“Sh-she killed herself?”

Tarikh was as stunned as the pup. He spun back to Juva, who still lay on the table, wheezing softly. He could tell she wasn’t breathing right and a sheen of a cold sweat glistened on her brow and bosom.

“She didn’t just faint,” he said. “She’s dying.”

“How? Stink—even that of an ogre, can’t kill—can it?”

Tarikh shook his head. “How should I know? I’m no healer. I kill things. That’s what I do. Do you think you can track the healer down?”

Shakka sniffed the air. “I can’t. Not for a few hours, at least. I’m not hungry enough.”

“Hours? When did you last eat?”

Tarikh couldn’t see her eyes, but the remorseful way she pointed at where the knight’s leg used to be told him enough.

“That will not work then.”

“Sorry.”

Tarikh took out the geardial and thumbed it open. He was wise to have kept the precious key under its lid and not in her purse, as Juva had suggested. They would never have found it otherwise.

He glanced at the fallen knight, and the dead girl curled up beside him.

Shakka fidgeted in some ill attempt to hide her concern. “What do we do?”

“There isn’t much…”

“Hm? Not much what?”

“Time. And we’re wasting it. Quick, touch the geardial.” He had to bend through his knees for Shakka to reach. She hesitated, but touched it lightly with her fingertips. “A bit more. You mustn’t let go.” Shakka grabbed onto the lid. “Better.”

“What will this do?”

“This is a geardial,” Tarikh said as he stuck the key into the hole and twisted it ever so slightly. “There is only enough anguish in the ether to take us so far. Let’s hope our friend is still alive when we return.”

“Return? Wait, what do you mean? Where are we going?”

“Back.”

Back where?!”

“Don’t let go.”

~

“Open the door,” said a deep voice from behind the door of the apothecary.

“I would if you’d make some room!” said a child’s voice, boy or girl. “And don’t batter it down like you did last time. That’s not how you convey friendly intent! Now, if you’d please step back.”

“You need to pull it toward you.”

“I know!”

The door opened and in the doorway stood two figures. One small and one very large. A crimson giant, holding a green-skinned beauty in his arms.

“Who are you?” Xerxes said, his hand resting on the hilt of his fine blade.

“Woah, easy there. We’re friendly folk,” said the childlike imp.

“Travelers in need of aid,” said the giant. He was as tall as an ogre but less hairy and thankfully without the foul stench.

“That girl in your arms. What have you done to her?”

“Listen, Xander.”

“Xerxes,” the red monster corrected. “And I didn’t harm her, but she needs a conjurer. Can you call for your friend in the back?”

“Rachel,” the Imp added.

“Raakel,” the giant corrected.

“Yeah, her.”

Xerxes drew his sword. “How do you know about her? Who are you? Are you spies? Sellswords? Oh, I see. You’re hoping I’ll drop my guard because you came up with some sad sob story.”

The two fiends exchanged looks, the impish creature shrugging at the big one.

Raakel and Jasper stepped into the antechamber.

“Do we have trouble, my lord?” Raakel said, her Delphic tome manifesting from the ether.

Xerxes snorted, keeping his blade squarely pointed at the crimson man’s chest. “Just a couple of assassins.”

“Really?” Jasper said, cracking his fist. “Who’d thought Lord Erbil’s goons would follow us all the way out here? He sure is persistent. Tell us, freaks, is this personal, or is this Lord Erbil’s idea of attempted suicide?”

The giant blinked. His eyes, which glowed like the inside of a furnace, flitted between them. “Who in Demon King Hamun’s—You know what? Doesn’t matter. There’s no time for this.” He advanced upon them.

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“Sir, be careful. I think he’s an Afreet!” Raakel said, and an unfelt gust whipped the pages of her tome.

“Wait, Raakel!” Xerxes commanded, but he was too late.

“Man royahai tho ro nafreen miknam—” she chanted, but stopped with a startled cry as the imp-like creature vaulted across the chamber, its jagged black teeth snatching and shredding the tome to pieces.

Jasper charged at the giant, the tip of his spear connecting at his side. The Afreet grunted a sharp hiss of pain, but he didn’t stop. Xerxes struck low at the Afreet’s thigh, but his blade had little effect, and he had to roll out of the way or get stepped on. He’d expected some sort of retaliation by now, but the Afreet didn’t stop until he’d laid the maiden on the table. He appeared to be shielding her.

Jasper pressed his advantage, thrusting with all his might, but the Afreet turned. His gaze was a molten, fiery fury. He grabbed the heft of Jasper’s spear and pulled the tip out of his side. It hadn’t penetrated all that deeply, but Jasper had drawn blood, which meant the Afreet could be killed.

Xerxes came at the Afreet’s flank, but this time not to cut but to run the monster through on his sword—or at least as far as it would go.

“Will you just calm down a minute—” A terrible howl cut the Afreet’s words short as the point of Xerxes’ blade sank into his midriff.

“Lord Tarikh!” the imp cried out, leaping to pounce upon Xerxes, but Raakel was quicker. It only required a short charm to freeze the little creature in mid-air, trapping it in a violet, etheric orb.

She smirked. “Gotcha.”

“Well done, Raakel,” Jasper said. He had abandoned his spear and pulled out two daggers from his side.

Xerxes tried to push with all his might, but the Afreet spun; the force of it dislodged the blade from his flesh.

It bellowed like a feral beast, its eyes burning like torches, and Xerxes instantly recognized this posture, this emotion he sensed from the Afreet. Xerxes was a skilled hunter, perhaps the greatest hunter, and he knew exactly what he was witnessing. An injured bear protecting her cubs. That’s what the Afreet looked like.

“Master…” the golden-haired maiden spoke softly. Then, with trembling arms, she sat up. Her skin glistened with sweat, and there were dark circles around her eyes, but even then, she looked beautiful.

“Juva.”

Her amethyst eyes were misted with tears. “I really wanted those pearls… Master, what’s going on?”

“I know. Don’t strain yourself. You’re ill—”

“You’re hurt!” Her gaze darted to each of them, lingering on Xerxes for a momentous heartbeat.

“Fair maiden,” Xerxes began.

The girl wasn’t listening. She clutched the ceramic vial that hung from her necklace.

“Juva, what are you doing? Don’t!”

And she popped off the cork.

~

Jasper wasn’t a nobleman, and others seemed to make it a point to remind him he was, indeed, not a nobleman.

His ancestors had been soldiers for as far back as anyone could tell, serving in the phalanx and the shield walls of one lord or another, and they’d served well. But none had managed to accomplish a feat worthy of true recognition or elevation.

They were one of those families fame and fortune brushed, but never embraced. Jasper, son of Yar, had vowed to change that. To turn the world and tip it to their favor, and Fate had finally answered his honest desire.

The Afreet would have been impossible to slay, but if he was truly protecting the goblin woman, then they’d have the advantage. They’d already wounded him, and if Raakel could just obstruct the demon with a blindness charm, they might—they might defeat it.

Slaying a true Afreet would bring honor and riches and elevate his name to nobility—no, to legend, even.

The goblin woman woke, and the Afreet had turned his back on them. Two stabs at the base of his skull might do it if Jasper had enough momentum to pierce his skin.

He signed to Raakel, and she understood. Violet flames danced on her tattooed hands, and as Jasper dashed forward, she pulled him through the ether, increasing his speed and the force with which he’d come down on the Afreet.

Jasper was mid-air, an instant away from eternal glory, when he caught the amethyst gaze of the goblin woman in a perfectly complete slice of time.

She wanted him, craved him—not as a lover, not quite like that. This was different. She wanted him in a way Jasper had never been wanted or needed before. He was the world to her. The earth and stars, the sea and Moon, the Sun, and the gods in Heaven.

He fell an endless way, to be the sole thing, the sole desire in her eyes.

He passed the Afreet, but he didn’t care about the Afreet anymore or the glory his death would bring. He’d become like mist, like the tears in her eyes—he was inside her eyes traveling through the crystal-like fractals of her iris where he’d be appreciated and cherished and kept forever.

And for forever, was how long he’d stay.

~

“Hey, let me out!”

Shakka hammered and shoulder-butted against the magical container, but it didn’t give. Each time she hit the energy field, it buzzed with an electric resonance that reverberated through her body, but other than that, nothing happened. The container seemed impervious, and she couldn’t scratch it with neither teeth or claw. She was utterly trapped inside the violet sphere, with no way out.

Outside, the world was a haze of moving shadows and warbled shouts. But she recognized the voices. Tarikh’s unmistakable deep boom and the stuck-up haughty inflection of the knight were distinct enough to make out. She even thought to have heard Juva, or perhaps it was the voice of that witch, Rachel, or whatever her name was.

One shadow suddenly moved impossibly fast toward Lord Tarikh and then vanished. She wondered if Tarikh had swatted him down like a fly. She smiled at the thought, but she’d rather have witnessed that scene than imagined it.

The shadows of the two other knights retreated through the door, but the larger shadow didn’t give chase.

“Hey, she’s getting away!” Shakka called out, but the Demon didn’t move. Didn’t they need the girl to heal Juva?

“Heey—” Shakka called out again, and suddenly her voice rang out into the room as the sphere shattered into nothingness.

Tarikh glanced at her. “You’re free.”

Shakka stumbled to her knees but quickly sprang back to her feet. “Yeah. Where did they go? We need to go after that girl!”

Tarikh shook his head. “We don’t need her anymore. I know what’s killing Juva.”

“Eh?” Shakka stood next to Tarikh, peering over the table at Juva. She wasn’t doing well at all. “What is it? Can you restore her?”

“I think so,” he said, but not confidently.

“What’s wrong with her?”

He plucked the vial from Juva’s necklace and held it up against the light. “She’s been using the Dark.”

“The Dark?”

“The Dark gives demons, and all their servants, power. With it, a demon can yield a monster’s full potential, but at a cost. The Dark is dangerous even when directed by a demon. Undirected—well, it appears that Juva has been using it without my knowledge and thus outside of my control.”

“And this ‘Dark’ is killing her?”

Tarikh nodded gravely. “Without a Demon to guide the essence, it will fester, corrupt, and eventually break down its host from the inside.”

“But she seemed fine until a few hours ago!”

“I don’t understand it either. She should have shown symptoms a long time ago.” He slammed his fist into the table. “I hadn’t even noticed the corruption growing inside of her. But now, it seems to have reached her heart.”

“But you can fix this, right? You can direct the Dark and tell it not to kill her.”

“I can’t.” He shifted his gaze to her. “But you can.”

“M-me? How would I do that? I didn’t even know what the Dark was until just now.”

“You have the Quintessence of Gluttony. I want you to devour the corruption inside of her.”

“Y-you want me to eat her?”

“No, just the Dark.”

“How-how do I do that?”

“You didn’t eat in this timeline, so you should become hungry soon. I just hope we’re not too late.”