Koshkar’s roar was no longer human, but a monstrous echo that tore through the very stone of the chamber. The mist of scarlet resin, meant to consume him, instead ignited a core of primal rage. He lunged, not with strategy, but with the raw, untamed force of a desert predator. The warding perimeter, meant to contain the madness, became a cage for the zealot. The officiant’s gloating grin vanished, replaced by stark panic. He shrieked, a reedy sound that was swallowed by Koshkar’s guttural snarl as the Emperor’s claws, now elongated and tipped with obsidian-like talons, drove through the man's chest.
There was no graceful combat, no struggle of wills. Just a brutal, sickening tearing sound. The zealot's cultist robes ripped open, and he was flung against the altar with bone-splintering force. Koshkar, a whirlwind of muscle and blood, followed, indifferent to the sting of the collapsing warding field. He slammed the officiant again and again, each impact shaking the entire ziggurat. A spray of black, corrupted blood splattered across the sun-stone, a stark contrast to the pure light filtering through the shattered skylight.
When Koshkar finally stopped, the officiant was a mangled ruin, barely recognizable, a broken heap at the foot of the altar. The boundary, weakened by the internal chaos, fractured, spiderweb cracks spreading across its invisible surface. But Koshkar’s rampage wasn't over. His entire body was now a canvas of pulsating veins, his skin stretched taut over rigid muscles. The scarlet resin had fully saturated him, turning his eyes into twin pools of liquid fire, devoid of any recognition.
He slowly turned, his head cocked at an unnatural angle, surveying the desecrated altar, then the terrified Zeki, still bound. A low growl rumbled deep in his chest, a sound of hunger, of absolute, unbridled blood-madness. His gaze locked onto Zeki, a child-sized meal in his deranged eyes. He took a predatory step toward his son.
“No!” Tasmira screamed, a sound ripped from her depths. The partition gave way under Koshkar’s frenzied assault, shards of crystalline force detonating outward. She didn’t hesitate. She launched herself through the dissipating magical dust, scraping her knees near the altar. Her gaze swept the floor. There. A ritual urn, forgotten in the chaos, filled with shimmering, viscous sun-stone resin meant for dark rites. Pure, uncorrupted.
*Outsider blood. Sun-stone resin. An alchemical vessel.* It was all here. With a desperate sob, Tasmira fumbled for the small, decorative dagger she’d kept hidden in her boot since her servant days. Its blade, normally used for trimming incense sticks, glinted under the moon-scarred skylight.
Koshkar took another step, his claws clicking on the stone, his eyes never leaving Zeki. Zeki whimpered, a tiny sound of terror. He didn't understand the monster his 'Big Me' had become.
Tasmira ignored the pain as she pressed the cool steel against her left palm. She dragged the blade across, a sharp sting blooming into a searing pain. A thick line of her blood welled up, then beaded, rich and dark against her pale skin. She squeezed her hand, letting the fluid drop directly into the vessel. The pure sun-stone resin hissed, a soft, ethereal sizzle, as her blood mixed with it, swirling into a blinding, golden-white luminescence.
The broken fanatic stirred. A rasping gurgle escaped his torn lips. His remaining eye, clouded with malice, fixed on Tasmira’s back. A hand, grotesquely twisted, twitched. From the folds of his ruined robe, he pulled a final, poisoned throwing dagger, its hilt slick with his own black blood. He lifted it with immense effort, his arm shaking, a final act of spite.
Before the dagger could leave his grip, a crossbow bolt thunked wetly into his throat. The man's torso seized, a final, choked gasp escaping him, and he slumped, lifeless this time. Yashar stood in the shattered entryway, leaning heavily on a bent pilaster. His face was pale, streaked with drying blood from the wound in his gut, but his grip on the crossbow was steady. His stare locked onto Tasmira’s over the dying cultist’s corpse. He gave a single, curt nod, fulfilling his oath to the true bloodline.
“Mama!” Zeki cried, his voice breaking through Koshkar’s mindless stupor. The Emperor paused, his head tilting, the sound momentarily registering in the depths of his madness.
“Hold him, Yashar!” Tasmira yelled, her voice hoarse, as she seized the bowl. The sun-stone resin pulsed with blinding, purified light, scalding hot against her palm. Its power thrummed, singing in her veins. This was it. The cure. The blood of the outsider, forged in the heart of the sacred stone.
Koshkar, drawn by Zeki’s cry, lunged. Not towards Tasmira, but past her, for his son. His speed was terrifying, a blur of raw power. Tasmira threw herself in his path, her arm outstretched, the glowing vessel aimed at his chest. She slammed it into him with all her remaining strength, the burning resin splattering across his dark, corrupted skin.
A searing pain erupted in her side. Koshkar’s frenzied claws, still seeking Zeki, had punched through her, tearing flesh and muscle. The impact of the cure and the agony of her wound hit her simultaneously. The bowl splintered against Koshkar’s chest, its radiant brilliance flaring out and engulfing him in a wash of restorative energy. The scarlet fire in his eyes flickered, then receded, like a tide pulling back from a shore.
The crimson drained away, leaving behind the pure, unblemished amber. Koshkar’s body convulsed, his monstrous form shrinking, returning to human proportions. He blinked, his gaze clearing, staring down with dawning horror at his blood-soaked claws, then at Tasmira, impaled by his own hand.
Her legs gave out. The pain was too much. The world tilted, her vision blurring at the edges, a creeping darkness encroaching. She felt herself fall, but not to the cold stone. Strong arms, now familiar, caught her. Koshkar’s face, a mask of pure, agonizing regret, swam into view. His lips moved, but the sound was distant, muffled. Then, a single, guttural sound, ripped from his soul, pierced the fading darkness.
“Tasmira!”