During the first few months of exile, every day, Pietas worked on his compulsion ability. He had no one to target but Six, a human.
Prior to imprisonment, for practice, Pietas would ask for some item he needed, such as a stylus. He wouldn't say which one or what type, but instead, as whoever was near reached for one, Pietas extended a wave of compulsion to choose the desired item. It never failed. Each person always picked the one he wanted. People who entered his presence would turn around and leave without Pietas saying a word. Practicing with small things made the big things second nature.
He had once turned a whole division and made them attack their comrades. But coerce Six? Might as well ask the sun for ice. Was it because he was reanimiated? A ghost? Or was it inherent in his nature?
Pietas sent Six a strong wave of compulsion to come to him, but the ghost continued filleting a fish without the least pause.
Casting himself back onto the grass in a fit of pique, Pietas stared up at the sky. He'd had more control as a child! Would he have to start over and relearn everything? Was the gift lost? He'd honed it for centuries. Surely, it was not lost. Please, let it not be lost...
No matter how hard or how long it took, he would reclaim every power, every gift, and every ability. He would own everything he'd lost. No one robbed Pietas ap Lorectic, First Conqueror, War Leader of the Ultras and got away with it. Humanity had tried to rob him of his birthright, but they would not prevail.
