‘What have you done?’ Savitre Lios dropped beside Asha, cradling her corpse but doing naught to save Muchuk.

Muchuk’s free hand fished around for his dagger but someone caught his wrist and held it fast. Faraladar pressed up against him. ‘I must apologize,’ he whispered in his ear as he pulled the dagger from Muchuk Und’s sheath. Calmly, he pushed it once, twice, and then one more time, with soft precise movements, into Muchuk Und’s side. Blood shot out across the floor in long streaks.

‘Have a care, Raith. He cannot die or we will break our Vachan,’ Faraladar said.

Savitre Lios rose, open-mouthed, stupefied. ‘Yes! What of the Vachan? Why aren’t we dead?’

‘The Vachan was not to kill Muchuk,’ Thorin said. ‘These arrogant Mortals never look beyond themselves, do they? If you are done crying over your whore, Savitre, help Faraladar drag him into the ship. Put him on ice so he doesn’t die.’ Thorin turned to Raith, annoyed. ‘Will you take a century to knock him out, Raith? Faraladar stabbed him thrice for crying out loud!’

‘The damn wire is caught on his fucking thumb!’ Raith hissed.

‘Do I have to do everything myself?’ Thorin walked to Muchuk. ‘Give him to me! No wonder we were defeated by the Mortals.’

Raith’s grasp loosened for the briefest moment. Little though he knew it, Faraladar had done Muchuk a favour by stabbing him with his own dagger. The powder he had rubbed on his blade had now mixed with his blood. Muchuk Und grabbed Raith’s cloak with his free hand and focused his eyes. The purple bled from her cloak as he absorbed it. In the passing of a heartbeat, her cloak was bleached white.

‘Seven hells…’ Raith gasped.

Muchuk Und used the purple to ignite his crown chakra, the focal point of energy located between his eyes, giving him a fleeting moment of genius clarity. ‘You ugly bitch!’ He stomped down on Raith’s foot with all his strength. Her grip slipped from the wire as she staggered back. Growling, Muchuk pushed Faraladar away, deftly snatching back his dagger and rolling away to a safe distance from them.

Raith and Faraladar prowled towards him. Muchuk began scraping the surface of his dagger vigorously with his nails. It made an ear-numbing sound. His nails tore. His fingers bled. But he did not stop. ‘C’mon, goddammit!’ he cried.

The zinth finally rose. And he turned to his last ally in this world, the Elemental he had barely learned to channel – Darkness. Muchuk Und raised his hand, sketching the mandala, his finger weaving white-rimmed dark trails in the air, as if on an invisible canvas. He etched the fastest mandala he knew how to draw.

Thorin took a step back. ‘How is he channelling?’ he demanded. ‘I thought we had swabbed the place clean of zinth!’

‘His dagger, Your Worship,’ Faraladar replied in alarm. ‘Get back, Sire!’

Muchuk’s cloak fluttered in the power of the mandalas as he felt some of his strength return. There wasn’t enough zinth, the dagger had been too small, but maybe just enough for him to escape alive. ‘Die, motherfucker!’ he screamed.