The Hand That Mocked Them

"It won't do any good. I didn't see it and I left the house without asking, so I'll just take my punishment and we'll move on, alright?"

Kivvien shook his head and heafted the chest out the cart. "As you wish."

He dipped his head. "What else can I help with?"

"I may need a hand in the process of this spell, I'll let you know."

"Certainly."

Kivvien went inside and got to work setting up.

He followed.

He took out one of the preserved strips of flesh and laid it out on an iron tray. It had died recently, so drawing the life back into it shouldn't be impossible, though it may take a few tries.

He wished he had his lab partner here.

On second thought, no. If Ezeren saw him here, in this situation, he may never get his respect back.

Laurean was pacing in the room where he had awoken. "Come in here, homunculus," he ordered. Hieronymus obeyed, and the old man shut the door.

Kivvien glanced toward the room briefly before returning to work, tracing out runes in an attempt to coax life back into the flesh.

About five minutes later Laurean came out wiping his hands on his robe, joining Kivvien at the tray. "What have we here?" he asked, interested.

By then, Kivvien had managed to coax a bit of life back into it.

"Living demonic flesh," he answered.

"Well done!" He nodded approvingly. "Skillful work."

"Yes, thank you." He glanced up. "Have you any experience constructing viruses?"

"I'm afraid not, but I can figure out what it might cling to in a system."