As they delved deeper into Naḫas̆s̆innu’s depths, the temperature continued to rise. The heat didn’t bother Jasper, but he could see the beads of sweat rolling down the faces of the Moon-kissed warriors, who did not share the flame affinities of other Djinn. Even Nēs̆u and Ihra, despite their higher levels, had a clammy cast to their cheeks. If we don’t find the enemy soon, half of these troops aren’t going to have the strength to fight.

Worried, Jasper picked up the pace and they soon reached a point far lower than he and Ihra had ever ventured. A particularly large expanse of the road had crumbled here, revealing a chasm that was now only a few hundred rather than a few thousand feet. The cultists had bridged the gap here too, with a long, narrow rope bridge that swayed ominously back and forth when Jasper stepped on it. Not fully trusting the bridge’s ability to support a hundred men, they crossed over in small batches.

When he reached the other side, Jasper realized they had found something remarkable.The small homes carved into the cliffside had been left behind long ago, with the buildings gradually growing larger and more opulent, but the one that lay before them was more impressive than all the rest.The perpetually downward-sloping street had been leveled out for several hundred feet as it ran along the side of a massive complex fronted by a double row of octagonal pillars that had been hewn out of the sheer rock.

Behind the pillars, Jasper could see bright flashes of color glinting in the dim light of the braziers, revealing a wall decorated with images of all manner of strange beasts and beings. There was a pair of gilded doors too, whose frames towered nearly thirty feet from floor to ceiling. Some sort of a temple? Or maybe a palace? He couldn’t quite tell the purpose of the building from the outside, but whatever its purpose had been, it was clear it had once been important and, perhaps, still was, for the line of braziers the cultists had set up ended here.

At the edge of the ornate complex, the road continued further on, resuming its downward slope into a darkness that would have made the nighttime skies look bright as day. Raising his hand, Jasper called for a pause and turned to Nēs̆u. “Do you have any sense of where they are? Could they be in that temple?”

The Sicyan closed his eyes for a beat, concentrating on the connection Vāya had granted him, then slowly shook his head. “We’re so close now, I’m having a hard time sensing the right direction, but I think Tsia is still somewhere below us.”

Great. A sour expression twisted his lips as Jasper looked at the unyielding gloom that waited beyond. It was the last place he wanted to go, but…I can’t just abandon them. “Alright,” he agreed. “I guess we have to keep going. The Moon-kissed brought torches, right,” he asked Rā’imu.

Right as the Djinn opened his mouth to respond, the enormous gilded doors of the temple swung open with a harsh, metallic squeal.

As Jasper spun around to face the ancient temple, his heart was beating so hard it felt like it would jump right out of his rib cage. He half expected to see one of the dead gods - a being he had only heard the last time - slither out of the darkness or perhaps Yas̆gah. What stepped out instead was a little disappointing.

An old man shuffled through the gates, followed by about a score of followers. He leaned heavily on a thick metal staff that clanged against the pavement with each step he took. He had a pile of thick, grey hair that fell well past his shoulders, and the tips of two black, feathery wings peaked just above his head. He wore a long black robe, and from the hem, Jasper could see a small silver charm dangling. Is that the man from my vision?

Unconsciously, he took a step back, and the old Seraph let out a low chuckle. “Heh-heh-heh. It seems the gods have smiled on me today.” He walked forward laboriously, and when the folds of his robe shifted, Jasper realized that he was missing a leg. How is he even moving?

“See, our lost lamb has come home,” the man’s voice was rough and husky as he turned and spoke to his followers.“He’s even brought gifts, fine sacrifices for the goddess.”Pausing in his stride, he waved his staff theatrically toward the Moon-kissed soldiers and raised his voice.“Fear not, children of Selene, your sacrifices will be remembered.The whole world will benefit from the glory that shall be revealed when Yăs̆gah takes her rightful throne and crushes the great tyrant.”

The great tyrant? Though the Seraph’s words sounded like the babbling of a lunatic, his eyes were cool and calculating, without any hint of mania, and Jasper began to regret coming here. He’d always known the battle would be a long shot, but this dude wasn’t even the demigodess.

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His eyes darted to the side, looking for any avenue of escape, only for his heart to sink when he saw a line of the pale, elongated Nizirtū emerging from the shadows by the rope bridge, with their numbers swelling by the minute. Damn it. We’re completely surrounded. Summoning a false bravado he didn’t feel, he whispered to Ihra to spread the word to attack and raised his voice. “Yeah, I don’t think so, buddy. I have no idea who this ‘great tyrant’ is, but we aren’t going to be your sacrificial lambs and - just for the record - Yas̆gah ain’t no goddess.”

The Seraph’s eyes flared with anger. “You think you have a choice? You are whatever Yas̆gah wills,” he spat. “Now come here, little lamb.”

Jasper felt an impending sense of doom descend on him as the man raised his staff, and he released his spell at the same time as the Seraph.

Purge.

Summon.

The man winced as Jasper’s spell hit him, but he finished his casting nonetheless. A long silver whip, glowing with the pale light of the moon, manifested in the man’s hands and with a flick of his wrist, Jasper was unceremoniously yanked away from his group as it latched around his neck like a lasso. He landed on the ground with a painful bellyflop and was dragged across the rough pavement as the man wound his hand like a crankshaft.

The cultists surrounding the Seraph charged past him, cutting him off the rest of his party, as Jasper futilely tried to stop his progress. His hands scraped against the rough paving stone, grabbing onto their edges, but his strength was no match for the wizened mage. Then an arrow flashed over Jasper’s head and sliced through the silver whip, releasing the pressure around his neck.

Muttering his thanks to Ihra, Jasper lurched to his feet and reached for his essence. He didn’t have Dapplegrim now to charge the Seraph with but, unsheathing his weapon, he cast Fiery Charge anyway. White-hot flames rippled across his body and down the shaft of the glaive as he leapt forward and thrust the blade straight toward the man’s heart.

Spinning his staff horizontally, the man blocked the blow. Ice crusted around the edges of the blade as it bit down into the Seraph’s staff, only to immediately be vaporized by the flames, but the staff held firm. And, with a sudden surge of strength, the man thrust his staff forward with such strength that Jasper was tossed backwards. He landed hard on the pavement, and his glaive skittered a few feet out of reach.

Still, for a moment, it seemed as if his ploy had succeeded.With a whoosh, the white-hot flames began to spread down the Seraph’s staff and toward his hands.A scowl flickered across the man’s face, and he flung the weapon away, inadvertently sending it straight into the midst of his own allies, where a Nizirtu promptly began to howl in pain.

“That’s an annoying little trick,” the man grunted. He took a step toward Jasper, somehow supported by an unseen leg, and another staff manifested in his hand. “But that’s all it is.”

A volley of arrows shot towards the Seraph, but the old man, with an almost lazily swing of his staff, sent them spinning off their course. “There’s no point in fighting me, little lamb.” The man’s voice grated on Jasper’s ears. “You’re cut off from your men, and your spells are not strong enough to hurt me - not yet anyways. Give up.” Despite his words, his hand rubbed his throat gingerly where Purge had hit.

Jasper ignored the Seraph. Rolling to his feet, he blindly flung Sacred Star in the Seraph’s direction as he scampered to snatch up his weapon. His hands closed up on the glaive, and he whirled around to find the Seraph had closed the distance. The Seraph grunted as Jasper’s blade slammed into his side. The blade sliced through the cultist’s black tunic like it was nothing, but buried itself into thick chain mail that was hidden below. A flash of steam erupted again as the fire and ice mingled.

“Gods damn you, boy,” the man screamed. The tip of his staff lashed out faster than Jasper could even track and smashed into his throat, crushing his windpipe. Choking, he tried to block as the man brought his staff down again, but his arms failed as the staff struck between his neck and shoulder and Jasper collapsed to the ground.

He lay there motionless, his vision blackening as the old Seraph struggled to tear off his burning robes. Can’t breathe. His hands fumbled blindly in his bag for a potion and closing around a glass lid, he pulled it out and lifted it to his lips. Sweet liquid flowed into his mouth, and the pressure on his windpipe began to ease.

“None of that.”The crack of glass and bone echoed through the air as the Seraph, who had finally managed to tear his burning clothes off, smashed his staff into Jasper’s hand.Searing pain tore through his right hand, but Jasper rolled out of reach.

He noted with grim satisfaction the large patch of half-melted flesh on his adversary’s torso as he raised his left hand and summoned his essence. Do I really want to do this? He hesitated a moment, as the spell he’d intended to save for Yas̆gah lingered on his fingertips. Then the Seraph charged toward him, his staff held at the ready, and his hesitation evaporation. Can’t cast it if I’m dead.

“Hand of Judgment,” he wheezed out.

His breath billowed up in white puffs of vapor as the temperature plummeted and the sound of thunder echoed as the space between them was torn in half. A pair of large, charred hands stretched through the opening and, latching onto the sides, tore it open as the Ophan stepped through.

It seemed larger than before; the giant torso of a man with smoldering flesh and jet-black wings whose metallic feather glinted in the light of the braziers. And floating above its torso was the great, flaming eye. Two golden rings circled it at dizzying speeds, covered in blue, glowing runes. The Ophan fixed its glare on Jasper, and despite having no mouth, its words rumbled above the melee. “What are your commands, master?”

Jasper didn’t even need to think about it. “Kill him,” he snapped, pointing to the Seraph with his mangled right hand.