CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE—THE PIT SORCERER
Jessamine narrowed her eyes, smirked with contempt. “I am going to kill you, Yamu beast man.”
The Yamu was tall, his face evil and full of hate, but it was a sustained hate, Jessamine thought, not a sudden anger upon finding her in his little dungeon. Surrounding him, his worshipers who, many of which were dead, sacrificed to his magic, mumbled and supplicated with complete devotion.
The the prisoners were unwilling scarifies, their energies much weaker—and so they had been held in reserve.
The Yamu’s tale flicked and, stepping forward, his body clothed only in a ragged breechclout, he brought his palms together with a loud smack, then pulling them apart, an orb of magic appeared, surrounded by crackling tendrils of dark energy.
Jessamine lifted her blade, waited.
As the Yamu shaman lifted his arms, the orb increased in size. At first she thought she might deflect that orb with her sword, it being of a magical quality she was familiar with—and her sword would rebound such magic.
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But the orb was so large now, she would need to summon vast stores of magical energy to send back such an evil projectile.
The Yamu’s muscles tightened, flexing in an impressive display, the colors of the dark magic reflecting in his green eyes. He hurled the magical orb at her.
Jessamine skirted forward, her slippers gliding over the stones as she held her head down, the orb of magic crackling and hissing over her head. Once her feet touched the ground, she jumped, flipped through the air and summersaulted.
When she landed behind the shaman, she bent her elbow and arched her hilt horizontally, her blade coming into contact as the orb of magic exploded, taking light along with it.
All went to shadow, and then the magic was gone with not but a crackle of energy left. She had done what she set out to do. The light returned as the Yamu’s head rolled off the spurting stump of his neck. As his body fell slack to the stones, she turned around.
The Yamu’s sacrifices and worshipers screamed in fear. Two of them ran, but a third rushed up to her. She need not even look. Jessamine put out her palm and struck him with a ball of fire and his body was instantly enveloped with flames.
Screaming, the slave riled about, kicking and shrieking. He fell to the floor, his body nothing more than charred flesh.
Jessamine glanced about, saw that there were several doors ahead. With those massive magical tendrils no longer being sent out or back, she moved forward toward those cage doors—toward the would-be sacrificial Scorpions.