Hanging tower garden of Lak Ahm part 5

The flames had begun to die down, but now the group faced the relentless Ursangs.

Gadaric summoned his powers, weaving illusions by snapping his fingers, to disorient the saints. Shadows flickered and shifted, making it difficult for the Ursangs to see clearly. This gave Satifa an opening to unleash a fresh wave of locusts. The insects swarmed over the Ursangs, slipping into the crevices of their armor, biting and stinging wherever they could.

But the Ursangs were undeterred. Locusts ripping on their flesh was nothing as a single Ursang was a veteran of over a hundred battles and blessed by Xerxes himself. They moved with otherworldly precision, their hulking forms pushing forward through the cloud of locusts. One swung its massive arm, throwing one of Yosef's puppets straight at him dropping Yosef to the ground. Joan rushed to help him, but another Ursang intercepted her, its clawed hand reaching for her throat.

In that critical moment, Halfral—who had been rummaging through his belongings, seemingly oblivious—hurled a small, spherical device toward the Ursang attacking Joan. The device exploded on impact, emitting a blinding flash and a deafening bang. The Ursang staggered back, momentarily stunned, and Joan rolled away, narrowly escaping its grasp.

~~

Lak Ahm sat on her throne, her gaze fixed on the entrance, awaiting the arrival of her enemies. Her face was calm, but her eyes held a fierce determination. She sensed a presence and called into the empty room, "I know you're there. Show yourselves and face me."

Moments later, Tara and the remaining assassins emerged from the shadows.

Tara stepped forward, posture wary but resolute, the other assassins close behind her. They were battered and exhausted from the earlier battle, but their eyes held a steely resolve. They had come too far to back down now.

"Lak Ahm, goddess of the Lakhmid," Tara began, her voice steady. "Would you kindly hand over the pendant?"

Lak Ahm's gaze flicked to the pendant hanging beside her throne. Her expression darkened. "The first Old Man of the Mountain sealed the Tower of Cyrus for a reason. Do you even know why?" She looked Tara in the eyes, her voice filled with disdain. "The Rot Eye. I had the displeasure of meeting him—a foul creature, like all humans, but worse. He was not a god, but he wielded a power so vile that, when word of Iskander's death reached him, he chose to see his world burn rather than live and see us take it back."

She paused, her voice tinged with bitterness. "The rot he emitted was so potent, it spread like a sickness. Without the seal, his corruption would have engulfed everything. He may be dead now, that wretched human, but the risk remains."

Tara's expression was unmoved. She was done with words. With a swift motion, she lunged at the goddess, her assassins following in a coordinated strike. They knew the danger of attacking a deity head-on, but their determination to seize the pendant outweighed their fear.

Lak Ahm, despite her weakened state, was far from defenseless. She rose from her throne with fluid grace, her movements swift and practiced. Her sword, crafted from the very roots of the tower, moved as an extension of her will, slicing through the air with lethal precision. Each strike was backed by centuries of experience, her form a blend of elegance and deadly power.

The assassins were skilled, and trained to face the worst of foes, but against Lak Ahm, they struggled. Her root-forged blade danced around them, blocking and parrying their attacks with ease. Even in her weakened state, the goddess moved with an agility that defied her weariness, countering every lunge and strike that Tara and her assassins threw at her.

Tara gritted her teeth, dodging a blow that would have sliced her in half. She'd underestimated Lak Ahm's strength—even now, bound to her throne and drained by the roots that sapped her power, the goddess fought like a cornered lioness.

But the assassins pressed on, circling her, looking for an opening. For Tara, there was no turning back. They had come to take the pendant—and they would do so, even if it meant facing the wrath of a goddess.

~~

Meanwhile, outside the throne room, Joan, Yosef, Gadaric, and Satifa were still locked in fierce combat with the Ursang saints. The towering warriors pressed them relentlessly, their strength and precision pushing the group to their absolute limits. Satifa, powerful as she was on her homeworld of Aesis and the green solo moon world, found herself struggling against beings forged in a realm dominated by gods.

"How about we run for now, okay?" Yosef shouted, dodging a massive swipe from one of the Ursangs.

"Yeah, I'm down for that!" Joan replied, breathing hard.

The four of them turned and bolted, dashing up the twisting staircase with the Ursangs in hot pursuit. Behind them, flames licked up the walls, filling the air with smoke and heat as the inferno continued to consume the tower. They climbed desperately, driven by survival instincts until they finally burst into the throne room.

Inside, they were met with a grim sight. Lak Ahm stood amidst the wreckage, blood staining her robes, her once-regal form battered but unbowed. Around her lay the bodies of assassins, their broken forms sprawled across the stone floor, with only Tara and two others still clinging to life.

Lak Ahm breathed heavily and almost looked uncaring when she spotted the newcomers in the room. But then, she spotted something that burst out her anger. 

Halfral, who had fled with them, now stood apart, his movements suddenly stiff and unnatural. The group watched in shock as cracks spread across his skin, pieces of his face flaking away to reveal something grotesque beneath—a lifeless, pale clay shell with hollow eyes. The familiar features of Halfral crumbled, revealing a face that was empty, eerie, and unsettling. The revelation hit them like a hammer blow.

Halfral was not who they thought he was. He was a puppet—a vessel of Erlik, the goddess of death.

The shock rippled through the group as they instinctively took a step back, horrified. This wasn't the odd, cheerful companion they had known. This was something else entirely, something cold and soulless, brought to life by a lunatic goddess.

Lak Ahm's gaze darkened with fury, her eyes blazing as they fixed on the puppet. "You dare to bring a puppet of Erlik into my domain?" Her voice rose, echoing through the chamber, laced with centuries of anger and grief. "After what this wretched creature and its kind did to my people—MY PEOPLE!"