The lizards bounded forward, their powerful bodies moving with an agility that belied their size. Malin’s heart pounded as they neared the ridge, the distance shrinking with each stride. But the relentless sound of the Lost's song grew louder behind them, echoing through the desert like a haunting chant. Malin felt the air grow colder, the eerie melody sending chills down his spine despite the heat radiating from the sands. The ridge loomed closer, jagged rocks reaching out like the fingers of some ancient, forgotten giant. It was their only hope of finding shelter or at least some terrain that might slow their pursuers.
Abel glanced back, his face pale but determined. “They’re gaining on us. We need to pick up the pace!”
Maya clenched her jaw, urging her lizard to run faster. The creatures responded with a renewed burst of speed, their claws digging into the sand, throwing up clouds of dust behind them. Malin focused on his breathing, trying to push aside the fear that clawed at his mind. He was exhausted, his muscles aching from the battle, but the urgency in Abel and Maya’s voices kept him going.
As they neared the ridge, Malin’s eyes darted around, searching for any possible hiding place or crevice where they could slip away. But the ridge was as unforgiving as the desert—sharp rocks and steep slopes offered little refuge, only the illusion of safety.
“Up there!” Maya shouted, pointing to a narrow gap between two towering boulders. It wasn’t much, but it was something. The three of them directed their lizards toward it, the creatures squeezing through the gap with surprising agility. Once they were on the other side, they were temporarily shielded from view.
Malin took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he tried to steady himself. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe they might have lost their pursuers, that perhaps the undead creatures wouldn’t find them here.
But that hope was short-lived.
The song of the Lost continued, growing louder and closer. Malin’s stomach twisted as he realized that the creatures were moving around the ridge, their relentless pursuit undeterred. The gaps between the rocks would only slow them for a moment, nothing more.
Abel gripped his sword tightly, his gaze hard as he looked at his companions. “We can’t hide here forever. They’ll find us.”
Maya nodded, her face etched with resolve. “We’re not going to outrun them in the open desert, either. We need a new plan.” Her gaze shifted to Malin, who was still catching his breath, his face pale but determined.
Malin met her eyes, forcing himself to think despite the fear clouding his mind. “What… what if we used the ridge to create a choke point? Make it harder for them to reach us all at once?”
Abel raised an eyebrow, considering the suggestion. “It could work, at least long enough to buy us time.” He looked at Maya, who nodded in agreement.
“We’ll set up a defensive line here,” she said, positioning herself near the narrowest point of the gap. “They’ll have to come at us one by one. If we can’t kill them, maybe we can at least slow them down enough to make another break for it.”
They moved quickly, positioning their lizards behind the rocks, ready to spring forward if the line broke. Malin gripped the hook he had taken earlier, his knuckles white as he prepared for the inevitable. He wasn’t a warrior, but he would have to hold his own if they were going to survive.
The first of the Lost appeared, stepping through the gap with a slow, measured pace. Its empty eyes fixed on Malin, and a chill ran through him. But he forced himself to stand his ground, waiting until the creature was within range.
Abel struck first, his flaming sword arcing through the air and cleaving the creature in two. Its bones scattered across the rocks, but within moments, they began to tremble, reassembling even as Abel backed away.
“Damn it,” he muttered. “They don’t stay down.”
Maya stepped forward, her spear thrusting forward to pierce the next figure that appeared. She twisted her weapon, shattering the bones, but the fragments continued to shift, attempting to reform even as she pulled her spear back.
“They’re relentless,” she said, her voice tight with frustration.
Malin’s heart pounded as he swung his hook at a figure advancing toward him, the impact jarring his arms as he knocked it back. But even as it fell, its bones started to pull together once more, a cruel reminder of their cursed nature.
The Lost continued to press forward, their numbers seemingly endless as they funneled through the narrow gap. Abel and Maya fought tirelessly, their movements a dance of precision and strength, but even they were beginning to falter. Sweat dripped down Abel’s face as he swung his sword, and Maya’s breathing grew ragged with each thrust of her spear.
“We can’t keep this up,” Maya gasped, glancing at Abel. “They’re going to overwhelm us.”
Abel gritted his teeth, nodding. “We need to fall back again. Maybe there’s a way through this ridge that they can’t follow.”
Malin looked around desperately, his gaze searching the shadows cast by the rocks. His eyes fell on a narrow passage winding up the side of the ridge, leading to a higher vantage point. It was a steep climb, but it might offer them an escape route.
“Up there!” he shouted, pointing to the passage. “If we can get to higher ground, we might be able to lose them.”
Abel and Maya followed his gaze, and without hesitation, they moved toward the passage, urging their lizards to follow. The creatures climbed with surprising agility, their claws digging into the rocks as they scaled the narrow path. The Lost continued to pursue, their skeletal forms scrambling up the rocks in a grotesque display of tenacity.
The climb was grueling, each step up the steep path feeling like a small victory against the relentless tide of enemies below. Malin’s lungs burned, his muscles aching as he forced himself to keep moving. He didn’t dare look back, focusing instead on the narrow path ahead, on the faint glimmer of hope that they might still escape.
But even as they reached the higher ground, the Lost were still there, their hollow eyes staring up at them with an unyielding hunger. They began to swarm the base of the ridge, their bony hands reaching out, clawing their way up in a nightmarish display of persistence.
“Is there no end to them?” Malin gasped, feeling the weight of despair pressing down on him. He had never faced anything like this—an enemy that simply wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t die. It was as if the very desert itself had come alive to consume them.
Maya placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip firm and reassuring. “Stay focused, Malin. We’re not beaten yet.”
Abel nodded, his gaze fierce. “We keep moving. As long as we’re alive, we have a chance.”
They pressed on, climbing higher and higher until they reached a ledge overlooking the desert below. The view was breathtaking, the endless dunes stretching out beneath the pale light of the stars, but there was no time to appreciate it. The Lost were still coming, their forms shifting and writhing as they continued their relentless ascent.
With no other option, the trio urged their lizards to the edge of the ledge, preparing to make a final, desperate escape. Abel glanced at Maya and Malin, his face set with grim determination.
“On my mark, we jump,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear that flickered in his eyes.
Malin swallowed, nodding as he gripped his lizard’s reins. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing as he prepared himself for the leap. This was it—their last chance.
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Abel raised his hand, counting down with his fingers.
Three… two… one.
“Go!”
They kicked off from the ledge, their lizards launching into the air, the wind rushing past them as they soared over the dunes below. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, they were weightless, suspended above the sands in a defiant act of survival.
They landed with a jolt, the impact sending a shockwave through Malin’s body. But there was no time to recover—their lizards surged forward, carrying them across the desert at a breakneck pace. Behind them, the Lost gathered at the edge of the ridge, their skeletal forms silhouetted against the night sky as they watched their prey escape.
Malin dared to glance back, his chest heaving as he realized that, for the first time, the Lost weren’t following. They remained at the ridge, their hollow eyes fixed on the trio as they rode away.
The haunting song of the Lost faded into the distance, a lingering echo that seemed to carry a promise—a reminder that they would return, that the desert was not yet done with them.
But for now, they were safe.
As the three rode on, the silence settled over them, a heavy, exhausted quiet that spoke of the battle they had just survived. Malin looked at Abel and Maya, a newfound respect in his eyes. They had faced death together, fought side by side against an unrelenting enemy, and somehow, they had made it through.
Without a word, they continued their journey, the desert stretching out before them, vast and unforgiving. The night was still dark, the stars cold and distant, but within each of them, a small spark of hope flickered—a hope that, even in the face of such horror, they might still find a way to survive.
In the lavish, dimly lit chamber of the palace, the Sultan sat upon his throne with an air of quiet authority, his gaze steady as he listened to the voices that swirled around him. Bazzle, dressed in his usual flamboyant attire, stood before him, leaning slightly forward as he presented his argument with a mix of persuasion and urgency.
“Your Majesty,” Bazzle began smoothly, his voice measured but insistent, “the kingdom grows restless. The noble houses, the common folk, all are waiting for the announcement of the marriage between Aza and the Princess. This delay… it breeds anxiety, questions, whispers. And whispers, as you know, can become dangerous.”
Beside Bazzle stood the Sultan’s advisor, a wiry man with sharp, hawkish features and an ever-watchful gaze. His name was Adil al-Farhad, known for his relentless loyalty and unwavering adherence to tradition. He, too, leaned forward, adding his voice to the pressure. “Indeed, my Sultan. A month’s delay could be seen as indecision, a sign of weakness. If you do not confirm the marriage soon, the kingdom will interpret it as a lack of direction. We cannot afford that in these uncertain times.”
The Sultan, his face an inscrutable mask, inclined his head slowly, his eyes flickering with a brief, unreadable expression. “I understand your concerns,” he replied, his tone measured, as he leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled. “And, of course, I shall consider it.”
Though he offered this response, the Sultan’s mind was far from persuaded. His heart weighed heavy with loyalty to his daughter, to the ideals he held above courtly machinations. Yet, he knew he had to play the part, to give the illusion that he might be moved by their appeals, even if only to placate them.
Bazzle, sensing an opening, pressed further. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, consideration alone may not be enough to soothe the concerns of our people. They need assurance, a promise of stability. Aza is well-regarded, and the union would strengthen the kingdom.”
The Sultan’s gaze hardened slightly, though his voice remained smooth. “Stability… yes, Bazzle. But consider this—a month is hardly a long time, especially in the grand scheme of things. And, truth be told,” he added, glancing over at Adil, “there are other matters that occupy my mind.”
Adil’s brows furrowed slightly, his hawkish gaze narrowing in suspicion. “Other matters, my Sultan? What do you mean?”
The Sultan’s eyes gleamed with a flicker of amusement, though his expression remained carefully neutral. “It seems that an Angel of The Origin has graced our palace.”
Both Bazzle and Adil stiffened, each reacting in their own way. Bazzle’s eyes flickered with a hint of unease, while Adil’s face twisted into a scowl of disapproval.
“An Angel?” Adil scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. “A creature like that within our walls is nothing short of a… terrorist. A being that must be eradicated before it sows chaos among our people.”
Bazzle’s head whipped toward Adil, his face tightening in alarm. “Careful with your words, Adil,” he warned, his voice low but sharp. “Last time you spoke with such boldness, you were turned to olive oil for your insolence.” Bazzle gave a small, uncomfortable chuckle, glancing around the room as if expecting the Angel to be listening even now.
The Sultan leaned forward slightly, his tone darkening. "Indeed, Adil. It was this Angel of The Origin who transformed you into olive oil. It was not a mistake, nor a test. It was a warning. And I would advise you to tread carefully with your words, lest next time you find yourself in a jar once more."
Adil’s face paled slightly, his hand unconsciously brushing the folds of his robe as if he could still feel the slick residue of olive oil that had once replaced his form. He swallowed, but his defiance did not entirely wane. “We cannot ignore the threat this… being poses. If it is here, it must be dealt with.”
Bazzle, ever the pragmatist, nodded slowly, though his eyes remained wary. “I understand the sentiment, Adil. And I might just have a solution. There’s a sorcerer I know, a man infamous for tracking supernatural beings. If anyone can find this Angel and… remove it, he can.”
The Sultan held his composure, but internally, he laughed at the suggestion. This so-called sorcerer might have his talents, but none of these men understood the depth of power they were dealing with. There was no “removing” the Angel; the creature was beyond their control, moving like a shadow through the palace, watching and waiting. Nonetheless, the Sultan inclined his head in reluctant agreement, masking his amusement.
“Very well, Bazzle,” he said, his tone solemn. “You may attempt to rid us of this… Angel. I will leave it in your capable hands.”
Bazzle’s face lit up with a twisted sense of satisfaction as he bowed deeply. “I shall attend to it immediately, Your Majesty.”
As Bazzle and Adil exited the chamber, the Sultan allowed himself a moment of private amusement. He knew the Angel’s true nature, the mysterious creature that prowled the palace with purpose and a gaze that saw far beyond mortal eyes. And he knew, deep down, that there was no power in this realm or the next that could displace it from his kingdom.
As the courtly drama unfolded, life continued across the kingdom, each of the main players moving toward their own destinies.
---
In a dark, candlelit room, Aza and Bazzle conspired, their voices low and filled with malice as they plotted their ascent to power. The union with the Princess was only a means to an end for Aza, a stepping stone toward the throne he coveted with a fierce hunger. Bazzle, his ever-scheming companion, offered counsel and guidance, his loyalty as deep as his own ambition. Together, they wove a web of deception, determined to claim the kingdom, even if it meant destroying everything in their path.
---
Meanwhile, the Angel—the shadowed figure that prowled the palace—moved through the corridors with a feline grace. The creature’s true form was obscured, but its presence was undeniable, an ever-watchful eye on the kingdom’s affairs. It slipped through the shadows, listening, observing, and waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. Its motives were inscrutable, its allegiance unclear, but one thing was certain: it was there for a reason, and that reason would soon be made clear.
---
Far from the palace, in the endless expanse of the desert, Malin, Abel, and Maya pressed forward, their bodies weary but their spirits unwavering. They had crossed vast stretches of sand, their Salamini Lizards bearing them with surprising resilience as they journeyed toward the city of Carabesh. The desert tested them, each passing mile a challenge of endurance, but they found strength in each other, in the shared bond forged through hardship and laughter. They knew that Carabesh was but a waypoint on their journey, but the thought of reaching it filled them with hope.
---
Back in the city, Nahra prepared for her own journey, her resolve unshaken as she stood beside Zara, the mother of her beloved. Together, they ventured into the hidden depths of the city, seeking weapons and artifacts that would grant Nahra the strength to protect her kingdom and her family. She walked the path of shadows, knowing that each step brought her closer to the power she needed. Zara’s wisdom and guidance bolstered her spirit, the two women united in purpose as they navigated the treacherous underbelly of the city.
---
And in the heavens above, a quiet figure watched over them all. The Origin, the Most High, gazed down upon the kingdom with a serene and knowing smile. His hand guided the threads of fate, each choice and action weaving together in a tapestry only He could see. His angels and servants moved at His will, invisible but ever-present, shaping the course of events in ways that mere mortals could not comprehend. Though unseen, His presence was felt in the whispers of the wind, in the glint of the stars, in the quiet moments of revelation that each of the kingdom’s inhabitants would come to experience.
The Sultan sat upon his throne, his heart steadfast, his gaze unwavering. He knew the forces that swirled around him, both mortal and divine, and he was prepared to face them all. For in his heart, he carried the faith that the kingdom’s destiny was guided by more than ambition or power—it was shaped by love, sacrifice, and the mysterious grace of The Origin.
As the kingdom moved forward, each soul carried with them a part of the larger tale, a story that would echo through the ages. From the treacherous sands of the desert to the hidden chambers of the palace, the fate of the kingdom hung in the balance, and each player—whether angel, mortal, or monster—played their part with unyielding resolve.
In the end, only The Origin knew where their paths would lead. But for now, they moved forward, bound together by destiny, faith, and the eternal dance between light and shadow.