Jasper bent down to pick up the object that had fallen at his feet. Hidden in the shadow of his body, he couldn’t tell it was at first, but as he held it before his eyes, Naḫas̆s̆innu’s jagged black blade glinted darkly, reflecting the light of city. He nearly tossed it away, but before his fingers let it slip from his grasp, Jasper realized something about the dagger had changed. There was no siren call for power, no sickly sensation emanating from it. Indeed, there was nothing at all. With a shrug, he tucked it into his bag before turning to check on Kas̆dael.
The goddess had been fully swallowed up by her black cocoon and, even with Yas̆gah gone, there was no sign of motion from it. “Kas̆dael?” Breaking into a jog, Jasper left the mud city behind. As soon as he crossed back into the sands, into the void, the bitter cold rose to greet him, but his steps didn’t falter.
“Kas̆dael! Are you alright?” There was no response and, with numb hands, he beat on the black vines, ignoring the thorns that tore at his flesh. “Kas̆dael? Are you okay?”
The cocoon finally shuddered beneath his blows, and a seam slowly opened down the middle, revealing the goddess. The vines crisscrossed much of her body, sealing the worst of her wounds, and her usually milky skin was even paler than usual. “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “That accursed dagger she found was more dangerous than I expected. When she called it a godslayer, I thought it mere bravado, but now…I do not doubt that foul thing is what killed the Mwyranni in Dūr-Yarha." She smiled weakly. “It will take some time to recover, but I’ll survive.”
Relieved, Jasper sagged against the cocoon. “So she’s dead then?”
“Perhaps not yet, but she will be,” Kas̆dael replied. “The dead of Arallû shall not let her go, and even if she could shake them off, Lord Nergal would surely bind her.”
“And what about me?” Jasper plopped down beside her and rested his head on the shattered remnants of her cocoon. “I guess I’m dead too, for the second time. Do I get to go back or…” he trailed off awkwardly. “Am I stuck here?”
“Would it be so bad to be stuck here with me?” She asked with a smile.
“You are pretty good company, so long as you’re not ripping my heart, that is,” he grinned back. “I kind of wasn’t ready to die, though. I don’t know. There was just so much more I wanted to do,” he sighed. “I guess I’d thought I’d have kids, find a partner, and, if I’m being honest, do a whole lot less fighting undead, eldritch horrors, and other crap like that. Killing a demigoddess wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, you know?”
Kas̆dael laughed softly. “I’m sure there’s a great many things that didn’t turn out the way you planned. So you’ll be pleased to know, then, that you aren’t dead.”
“What?” Jasper cocked a brow, staring at her incredulously. “I plunged a dagger into my heart and while I don’t remember a whole lot after that, what I do remember of my last moments is being bashed against the floor over and over again until my bones were pulverized. I’m pretty damn sure I’m dead.”
“You should be,” she agreed. “But I told you I’d find a way to save you, didn’t I?”
Jasper nodded hesitantly. “Yeah.”
“And where do you think we were?”
“The void?”
“Then’s what that?” She asked, pointing to the cliffs beyond the sand.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “If it’s part of your void, I haven’t seen it before. I kind of thought it might be some sort of netherworld?” he ventured.
“Indeed. But the city you saw is not the land of the dead for our world, but for yours. Barbartu’s ritual would have sent you and Mēs̆ūta there. Her plan, I think, was for you to command the dead to imprison her.”
“I assume that’s what happened with the whole emerald door thingy?”
“Yes,” Kas̆dael confirmed. “Your bloodline - the one from earth, not here - allowed you to call on the dead. Her plan was a good one, with a high chance for success, but it still would have led to your death, to a true separation of your soul from your body. The relic she gave you does provide its users a better-than-usual chance at resurrection, but it wasn’t a certainty. Thus, when you showed it to me in S̆uhrurru, I decided to tweak the odds a bit in your favor.”
“What did you do?” He glanced around at the partially familiar surroundings. “Something to do with summoning the void, I guess?”
“After a fashion,” the goddess agreed. “I modified the runes so that they would try to deliver you to my realm instead. In truth, I thought the ritual would still kill you, but I intended to be here, waiting to intercept your soul so I could safely guide you back to S̆uhrurru.”
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“I also thought,” she admitted with a pained smile, “that I would have an easier time of dealing with Yas̆gah. Her power has grown rapidly in a short time and with that dagger…” A small shudder rippled down her back. “I can only imagine how many people she must have sacrificed to have achieved that strength.”
“As you can see, it fortunately didn’t go quite to plan.” She gestured at the strange fusion of her realm and the netherworld that surrounded them. “Apparently, I failed to fully override the torque’s instructions and the relic ended up trying to send you to two places at once. As that was impossible, it brought the two places to you instead, and because both realms sought to claim your soul, neither could fully restrain you.”
“You should be dead, Jasper, but instead you linger in a state somewhere in between. I can send you back to your body whenever you’re ready. Though,” she warned, “you’ll only have a few seconds to be healed before your body once again dispels you. If you heal quickly enough, though, you should survive.”
Jasper grimaced. “Yeah, about that. I’m pretty sure I’m out of healing potions. And even if I’m not, my bones were pulverized. I’m just going to die again.”
The goddess simply smiled. “Oh Jasper, have a little faith.” She stretched out her hand and he took it hesitatingly. Drawing him close to her bosom, her lips brushed his hair as her hand plunged into his chest and ripped out his still-beating heart.
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An awkward silence filled the room as everyone, cultists and sacrificial prisoners alike, stared at the spot where Yas̆gah had vanished. Tsia had only been in the woman’s presence for a short few minutes, but even that had been enough for her to sense just how strong she was. She’d always thought her mother was powerful, but next to Yas̆gah’s overwhelming flame, Aphora’s magic seemed like a flickering candle. And yet, the strange red mist had simply consumed her. And Jasper.
A stab of regret filled her heart as she stared at the cloud of mist that obscured his body. He wouldn’t have died if it wasn’t for her and now…a treacherous tear broke free from its restraints and tumbled down her cheek. Now I won’t see my mother again. The cultists’ backs were still turned to her, their long black cloaks hiding the disbelief and shock that marred their faces as they watched the mist that had stolen their goddess, but she knew she was still doomed. Sooner or later, they would snap out of their shock; then, they’d either finish the job, sacrificing her to steal a bit of her soul, or they’d flee in terror, leaving her helplessly chained to the sepulcher. Either way, her fate was sealed. She whimpered quietly, fat tears running down her face, and for the first time in a long time, her thoughts turned back home.
Papa. Her father’s warm brown eyes, deeply creased by the ever-present demands of the throne, not to mention his ill-fated marriage. The brief smile that lit up his face when she came into the room, temporarily smoothing away a century’s worth of worry. No longer able to stay quiet, she wept for all she had lost, for the ones she’d never see again, as her last faint vestige of hope for salvation withered on the stem. I’m not ready to die.
Fear empowered her weakened body temporarily and she thrashed against the chains that held her down. But it was all in vain. The foul glyphs that covered the chains drained her essence away as quickly as it returned, and days of starvation rations had deprived her of all her physical strength. She collapsed again, weeping freely at the inevitability of her fate.
“My lady?!” Her cries choked off mid sob as the cultist in front of her started. For a brief, confused moment, she thought he was talking to her, but as the man quickly dropped to his knees, the object of his reverence was revealed.
A tall, well-toned woman walked through the doors of the mausoleum. Her skin was a dusky red and her eyes, which were black as midnight, matched the two dark horns that jutted above her head. There was something about the way she walked that reminded Tsia of the lions that stalked the western plains that bordered her father’s lands, a constant tension in her limbs that hinted at barely restrained violence.
The woman’s eyes swept imperiously over the small room. “Where is Yas̆gah?” She demanded, but her gaze had already turned to the red mist still roiling where the demigods had tossed Jasper’s body.
“She’s-she’s gone,” one of the cultist’s stuttered out.
“But I’m sure she’ll be back soon, victorious as always,” the first man replied. Tsia couldn’t see his face, but the faint tremor in his voice belied his bravado.
“He actually did it.” A sly grin slipped across the Djinn’s face. “79 years wasted in this hellhole, but he actually bloody did it. Except…” her lips pursed in a frown. “I don’t feel any stronger. Did he not finish the ritual?”
“My lady?” The cultist took a cautious step forward. “What are you talking about? It almost sounds as if…you were working with him?” He held his hands behind his back in an apparent gesture of respect, but Tsia saw his fingers twisting with the start of a spell.
Reaching the same conclusion as the cultist, she cried out in warning. “Watch out!“
The man’s hands blurred forward, releasing a spout of fire that washed over the Djinn woman.
The flames swirled around her, completely hiding her from sight, but as the spell wore off, she reappeared unscathed “Really, Abarakku?” She asked with a smirk, gesturing at her ruddy skin. “You thought that would hurt me?”
“No, but this will.” The cultist’s fingers twisted again and the world turned white. Tsia’s ears rang as rubble bombarded her, cutting ugly gashes in her flesh, and she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the black spots that danced before her eyes.
A row of black robes huddled together behind the cover of the middle sepulcher, coughing and hacking on the smoke that drifted away from the explosion. “Did you get her?” one whispered.
A high-pitched peal of amusement answered his question. “Using the fire to disguise your actual method of attack. Quite clever, Abarakku. I imagine you’ve killed quite a few unwary brethren over the years with that one. Unfortunately for you,” the Djinn woman stepped into view and her husky voice lowered ominously, “I’m not a Djinn.”