Narina floated in a sea of dark thoughts. Her awareness was scattered, unfocused—but neither was she totally unconscious, a fate she would’ve much preferred after slaying the Nephilim. The outside world flickered in at random intervals, leaving her with flashes of what occurred outside her nightmare. Eliphaz hunched over her, eyes welled up with concern and fear. The gradual changes of the sky between day and night as he carried her on their journey. From behind tall blades of grass, she watched in horror as the soldiers attacked, and Eliphaz slew them and left their bloody remains in the river. She wanted to cry out but could not.

Eliphaz, can’t you see? she wanted to say. She is using me to control you. Ishtar intends to pull you into her game, and if I could speak, I would tell you this: Leave. Leave me to my fate. Leave me and the gods and their deadly designs behind while you still can.

She could not blame the boy. There she was, catatonic and sickened by a deadly curse. Of course Eliphaz would take it upon himself to help. Worst of all, Narina knew she bore responsibility for it all. She had lured him, with kindness and promises that could not be kept, deep into the forest of bells where the undead Nephilim lurked. She had played her role perfectly, and now the gods smiled cruelly as fate followed its course.

Most of the time, however, Narina was spared from her guilt-ridden thoughts. Most of the time, her mind coursed with pain.

Within the perpetual nightmare, her blood boiled and spasmed. Eternal flames licked her limbs, never eating away at her flesh but burning nonetheless. Her mind was feverish, unable to hold a single thought beyond the pain, the endless pain.

Beyond the fire of her prison, a figure watched her. It was in the shape of man, though its body was smooth and sexless. Composed of light, it shone brilliantly in the black expanse of her dream, so bright she could not look at it directly without her eyes screaming at her to stop. Sometimes, she looked anyway, staring defiantly into the glazed, featureless eyes of the being.

In response, it would tilt its head towards her gaze and say:

You have crossed lines no mortal should cross. You have betrayed His utmost trust and He wishes you punished to the greatest extent of His power. This is your fate, for now and forever.

Narina cried out, summoning every ounce of power she still had to will her dry, cracked mouth to speak.

I am not what you think I am, she said. There has been a mistake! I slew the traitor, the Nephilim, whatever you wish to call it. It too was my enemy, and when I killed it, I harnessed its hunger for blood against it. In the aftermath our blood mingled, but that is all. Please, release me from this prison!

The figure stood silent for a moment, head inclined slightly as if thinking. Narina almost believed it would see reason, but then it spoke again, voice as impassive and inhuman as ever:

Your blood has been cursed and shall be cursed for a thousand generations. This is the price for betraying His order. This is your fate, for now and forever.

Dejected, she sank back into the flames. Sometimes it was more comforting to accept her station, rather than hoping things would change. If she was lucky, perhaps she’d soon catch another glimpse of the outside world. Perhaps she would see Eliphaz again, if he was even still alive…

Something stirred, sending deep tremors through the ocean of her despair. Confused, Narina looked to the golden figure in search of answers. Her questioning face reflected in its blank eyes. Then the light of its form flickered and was gone. The flames at her feet flared once and disappeared. The pressure in her blood lifted. Cold stone touched her skin.

She found herself in a dark temple. Sitting up, she relished the ease with which she moved her limbs, the way the cool air prickled her skin. She was alive, her body whole once again. The nightmare felt like just that: a dream, already fading from her memory. Only a curious fluttering sensation, like butterflies in the pit of her stomach, remained.

She noticed she had several System notifications.

Status

The Curse of the Nephilim has been lifted!

The gods have listened to your prayers. You are no longer cursed. Unless other modifiers are in effect, your status has returned to [normal]...

Narina looked up from the blue screen, startled by a sound. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard the whimpering cry of a child. She peered out and her eyes adjusted. There was a woman on the ground, dressed in simple religious robes. She was hunched over, head resting above her elbows and forearms, dark straight hair (cut just beneath her ears) covering her face. Only a few paces behind her stood the whimpering girl. She seemed to be of two minds: wishing to help the woman while the fear written clearly on her face held her back.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Is there something wrong?” Narina asked. Using her voice felt unnatural, the sound loud and stark in the dark chamber. She stepped down from where she sat, but felt her foot submerge in something thick and warm. She looked down.

Blood. Oh.

She pulled herself back in shock, the substance clinging to her foot like mud. The situation was strange, but not so strange compared to everything she had already lived through. Shaking off the excess blood, she jumped across the crimson pool and approached the girl.

Completely engrossed with the plight of the woman, the girl jumped when Narina gently touched her shoulders.

“It’s alright, child,” Narina murmured, holding the girl against her chest. “What is your name?”

“Zahra.”

“Good.” She stroked Zahra’s hair as the poor girl continued to quiver. “And where are we?”

The obvious question managed to revive some of the girl’s plucky confidence. Still clutching Narina tightly, she looked up at her face, slightly perplexed. “In the temple of the Kotharat, of course.”

Of course, Narina thought. That’s where Eliphaz had brought her. She’d heard the name, knew of the old healing servants of the gods.

The woman on the floor retched, a rasping sound echoing from the back of her throat as black liquid dribbled down her chin. She shuddered violently, a ghostly pallor spreading across her skin. An inexplicable feeling of familiarity overtook Narina. Something about the scene shook her mind, dislodging a memory she had pushed deep down into her psyche.

“Can—can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

Arms wrapped around her waist, Zahra answered. “Mother-priestess Tamar was doing a sacrifice to lift your curse, and I was helping. And it worked! Tamar called out somehow, I don’t know how, but the gods listened. They saved you, I saw it happen.”

She stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her voice wavered. “But then—something went wrong. Something came that wasn’t supposed to. And it’s still here, inside Tamar.”

The woman known as Tamar spasmed again. She emitted a low groan. A guttural, animal sound, like the primal moan of a wounded beast.

Unable to control herself, the girl cried out. “Oh Tamar, answer me please! Tamar please—”

“Enough,” a low voice grated from Tamar’s throat. “Leave us, child.”

Not wasting a moment, the girl bolted from Narina’s arms. The woman lifted her head, and her eyes bored into Narina. An unquenchable hunger burned behind the unnatural blackness of her eyes. The hunger enthralled Narina, spreading through her mind like a wildfire, its single mindedness erasing every other thought.

But then she remembered what it was.

The Bull of Heaven, who visited her nights in the orphans’ dormitory.

The sacrificial fires in the temple at Shechem, and the beast that emerged from the shadows of the flame.

It had a name, the thing that encroached upon her mind, that tried to overwhelm her senses with burning hunger. And with a name, came power and control. She saw it for what it was, and stopped the god in its tracks.

“Molek,” she said. She took a step back, shifting her stance. She wanted to run, but couldn’t. Her emotions froze her feet to the ground. Why?

Fear—fear was part of the reason why. But something else made her persist. Something deep and simmering that slowly reared its ugly head. Hatred.

The woman known as Tamar smiled bitterly. Her face deformed as Molek spoke, twisted lines painting it in shadows. “A pity that your mind was not so easily broken.”

“What do you want, demon?” She tried to hide the terror in her voice.

“Know your place, mortal,” the god shot back. The broken sound of its voice only sounded more inhuman forced out of the woman’s mouth. It struggled to control its body, limbs contorting and shaking as it slowly stood. “After all the trouble you caused, you cannot imagine the effort it took to come here.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who tried to—”

“SILENCE,” Molek shouted, so loud it seemed to come from inside Narina’s mind. A wave of heat passed through the chamber, the torches that lined the walls bursting into flame. Beads of sweat formed along her arms as she felt the god’s presence grow stronger, hunger suffocating the air and seeping into the cracks of the stone.

Tamar lurched toward her, tendons popping under the strength of the possession. “Worthless mortal filth! Sacks of blood that meddle with affairs above your place. Deny yourself to me, and then you kill my servant! After everything I did to awaken the wretch…”

The realization bristled the hair on her neck. Hatred bubbled at the back of Narina’s throat. “You? You awakened the Nephilim?” She closed her fists, fingers digging into the flesh of her palm. “You took everything from me, and it wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough, will it?”

The burning hunger in Tamar’s eyes answered her question. It took all her concentration to resist the ravenous influence, but somehow it wasn’t difficult. Looking upon the twisted form of the god, she couldn’t help but detest it with all her being.

Tamar—or rather, the body which formerly belonged to Tamar—looked up between disheveled strands of slick hair. It smiled, skin forced back to bare its teeth. A hand wiped bloody vomit from pale lips. It still shuddered slightly, and somewhere behind those dark eyes Narina thought she could still sense some remnant of the priestess. The woman who had saved her, unceremoniously extinguished for coming to the aid of a stranger. Her hatred grew.

“You have no understanding of this world. The Nephilim was mine for the taking. It was a matter of survival, a means to bring the mortals under my influence.”

“You will pay for this,” she said, her jaw clenched. “The gods will punish you.”

Laughter erupted from the former priestess, the sound more akin to a violent coughing fit. She doubled over, falling into a crouching position with arms splayed on the ground. One hand held an obsidian knife, the blade glinting white in the torchlight.

“Foolish girl,” Molek said. “Judge me all you want, it makes no difference. Your words will not keep me from my purpose.”

“And what is your purpose?” Narina asked, the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

Tamar’s face slackened, her face a blank mask for the god’s will. “To claim the blood of my sacrifice,” Molek said simply, voice rumbling like rolling thunder.

And then it leapt for her throat.