Lyle gave them at least five minutes tops before these knights finally decided to grace them with their presence, leaving precious little time to react to what he could do.

Looking too young Brice who seemed none too pleased at the inevitable arrival of lord Bastien, Lyle kneeled to the young man with a severe expression on his face. "Can I trust you, kid?"

Nodding dumbly to the sudden question, the boy was surprised to feel the heavy yet noticeable grimoire of Kemmler shoved into his hands. "Your small, and your hard to miss, one-eye not withstandin'. Take this, and hide it the best you can. Don't tell anyone where your hidin', you hearin' me?" At the sight of another silent nod, Lyle pressed onward. "Just go now and hide it! I'll come back for it when I can! Go!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Bryce fled as quickly as his little legs could take him, leaving Lyle hoping he was making the right choice.

"You need to hide too, Lyle," Ave said with urgency, tugging on the cloak of his sleeve. "Unless you have another spell or two that can rid us of that bastard."

"I'm tapped out," Lyle admitted glumly, his shoulders visibly sagging. His innards were putting him through the wringer with the lances of sharp pain they were giving him now. "It's why I'm having Brice hide my book. That thing may as well be a paperweight with how I am right now. I have nothing left in the tank."

"All the more reason for you to hide!" Ave nearly yelled, practically pulling him away from the crowd of peasants whose worries were growing by the second. "If he finds you, death will seem like a mercy."

Lyle wanted to protest or at least dig his heels in, but he had no more strength than a child. He wasn't just tapped magically but physically. His life-and-death struggle with Ugbar had taken everything he had, and he couldn't really argue with the buck-toothed girl's logic. Even so, he could still offer verbal protests. "What about you guys? I'm not in the mood to just leave you all twistin' in the wind."

"And I'm not in a mood to see you swinging in a gibbet. We'll be fine. "We'll just say we defended ourselves and go from there."

"He gonna buy it?"

Ave didn't answer, and when they were well and truly away from the crowd, the fiery-haired girl shoved him into one of the mud huts. Lyle felt slightly embarrassed that a girl more petite than him could push him around like this, but he didn't have much room to truly argue here. These were the most desperate of times, after all.

"If the Lady's willing, he'll just leave us be as he loves doing, whether for better or worse."

"But what if he doesn't." Lyle asked sharply. "What if your Lady says, fuck it, and leaves you for dead?" For a moment, the girl's eyes hesitated before becoming resolute.

"Just keep your arse down, Lyle. You helped, so let us do our part."

She left shortly thereafter, leaving Lyle to hope she was making the right choice. From the looks of it, Ave seemed to be privately wondering if she was thinking the same thing. It only made Lyle more frustrated that he was so helpless in this situation, especially after all the trouble he went through to save this village.

Soon the thundering hooves he had heard earlier became louder. Dread gripped Ulysses' chest, which made him want to inch forward to the hut's entrance as Ave looked to join the rest of the peasants, who were noticeably looking downward. The number of people looking down only increased as the knights came closer.

People shouldn't look so downtrodden on those who are supposed to protect them. Lyle's biggest concern was the undead that littered the battlefield. He couldn't help but wonder how in the hell the peasants would explain that, but if there was really a god, then hopefully, this Bastien wouldn't care.

"Lyle." Brice nearly made the necromancer jump out of his skin as the boy peered into the hut.

"Jesus, kid!" Ulysses nearly screamed, gesturing for the boy to step in, which he thankfully did. "You could give the fucking orcs a scare with how quiet you are! You hid the book?"

"In a hollowed log. It's where Ave keeps her secret stash."

"Atta boy ki-

"How do you explain the undead peasants!" The voice of one of the knights drew the gaze of both child and necromancer to the crowd was now joined with knights that seemed to stare at their lesser countrymen imperiously. "Stare at the dirt as you should, but I will have an answer!"

Lyle looked to Brice, who now had a scowl on his one-eyed visage. "Bastien?"

"Bastien." The disdain was unmistakable.

The man with the bull-shaped heraldry atop his helmet, his breastplate, and the flag right above him looked down upon those he had been sworn to rule over and protect with disgust he didn't bother to hide. "If I hear only silence, then I will remove tongues until one of yours becomes loosened!"

Eventually, Eudon stepped forward, keeping his graying-haired head pointed downward as he stammered to his liege lord. "A b-battle m'lord. A-a-a b-battle between a necromancer and greenskin."

Lyle would have clapped Eudon on the back for that quick thinking. Not necessarily a lie since it was technically true.

"Obviously, you ill-bred wretch." Bastien looked revolted at even addressing poor Eudon. "What I want to know is how all of these undead and greenskins slew one another…and yet all of you remain."

"We…not all of us survived m'lord. Others fell bravely in defense of our village."

This time Bastien smirked, turning to his fellow knights with a contemptuous smirk on his face. "Bravely, the peasant says. Imagine that? Peasants playing at knight." Many of the knights joined in on the laughs and even from here, Lyle could see the many bowed faces of the peasantry showing anger and frustration. He could understand that anger, but he could only hope that it didn't make them lose sense. "Do not dare compare your courage to the highborn of this mighty nation, you low-born pig. Though I daresay that a pig would carry more value than you."

Lyle couldn't help but admire Eudon's self-control. "I did not dare do my lord. We are merely fortunate, is all."

"Fortunate, you say? And what pray tell were the undead and greenskins doing here, to begin with, I wonder?"

"I-I know not, my lord! I dare not understand the twisted minds of orcs, goblins, and necromancers. I am a simple peasant."

"As far as simple goes, you are correct. Yet, I cannot help but feel anger at how you lie to your own liege lord."

"I…I know not what you mean."

"Oh? Tell me then, peasant. I see the orc warboss leading these long-nosed goblins is dead." Bastien acknowledged, gesturing to the grizzly corpse of the orc in question. "However, answer me this. Did the necromancer in charge of this undead horde also perish?"

Lyle could feel the nervousness of the peasants from here. He could only hope that, in this instance, Eudon had the wisdom to say that he ran away or something to that effect because coming up with an answer that follows along the lines of 'he died' would be a trap in of itself. That could lead to questions such as 'where is the body' and 'how did he' Plus, if they believed that Lyle was still alive, they might just give chase to him, and the situation could blow over.

C'mooon Eudon. Use your fucking head here. You seem to have a decent head on your shoulders among the rest of your illiterate countrymen.

Eudon himself was glad he was looking down at the dirt as he finally gave his answer after licking his lips, a bead of sweat coming down his brow. "Left as soon as he heard your knights, m'lord."

"...and why was here?"

"I did not ask, my lord. H-he was more focused on killing us and the orcs."

Yes! Atta boy Eudon!

Brice just looked confused. "Why are you grinning and…pumping your fist like that?"

"Cause Eudon just saved our asses." Lyle sighed, hoping the aging peasant's excuse would satisfy the lord.

For a moment, Bastien was silent as if measuring the response for the moment. "A likely answer. Probably even true, I must admit."

Relieved, Eudon let out a silent breath of relief that only he could hear.

However, the lord of this village turned his head back to his fellow knights. "What say you, Yasmine? Has the necromancer truly fled?"

As the knights moved their horses and parted the proverbial sea, Lyle felt both a magical, ethereal presence and a sense of dread. Sitting on a horse with both legs on one side and bare feet dangling atop a milk-white unicorn was a blonde-haired woman with sticks, twigs, and leaves sticking out. Her eyes were ablaze with what seemed to be green-like magical energy with a mischievous smile on her face. What made Lyle feel horror was the magic that he could feel coming from her body.

"I say that your subject is a liar, Lord Bastien." The damsel said with an unimpressed look.

Bastien returned her smile as he suddenly drew his sword. "So he is." Before Eudon could say anything, the noble's sword lashed out, and though the peasant managed to scramble back to avoid a fatal blow, the aging man screamed as his left hand was lopped off, landing uselessly on the ground, with blood spurting out of his stump.

"Tell me, damsel. Can you tell where the necromancer is?"

"Sadly not." The woman admitted with a pout. "Unfortunately there's so much Dhar spread throughout the field that it's hard to point him out. He is here, however, THAT much I can tell."

A knight trotted forward, gripping his sword tightly. "Would you like me to take some fellow knights to search for the village, sire? He must be close."

Bastien shook his head. "Nay. These people…these people whom I have protected my entire life." Though he could not see it, scowls formed on many of the bowed heads of the peasants of Riffen, with many even gnashing their teeth at the audacity of their liege lord. "These people who are sworn to serve me clearly know what I demand, yet spit on the hand that feeds them. Bring forth another peasant. That girl in men's clothing! Just seeing her is an affront to my eyes!"

Ave! Lyle stumbled out of the hut, realizing what he needed to do, especially as he saw a few knights grab the struggling buck-toothed who let out curses with her eyes wild in both anger and fear.

Brice, however, was nearly scared of the necromancer. "What are you doing Lyle!?"

Lyle ignored him, as he continued to stalk forward resolutely, his mind made up.

"I recognize that coat pattern anywhere." Bastien leered as his knights held Ave down while she struggled futilely. "I recall Bertrand's Brigand's roaming about the nearby lands in that coat pattern! That lot had the gall to steal some pigs from my father's land! Now they dare to put girls in men's clothes!"

A few sniggers broke out amongst the knights, all too willing to agree with their liege lord. All the while, Ave was practically snarling from underneath the knights on top of her. "Like you should care! You're the one who left us to fend for ourselves against orcs!"

Bastien hocked his throat and spat on the back of Ave's head, an act that only further angered the peasants who, while they couldn't quite see, could hear and understand the gesture well. Jory had to be held down by Ham, who was fuming along with many of the other peasantry.

"I Don't recall asking for your opinion whore…now that I think about it, are those bucked teeth you have there?"

"Indeed, sire!" One of the knights holding Ave down affirmed. "She must be Ave! The bitch who's been the inside source for the Brigands for years now in Riffen! The Lady smiles at us to finally catch her here!"

Ave's eyes widened at the mere fact that they recognized her. She was sure that she'd never been seen personally by any knights up until now. At least not up this close. The only way they would know what she looked like was if someone within the village told them…which gave way to all kinds of implications.

"Which must mean she must have been in contact with the necromancer." Bastien nodded with self-satisfaction. "Only a harlot that has dalliances with Bertrand's lot will work with necromancers. Tell me, Ave, did you polish the heretic's rotted sword as you did with Bertrand's men to even wear his colors?"

More raucous laughter broke out from the knights, some outwardly slapping each other on the back and leaning in on the joke. The lord of Riffen looked mighty pleased with himself as he remained either unseeing or unable to notice the growing rage amongst his villagers. Bastien also failed to realize Yasmine's strained smile, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the glob of spit on Ave's hair.

Taking the initiative, the damsel urged her unicorn forward until she was closer to Ave. "You know where he is, don't you?" Ave didn't answer the woman, and instead grit her teeth and stared at the ground since the knights only allowed her to do just that. "Answer truthfully, and you may live yet."

"I wouldn't know." The peasant girl grunted. "I told you, he left."

"You dare lie to a damsel? One of the chosen of the Lady?" Bastien sighed, feigning disappointment. "Before my father passed, he always stressed the importance of making sure that your people were aware of how much you cared." The lord trotted forward on his horse, moving past the damsel and Ave, and now a mere few feet away from the peasants who still dared not to look him in the face as was custom. "Here I am showing how much I care about all of you, my dear subjects, by trying to rout out a heretic that raises your countrymen as his thralls…and yet you all remain silent? Is he that terrifying that you dare not answer me? Your liege lord who governs and protects you, even at this moment?"

As more silence reigned, the contemptuous sneer on Bastien's face returned. "Or is it that you've plotted to overthrow me? To consider one of the most heinous your kind to resort to. Treason." many peasants cringed at the word, and like a wolf finding a bone, Bastien pounced. "Could it be that you're working with this necromancer to reject the love of the Lady, the love that I have for you? Do you plot even now in the hopes that I may fall to such ruinous powers despite how much I give? If that is indeed the case…" The lordling trotted back toward Ave, with his blood-stained sword pointed toward her defenseless form. "Then I suppose an example should be ma-

"WHO DA FUCK DO YOU THINK THESE MUD PEOPLE ARE?" A boisterous voice bellowed from behind the peasants. All eyes suddenly turned to see none other than Lyle strutting forward with utter confidence in his movement. "You glorified tin-men somethin' are somethin' special to think they were smart enough to have a little something called independent thought!"

Yasmine's eyes widen in realization, her unicorn whinnying in shock as well. "Lord Bastien! That's the one! That's the necromancer!"

Bastien looked stunned. He didn't think it would be that quick and easy. He was sure he would have to lop off the limbs of a few peasants to get his answer, failing that a few heads. In the end, it didn't matter to him, but he thought it would take longer than this.

So stunned was he that Lyle continued to talk. "I mean, let's be honest here, you think these people can plot to do anything under your nose? No. You haven't been here like you say you have. Anyone with half a brain could see what they lack. Why the hell do you think I came here?"

Suddenly snapping out of his inner thoughts, Bastien righted himself in the saddle, stammering as he began to cry out orders. "Kn-Knights! Prepare to charg-

"Belay that lord Bastien. This is indeed the necromancer, but he is of no current threat…he has dipped in the winds of magic too much, and he knows it…I can sense it." A smug look overcame the damsel who trotted a bit closer to the necromancer boldly. "If he dips into the winds anymore, his innards may melt before he dies."

Lyle suppressed a wince. He had no idea his condition was that bad, nor that it was possible for something like that to happen. Though he couldn't cast spells at the moment, lest his organs turn to soup, it would do little to stop him from doing what needed to be done. "Big fuckin' whoop, Lady. Don't make a lick of difference if I can or can't cast magic, I'll get my pound of flesh one way or another."

Bastien then narrowed his eyes, recognition coming over him. "That's…that voice and accent! Your, Lyle Spoletta, aren't you! The one Lord Bohemond thrashed!"

Lyle rolled his eyes. "He didn't thrash me. Please, it was a calculated advance…into the opposite direction. But, never mind that. I couldn't help but overhear you guys suggesting that these peasants may have helped me kill these orcs from earlier…and at the same time you say that these, inbred, low-grade flunkies…if you think I needed these guys' help to kill these goblins, the mental divide between yourself and your unwashed subjects ain't that far!"

Many peasants couldn't help but look shocked and hurt by Lyle's comments, and Bastien's pride was seemingly simmering behind the backhanded comparison.

"You da-

"Oh, I do more than dare! Let's not get it twisted, B-man. I saw a bunch of orcs and some peasants brawling it out, I saw the perfect opportunity to get some fresh corpses from both sides, and I would have gotten away with it too, if you knights who like to spouse about honor didn't come in to interrupt the win I rightfully stole!"

That seemed to give the lord some pause for a moment, as well as confused looks from the peasants, who most definitely didn't remember it going down quite that way. Realization dawned on Ave's face, as well as a few other peasants whose IQ had been more blessed than their counterparts.

Yasmine seemed especially curious by the necromancer's words, who couldn't help but lean forward on her unicorn with interest. "So you are not aligned with these peasants?"

"Oh please, even a heretic such as myself, as you guys like to call me, has standards. Did you not just hear me call them mud people who look so god-awful their cousins may hesitate to fuck em'? Instead, they gotta settle for their parents and siblings, and I like to keep myself from low lives like that with at least a ten-foot radius if I can help it! As a matter of fact." Lyle then took a long dramatic step backward, noticeably away from the shocked-looking peasants he had given a rousing speech to only moments ago. "There. Now my sinuses feel notably cleaner. The point is, the only way to improve their smell is by turning em' into corpses, and as far as I'm concerned, that's all they're good for. I don't know what mental gymnastic your brain had to take for me to come to the conclusion that I would scheme with them, there's not much to work with up there!" Lyle spat, pointing to his own cranium to send home his own point. "In fact I'm sure they may just drain my IQ points through association! I'm not about to take that kind of risk for these shit-slinging hicks!

Fully realizing what Lyle was doing, Ave suddenly cleared her throat, feigning anger and vitriol as she spoke while still being forced into the ground. "Ye grave-digging beast! Ye pox-ridden! I hope I see your foreign arse hangin' from a gibbet!"

"Feelings mutual, you buck-toothed bitch!" Lyle retorted, putting as much abuse as he could into his insults. "Shame you're not a zombie right now, it'd be an improvement along with the rest of you fuckin' lemmings!"

Thankfully it was Jory and Ham who quickly realized what Ave was thinking, and the insults began spilling forth. "Should have drowned yourself when you had the chance, heretic! Now you'll burn in the name of the Lady!"

"Aye, damn him and the lives he took! Damn him for turning from the Lady's mercy!"

Even Eudon, who was having his removed appendage tended to stem the bleeding and feeling light-headed, was spouting disparaging words, along with other peasants who were either realizing what their countrymen were trying to do or were so frightened of their higher-bred overlord that praises were sung of the knights with more insults were flung at Lyle.

It all seemed so authentic that the knights and Bastien were momentarily surprised before seeming smug at how their lower caste should act, while others simply shrugged as if they were seeing normal behavior. Lyle was relieved to see the heat against the peasants go from them to himself. The only thing he had to think of on the fly was how he was going to be able to find a way to live and give himself a pat on the back.

In the corner of his eye, he spied the blank look of Yasmine. Lyle felt a stab of worry in his gut. He'd seen that look before. He'd seen it from his mother after he told her he was hanging with his friends when in reality, he'd been with his uncle, helping his sons break into a safe at a meat shop that owed him money.

She wasn't convinced. Yasmine most definitely wasn't either.

Dread filled him as she turned to Bastien. "Lord Bastien. Seeing how we're keeping other necromancers in castle Bastonne, I shall restrain him for your liege lord."

Bastien turned to her concerned. "Are you sure he's not a threat?"

"If he was, I would be able to tell."

Lyle was surprised. Wasn't she calling him or the rest of the peasants out on his bullshit? This might actually work out for the better in his favor! He hoped he would have to come up with some contrived bullshit story on why they should let him live, seeing as to how he knew he wouldn't be able to outrun armored cavalry a second time. Still…if she knew he was lying, why keep it a secret? Maybe she was taking pity on the unwashed masses?...or maybe she had other motives.

Wait…what did she mean by other necromancers at a castle. Wait! Don't tell me that there were some in the legion who got capt-

Lyle felt his hands come to his neck when a green vine suddenly wrapped itself around him. His eyes bulged, and his eyes became blurry. He saw some peasants scream out in concern and shock before his vision turned green.

…

Fredericka Bylor always hated the catacombs. She knew it was ironic given her occupation, but it wasn't so much the catacombs themselves that she feared as much as who occupied them the most.

Whether it was the library, the alchemy hall, or other sections of Blackstone Post, the catacombs were always sparsely populated. Not just because few people needed to occupy them for maximum efficiency but also because those who went down often had a chance of not coming back out with all of their limbs or organs attached. The truly unlucky ones sometimes didn't come back at all…or rather alive.

It was here that Kurt made his haunts. The catacombs, as its name implies, were the deepest section of Blackstone Post, filled with no shortage of bones, stalagmites, and caves that were deep as they were vast. Every step she and the rest of her fellow necromancers took was followed by a soft yet audible crunch. Whether it was rocks or bone was something that nobody was determined to learn, yet the group pressed on regardless, into the dimly lit catacombs lit by blue-colored flames, set on torches minted just above their heads.

Truth be told, Fredericka was more worried about the trip to get to the catacombs than the destination. She was sure that a few of their number would outright scatter into the night for the few times they made camp to Blackstone Post. Perhaps some within the now prominent factions of their parties would try and outright murder the other to serve their own interests. It wouldn't shock her since the enmity between Tobias's, Burt's and Schmitz's respective groups had only. Yes, even Burtholdt was now growing followers, which was shocking in of itself, considering how arrogant the masked fiend could be. Perhaps it was the fact that they latched onto his sheer power for protection in these trying times that they looked forward to, as limited as it was.

There had been injuries and sickness now and then. One misunderstanding or personal feud would break out while they made headway to their haven, and some would find themselves with missing limbs or their skin much paler than usual…the typical necromantic infighting that wouldn't happen if Kemmler or Lyle were around.

Yet here they were. Morale was at an all-time low, but a promise of new power kept the group together. That's what always drew necromancers together, after all. The lust for new power. It was why so many were initially drawn to Kemmler and his sheer knowledge of necromancy.

Yet now, Fredericka felt they were treading into uncharted waters, especially as the musky and rotted smell of the catacombs began to weigh on her mind. Soon a familiar hunchbacked shape began to filter into her view within these dark passages.

Kurt was someone that Fredericka only saw when it was absolutely necessary. And if she ever needed something from him, she sent some poor servant to act as an intermediary to minimize her own risk.

Nobody was quite sure where Krell found him. It was clear by his name and accent that he hailed from the Empire, though whether he was from Stirland or perhaps even Wissenland was up for debate. What was known was that ever since Kurt made his haunts in the catacombs, operations within had never run so smoothly. He preferred his servants to be bereft of flesh while also acceding to all of his whims, with many people who so much as displeased him winding up as such servants. He also was the one who helped graft the more monstrous creations that Kemmler would need for his devices. Whether it was ghouls, Vargheists, Terrorgheists, or more, Kurt was the premier professional for crafting these varied beasts.

This was also helped, especially by the bountiful cache of warp stone that happened to be underneath Blackstone Post, which expedited the process of making these beasts. Seeing the long-nailed long-haired, and sallow complexion on Kurt, some had seen up close that couldn't help but wonder if he retained some of the habits of the infamous Skaven who spent more time next to warp stone than any creature across the old and new world.

"Schmitz…" Kurt's voice was raspy. He didn't look up at the group, instead focusing his glassy black eyes on his workshop table in front of him, twisting and pulling at a finger bone with his long-nailed hands. "... You're late." He didn't sound at all perturbed or inconvenienced. It was as if he were stating a fact.

Schmitz, to his credit, didn't quail. "Inconveniences on the road. Trivial matters to deal with."

"Would be less trivial with a non-living party."

"A non-living party would not be able to command the undead."

Kurt sighed and shook his head. "And what a shame that is." The man eventually put down the finger he had been tinkering with, which was now twisted and bent in ways a finger should not. Yet, eerily enough, it twitched noticeably on the desk it was left on. "I take it that we have a volunteer?"

Burtholdt was quick to step forward. "Volunteer to tap into the true depths of magical power? If so, then yes! Let no one volunteer to further their command over the wind of Dhar other than Bertholdt the Bad!"

Fredericka winced, along with many others. The Cavern echoed the boisterous necromancer's volume, which made his boasts more aggravating than usual. If this winds of killing him, it may deprive us of a powerful tool…but perhaps we can find a less aggravating one in the future? Though she was thinking way too far ahead. She didn't even know what Schmitz gave Kurtz to go along in recreating a ritual like this. She had no idea what the end result would be, and for all she knew, Schmitz himself could be gambling one way or another.

If it failed, it dealt with the problem that was Burtholdt. But, if it was successful, what would there be to stop him and the magical power growth that he would achieve? Did Schmitz have a fail-safe? She highly doubted it. She didn't find one within Kemmler's initial summoning ritual, and she doubted that Schmitz or Kurt had the time or wherewithal to install one themselves. Reverse engineering the spell was one thing, but altering it in the time that they had was another matter entirely.

Tobias seemed to share in her skepticism, as he narrowed his eyes, his right index finger, tapping his book subconsciously at this point. "For all of the Legion's sake, one can only hope you two were enough to match Kemmler's ingenuity."

"If you doubt the work of Schmitz and I…then Fredericka can oversee our work herself."

"M-me?"

"You were the one to cast the spell originally, were you not?" Kurt asked with a small head tilt, his glassy eyes boring into her like pinprick needles.

"I was." She admitted with as much iron and authority as she could muster as several eyes turned toward her. It was moments like these that made her constantly hesitate to take of the position Lyle himself held not long ago.

The Catacomb dweller turned back to his workshop desk and picked up a rolled-up scroll. He then, with a flourish of dramaticism, shook it and allowed the parchment to roll out, showing that it seemed at a momentary glance to be an exact replica of the summoning seal that brought Lyle to their world.

"Is this not the work of our predecessor?" The wizened necromancer grinned, showing rotted and yellow teeth that should have, by all rights, fallen out by now.

With a moment of hesitance, Fredericka offered her hand. "May I?"

"Just keep your gloves on. The moment you touch it is the moment it is activated…unless you desire as such, of course, heheheeeeehhh." The man let out a drawn-out, wheezing laugh. It was like broken glass getting ground against stone, sending shivers down her spine. Before she could lose her nerve completely, Fredericka grabbed the parchment and held it up.

"Wendel…"

The eye-patch-wearing necromancer hustled over to his female counterpart, his face curious. "Yes-yes, Fredericka?"

"Aside from me, you were the only one to see the ritual scroll. Notice any differences?"

"Well…I didn't see it for long, plus it feels like it was ages ago…but, now that you mention it…"

"...Yes?"

"There does seem to be a few adjustments…I believe that the markings that are used specifically to summon are noticeably absent…which is quite hard to miss since those circular markings dominated the parchment, at least from what I can recall-remember."

"Now that you mention it…"

"I removed those specifically because the point of the scroll is not to summon one with the ability to wield spells at a rapid rate but to bestow it upon someone who already has an aptitude in wielding dhar." Kurt took a moment to lick his lips and clear his throat. It was clear that he wasn't used to talking this much. "Your growth in wielding dhar should match this Lyle Spoletta I have heard so much about. A shame I didn't get to see it myself, it would have made this process of creating this scroll less…expensive."

"And you're sure it will bestow this power growth successfully?" Tobias asked with healthy skepticism. "Just like that?"

Kurt shifted his mouth. "'Just like that,' he says. You make it sound as if creating this was cheap. That it was as simple as raising a simple zombie. The complexities and cost of making this boon were high in cost of Dhar and souls…so many souls. It says a lot that Kemmler would make this his insurance for the legion. Though if you doubt it." There was that rotted smile of his again, pointing one long fingernail to the parchment. "Touch it. Touch it and bear witness the genius of our former Master's work."

Before Fredericka could consider just how honest Kurt was, she felt the scroll torn from her fingers as Burtholdt held it up in front of himself. "Enough of this hesitation and consternation! The ability to match my now-deceased rival has come at hand, and you all waste time talking and wondering if it will work! I Bertholdt the bad command it to work! I will it to work! And my Naggash have mercy on your wretched souls should I be denied by destiny to surpass him!"

Nobody made a move to stop him. Not even Fredericka herself. After all, this what they wanted at the end of the day, though she couldn't help but notice Wendel would sneakily try to hide his rather tall and lanky frame behind her in case something went wrong. Schmitz and Tobias did much the same behind their own flunkies though both looked on interest as Burtholdt shook off his right glove, exposing his pale skin.

"Witness the rise of Bertholdt the bad! Bear witness to your new Lych Master! For I am-GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

Bertholdt had placed his hand in the middle of the parchment, touching the magic-filled markings that had once brought Lyle Spoletta into the world. The bloodcurdling scream he let out was followed by a dark shadow overtaking his right arm. Fredericka felt her eyes widen as she saw not only this happen, these dark shapes and shadows practically swallow away Bertholdt's, but the scroll began changing as well!

"Fredericka the markings that were removed!"

"I see it! They're coming back!" It was the circular symbols that had been removed by Kurt. Somehow they were returning with a vengeance! All the while, Bertholdt fell to his knees, screaming in agony as the shadow began to crawl up his arm, practically reaching his shoulder.

It's just like what happened before! Fredericka realized. She remembered how a dark shadow had taken Kemmler's body completely and in turn summoned Ulysses to their world…was the same thing happening here? Was someone else about to be summoned despite Kurt's modifications?

Speaking of the feral looking necromancer, with speed that was unbecoming of someone of his stature, Kurt worked quickly, somehow brandishing a curved-jagged sword with one hand slicing downwards, cutting off Bertholdt's arm at the shoulder, causing the masked necromancer to crumple in both shock and pain.

The arm, however floated and hovered above the ground before twitching and bending in ways it was never meant, with the dark shadowy aura that had overcome it practically permeating around the now disembodied limb. With a sudden burst of magic power that knocked nearly all of the necromancers on their rears, the dark aura suddenly became blue, changing and twisting shapes in ways that no arm had any right to. The changes were so incomprehensible that many felt a headache forming at what they were trying to witness. It was then that Kurt hissed something from his pale lips, his glassy eyes narrowing dangerously at what used to be an arm.

"Chaos."

Everyone felt a chill and horror run down their spine at the uttered word. It also seemed like this indigo thing that was Bertholdt's arm heard him as well as suddenly it changed shape yet again, becoming pale blue magic energy and bolting away from where it was, streaking and streaming out of the caver from whence the party came.

Nobody uttered a word. The only noise left in the catacombs was the wailing and crying of Bertholdt, who writhed on the ground, clutching his phantom limb. Schmitz looked stunned, his mouth hanging open at what he had witnessed. Tobias was now openly holding his book, clutching onto it like his life depended on it. Wendel was hiding behind Fredericka, fear overtaking his senses, and Fredericka herself couldn't find it in herself to shake him off, the implications of what had just happened and what Kurt had declared finally crashing down on her like the weight of the Old World.

The oldest necromancer in the room sighed in disappointment. "So Lyle Spoletta was summoned here using the ruinous powers. A shame. It seems Kemmler wasn't the necromancer he claimed to be.

A/N: Congratulations for anyone who had thoughts on it from early on, Lyle was indeed summoned with chaos magic, and it's what has expedited his growth and aptitude in magic. Now here's the thing. This ties into the fact that Kemmler was secretly an agent for Chaos in the End Times, and believe me when I say...

...I fucking hated the End Times. Not exactly a revolutionary or groundbreaking statement since so many share my sentiment, but I felt like it had to be said. They had some interesting ideas, but also some of the biggest character and world-building assassinations that we had ever seen, and if there was any good that came out of Total War Warhammer, it's that we could change 'history so to speak.'

Because the game and Warhammer tie so much with the End Times, I feel I have to use some of the elements of it to tie into my story but rest assured it's not going to be as mind-numbingly stupid for all of us fans. I can at least try to avoid that level of stupidity.

As usual though, please leave a review to let me know what you think so far, and I hope you all enjoyed your spring break. I know I sure didn't after picking weeds throughout the entire week.