The Process

The road to the laboratory was a familiar one to none but perhaps Rayleigh, having seen it only once before. A casual stroll through the grassy courtyard into the aborium that acted as an entryway to the castle, then further still through the dungeons and into a darkened, dark corner of the castle's effective basement.

A tall, thick door of oaken wood that oozed with oils and slimy substances, corrosive enough to make the king be forced to wear gloves just to open it. The inside chamber was illuminated by a series of rune-lamps, all glowing with a gentle cerulean as it reflected its way across the walls and into the minds of the Drahomir families.

As far as rooms go, it wasn't particularly big, but it was compact and efficient. Tabletops of wood and desks of granite sat along the walls, cabinets upon the higher sections of the room offering plenty of odd chemicals and concoctions. Jars of sickly green fluids held and preserved various organs while two giant verdant plants sat against the back wall, watered by a series of whirling mechanisms.

But none of that mattered, for the only attraction the room had for the family was the two slightly bloodied tables that sat dead center of the room. Heavily enchanted with ebony and mythril, interconnected through a series of cables and dark devices, the life-draining system was prepared. Beside them, staffed by a team of skeletal forces that seemed to carry a hint more intelligence then normal, was a tray of dozens upon dozens of various parts of machinery and raw materials.

For before anything began, the tables needed to be refitted to suit the purposes of Bailey.

"...Welcome t'my lab, y't--three. If y'...daughter?" His head craned slightly, only now recognizing the form Robyn took. "Would take a seat at one of th'tables, 'n if y'could somehow get me Flux...we can begin th'preparations."
(Dominic Falco)
Bailey bobbed its slickened form against the stones, the trail of ooze behind it wriggling and writhing to return to its owner. Instead of taking a seat it was wandering around the laboratory, inspecting the surroundings with acute interest and a hint of ever present paranoia. Eventually, it bobbled away back towards the table, warbling from side to side against its tendrils of ooze.

The moment Flux was mentioned, the weapon sank from the ooze like straps upon its back and straight into the mimics flesh. Stubbornly, yet not once voicing it, bobbling about from side to side. Glancing towards Rayleigh, and then towards its newly dubbed Son. Blinking a few times it wheezed in its disjointed voice.

"What should we call you now~ my growing child! Such elegance! Much support from me in varying shapes. Yes? It is ah-- Cute!" Hands clasped together, the fingertips hardened sludge, cracked at the sides with age, flakes of blackened crust scratching away from the brittle fingertips.

It swayed into one of the seats, the tendrils of slime dribbling onto the floor yet somehow surviving the mimic's base form, its acidic nature under its clear control whilst golden hues watched through the jesters mask, having turned its entire focus upon Dominic for the time being.

But even a glimpse of the nearby tables added to a shuddering from the husk, the mimic's form melting against the cloth of its cloak gingerly, almost as if it was trying to hide away from the crimson smears and its ever-present cowardice.
(Bailey M. Drahomir)

   A dull blue gaze is offered towards the man whom she believes that truly carries the empire. Her words from the past still echo within her mind - moments wehn she claimed that the empire was an ugly thing. That they did not care for those and only benefitted themselves when the tim was right. She does not understand...She doesn't understand her feelings and wonder if it was actually her talking or those 'human' parts of her that learned to be compassionate and loved. It was unfortunate, very unfortunate for her to do the things that she had done...But even now, they cannot be taken back..

    A slow hand raises, waving slightly towards Dominic form while an eyebrow raises out of nothing more than curiosity. She understands this feeling - hopelessness, while her father slowly moves and speaks...Only for a small smile to appear upon Blue's face. "I am Blue...Blue Weiss." he musters up - his painted hands falling down into a clasp while he speaks once more. "And I am....was..Their daugther." It was a strange thing to speak of. But even she knows why she had truly assumed the identity of Blue in the first place..

    He needed to get away from him for the moment to clear his  head. He needed to think about the future - about his goals of gathering the mana of energy and cosmic users. Yes...He posesses the knowledge from his mother but does he really have it in him to kill purposelessly? To take for the life of another..? Strangely, yes. But everything needed to be coordinated perfectly..

     He needed to choose the right targets. Those that are powerful. Those whose spirits speak multitudes instead of whisper. He would begin becoming a terrorist...If this would not work.
(Blue Weiss)
The place is well remembered. Her first official trip to the Lifestream, an expectancy that had far beyond passed her expectations and helped her truly descend to her presence as a Necromancer within Valmasia. It is like memory lane is being traversed once more, enduring the endearing traits of blood and gore that splatter atop of the scientific tables presented. Decorated in the machinatons that make the laboratory, she takes her fill of the place once more with a sweep of her amber eyes.

"Bailey." The name comes out on a soft tone, sweeping cloaks of white billowing onto the very end of the lab's floor as she moves in front of the warbling form of the monstrosity. Her hands gently reach out - the sides of the Mimic's painted face being caressed as the Scribe motions forward, her forehead to press into the feminine form of the Mimic's very own.

"Please allow me to take Flux so Dominic may observe him. We have a method for him to consider, but he has to know of the construction of your brother. It will be very useful."

If so, the Witch would gently await, considering her lover's response and the interaction of their child Mimic in all of this.
(Rayleigh Drahomir)
"Blue Weiss, how adorable!" It was clearly avoiding giving away the sword, cradling both arms around itself in a tightened self-embrace. "My son, you seem to have been busy. We all have! Me less then usual, not all that productive I am!" Babbling softly, the golden hues finally met that of its wife. The fingers pressing along Bailey's farce of a face causing it to tremble quietly. Widening eyes almost pleading.

Don't make me do it.

Sharpened yellowed teeth dug into the mimic's pale lower lip, the contortion of the mask showing how physically disgruntled it was with the idea of even parting with the weapon. Clearly, it wanted to argue against it. But the touches lulled it, relaxed the mimic from its normally aggressive and aggravated state of mind.

Slowly the blade began to seep from its oozing flesh, loud splatters and squelches as the metal was retrieved, the accursed blade shimmering quietly with its hinted energy and the souls confined deeply within it. Cursed echoes, and of course the soft whispering of the Blade's pseudo Warden, Flux, but an occasional utterance.

Presenting her weapon to Rayleigh, the mimic peeled back hesitantly. Fingertips constantly shivering and twitching sporadically. "Be. . . Careful with him, yes. My only brother, he is talkative. Enjoy his presence, hopefully. Maybe. I think!"
(Bailey M. Drahomir)
It is but for only a moment, my beloved. Calm, I have you.

The contortion of Bailey's emotions are shared, weighing heavily in between converged veins that desired for Rayleigh to see within the mind and soul of her spouse. Such throes almost makes her succumb to the wishes of the Mimic - its discomfort shared in between them both as Flux is touched gently. A denial of the utmost potential is shared through them, something she knows is a consequence of the blade and the Mimic's utter paranoia.

Quickly, Flux is extended behind her - a mere swing of the Kaor Blade being granted towards the waiting King's presence. One hand remains firmly upon the masked feature of the Warden, attempting to keep it within peace. Tendrils would, at any moment, grasp upon her for the lack of her brother's security, and thus, she is preparing herself for such a moment.

"Please, Dominic. Make it quick as possible. She will be patient as we can be." As far as their conjoined minds would allow them to be, at the very least. And once the Fool King has taken the cursed blade from her offered hand, Rayleigh replaces the lack of the brother with the fullness of the wife - submerging herself into Bailey's arms as touch would synchronize their bodies completely. If only, but for a little while.

Think of our son. Look at him, isn't he cute? He has done quite well with his Mimic abilities. "Blue Weiss is indeed adorable. I am proud of what you have accomplished, Alia. Tell us, tell us of this boy."
(Rayleigh Drahomir)

   People viewed Blue and Robyn to be nobles. They had placed them upon a pedestal that they most certainly do not deserve. But does it bring a problem within the long run..? Not at all. Blue - for the most part couldn't help but to blush slightly, his own hues narrowing while he raises a few fingers to his bottom lip before speaking. "Boy...Do you mean, Alix?" he questions while raising an eyebrow. Of course, Alix has no idea of who Blue is which would make things rather complicated - especially infront of Dominic as well. Nevertheless, the boy would begin..

    "Alix...I was the first to meet him a long long time ago. He was alone and he was there when my friend, Avron, had gotten killed by Claude and his friends." He murmurs softly, his lips pressing tightly together. "I beat him in a spar and I claimed him as mine...My best friend. However, I believe that when we departed, his feelings grew into something slightly more. Blah blah blah, we end up meeting with Qaelthan and her weird wife thing...And they make a bet. He has to mate with me when he is eighteen. And he has to be my 'boyfriend' - according to Qaelthan." Blue states while shrugging his shoulders..

     "I had no say...He ruined it when I would try to counter. But of course, I never truly...accepted him. I think human relationships are strange, weird and I'd rather not. But it's clear that some things are....Difficult to get rid of. Feelings are strange. But humans..are even more strange." he adds while puckering his lips.
(Blue Weiss)
For just a moment.

At Rayleigh's prompt the king collected the Kaor blade of legend, weighing it softly in his hands. It was different then other blades, that's for sure. Yet somehow extremely dissimilar to Mourn's own when he held it once in Alteros.

It reminded him far more of Durendal when he held it, how it whispered and how it felt. The depravity leaking from it's make, the sense of souls trapped within. Fortunately for all involved, Dominic studied Durendal an extensive amount. And fortunately again, it didn't seem like Flux would need much more then that.

"Of course, let me jus'..." Swiftly the king turned, retreating back to his cabal of skeletal helpers as he began to rifle through the cart of materials. The key was to use Flux as a conduit instead of a normal body, and to convert the mana-draining wires into something that could handle the suction of souls.

A metal pen was procured form the king's robes as he gathered up several extra wires of solid mythril, enchanting them with runes that greatly increased the power drain. Light flashes of crimson hellstorm melded wires deep into the crevices of the blade, deep into the arcane mechanisms that allowed the blade to contain souls in the first place.

It was difficult, that's for sure. Kaor blades always resisted change, but even Kok'bael's own could be manipulated and runed. That's how he and Elenora did it in the first place, causing the Imperfect of legend to retreat to Judael's realm to have it undone.

For the divine magic in that area allowed it to be.

Many moments passed and many more materials were consumed in it's make. Studs of orichalicum and mythril, odd crystals and gems were transfixed upon the make of the converted blade. Upon the 'giving' table Flux sat, dozens of wires hooked up and invading the blade.

And each of the wires, tipped with sharp mythril points, ended upon the other table, awaiting the person to be the donor.

"Have y'explained t'Bailey what the procedure will entail? Or should I do that now? The risks? The the odds? The actual operation?"
(Dominic Falco)
Bailey twitched, the mimic indeed choosing its wife as a suitable replacement to the once Kaor Blade. The mimic's soul within the blade, Flux, only twisting in silent annoyance at the King's restraint. Tendrils of ooze and cracked obsidian colored fingers grasped tightly upon Rayleigh, clinging onto her oh so desperately. Yet the Jester's mask had yet to fade as its head bobbed up and down, staring over Rayleigh's shoulder.

Eyes remained transfixed upon the blade momentarily. Thankfully it did not try to retrieve it. Shuddering and shivering unhappily whilst huggling Rayleigh close. The words echoing through its mind earning a wriggle whilst its head twisted to stare upon their conceived child. Split from the mimic, genetics from the human. Staring. It was not just some spawn as most would call it! But its growing child!

Now a teen even, a light clicking giggle as the mimic adhered to the words of its wife. "Strange, truly strange. But, you know not till you try. Open mind-- Alas, am not fond of forced things. No no, it is all about equality. Yes, yes. You should know that though." Mumbled the mimic quietly blubbered.

Once more, the important task at hand was whatever the King was doing to its sibling. "Ah-- Explain, explain. Tried to learn, lesson the risk. But, risks are risks, without them, there is no reward! We shall see, tell us-- Me, tell me. The odds, the risks, the actual.. Operation. She has most likely shared, but my mind is. . . Disjointed." It mused softly, clicking softly.
(Bailey M. Drahomir)
"I have only given basics, I'm afraid. I did not read what you were about to fully attempt with the tables, and so, I did not wish to lie to my beloved on what may occur. She has come far enough, and is as willing as I would hope. If you would please, Dominic."

The chittering of her teeth displays an uncertainty - for the risks that are involved with this are quite high. As per example, there is the chance of complete failure, in which this method could not work at all. There is a chance of time lesser expected, which is what Rayleigh is more willing to accept than the first. There is a chance of anything going wrong - but these are indeed chances that she is willing to take.

With Alia observing as well, it is something that all three of them could indeed learn from - for the sake of their family, and any future children that will be involved in their Drahomir lineage.

"At the very least, we have been gifted this grand opportunity for something extraordinary - Bailey. I do ask that you consider that in mind before he tells us of what is to come."
(Rayleigh Drahomir)
"Very well then."

Spectral hands emerged from the king's body, procuring the Grand Tome he carried by him at all time. All the notes he had taken from Rayleigh's initial conversation were displayed upon the pages--and then some. Much time was spent going into the details of how the king saw the procedure, what he felt the risks to be.

"Firstly, allow me to explain what is to happen." Leaning slightly back, weight upon the wooden table, Dominic placed a palm upon the center of the recieving end of the device. "This is a table that drains life, or rather mana, from one being and gives it to another. It's essentially the occult arts of draining life applied to a device. Occult healing, to put it simply."

"As all souls are simply mana, Rayleigh brought up how she felt infusing you with these souls would help rejuvinate you back to a prior state. You may notice..." His hand lifts from the table, sweeping softly over the table behind him. "That Flux, the holder of all the souls you have collected, is now hooked up."

"The reason I needed to see and hold Flux was so I knew how to adjust the table for the new source, and how to manipulate the blade so that it would be compelled to release it's souls. Simply a Kaor Blade, after all, and I have had my experiences with those."

The hand was removed, placed upon the spine of the book once more. "These souls will be drained. I can almost guarentee you that this suction of souls will occur. However, I cannot promise any degree of success. Will your body accept the souls, converted into mana? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps their conciousness will try and overtake yours? Perhaps the influx of mana will rob you of your life instead?"

"This has never been attempted. This isn't soul transferrance, which Sareen has so carefully documented. This is soul absorption. This is your raw, basic properties of a mimic absorbing the best source of mana there is. Now, should this work? And should your body take the souls without much complication?"

Another page was flipped, though this time it was details of Acrux rather then anything specifically regarding the situation at hand. Though, in many ways, it was a similar situation; the use of souls to power a creation.

"Acrux ran through about one hundred and fifty souls to be powered for two months. You use much less power, but also have much less souls. If my projections are correct, and there are no fancy principles to be applied? You could be sent back as many as fourty or fifty some-odd years."

A small pause, looking up towards Bailey and doing some grim math.

"...Though that'd probably be too much. A more conservative estimate is about ten or fifteen years, depending on how much energy your body uses...and I warn you, if this works? You'll continue to need souls to survive. I hate to imagine what will occur if you try to live off of your natural mana after all this."

"Any questions?"
(Dominic Falco)

    The words that spill from his lips are absorbed and kept. He  finds himself documenting them - making sure that the souls that he would need. That the souls that they would need could be gathered within the long run so that they do not have to suffer any longer. For the most part - the mimic would shift in place, his hand moving from his bottom lip to pass through his obsidian locks. He knows not of what to say...But he does know that the result needs to be interesting. That what could happen is nothing more than success...Than failure..

     Instinctively, he carefully moves off of his chair to come to a stand - his own smile beginning to darken slightly while he nods at all of those things because he understands.Possessiveness. Curiosity and Cowardice. Wanderlust. They all lead him into being a creature filled with contradiction and yet...He's brave enough to do all of this. If he could be successful. If he could see his father be successful, then perhaps the world isnt as bleak as it is. Perhaps mimics will have a place within the world just as much as any other human..

    "Would it be possible to take souls from Acrux..?" the boy murmurs underneath his breathe. "It doesn't seem right to kill...And Sareen had spoken about such a thing when I was talking to her.." But he already knows. Taking souls away from the star within Nostvale could possible make it imbalanced again. Bringing out the plague..Or perhaps, assisting it within it's natural course.

   "I believe that this is the only thing that is within my mind for now..." Ways to further life within the future. To shave off things and make sure that your family does not...And will not suffer.
(Blue Weiss)
"Chichichi~ I did not live this long with such a low willpower! But, but!" A finger waggled quietly, its attention drawn towards the words of the Necromancer King. "Soul Absorption! How fascinating. They should not have the willpower to do so-- That is..." A quiet twitch of the mimic's finger as it mumbled quietly. "That is not just a Kaor Blade. The warden of these souls is my brother. Flux, whom once resided within me. Soul transferred within the blade years ago back when I was but a young little mimic."

Twisting fingertips closed lazily as it spoke carefully. "The coaxing should not be a challenge. My brother is reasonable, and collecting more souls would be something he would. . . Enjoy to endeavor for. Yes. As for age reduction, one knows little of how a mimic actually ages! It is, confusing. In all truthfulness, we are never children, we are never teens, we are never adults. We simply, are." Gesturing towards itself, the mimics fingertips pressed against its own facial features.

"When I was a child, I had the knowledge of an adult. I started meddling with Soul Transference when you were young! We may have even met, possibly. Doubtful. I have changed faces so many times!" Giggling quietly the mimic mused, warbling within its state. "When speaking with Sareen, years back in the Sarab, I asked her if she believed it was possible. To live forever through the use of souls. The mana is fuel, after all. When we 'age' it is simply time wearing upon our workings until our body cannot harness our mana any longer."

"The price to pay, is never leaving this base form. Yes yes. These are all theories, even yours is a theory! Indeed, indeed. Perhaps I will simply perish, perhaps I will not. In the end the idea is to fuel me, but give me a constant need to. . . Obtain new souls! Which! I have plans for, but it requires more working, yes."

Mumbling the mimic stood upright quietly, bobbling its head from side to side whilst the masked features stared at the Necromancer King. "It will be an interesting experiment nonetheless. . . And if I do perish, ah. . . Make sure my wife remains safe. Yes?" It murmured with a wave of its fingers, twitching hands brushing against the mimic's face.
(Bailey M. Drahomir)
The king simply stepped to the side as Bailey spoke, mentally tallying up each and every instrument that was used and making sure there was nothing abnormal or unwanted about the setup. "I prefer not t'think about what might be th'worst case but--yes. In th'unfortunate event, y'family will be taken care of."

Two dozen needles affixed upon two dozen wires that all connected back to one table and into Flux. More, enhanced runes were added along the ebony base of each table, the mythril plating serving to give the device more resovoirs of mana to pull from to begin the arcane operation.

It was distressingly similar to the original make; the tables did not need all that much more added to accomidate the use of souls. That was something that spooked the king slightly, that his original invention was so close to being able to rob souls.

He had placed his wife on there! He had placed Bennett and was going to place Sophie on it! To think that if he had added only a bit more power and creativity he might have infused them with others souls on accident.

But such thoughts were disgarded for the sake of those to be tried. "There is little left for me to say or do, Bailey. Rayleigh. Blue." The king in robes turned from his position behind the table, staring down at the family from Mormegil. "All tha's left is for y'three t'give the okay, for Bailey t'slip on, 'n for me to activate it all."

"I understand that this might be scary, 'n it might not go well. I will give y'all th'time y'need t'get ready, t'say anything tha' needs t'be said 'n make whatever preparations y'wish."

And with that, the king went silent, awaiting the family to be readied.
(Dominic Falco)
Blue Weiss: < *issues a mere nod* >
Bailey M. Drahomir: *Answers by getting on the table, oh dear!*
Preparations, preparations.

Could anything prepare her to say a potential goodbye? To the Witch, this is not a goodbye. To the Witch, this is merely a means to an end - the ending being, Bailey's recovering from her aging ailment. To bring her to a level of acceptibility, even if more souls would need to be hunted for. More fuel for her Mimic form, more means to hunt and preserve her life. This - would she so seek to bring herself to becoming a part of - a team they have always been and a team they would always be.

"Whatever happens." She whispers, bringing her hands over towards the crafted, shape-shifted face of the Jester. "The risks are worth the merit of the reward. What is life if there are no risks? We have risked so much, and come so far, have we not love? Why not risk a little longer?"

But her brows furrow. For what would happen if she were to lose -- No. No, she will not consider those possibilities. Even if Bailey must be subjected to the most vile of pain, Rayleigh would not allow for her to merely perish before her very eyes. She would rather the suffering than the death. It is a selfish wish, but it is one nevertheless. Their souls were linked, and they would endure the Hell together. Forever, if that is what it took.

Her lips are brought down against the scarlet-red painting of the Jester's grotesque mask.

"Whatever happens. I am here, anchored with you. I love you." With that, she would step back - shivering, allowing for the Fool King to perform his damning arcana.
(Rayleigh Drahomir)
The mimic joined with the table, setting itself atop the planks of wood and ebony and, for a brief moment, leaving the king without knowledge of what to do. It was only a temporary pause that was brought about by the manacles upon the table.

How would he...? Did he have to trust that Bailey would not freak out, pull away and have her own system severed under the duress? For however feeble the gesture was, Dominic still clasped the iron manacles that secured Bailey to the table over it's goo.

The acidic sizzle that occured immediately after already brought about some mild manner of concern. Fortunately, the mythril tips of the needles were corrosion resistant, unable to be altered by the substance that was a mimic's goop.

Twenty five needles were inserted into the Jester, each one along a different poit in the blob's body. Each one striking another central pocket of mana. The sensation for a human would be extreme uncomfortability and pain, but for a mimic? Who could say.

The senses just didn't affect them the same way.

"Well..." The man stepped back, overlooking the three with a no mild about of hesitation. He'd never used it like this before. There was a lot at stake with very little prior knowledge gleened. Mimics were just so alien. Was it really time? "I guess...I give y'all th'luck I got, Bailey. Le's pray."

And with that, the runes were activated. Emerald glows of rieka surged through the tables both as the machinations roared to life. The entire room began to shake and hum under an extreme surge of mana. Runic lamps failed as the tables sucked out all the ambient mana from the room, organ-filled jars shaking loudly upon the tops of cabinets.

Even Flux began to shake and rattle inside it's confinement upon the table as it's very being was sucked away, each and every soul diving through the multitude of wires and flowing into Bailey at the runes' command.

The process had begun, and only time would tell if it worked...
(Dominic Falco)
The clasps did, unsurprisingly little. But the mimic tried to situate itself willingly into it. Calming itself down it resigned itself to its fate. For once, perhaps due to age, it showed little care for its own outcome. The desire to live was one nagging at its insides, but to live eternally through fueling itself on this soul absorbtion was well worth the risk wtihin the beasts untamed mind.

Deep breaths inwards, it was only nature for the acidic blob to allow such ill will to ebb from it in the form of sizzling crackles and pops of its flesh. But the outer molding held stoically against the Mythril tips, the needles pressed into its gelatinous form sinking inwards easily.

Each prodded tip left little more then a tingling, itching sensation for the Jester. It was an odd feeling, but considering the mimic used itself as its own storage, it was more comfortable then one would think. Her dulled nerves were something she'd still yet grown used to. How touches were less notable. Shuddering against the tabletop its blobbed form twitched, the masked eyes flickering slightly as it mused.

"Luck, to think! Luck is why I live, and the balance ends on luck! All this luck. . ." It wheezed out its laughter, uttering but a small 'Thanks' towards the Necromancer King. But its final visage was settled upon its wife. Unwavering golden hues dancing along and staring into the witch-orange.

"I love you too."

It came out openly, before the runes were set alight. Twitching patches of oozelike flesh twisting in unhindered agony as each soul was pressed and filtered into the mimic's body at the runes behest.

Flux itself, was not used to such a thing as pain. But each passing moment through the blade, feeling such a thing as driving each soul from their prison left it rattling against the table. Glimmering and glowering with anger and befuddling rage as it bolstered and twisted within itself. The presiding warden reluctantly yet forcibly releasing the souls that were dragged from its prison.

Joint howls of agony until the process came to an end, whenever that was, and even then the mimic grew still. It was hard to tell if the creature had perished, or if it was simply sleeping, the coagulated ooze dribbling but maintaining a form for the time being! Though, no words escaped from the mimic.

Indeed, only time would tell if it had worked, be it if the creature would eventually rise with newfound rejuvenation, or simply fall apart, or perhaps even rise and was in even worse condition!. The wait was on.
(Bailey M. Drahomir)
Torment. Agony. A touch that refuses to be broken, even when her human form cannot handle the simple process of the rune. The Witch falters, if only by the force of the ever-enduring agony that makes the capability to even think entirely too much for her. Had her own soul been placed in risk as well in their touch? Then she must break, and merely feel the sensations of overwhelming horror that swarms through their mind.

Had it worked? Had it failed? Thinking, as Rayleigh knows it, has completely failed upon her. The mind is filled with nothing but the howling - remembering the sounds of her beloved's pain, and the stark state of bloodied tears that flows from the Blood Mage's eyes are granted as the black, depraved leylines lick over every part of her face.

There isn't any part of her mind, body, and soul that hasn't been blackened by this creature before her.

"Dominic. . ." Her voice finally finds itself in all of the runic ritual, the observation of the ritual going without her ability to scan and study due to her lack of cognitive ability. Rayleigh shakes, so fiercly, only using her child - their child - to keep her stable within her spot. For Alia/Blue would be able to feel her Mother's agonized worrying in the physical aspect, hands that cling to his masculine, teenage form with desperation.

"Dominic, you said this has never been performed before. Soul Absorption to this magnitude." As he spoke, eariler. This was not a transference of any kind. "From Sareen's warnings, we were told that she would forever be in battle against the souls now for dominance. I can only ask. . .if she is still alive," A hic catches upon the woman's breath, shaking the Scribe completely underneath the white tresses of her cloak.

". . .If she is still alive, we will need to bring more souls. Will they always have to be absorbed in this method? Or. . .or is there another way that could be made? For my child, for my daughter. . .One day, she may wish to aspire after this."
(Rayleigh Drahomir)
Dominic was long since jaded to the suffering his machinations caused. Every moan of agony and every shaking of the goo only served to give the king a slight bit of information how the procedure was going -- to let him know the blade was still draining.

And in time the energy would deplete. The souls within the Kaor blade of Kurosuni, the husk that Flux remained in, would vanish through the wires and into Bailey. Small prods towards the spawn of Ozma, exploratory rubbing and feeling that only served to show that the creature was still in tact and living, were made before he could answer Rayleigh's concerns.

"Still here. Still alive." His voice was a hushed whisper as he began removing each and every prong of mythril from the Jester's body, tiny slurching sounds emitting with every removal. Twenty five needles, and twenty five spots that needed to recover with time.

"I don't know, Rayleigh. We can try to develop another technique, using this as a basis, if it is a success. This wasn't done before, yes. So I know little on what it means or what we truely did. But it seems, for now, to have worked. Perhaps the souls will react poorly? Perhaps the energy simply cannot be converted that way?"

"But my step in this is done. The souls have been emptied into Bailey. Whether or not it takes...that is for you to find out, as you live your life with it."
(Dominic Falco)