Immortal Revival

[Ambrose]

(( continuing from: [Only admins are allowed to see this link] ))

It was a cold but clear night, forcing the red-haired boy to acknowledge the presence of the stars. He hated that. A clear night always brought them out, exposing their otherwise secretive watching of the world down below. . . . Say what you will about their formulation or how mind-boggling far away they were: the stars looked down upon those on Earth. They watched with pitiless eyes.

The push and creak of a iron gate; they were in.
The figure adjusted his labeled scarf. Something was itching at the back of his mind . . . no. No, this was the right thing to do. He would gain a servant, gain a follower, and They couldn't do a thing about it. He would have power, for once, constant power-- the reminder of such a wonderful thing sent shivers down his spine, cascaded a smile back onto his chilled face. Yes. He would have pernament power. But first, the corpse.

The boy skimmed through the headstone titles, attempting to find one that rang in his head. Lucy Barnaped, Jason Vice, Mathewe James . . . None of them stuck, none of them had meaning. Did such choice even matter? The Powers seemed to think so; They scowered the surface of the known world for decades at a time, searching for Their right-hand man-- ah-hah.

"This one," he decided without a second thought, gesturing towards the most recent grave in the cemetary. The freshest corpse, the convient shovel never put up, and the ringing of the name "Gregory" sealed the deal. All that was left in this perfect situation was Rein's approval. Not that he had a choice in the matter.

[Rein]

He had followed silently, the trip to the cove rather awkwardly uneventful. But, it was beautiful out, and he was happy to be doing something other than sitting in an empty room with books drying out his fingers, or wandering aimlessly hoping to be found.

Especially upon crossing the threshold into the graveyard, it was like a breath of familiar fresh air, like walking back into your beloved home after a long vacation that you hadn't particularly wanted to take in the first place. The dully glowing eyes - subdued as best he could in account for Ambrose and not wanting another mishap - closed and Rein breathed. Morbidly, he loved being here.

The grass and dirt were soft beneath his feet, and when they stopped, he just wanted to keep walking. The look he gave the newly dug grave was anything but positive.

"...You sure? This one?" Rein didn't know why this particular one had caught Ambrose's attention, but he wasn't sure about this. "I did mention that the older they are, the easier it is to control them, right?" His tone was hesitant as he cautiously felt out the body that lay beneath the dirt for possibilities of raising it again.

[Ambrose]

Rein's protests fell on uncaring ears; it was still possible, regardless, and so it would be. There was no need for such words. The boy pulled out the shovel and swung it skillfully over his shoulder, paused for a passing moment, then dropped it back onto the ground unceremoniously. The tool had lost its appeal. The grave had not, though.

". . . What are you waiting for?" he frowned towards his companion-- no, servant. He liked that word better, and it helped to outline their relationship as a whole. Something itched at the back of his head, but the red-haired figure ignored it like Rein's words. He kicked the shovel towards the servant: "Get digging." There was no need for him to act when another was awaiting his orders. Plus, it would be more entertaining this way. The boy made himself comfortable on top of the headstone, crossing his legs and eagerly awaiting his orders to be carried forth. Chop, chop!

The body that laid underneath the seat was fresh-- a day, two days max. Young, as well, and well-preserved. He was clearly mourned after, a pair of early daffodils resting near Ambrose's swinging feet. It was ready to live again.

[Rein]

He'd been ignored.

A pout was formed on his lips, feeling a bit putout at the treatment. But, well, he guessed he had deserved it to some degree. Glancing at the shovel that was put to him, to the boy on the headstone, to the flowers and back to the shovel, Rein sighed. It was with a huff that he took up the tool.

"As you command..." The tone was quiet and sarcastic. Dutifully, he plunged the shovel into the soft dirt. He would probably feel bad for this later.
The going was slow and steady. His body was weak as a skinny teen's was ought to be, but it was never-tiring and continued on. There was six feet to uncover, and it would take awhile. He was exasperated.

"Can I at least ask why this one?"

[Ambrose]

The boy ignored such obvious reluctance and took Rein's words as they were: fuel on the power-high. He breathed in deeply; oh, this trip was already worth the horrid boat ride over . . .

He watched with hungry eyes as his bidding was done-- the satisfaction in such an action could not be described! It was like having all the money in the world, all of the coinage and jewels and riches and . . . And, he was suddenly uninterested in such a topic. Bored now (which was the only reason he bothered answering the servant, considering his answer carefully).

"I like his name," the boy finally provided, patting the gravestone fondly. "Gregory" had too nice of a ring to it to simply ignore . . . "What are you waiting for? Keep going; you're almost there." He smirked at the obvious lie, thinking himself rather clever.

[Rein]

What could he do but sigh? As the boy answered his question and told him to keep going, and it gave him no satisfaction. He huffed and shook his head. Resigned, he was figuring he probably wouldn't get much out of Ambrose besides more urges to dig, and so he did without being told again.

He could not even internally mutter. Really...this was deserved. This was the least he could do. So on he trudged, and the pile of dirt besides the grave grew more and more. The farther he got, the more he could feel the presence of the body beneath him. Eventually, after what seemed like forever, the shovel made an odd sound as it was plunged into the dirt. Rein paused, and blinked. Well, that wasn't a rock...

Being that he was now quite deep in a hole, - the regular ground level being at the top of his head - he actually guessed that this would be six feet down. Crouching, he brushed aside the rest of the dirt from the lid of the coffin, using his hands to dig out the corners of it to actually try and get it open. Yup, this was it. As he brushed aside his hair as it got in the way, he smeared dirt across his cheek. It didn't seem as if he noticed.

It was an expression of duty, seeming too practiced in this line of work, the boy pushed his back against the wall of soil and hooked the shovel under the lip of the container. Working the tool back and forth to get it a better position, the edges cut into the wood and made it crack. He then shoved his weight against the handle of the shovel to pry the coffin nails up with gritted teeth. When the wood around one nail splintered off, he moved on to the next till it could be opened.

He muttered under his breath about the style and security of coffins these days. He preferred digging up older bodies.

[Ambrose]

He got bored with the rhythmic digging soon enough, doing everything else one can do while perching on top a gravestone in the dead of night: pick at the fresh flowers ("he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me . . . Ah, screw it."), arrange his crossed legs in continuously different ways every thirty seconds, hum a happy little tune that shifted keys once tired of the previous one . . . Finally, the romantic thunk of the gravestone. Bliss! The boy leaned over his throne for a better look. Not much to see yet, but the servant was on it. Wonderful thing, to have a servant. Soon, it would be plural. Soon, the dirt would be cleared away.

"Dreadful work, isn't it?" he jeered, hopping into the hole with a single bound and hovering over Rein's shoulder (figuratively, of course). He wouldn't know about the work, but he could imagine it-- and now, he was bored with imagining such things. He would do such things (might be more fulfilling), but that, too, bored him, and the servant was on it, see?

The itch continued at the back of his head . . .

Ambrose caught the muttering about the security of coffins. Security-- now THAT was something he knew about. "It's more exciting that way; the thrill is not only in the reward but the earning." When he saw the new technology banks had, his spirits lifted. Thievery was a challenge once more, fresh. The itch faded slightly-- but, when the coffin was oh-so close to opening, it came back in full force along with his initial excitement. A servant!

"What are you waiting for? Open it!"

[Rein]

While he didn't give much reply to the first comment, but he did make room for the boy in the small, single person sized grave, trying not to hit him with the end of the shovel as he worked. It was dreadful, not so much, he would say. Not necessarily pleasant, but not dreadful. Was it?

It was mostly the same for the next comment. Sure the new coffins held better and therefore the quality of body coming out of them in the future would comparably higher than of those he sealed with now, but still. He cast the boy a slightly odd look.

"It's kind of a mute point when the earning is in defiling graves, isn't it?" Rein tried to deny that he got any sort of thrill from this, he really did. Instead, to distract himself, he focused n getting the last, stubborn nail from its bed. He grit his teeth as he shoved his weight against it, before slacking and working the blade of the shovel further in. At the exclaim of the other, he huffed.

"I'm trying! Does it look like I'm--" and as he shoved his weight against the handle of the shovel again, the wood of the coffin lid cracked as the nail finally popped loose. The sudden lack of resistance had the tall boy falling back with a yelp as he lost his footing. The lid thudded back down heavily, only propped up by the shovel wedged in, completely free to open.

[Ambrose]

"Depends how much you value the reward," was Ambrose's simple rebuttal. He observed Rein for a brief second more, then smirking. The man performed this exercise on a regular basis, didn't he? He obviously knew the coffins well enough, and the method in his digging showed some basic practice. Denial? "You value it greatly." As he to coinage. There was no use for--

The coffin was being opened. At last! The red-haired boy quickly got nearer to the corpse, examining it closely. Fresh, like it was sleeping; matured, but young enough, young enough to slip into a college crowd. Its face was round, its hairs matted onto his forehead and combed back. The boy changed that, reaching out a hand and ruffling up the slicked-back hair so it pointed upwards. Better.

A servant. He trembled in the anticipation.
"Get to it," was his next order, eyes fixed on the corpse-- no, on his servant. His undying, ever-willing servant . . .

[Rein]

A frown settled strongly upon his face, finding his butt firmly planted in the dirt of the side of the dugout grave. A little putout, he watched Ambrose.

"I don't like that you pretend to know me so well, you know..." He was slightly uncomfortable by how right the other boy was. But he said nothing else as the other examined his new servant-to-be. Instead, he just picked himself up from the dirt and brushed himself off. The single, sharp order had Rein's brows creasing unappreciative of how he was being treated, but let it side.

"Then step back." He could be a little short in return, then. Even though he would do as, well, not really asked but told. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

Maneuvering close enough to get a hand on the corpse's chest, - by god, he was so young... - Rein splayed his fingers. Taking a deep breath, the Lijk took a moment to himself to gather his control. Oh, it would be so embarrassing if this went wrong with an audience. He closed his eyes and littler flickers of silvery lilac light danced over his upper arm and trickled down to his hands, where it danced between his spread fingers before slipping into the chest below. He was slow and careful about it, he wanted to be gentle and persuasive to the body he was calling up, he wanted to be respected and liked, and well...in control.

Rein opened his eyes, as did the young dead man's, glowing identical. The chest beneath the lijk's hand shuddered at it drew in its first breath of its life after life. It seemed a little shocked, or startled by the chill of the necromancy that inspired its muscles to work.

[Ambrose]

But, he did know his servant well, as a good master should. The boy with blood red hair didn't respond to such a statement, though, instead grinning wider and wider. He took a step back-- after all, the eye stung just a little bit-- and let Rein work his necromancy. His wonderful, wonderful necromancy.

All the while, the Powers That Be were debating about Ambrose's change in personality. They didn't like that smile; it reeked of freedom.

The lilac glow was almost like a fireworks show, the boy the exclusive audience. When the corpse opened his eyes, though, for the first time in nearly a week . . . It was surprising, being back. He hadn't believed in an afterlife, hadn't given in to some ill-conceived glimmer of hope that there was something after toiling away on earth. A beat-- was it his heart? There was doubt in that.

The boy just kept smiling. And smiling.
It soon faded.
How did such magic work? If he wasn't the one casting it, wasn't the one in complete control, was this still his undead, undying servant for the figurative forever and ever? He never asked. The red-haired boy shot a glare over towards Rein, not at all pleased.

"Tell it who its new master is," was his next order, growled so low that it almost seemed like-- no. Not italics, but damn close. Once he was pronounced as the servant's master, THEN he had complete control. It was tainted, though, not completely his--
"Go on!" he snapped.

(( Do you want to share the rping of the corpse? ))

[Rein]

Rein felt like he should be tired, with the effort that went in to gently coaxing the dead boy to wakefulness. And Perhaps he was, mentally. But unrelenting, cureless mental fatigue was a constant companion these days, so how could he tell if there was a difference anymore?

What has settled in the boy's chest may have been mistaken for a heartbeat, but it was more of a sparking hum. It was cold and foreign, but friendly and eager. It was cheerful and full of life, wanting to lend it and help, wanting to share and be apart of the other so endearingly. It curled around limbs and muscles, taking their weight and moving their tissues for them where was needed. It promised organs their rest, that it would take care of everything. It cooed a new life free from the necessities of food, sleep, desire. It pointed out its familiarity with the long haired boy with glowing eyes, the house of the power with the mouth that smiled so encouragingly. There was no mistaking that this boy was the one who had bestowed this new life, was making these promises.

And then the long haired boy looked to the other.

Rein blinked at Ambrose, a thoughtful frown on his face as if he were confused at the other's distress.

“Okay…then, I suggest when you speak, tell him his name.” Perhaps it would establish some familiarity, or a bond between them, of sorts. The lijk looked back on the boy in the coffin and smiled again.

"Hello, there. I’m Rein.” His smile widened. Who didn't like friendly people? He wanted this zombie to like him, respect him. It was the only way he’d be able to control this guy. Rein gestured a hand up to the red-head standing over. “This is Ambrose. We’re his new…servants of sorts.” The necromancer’s power hummed sweetly. The undead wasn't alone, it wouldn't be so bad. “We’re going to do what he says, ‘kay?” And as he chirped this happily, the power that came from him soothed and hinted that if the newly revived boy did this, it would make the Lijk who had given him life very happy. Making the red-headed Ambrose happy would make Rein happy, which should make Gregory happy, no? Everyone would be happy.

[Ambrose]

The corpse knew this wasn't the afterlife; it was better than that. This was a second chance, to live free of all worldly necessities . . . to begin anew. And he would, too, starting from this very moment--

"Your name is Gregory," Ambrose snapped, making sure to lean over the grave sight threateningly. He didn't like this set-up; before, he was ordering Rein as he should. Now? Now, he was taking orders from Rein himself, the servant himself. That wasn't right. That wasn't right at all. He glared down at the corpse that was rightfully his, the servant that should have been his but instead was his through a intermediary. Why didn't the servant tell him of such things! He obviously knew. It was a scheme against him, was it? Was it!? He had to make sure the corpse knew his place--! "And, you will bow down to me as servant to rightful master." A stress on 'master'-- but, not italics. Not yet.

Gregory; that sounded familiar enough. The corpse nodded in respect to such remembrance but hardly towards the red-haired loudmouth. Why was he so ticked off at him? Servant? Hardly. He had a dissertation to finish, and after that, it was off to the Americas.

But . . . The newly reborn creature turned towards the other figure, his eyes following the strands of brown. This man cared about him, that much was certain. And, he wanted him to cooperate. He wanted him to be happy, and this seemed to be the best way.

Gregory consented, kneeling down on the earth as much as the casket and hole would allow. Be happy, other man. Be happy.

A thrill like no other raced up the boy's spine-- excellent. A smile crept back onto his face, letting the corpse kneel for a solid minute before instructing Gregory to get back up. Be happy. Be happy . . .

"He'll be like this forever, right?" the brightly red-haired boy questioned Rein abruptly, observing the new servant carefully. "Forever obeying me."

All in unison, the Powers That Be flinched.

[Rein]

Conflict. Conflict was what Rein felt. A war, not bloody or violent but cold, waged in his chest. The corpse knelt before Ambrose, and Rein knew that this was the role of the dead brought up by a lijk, but it was still sad. Sad, maybe perhaps, because the servant wasn't bowing to a lijk. Immortal Ambrose may seem to be, but a raiser of dead he was not. Rein tried not to feel hostile.

And rather, instead, as the corpse did as was asked, the power of the necromancer curled pleasantly, rewarding in silent communication.

Rein picked himself up, brushing the dirt from his pants. Glancing to the other boy, the taller student hesitated a moment in thought.

"Well, in theory. He can still be stopped, destroyed. His life is technically tethered to me. Now, if I die, I can't control him, but he'll still be around and kicking I believe." Rein trailed off and put a knuckle to his chin as he looked up to the sky in thought. Nef had never stopped living when he died, anyway. And this boy was the closest thing yet he had ever gotten to creating another like the Egyptian princess. And well, if he died permanently, phylactery destroyed, he knew all of his zombies would return to just dead flesh again. It was impossible to share life you didn't have.

[Ambrose]

'Forever'-- wait a second, 'forever'? Gregory was about to look up at the necromancer for any reassurance that this was wrong, but the rewarding curl soothed his nerves. Regardless of what was going on here, he trusted Rein. And so, the servant remained kneeling, waiting for the order to stand up once more.

The red-haired boy didn't like theory. Not at all. Especially when the theory was linked to HIM still having the power. What gave him that right? Nothing. Servants shouldn't have power. Servants shouldn't have anything at all that wasn't their master's.

He turned towards the lijk, frowning. "Tethered to you?" he repeated needlessly. This couldn't be Ambrose; the boy was using words so needlessly, so sparringly. It couldn't be him. "You said this was my servant." And, again with the italics-- "Well? Why isn't he 'tethered' to me? Why isn't he under my control?"

[Rein]

The Lijk gave the other boy a strange look. Why was he made at him? It wasn't his fault, he had done as the other asked, and it wasn't his problem the other hadn't known what they meant. Should he just be happy he had a servant at all?

"Yes. Tethered to me, seeing as I'm the one actually giving him the life. You still give orders, I'm just keeping him animated. But by all means, if you can, go ahead. Bring him back yourself." Rein frowned at Ambrose and placed his hands on his hip, flicking a loose strand of hair over his shoulder.

"I did what you asked. He'll listen to you. Why are you upset?"

[Ambrose]

Why wouldn't he be upset? This was uncalled for! He asked for a servant, but not for a servant to a servant. The full power was, ultimately, not his; he could order Rein completely, but there would always be some miscommunication of power, some disconnect, between himself and Gregory. It wasn't his control; it was Rein's. It was wrong.

He ignored the necromancer's taunt and went immediately to the answering:
"Because the control isn't ultimately mine."

They gazed down in complete fear. This wasn't Ambrose anymore-- not as They knew him. This was an Ambrose with power, and he was going to abuse it to his last right.

The boy stepped slowly yet surely closer to the unruly servant, Gregory only able to watch the conflict between masters. When the boy finally stopped, he was mere centimeters away from Rein, glaring up into his eyes. Even glaring up as he was doing was not right; he needed to look down upon him, upon all.

"Knell," he ordered after several tense moments, "and I'll consider your actions in the right." Something itched at the back of his skull; this didn't seem right, somehow-- but, how could it not be so? He had a servant. He had power.

(( This thread is snowballing fast. > >; ))

[Rein]

An incredulous look crossed glowing eyes, but he didn't back away when Ambrose neared. Not that there was anywhere to back up to in the grave either...

With how close they were, the red-head's features lit by lilac light, Rein felt more than slightly uncomfortable. It was weighted, though, with an indignant feeling towards being ordered to kneel. The Lijk's brows knitted. He was not some slave, yes he may feel badly for having hurt that other accidentally and he had offered his services, but that did not make him the other's property. Kneeling was so...so...undignified. And as Rein frowned, he was going to say so. His mouth had barely opened as his gaze was scanning the other's...and the black eye...his fault. Rein's mouth closed, and the internal war raged. He was obviously a bit disgruntled as he eventually sighed.

Shifting, long legs bent at the knee and height dropped. Only one touched the ground, the other stayed out. How could a posture of proposal be so submissive...? Or maybe that was the point? Hair brushed at Ambrose's stomach as the top of Rein's head nearly bumped the other's midsection, face turned down towards the ground to hide his displease at the situation. His power buzzed unhappily. Reluctantly.

[Ambrose]

He frowned at the hesitation-- why was it there? Why did such a pause think it had the right to exist?-- but, at last, the servant knelt as a servant should. He knew he would.

"Very good," he mockingly praised, tilting his head in observation. The trails of hair tickled the still-stinging wound. He had all but forgotten the eye was there, really, although it was obvious that Rein had not.

That power . . . Not telling or signally Rein to get up (or the newly dug up servant, for that matter; Gregory was old news, now), the figure commonly named as Ambrose leaned forward to better examine the pulsing power, the pulsing necromancy. "Necromatic"? Was that even a word? He would make it a word, then: he wanted the necromatic purple all to himself. He wanted what Rein had, even if it had harmed him before. Especially since it had harmed him before.

"Teach me your power," he quietly ordered as a second thought, his midriff brushing against Rein's head while leaning in for a touch of purple . . .

[Rein]

His brows furrowed a bit more, glancing to the side. This was just disrespectful...but as the other shifted, he couldn't help but glancing forward, despite only being able to see the other's belly.

"What ar- what?" Glowing eyes widened in shock. Give him the power? The slight slivers of lilac light that trailed over the Lijk's body were quick, and surfaced in and out of his skin randomly. And as a tendril was touched, it quivered and shot away to duck back into the boy's back with a spark. As much as it wanted to tear back into Ambrose, his power was settled on being soothing to Gregory, and so though it hummed unhappily it would not attack in the moment against the lijk's focus.

Rein himself went rigid, jumping slightly from the light zap delivered, one hand snatching up to grip the boy's hip and apply a pressure that wasn't quiet a push back.

"What are you doing?!" He moved to inch back so he could at least right his torso vertically. "I can't just give it to you, it's not that simple! Besides, it really hurt you last time, are you suicidal or something?" He was incredulous. What was Ambrose even thinking?

[Ambrose]

His hair was standing slightly on end, but the shock delivered by the necromatic power wasn't nearly as intense as it had been before. It was dulled, distracted. It was focused on other things, which would topple over into the realm of insulting were it not for the already-observed consequence of its focus. His blackened eye itched.

Gregory was at a loss at the whole situation, but there was no panic about it. He should have been feeling panic; logic dictated it so. He only felt ease, though, and genial care towards the one bowing. A relunctant care was instead aimed towards the red-haired boy. It was none of his concern, of course, but if the tall man's powers could harm him, then why risk it? It verged on insanity-- or stupidity, depending. He couldn't judge which yet.

Ambrose lurched slightly back with the push, not enough for a step but enough to be glaring back at his servant. He had yet to tell him to rise! And yet, he did so half-way, telling him words he did not want to hear. "Suicidal"? Hardly. He was preventing his demise.

He examined the hand he had previously reached out, ignoring the possibility of harm coming to him. "Why can't it be that simple?" He really didn't understand that bit. "I asked for a servant; you gave me a servant. I now ask for your powers in order to fully control said-servant-- and, you deny me that right. Logic dictates the opposite."

The Powers That Be raised a collective eyebrow at that last line. Could the insane claim logic?

[Rein]

Rein shook his head. There wasn't much room, both being in a grave and the red-heads rather daunting presence over him. He didn't think he could stand gracefully, and so stayed on his knee. It was easier. 

Dealing with Ambrose, however, was turning out to be anything but easy. 

"It's because asking me to give you my powers completely is like me asking you to turn me into a big red spider. Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you can give the ability to someone else." Rein huffed, exasperated. "And even if I literally gave myself to you in which you would control me completely, you would be controlling me and therefore my power's actions, but still wouldn't have the power directly. I can't give you exactly what you want. It's as simple as that, it is not within my ability. I'm sorry."

His tone was actually a bit regretful that he couldn't fulfill the other's wishes, but he simply could not even if he wanted to. And despite the fact that he thought Ambrose's logic on this silly and deeply flawed, he still felt badly he couldn't get his own reasons across well enough. Glowing eyes trailed over the other, looking up and at least finding some relief in that nothing seemed more terribly wrong since the other had touched his necromancy directly again.

[Ambrose]

He lowered his hand and actually listened to his servant's words, nodding here and there in an odd calm.  He could not argue against logic, now that Rein was speaking it.  The answer disappointed him, yes, but it was all solid logic.  Logic for logic.  What a wonderful word it was, "logic."  It brought a slight smile to his face though his tone was almost neutral.  Patient, at least.

"You don't want to become a big red spider," he corrected.  "It's not an ability; it's a curse.  As for the rest . . ."  He turned now towards Gregory, the fresh servant watching in an absence of anxiousness.  The necromancer man would protect him.  Yes.  He didn't need protection, though, not of the physical sort.

"Say you and I are both in immortality-threatening situations."  The taboo word has suddenly become void of any meaning.  So what?  A twinge rang up his spine at the word, regardless of new sentiment.  Something felt wrong, somehow, someway.  His smile faded but his eyes lingered on Gregory.  Not good--  "Good Gregory here is at the side of the theoretical cliff we are both hanging off of but can only save one.  Which does he save?"

He turned back towards Rein, head cocking to the side.
"Something tells me that he would reach for you first."

[Rein]

Rein's shoulders lost some of their tension as Ambrose seemed to regain sanity and understanding. The smile was, in some ways, reassuring. But, as the boy went on, the lijk sat in a tense silence. Upon one knee, long strands of hair falling with clothes matted and dirty from digging, scared to move in fear of breaking whatever dam was keeping the insanity at bay in Ambrose...he certainly felt like a servant. 

"I think that same something tells me that you wouldn't want him to." The boy's slightly echoing voice responded lowly, hesitantly. Then, he sighed. "But, he'd reach for you first. Watch." He raised an arm, hand extended towards Gregory. There was a bit of sadness in the glowing eyes, and there was a bittersweet feel to the light as little bits of electricity leapt from reaching fingertips to arch towards the undead boy. They were quick to burrow seamlessly into reanimated flesh and curl around inside to make their home. They were not happy, but cooed their whispers. Gregory should not try to protect the necromancer who raised him, he was fine on his own and able to protect himself. But, what would really make the necromancer happy, what would most please him from Gregory's service...would be to please the red-headed boy Ambrose. And that verbal orders from Ambrose would rank above those from Rein. Putting the other higher than himself would indeed, truly, make Rein happy. The pulses purred inside, stressing this. How happy Gregory could make Rein, how he could repay him for giving him life again, with this.

The logic was convoluted and would hardly make sense to anyone outside the influence, but that was religion. If God himself came down and told you that paying tribute to another deity would be the best way to pay tribute to himself...would you? 

Rein lowered his hand and glanced back up to Ambrose. 

"That's the best I can do. Try it." He shrugged. "Tell him to do anything, even against me, and I guess we'll find out."

[Ambrose]

No.  No, he wouldn't.  The boy watched carefully as Rein did what he could not see, eyeing Gregory and the necromancer alike with unease.  The light show was nice, yes, but how did he know that his servant was doing as he said?  That look in his eyes was unmistakeable, too, a sadness unreachable with words.  Doubt crept in.  Was servitude what he wanted out of Rein?  As the necromancer spoke, though, that alien feeling faded away.  So long as it was for their furthered obedience . . . so long as he retained this control . . . he was pleased.  He was more than pleased.

"Let's see your best," Ambrose sneered, his gaze back on Gregory.  Gregory did not notice the look; his eyes were still on the necromancer, not unsure of anything.  In fact, he was reassured.  Yes.  Yes!  It made perfect sense.  In order to best serve the tall boy, he would serve the shorter one.  The purple light hummed about him, affirming such logic.  All for Rein.  All for the life-giver.

Gregory turned towards Ambrose, awaiting his orders:
"Kick him," the boy said simply, nudging down towards Rein.  "Hard."

There was no doubt in the undead's mind.  Whatever the action was, he would do it.

Slowly, Gregory walked over towards Rein, looking down at the necromancer with nothing but fondness and appreciation.  Life-giver!  That's what he was.  And so, for that same person, Gregory aimed a harsh kick towards the necromancer's torso, following Ambrose's orders to the letter.  And, the master watched on, grinning.

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