NIGHTAL 22, THE YEAR OF DEEP WATER DRIFTING (1480 DR)
Jinn fell back, circling the rooftop as Sathariel whirled around him, a blur of black wings and flashing silver. Each strike of the angel's blade against his own resonated like a thunderclap, threatening to break his bones. Centuries of endless battle echoed through him, every identity he'd ever lived fought with him, making him quick and strong. Four thousand years of experience directed his blade, but it was not enough.
Pain shot through his right elbow as Sathariel pounded on his blade, steel grating loudly as their swords met, squealing as they parted. Jinn spun from the slash, whirling to deflect the next, searching for an opening, but the angel turned as well, thrusting from his side. Leaning back from the blow, Jinn caught the edge of the roof and glanced down upon the street below and the battle lines being drawn between the Watch and the ahimazzi. The iron railing stopped his fall but kept him still as the angel's blade cut a thin line across his chest. Blood blossomed on his tunic as he rolled away, his blade raised to meet Sathariel's charge, but the angel was gone.
He winced at the stinging pain in his chest, turning slowly and listening. The stolen sword writhed in his grip, turning with him as if it conducted its own hunt. Instinct told him to hurl the weapon away, somehow repulsed by its mysterious power, but he had no other options, preferring a potentially cursed blade to the suicidal prospect of fighting the angel barehanded.
The air thumped behind him, and he spun, immediately deflecting the long, silver blade aimed for his stomach but thrown off balance. Sathariel's fist crashed into his face, and stars exploded behind his eyes. His sword licked out, slashing at where the angel had been then reversing its course, chasing the feathery wisps of shadow in Sathariel's wake. Blood streaming from his nose, he turned, cutting at anything that moved, trying to focus his eyes as he regained his balance.
'You were tricked into coming here, deva,' Sathariel said, his voice thundering from all directions. 'Led here, step by step, as you fought through the ranks of the Vigilant Order, seeking vengeance even as you grew ever colder to the lost love that began this journey. I knew you would succeed where others had failed. I knew you would bring me the circle of skulls.'
'Never!' Jinn screamed, spitting blood. 'I will never give them to you! I baited you here with them! I used you!'
'A delusion, Jinnaoth,' the angel replied. 'Your single-minded pursuit blinded you, made you see what I wanted you to see. My trail of bread crumbs, as you called it. And here you are, bleeding, flailing about, and well out of your depth.'
'No,' Jinn muttered under his breath.
'My offer still stands. You may take Variel, perhaps even your elf, and leave this place, a fair exchange,' Sathariel said, the beating of his wings somewhere close by.
'And leave Waterdeep to you? To drag the Hells' influence into the streets?' Jinn asked. 'I think not.'
'Think at what you might gain, deva. One small sacrifice, one section of this city devoted to Asmodeus, could begin the war you've always wanted. Think of it! A final war. An end to thousands of years of searching, battle after battle without an end in sight,' the angel said, appearing at the northern end of the roof, wings outstretched between the spires, bright sword held low.
Nausea gripped Jinnaoth as he considered the idea, attracted to the thought of a last war, being a soldier, knowing that every kill and little victory would stand and last. Then shame flooded through him, and he banished the thought, his very soul shaken by the prospect of dealing with a minion of Asmodeus.
'This is the final war.'
'I assure you, it is not.' Sathariel chuckled. 'This is one man's pathetic last stand-'
'Every day!' Jinn shouted, raising his blade, his golden eyes blazing with fury. 'Every day for thousands of years, every fight, every stolen crust of bread, every murderer brought to justice, every innocent slain! This is the final war. It rages through time and needs no arrogant god or even his silver-tongued angel to set boundaries upon when it ends, least of all a simple soldier like myself!'
'You are beaten. I spoke true when I said I would rip the information from your mind!' The angel growled and charged, crossing the distance between them in a half a breath. Their blades clashed twice, then locked, steel grinding on steel, as Sathariel pressed his strength against Jinn's. The angel's wings beat furiously as he pushed Jinn's back to a crumbling spire. His free hand rose and clutched the deva's head.
Icy tendrils wormed across Jinn's scalp as he struggled to push the angel away, the stolen blade squirming in his hand, shaking like a caged beast begging to be set free. Power flowed from the weapon into his arm, and he felt some strength returning, but he could not contest the angel's power. With a gasp of horror, he felt a single cold tendril slip into his thoughts and drag the location of the skulls' souls from his mind.
The house shook as the tendril withdrew. Red light flared through the sky as the angel's icy eyes gleamed in victory-the last component of the terrible prophecy within his grasp.
'You played your part well, deva,' Sathariel whispered as he pulled his hand away from Jinnaoth's scalp. 'I will let you live, a reward for your fine service.'
Jinn pushed on the silver blade of the angel, breathless and enraged. A curious glow rose between them, and the angel's wings slowed their pressing beat. Tiny sigils flared on the edge of Jinn's stolen blade, throbbing as the angel prepared to leave, angling his body to take flight even as he held Jinn against the spire. As soon as the silver blade's pressure lessened, Jinn shoved, bursting with speed as the black wings turned and twisted.
The glowing sword became a blur as he chased the angel backward, sparks flying as they dueled, Sathariel just one misstep away from escaping. Jinn roared as he fought, heartbeats slipping by faster and faster, everything he'd ever battled for sliding away from him. Unnatural swiftness infected his blade and rushed down his arm. He didn't care where the sword had come from, why the Vigilant Order had guarded it, or even why he had chosen to steal it from them in the first place. It had shed the blood of the order well, and he was determined to sheath it in the heart of the angel.
With a deft twist of his body, Sathariel slid to the side, and Jinn stumbled forward, though he managed one last arcing slash, quick as a striking snake, before the angel could get away. Sathariel howled in pain as he ascended into the sky.
For half a breath, Jinn felt overwhelming despair crush him to his knees, defeated and used as the angel escaped. But before he could draw breath or curse all the gods he could name, a peculiar rush of alien power overcame him and left him gasping for air. Strange energy flowed through him, burning from the sword in his hand. Warm and quiet, it soothed his rage into a tranquil calm, the likes of which he had not experienced for many years.
He raised the sword, eyeing the smear of crimson on the steel as it dripped and fell, dissipating before it touched the rooftop-the ethereal flesh and blood of an angel.
He stood as the sword brightened, nearly invisible sigils along its length gleaming in the scarlet column of light. Blue spheres whispered around him as they rose from the house, reflected on the edge of the sword. As Sathariel's blood flowed down the edge, strange patterns were revealed, sigils that burned themselves into his mind. Somewhere, in the eldest of his forgotten memories, a fragment of his soul read the language on the blade and felt its ancient power.
Images of the Astral Sea flashed through his thoughts, and he recalled a time long before flesh and blood, when powerful laws were spoken to those angelic beings serving at the pleasure of the gods.
'Sathariel,' he shouted, his voice full of command. He raised the glowing blade, speaking the divine words written in flowing script on the guard as if he had spoken them a hundred times. 'By Zaphkiel the Watcher and Dumariel of the Eleventh Hour, and by all the lost gods of Mulhorand, I bind thee, dark spirit! And I command you… to stand!'
The angel, little more than a distant blot against the clouds, paused and turned.
'You do not want this, deva,' the angel replied, speaking as though next to Jinn, growling in his ear. 'You would be better served dying or running for your life, but this-'
'Silence!' Jinn roared and held the blade higher, its light shining on Sathariel's silvered armor and sword.
'You do not know what you do, nor do you have any idea what you wield. Drop that blade and leave this place, and I shall forgive this sickening offense. You cannot survive this,' the angel said, an edge of anger creeping into his thunderous words.
'I have outlived gods, Sathariel. I intend to outlive yours, and by all the souls in the Astral Sea, I shall outlive you!' Jinn cried. His sword blazed in his hand, and his golden eyes shone with the terrible brilliance of the angel he
