“Can I have a moment to decide?” Jasper asked. “A private moment?”

Yas̆gah smirked. “How cute. Do you really think you can plot against me?” She drummed her fingers against the coffin, then nodded. “Why not? It’s not as if you can hurt me. I will give you a moment - a brief moment,” she warned, “to make your peace with what you have to do.”

Jasper hadn’t even noticed the subtle pressure that had slowly built up in his head, thoroughly unaware that Yas̆gah was worming her way into his mind until the pressure suddenly vanished. I’m a frog in a pot, he realized with disgust. But Jasper knew he didn’t have time to dwell on it; suppressing the shiver of horror that ran down his spine, he forced himself to focus on his options. There really weren’t many.

He could try to fight Yas̆gah, but his previous delusions of having any chance of defeating the would-be goddess had been shattered. She wasn’t just a higher-leveled mage, that he could kill with a bit of luck or cleverness; no, Yas̆gah’s power was on a different magnitude altogether. He had about as much hope of beating her as he did of defying the heavens and - seeing as how he wasn’t a character in some xianxia - that was no hope at all.

He could, of course, refuse to participate in her sacred rites and they’d all just die. Or he could always go along with it… He rejected that possibility instantly. Even if it would save his life, he’d rather die than become Yas̆gah’s servant. But it would also let me save at least one of my friends. Jasper hesitated slightly. Which is worse? Killing one to save another, or letting both die? It was a moral quandary he couldn’t easily answer, but he also wasn’t sure if he trusted Yas̆gah to honor her word. She might kill them both anyways.

Reluctantly, his mind turned to the only other option that remained, the option he’d refused to consider from the start - Barbartu’s plan. His hand toyed with the torque bound around his neck as he remembered the inscription inscribed upon it.

Anaddin dāmī lerṣēti kī aklam. Līkulū mutū u lūli kī darrû ākilu bārbara.

“I offer my blood to the netherworld as food. May the dead eat of it so that I might arise as a sheep that consumes the wolf.” He pondered the words for a moment, still not fully able to grasp their meaning. He didn’t trust the strange cultist as far as he could throw her - which given the woman’s brawny bulk, was probably only a couple of inches - but compared to the veritable buffet of bad choices he had to pick from, hers seemed like the only choice that offered a sliver of hope. At worst, I die and at best, I rise as a ‘sheep that consumes the wolf’, whatever the hell that means. At least there’s a chance.

Dropping his hand from the torque, Jasper did his best to drive every hint of his intentions from his mind. He knew that Yas̆gah would soon worm her way back into his thoughts, but he didn’t think she could read everything he thought - at least not immediately. Hoping she could only glean his surface intentions, he focused his mind on fulfilling her sacred rites as he turned back to face her.

“You win,” he said flatly.

Yas̆gah grinned smugly. “My victory was never in doubt - only your future. Tell me, little Hand, have you decided to forsake your goddess?”

Struggling to keep his face composed, Jasper bowed his head in apparent submission. “There seems no other choice,” he growled. “I’m not ready to die.”

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “A coward’s response,” she hissed. “It should not be fear of death that drives you into my arms but lust for power, the desire for righteous vengeance against the great Tyrant that manipulates us all. But perhaps you are not worthy of the chance I offered you.”

Realizing he’d made a mistake, Jasper’s head snapped up. “I don’t give a damn about this tyrant, but if you think I don’t care about power, you are sorely mistaken. In barely a year I’ve reached levels most Corsythians will never reach their lifetime. But I’m still being forced to play others’ games, forced to fight in wars I don’t care about for people I barely know. I’m not ready to die until I have the power to be free, the power to trample all who would constrain me beneath my feet.” The vehemence in his voice was reinforced by a touch of true emotion as he glared up at her.

Yas̆gah cocked her head to the side, and Jasper could feel enormous pressure fill his mind as her eyes pierced through him. Overcome by its weight, he fell on his knees before her as she tried to read his thoughts. He focused on the anger he’d been suppressing - the rage of being stolen from his world, of being abandoned by a mother who apparently could rescue him but simply didn’t want to, of being forced into service of the royal house - and prayed Yas̆gah would believe him.

After a moment, the pressure retreated, allowing him to stagger his feet. A cold smile graced the demigoddess’ lips as he forced himself to meet her eyes. “Perhaps I misjudged you.” She sighed. “Kurkuzan always was a better judge of character than I, and he believed in your potential so… draw your weapon and take your first step on the path to ascension,” she commanded. Yas̆gah beckoned to sepulchers on either side of her. “Both of have already been prepared; all you need to do is choose.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

He jerked his head toward the left. “That one,” he grunted.

“The Djinn?” Yas̆gah followed his gaze. “You think to the sacrifice the servant rather than your lover. No, Yas̆peh, that won’t die. That would hardly be a sacrifice at all, would it.”

He stiffened as she grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the sepulcher on the right, where Tsia was bound. For the first time, he caught a clear view of the princess. For some reason the cultists had changed her clothes, dressing her in a simple green shift whose thin fabric did little to hide what lay beneath. Her wavy hair was sprawled across the coffin’s top, intertwined with flowers and fruits, and chains around her ankles, wrists, and neck prevented her from doing anything more than twitching.

“She’s not my lover,” he protested.

“Lover, friend,” Yas̆gah shrugged. “Either way, I can tell she means more to you than the other.” She paused in front of the sepulcher. “Prove to me that you are serious about the path.”

Tears trickled from the corner of Tsia’s big brown eyes as she stared up at him. Her eyelashes fluttered quickly, fear and betrayal in her gaze, as he started to lift his glaive above her.

“No.” Jasper lowered the weapon.

“No?” Yas̆gah turned to him with a triumphant smile. “I knew you weren’t serious-“

“Not like this,” he interrupted her. “If I’m to take the first step on the path to godhood, no mundane weapon shall do.” Jasper pointed to the dagger dangling from her waist. In the dim light of the tomb, its jagged, wicked edge gleamed, casting dim lights dancing across the domed roof of the mausoleum. “Let me use that.”

Indecision played across her face. “Naḫas̆s̆innu?” Her hand clutched the dagger’s hilt almost protectively. “I doubt you can withstand its power. Just use your glaive.”

Jasper persisted though. “Your men were besotted, but I was not,” he pointed out. “It is a god slayer, is it not? Is there a more fitting weapon with which to defy your Tyrant?”

Slowly, her fingers undid the clasp around the weapon. Jasper could feel the Fey bracelet burning against his wrist as Yas̆gah held the dagger in front of her. A beckoning power swelled out of the dagger, calling for to Jasper to seize, to hold, to possess. Living flames seemed to dance along its black blade as the dagger’s siren call entranced all in the room save for Yas̆gah and Jasper.

Her cultists staggered forward, frenzied with desire for the blade, but with a wave of her hand, she froze them in place. But Jasper didn’t move.

The demigoddess waited a few moments, expecting him to be overcome by its call and try to seize it from her, but he stood by patiently, focusing on the burning in his wrist. “Perhaps you can resist it,” she finally admitted. Flipping the dagger in the air, she extended the hilt toward him. “Very well, you may use it.”

As his fingers closed around the dagger, a wave of ecstasy washed up his arm. He staggered a step backward, drunk on the feeling of power that coursed through his veins. Why am I bowing to her? I should just kill her. A vision of him standing above the severed head of the demigoddess danced through his head. The dagger burned in his hand, black flames rippling up and down his body as his eyes glowed with eldritch power. I can do it. His hand spasmed, but the feeling of invincibility that suffused him suddenly faded as a burning pillar of pain tore up his other arm, emanating from the charm. Smoke rose from the bracelet as the charm cracked and charred, but the pain persisted, fighting against the wave of ecstasy. Recovering his senses, Jasper pushed back against Naḫas̆s̆innu’s power and the dagger’s influence suddenly retreated from him, like a cobra fleeing a mongoose.

Grabbing the sepulcher’s edge with his hand, he steadied himself and stared down at the wicked object. Flames still flickered up and down its blade, but it otherwise felt completely inert. “Well that was tougher than expected,” he commented wryly.

Yas̆gah clucked her tongue, cocking her head as she looked at him. “I must say, I still expected you to dry to stab me with it. Again you surprise, Yas̆peh.”

Jasper laughed weakly. “The thought might have run through my mind,” he admitted. The look of knowing in her eyes made him uneasy, and he quickly glanced away.

He hefted the dagger in his hand, feeling its weight, as he prepared himself to do what came next. Kas̆dael had told him how to activate the torque and he was still lacking one thing, Yas̆gah’s blood. “Before we proceed, there’s one more thing I want to do,” he said slowly, as his mind latched on a plan.

The demigoddess scowled. “Are you backing out after all?” Her hand lifted threateningly, and Jasper shook his head quickly.

“No, no,” he protested. “You are to be my master, right?”

“Mistress,” she corrected. “Why?”

“In my world, there is a ritual we share when such bonds are joined.” Jasper dragged the blade across his palm and a fountain of blood spilled forth as the black metal split his skin. Rolling the dagger in his blood, he held it out to her. “We mingle our blood to symbolize the bond that is between us. One drop is all I ask.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You want my blood?”

“My blood is already on the dagger, and it is your dagger,” he pointed out. “You need not fear that I will do anything harmful with it.”

“Fear?” She snorted derisively. “I don’t fear anything from you, little one.” Goaded by her pride, she grabbed the dagger and pricked her thumb. A bead of blood pooled out and she dragged it down the blade before tossing it back at him. “There. I did your little ritual. Now stop stalling, and do mine.”

Snatching the dagger out of the air, Jasper turned to face Tsia and raised the weapon over her heat. Tears still pooled in her eyes, but anger burned alongside the fear. “You know my mother will track you down,” she rasped out. “She won’t rest until you’re dead.”

“Then I guess she’ll get a good night’s sleep.” With one swift motion, his hand plunged, curving straight toward his own chest. The god-slaying weapon tore through his ribs as if they were made of wax paper and pierced his heart. A deep cold took hold of his limbs as he lurched over her, his blood raining down on Tsia’s uncomprehending face. Dimly, Jasper heard Yas̆gah’s scream of fury. Her hand clasped tight around his wrist, and he was thrown backward through the air, but he was dead before he landed.