CHAPTER THIRTY—TENDRILS

Debaku all but ignored the warriors and their undead allies as he continually struck out at the shaman. If they could not kill this warrior of warriors, then their quest was going to come to failure.

But the man shimmered again, his body sliding across the tiles. His feet did not even touch the ground!

Snarling in frustration, Debaku called upon the recesses of his magical reservoirs and stretched out a hand that the shaman’s green eyes visibly tracked.

His wrist shook, his fingers swaying back and forth as his eyes locked with that of the shaman’s. Narrowing his own eyes, the shaman did not move, only looked at Debaku as his captivation magic did its work.

Footfalls pounded up to him, but were silence as both living warriors and undead ones fell at his feet while the venerable jinni, Jessamine, protected him.

Yes!

It is working!

Had the shaman been any normal man, he would have succumbed by now. The warrior blinked, shook himself as he attempted to free himself from Debaku’s charm.

As fast as he had captivated the shaman, he was now losing him.

I might not get another chance to strike him down.

Raising his scimitar, he lunged forward and flung his blade in a wide underhanded arc as he jumped into the air. His sword came into contact with the shaman and clanked against the mask covering his face.

The shaman lost balance and fell to the floor, his golden mask flying off his face and rolling away from him.

Debaku’s eyes widened somewhat as he realized the shaman was no man, but a Yamu, his eyes bright green with black slits and his hair a thick grey-white fur with dark spots. The headdress had concealed his true nature, and yet there was no main of demi-human fur travelling down his back.

And no tail!

Before the Yamu shaman could rise, Debaku moved forward but came up short as a dozen warriors suddenly barred his path.

Snarling, Debaku lashed out with a powerful horizontal attack, taking most of the defenders down with a single strike, blood spraying about hotly in every direction.

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By the time Debaku was ready for another attack, the shaman had risen, his white human-like face a rictus of hatred and snarling narrow teeth. But the Yamu were not supposed to look so human.

Ignoring the other warriors, Debaku thrust his blade forward. His sword met only empty air as the shaman moved in a simmering sweep across the tiles.

If he let up, the warrior would cast more of his death magic. I will not let him!

From up on high atop the portico where Jessamine could get the best view of the events unfolding, she watched as Debaku attacked the Yamu-human shaman.

She snarled, heat rising to her face.

Even though she was the Blade Dancer, that did not mean she couldn’t be killed—now that Darius had been slain by her own hand. A part of her regretted that decision, but even so, killing him had allowed her to save Shiro’s life, and she wouldn’t trade that for anything.

The Black Cobra’s attacks against the Yamu shaman were unrelenting, and each time the warrior shimmered and skirted away from his blade strike, a plume of barely visible tendrils shot into the sky.

She narrowed her eyes.

What is this magic?

Shiro had nearly been overrun by the living and undead warriors, but casting fireballs atop them was extremely effective—as it always was against the undead.

These unclean peoples and their unclean spirits of evil. They were a malignant force that had captivated the jinni in the past until they had become so weak and dependent on the sorcerers of Avarnis that most of them were enslaved or killed, drained of their magical powers.

Many of the jinni had to go into hiding.

So many were still unfound to this day, and it rankled Jessamine to the core. She wanted to slice and dice these peoples until there were none left, and in a way she had reveled in their blood as she cut them down.

But it was a small pleasure, ultimately hollow.

Shaking herself, she saw that plume of magical tendrils go into the sky again, the dark clouds overhead flashing with a kind of unnatural lightning that thundered over them.

Jessamine watched the skies, ignoring the battle altogether, including Debaku, who fought with extreme vigor. He would not be able to keep that pace for long.

The roil of grey clouds, darkening with each strike of the magical tendrils that flashed up to them, were now becoming black as Debaku forcing the shaman to use his magic in a constant output.

The skies flashed in other places, and something like excitement jumped inside of Jessamine. More tendrils!

She had seen them come down, strike at some point within the city not far from here, but because of the structures, she was unable to see where.

Did she have enough room to follow that point without being returned to the lamp? She glanced down at Shiro.

He struck furiously with his blade, running about to keep distance from the warriors still piling into the courtyard. With each strike he felled multiple opponents and so did that buffoon Razul.

She grinned as she watched her isekai.

They were a powerful adventuring force, Razul included. But her eyes followed Shiro, her interest in him extended far beyond some simple battle like they were fighting now.

Even so, he was in danger.

This must end!

Shiro! she conveyed. SHIRO!

There was a pause as he cut down his enemies and came to a standstill for just a moment. He looked up at her and his conveyance followed. What is it?

She smiled. I know how to end the shaman Debaku fights.