The wings on the Ophan’s back whirred to life as the being darted toward the Seraph. Muttering beneath his breath, the old man cast his spell again, and the silver whip coiled around the Ophan’s waist. Bracing himself, the man pulled with all his might and, pivoting his hip, tried to fling the Ophan off the precipice. But the strain was more than the spell could bear. With a snap, the whip was shattered, and two staggered back.

Dragging its clawed feet across the floor, the Ophan skidded to a halt mere feet away from the road’s edge. Its wings beat in a frenzied pattern as it rose back into the air, but then it seemed to second guess itself. Pulling its wings tight against its back, the Ophan dropped back to the ground. The Seraph began to mutter beneath his breath as the Ophan charged toward him, preparing another spell, but he’d forgotten, though, about Jasper.

With a groan, he staggered to his feet and, snatching his glaive up with his one good hand, limped toward the Seraph from behind. The old man, preoccupied with casting whatever spell he planned, didn’t notice him coming, but the Ophan did. Planting himself a few feet behind the Seraph, Jasper lodged his glaive firmly against the ground and waited for the impact.

The Ophan’s arms suddenly lengthened and morphed and, dropping unto all fours, the being shot toward the Seraph like a bolt. With a grunt of annoyance, the Seraph dropped the spell he’d been weaving and lashed out again with his whip. But the Ophan was ready this time; flattening against the pavement, it skidded beneath the whip's arc untouched. Leaping forward, it caught the Seraph squarely in the chest and the two flew backward, straight toward Jasper's readied glaive.

The old man’s skin was tough as boiled leather, but the sheer momentum of his fall was enough to overcome his defenses. A hoarse cry of agony echoed above the fray as the glaive’s icy blade rampaged through his rib cage and organs in a wave of frost and blood and erupted out the front.

Summoning his essence, Jasper cast Fiery Shackles, and the blazing manacles clamped around the Seraph’s legs, holding him in place as the Ophan hammered blow upon blow on the man’s face and torso, driving his body further down the stake. The Seraph tried to block, but his arms crumbled beneath the blows. He tried to cast spells, but his fingers shook so badly that he couldn’t release his essence.

Jasper could barely believe it. Sadly there was no identify skill to tell him how the old Seraph was, but he knew he was heavily underleveled, and yet… Are we…winning? Pressing the advantage, Jasper renewed Fiery Shackles and then started to cast Spectral Whip. There was more than enough blood now to summon the hungry specters, though he wasn’t even sure if it was necessary. The Seraph’s struggles were growing weaker, his movements more spasmodic.

The Ophan lashed out again and the Seraph’s whole body shook from the force of the blow, dislodging something from his clothes. A pale glass orb, filled with a milky white substance streaked with something as black as coal, popped out of his satchel and rolled down his arm. It had nearly reached the end of the old man’s fingers when his hand convulsed. Closing around the orb, the tattoos on his hands flared for a brief second as essence poured through them. Then he crushed the orb.

In an instant, an enormous pressure descended upon the three of them. Utterly unable to resist its power, Jasper was plastered to the ground so thoroughly he couldn’t even twitch his fingers. The Ophan resisted the effect a little better. Pushed down to its knees, it fought to rise, its limbs shaking and its movement extremely slow as the pressure bore down on it. The Seraph did nothing. His body hung limp, almost as if he was dead, but from Jasper’s spot on the floor, he could see a slow smile cross the man’s lips.

The Ophan had just managed to stand erect when the second wave of the spell hit. Like a hammer striking a gavel, an unseen force smashed into them. The Ophan and Seraph bore the brunt of the blow, their limbs bending and cracking in unnatural fashion as they were driven into the pavement, but it spread outward, washing over Jasper too. Glued down by the unrelenting pressure, Jasper was unable to even open his mouth to scream as he felt the bones in his body crack beneath the stress, and black spots danced before his eyes.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the pressure vanished as the spell ran out of power. Jasper lay on the ground, utterly unable to move, but the Ophan was still struggling. The fire around the great floating eye had dimmed greatly, but grabbing hold of Jasper’s glaive, it slowly dragged itself to its feet, favoring its right leg which was now pointing in the wrong direction. But the ground rumbled as it stood, shaking as it took a step toward the Seraph. And then, in a cloud of dust and rubble, the street collapsed beneath them, dropping them into the chasm below.

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“Jaasspeer.” Ihra’s scream was cut off as one of the nizirtū loomed in front of her and swung his axe straight for her head. She deftly dodged beneath the blade and, stepping close to his side, buried her dagger in his unprotected neck. She felt it scrape against the spinal cord and yanked with all her strength. A satisfying crack followed and the man fell forward, unmoving.

Stolen story; please report.

She tried to take another step toward the Seraphs that had dragged Jasper away, only to be forced to drop to her knees as one of the cultists charged from her side. Damn it.

The man’s sword whistled above her head, followed by a second whistling sound as she stabbed him straight in the nethers. He dropped to his knees beside her, and she slit his throat as she stood. Her eyes found the Seraph this time, and drawing her bow, she fired off an arrow. It tore through the air, narrowly missing being “intercepted” by a cultist’s head and gently dropped down on a perfect arc to intersect through the silver threads coiled around Jasper’s throat.

She notched her bow, prepared to again, but something in her intuition screamed at her to move out of the way. Her arrow fell to the ground as she twirled to the side and a spear thrust straight through the spot she’d been standing. Her foot lashed up instantly, shoving the spear up higher, as she tried to close the gap. But the nearly ten-foot-tall nizirtu who had been holding it was a bit more skilled than her previous adversaries.

With a nimbleness that belied its size, the warrior dropped his spear and danced out of the way of her dagger, even as its exceptionally long arms lashed out and struck her side in the head. Ihra dropped like a rock, stars flashing before her eyes, as the dagger fell from her clasp. She struggled to rise as the nizirtu stared down at her with its enormous black eyes, but her limbs didn’t seem to want to obey her commands. Bending down, the warrior picked up his spear and held it above her head. Ihra closed her eyes.

A fraction of a second later, they popped again as a warm trickle rained down on her face. The nizirtu still held the spear above her head but sported a new fashion look - a long, silver blade that jutted out from its abdomen. The creature was suddenly tossed to the side, falling behind her, and another took his place. A young man with tawny hair and piercing blue eyes crouched beside her, a bottle in his hand. Her scrambled mind couldn’t place him, and she struggled futilely as he pressed the bottle to her lips, but he preserved and the sickly sweet liquid invaded her mouth.

“Ihra, stop fighting me.” Her mind began to clear as the potion trickled down her throat and she stopped.

“Rā’imu?” She croaked out incredulously.

The young Djinn offered her his hand and pulled her to his feet. “You alright?” She started to nod yes, when she suddenly remembered something else she’d forgotten. Jasper. Pushing past her rescuer, her eyes scanned the field. The formation of Moon-kissed had quickly shattered when they realized they were about to be pushed right off the street, into the chasm below, and from there, the battlefield had dissolved into chaos. Small clusters of Moon-kissed were scattered everywhere, fighting off cultists and nizirtū alike, but all wasn’t entirely harmonious between those two groups either. To her surprise, she noted several of the cultists engaged in a desperate battle with a much larger group of the giant, pale freaks.

But she ignored them all as her eyes latched on to her quarry. Jasper lay on the ground, wreathed in a halo of white flames, as the Seraph closed in upon her. She unleashed her arrows, ignoring Rā’imu’s cries of warning as more cultists charged toward her, but the old man batted them away as if they were nothing more than annoying gnats. Readying her stance, she tried to charge Executioner’s Arrow - surely, he can’t just ignore that - but her arm was yanked to the side.

“I kind of need your help here,” Rā’imu screamed at her. Raising his sword he blocked the blow that had been aimed for her throat, and with a rapid rotation of his wrist, he disarmed the cultist. His blade flickered forward, burying itself in the man’s stomach. The cultist fell but there were a dozen right behind him. Damn it.

Snatching another arrow, she loosed immediately and dedicated all her piercing to Moonlight Shards. It struck true, burying itself into a chink in one of the cultist’s armor, and the arrow shattered. Its remains multiplied rapidly, spreading a fine layer of razor-sharp shards across the ground. The ones in front were unable to stop in time, howling in pain as the caltrops punched through their armor and her arrows swiftly cut them down. But one of the cultists was not like the rest.

Ihra didn’t notice the faint glow on his hands until it was too late. A fireball exploded from the back of the group, taking with it one of his compatriots, and rushed towards her. She tried to dodge, but it tracked her motion and collided. Searing pain washed over her, followed quickly by the now not-so-unfamiliar feeling of growing a second pair of legs.

Her bow fell uselessly to the ground as the deer rose from the fire. Stamping its foot on the ground angrily, its hindquarters tensed and then it soared above the caltrops. It landed directly on one of them, driving the cultist to the ground, where its hooves carved bloody ravines in his flesh. But the deer was on a mission. Lowering its head, it charged straight for the mage.

His eyes widened, his hands twisted desperately to summon a spell, but the deer arrived first. The unnaturally sharp antlers tore through the man’s leather tunic and into his torso. With a snort, it raised its head, carrying the man with it, and tossed the mage aside. The enemies closed in around it, but the beast whipped its antlers back and forth driving them back while its ally attacked them from the back. Within moments they had all fallen or fled, save for the battered mage.

He lay on the ground, body broken, but his hand still twitched as he tried to cast another spell. The deer approached, carefully tiptoeing through the remaining caltrops, and, placing its hoof on his neck, ended the man’s suffering.

It looked up at his ally who stared at it with wide eyes. “Are you…are you in there, Ihra?” The man waved his hand uncertainly before its eyes, and the deer snorted impatiently. It wasn’t blind, just a deer. He started to speak again when something nicked the deer’s ear. The source of pain became clear a second later as a long, narrow shaft embedded itself in the man’s abdomen and, with a cry of pain, the Djinn crumpled over.