Jasper had no idea how long he’d been running. On earth, it had never been a strength of his. Sure, once upon a time he’d been an exceptional sprinter, even participating briefly in track and field in high school, but he was all speed and no stamina. Run long enough, and he'd quickly find himself bent over, his chest aching as if an iron ring was being tightened around his ribs as he wheezed for air. That wasn't so much of a problem any longer. The system had made him a good deal stronger than before, even if he was still weak in comparison to dedicated warriors. Indeed, Jasper had a feeling that if he return to earth now, his endurance would put even the greatest of Olympic athletes to shame. But his strength was still limited, and after hours of running, he was far, far beyond his breaking point.

Ihra had yet to awaken, her body slumped over his shoulder as he ran, but her weight grew more unbearable with every passing step, his breath coming rough and ragged. His chest heaved as he fought for air, but somehow he managed to stumble on. Fear was a powerful motivator, especially when you believed that soul-devouring monster was hot on your heels.

He had somehow made it out of the nazirtū’s narrow, but lit, tunnels, and emerged back into unfathomably dark streets of the abandoned city. With all attempts at subtlely cast aside, it was easy enough to light his way. Raging torrents of blue flames flowed off his outstretched hand, pushing the reluctant shadows back as he raced down the streets. But his heart sank as he rounded the corner.

There were relatively few unique buildings in the depths of the city. Most of the homes looked the same, at least from the outside, with only minor differences to distinguish them. But Jasper recognized the empty storefront that loomed ahead of him. He’d seen it before. Hell, he'd seen it just a few minutes before. Damn it.

He spun around, surveying the darkness. Somehow, he must have gotten turned around. He eyed the rows of houses that lined the empty streets, suddenly unsure which direction he should head - one side leading deeper into the earth, the other back toward the light of day.

His ears pricked up as heard the quick patter of steps racing in his direction. With a groan, he shifted Ihra’s weight, his shoulders screaming in protest beneath their burden. Which way?

He hesitated too long, afraid to delve deeper into the subterranean realm, and almost shrieked as a face came into view. In the blue light of the fire, the woman’s skin looked nearly purple, but the black, curling horns on her head calmed his nerves. It wasn't a Nizirtu at all, but a Djinn, a normal one, even.

She was in rough shape. Her throat looked mangled, a massive, hand-shaped welt covering it entirely, and her armor was spattered with blood and mud. Her thick, black locks had come loose from their binding, framing her face in an unruly heap. The Djinn skidded to a halt in front of him, her eyes widening in shock as she stared up at Jasper.

“You!” The words came out sharp, almost accusatory in their tone, and he stumbled back, suddenly confused.

“Me? Do I know you?”

She shook her head. “There’s no time to talk.” Grabbing his hand, she pulled him after her, towards the homes on the right. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

He slipped his hand free, and she turned to glare at him. “Come on.”

“Who are you? Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Not important right now, and yes. I have a skill.” She snapped. “Are you coming or not?”

Jasper only hesitated for a second. Whoever the Djinn was, he could either follow her and hope she led him to safety, or continue to stumble around in the dark city, running in circles until eventually either the Nizirtū or the dead god’s shade found him and finished the job. It was barely a decision. “Lead on,” he snapped.

She pushed her way into the darkness, plunging far ahead of the light of flames as he struggled to keep up with her. Ihra had still not stirred - whatever she had done to set them free must have pushed her to the brink - but buoyed by renewed hope, Jasper found the strength to carry on. With her guidance, they broke free of the homes in minutes, tumbling out onto another one of the city’s rungs. But the Djinn wasted no time, cutting straight across the street for the next row of homes. She navigated the darkness flawlessly, every turn precise, every obstacle avoided. She must be able to see in the dark, he realized.

“So, who are you?” He broached the topic again as they circled around the center of the city, the upward slant of the street reassuring him that they were heading in the right direction.

“I work for your uncle,” she called back. He wrinkled his brow. My uncle? S̆arrābī. It suddenly clicked into place.

“So what, you were spying on me?” He accused, suddenly feeling angry.

“Just making sure you made it to the capital. For some reason, Lord S̆arrābī wasn’t sure you’d stick to the plan.” She glanced back at him, her eyebrow raised. “Although why a bastard about to be recognized wouldn’t want to return home is beyond me. Is it because of her?” She nodded at the unconscious bundle over Jasper’s shoulder. “Love does make you do stupid things. You don't have a bastard of your own cooking, do you?”

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When your ruddy skin can put an apple to shame, blushing becomes a thing of a past, but Jasper’s cheeks still burned with heat as he denied Annatta's accusation. “What? No!”

The Djinn shrugged. “Fine, don’t tell me. But when you disappeared down here, we had to come looking for you.” A tinge of bitterness laced her voice. “Because, you know, your life’s more valuable than ours.”

Jasper spluttered, angry at the insinuation. “No one asked you to follow me. I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

After a moment of silence, she responded, the anger mostly replaced by resignation. “Someone did ask us to follow you, but you’re right - it wasn’t you. But Maratāni, Ze’ev, Zahtû-” Her voice broke off, suddenly feeble. “May the Lord of Mirth and Frost watch over them,” she finally finished.

They ran in silence, the pounding of their feet against the pavement the only sound to break the accursed city's vigil.

When they finally breached the final rung of the city, spilling onto the street which hung suspended above the yawning chasm, the frantic pounding of Jasper’s heart begin to slow. They were going to make it. Ihra stirred against his shoulder, finally coming to consciousness, and they slowed to help her up. Her eyes were wide and a bit unfocused as she glanced at the red Djinn in obvious confusion, but she didn't waste their time making them explain. Without a word, she fell in line behind them as the group resumed their race up the winding road that led back to the safety of the upper city.

We're almost there, Jasper thought, as he hurtled them across a gap in the avenue with the help of Seraph's Burst.

But as they turned the corner and the last stretch of the road finally came into view, Annatta slid to a sudden halt. “Damn it.”

The two caught up to her moments later, flanking her on either side, as Jasper saw what awaited them. A group of Nizirtū blocked the street as an all-too-familiar priest stepped forward, the irritation plain on his face.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave. The dead gods must be appeased.”

With a flick of his wrist, the Keeper tossed a few small objects toward them. They landed well short of the group, slowly skidding down the sloping stone street. Jasper braced, unable to tell what the objects were. They don’t have some sort of magical grenades, do they?

But when the objects came into view, he almost laughed at the absurdity. Three sets of handcuffs slid down the street - the same handcuffs that had cut off his access to essence. He shot an incredulous look at Ihra, before turning back to the gathered Nizirtū.

“Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m putting these on without a fight.” He lifted his hand, letting the flame roll across his fingers. “But you’re free to try and put them on us. Give it your best shot,” he sneered.

The nizirtu’s face darkened, and he stepped forward, drawing a long golden pendant from beneath his robes. Something dangled at the end, too far away for Jasper to make it out in the dark city, but the pendant begin to glow as the priest muttered a few words.

Jasper had no interest in finding out what the pendant did. His hands moved fast, drawing out the shortsword he had earned on Arutû’s mountain - it was no glaive, but it would have to do - as he cast his spell. Seraph’s Burst.

He bridged the gap between them in a streak of feathers and light, the deadly wings already exploding from his back.

The Keeper’s eyes widened, hastily struggling to form a spell with his left hand while he continued to channel power into the necklace. A moment later Jasper arrived.

A half-formed shield sprung into existence around the nizirtu as the Keeper was forced to cast the spell early. It wasn’t enough to block Jasper’s momentum entirely, but it shielded the priest from the brunt of the blow. The two rolled across the ground, tumbling through the assembled nizirtū like a bowling ball through pins.

Jasper landed on top, smashing his sword down at the face of the priest. But the nizirtu was strong. With lightning-fast speed, he snatched Jasper’s wrist, wrenching it to the side. Jasper felt the bones snap as the sword clattered to the ground. The nizirtu punched up with his knee, slamming into Jasper’s rib cage repeatedly and Jasper was forced to let go.

He stumbled back, his lung screaming for the air, but the nizirtu gave him no space to recover. The pale, elongated fingers closed around his wrists in an iron grip and then, the Keeper pulled.

Like water circling the drain, Jasper’s essence was slowly torn from his body as the Keeper fed on him. He struggled to get himself free, helpless in the face of the priest’s far greater strength. His spells wouldn’t cast, the essence cut off before it could reach his hand, and the priest loomed over him, his savage fangs bared in a leering grin.

But Jasper had one more trick up his sleeve - and it really was a trick. As a kid, his older cousins had amused him by putting lit matches in their mouths. Once he had become a fire mage, the memories of their party tricks had appealed to him - after all, who wouldn't want to breathe fire? Despite his hopes, he had never gotten a spell to do it properly. But given that Jasper was able to exude fire from his hands, he had been confident he could force a few flames through his mouth, and he had succeeded after a fashion. It was certainly no dragon’s breath, but it was all he had right now.

Closing his eyes, Jasper strained to summon of every last drag of essence he could muster, any shred that he could tear free from the nizirtu’s iron grip. And then, he breathed it all straight into the face of the priest.

It was far more essence than he had ever attempted to use when practicing his little trick, and Jasper fairly quickly realized he had made a grave miscalculation. His mouth, apparently, didn’t have the same fire-proof protection as his ruddy outer skin - resistance, yes, but not immunity. His skin blistered and popped as Jasper cooked his mouth in a torrent of flames, but at least he wasn’t the only one suffering.

The fire washed over the priest’s face for no more than a second or two, but it was enough. Skin doesn’t really catch on fire; it burns, peels, even melts at high enough temperatures, but fire generally doesn’t spread across the skin. Human skin, that is.

The pale-skinned nizirtu lit up like a torch, the fire quickly spreading across its body. With a garbled scream, the Keeper dropped his grip on Jasper’s wrists as he let out a garbled scream. Ignoring his ruined mouth, Jasper snatched up the short sword with his left hand and activated his skill. Heartstopper.

The blade flickered forward, guided by the skill as it thrust deep into the flaming being’s torso, emerging on the other side. But it wasn’t enough to kill the powerful being. Despite the fire raging across its body, despite the blade stuck in its heart, it managed to lift the pendant again, the dark words tumbling uncertainly from its mouth.

Swish

With another swipe of his sword, Jasper lopped the priest’s hand off. The pendant crashed against the stone, the glow dissipating as it rolled across the ground, and, with his last hope vanquished, the nizirtu succumbed to the flames.