As evening approached, she gathered her friends together and told them of her decision to travel to the Land of the Black Sands. Genie vehemently argued against it. That was no place to travel alone, no place at all for a princess, he contended. But she wouldn't budge; no, she was going, and she was going alone.

"Jas, you might not come back alive. Think of your father, think of your people," he said finally, "Think of what Aladdin would want you to do."

She looked at him steadily, her eyes unwavering. Her determination was one of her best qualities, even though one could argue that it was merely mislabeled stubbornness. And that stubbornness refused to let her back down from what she felt in her heart she had to do for them all.

"I have thought of them. Genie, I…I don't think I can rule well if he's not with me; I can't rule with someone else by my side, and no one will let me rule alone. Aladdin…Aladdin would want me to do what's best for me, best for us- I'm going to the Black Sands."

The genie just looked at her sadly, but in his eyes, she could see that he understood. He broke her gaze and nodded, "We're coming with you."

"No," she murmured, placing a tender hand on his shoulder, "Genie, you can't. From what I've read in Jafar's lab, Destane doesn't take kindly to magical intruders; all of our lives would be in danger. I think…I think my best bet is to go alone, not as a princess, but as a royal messenger bearing tribute from Agrabah."

She could see his jaw set in frustration, torn by the possibility that something could happen to her if he didn't go and the realization that something probably would if he did. "Fine," he eventually conceded, "but I'm gonna be listening for you. You get in trouble, you just call my name, and I'll hit Destane harder than Bruce Lee on steroids. Okay?"

She smiled, relieved that he was in agreement with her, despite her confusion over what "Bruce Lee" or "steroids" could possibly mean. "Okay, Genie. Thank you."

He put on a mask of false optimism, perhaps to buoy his own spirits more than anyone else's. "Well, then let's get to work on designing this royal tribute, shall we? We've got a sorcerer to impress."

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

She had never seen the desert appear in such an unearthly color…black. It was unnatural, unholy; the blackness almost seemed like it extended to the sky, dimming the sun on her skin. She shifted nervously in her saddle. What was she even doing seeking the help of someone she knew almost nothing about? Iago had said that Jafar avoided Destane, and Jafar had been a powerful sorcerer even before he had used his wishes. What chance would a heartbroken princess have of enlisting his help?

Still she hoped he wouldn't see her as a threat to his power and would accept the handsome tribute she proffered. She sighed as she glanced at the long caravan trailing her camel; Genie had really outdone himself this time. No kingdom in the Seven Deserts had ever seen so generous a proposition from Agrabah; not even the showy display Genie had designed for Aladdin's grand entrance as Prince Ali could compete with the multitude of riches she would offer Destane.

But she couldn't help but worry if it would be enough for such a powerful sorcerer. What else did she have that he could want? She had no magical objects to offer him- they had decided against including those in her tribute. They could only serve two purposes: to increase his already fearsome power or to endanger her life should he perceive them as a threat. No, better he think her stupid than a threat.

Nor could she offer him Agrabah. She did not have that power yet, and even if she did, her duties as a princess required her to place the people's needs above her own.

She swallowed nervously as she thought of another possibility, one she had been desperately trying to deny, and drew her robes tighter around her. Thankfully she had changed from her normal princess attire to the more conservative clothes of a royal advisor from Agrabah. A considerable portion of her stomach still lay bare for anyone to see, but as long as she kept her robes wrapped securely around her, she hoped her beauty would not tempt the sorcerer. She had to have limits, boundaries she would not cross. She could not ever give her heart or her body to anyone but Aladdin, even if she only did it to bring him back to life. No, she could not resurrect him just to kill him slowly with her betrayal. She simply had to hope that Destane would accept her monetary tribute and agree to bring Aladdin back to her.

As the treasure-laden procession wound its way through the city that lay at the foot of Destane's palatial stronghold, another strong feeling of dread clawed at her mind. They were well into the city by then, and yet not one person had greeted them. Not a single curtain parted, not a single shutter opened so that a curious eye could view the unusual commotion. Did any living creature even inhabit this city? Would Destane even be at the palace anymore? She silently hoped that he was still alive, still living at the ominous fortress that loomed overhead. He was her only hope of resurrecting Aladdin.

She closed her eyes and steadied her nerves. She had to stay calm, impassive throughout her dealings with the sorcerer. Any fear she displayed would only give him more power over her and her precarious situation; any emotion would reveal her as the princess, not the trusted confidant, the mere royal handmaid she would claim to be. She had decided that pretending to be one of her own royal servants would be her best chance for success. She could not pretend to be an ambassador, as she was not male, but she could not disclose her true identity and endanger her own life and the lives of her citizens should Destane choose to hold her for ransom.

She slowly brought her camel to a halt at the foot of his palace's massive doors. Still no movement acknowledged her presence, not even a guard stopped to question her intent. She hesitated before she pounded the heavy knocker against the door; perhaps if Destane still resided at this desolate place, he would be enraged at her intrusion. Still…she had not come this far, she had not raised her hopes this much just to turn back now without trying.

A sharp creak from the door silenced her doubts. Someone, something still dwelt here, and maybe, he would be willing to hear her proposition. A tentative confidence swept over her; she would convince him to help her. Aladdin depended on her, and she would not disappoint him in this life or the next.

She had to be calm, poised. She straightened her back, clearing her throat. "I am a humble royal messenger from Agrabah, and I…"

She lost her voice at the sight of the ghastly creature that stood porter to the entrance. The sheer shock and terror she felt froze her in place; she couldn't move, couldn't escape its macabre presence. It was decidedly humanoid in its shape and form, but its features drooped and sagged out of their proper proportions, almost as if it were rotting alive.

Was it angry at her? Was she going to die before even speaking to Destane? Her thoughts raced wildly, but it simply stared blankly at her, making no move to draw the sword resting conspicuously in its scabbard. Surely if it had wanted to hurt her, it would have done so by now; rather, it almost seemed to be waiting for her to state her intentions.

Blinking back the fear she was sure shone in her eyes, she inhaled and met the creature's inhuman gaze. "I seek an audience with the master of this land. In return I offer generous tribute from the coffers of Agrabah."

The guard's grizzly expression did not change. He simply turned and walked away, seemingly inviting her to follow him inside. She paused, willing away the fear that seized her heart, and stepped inside. She had to do this for Aladdin, no matter how afraid she was, no matter what other sorts of gruesome beings she might encounter. She had to bring him back.

A new kind of darkness obscured her sight as she entered the stronghold; she could barely discern the outline of the doorman waiting for her a few feet ahead. How could anyone live in such blackness? The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she considered a new, frighteningly disturbing possibility. What if Destane wasn't even human? The creature leading her certainly wasn't human, although it did appear to have some of the same features. The lord of this land might be even less human, perhaps some sort of vicious demon.

No, she had to calm down, regain her wits. If Destane was anything less than human, surely Iago or the Genie would have mentioned it. Iago had simply said that he was powerful, powerful enough for Jafar not to cross paths with him. A fearsome sorcerer, but not a bloodthirsty demon.

Suppressing the fear that still lingered in her heart, she drew closer to her guide, so as not to get lost in the dismal halls. Strangely though, the halls now grew brighter as they progressed further inside. An eerie bluish light flickered upon the walls and illuminated rich tapestries that depicted strange creatures, creatures she assumed only existed in children's fairy tales…or nightmares.

Finally, they reached a set of ornately carved doors at the end of the hallway. She stared and tried to regain a mask of total composure. She was merely a messenger at the moment, a simple bearer of tribute; Destane could not see the fear or desperation that still panged her thoughts.

The guard pushed open one of the doors. She grimaced slightly; the exertion seemed to rend its haggard limbs almost completely from its body. It appeared blithely unaffected by this fact, though, as it sluggishly shuffled its feet and resumed its duties as a doorman, waiting for her to enter the dim room.

"And just what have my Mamluks dragged in this evening?"

She froze. This…this wasn't the sort of greeting she had expected, but then she hadn't expected to see anything as horrifying as that guard, either. She scanned the room, her eyes seeking the owner of the smooth, almost sinister voice. They finally landed on a lone figure, languidly reclining on a simple throne.

"At least they had the sense to bring it in alive this time."

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words left her tongue. Could this be Destane? Her stomach clenched and unclenched in fear and uncertainty from the meaning of his words. She couldn't tell if he was threatening or merely mocking her.

He sighed, "You could at least approach and tell me what you want. It's generally considered poor manners to linger in the doorway."

Her eyes flashed in annoyance at his condescending tone, but she approached the throne with as decisive and official a gait as she could muster. The figure sitting there was thankfully human, but much younger than she had expected. He looked barely older than she, but hadn't Iago said that Destane had been terrorizing cities long before Jafar had come to be royal vizier?

"I am a royal messenger from Agrabah, and I come with a humble offer for Lord Destane from the Sultan. In exchange for…"

"Ah, Destane. I'm afraid you've come a few months too late. You see, he met a rather… unfortunate demise."

Her breath once again caught in her throat, as a cruel smile graced his handsome but decidedly sinister features. Destane was dead. But then who was this mysterious man that sat before her? His son, perhaps? He certainly dressed the part of royalty; his dark blue and black attire would draw no stares at a state function in Agrabah, if it weren't for the only anomaly in his appearance. A rather worn-looking glove, something more aptly suited for a stablehand than a monarch, encased his right hand.

He continued, deliberate condescension lacing his voice, "But it would be a real shame to waste all that fanfare assembled at my gates. Why don't you just tell me what you're doing here so far from your kingdom all by yourself?"

She didn't pause to wonder how long he had known about her presence, how long he had been watching her approach. She would not let him fluster her now, before he had even heard her offer.

She cleared her throat and hoped her voice wouldn't crack as she spoke. "I come seeking the services of a necromancer."

He raised his eyebrows in aloof fascination. "A necromancer? You look alive and well enough, what possible use could you have for my services?"

She drew back in shock. "You…you're a necromancer? Who are you?"

He smirked, "News obviously travels slowly around these parts. Although, I would have thought they would have taught you a little something about foreign relations before sending you as a messenger. Ignorance is rarely an effective method for getting what you want."

She bristled at his indirect insults, but he continued without reservation, apparently not caring about his own hypocrisy. Rudeness was hardly good practice, either, when receiving foreign ensigns.

"Still, I suppose I should answer your questions. We can't keep that pretty little head of yours confused for too long."

He eyed her amusedly as she glared at him, appalled by his insolence. She had never been spoken to in such a manner- she was a princess after all, although he could hardly be expected to know that. Still, his attitude infuriated her.

"I am Mozenrath, the current Lord of the Black Sands and the most powerful sorcerer in the Seven Deserts. And yes, as you so eloquently stated, I am a necromancer by trade. Although, I would have thought that my guards would have alerted you to that fact already."

She could feel the acid rising in her throat as she recalled the arm that almost fell off as guard opened the door. She had been correct in her assertion that it wasn't fully human- it was a reanimated corpse.

"And now," he said, leaning forward slightly in his seat, "what exactly do you want from me?"

She reassumed the stoic mask of royalty and looked him squarely in the eye.

"The city's greatest hero has died, and the sultan is willing to pay a handsome reward to whoever can bring him back alive." She eyed the rotting corpse still standing at the door. "Fully alive."

He laughed as he caught her meaning. "Half-dead servants are more economical than live ones. Bringing someone completely back to life is such a tedious affair. And besides," he added with a wicked grin, "they're much more expendable when dealing with intruders."

She leered at him warily. What sort of man could this possibly be, that placed such little stock in honoring the dead? Maybe Iago and Genie were right; coming to the Black Sands would lead her to nothing but trouble.

He raised his gloved hand and conjured an image of the vast caravan still waiting at his gates. "I find it hard to believe that the sultan would empty his treasury for one hero. Doesn't he know that's one of the occupational risks? Fueled by luck and glory, they soundly thrash one villain after the other to preserve the status quo, until…" He flicked his wrist and the image disappeared in a cloud of smoke, "they finally meet their match, and all their delusions of grandeur go up in flames."

His arrogance was really starting to grate on her nerves. "Delusions of grandeur?" she asked almost incredulously. "Is it such a delusion to want to help people, to want to protect the people you love? But perhaps you've never had to chance to know anything about that. From the looks of things around here, you're the only one who is actually alive."

He simply shrugged and continued unfazed. "True, I am the only human in these parts, but that doesn't change the inherent fallibility of your argument. How many heroes are truly in it to help people? Sure they may save a few lives, but they're generally more famous for the lives they took, rather than the lives they saved. And even then, their motives may be questioned. How many people do you know that would willingly risk their lives if it weren't for the promise of gold and glory?"

Jasmine stared at Mozenrath's smug expression. Sure, Aladdin had become a hero to save her life, but he had only done that because he loved her. It hadn't mattered to him what horrific enemy he had defeated, right? No matter, she was bringing him back because he was a good person. She opened her mouth to point out the sheer folly of calling all heroes the same without looking at their individual merits and motives, but he cut her off before she had the chance.

"Besides, I'm sure the streets of Agrabah are just teeming with lesser life forms not intelligent enough to realize the utter stupidity in heroism. For a much lower personal cost, the sultan could offer them a portion of his wealth or an invitation to his harem, and the palace would be swamped with fools just itching to curry his favor."

"And just think," he added flippantly, "if one of them died, it would only lessen the burden on Agrabah's taxpayers." He smiled cruelly, "They might even be more expendable than Mamluks."

Jasmine seethed at him through gritted teeth. How dare he! Aladdin was NOT a lesser life form, some worthless burden on society…and just who was he to make that kind of assertion? It's not like Aladdin was the one who was reanimating corpses for a living. She opened her mouth in retort to his cruel suggestions but stopped before she said anything, as the image of Aladdin's broken body floated into her consciousness.

"This hero happened to be quite intelligent and engaged to the princess," she contended, desperately trying to maintain her cool. "Although I fail to see how any of this matters to you. If the sultan is so stupid as to offer you this kind of reward for someone so 'expendable,' you can't possibly be much smarter than he is to not take advantage of it right away."

Mozenrath sat back and grinned. It almost appeared like he was enjoying this conversation.

"Ah, of course the hero would be engaged to the princess. Princesses seem to have an unusual knack for getting in trouble, probably resulting from generations of inbreeding. Naturally, our hero would want to take advantage of the inherent stupidity that got her into some helpless situation in the first place. Let me guess. Someone kidnapped her and held her for ransom?"

She fumed as she clenched her fists, her hands trembling from anger. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. She needed to stay calm, poised, but his insolence was too much for her to bear quietly. "He saved the kingdom from a maniacal sorcerer, another one of the self-proclaimed most powerful in the world," she countered, barely containing the raging disdain she felt for the man in front of her. "Someone probably should have taught you sorcerers that everyone can't honestly claim that title. But maybe that doesn't even matter. You're just about whatever allows you to instill the most fear in others."

She stepped back and looked at him, his face still displaying that smug smirk that grated on her every nerve. And then it hit her- she was just wasting her breath. He wouldn't help her; he didn't care about her offer. Slowly taking a deep breath, she turned to leave. There was no sense in wasting any more time here listening to his insults…she would just have to find another way to save Aladdin.

"Now really, Princess, it's a little soon to be leaving. I haven't actually rejected your proposal yet, have I?"

She stopped, and turned almost in disbelief. Princess? Had her little tirade given her away that completely? He still looked at her with the same arrogant grin on his face, but his eyes registered a slight change in the respect he held for her.

He must have noticed the almost quizzical look on her face, as he laughed, "Sultans rarely send women as ambassadors, and you're not meek enough to be convincing as a servant, so that left only one other option."

She glared at him, irritated that her ruse had been so transparent, but even more so that he had seen through it because of the same two pitfalls she had been desperate to avoid. She stepped forward to face him with as much poise as she could possibly feign. "So now that you know who I am, what is your answer to my proposal? Will you bring him back to life?"

Mozenrath seamlessly slid off his throne, approaching her like a shark circling its next meal. He smiled suggestively, "Well that all depends on what you can give me in return."

She backed away from him in indignation and shock. "I already volunteered to give you the treasure of Agrabah," she bit off through gritted teeth. "I won't consider giving you anything else. If you can't accept that, then I guess this conversation is over."

He stepped back and eyed her with an amused gleam. "It really doesn't take much to set you off, does it? The thing is, Princess, I'm more of a collector of magic than wealth. Honestly, you really should have done some research before coming here. But no matter. Perhaps, if it doesn't offend your rigid sense of propriety too much, you could accept a trade. I need someone pure of heart to help me retrieve a magical artifact. You see, necromancy unfortunately tends to taint the purity of one's soul in the eyes of the gods. If you help me acquire it, I'll give you your precious hero, alive and well."

Her heart nearly skipped a beat; he was willing to help her! But it almost seemed too surreal. She knew very little about the man standing before her, only what she had seen so far throughout their conversation. How could she possibly trust that he wouldn't harm her or Aladdin?

"What kind of object? And how do I know that you're not going to harm me to get it?" she asked, folding her arms as she stubbornly revealed the terms of her acceptance. "I cannot agree to this unless I have some sort of assurance that you will not harm me or Aladdin."

"So this hero has a name, does he? No, Princess, I have no intention of directly harming you or your precious "Aladdin," but I cannot guarantee your absolute safety. The Underworld is dangerous; it's certainly not a place befitting someone as pampered as yourself." He paused for a moment, moving to stand directly before her. "But the real question you should be asking yourself is not whether you should trust me, but whether you care for him enough to risk your life for him, like he has done for you," he trailed off, apparently trying to gauge her reaction to his statement before he continued.

"Oh, and as to this artifact, it's merely something I plan on using for protection, something a little more reliable than undead guards. They're always falling apart on the job," he added with a wry smirk.

She ignored the last part of his comment as a fresh wave of guilt flooded her senses. Aladdin had risked everything to save her life from Jafar; he had braved the brunt of Jafar's fury, even going to the ends of the earth, just so he could save her. She had to do the same for him. She closed her eyes, as she considered her options. This necromancer was probably the most powerful one in the world, especially if he had defeated the notorious Destane; he was her best chance of bringing Aladdin back to life. She had to trust him for now. If Aladdin could survive the ends of the earth, then she could survive the Underworld. Her eyes flitted open as she realized the grave implications of his previous statement.

"The Underworld?"

"Yes, Princess, unfortunately the spells required to bring someone completely back to life necessitate our going to the Underworld to retrieve his soul. And Hades generally frowns upon mortals stealing his precious souls, so we may be in for quite a fight."

She mulled over his last statement. It was possible that if she went down into the Underworld, she might never come back out alive, but if she didn't go, she'd never see Aladdin again. And Mozenrath had said he wouldn't hurt her; after all, he did need her to retrieve some object. Shouldn't she take the risk- for Aladdin's sake, for the sake of her own sanity?

She opened her mouth to agree but once again faltered in her resolve. Would she be abandoning her friends, her father, her people if she went into the Underworld? What if it took years before she could come out again?

"Just how long will we be there?"

"It's hard to say exactly. That's the thing about eternity; time is merely a construct. Although it's generally agreed that years down there correspond to mere earth days up here. Time flies by when you're having fun with all those dead virgins."

Jasmine bristled but kept silent. It would only be a few days; her father and friends wouldn't have time to worry themselves sick about her, and wouldn't it be worth it to bring Aladdin back, to bring some semblance of order back into their world?

"Okay, Mozenrath," she whispered, hoping that she was making the right choice, "It's a deal."

He smiled that wickedly smooth smile of his. "Good to see that you're in, Princess. Come back tomorrow night. By then I'll have all the necessary ingredients to open the portal to the Underworld. Oh, and you might want to wear something more appropriate for the surroundings. Bright colors tend to put the gods of death in a foul mood."

And with that, he left in a flourish of blue light, leaving her to follow the Mamluk back to her caravan.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

He sat alone in his study, the customary silence of the Black Sands interrupted only by the steady sounds of her caravan returning to Agrabah. It was strange. Until today he had never actually let someone leave his realm alive. Of course, in the few months since the start of his reign, not one of the trespassers had even deserved to live. There had been the occasional pickpocket who had heard about the massive diamonds illuminating the city streets. Bloody fools, thinking their petty-thieving skills could outmatch a lifetime of scholarly pursuit and magical training. There had even been the one aspiring wizard, who apparently knew enough about the Black Sands to come seeking their power, but not enough about the general rules of magic to realize that sorcerers never willingly shared their power with wretched underlings unless they were looking for an apprentice, which he most certainly was not. His magic was hard-earned, not free for all.

The fingers of his gloved hand curled around the armrest of his chair, each movement triggering a string of almost inaudible clicks, bone on bone. His pursuit of power had torn the flesh off his right hand, the visible consequence of dealing with death on an almost daily basis. It was unavoidable, really; he was simply too good at his trade. He had robbed too many souls from their eternal sleep, trapped too many souls in their almost lifeless shell of a body, condemning them to lifetimes of servitude.

But it was all for naught. The guardians of the Underworld had caught on soon enough when souls had started to simply disappear. Too many souls, they had said. The balance of power was upset; a price must be paid.

Two months. Two damn months and they had already stripped the flesh from his hand up to his wrist. He had learned to deal with the relentlessly gnawing pain, the realization that they would never cease in exacting sacrifice from him. Each moment he used the power was another death to him. He had learned to subdue the pain; a lifetime of magic had taught him enough spells to numb the senses, helpful in withstanding torture and fatigue, but that didn't change the mounting inevitability of his death.

They wanted to make him feel death, to feel as utterly powerless and bound to it as his Mamluks were to life. For all practical concerns, his Mamluks should be dead- no free will, no sentient thoughts, no emotions, no physical sensations registered with them. Souls confined to a body over which they had no control except to blindly obey their master's whims. And now these gods of death were attempting to trap his body in the Underworld, to force his soul to relinquish its control and join the multitudes of mindless minions, forever enduring arbitrary punishments for their misdeeds on earth.

But they had gravely underestimated his resolve. He gripped his chair more tightly, his fingers clawing into the wooden frame. Even through his leather gauntlet, he could feel the grains bowing to the pressure. He knew the real reason for his slow, torturous punishment; he was a threat to their power. It wasn't their pity for the souls; it was their utter lack of ability to stop him from stealing their purpose for existing. He mocked them and their self-claimed omnipotence. He mocked them because he knew it simply wasn't true. He was already the greatest sorcerer the world had ever known, and he was on his way to becoming greater than the gods themselves.

His hold on the chair slackened, a cool smile gracing his lips. He was certainly more well-versed in magic and power than they. He had discovered sources of power untapped for years- secret spells, forbidden crystals, magical realms, powers of the earth and sky, but none were as alluring as the power over life and death. Nothing in his experience had a greater capacity to bring joy or instill fear. Nothing limited one's accomplishments, how much one could experience, how powerful one felt as the almost universally accepted fact of death.

It was almost accepted. He was the exception.

This princess, though, had immense potential. She too sought to conquer death, to realize that even an eternity of mindless bliss had no appeal over the taste of power and free will.

She claimed it was all for love, but there was a deeper, unspoken reason lurking in her heart. An attempt to mitigate guilt, perhaps? Or maybe she too was attempting to exert control over her life, to perform an impossible task, to gain the power to get what she wanted.

He slowly stood, walking with measured steps to the lone window in his study, calculating how he could use her in his quest to conquer death, to bring the battle to the gods. His research had disclosed to him an immortal being, famed for his ability to travel to the mortal realms, who plucked amaranthine beauties from their perfect lives and planted them in his own deathly marriage bed long before fate had decreed their demise. This wraith might hold the vital pieces he needed to conquer fate, to find the immortals' Achilles' heel and beat the gods at their own game.

The last signs of her lavish procession disappeared over the distant horizon. It would be a shame to waste all that fire and beauty she possessed on a simpleton hero. She could be vital in dealing with this life-deprived, lust-crazed ghoul. He let out a low chuckle; she certainly would not react favorably to being cast as bait for the undead.

But she would never know until it was too late; she would never learn of his intentions to sacrifice her for his cause, to satiate his thirst for control. She would think her journey was to save the life of her hero, but in all probability, it might take her own life from her. Such was the price one paid for power over life and death. Such was the price he desperately hoped to avoid.