Running out of magic power was often something very lethal for bearers and Dominants in Barnabas' world. Though, that was because people were often pushed past the point of exhaustion, starved and abused as they were. They would be forced to cut into their own lifeforce, destroying their own bodies for the whims of their masters. Those who were afforded a better life, able to enjoy the luxury of rest and care, did not suffer the damage so immediately, but it would eventually catch up with them.

Just as a warrior's body would eventually succumb to the damages from years on the battlefield, those who utilized their magic would find their bodies paying the price of these exertions.

That Pop and his people did not seem to carry such concern was strange to him, though not as strange as it could be. Barnabas himself is but a nigh endless fount of aether, his body untouched by the avaricious use of magic, but he is an exception.

"What marks the magic forbidden? The nature of the spells themselves, or simply their yield?" His voice is as neutral as it has been this whole time, and he doesn't even react to Pop almost crossing his arms while holding that stick, nor to his swift recovery.

That some of these spells are seen as "plain evil" does not tell him much. After all, what one might consider evil could very well be someone else's good.