The Master's fiery eyebrows arched, a flicker of surprise in her piercing dark eyes.
The Master: "B-but they will still be undead... They will never have a normal life again."
Bazren, her voice raspy from disuse and the strain of her injuries, finally broke the silence. Her rose-colored eyes, though dulled by exhaustion, held a spark of their usual defiance.
Bazren: "That's fine. Just get this off us, would you? We'll manage."
The Master's gaze, sharp as obsidian shards, fixed on Bazren.
The Master: "You'll *manage*...?"
A chill, colder than the grave, traced its way down Bazren's unnatural spine. The Master knew something, or at least suspected. Her focus shifted, just for a moment, to the desiccated dagger still held by Mola, then back to Bazren.
The Master: "Hm... You say this little thing was feeding off of your flesh...?"
Mola, sensing an opening, perhaps, jumped in, her voice regaining a sliver of its earlier forced confidence.
Mola: "Yup. Suckin' 'em dry."
A slight, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of the Master's lips, a fleeting shadow of amusement.
The Master: "Interesting... Well, perhaps something can be done. Nothing a bit of *creativity* cannot solve."
Her words, though enigmatic, sent a strange ripple of hope through Xayn. There was an undeniable edge to this woman, an unsettling intensity, yet her interest in their plight seemed genuine, however self-serving it might prove to be.
The Master: "But, I'm afraid we're not done here yet. Are we, Mola...?"
The air in the study, already thick with the scent of old parchment and potent herbs, grew heavier, charged with the sting of her implicit accusation. Mola stiffened.
Mola: "... What do you mean?"
The Master's voice was deceptively soft, yet it carried the weight of impending judgment.
The Master: "Is there nothing else you want to share...? Nothing you're *omitting*? Purposefully?"
Mola took a deep, shuddering breath, her gaze darting nervously towards Xayn and Bazren before returning to her Master.
Mola: "Fine. Ugh... Look, I couldn't save the village in the end. Everyone's dead, alright? These two are all that's left. The rest is in shambles. I... I couldn't protect them. Wasn't strong enough. I know this won't be a good look for you... Sorry."
The Master's expression softened, and she placed a light, almost gentle hand on Mola's shoulder.
The Master: "Mola, Mola, Mola... I've known you for so many years -- too many, even. Yet, despite all this time... You still take me for a fool?"
Before Mola could react, the Master moved with startling swiftness. She leaned close to Mola's neck, her fiery red curls brushing against the girl's pale skin, and inhaled deeply, a long, slow draw of air. Her eyes narrowed.
The Master: "That dagger and your two new acquaintances aren't the only ones reeking of black magic..."
Her fingertips, previously tracing sigils, now crackled with an almost invisible, violet energy. Tendrils of raw magic, sharp and menacing as a predator's claws, formed around them.
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The Master: "Your body, show it to me!"
With a sudden, violent movement, she ripped Mola's robes apart at the chest. The fabric tore with a harsh sound, partially revealing the pale skin beneath, where a faint, oily sheen of congealing darkness still clung to a recently mended, puckered wound.
The Master: "Tsk tsk tsk... What did I tell you last time?"
Her grip, like iron bands, clamped onto Mola's wrist, yanking the girl's bandaged hand forward. With her other hand, the Master swiftly removed the glove. Her gaze immediately honed in on the freshly severed stump where another finger had been.
The Master: "Look at this... What is your plan when you run out of fingers, girl...?"
Mola wrested her arm away with a choked cry, hiding her mutilated hand behind her back, her face a mask of shame and defiance.
Mola: "... Still have plenty of them left. No point in worrying about that now!"
The Master's expression hardened, her patience visibly fraying.
The Master: "Well, here's something to worry about, then..."
With a sharp, almost contemptuous flick of her wrist, the heavy wooden door to her study swung open with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the tower.
The Master: "... Consider your apprenticeship *terminated*!"
Mola's mouth formed a trembling pout of disbelief and anger. She bit down hard on her lower lip, visibly struggling to prevent an outburst.
The Master turned her piercing gaze towards Xayn and Bazren, who had watched the unfolding drama in silent discomfort.
The Master: "And you two..."
She studied them intently, her eyes seeming to bore into their very essence, looking deep into the unnatural light of their irises.
The Master: "I suppose there is something I can do for you. I will, of course, be needing that dagger, though."
Mola's carefully constructed composure shattered.
Mola: "T-the dagger's mine...! I'm the one who retrieved it!"
Neither Bazren nor Xayn interfered, observing the power play with a shared, grim understanding. This was a dangerous game, and they were merely pawns on the Master's board for now.
The Master's eyes widened as she looked at Mola, not in surprise, but with a sudden, chilling intensity. Instantly, Mola cowered, shrinking back as if struck by an invisible force, a palpable aura of oppression emanating from the older sorceress.
The Master: "Consider yourself lucky I didn't strike you down where you stood, Mola. Black magic is forbidden, you know this well enough. The very fact I had taken you as my pupil was enough to tarnish my reputation amongst my peers. I wanted to fix you... Wanted to mend your ways."
Mola looked down at the dusty stone floor, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
The Master: "I will be the laughing stock now. Be gone from my tower, girl... Be gone from this country altogether. At the very least, I can pretend you died and save myself the bulk of the embarrassment."
Tears began to well in Mola's eyes, spilling onto her cheeks. She stormed towards the open door, but paused on the threshold, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, her body trembling with suppressed rage.
Mola: "Y-you... after all this time, how can you do this to me?! You said you'd be there... Said you'd help!"
The Master sighed, a sound heavy with years of disappointment.
The Master: "Save it, Mola. I'm not playing these games with you anymore. If you are looking for someone to blame, take a look in the mirror first -- did you not promise to stop dabbling in the dark arts when you came under my wing...? How many more fingers have you sacrificed since then?"
Mola remained silent, her face a mixture of heartbreak and fury.
The Master: "You two, take your best guess!"
Xayn and Bazren exchanged an awkward, silent glance, neither keen to be drawn into this bitter family feud. The Master didn't wait for an answer.
The Master: "*Three*. THREE! Three -- not counting this most recent one. Three chances you have had, three chances you have wasted... I may be benevolent, Mola, but you conflate benevolence with stupidity if you truly expected me to bend yet again."
Mola opened her mouth, a choked sob escaping.
Mola: "I... I-"
The Master: "LEAVE MY DOMAIN AT ONCE, OR I WILL VAPORIZE YOU WHERE YOU STAND. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING."
Her voice boomed, amplified by magic, resonating through the very stones of the tower. The entire structure quaked, dust sifting from the ancient timbers above.
The Master: "Gather your belongings and leave -- your room is to be vacated immediately. Do not make me repeat myself... You know how much I hate it."
Tears flowed freely down Mola's face now. With a final, heartbroken wail, she turned and fled, slamming the door behind her with such force that the echo reverberated down the spiral staircase.
The Master sighed again, the sound heavy in the sudden silence. She ran a hand through her fiery red hair, composing herself.
The Master: "Now, as for you two..."