"How long?" Nyssara whispered.
"Any minute." Damian's voice was tight with strain. "Azrathel has him walking from the eastern entrance. It's difficult."
"Difficult how?"
"The corpse wants to fall. The magic wants to fade. Holding it together takes concentration." He pressed his palm against his temple and I could see sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold. "And the screaming is worse when I'm actively controlling the dead."
Nyssara looked at him with something like concern. "You can stop. We don't need to..."
"Yes we do. This is the only advantage we have."
I activated Blood-Sense and let my eyes go black. The chamber ahead resolved into warmth and rhythm; seven heartbeats, alive and waiting.
Then footsteps echoed from the eastern passage. More like shuffling and dragging. It sounded disturbing.
Karmin appeared.
He looked worse than dead. His skin had gone grey in the hours since Damian killed him, and his eyes were milky and unfocused. The cut on his palm where my cursed blade had marked him was black now, spreading like ink through water. But he walked; stiff and mechanical, a puppet on invisible strings that only Azrathel could see.
The Grey Hand members turned at his approach. I recognized three immediately.
Lord Thenn with the brass Seal at his belt. Abt Mordris, gaunt and burning with certainty. Commander Selyse in her armor, military precision in every movement. And four others I didn't know; lower rank, support, the kind of people who followed orders without asking questions.
"Karmin?" The mystery woman from before, her voice calm. "You're late."
Karmin's mouth opened and Azrathel's voice came out; layered, wrong, ancient.
"They... know..."
The Grey Hand went still.
"What?" Valric stepped forward. "What do you mean?"
"They know... everything... we've been... betrayed..."
Karmin's legs buckled and he caught himself barely, the magic fraying at the edges.
Selyse drew her sword. "This is a trick. He's compromised."
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"By who?" Mordris demanded.
"One of... us... traitor... the pact-bearer... has......"
Karmin collapsed mid-sentence. Dead again. Truly dead now.
The silence lasted three heartbeats.
Then chaos.
"Check him!" Valric barked.
Selyse crouched and examined the body with professional detachment. "Karmin is a corpse. Has been for hours."
"Then how was he walking?" One of the younger ones, his voice thin with terror.
"Necromancy." Mordris' voice was ice. "Someone raised him and sent him here."
"The pact-bearer. It has to be."
"Which one?" Valric turned on the others. "Damian Carthros uses necromancy. If he's working with...."
"Or it's one of us." Selyse stood and pointed her sword at the mystery woman. "You recruited Karmin. You gave him assignments."
"I recruited him on orders from the Overlord!"
"Convenient. And we've never met the Overlord, now, have we." She gestured at Lord Thenn and Abt Mordris. "How do we know you're not the traitor?"
"How do we know you're not?" Valric shot back.
"Enough!" Mordris slammed his staff against stone. "This is exactly what they want. Whoever they are."
"Then what do you suggest?" Selyse didn't lower her sword.
"We proceed as planned. The coronation is tomorrow. We can't stop now."
"Even if we're compromised?"
"Especially if we're compromised. If the pact-bearer knows our plan, we change nothing. We accelerate."
Valric nodded slowly. "The Overlord anticipated this. The backup plan exists for exactly this scenario."
"Then we activate it. Tomorrow. No matter what."
They dispersed through different exits, professional to the last, and within minutes the chamber was empty except for Karmin's corpse cooling on ancient stone.
We waited five minutes. Ten.
Finally Damian stood, and his legs shook so badly that Nyssara had to catch him before he fell.
"It's done," he said. "Gods, that was..."
"You okay?"
"No." He laughed; hollow, exhausted. "Azrathel says it was instructive. He enjoyed it."
I walked to Karmin's body and looked down at what we'd made of him. Grey face. Milky eyes. A tool, used and discarded.
"Feel anything?" Malgrin asked quietly.
"Should I?"
"Most people would."
I searched for guilt or horror or regret and found only satisfaction that the plan had worked.
"No," I said. "I don't feel anything."
Nyssara was watching me. I could feel her gaze even without turning around.
"We should go," she said finally. "Damian needs rest. And we need to analyze whatever Azrathel pulled from Karmin's mind before he died."
We climbed out of the catacombs through separate exits, back into Zetun's night. But before we split, Nyssara grabbed my arm.
She looked at me, a little more detached than she used to. She didn't ask if I felt anything.
"We made them desperate," she said, her voice tight.
"Desperate enemies are faster. We have to move."
She didn't touch my arm this time. She just turned and walked into the darkness.
Damian lingered. "She's trying very hard to hold onto who you used to be," he said.
"Is there anything left to hold onto?" I looked at my hands.
The black veins visible even in the dark.
"I don't know."
--- SPECTACLE REPORT: THE PUPPET SHOW ---
Performance Rating: ??? (3/5) Malgrin's Note: "Well, that backfired. You tried to make them scared, and instead, you made them efficient. Paranoid fanatics don't stop working, Yozi; they just work faster because they think the devil is chasing them. Which, to be fair, he is. He's standing right next to you."
TACTICAL UPDATE:
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Objective: [Sow Chaos].
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Result: [Enemy Acceleration].
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Status: Task Failed Successfully.
INTERPERSONAL REVIEW:
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Nyssara: Tired of asking questions she doesn't want the answers to.
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Yozi: Still empty. (Boring. Try feeling something next time, it aids digestion).
CURRENT THREAT:
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The Grey Hand: Mobilizing immediately.
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Time Remaining: The clock just broke. Run.