11:20 pm, Basement Workshop of the Alghul villa
Aisha sat in an armchair placed in the corner of the room. Though this was fundamentally a workspace, she still maintained a small sitting area on the far left side of the room from the door to make the space more cozy. It had previously been more centralized in the space, but was pushed farther back as a part of making room for the summoning circle. From here she could see the entire room spread out before her.
She was thirsty, and very much longed for a cup of her favorite honey tea, but she wouldn't dare leave Caster to poke around her workshop without supervision. He had been inspecting the room for several minutes now, though she didn't know how long it had been. No, she was far too watching her Servant to bother about watching the time. That, and she had become somewhat bored, even tired, as one inevitably would be, such as on Christmas day when watching others open their presents when you're all-too ready to open your own- not that Aisha had ever experienced that specific situation.
What she had mentioned to him before about "permissions" was true, but this was still very different from free range. She gave him a unique signature so that she knew where he was and when, with the only allowance of not triggering alarms and defense mechanisms when he moved. But it was far from a flawless plan. Had she summoned another class perhaps she could've gotten away with it, but, as a Caster, he would recognize exactly the tricks she was pulling, but then she would also know if these 'tricks' were disabled or deactivated; meaning that, even though he was perfectly aware, he couldn't do anything about their arrangement without bringing suspicion onto himself.
This ought to restrict his actions well enough before his inevitable betrayal, she thought, though given that she was dealing with a god, she couldn't assume everything was peachy-keen just because there wasn't any obvious defiance. She had already made up her mind never to trust this man; not for a second.
'This man', as it were, was currently looking through the closet on the opposite side of the room. Master and Servant had remained in almost-complete silence since Caster had begun his inspection, not making eye contact even once. Though she wasn't terribly comfortable with his scrutiny, she knew that, as a magic user himself, her workshop would have to be modified for him to be maximally useful regardless.
Otherwise, the only communication was a brief tongue-in-cheek apology by Caster while fiddling with the powdery remains of 'Pan' that still lay within the center of the chalk circle. At that point she had been tempted to ask about why the statue had been reduced to such a state, but decided against it and responded only with an embittered "It's fine."
After all, what point was there in asking when he was almost guaranteed to lie to her?
Besides even that, what did it matter if Dionysus had some unspoken grudge against the satyr god, or if there was some special element of his summoning? He was here now; his past was only relevant in how it affected his actions in the here and now, and in going forward. Though it was true that her inner academic longed to press the demigod about his life, the gods, the differences between the Age of Gods and now, and maybe she would- eventually-, but she had difficulty perceiving the creature in front of her as a person, as someone with a history, as a being one-in-the-same with the mythological Dionysus. She could hardly believe he was even real.
Whether she was willing to admit it or not, this strange feeling was a result of her mixed emotions regarding him. On the one hand, he was a tool, a non-person that existed only to serve her. On the other, he was a powerful phantasmal being that would turn on her at the best, which is far more frightening than 'the first', opportunity. In short, she was far more concerned with what he was going to do than what he had done, though logically she understood that one would inform the other. She assumed that Caster felt more-or-less the same way towards her, but was proven wrong when he suddenly began to ask questions about his Master; strange questions that would never occur to a 'sensible' person.
He was fiddling with various skeletal remains in the workshop closet. Every time he touched one a chill ran down her spine, but not because she found it disturbing. It was a literal chill, perhaps better described as a tickle, on the back of her neck as the currently-quiet but ultimately reanimated remains alerted her to his activity. She did her best to disguise her discomfort, though she couldn't help the occasional quiver of her lip. Thankfully, he was looking away from her so it shouldn't have been too much of a giveaway.
He was examining a skeletal hand, detached from any larger corpse, stroking it with both eyes and fingers when he finally perked up, "You are aware that fleshed corpses are more durable and practical than mere skeletons?"
As mentioned, the sudden question caught her off-guard. She hadn't expected him to take an interest in her at all beyond what he needed to know for the war, and she certainly didn't expect him to comment on the detail of her corpses. She did take offense from the fact that he would dare to tell her how to do her magecraft, but her curiosity and confusion outweighed her frustration as she responded to him honestly, since one can't help but be honest when approached so suddenly:
"Fleshed corpses could be considered more durable in some ways, sure, but never more practical." She was frowning at the absurdity of the question, and spoke to Caster in a way that communicated how ridiculous his proposition was to her. "Fleshed corpses reek of decay, and they leave their rotting remains everywhere they go."
She smirked like a child, her confidence in her field making itself apparent, "Skeletons are much better: you clean them, bleach them, polish them, and they don't rot, decay or stink. Without muscles or sinews they require much more work to animate, yes, but with that extra work comes additional benefits, not that the additional work would even be an obstacle for a family as ancient and practiced as the Alghuls. Same goes for the material costs."
Caster put the hand back on the shelf where he had picked it up- Aisha shuddered with relief as the hand's alarm finally left her head- and turned back towards his Master. He was still as lost in thought as he had been, though now there was a note of curiosity in his eyes rather than merely cold analysis.
"I can't help but notice that you seem to be rather proud of your family."
She was proud, and experienced a special delight at being given the opportunity to boast about her heritage. "-And why wouldn't I be? The Alghuls have been leading the way in the field of necromancy for no less than two-thousand years now. A long line of world-renowned sorcerers and viziers, and we've remained influential all throughout, even before the formation of the Clocktower Mages' Association. Some believe our lineage and techniques even predate the great Solomon, the progenitor of all magical crests."
Caster chuckled to himself, "That is impressive. Most bloodlines would've wiped themselves out in that amount of time"
As he said this, he moved away from the closet and towards Aisha, stopping about four meters away and leaning on another armchair set opposite to hers.
Aisha gave a satisfied "Hmph" as a prideful but giddy expression crossed her face, "Very true, Caster. There were many close calls through the years given our influence and use of so-called 'black magic'-"
She moved to keep boasting before Caster interjected with a cocked eyebrow. "-You mean revolts? Witch trials, revolutions and the like?"
Normally, such an interruption would've been monumentally disrespectful, but she was happy to continue her bragging, "Of course. Haven't you ever heard the parable of Damacles's Sword?"
Saying this, she realized the relic of a man had likely lived before the events of the parable, and that the specific tale probably wasn't included in the basic information given to him by the Grail, and so went to explain it more directly.
"People will always try to tear down those with power. This is because of fear, envy; human nature." She said this dismissively, looking down on the fools that had tried to persecute her family. "Nevertheless, our family overcame each and every obstacle. I'm proof of at least that much."
His golden eyes glowed with mischief, "Very true. Very, very true, and you ought to be very proud of all of that." He continued to speak with undisguised mockery, his hands moving to an exaggerated shrug. "Though you'd think that you should've already reached The Root if you've had a whole two-thousand years or more."
He was already grinning like a madman as he anticipated his master's reaction.
The Root was the source of all magic- the answer to everything. Reaching the Root meant unlocking the secrets of the universe and gaining the ability to manipulate every aspect of it to your whim. Each field of magic was, in a way, a branch of the Root in the same way that biology and geology are both 'branches' of scientific inquiry despite being practically very different. Like the Christian God, the Root was the single thing that contextualized each and every aspect of the universe and its potential. Between the knowledge and power promised by the Root, it should be no surprise that the ultimate ambition of every mage family was to obtain it, and naturally, the Alghuls were no different.
Aisha felt a rage burn within her, but it was fundamentally unlike the rage prompted by Caster up to this point. Rather than a passionate anger born of indignation, this was a cold fire that consisted only of hatred. Had Caster been ignorant of magecraft, she would have flown into passionate exposition about how insulting he was, and how his foolishness was unforgivable. -But Caster had said this fully intending to gain a reaction from her, and for no other purpose than to agitate her. If she thought she was capable of killing him, she would've without hesitation, Grail War be damned.
For several moments, Aisha stared daggers into Caster without blinking or flinching, refusing even to dignify his mocking with a response, and Caster's smile and mocking demeanor faded as he moved the conversation along with disappointment.
"Anyway, two-thousand years of studies is something to be proud of, I mean that... genuinely. I imagine that your family's name is plastered all across the necromancy textbooks, or is that magic still taboo?"
She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. She did her best to welcome this shift in conversation so that she and Caster could actually make some progress. "Only taboo in the social sense. It's taught in the Clocktower mostly without bias, but is thoroughly discouraged outside the classroom. Magecraft that reaches beyond the grave will always be unnerving to the layman."
Caster's smirk returned, apparently relieved that things were moving along. "That's certainly right, Aisha. Most people aren't willing to think big; to go beyond what they know and into the unknown. It's why progress takes so long, the unfamiliar won't be welcome until it becomes familiar."
He paused here and looked at Aisha to see if his ramblings had found purchase. Encountering only a raised eyebrow and disinterested stare, he changed the subject once more, "I've only dabbled in necromancy myself, but I do believe that it may very well be how humanity escapes their mortal coil. Though, Hades was still around in my day so I don't know how much of that is still applicable. Still, I'd love for you to teach me a thing or two," He examined his fingernails before returning his gaze to his master with a welcoming smile, "I'm always open to new ideas."
'Not a chance in Hell, bastard!'
-Was what she would've thought in a proper state of mind, but his antics had left her so thoroughly perturbed that it didn't even occur to her.
She was tired, though she couldn't tell how much of that was because of Caster and how much was the hour, though it still struck her as oddly strange. She almost exclusively drank caffeinated beverages, mainly coffee and tea, and regularly stayed up to 3:00am despite the fact she woke up every day at 7:30. Could it be that Caster just consumed so much magic energy that she already felt drained? That could be troublesome if it were the case. Still, that was besides the point.
Her hatred was so great and so cold that it increased her mental clarity out of sheer spite. Thanks to this presence of mind, she knew not to dodge or deflect the question. If he was so determined to maintain his ruse, she would just use that against him. A cruel smile emerged from her black heart.
"Me? I'm just some mortal mage. If anything, I should be asking you to teach me."
Caster chuckled in a way that was both warm but slightly cruel, as if a parent laughing at a child who had said something nonsensical with complete seriousness, and unable to comprehend their mistake. She didn't mind, though, he was nothing more than a rat, and this was her trap.
"Oh please. You make the dead return to life, and all I can do is make wine."
"So Transmutation, then?"
Caster paused, taken only slightly aback by her suddenness, and then laughed, but this laugh was so very different from its predecessor. This laugh was far more obvious, far more hearty, and clearly cloaked in villainy. Her smile faltered before ultimately failing and returning to a cold scowl as Caster found himself on the verge of doubling over from his hysterics. Finally he looked back at her with the madman's smile she had seen only once in their short time together, a cruel light in his eyes as he did, his inherent playfulness becoming apparent.
"Yes, mostly Transmutation, but with bits and pieces in Suggestion and Necromancy. But don't think I'm keeping anything from you in that department: as the head of such an ancient family, you're almost surely more experienced than I, in spite of your relative youth."
To her surprise, Aisha felt as if she was speaking frankly with her Servant, or at least as frankly as was possible given that both of them were compulsive liars. So, she cocked her eyebrow as she took advantage of the atmosphere's relative honesty, "You realize flattery will get you nowhere, don't you Caster? I'm aware that I have an ego, but that doesn't mean you can walk all over me just because of a few sweet words."
"Oh, is this where you tell me how you aren't like the other girls?" he chuckled at his own joke.
"It's where I tell you that I won't tolerate disrespect. I am the head of a renowned mage family, and your master. I expect you to treat me as such."
Any act she had been maintaining had fallen off as she allowed her hatred to mix with her words to create what could only be described as black oil.
"Oh please," Caster chided, "You became the head because you happened to be the firstborn to a mage family that you just happened to be born into, and because your father- I'm only guessing here- just happened to off himself in some experiment, leaving you in charge. It has nothing to do with your skill or talent as a mage, you're just lucky. It would do you well to admit at least that much."
Though he had only guessed, Caster was exactly right in his hypothesis regarding her father. But then, it was fairly typical for middle-aged mages to end up killing themselves in some bid for immortality. The only mages that lived to be elderly were those who didn't waste their time on such things, or who contented themselves with a mere life extension rather than a permanent escape from death. Her father wasn't even the only person in the history of her family who had met that fate; immortality was particularly seductive to necromancers since they were already in the business of resurrecting the dead, and it created a tendency to feel like immortality was never more than a step away, but, nevertheless, was always out of reach.
Anyone could've made a guess like that, the fact that he acted as if figuring out something so obvious showed his worth- it infuriated her to no end. "Don't act like you know me-"
"Your mother," Caster began, pacing the room and pointing upwards to silence her, which wasn't to difficult considering how he had caught her off-guard with yet another sudden shift of the conversation, "-The daughter of a mage family, but not the firstborn. I bet her parents thought it was an honor for her to marry into a family as famous as yours, even after she fell victim to her betrothed's experiments, am I right?"
He was, and Aisha's heart was close to conceding to her Servant before she stopped and asked herself, 'What is there to concede?'. Indeed, she felt like she was losing, but they weren't even having an argument. He was trying to assert intellectual dominance by stating facts that would be obvious to anyone knowledgeable of mage culture. He was nothing more than a charlatan, but he knew that about himself... so what was he trying to prove?
Calming down, she decided to take a proverbial step back and try to figure out his intent before her emotions got the best of her. That said, she wasn't going to concede anything, and so she refused to let the conversation proceed before she could put him in his place.
"You're only half right, Caster. My mother wasn't killed for the sake of magecraft, she was killed because my father was a deranged necrophiliac."
Caster stopped and gave her his full attention, "Oh? Did your parents fight at all?"
What was the point of that? She gave an exasperated groan as the uselessness of the conversation wore her down. Nevertheless, she supposed there must have a point to it, so she kept things moving. "She died in my infancy. I suppose my father only needed her womb, and so, after giving birth to me, he didn't need her alive anymore."
"So how long was it before you realized your mother was a corpse?"
Surprise. Then confusion. And then realization.
She hadn't mentioned that her mother had lived- perhaps there was a better word given the circumstance- as an undead in their house. Indeed, her father had treated her as essentially a housekeeper, and she did everything a mother was traditionally expected to, including taking care of her. She had noticed something was odd when she started her necromancy training in her adolescence, the similarities between her mother and the corpses they worked with. Her cold, rigid body, her glassy eyes, but her father had shrugged off her questions and assured her that her mother was very much alive. She believed him for a while, but became suspicious once more.
When she was thirteen, she stabbed her mother in the back with a cooking knife. No blood, no screaming and no pain, just a cold but mild reproach from the corpse puppet. She never trusted her father after that, nor did she ever forgive him.
'Necrophiliac. Alive.'
From just a few words in three sentences he had pieced together much of her past. A bubble of panic rose from her chest, "What are-"
'What are you planning?
'What are you trying to accomplish?
'What do you want from me?'
These were the questions on her lips, but Caster interrupted her before she could finish. "Your father," he began, cutting her off, "wanted an ideal marriage, didn't he?"
Caster seemed to stare off into space as he spoke, "But your mother, she was trapped. She wanted a normal life for you, and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life in a marriage with a cold-hearted man so familiar with death. So, your father killed her, hoping to use undeath as a means to her heart, as a way to achieve the idyllic marriage he so deeply desired. But he failed, and of course he did." His voice rose with a certain romantic quality, "-But he wouldn't admit defeat, would he? And so he pretended that everything was as it should've been. And how could he have known there was anything wrong? After all, he knew nothing of love except the desire for it."
He closed off his little speech like a Shakespearean soliloquy; Aisha could all but imagine the skull in his hand as he spoke.
She began to protest, but what Caster said seemed to awaken memories in her: long dormant dreams that she had never considered. It was as if Caster's hypothesis contextualized everything about her life and her relationship with her father when he knew, should've known, nothing. She felt a part of herself tremble, but wouldn't admit defeat.
She couldn't hide the fear in her voice as she asked with false bravado, "-And how would you know all of that?"
His smile grew like a twisted vine, "Because, if he had succeeded, your mother would still be here."
It was here that her tired heart gave way. Fear moving to indignation, she stood up with the ferocity of a fire fueled by oil. Her eyes reflected this inner blaze as she pointed towards Caster with accusation; her voice rising with her emotion.
"THAT IS ENOUGH!" The Command Seals on her right began to glow like hot coals. "WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH, CASTER!? WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE!? ANSWER!"
Caster looked back at her with frightening self-assuredness. But then this confidence faded to confusion. He looked off towards one of the walls, though there was nothing on it. His eyes widened as he turned to face this wall, seeming to brace himself. Aisha glanced at the wall with concern but saw nothing of note, just the shelves of various bits and bobs, trinkets and materials.
-And then she felt it, the wave of magical energy surging towards them. White-blue lightning scattered across the floors and walls, the bones in the closet rattled on their shelves and the candles extinguished themselves. She heard a distant -pop- that she recognized as the breaker frying. She didn't know how to respond to the energy surging through the space and instinctively looked to Caster for some sign as to how she was supposed to react.
Caster was scared.
It was just past midnight.
....