The Satrap froze, his round frame stiffening as the gravity of the moment sank in. Yet, to his credit, he did not panic. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his movements measured, as though trying to blend into the background. Each step backward was measured, his feet barely whispering against the polished floor.

  Dhi'b's gaze tracked the man's retreat, a flicker of disdain twisting at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Pathetic.’

  Dhi'b’s grin broke the tension. “Where do you think you’re going, your grace?” His voice, full of mockery, cut through the air.

  The Satrap yelped. He stumbled backward, his ungainly bulk hitting the floor with an unceremonious thud. The resounding slap of flesh against stone echoed in the chamber. Dhi’b sighed, shaking his head as though witnessing a child’s clumsy misstep. Despite himself, he felt a pang of embarrassment.

  Scrambling to his feet, the Satrap bolted, his panic evident in every step.

  ‘Fear truly is a powerful motivator.’

  Dhi'b mused, watching the man’s desperate retreat.

  “Imbeciles! Help me, damn it! He’s trying to kill me!” the Satrap bellowed, his voice shrill with terror. His guards exchanged glances, their half-hearted motions to intercept more symbolic than sincere. Most simply stood, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with muted amusement.

  ‘Fitting. This perfectly epitomizes his relationship with his men.’

  “Worthless fools!” the Satrap roared, spittle flying as he rounded on his protectors. “I pay you generously, and this is how you repay me? Do your jobs, or I’ll see you flogged!”

  He wheeled back toward Dhi'b, his chest heaving as he attempted to regain his composure. His tone shifted, a thin veneer of authority coating his words. “Surrender now, grandmaster, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. Show wisdom, and I may grant you the mercy of a swift, painless death.”

  ‘Grant me mercy? The audacity of this swine.’

  Seated comfortably on the Satrap’s gilded chair, Dhi’b gave an exaggerated sigh. “Tsk, tsk. Your grace, that’s such a cliché—so unoriginal. Isn’t that what all villains say?”

  The barb hit home. The Satrap’s face turned a mottled crimson, his bulk trembling with suppressed rage. “Shut up!” he screamed, his voice cracking as he gestured wildly. He looked more like a petulant child than a ruler, his indignation magnified by his earlier humiliation.

  Dhi’b tilted his head, his gaze sharp. “Shout again, and I’ll kill you first.” His voice dropped, icy and deliberate. The shift in his demeanor was palpable; the air seemed to thicken as his aura filled the room. The Satrap’s jaw snapped shut, his words swallowed by fear.

  “Good,” Dhi’b said, his smile returning as if nothing had happened. “Now we can enjoy some peace and quiet.” Leaning back, he reached for a platter of food, plucking a roasted leg of lamb from its place. “Ah, finally. I’m starving.”

  The first bite drew a hum of appreciation. “Your grace, I must commend your chef. This is delicious. Perhaps you should consider raising his salary,” he remarked, gesturing to his attendant. “Nasir, try this. You’ll thank me later.”

  Nasir’s eyes lit up as he took a bite. “Mmm, you’re right, master. It’s divine.”

  The Satrap gawked, his jaw slack as he watched the pair’s nonchalance. Confusion and indignation warred on his face. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice cracking.

  Dhi’b’s gaze flicked up lazily. “Eating, obviously. Care to join us?”

  The ruler’s face twisted in outrage, but before he could launch into another tirade, Dhi’b’s voice cut him off, sharp and dismissive. “Careful now, Satrap. Don’t shout. Let’s keep things civil.” He paused, taking another deliberate bite before continuing. “You suggested surrender to avoid bloodshed. But let’s be honest—whose blood are we talking about? Certainly not ours. Wouldn’t it be better to fight? At least that way, your side bleeds too.”

  The Satrap’s brow glistened with sweat as he grappled for a response. “If you surrender,” he stammered, “I’ll grant you a painless death.”

  Dhi’b’s laughter rang out, rich and mocking. “A painless death? How generous. But forgive me if I’m skeptical of your promises.” He gestured around the opulent chamber. “Besides, trusting you seems about as wise as trusting a drowning man with a life raft.”

  The Satrap straightened, his confidence bolstered by Dhi’b’s apparent contemplation. “You can trust me,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “My word is weighed in gold.”

  Dhi’b let his gaze drift, taking in the room’s gaudy opulence—the gilded fixtures, the treasure piled carelessly in every corner. A laugh escaped him, low and rich, swelling into an unapologetic roar. “Then your words are cheap.”

  The ruler’s face contorted with fury, but he stopped himself just shy of another outburst. Dhi’b leaned forward, his smile turning razor-sharp. “Go ahead,” he murmured, his voice a low challenge. “Shout. Give me an excuse.”

  The Satrap swallowed hard, his courage faltering under Dhi’b’s piercing gaze. For a moment, silence reigned—save for the faint clink of cutlery as Dhi’b resumed his meal. With gritted teeth, he whispered, “K-Kill them.”

  ‘This toad is almost amusing. Perhaps he missed his calling as a court jester—he seems well-suited to the role.’

  The Satrap’s soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their hesitation palpable. One man finally stepped forward, trembling hands clutching his weapon. He didn’t make it far. A sharp crack split the air, and the soldier’s head burst like a melon, splattering blood and bone fragments across the room. The rest froze in horror. Their shock left them paralyzed, incapable of even screaming.

  Dhi’b sighed, his expression tinged with regret.

  ‘Another unnecessary death.’

  He picked up his wine glass, swirling the liquid lazily.

  ‘They’re just pawns, following orders. Some might have been conscripted or coerced, but choice still lies beneath it all. And given the chance, any one of them would kill me without hesitation—perhaps even boast about it afterward.’

  Dhi’b set the glass down gently, letting the sound echo in the tense silence.

  ‘Still, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth—always has.’

  “Move forward, and you’ll die,” Nasir announced, his voice calm but laden with menace. He toyed with a pebble in his hand, flicking it between his fingers, as if daring anyone to test him.

  The Satrap stumbled back, flailing to shield himself behind his remaining men. “Y-You dare?” he stammered, voice cracking under the weight of his own fear.

  “Your grace,” Dhi’b interrupted, delicately slurping soup from a porcelain bowl. He wiped his mouth with exaggerated care before continuing, “You’ve been a bad host. I’m trying to enjoy this exquisite meal, and you keep ruining the mood.”

  The ruler’s mouth opened, but no words emerged. The gory remains of his soldier still pooled on the floor, and the weight of the merchant’s chilling tone robbed him of his bravado.

  From the corner of the room came a groan. All eyes shifted to Tariq, struggling weakly against his bonds, his voice breaking the oppressive stillness.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” Dhi’b quipped, his tone light, as if addressing an old friend at a dinner party. “Nasir here was just asking about you. Missed you terribly, didn’t you, Nasir?”

  “Miss that idiot?” Nasir scoffed, never taking his eyes off the trembling soldiers. “He’s a fool for getting caught by this lot.”

  “See? He missed you,” Dhi’b teased, chuckling as he cut another piece of meat.

  The Satrap’s face twisted in fury as he seized the opportunity. “Grandmaster, surrender now, or your companion dies!” he barked, gesturing to the two soldiers holding blades to Tariq’s neck.

  Dhi’b raised an eyebrow, his expression one of tired indulgence. “You still don’t understand it, do you?” He leaned back, gesturing lazily toward the soldiers. “Take a closer look. These men haven’t moved against us. Not because of loyalty, but fear. They’re smart enough to recognize when they’re the prey.”

  The Satrap’s eyes darted nervously to his men. Their hands trembled, sweat dripping from faces once hardened by countless battles. Even the cultivators he’d hired stood rooted, their confidence evaporated.

  “First,” Dhi’b continued, savoring a bite, “your men are mercenaries. Bought loyalty is brittle at best. Second, they sense it. That primal understanding—they know death is in the room with them.”

  He set his cutlery down, his tone softening as his gaze swept the room. “To the rest of you, listen closely. Leave now, and I will not pursue. This is not your fight. Don’t throw away your lives for a tyrant who sees you as expendable. Walk away—live.”

  The room erupted into chaos. Murmurs turned to shouts as soldiers argued among themselves. Some cast furtive glances toward the door, others tightened their grips on weapons, torn between fear and duty.

  The Satrap’s face darkened with rage. “Cowards!” he roared, voice straining under the weight of his fury. “Flee, and I’ll see to it you’re hunted down. Stay, and I’ll triple your pay!”

  A smug grin curled his lips as he gestured toward Tariq. “He’s bluffing! We have his companion. He’s powerless to act.”

  At Dhi’b’s silent signal, Nasir flicked the pebble in his hand. It streaked through the air, a blur of deadly precision. The soldiers guarding Tariq crumpled, their heads erupting into crimson sprays.

  The hall descended into pandemonium. Those who had hesitated bolted for the exits, desperate to escape. Even the more resolute among them faltered, the will to fight extinguished.

  The Satrap’s scream echoed above the chaos. “Traitors! Fools! You’ll all regret this!” he bellowed, trembling as his once-formidable force dwindled to a meager few.

  ‘Ah, some still remain. Brave souls… or just fools?’

  “It seems I misjudged your men, your grace,” Dhi’b mused as he surveyed the stragglers. “Some loyalty does remain, though I wonder—at what cost?”

  One of the remaining soldiers stepped forward, his head bowed low. “Honored one, forgive us. He holds our families hostage. We fight because we have no choice.”

  Dhi’b studied the man, noting the quiet resolve in his eyes. Not the resolve to fight, but the resignation of one who had accepted his fate. “You’ve made your choice,” he said softly. “I’ll honor it.”

  Rising from his seat, Dhi’b placed his hand over his heart in solemn acknowledgment. “Rest assured, this tyrant will no longer hold sway over them.”

  The soldier straightened, a flicker of gratitude passing over his face before he readied his weapon.

  Pulling his dagger from its sheath, Nasir bowed in respect. The soldiers’ gazes bore down on him, their eyes heavy with resignation. Each man’s feet rooted, as if accepting the grim inevitability of their fate. Nasir’s posture straightened, a silhouette of doom emerging from an abyssal throne. Despite their trembling hearts, the soldiers held firm, defiant against the encroaching void.

  Nasir advanced, his movements a fluid symphony of grace and death, each step measured and deliberate. His blade whispered through the air, and heads fell with a muted finality. Yet they pressed forward, resolute against inevitability. Fire and ice erupted from the cultivators, their powers surging in vain. The attendant remained untouched, truly an avatar of doom. With a flick of his finger, more heads exploded, but still, the soldiers charged until none remained but a haunting echo—and Nasir.

  On that solemn night, Dhi’b watched the horrific scene unfold. He neither blinked nor turned away, granting the fallen their due. As the final act closed in eerie silence, his gaze dropped, heavy with sorrow.

  ‘Unjust deaths never grow easier, not even after all these years.’

  Dhi’b approached Nasir. “We all die; that’s certain. Choosing how to die? That’s a luxury,” he murmured, his attention shifting to the Satrap. The ruler cowered on the floor, too paralyzed by fear to run.

  ‘Sometimes, you meet someone who really deserves to die. When that happens, you should savor it.’

  “Ah, that was delicious,” Dhi’b announced, his grin wide as he burped loudly. He sauntered toward the Satrap. “A delightful dinner, your grace. Thank you.”

  The Satrap’s head snapped up, his face alight with desperate hope. “I’m sorry, honored one,” he stammered, falling to his knees. “Please, forgive me. I was foolish to trust them.”

  “Them?” Dhi’b raised a brow, his expression darkening.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yes, someone tipped me off about a valuable artifact,” the Satrap babbled, his tears mingling with sweat and mucus. “They wore hoods and masks. I don’t know who they were!”

  ‘Of course, it’s a hooded figure.’

  “How unoriginal” Dhi’b muttered, shaking his head.

  The Satrap grasped at another lifeline. “I’ll give you money! Riches that will blow your mind.”

  Dhi’b’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with menace. “Riches that will blow my mind?”

  “Yes—”

  The merchant poured all his frustration into a single, devastating kick. The Satrap’s head exploded, spraying gore across the hall. Tariq, now freed, recoiled in disgust as something wet splattered onto him.

  “Idiot, I’m richer than you,” the merchant remarked, passing by the ruler’s lifeless body.

  “What the f*ck? Is this brain? Sh*t! Who did this?!” Tariq yelled, wiping at his face in horror.

  Dhi’b turned away, feigning innocence. “Not me.”

  “Don’t lie, master,” Nasir said. “I saw you.”

  “Me? Lying?” Dhi’b’s face remained impassive. “I would never. Tariq, you be the judge. I only killed one person here,” he said, pointing to the Satrap’s remains. “Nasir killed everyone else. Look how close the bodies are to you. Clearly, this is his fault.”

  “You’ll pay for this,” Tariq growled, glaring at Nasir. Nasir, in turn, shot his master a look of betrayal.

  Clearing his throat, Dhi’b smoothly changed the subject. “Tariq, let’s heal you first before we leave.”

  Tariq reluctantly nodded, taking a seat beside his master. As Dhi’b’s hands glowed with healing energy, he asked, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, master,” Tariq began, his voice weary. “After I left the labyrinth, I was pursued. I managed to lose them and hide the artifact, then sent you a message. But I was captured before I could retrieve it. They tortured me, but I told them nothing. I don’t know how long I was held before waking up here.”

  Dhi’b’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’d best leave quickly.” Rising, he cast a final glance around the carnage-strewn hall. A smile tugged at his lips. “Lead us to the artifact. Better to recover it quickly so I can pass this problem on to someone else.”

  The trio embarked on a relentless journey, enduring three whole days without rest to reach the hidden location where Tariq had concealed the Eye of Sacraeon. Their path took them through the vast expanse of the Great Desert, a punishing trial of scorching heat and shifting sands. By the third day, their endurance paid off as they arrived at a small oasis, a secluded sanctuary nestled amidst the dunes of the eastern desert. Shielded from prying eyes and distant from the bustling merchant roads, it was an ideal hiding spot.

  “Master, I’ve hidden the artifact under that palm tree,” Tariq said, pointing toward the lone, swaying sentinel of green.

  ‘Finally. We’re here.’

  Dhi’b nodded, brushing the dust from his robes. “Good. Now, go fetch it. Nasir, start the fire and prepare the food. We’ll rest here tonight.”

  “Yes, master,” the two responded in unison, bowing before setting about their tasks.

  ‘At last, some rest.’

  Dhi’b sank down beside the well, savoring the cool water that soothed his parched throat. The liquid was a balm against the relentless desert heat, and as he drank, his gaze wandered to the setting sun. Its warm hues painted the horizon in breathtaking tones, a fleeting beauty that drew him into quiet contemplation.

  The sun had dipped below the dunes, replaced by a pale moon, when Tariq returned with a black box. Strange red symbols etched into its surface glowed faintly in the moonlight. “Master, here’s the Eye of Sacraeon,” Tariq announced, his voice tinged with relief and pride.

  ‘After all these years of searching, it’s finally in my hands.’

  Dhi’b took the box, his fingers brushing against the intricate carvings. “These hieroglyphs… I’ve never encountered symbols like these. They might predate the Great Calamity.”

  Nasir approached, holding out a plate of food. “Master, here’s your meal.”

  “Where’s mine?” Tariq growled, eyeing the attendant with suspicion.

  “Am I your servant?” Nasir shot back, snorting. “Get your own food, idiot.”

  “I retrieved the artifact while you lazed around making camp,” Tariq retorted, his voice rising with indignation.

  “My job is to serve the master, not…”

  “Enough,” Dhi’b interrupted, ignoring their squabble. He gestured toward the artifact. “Nasir, take a look. Can you decipher these symbols?”

  Nasir’s frustration faded as curiosity took over. He leaned in, his eyes lighting up as he examined the box. “Hmm… fascinating. This is no ordinary artifact, master.”

  “Can you read it?”

  “No, but I recognize the material. This is agarwood—an extinct species since before the Great Calamity. I saw a trinket made of it once in the Great Library. The scholar there claimed it was ancient even before the Calamity. This wood alone is a great find, master. This is priceless.”

  ‘Priceless? An artifact encased in something so rare? This box alone is worth a fortune.’

  A sly grin spread across Dhi’b’s face. “The deal is to hand over the artifact, not the box. Correct?”

  Nasir’s grin mirrored his master’s. “Exactly. Perhaps we’ll tell them it was sitting atop a stone pedestal.”

  “Ah, the master and his servant, scheming as always,” Tariq muttered, rolling his eyes.

  Dhi’b waved off the comment, his focus unwavering. “Tariq, have you opened it?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I was wary of traps.”

  “A wise precaution,” Dhi’b agreed. His fingers traced the red glyphs until they paused over a small circle near the lid. He pressed it lightly. “Damn!” he yelped, pulling back his hand. The box slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground. As it landed, the red glyphs flared briefly before vanishing. When Dhi’b picked it up again, the once-ornate box was now plain and black.

  ‘What in the hell just happened?’

  “Master, are you alright?” Nasir quickly asked.

  “A needle,” Dhi’b muttered, examining the blood dotting his finger. “It pricked me when I touched the circle.”

  The air around them felt heavier. Even Tariq, who had been skeptical moments ago, took a step back. “That… feels ominous.”

  “Don’t scare me,” Dhi’b snapped, irritation masking his unease. “Nasir, thoughts?”

  Nasir frowned. “Two possibilities. First, the blood is simply a key to open the box. Second…” He hesitated.

  “Speak.”

  “The box might bind the artifact to the one whose blood it takes,” the attendant responded. “Its ownership could be transferred.”

  Dhi’b’s heart sank. “If that’s true… the debt I owe…”

  “It would remain unpaid,” Tariq finished grimly. “And worse, it might be seen as betrayal.”

  ‘This could bring disaster—to me and my people.’

  “Do you feel any changes, master?” Nasir asked, his eyes the merchant.

  Dhi’b shook his head, though unease coiled in his gut. “No, nothing yet. Why?”

  The attendant's gaze focused intently on his master. “I’m not sure, but I heard somewhere that powerful artifacts like this have a will of their own. If they do, you should feel some type of connection to it.”

  ‘Isn’t that just the stuff of legends, though?’

  The merchant’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Living weapons?” he asked, his tone tinged with skepticism. “Are they even real? I’ve only heard rumors but never seen one.”

  “They’re real. I’m sure of it,” Nasir said confidently, his certainty cutting through the desert air. “But like you, master, I haven’t seen one either—only heard from trusted sources.”

  ‘If he’s that sure, then maybe the rumors are true…’

  Tariq’s sudden movement broke the tension. He rose swiftly, urgency in his posture. His sharp gaze swept over the merchant with such intensity that even Nasir shifted uncomfortably. Tariq, however, remained unperturbed, his focus unyielding as if searching for a hidden truth.

  “What are you doing?” Dhi’b asked, his brow arching in exasperation.

  Tariq didn’t look away. “Isn’t this artifact called the Eye of Sacraeon? I’m searching for a third eye to appear somewhere.”

  ‘I knew it. This bastard…’

  “Stop joking!” Dhi’b snapped, his irritation sharp enough to cut. When Tariq merely blinked in confusion, the merchant’s irritation deepened. But then his eyes widened in sudden realization. He hastily lifted his robe, patting his skin with urgency, searching for any grotesque new features. Finding nothing, he let out a shaky sigh. “Hey, cut it out. You’ll give me nightmares pulling stunts like that.”

  ‘This rascal might be the death of me.’

  “Sorry, master,” Tariq said, bowing deeply, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “I just thought it might be a possibility.”

  Dhi’b sighed heavily, dismissing Tariq’s apology with a wave.

  “Will you open it?” Nasir asked, handing the small, ornate box to his master.

  “I don’t have much of a choice,” Dhi’b admitted reluctantly, inspecting the intricate carvings once more. “I need to know if I’m really its owner.”

  “Do you think it’s an actual eye?” Tariq inquired, his curiosity relentless.

  ‘Not again. Sigh…’

  Nasir scoffed, shaking his head. “Idiot, do you seriously think there’s an actual eye in there? It’s probably a ring or necklace with some big gem inscribed with hieroglyphs.”

  “You’re probably right,” Dhi’b muttered, though unease mixed with his voice. His hands trembled slightly as he began lifting the lid. His heart raced with mounting dread as he braced for the unknown.

  ‘Please don’t unleash some ancient horror…’

  The lid clicked open. Time seemed to freeze. The trio’s breaths stopped as they stared into the box. There it was—an eye. Alive. Pulsating with an unearthly energy, its gaze bore into their souls, exuding an eerie sentience that sent shivers coursing down their spines.

  “F*ck!” All three cursed in unison, recoiling from the object.

  ‘This can’t be real…’

  The master and servant exchanged a horrified glance, then both turned to Tariq, who merely shrugged.

  Dhi’b sighed heavily, breaking the silence. “We have company,” he said, his tone low and serious.

  The trio rose to their feet. Tension thickened the arid air as they scanned the horizon. Amid the heat, five figures emerged, their dark robes blending with the desert sands. The masks they wore only heightened the aura of menace.

  “Master, the villains have finally arrived,” Nasir remarked, idly juggling pebbles in his hand, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

  Dhi’b sighed, exhaustion evident. “It seems so.”

  ‘I couldn’t even get proper rest because of these bastards. Tsk.’

  “They’re part of the group that chased me,” Tariq said, his tone dark, fury simmering beneath his words. “Don’t underestimate them. They’re dangerous.”

  “Foreigners, no doubt,” Dhi’b observed, scrutinizing their adversaries. “They don’t belong to these sands.”

  ‘Let’s end this quickly. I need sleep.’

  The masked men stopped a few paces away. Dhi’b smirked, breaking the tense silence. “You’re finally here. I was starting to get bored.”

  One of the strangers stepped forward. “Hand over the artifact, and we’ll grant you a painless death.”

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  “Oh my god,” Dhi’b exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Did the Satrap teach you that line?”

  “Quiet!” the masked man barked, but before the insult fully escaped his lips, his severed head hit the ground. His lifeless eyes stared blankly, confusion frozen on his face.

  Dhi’b calmly sheathed his sword. “Show some respect,” he said, shaking his head. “Shouting at strangers? Rude. Lower your voice next time, will you? My ears are sensitive these days.”

  The remaining four froze, their confidence crumbling into fear. Then, desperation took over. “Attack!” one screamed.

  Portals shimmered into existence around the trio, spilling cloaked figures into the desert like shadows crawling from the abyss. Their numbers grew, transforming the barren sands into a chaotic battlefield.

  “F*ck! Master, that’s a lot,” Tariq muttered, stretching his arm.

  Dhi’b exhaled slowly. His aura ignited, and the glyphs of his domain flared to life, pulsing with ancient power. In an instant, the oppressive force vanished. He stood, deceptively ordinary, but those who looked closely might notice the faint, translucent serpent coiled protectively around him, its presence a silent, deadly warning.

  By contrast, Nasir and Tariq’s domains roared to life with ferocity. Nasir’s aura pierced the senses like a thousand needles, while Tariq’s exuded crushing pressure, daring any to approach.

  “This is going to be an exhausting night,” Dhi’b remarked, his tone resigned. “Good thing we ate.”

  “Master, I didn’t eat anything yet,” Nasir said dejectedly.

  The other two glanced at him, then quickly looked away.

  The enemy’s sneer broke through the chaos: “You may have won this fight, but in the end, our god—”

  ‘Why won’t they stop?!’

  Dhi’b cut the man’s throat before he could finish. His words choked off into gurgling gasps, and then silence. “Why do all of you keep yapping?” the merchant snapped, his blade dripping crimson. “God this, god that. Damn fanatics!” He collapsed onto the pile of corpses, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Around him, the battlefield stretched on, littered with the dead.

  Through heavy lids, he caught a glint of dawn piercing the eastern sky. The first rays crept over the carnage, turning blood-soaked sand to molten gold.

  ‘Damn it, I didn’t get my sleep.’

  “Master, are you alright?”

  Dhi’b turned to find Nasir staggering toward him. The man’s left arm was gone, his face pale but his eyes as sharp as ever. Every step seemed an act of will, yet he moved with stubborn grace. To Dhi’b’s left, Tariq approached, impaled with no fewer than three swords yet still upright, his gait unyielding.

  “It seems both of you are still alive,” Dhi’b said with a dry chuckle, relief ringing his voice.

  ‘Fate’s not done with us yet.’

  Tariq dropped down beside him with a groan. “Barely. Those b*stards don’t know when to die. Even in death, they fought.”

  Nasir settled on the opposite side. “You look terrible,” he teased, grinning despite the blood streaking his face. “Like a human porcupine.”

  Tariq snorted. “And you look better? One-armed servant.”

  ‘I thought I’d finally find peace.’

  “Can’t you both shut up?” Dhi’b snapped, his glare silencing them.

  They sighed in unison, their heads tilting back to watch the rising sun. Its light bathed the wasteland, painting hope where none belonged.

  ‘I usually hate sunrise. When did it become so beautiful?’

  “We should get moving, Master,” Nasir murmured after a long silence. “This much blood will attract…something.”

  Tariq barked a laugh. “What are you worried about? An abyssal worm popping out of the ground?”

  The earth suddenly trembled. Cracks snaked across the blood-soaked sand, and six colossal abyssal worms erupted from below. Each stretched over a hundred meters, their gaping maws lined with needle-like teeth. Their deafening, primal screams shattered the morning quiet, shaking the trio to their cores. Shadows of these monstrosities swallowed what little light remained.

  ‘Fate really wants us dead. Sigh.’

  Nasir’s face turned ashen. “You’ve cursed us, you fool!” he shouted, trembling.

  “F*ck, we’re doomed,” Tariq muttered, his voice barely audible.

  ‘We’re exhausted, out of aura. Run? We’d be devoured before taking three steps.’

  Dhi’b’s laugh broke through the dread. It started low but grew until it shook his entire body. His companions exchanged bewildered glances before joining in, realizing how hopeless their fate was. The absurdity of it—to die at the hands of abyssal worms after all they had survived—was just too much to bear.

  “Remember the tomb?” Nasir said between chuckles. “We were trapped without food or water. I thought that was the end.”

  “At least this will be quick,” Tariq replied, sighing.

  The laughter died, leaving an oppressive silence. Then, Dhi’b remembered—the Eye of Sacraeon. His hand darted to his pouch, retrieving the artifact. He opened the box, revealing the legendary relic. “What now?” he asked, holding it up.

  Tariq studied the artifact. “Use it. Maybe you’ll really grow a third eye.”

  ‘What a b*stard. Then again, I’m curious too. We’re dead anyway.’

  Dhi’b pressed his fingers to the Eye. It vanished, leaving a crawling sensation under his skin. Energy rippled through him briefly before fading. He waited. Nothing happened.

  ‘That’s it?’

  A strange glow caught his eye. Above one of the worm’s heads, glowing script appeared.

  * * * *

  Abyssal Worm

  Rating: S-

  Threat: A

  Description: Massive desert predators over 100 meters long, with armored,

  segmented bodies and maws lined with razor-sharp teeth.

  Abyssal Worms burrow swiftly, drawn to vibrations and the scent of blood,

  surfacing to consume all in their path.

  Remark: “You’re f*cked.”

  * * * *

  Dhi’b blinked, the insult landing like a slap. His jaw dropped as realization dawned.

  ‘F*ck you!’

  “Master?” Tariq’s voice pulled him back. “What do we do?”

  “Pray,” Dhi’b said through gritted teeth. “Pray that we go to paradise.”

  “But we don’t believe in gods,” Nasir and Tariq protested in unison.

  ‘So this is it.’

  The sky darkened as one of the worms loomed overhead, its gaping maw ready to consume them. Dhi’b’s mind flashed to the old woman’s words.

  ‘Stupid child, no one can go back in time in this life.’

  Darkness swallowed him.

  He died.

  In the void, he saw it. The necklace she had given him floated through the darkness, glowing brighter until it erupted into a blinding light.

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