How Death Lived

by Crimson Wisp

Chapter 22. Devil's Den part 1

///////Ruins of the castle of the two sisters//////////

Several hours after the plunder seeds had been removed from the Everfree, their absence was becoming more and more apparent. With the Tree of Harmony becoming the dominant force of magic in the once accursed forest, the sundered earth had slowly begun to heal; though the larger, more damaged areas had remained untouched. Many trees were still toppled over and the dangerous animals that would've normally been making their way through the wild forest were nowhere to be found. The usual chirping of birds was replaced with the howling wind and the rumbling fire of the serpentine titan; noisily slithering over a growing path being cleared by the smaller undead dragons.

When the necromancer came riding on the shoulder of his flame-wreathed leviathan, he had expected for the wolves of timber that terrorized his creations when he first arrived to either flee or fight. What he was not prepared for, was their complete absence. He couldn't sense the wild magic that once saturated the forest anywhere, and it worried him. So when he finally arrived at his disheveled den, he spent over an hour and a half, sweeping the area around the ruins; casting wards around the castle's perimeter to stave off any would-be trespassers. After returning to his fortress and his paranoia being put somewhat at ease with Avalon's promise of ensuring he'd keep watch, Azazel had found himself in a desperate need to do something useful.

He wandered through the halls, lighting torches with a prestidigitation cantrip and making torches out of broken furniture from the countless dilapidated rooms. The dazzling arachnids that had terrorized his undead ponies were currently being hunted by several dragons; dragons he would occasionally see struggling to keep up and capture the nimble creatures. The sight made Azazel stop to admire the show and smile; serving as a wonderful contrast to the chaos roiling inside him.

After gods know how many turns, desolate rooms, and torches, he reached a hallway lined with suits of equine armor standing atop pedestals of dirty marble. What caught his attention was not the posing suits of armor, but rather, the singular doorless archway leading into a dark room in the far left.

Azazel's heavy footsteps were muffled by the musty carpet lining the floor. Passing through the archway and into the massive room, he beheld a behemoth of an instrument. Innumerable pipes of polished copper towering into the black of an overtly high ceiling and burrowing seamlessly into the far wall. Nestled between twin statues of mighty pegasi, sat the main console of a massive pipe organ behind a mahogany bench. The once alabaster keys of the mighty instrument were caked with dust, yet seemed undamaged. After approaching the console, Azazel cast a spell to endow him with clairvoyance.

"Revelio..."

Wisps of crimson magic shifted to a leafy green as they snaked from the half-blood's hands and meshed with the pipe organ; spreading out through the room. When the spell ended, the nephilim could see in his mind's eye the organ for what it was; a master control for trap doors, supply tubes, secret passages, and several fail safes to seal the castle entirely. All of it being preserved with intricately carved magical runes along the pipes of the organ itself.

'Bloody hell... Mia's gonna love hearing about this...'

Azazel thought. The temptation to test just how much of the castle was still functional was too much to bare; his hand moving over the large, dust-addled keys of the impressive marvel of musical, magical and structural engineering with indecisive glee. Deciding to test his luck, he placed his fingers accordingly on the keys and played a 'D major 5th'. When the keys were pressed, Azazel felt as though the ambient magic had been subtly displaced; followed by the powerful organ rumbling to life. The sound and acoustic design of the room would've been enough to leave the nephilim speechless, but a sound further down the hall caught his attention. Ancient stone and rusted gears moved unseen in the distance, and the young necromancer was thoroughly disappointed when his plans to see the impressive instrument's full potential when an unexpected disturbance stopped him.

"My lord? May we speak to you?"

The posh accent of the formal noblemare Spectre Lulamoon ripped the nephilim from his starstruck inspection of the chamber they were both in. With his scale plated digits hovering over the keys of the pipe organ, he turned to face the three skeletal unicorns standing in the archway that led into the torch lit chamber.

"Approach, Lulamoon. You too Blazing. Savant."

Azazel ordered, his gaze shifting between the respective unicorns as he spoke their names. However, the clattering of six pair of hooves was soon drowned out by a series of questions posed by the half-blood.

"Have the retrieval parties finished bringing their cargo of flesh and blood? And what of Brimstone? Has he found the missing elder dragon?"

He asked.

"Almost sir, But Brimstone still hasn't returned and Cinder is still unaccounted for."

Blazing Shot explained as the trio came to a halt at the bottom step leading to the raised platform harboring the organ's console. Looking away from the three and huffing in frustration, the nephilim pondered on what he had been told. Getting all the blood that had been spilled to the castle and then having it cryogenically preserved as cubes of crimson permafrost had been a chore, but a necessary one. The red essence of life would disgust the average spell caster; but to a bloodmancer, it was a priceless resource whose uses had no limits. But not having two of his five elder dragons guarding the castle had him on edge, and Azazel's undead creations could tell.

"My liege, the three of us have reported this to Avalon as you initially instructed us to, but we feel that this matter has a certain degree of urgency. Furthermore I personally-"

"Stop prefixing it and get to the point."

Savant Dancer began to explain, only to be cut off when his master's waning patience reached it's end. Though he did not shout, Azazel's order was delivered with enough force to make Spectre speak up after taking a quick breath to regain her faltering composure.

"M-master, we want you to give us the ability to cast magic again, like... um... miss Anvari..."

She said, hesitating to even mention the irate necromancer's most treasured undead. The seconds passed on as the nephilim blankly stared at his undead, his blood red eyes glowing in the dimly lit room.

"Why?"

Azazel asked.

"While we've managed to serve you till now without incident, we feel we would be of more use to you WITH our ability to cast magic."

Blazing Shot explained, gesturing towards the pointy protrusion jutting out of his skull. Again the nephilim remained silent, as if waiting for further explanation. Seeing her opportunity, Spectre spoke up again.

"When we arrived here, I noticed you enchanted several trees around this castle. Am I correct in assuming that you placed wards to stave off the beasts of the Everfree?"

She asked, channeling her inner salespony to convince her new master as she once did the working class ponies of Canterlot in decades prior. Azazel nodding before circling around a small bench and sitting down.

"I carved open several trees and, using their sap as a substitute for blood, engraved several runes that feed off their life force to force them to exude an aura of fear similar to my own."

The young sorcerer explained, the relatively small bench on which he was seated creaked and groaned in protest of the half-blood's weight.

"Well, with my prowess in illusory magic, I would be able to render this whole fortress invisible to not just the beasts of the Everfree, but to even the royal sisters! And with several rituals I know we'd be able to move those willey dragons silently and unseen to gather resources and information for you!"

Spectre Lulamoon stated proudly with a hoof pressed into her ribs.

"I still think we'd be wasting time on illusions that may not even work on something like timberwolves. Those magical beasts are relentless and nigh unkillable endurance hunters. Should we be given our magic, I believe we should redirect the resources and troops we have to properly fortifying this castle before we stake the safety of everypony on lady Lulamoon's 'illusory prowess' of parlor tricks."

Blazing Shot protested, rolling his nonexistent eyes dismissively before turning to Azazel with his latter statement. The nephilim blinked a few times before shaking off the surprised look on his face; he hadn't expected the old soldier to be so rude. And while normally that would've solicited reprimand from the half-blood's part, the intrigue of Blazing Shot's plan to fortify the decrepit castle took precedence in the half-blood's mind. A mistake Azazel would come to regret when an indignant Spectre Lulamoon spoke up before the nephilim could even formulate a coherent response.

"PARLOR TRICKS!?!?"

She began, her eyes igniting into two red stars that burned with the rage of a noblemare's wounded pride.

"I AM VERSED IN MAGIC YOU CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO FATHOM YOU MOUTH-BREATHING BRUTE!!! The Lulamoon family has enriched the culture of equestrian society and served Princess Celestia with distinction for over nine generations!!! Don't you DARE compare the art of illusion which my family perfected FOR GENERATIONs!!! TO PARLOR TRICKS!!!"

Spectre shouted, turning to look at the undead stallion before her face to face. She was shorter than him by a little under a hoof, but that didn't stop her from getting right in his face and harshly poking at his military uniform. If he still had facial features, they'd be the definition of unimpressed.

"Even if that were the case, its still irrelevant! Our priority should be turning these ruins into a serviceable stronghold. We can't waste time on 'grand magical feats' that will offer us no real protection against the Everfree, or Celestia forbid, an attack from the capitol!"

Blazing Shot challenged, swatting her hoof off of the singular golden medal attached to his uniform.

"An attack from the capitol!? Have you lost your MIND!? With the army our master acquired in the dragonlands, we don't NEED any more protection! And why would her majesties even attack us!? That would be suicide!"

Spectre retorted, the once blazing inferno in her eyes having died down with her mood; but that wasn't saying much.

'For hell's sake... This is going nowhere.'

Azazel thought with an almost bored expression plastered on his face. Sighing in resignation, Azazel began contemplating both Blazing and Spectre's propositions; his forehead being cradled in his left hand.

Whether he liked it or not, Blazing Shot had a point. While the dragons should be enough to quell any small army sent his way, there was still the threat of divine intervention from this realms gods; or rather, elements. While Celestia and Luna had clarified that Twilight Sparkle and her friends were only the vassals of "Harmony"; their explanation of this power were concerning.

Having a serviceable stronghold would, at the very least, slow down the elements should they decide to bring the fight to him. Then there was Spectre Lulamoon's proposal; to hide from the world right under their noses. It would be a great idea, but it had one gigantic flaw: the Equestrians already knew where his current hideout was. Unless he could make the castle unreachable by conventional methods or make it move around then there was no point in hiding. As these things went through Azazel's mind, the noblemare and the guardspony's argument only got louder and more irritating.

"Take it back!"

Spectre Lulamoon demanded, stomping her hoof indignantly.

"I won't! And you know why!? ITS BECAUSE IT'S TRUE!!!"

Blazing Shot replied harshly. Choosing violence over friendship, Spectre Lulamoon lunged towards the undead stallion and tackled him to the ground. For the next five minutes, Blazing and Spectre proceeded to beat the undying shit out of each other. Having been equally created, they wrestled one another without either one managing to gain a significant advantage over the other; throwing haymakers and jabs with the ferocity of two very pissed-off honeybadgers.

Savant Dancer, who up to this point had remained a silent spectator to this night's impromptu brawl, noticed that his master's mind had wandered and was no longer paying attention.

The demon's eyes were closed and his brow was furrowed; locked in a pensive expression of unshakable inner focus. The undead archivist hesitated as his two compatriots continued to bicker, but eventually built up the courage to move forward and gently tap on the nephilim's forearm.

"Sir?..."

He asked, half hoping Azazel had just been bored to sleep. Unfortunately that theory was disproven when the faint sound of an angry rumble of demonic magic and a nigh imperceptible flash of crimson light bursting from the half-blood's eyes made Savant Dancer recoil and take several fearful steps back. The sharp sound of an ethereal bell ringing forced the Spectre and Blazing to stop throwing haymakers at one another to look at their master in confusion.

"PUT THOSE OBNOXIOUS MAGGOTS IN THEIR PLACE AND SHUT THEM UP!!!"

A voice within the nephilim's mind roared louder than the unintelligible babbling of the other souls within the nephilim screaming for violence. With a jolt of Argent energy, the young necromancer plunged the errant spirit back into the deepest depths of pain; silencing the rest along with it... for now.

"I'll grant you access to magic, but only under two conditions..."

The nephilim began, straightening his posture and letting his hand fall to his thigh.

"First you will cease this infantile squabbling. Celestia may have tolerated your prideful and ridiculous bickering, but I will not. Ụ̴͛n̷̗̋ḓ̶̉ȩ̷̈́r̷̻̔s̴̘̈t̷͔̏a̶̛̯n̷͖̄d̴̗̒?̵̖̍"

Azazel asked firmly, his voice being mangled by the malicious power he held. The three undead nodded eagerly, if not out of fear then out of understanding.

"And lastly, Anvari will teach you several spells to both defend yourselves and aid your comrades. If your magic will be used to serve me, then you will be taught properly. I don't care how talented you all claim to be, I will not tolerate incompetence under any circumstance. Is that clear?"

He continued, getting more nods from his creations. Deciding he'd make the most of this opportunity to both work and feed, the halfblood stood to his feet; towering over the diminutive equines. With an upward wave of Azazel's hand, Blazing Shot was hoisted into the air by an invisible force.

With his hooves splayed out, the undead soldier could do nothing as his master sauntered forward and firmly grasped his cranium; the once crimson dots that served as eyes turning a pale yellow. Spectre and Savant could only back away and look on in silent horror as the torches that lit up the hallway flickered, the blood red light of the nephilim's eyes piercing through the darkness.

"MY LORD! PLEAAAaaa..."

The terrified skeleton's plea for mercy faded into nothing as Azazel ripped the necrotic energy from Blazing's body. The glowing embers of his eyes fizzled out and the black and red uniform that once clothed the undead evaporated. As Blazing Shot's frame fell apart and his bones clattered to the floor, the phantasm of his perverse life-force coalesced and vanished into the nephilim's hand.

"Now sit down and be quiet, I need to focus."

The nephilim said, his already malevolent presence being magnified by a deliberate intensification of his fear aura. The remaining unicorns did as instructed, and while the half-blood prepared to work on Blazing's skull, Savant Dancer and Specter Lulamoon couldn't help but watch in morbid curiosity.

"Ardenti tactus..."

Azazel muttered, and in seconds, his right thumb began to heat up; the sharpened nail of his thumb began to glow like an unquenched ingot freshly pulled out of a burning forge. The sound of scraping and sizzling filled the pipe organ's chamber, and it was only making Savant Dancer's attempts to not shudder in fear more difficult by the minute.. Fortunately, the silence was soon cast out by the surprisingly soothing voice of his master humming a slow tune. Focusing on the melancholic melody, he found the half hour of watching the half-blood scorch tiny runes along the trim of Blazing Shot's spiraling horn to fly by in what felt like two minutes. Once finished with the engraving, Azazel raised up the skull slightly before letting it go; the lifeless cranium being suspended in the air by magic. Reaching for the hilt of his hellsteel hunting knife, the nephilim drew the obsidian blade and wrapped his free hand around the razor sharp edge. With a swift jerk downwards, the cursed blade cut through the young necromancer's flesh like a hot knife through butter; a considerable amount of blood leaking from the incision. Azazel took in a deep breath before channeling his magic to cast a spell he hadn't performed in years.

"Et sanguis te stipendium hoc donum, vivo quas dedit tibi magicis serve graviterque ad me..."

He muttered, his voice strained as the uncomfortable yet familiar sensation of the blood inside him and leaking out of his hand was manipulated by the spell. Tendrils of blood wormed, coiled, and writhed their way through the air before reaching the tip of Blazing's horn. From top to bottom, the runes began to glow with Azazel's crimson magic along the trim of the unicorn's horn. The low hum of magic stopped as abruptly as the light emanating from the runes. Taking a deep breath and straining slightly, the nephilim focused on his bleeding hand and willed it to mend itself. In seconds, the wound sealed; a puff of vaporized blood and the smell of copper in the air being the only indication that the young necromancer had ever wounded himself.

"Now for the moment of truth..."

Azazel said, pouring the necrotic energy he'd ripped from Blazing into a rapidly spinning orb of crimson magic.

"Animum tuum ab óculis... Resurectum Inmortus."

The nephilim spoke, and his spell began to manifest. The faintly luminous sphere levitated towards the tip of Blazing's lifeless horn. As it made contact, it ruptured and scattered like a mist over the cadaver; wisps of scarlet magic fazing through the skull and surrounding bones. The toll of a ghastly bell echoed through the chamber as the pile of jumbled bones rolled, jumped and clattered into place. In seconds, Blazing Shot was fully reassembled. His uniform reformed shortly after a wave of hellfire momentarily shrouded his body. Blazing stood still like a statue for several seconds, then bowed until his horn tapped the ancient floor.

"I live again to serve, master."

The undead unicorn said, his tone lacking any inflections; a detail that Savant and Spectre noticed immediately.

"B-Blazing?..."

Savant Dancer asked, unable to keep his fearful shaking in check anymore. The prostrated stallion didn't move, his head remaining pressed firmly against the stone floor. Seeing that his addition to the spell of undeath worked, Azazel took the silence as his cue to rid his servants of their ignorance and their desire to act out of line again.

"B̶l̶a̸z̸i̵n̵g̸ ̴S̷h̸o̵t̷,̶ ̶a̵s̷ ̸y̴o̸u̶ ̶k̶n̴e̴w̵ ̶h̷i̴m̴,̵ ̵i̸s̴ ̵n̷o̷ ̵m̸o̶r̷e̵.̶"

(Blazing Shot, as you knew him, is no more)

The nephilim said, tilting his head slightly.

"...What did y-?"

Savant Dancer began his voice a shuddering whisper that was silenced when the undead's gaze fell upon the eyes of his master. Those malevolent, slit pupiled eyes were a window into a bottomless well of terror; and they were looking right at him. He had to look away, but his fear had frozen him in place. Azazel on the other hand, was beginning to enjoy Savant Dancer's internal screaming; but for as much as he wanted to simply sit back and soak up the unicorn's fear, he needed to make this impression stick.

"Ẅ̶̳ḫ̷͘ǎ̴̺t̸̺͗.̸̬͆.̸̫̎.̴͈̀ ̴̭́d̵̛̰i̴̗̇d̴̪̉ ̸̧̏I̸̗̊.̵̥̌.̶͍̈.̶̞͑ ̵̤̅ď̷͚ǫ̴̽?̴̩̑"

(What... did I... do)

The necromancer asked, slowly enunciating every syllable as he walked around Savant and stood before the trembling pair of unicorns. The two were shaking in fear, as their master loomed over the two like an angry god ready to smite them off the face of creation.

"I gave all of you an undying facsimile of life and a relative free will. Blazing Shot questioned my orders and incited discord among my creations, so I took his ability to question me and incite discord... by revoking his sentience."

Azazel explained with an unnerving calmness, circling the terrified undead and standing directly behind them. Spectre Lulamoon couldn't think coherently, the unnatural fear her master was filling her with had paralyzed her physically; but now even her own mind wasn't a safe refuge. The walls were closing in on her, and the ringing in her non-existent ears sounded more like barely audible screams of anguish.

"He can regain his sentience over time, and if he learns from this he will be fortunate enough to keep whatever sentience he develops."

He continued, letting the satisfied smile of a demon who just got it's "dessert" manifest now that he was out of their line of sight. That smile, however, turned into a rancorous scowl as the young necromancer spoke his mind.

"Let me make this abundantly clear, If you disrespect one another in my presence again, incite discord among my troops, or do A̵͂͜N̸͚̊Ỷ̸̗Ṭ̵́H̴̱͗Ḯ̸̢N̵͔͑G̵̡̍ to my caretakers; I swear it upon the black fires of the abyss... ̵̻̀I̴̖̓'̵͚͝l̴̮̀l̶͕̕ ̴̼̉m̶̫̈ạ̵͑k̴̟̚ḛ̶̛ ̴̭́ý̸̪o̵͂͜ư̷̘ ̴͖̈́u̷̗͂n̴̨͂d̴̬͂e̴͈̽r̵̬͛s̷͛ͅt̵̝͑â̵͇n̸̥̄d̴̩͆ ̶̙̈ẗ̷͉́ḣ̵̩ạ̶̕t̵̬̃ ̸̛̮ṙ̶͔i̸̝͋p̷̲͝p̸͉̽i̴̱̇n̵͕̈́ǵ̶̠ ̶̟̈́ŷ̵̹ô̴̧u̸͍͑r̵̯̀ ̵͇͛f̴͕̅r̵̰͆e̷͚͘e̶̥̾ ̴͉́ẉ̵͘i̴̡̚l̷͎̀l̸̫͌ ̴̝̀f̸̣̋r̶̟̎o̴̗̍m̷̮̽ ̶̲͋y̸̨͐o̴̤͘u̷͎̚ ̶̨̂ȉ̸̘ṡ̸̺ ̵̤̋a̵̺̎ ̶̠̃m̵̧͝e̶͈̓r̶̘̿ć̷̼y̶̤̽ ̷̜̓c̵̫̎ò̵͖m̷̤̏p̵͈̉a̴̧̿r̸͍͑ë̶̥d̸̟̆ ̸͖̆t̵̪̾ò̸̦ ̷̮̓t̴̯͂h̵͓͝ě̷͕ ̵̱̔h̶̦̕ó̴̮r̸̗͒r̷̪̃o̷̘͆r̷͙͑s̴̱̀ ̷̳́I̷̢̒'̶̺̈l̶̛̗l̵̹͋ ̸͇͂s̶̖̎ǘ̴͇b̸̲͋j̷̹͝e̸͚͂c̶͉̚t̷̰͐ ̶̖̍y̵͈͋o̶̠͂u̶̬̔ ̴̡̃w̴̔ͅo̷̞̕r̷̺͒t̷̤̾h̴̼͝l̵̲͝e̶̮͝s̷̤̓s̴̹̅ ̴̭͑m̶̳̋â̴̻g̶̙̾g̶͉͊ő̵̜t̶͓͗s̴̪̋ ̵̞̈́ṯ̶͛o̵̮̐.̸̡̅ ̴̡͊U̴̖̾n̷̙̏d̴̤͆ę̸͐ṟ̷̅s̴̺̈́ţ̵̈a̷̱̎n̴͙̐d̶̼͒?̶͇̂"

(I'll make you understand that ripping your free will from you is a mercy compared to the horrors I'll subject you worthless maggots to. Understand?)

Azazel threatened, his fear aura and hands had snaked around the nape of Savant Dancer and Spectre Lulamoon's necks; gently scratching the back of their skulls with it's thumbs. It would've been soothing for the pair of undead, had the literal hellspawn of death itself not threatened to strip them of their autonomy if they stepped out of line.

"Y-yes... m-m-my liege..."

Spectre affirmed while trying desperately to not shake herself apart. She couldn't breath, her chest being constricted with fear.

"Good."

The nephilim said, feeling satisfied with the amount of fear he had leeched off his creations. Fortunately for Savant Dancer, Azazel would relieve him of his understandable panic attack soon enough. With a sound befitting the terrifying sight, the unicorn archivist collapsed into a jumbled mess of bones as his foul life force was ripped from his body. Holding the unicorn's skull, Azazel walked back towards the pipe organ's bench and sat down; his fear aura evaporating shortly after Savant's return to the void. As the terror that squeezed the unlife out of Spectre's chest disappeared, she found herself taking in desperate lungfulls.

'No need to breathe... My flank Avalon!'

The noblemare thought to herself as her non-existent lungs finally stopped aching and she let go of the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"'Resurrectum Inmortus... ' Remember those words. They'll allow you to bring your comrades back from the dead."

The nephilim began, his gaze being directed towards the only autonomous undead still in the room.

"The magic I wield doesn't obey the laws of thaumaturgy as you most likely know them. And since your very life force is derived from my magic, you will only be able to cast magic as I do..."

Azazel continued, his hardened expression softening as his attention was drawn slowly away from his "lesson". The nephilim's eyes scanned the lifeless skull before beginning his work on it. The nail of his right thumb glided across Savant's horn; idly tracing the runes over the more rounded trim of the archivist's horn.

"...di res in esse a loqui..."

Azazel finished, his voice getting quieter as his thoughts drifted to simpler days of prank wars and learning about obscure magic with the help of his undead caretakers and parents respectively.

"P-pardon my lord?..."

Spectre asked, her stutter betraying her. Her master turned to look at her, and found herself staring into those terrifying eyes that contradicted the almost mournful tiredness plastered on the nephilim's face.

"..'By speaking things into being'... that is what separates mortal men... from the gods."

He clarified, turning his attention back to Savant's skull.

'Ardenti tactus...'

Azazel thought, his thumb lighting up in response to his silent casting. Again, the sound of sizzling and scraping paired with the nephilim's repetitive tune filled the organ's chamber. That is until just halfway up Savant Dancer's horn in terms of progress, that the young necromancer remembered where he was. As his concentration was broken, the magic heating up his thumb fizzled out. He blinked and let out a sigh of annoyance; had he been smarter, he could've used the pipe organ to further intimidate his creations into submission.

'...perhaps I still can...'

He thought to himself, almost forgetting to outwardly hide his mischievous elation. Just before returning to the task at hand, Azazel rose from his seat and mentally ordered Blazing Shot to take his place. The kneeling unicorn rose and clip-clopped his way onto the bench. Sitting down on the maroon carpet a small ways away from the rest of Savant's body, Azazel's mind listed off the sequence of chords he wanted Blazing Shot to play.

'A minor... A major... A minor... G major... A minor... D minor sustained... D major... A minor... G minor... C minor... C minor diminished... A minor diminished... A minor... then repeat the chord progression a semitone higher and stay there.'

The repetitive chord progression played in the nephilim's head, and after several repetitions, Blazing's hind hooves pressed down on the pedals in a slow but steady tempo; laying down the melodic foundation for his master's next meal of fear.

Azazel resumed his work on the skull in his hands; enjoying the increasing complexity in Blazing Shot's performance. Around the castle, gears and mechanical equipment began to rattle the castle into motion. Secret passages in caved-in rooms and false walls rotated and shifted layers of dust that had remained untouched for centuries; the pulsing cacophony reverberating through the ancient halls in time with Blazing's keystrokes to the beat of an unseen heart.

When the task was complete, Azazel repeated his casting of the spell of undeath. Shortly thereafter, a very confused, very startled Savant Dancer fumbled backward as the last of his bones clicked into place. When the archivist was forced to stop due to Spectre standing in his way, his horn was enveloped in a translucent aura of crimson light that twinkled and sparkled like magical chimes. Before she could react, Lulamoon felt herself be lifted off the ground in Savant's newly bestowed magic and suspended betwixt a terrified Savant Dancer and her master.

"Don't hurt me! Please! Take her instead!"

Savant babbled in fear as he balled up on the floor; completely oblivious to the fact that he was using his magic. The former noblemare would've felt insulted and betrayed, were it not for the disturbing grin her master had on his face.

'WHY DOES HE HAVE SO MANY TEETH?!?!'

She screamed in her mind as her master's mischievous smirk opened into a truly horrifying grin. While his diminutive equine undead cowered in fear, Azazel found himself unable to stop his lower jaw from splitting and the rows of additional teeth from sprouting. As Blazing Shot's performance got more elaborate, the haunting melody only grew in a crescendo that was paired perfectly with the erratic bursts of ephemeral fear his master was exuding. The sheer theatricality of the moment was too good for the nephilim to pass up, so he capitalized on it.

" ̵A̴s̷ ̸y̷o̴u̸ ̸w̷i̴s̸h̶.̷.̴.̶"

Azazel's twisted voice rattled the room as Spectre was slowly pulled towards her master. She struggled and flailed her hooves in a panic; the shadowy silhouette of the half-blood becoming exponentially more terrifying as his eyes seemed to explode into crimson novas.

The undead illusionist screamed her non-existent lungs out when the demon's hand finally caught her; praying against hope that the sound of a thousand voices wailing in agony coming from within Azazel's maw was but a hallucination of this dreadful nightmare. In the blink of an eye, Spectre screamed her last as she met the same fate as her cohorts; her necrotic energy returned to his master.

Taking a deep breath through his nostrils, Azazel enjoyed the last of Spectre's lingering fear. Idly tossing Spectre's lifeless cranium in the air and catching it deftly, the nephilim looked over his shoulder at the undead stallion still pushing the organ to it's limits; the once slow melody having reached a zenith of a rising and falling staccato that accentuated the lead melody in an ever-growing crescendo.

'Alright, that's enough. just stand next to Savant and make sure he moves two paces back from where he is.'

Azazel ordered his undead organist mentally, strolling back to the bench of the massive instrument. Blazing Shot followed his master's instructions silently and mechanically, the last of the notes reverberate down the halls and out earshot. The grinding of gears and stone stopped as abruptly as Blazing's keystrokes; leaving only the sound of Savant Dancer's shivering bones to fill the void.

'This isn't happening... I'm just having a nightmare... I'm not dead... This isn't happening...'

Savant Dancer repeated in his mind, this being the only thing he could do to stop his will and mind from breaking. This detachment from reality kept the terrified unicorn from noticing when Blazing Shot telekinetically dragged him backward, when his master finished etching runes into Spectre's skull, and when the former illusionist was resurrected. The sound of Spectre's hooves stomping to a halt before the shivering unicorn forced Savant to look up.

He wasn't sure how, but the undead archivist was certain that she was, without a face to contort, scowling. Vaporized moisture in the air huffed out of her nostrils to let the cowardly stallion know of her fury; causing Savant to flinch. He would've taken the opportunity to flee were it not for the other unicorn standing behind him; blocking his only means of escape. The already dire situation was only made worse for the cornered undead when the nephilim began playing the pipe organ.

*A minor... A major... A minor... G major... A minor... D minor sustained... D major... A minor... G minor... C minor... C minor diminished... A minor diminished... A minor...*

The half-blood necromancer continued on Blazing Shot's performance roughly from where he had left off, by using the staccato to rise and fall seamlessly back into the melody's resolution. Savant prepared himself for a beating and covered his eyes; too afraid to look Spectre in the eye. The smackdown the mortified unicorn had been expecting never came. As Azazel played the final, dissonant chord... the room went silent, the distant menagerie of moving gears and stone ceased their racket.

"Huh... I thought that would work..."

The nephilim muttered aloud, looking down at the console's keys in bewilderment.

"What were you trying to do master?"

Blazing Shot spoke up, causing Spectre to look up in surprise at her once sentient comrade. Azazel didn't hear this; being more focused on the placement of his fingers on the desired chord. When said keys pressed, a trap door directly below the trio of undead flipped downwards. In true 'Looney Tunes' fashion, the three unicorns remained static in the air until they looked down then at each other. Once the nephilim's undead vanished into the tubes and their echoes were silenced by the trapdoor shutting, he smirked.

"So dissonant don't work... gotta keep that in mind. Now... back to the library."

Azazel muttered to himself, his new objective and course made clear.

Author's Note:

Sorry for the unholy amount of time this took to write and edit. College started back up recently for me and that got in the way of things. Regardless, I'm here now and I'll be uploading part 2 tomorrow.

Also: here's the link for the music I was listening to while writing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uq0733r9VrM