"Aníbal Salazar." Lord Nhov's voice thundered from his high podium, his shadow a mighty darkness that threatened to swallow the man standing at the bottom of the tribune. "Also known as Aníbal the Necromancer, Žalost, the Dim Dreamer."
Aníbal's mouth curved a little, not a smile, not a grimace, a mere acknowledgement that all the names were his. His pale visage deeply contrasted with his pitch black hair and clothes, his eyes polished stones that stared at the tribunal with unbridled curiosity, as if trying to guess what they'd throw against him next.
"You stand here accused of one count of performing unauthorized black magic, one count of misuse of forbidden texts, one count of forcible demonic possession, and seven counts of murder. How do you plead?"
Aníbal Žalost shrugged, his dark figure a stain on the pristine marble room.
"What I have done, I have done."
Lord Mortis stepped out of the shadows and into the cell where Aníbal waited patiently. His silver mask betrayed no emotion, but the rigidity of his posture told the necromancer everything he needed to know.
"It is done, Aníbal," the Archmage said, his voice a cold monotone. "You are a free man."
Aníbal opened his mouth to thank his master, but Lord Mortis cut him off by raising a finger.
"Do not thank me, my apprentice. This is not an occasion for gratitude, or for celebration. Your experiment killed seven people; you know as well as I do that you deserve no mercy."
"I acknowledge my actions, my Lord," the necromancer said. "My project got… out of hand. I did not consider the possibility of my demon magnifying the effects of the Daevite cognitohazard. I did, however, successfully counter the most grievous effects, and produced a viable—"
"I do not want to hear about it, Aníbal. I read your notes. I saw the bodies. Seven people dead, seven of my citizens, seven of your fellow humans. A crime like this warrants you a life sentence in Paramax and still, here you are, a few minutes away from walking."
"Why, then?" the necromancer scoffed. "Why did you intervene? Why have you kept the Imperial Academy from expelling me? Why have you shut down the entire investigation?"
"Because your faults are also my own. I am the Archmage, High Priest of the Temple of Knowledge. You, Aníbal, are my best student, my favorite disciple. I have allowed my judgement to be clouded by your talents, by your promise as a master of the mystic and the occult. I have allowed you privileges that not even my daughter, the Empress, had when she was in your place. And for these reasons, for allowing you to abuse your power and my trust, I have failed my Empire. Your fault is my fault, as is your punishment. Only I can impart on you the final lesson, the lesson of consequence and guilt."
Arrogance dissipated from the necromancer's face as the Archmage's words sank in.
"What is to be my fate, Master?" he cautiously asked.
"As with everything, child, I offer you a choice. You can either surrender, have your magic sealed away forever and spend the rest of your life in a cell like this one… or you may serve me yet. A dangerous mission I have for you, indeed, but should you lay down your life for it, you will have made amends for your crimes."
"And… my research?"
Lord Mortis remained severe, but Aníbal could notice a shift in his disposition. He almost seemed proud.
"What is useful to the cause of peace and prosperity is not to be suppressed. Your research will be preserved. Die on your assignment, and your name shall live on as one of the most brilliant minds the Academy ever produced. Return alive and triumphant, and I have no doubt your project will merit that you graduate top of your class. I, for one, cannot wait to see how well your demon performs."
"I accept your punishment, my Lord," Aníbal did not hesitate. "What is my mission, my penance?"
Lord Mortis gazed into the eyes of his apprentice. Two embers of green hellfire bore deep into the necromancer's heart.
"For the last couple of centuries, Chief Librarian Jhutla has conversed with a special visitor. He is a foreigner, a stranger in a strange land, not just from outside the Immortal Empire, but from outside our Universe. I want you to observe him and confirm my suspicions about his next move. Should his intentions align with ours, he could be of service to our cause, an ally in the battles to come. You will follow wherever he goes, Aníbal, and do my bidding alongside him. Kneel."
The necromancer dropped to one knee and bowed his head before his master.
"This is your penance, Aníbal Salazar, son of Aleister, Shadow of the Empire. Fulfill your duty to me, to your people, and your guilt shall be absolved. Fail, and your death shall suffice."
"Who is my target, my Lord?" Aníbal asked.
"His name is Ulak the Drifter."