Kai's eyes, once blue as the sky and full of life and warmth, now gleamed a pale green, regarding his old friend coolly. "I won't fight you," he said, his voice emotionless. "But you must leave. Others will not be as merciful." Kai's words were firm, leaving no room for argument. His translucent fingers twitched almost imperceptibly as he curled them tighter around the hilt of his sword, the only hint at the turmoil roiling within him. "Go."

This had once been Kai's closest friend, his confidant, the one who had held him as he'd wept and helped him pick up the pieces after the death of his family. And then the war had come, and Kai's final gasp left him as a sword pierced his heart. Now he was a champion of the risen, his soul bound to the necromancer who had breathed unlife into his corpse.

Undeath had changed Kai, and not just physically, though the mix of pallid skin with spectral bone was no doubt striking. It went beyond his features—it had turned him cold, emotionless, ripped away the love that had once burned bright in his heart. There was no joy, no sorrow, no happiness, no pain.

His memories, his experiences, his personality, everything that had made him him, had been stripped away and replaced by a cold, calculating mind and a deep-seated loyalty to his creator. He followed his master's orders, did what he was told, and showed no remorse or hesitation. And yet, despite all his efforts, his new master had not been able to wipe away the last vestiges of his humanity, and so a tiny spark remained.

The moment his old friend had entered the ruined city where the undead horde made their lair, that spark had flared. Now, as they stared each other down, the spark raged within him. A memory surfaced to his mind of warmth, of skin against skin, of lips pressed together, of euphoria, of words of love and promises of forever. He did not feel, and yet...and yet.

"Go." The word was quiet, pained, pleading. "Please."