The evening air was thick with the scent of gauno and the faint tang of arcane energies as the small, cluttered workshop on the parapets of Azrath's citadel buzzed to life. Shelves lined with books, scrolls, and various oddities—some reanimated, some enchanted—formed the backdrop of the room where a large, ancient-looking machine hummed gently in the corner. Azrath, in his usual dark cloak, stood before it, his pale hands moving over the console with careful precision. His long fingers danced over buttons and levers, adjusting the frequencies and activating the power sources of his most recent invention: the Nec-Radio.

  Lilac, hair flicking with a light purple glow, leaned against the wall, watching Azrath's movements with a detached curiosity. Beside her, Potabeau was bouncing on his heels, an excited grin plastered across his face.

  “Alright, alright,” Potabeau said, barely containing his enthusiasm. “"Zombies with salesmanship.That’s the future of commerce! Are we ready to finally send this beautiful idea out to the masses? The broadcaster is….big.”

  Azrath, not looking up from his work, pressed a few more buttons:

  “It will be brought to size, this is just a prototype.”

  The Nec-Radio flickered with life, its eerie hum resonating through the room as it powered up. A few moments later, an ethereal crackle ran through the speaker, the first test-run of the device that would send Azrath’s message far and wide.

  Potabeau rubbed his hands together. “This is going to be brilliant. A globalized zombie market!”

  Azrath, a slight smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, finally stood back and turned to face his friend. “And it’s all thanks to you, Potabeau,” he said dryly, his voice carrying the weight of a dozen sarcastic tones. “A truly brilliant idea.”

  “Indeed,” Potabeau retorted, feigning innocence. “I'm glad you heard the pitch from that rather charming, witty, human with whom you've dragged around for years. What was his name again?"

  Lilac rolled her eyes but was still intrigued by the concept. “So you’re telling me you’ve figured out how to get undead creatures, who don’t have free will, to follow a marketing plan? How exactly do you intend to pull that off?”

  Azrath sighed, looking back at the console as he flicked another switch. “Necromancy has its perks,” he said in a tone that bordered between smug and condescending, “but I really can't do that. We’ve got a communications network for the living while the undead are able to be a soundbox from where I send out messages, only the living can interpret them freely.”

  Potabeau raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re sending them a message that they don’t have to obey?”

  “Correct,” Azrath answered, his voice heavy with the irony of the situation. “They don’t have free will, so it’ll be...not for them.”

  The Nec-Radio crackled again, but this time, something different came through. Potabeau eagerly leaned closer to the speaker, listening intently as Azrath activated the final marks of his mass communication spell.

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  “Attention, all entities across the continent,” the mechanical voice boomed, eerie and otherworldly as it broadcasted across the Nec-Radio’s frequency. “This is an important announcement from the newly-formed Globalized Zombie Market."

  The message began to roll out in rhythmic, unintelligible bursts of necromantically-infused static, but the intent was clear. The voice wasn’t Azrath’s—no, it was the collective voice of every risen entity, mimicking the message but with their own mechanical inflections.

  “Do you feel it?” Potabeau’s voice was low, playful. “Zombies and others across the world are now hearing your voice, Azrath... in perfect synchronization.”

  Azrath’s eyes gleamed as the sound continued to play. The voice over the Nec-Radio echoed in a dull, uncanny manner. “We are Risen. We are merchants. We bring you the lowest prices. And we promise you a price that living can’t compete.”

  The group waited, listening to the weirdly monotonous delivery of the message, with no emotional nuance whatsoever. The undead creatures, having no will of their own, echoed Azrath’s words verbatim, as he had commanded.

  “We sell everything—from bones to syrup, and our prices are dead cheap. You will find nothing like this anywhere else!” The voice crackled again, a deadpan call to action that resonated through the Nec-Radio. “All purchases must be made in gold, silver, or flesh, and remember: No returns, but No reanimation fee.”

  The voice didn’t stop, its rhythm perfectly synchronized, but the irony of the message—one about undead creatures promoting a market for living goods—was entirely lost on the entities who sent it. They were mindless, after all. They had no sense of humor, no understanding of sarcasm.

  Potabeau, unable to resist, let out a fit of laughter, his body shaking with glee. “It’s perfect, Azrath! Look at this! These poor undead, they’ve got no idea what they’re selling, and they’re doing it so well!”

  Azrath rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he listened to the repeating broadcast.

  “They’re not supposed to understand it,” he said flatly. “It’s not for them. This is just to see if we can actually use zombies as one of the outputs for the Nec-Radio. Even if they don’t have free will, they still serve.”

  Lilac crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “So you’re using the undead as literal salesmen? That’s...genius. But are you sure this will work?”

  Azrath’s lips curled into a sly smile. “Of course it will work. I have complete control over their actions. The fact that they can’t interpret the market message makes it even funnier. It’s all about the irony.”

  As the message continued its haunting loop across the Nec-Radio, Potabeau’s laughter rang out louder. “I mean, imagine it—zombie grocery stores, zombie real estate agents, zombie philosophers selling deep thoughts to mortals.” He slapped his knee with a grin. “The undead are good for more than just scaring people, Az. This is genius.”

  Azrath gave a small nod, though he wasn’t fully convinced of the absurdity of Potabeau’s words. “The undead will follow my voice, my will. If they can serve me as merchants, then I shall use them in whatever way benefits the greater good.”

  Lilac let out a low whistle. “Greater good, huh? You’ve definitely got a unique vision for your empire.”

  “Unique is an understatement,” Azrath muttered, his tone colder now. “But it’s necessary. If I can control the flow of resources—if I can control commerce, even through the dead—there’s no limit to what can be achieved.”

  Potabeau leaned in closer to Azrath, eyes gleaming with mock seriousness. “And if you happen to build a fortune off the backs of your undead sales team, don’t forget who came up with the idea in the first place. I’ll take a small commission.”

  Azrath shot him an exasperated glance but couldn’t suppress a small, reluctant smile. "Fine, fine. I'll make sure to send you a paycheck... in the form of more rotting corpses."

  The two men shared a moment of mutual laughter, while Lilac stood back, watching them with a bemused smile. The chaos, the ambition, and the laughter—it seemed like nothing could stop Azrath now. His necromantic power, combined with Potabeau’s antics, was an unstoppable force.

  The Nec-Radio continued to broadcast its absurd, monotonous message to a world that was, as always, too alive for the dead and Azrath began to realize that there was great strength to his friend's madness.