Nissilât had lied when she'd told the others that she'd accepted Bēlet-Imtu's offer because she didn't already have a secondary class.

The truth was that she'd had one since she was a child; she'd been just six when her father had taken her down to the dungeons and brought her before a bound man. It pained her that after all those years, his face was nothing but a blur. His death should have meant more to her, should have permanently seared his features into her memory, but the only thing she could recall about her victim had been the terror in his eyes when her father pressed a dagger into her hand and, jerking the man's head back by his ponytail, had commanded her to cut his throat.

He'd been a criminal. At least, that's what she told herself over the years. Sure, he had been in the king's dungeons, after all, but as she grew older Nissilât had realized that her uncle's dungeons housed righteous as well as evil men. But a six-year-old didn't understand such things. She'd taken the knife offered to her and done as her father bade. The blood that spewed from the man's severed jugular had been gathered in a bowl and the ritual performed. To this day, she couldn't recall what had happened when she'd met Dikîl, but her actions must have pleased him as the dark god had bestowed a second class on her.

The class had been a blessing. Nissilât knew that the only reason she'd survived the perils of her uncle's court had been by the grace of that dark gift. While at first it had done little but protect her from the many subtle attempts against her life, the power it had granted her as she had grown had allowed her to forge her own path in the army, despite her uncle's disapproval. Yet, for all it had given her, she had grown to loathe it. Nissilât had no objection to killing when necessary; kruvas̆, she had no objection to killing when convenient but she did not desire death. Not like Dikîl. But once you were bound to a dark god, no one else wanted you.

Thus she'd been shocked when she received the goddess' offer. She was under no illusions about the game the 'mistress of poison' was playing. After being locked away for so long, Bēlet-Imtu was scrambling to regain power and influence and mages, even if they were lackluster mages like herself, were in short supply.

In other circumstances, Nissilât would never have been considered but for once, things had worked in her favor. She'd known immediately that she would accept the offer and had shrewdly guessed that she had the goddess on the hook. She'd feigned reluctance, wheedling out the details of what the class could do, and had even negotiated for an immediate quest to be granted, before she finally accepted it.

No, Nissilât hadn't lied when she'd told Jasper that the skills meshed well with her own, but that didn't mean she wasn't regretting accepting the class right now. Well…almost.

There was a reason aside from mere loyalty that champions rarely switched patrons. She'd received a new secondary class, and in the process, lost every single level she'd had in Dikîl's class: seventy-four levels gone in the blink of an eye and all its spells with it. Fortunately, her primary class hadn't been affected, so she wasn't exactly crippled. And while she'd lost all of Dikîl's spells, she had gotten to keep half of the stats she'd earned through her class, so in the long run, the switch would make her stronger.

But all of that was based on the assumption she survived the next few minutes, and when Bēlet-Imtu had given her the quest to kill Qas̆pûl, she'd failed to mention Fey's bloody golems. I didn't ask enough questions.

"Duck!"

Nissilât was already shifting into the shadows as the durgu's warning reached her ear. She felt a chill as the golem's glaive sliced through her mist, but it did no real damage. The world twisted around her as she leaped from one shadow to the next and manifested behind Lord Qas̆pûl.

Somehow, he had sensed her coming. Her body was half mist, half flesh, as she struck for his heart, but the man shifted to the side in a blur of motion, and her dagger cut nothing but air. She lunged backward as he twisted around, but not fast enough; his golden claws raked across her chest, and though he barely touched her, the force of his blow was enough to send her flying off her feet.

The breath was knocked out of her as she hit the ground, but Nissilât didn't have the chance to recover. She flung herself to the side as a golden glaive hammered into the ground and blurred into the shadows again as a second golem joined it, cursing as she felt her essence hit the halfway point.

The fight was not going well. While Qas̆pûl had undergone a dramatic transformation when he'd opened the unseen door, his mind was not fully gone and the ancient commander had proven decidedly effective at dictating the terms of the battlefield.

Taking advantage of their shock when the golems joined the battle, he'd split the party in half, using his rapidly dwindling army to pin Tsia, Erin and S̆ams̆ādur against the wall, while he pursued the 'false spirits' who had damned him. Of course, he'd been unable to account for her ability to slip between the shadows, but the commander had quickly adapted when she'd broken free of the army. The golems dogged her every step, impossibly fast despite their size, and they were a terrible match-up for her. What good were daggers and poisons against beings of living metal?

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She danced through the shadows cast by the hall's pillars, barely keeping ahead of the pursuing golems as she headed back toward the Fey lord. Somehow Jasper and Ihra were holding out against Qas̆pûl's furious onslaught - thanks only to the speed of the mage's spectral wings - but it was clear the Fey had the upper hand. They needed help; they needed-

Nissilât was already half out of the shadows when she saw the golem blur in front of her. There was nothing she could do but watch in horror as her own momentum carried her forward, impaling her on its lowered spear. Her already damaged armor collapsed beneath the blow, and the spearhead continued upward, punching through her torso and out the other side.

The pain was crippling, so overwhelming she could barely form a thought, but she reached for her essence again. If she could only slip into the shadows-

BOOM

Her grip on the essence vanished as the golem, wielding the spear she was impaled on like a club, beat her against the ground. She felt herself slipping further down the spear as it lifted her again. It moved slowly, taunting her, as she tried once again to grasp hold of her essence and flee. She almost had it-

BOOM

Her shoulder snapped as she was driven into the ground, her lungs screaming as the shaft slid higher into her ruptured chest and rubbed against them. She couldn't think, she couldn't move, she couldn't-

Nissilât blinked as something appeared behind the golem. A floating eye detached from a body built for war. The spear shaft snapped as the creature rammed into the golem full force, tackling it to the ground with an impact that sent shards of the marble floor flying in all directions.

What…is… Given a moment of respite, she finally summoned the essence to shift herself off the spear. The ability didn't heal her wounds, though, and she collapsed a few feet away. She tried to rise, but her limbs refused to support her and her strength waned as, with every passing second, more of her precious blood stained the green marble floor. Healing…potion. Her hands shook treacherously as she tried to open her bag, but her fingers just wouldn't work.

The ground shuddered as the golem landed only a few feet away from her, utterly helpless as the odd creature shredded its metal armor with gleaming black claws. She tried to call out a warning as a second loomed behind it, but her throat failed her too. Horror filled her as the second golem hammered its glaive into her savior's back, sinking in so deep that it got stuck. But the odd creature didn't seem to care. In a flash, it had grabbed hold of the glaive's shaft and twisted around it so suddenly that it pulled the golem's arm right out of its socket. Its hand surged forward, burying its claws into the golem's torso, and gutting it in a second.

At least the others won't die. She struggled to keep her eyes open as she vainly strove once again to open the latch on her bag, but her fingers had lost all feeling.

"Dkwn at nyswlat fer op!" Her oxygen-deprived brain struggled to make sense of the words screamed at her as a winged man hovered above her, but he sounded like he was speaking underwater. "Corkel af fyrgevnect."

The pain consuming her ebbed away as a flood of essence washed over her, and her mind snapped back in place. "Jasper?"

His head snapped back as someone hit from behind, driving him to the ground a few feet away. Bright, golden claws gleamed at the edge of Qas̆pûl's fingertips as he mauled Jasper in the face, but the Fey froze temporarily as Jasper fired off a spell. Breath of Basmu. Jasper wrapped his legs tight around the Fey as a dark mist cut them off from view. Nissilât hadn't seen him use the spell before, so she wasn't sure what it did, but one look at the dark, roiling mass told her she didn't want to be caught in it.

As the fog expanded, she drug herself forward, only stopping when she was clearly out of the mist's range. Jasper's spell had brought her back from the brink and staunched the flow of blood, but she was far from healed. Her fingers worked well enough to work the clasp on her bag, and she downed a potion, scanning the battlefield as she summoned the strength to dive back in.

They were…winning? While Erin and S̆ams̆ādur were pinned against the wall, the pile of corpses that surrounded them outnumbered those who remained alive, while Tsia had broken free of the melee, tag-teeming with the elfling and the odd, fiery-eyed creature to destroy the last of the golems. Victory was in grasp, as long as they could beat Lord Qas̆pûl.

Her attention was diverted back to the dark mist that had consumed Jasper and the Fey as a feral howl echoed above the fray, and she saw the cloud had dissipated. The pair rolled across the ground, locked in a desperate struggle, but Nissilat knew it was one Jasper would lose. The Fey might have magic, but like herself, he was as much a fighter as he was a mage.

With a triumphant growl, Qas̆pûl rolled on top and his glowing claws bit dip into the marble floor as he pinned Jasper down. "For two…hundred years," he panted, "I have waited for this. Did you really think you stood a chance?"

This time Qas̆pûl was too caught up in his 'victory' to notice her approach. She bled into the shadows, dancing across the dark shafts cast by the hall's massive pillars, and pounced upon him. Her ribs cracked as the Fey's jammed his elbow into her side but Nissilât clung on as she cast the spell Bēlet-Imtu had just given her.

Sharp pain ripped through her head as her jaws widened and her canines grew, but she ignored it as she latched onto the Fey's neck. The man froze as her venom flooded his veins and, releasing her grip on him, she pushed him off Jasper with a kick. "Guess we're even now," she said calmly, struggling to keep the jubilation off her face. One day and she'd already finished a quest for the goddess; she'd get her levels back in no time.

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