Lord Mathers placed a hand to his forehead dramatically, almost looking like he's about to faint, then righted himself as he faced the direction they're going. "Nonetheless, it was a fun bout. Don't forget the leeeeeessons I gave you, okay?" He told with a wink.

"I will not." He said sincerely, "Those spells were truly practical."

"Glad to be of service, Ser Eeeeemurdol. If you wish to improve on your arts of Dark Magic, turn to Beatrice for she is a Maaaaster of it."

"Mm."

He had been taught earth spells, and they were fantastic. To create a rock formation with a simple phrase and a bit of mana circulation as well using a method unique to the denizens of this world, the results were astounding. Astounding enough that he created a wall of stone that stood at an extreme height of 100 feet. The amount of mana he used was as equal to the cost of a bone wall, and it created that.

Extremely potent mana can be terrifying. He destroyed that creation with a fire spell Lord Mathers taught him, Al Goa. It was the result of yet another terrifying execution of destructive power outside of his anticipations. Not only did the monstrous fireball destroy the rock formation, it was at an extent that it rained burning rock and stone everywhere in the process of the explosion. Which was why they were running back to the mansion and ending this exhibition quickly, fearing what might happen if it went any further.

Inspiration struck with these new learned spells. Using his creativity, he could create a Rock Golem out of the Earth Spell, leaving out a few complicated steps in the creation process and likely lessening the drain it will have on his psyche. And with the concept of the 'Gate' and 'Od' of the body acquired to his knowledge, his iconic spells of bone and death held the promise of becoming even more refined compared to the method he's used all this time. Bothering with this exhibition actually helped him.

"Tell me, tell me…" He looked to his side to see the lord flying beside him, his mantle flying behind as he 'lied down' on the air, holding his chin as he regarded his armored legs. "….your oooother arms and these legs, they aren't controlled byyyyy you, are they?"

He wore a wry smile, "It took you this long to realize?" Especially after everything Mother did at breakfast.

"I was entertaining the thooooought that you like to put on a show but your magic says otherwise!" He rolled his eyes to that, looking up to the sky to see it darkening. Night has come. Not a concern for him. He can see in the dark very well, but what of this dandy? "And I haaaappened to hear you shout for a person named 'Mother' back at the gazebo hours earlier. Could it beeeee…." He trailed off.

He only blinked, nodding in confirmation after considering the options with Mother. "Yes. The soul residing in this set of bones is my blood mother, who died of childbirth. Growing up as a parentless babe, I was raised by her while my guardians looked after my health." Behind his waist, where his own hands were, a metallic hand interlocked with his left. He squeezed it, "I don't know if you had assumed this but I was born with legs. I was a healthy infant."

The lord said no reply, attentively listening as he flew.

He appreciated his silence, "My freedom lasted as long as it could, then a…disagreement between me and a fellow priest led to my loss. It took almost a year for me to counteract with the loss, with another 2 due to unforeseen complications."

"I shan't pry." Lord Mathers said, a grimace in his clownish features.

He appreciated that. "But in time, Mother and I soon became one. A union that made me stronger than I ever had with my own legs. We fought and lived in the Above-World, together since my birth and never one without the other. We shared the same suffering, the same losses, the same victories and the same gains." A second hand, as well as a third and a fourth joined in holding his left hand, a belying warmth sent through the cold steel and to his heart.

"Then all shall quiver in the shared might of Mother and Son. I eeeeenvy your fortune with her, Ser Emurdol."

"What fortune?"

"That a loved one would not leave your side, even in death."

There was no cheer nor drawl, and he could not miss the yearning look in the lord's eyes. It was a recognizable sight. It seemed even Lord Mathers himself had someone he wished had stayed with him despite their passing.

It was not something he approved of, however. It's only a sign of immaturity that Above-Worlders are severely prone to, "…yes." Unlike his case, Mother was already dead, and death is a something they both have been looking forward to. If ever she passes on and remained in the Afterlife instead of forcing herself into the Living Realm just to watch over him like she had before, he will only lament that he did not die together with her.

Such closure with the souls of the dead and the afterlife is something only for those who are willing to face the truth, and it's something the Order is not willing to teach, even to their own people. It's a personal thing that every human must experience for themselves by their own terms. Everyone in the Underground City has achieved this enlightenment, and those who had above ground are a severe minority.

"Aaaaahh! We're hooome!" And the lord bolts ahead, excited to reach his manor's doorstep.

He didn't try to match the dandy's pace, only going in his own as he did the same routine as before, jumping over the gate and clearing the distance from gate to door under 15 seconds while Roswaal waited for him there. "Toooook you long enough."

"What did you rush for? The Dear Maid's cooking?" He made that sound like it was an insult. And the person in question who waited on the doorstep alongside her sister held conflicted emotions in regards to how she'll take that.

"Well, yeees!" The lord didn't seem to catch his intention, "Rem's cooking is rather superb, as you have experienced at breakfast."

"No disagreement." He did enjoy that meal, despite choking twice. "But I will head to my quarters early." He headed for the door.

"Sleeping so soooon?"

"Research." He corrected, his skeletal hand clenching into a fist, the ivory creating cracking noises against the strength he exerted. "If dinner is served, I would kindly request having it sent to my room."

"Of course." Lord Mathers agreed with a nod, turning to the Dear Maid. "Rem, you heard him. Make sure you give him a fine meal."

"Yes, Lord Roswaal." In an air of professionalism, the Dear Maid bowed, all the suspicion she held practically nonexistent behind it.

With a nod to the lord and servants, he departed inside the mansion.

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

He had said he'll research, he had told himself to investigate the phenomena of his hand as soon as he gets to his room. What he's doing is anything but. He's just sitting on his improvised study table, staring at his skeletal hand and thinking about nothing, not even the fact that it was capable of transferring mana as if it was his own physical hand could stir him.

The only thing that came to his thoughts before nothing else was simple: what's the point?

The Dear Maid had already came to bring him his dinner, deliciously cooked meals set on a try along with refreshments. She even apologized for her impolite actions earlier, and he felt her sincerity from it. He may still be sour about it but he let her off with a nod and a small order: 'you may leave'. It was a mercy.

He was hungry, a side-effect of the use of mana and physical exertions, even his stomach audibly demanded it, but the simple thought came back: what's the point?

He had the thought of going outside to talk with the Spirits of the Dead, learn all about Lugunica from them and even chat the entire night just to waste the time away till morning comes.

He didn't, and the reason was very simple: what's the fucking point?

What was the point of all this? Honestly, what? What the hell has he been doing the entire day? Why the hell did he get so friendly with that half-breed and every other idiot in this mansion? Why did he say those words at the table? Why did he allow 5 days for himself? Why didn't he lash out and attacked everyone on sight? Why did he even come to a compromise with the lord? Why did he even suffer every second of this day? Why?

Nothing could answer them, not even himself or Mother.

His emotions were at a loss, jumbled and confused. Bitter, angry, frustrated, disheartened….and the last one he held back. If he had even thought of it, he would surely break.

He had given his life so much thought, and he had no regrets. He had a fulfilling life. He had done so much, so much more than the Order ever could. His name was destined to become legend, his accomplishments will be sung from the lips of the bard in the taverns and around bonfires, his people will no longer have to suffer the pain of rejection of the Above-World anymore….

….why did it leave him so dejected?

His state of mind had been stable, even after he was forced into this world and later threw himself in the circumstances of a stupid, naïve little girl named Emilia. Even if he had wanted to go home and settle down, another adventure didn't sound so bad.

At the time, it didn't.

To lose his hand right after, what pitiful circumstances. He huffed, chuckling mirthlessly.

His immobility was casted aside, standing up from the chair and walking to the center of the room as he looked at his skeletal hand, its intricate placement neatly locked around his forearm like vambraces only his Order would be inclined in wearing, and the hand to replace the one he lost: its mobility amazed him. It was beyond him how it moved according to his will.

Nonetheless, this hand saved him. He still has his will over it, even if it lacked the properties of the flesh such as touch. At least he won't have to give Mother a third right hand to have control on, they can go on their lives just like—

….

…go….on….?

…go on….living….?

Live? What?

…live….

…live…..

That emotion he held back….it arrived, and just like before, when he lost his beloved apprentices to the cruelty of Lucifer, it was unmerciful.

The simple thought of living the next day with Mother by his side was powerful enough to destroy his defenses and it came: Despair.

"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHH!"

He screamed. A scream of anguish. A scream of despair. A scream of misery. A scream of pain. A scream of agony. A scream of hatred. A scream of anger. All the negative emotions he had pent-up ever since discovering his living state, he expelled them all out in the most primal way possible. In a way that was unbecoming of a Priest of the Serpent. He would be given the disapproval of the Elders, especially if they hear the reason of his outburst.

A reason that defied their teachings.

Struggling, he forced himself out of Mother's bones and he fell pathetically to the floors while the former's frame stood aghast at his outburst. Intentionally, he let his head smack first before the rest of him, and everything else followed from there.

His hands viciously slammed against the floor repeatedly, the sound of flesh and bone meeting the floors resonating in brutal self-harm. His prosthetic hand was quick to crack, break and eventually shatter to several pieces, but it failed to do his despair any justice of expressing. His screams couldn't match either, not even the bleeding tears that escaped his eyes.

His heart was breaking, and the reality of his situation made it all worse. Even if his hands cracked, even if his stump was damaged, even if his forehead bled from its constant banging against the floor, he did not stop. He didn't want to stop. He couldn't.

He couldn't accept this. Not anymore. Not after everything.

Mother was quick to kneel in front of him, grab his wrists with one pair of hands and cradled his head to her skeletal chest with the other. His struggles only worsened from there. He resisted against her locking embrace, trying to escape her grasp and vying against her wishes to stop, screaming incomprehensible outpourings all the way.

Mother didn't relent, and even if she was just a frame of bones, metal and dirt, he made her strong and it backfired on him the sooner she disagreed with him. Her frame held him down without a problem but it wasn't able to express the sympathy she had for him and the despair she felt alongside him. She knew what was wrong, she knows perfectly well what drove him to this heartbreaking state, and if she could help it, she would have broken just like him, but her son's suffering outweighed hers more, and she could not just stand back and let him be.

Denied his passage to the Dragon. Denied his afterlife. Denied his peace. Denied even the freedom to go home, to rest, to finally be together in the afterlife as Mother and Son.

Emilia's act of saving his life had deprived him of any hope to continue living. He had held back this thought in the hopes of rekindling the will to live by looking on the bright side of the situation, an optimistic approach that idiots used to employ an illusion in their lives and eventually gain a nonsensical reason to continue. He needed that reason, just any reason at all to continue living a life after everything he's been through. But after so much thought regarding everything that happened the entire day, from the mistrust he suffered and the direct suspicion Rem had on him, he realized that he couldn't take it anymore.

He was brought back to the start. This new world was nothing but Hell. Even if he wished to go back Underground, they don't exist here. He has no way of knowing how he'll return. He's trapped here. The Order of the Serpent were feared, subjected to the prejudice of many, and even if the Order accepts this, not everyone could. Including him. He is unknown to this world, and it is no secret that everyone fears the unknown. And when he causes that fear simply by being alive for his lineage and powers, it will take no time before it drives everyone, especially the people in this mansion into a paranoid fury.

Mistrusted, doubted, hated, and betrayed. He suffered all these things because of that fear, and he took them all on just to make sure it doesn't happen to the rest of his people. And as if fate itself had a grudge against him, he was forced into a land that knew nothing of him or his people, or even the efforts he's done to take away the sufferings the Order goes through every time in the Above-World, just to spit at the efforts he's done.

It was nothing short of hopeless. He doesn't want to face those again. Not anymore. He's had enough of it.

He was done.

Slowly, the willingness to struggle further left him and his hands slowly slacked, his entire body weakening as he gave up, on resisting and on himself. His wails slowly reduced itself into pained sobs, and Mother consoled him as much as she can with her gentle touches: rubbing his back, patting his head and stroking his hair. Despite her efforts, he still continued to cry.

"Why…..!?"

A hoarse throat, a despairing voice, and a dying breath released a question that conveyed all the thoughts and feelings he had in these unacceptable circumstances.

"Why didn't you let me die...?"

~~~~~ « ҉ » ~~~~~

I know, Mama…..I know…but this was bound to happen, anyway. Nothing we can do to prevent it. But unlike how he's going to react when he realizes that he can't Go Home anymore, this is only merciful.

You must understand. This hurts me as much as it's hurting him. I never wanted any of this to happen as much as you do. I care about him too. You're not the only one, Mama. I wouldn't be doing all the effort before if I hadn't.

…..

…

What are we going to do now? That's only obvious. Like I said, we will help him live. We watch over him and we'll be holding him up from now on.

You'll get your chance…..

…..you'll get your chance.