It wasn’t even meant for him at first. Just a little side project to explore the application of necromantic and soul-based energies, something to help him understand powers greater than his own. The idea later came to him when he noticed he could make it move while still having a body.
He already used the man as a guinea pig before. First, with an aquamarine ring, now, with a black iron arm.
Iron. It was so… ironic.
Fiel told himself this wasn’t like the first time, like when he pushed an –albeit helpful– experimental artifact on a suffering, grieving man with promises of relief, just to test his own abilities. In his defense, it did work. It just wasn’t quite as resilient as he had hoped.
It’s for his own comfort, the necromancer told himself. Something that would feel more life-like. I’m sure he’ll like it. And maybe it’ll help with the phantom pain.
Something caused him to pause on the golden stairs that lead to the captain’s little hideout below.
He looked at the gauntlet in his hand, tightly wrapped in dark cloth.
He didn’t even ask if he wanted it in the first place. Maybe Jesse was comfortable with his squeaky, pokey claw. Maybe he didn’t want the necromancer to strip his limb naked, to literally disarm him once again, even symbolically, even temporarily. Maybe he didn’t want to be reminded that he lost an arm, and of what caused it.
What’s done is done. Only fools don’t use the tools they are given.
His mother’s voice came very rarely to him to give him counsel. And, for once, he was inclined to listen.
Except when that tool is a rolling pin, and you’re giving it to a coal miner.
Fiel snarled silently, trotting down the remaining steps.
You’re too late, Father, I already made up my mind!