“How lazy…” Al-Qaum muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.

  The Nabataean god reached beneath the robes over his chest and pulled out a totema: an eight-pointed star.

  He raised it toward the sky and chanted:

  “Ana layl w shalt (—I am the night and the darkness— in Nabataean).”

  Darkness poured over Al-Qaum’s body like a billowing black cloud.

  Epona held her stance, waiting for the dark god to finish his transformation.

  The darkness finally peeled away.

  Al-Qaum still wore his black cloak and turban, which covered his entire face except for his eyes. His body was now clad in padded armor that ended in a long skirt covering his legs. Steel boots anchored his stance, and his arms were hidden beneath long red sleeves. He wielded a heavy scepter and a shield covered with camel hide and feathers.

  “You could’ve had a quieter end—dying as a statue of salt,” the god said.

  “Probably. But that wouldn’t have been a fair fight, not unless we’re on equal footing,” Epona replied.

  Dark clouds began gathering overhead, blotting out the faint sunlight.

  Darker than volcanic smoke, the clouds spiraled slowly until, at the very center, they opened—

  revealing a gigantic eye with a crimson pupil.

  “I once guarded caravans through the night. My duty was to protect them from thieves and beasts.

  That’s why I can see everything for kilometers around,” Al-Qaum explained, taking his combat stance.

  “So you can see all my movements?” Epona asked.

  “Basically, yes. Now hurry up and die—I want to sleep again,” the god said.

  Epona fired a blast of energy at the massive eye, but it deflected the attack with a blink.

  “Worth a try,” she thought.

  “Unfortunately for you, that giant eye isn’t my weak point,” Al-Qaum said.

  Epona lowered herself into a sprinter’s stance and launched forward with a flying kick, shouting:

  “ép ádhvóithl (—Horse kick— in Gaelic)!”

  But Al-Qaum dodged with elegant precision.

  As he slipped past her, he struck her ribs with his scepter, sending her crashing onto the massive red dunes.

  “I told you—your attacks can’t harm me,” he said as he raised his heavy mace to strike again.

  Epona rolled, trying to evade, but Al-Qaum followed her movement instantly and slammed the weapon down.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  The impact carved a huge crater in the desert, which immediately began filling with sand.

  “Rest forever beneath this desert, little Epona,” he said as he began to walk away.

  “He broke… four ribs, maybe. At least I still have enough ichor to stand.

  But both hits cost me a lot…” Epona thought, clutching her abdomen.

  The goddess slowly ascended from the crater, hovering weakly.

  Al-Qaum stopped and turned, visibly annoyed.

  “Why didn’t you stay down there, girl? Why insist on fighting a battle where you’ll only suffer and die before a superior power?” he asked.

  “For a friend,” Epona answered.

  “The malak? Is a mere malak really worth this much pain?” he asked, frustrated.

  “Friends don’t have ranks, Al-Qaum,” she said.

  Epona grabbed her equine wings of energy, compressed them into two glowing orbs, and hurled them at the god, shouting:

  “ép sunarth (—Horse energy— in Gaelic)!”

  Al-Qaum watched the orbs approach—only for both to suddenly veer off, splitting to either side of him before exploding.

  A massive cloud of sand erupted around him.

  Epona dove into the dust storm, and while the god coughed and shielded his face, she struck him with a brutal kick that folded his body in half.

  The giant eye in the sky could not see through the dense sand.

  Landing, Epona fired another pair of energy spheres straight upward—

  They struck the eye’s iris dead-on, shattering the monstrous organ into thousands of pieces.

  The sky returned to normal.

  “Did you really think you could beat me with such a childish trick?” Epona said as Al-Qaum staggered upright.

  “…Fine. I admit it. I hate fighting—that’s why I use that technique.

  I hate having to fight seriously,” the Nabataean grumbled.

  He looked at Epona, extended his palms, and chanted:

  “Easifat ramlia (—Sandstorm— in Nabataean).”

  The air instantly grew dense and heavy.

  “Listen, girl,” the god said calmly.

  “You will soon become a statue of salt. Without my totema I might not have been able to do this—but right now, our difference in power is enormous.

  You will die petrified.”

  Epona felt her fingers numbing, her face stiffening, her expressions fading.

  “So I just need to defeat you before that happens, right?” she asked.

  “What turns to salt cannot be restored. Not even with ambrosia,” the god replied.

  “And you think I’ll believe that lie?” Epona asked.

  “You saw it yourself,” he said.

  “Remember your companions turned to stone by the basilisks?

  Once the molecular structure changes—it is irreversible.”

  Epona’s expression hardened.

  She tore off the numbed fingers from her hand and crushed them so they wouldn’t reattach.

  Blood poured from her wounds.

  Then she blasted her own face with a burst of energy—

  Her skin tore open, bleeding heavily.

  “Rodrigo is going to hate this…

  My face is going to look even worse than before…

  But I have no choice,” she said.

  “Idiot!” Al-Qaum laughed. “As long as you’re inside my gas cloud, you’ll petrify anyway!”

  “But now I can start from zero!” Epona shouted as she leapt forward and kicked him in the face.

  He didn’t fall—he held his ground.

  “I’ve had ENOUGH of your kicks!” Al-Qaum snarled.

  He moved his hands in a hypnotic pattern, commanding the very desert.

  Then he roared:

  “Janu as-sahra’ (—Djinn of the desert— in Nabataean)!”

  From the sand surged a colossal, grotesque creature—

  Two massive hands, a warped face, and a torso made entirely of hardened red sand.

  The monster grabbed Al-Qaum and pulled him inside its body.

  “There is no way for you to destroy this creature—not at your level!” Al-Qaum shouted from within.

  The monster threw a massive punch at Epona, who dodged with ease.

  “You’re kidding, right? You’re way too slow like that,” Epona said.

  “It doesn’t matter if you dodge forever—soon you’ll be nothing but salt,” Al-Qaum replied.

  Epona felt her legs and arms beginning to stiffen—

  Her lungs tightening from inhaling the gas.

  “Damn it… he’s right.

  He’s doing this just to kill me slowly…” she thought, desperation growing.

  If you’d like to support the story, a follow or rating helps a lot.

  The next part will be released at 8 PM (GMT 6).