- Chapter Three -
Jasmine's horse sat atop a shimmering golden dune that began to twist and weave it's way into the bleak slate sands of Mozenrath's kingdom. The sun rose behind her, but the brilliant and assuring rays were depressingly blocked by sable clouds that circled ominously above her head. Despite the growing doubt that was slowly diminishing her hopes, she whacked the reins she held fiercely and raced over the border. The gloomy and dismal clouds above her and the growing pitch black sand that seemed to increase with every clomp of a hoof beat, followed her on as she rode into the kingdom. When she made her way over a final dune, she was left to look at Mozenrath's malicious castle that sat wickedly over the placid city below. A light flooded from a single skull shaped window that seemed to be lit by a burning candle. The flame flickered as a strong wind blew over the kingdom and ruffled her clothes and tousled her hair.
With her whip once again snugly fastened to her hip and her sword gleaming in the eerie passing moonlight, Jasmine felt ready for anything. Alone to face the demon of a sorcerer, Jasmine's mind was unwillingly and out of her control and flashed and raced through her last encounter in the Land of the Black Sand when Aladdin's life was taken . . . no, ripped away.
Pictures, sounds, feelings; everything was a rush, but she didn't hear anything, she couldn't remember the cries of war or what she or anyone else said. Jasmine couldn't remember any sounds that reached her ears; all she could hear was her blood rushing to her head and the loud thumping that vibrated in her chest. The tears that ran tepidly down her cheeks sounded like a rushing stream and her own cries and thoughts were blocked out of her head as she solely focused on Aladdin.
Jasmine was suddenly snapped from her reverie quite harshly as a thunderclap banged over head and illuminated the sky in a surpassing moment. She brushed away stray tears with annoyance before they shed and took in a steady deep breath. This was the time. There was no turning back. Not now . . . not ever again. Jasmine's anger rose as she looked over the home of the nefarious ruler that had been so often seen to show his destructive hand. She could feel nothing but complete loathing and utter despair all at once. For now, she was left to solemnly face the murderer who took Aladdin's life and her soul as well. Deep inside her, Jasmine knew that no matter how much damage she was going to succeed on accomplishing upon Mozenrath, it would never bring Aladdin back. Nothing would. A frown smothered her face.
Jasmine spurred her horse with anger and galloped wildly into the city. The clomping of the horse echoed with a dead pulse through the alleyways and deserted homes and buildings. The reins she whacked cracked as hard as a thousand raging lightning bolts in a sea of war and burning fire. She did not exercise restraint or approach the city with stealth or caution, but rather went in the city and made her presence known, she figured by now he might already know she was there. As she approached the castle gates, Jasmine felt a sudden twinge down her spine as she realized that no Mamluks had risen and tried to stop her barrage. Was he expecting her? Or was she going to take him by surprise buy not be detected and alone? Jasmine dismounted her steed and tied the reins snugly to an old wilting tree that stood quite a ways down from the entrance. She stroked his nuzzle and rubbed his nose affectionately before continuing on foot.
When Jasmine reached the twin snake doors that had been carved and painted on with such thorough detail, she felt a lump rise in her throat that burned with bile and contempt. Swallowing, Jasmine lightly pushed on the heavy deadwood doors and winced as the old rusted hinges fought to hold on to the massive gates. Once open, Jasmine stepped through and jumped slightly as they suddenly shut behind her with an echoing slam. A chill greeted her once the doors were closed and felt like snow was being constantly rubbed up and down her spine. It was so . . . dead. The entire place felt like a mortuary and she realized that it basically was. She brushed away the feeling and stepped cautiously through the hallway, minding her own footsteps that made small pats on the dingy marble floor. Silently she crept into a capacious passageway, choosing it solely based upon a guess, a feeling.
As Jasmine carefully walked along the hall, she passed an open window in which the sinister moon had a second's chance to slip through the charcoal clouds that constantly circled above. The light shined onto the impassioned red carpet, and was blocked for a moment's time as Jasmine's shadow absorbed the illuminating light. Murals and large portraits lined the hallway, each eloquently gloating the rulers captured within the oils and paints. They, no doubt, passed easily through their lifetime, simply base on their mindless servants and their excessive riches and wealth. While Jasmine completely despised rulers such as those, she also knew that they all had a different baneful power they possessed rather than just their status and place. A shiver shattered up her arms and legs, racing into her heart and splitting into goose bumps as her heart pumped it back out. She gazed into a portrait and realized in aghast fear that the irises of the man were completely black and somber. Life was an expression on that man that must have possessed within a single mood.
Walking somewhat more briskly through the hall and failing to keep her eyes concentrated on the passage and not the paintings, she was finally nearing and end to the memorable hall. As she gazed upon the last one, she could hardly make out the name that was intricately carved in a delicate cursive, forever instilled into the oak frame; it read as "Destane". Remembering fragments of learning some history of Mozenrath, she stared up at the man before her, his memory only living on in the dust covered fresco canvas.
A shuffle of paper snapped her attention and drew her to the door that was steering her to at the end of the hall. A beam of light slanted from the cracked opening and lit up that corner of the oppressive corridor. Jasmine crept closer and peered into the room through the slim and abiding crack. She felt her face harden, her brow crinkle down, and her tongue taste nothing but aversion when her eyes fell upon Mozenrath who was casually looking into a book.
She placed her hand on the rusted doorknob and planned on making her move into the room. Without even lifting his gaze from the book he was gazing over, Mozenrath's brow lifted slightly with curiosity and he spoke very quietly with a hint of amusement entwined with scold. "You know," he said, matter-of-factly, "It is very rude to hang in doorways."
Jasmine felt her feet step back a few inches and her breath caught desperately in her throat as it threatened to stop her breathing. Now that she was detected and there was no use in running, nor a want to, she defiantly shoved the door open with much malice and stepped through. She let a stray breath escape when she realized she was still holding onto her surprised gasp.
"What brings you to my humble home, Princess?" Mozenrath's mouth twisted into a ruthless smile as he shut the book he was reading with a loud snap as the pages were slapped together. He rose from his chair and circled from behind his desk, emerging only to lean against the crumbling edges of the aged desk.
Jasmine's voice turned to sap and clung to the sides of her throat, disabling her from speaking. She tried to swallow the constricting force that was tightening her windpipe, but failed to clear enough to open her airway and polish off the glue that mended to the sides of her vocal cords.
When she did not speak, but instead stood frozen and silent, Mozenrath shifted. Her eyes bore into his without wavering and held her ground. He smiled again as he crossed his arms over his chest and glanced her over once more. She had changed since the last time he saw her, her eyes rigid and hard; no longer compassionate or warm, completely lacking the youth of an eager child he had once seen in her. Her knuckles were white at her side, her body stiff and rough. Her clothes were rumpled and her hair was a disaster compared to the normal perfect due she always seemed to have graced her head. Jasmine's crown was missing. An identity crisis, he smiled, perhaps he would have to remind her just who she was and what was expected of her.
Still, as the silence began to deafen him, she didn't speak. Feeling uneasy without words in the air to turn against her, Mozenrath tried a different tactic, after all, this was beginning to bore him. "Well, I doubt you came here to stare me down all night, so there must be something that's making you travel so far." He paused and put his gloved index finger to his lips and let his eyes wander in thought. When his eyes lit as if he discovered a hidden memory, he shifted. "Oh, I know, it must be about our last encounter, seems like yesterday, doesn't it? Don't worry, Princess, street rats come by the barrel."
The cruel impassiveness that rang in his voice and the nonchalant movements he made to disregard the subject made her blood boil. Her nails dug into her palms once again and she felt the dense throb from her fingers and the sting from the new wounds she had marked upon herself. She hadn't realized her jaw was tightly clenched and locked until it started to pulse with pain. Her teeth were grinding together slowly as her temper rose beyond indecipherable levels.
"You should thank me for putting him out of his misery, the world has one less rat to worry about and you are rid of him." He passed it off with a wave. "Besides, now you can find an actual Prince. Oh. You do know you're going to have to find someone new, what with you being the only heir to your kingdom and all. Well, now you can find someone with something to offer you; money and wealth. Why would you want trash like that street rat? He was good-for-nothing and maybe you should actually be thanking me."
Jasmine couldn't control her rage any longer and suddenly let the gates open and unleashed her furious emotions. Teeth clenched and adrenaline rushing, Jasmine ran full force for Mozenrath. Catching him off guard, she sank her dagger nails into the flesh of his arm, instantly being flung to the ground as he recoiled in pain. As blood began to seep down the side of his arm, Mozenrath's gauntlet was all ready gaining power. Fueled by his anger, the glove soon grew to a mesmerizing violet shade that glossed over and around the gauntlet. Jasmine got up quickly and ran at him again, this time slashing her nails down his cheek, creating three long scratches that immediately swam with fresh blood. Taken aback by the pain and his concentration wavering, he began to power his glove again. Jasmine tried to move in time when she noticed he was ready, but couldn't make it out of range before a stabbing feeling shot through her body and wracked her violently to the ground.
Curled in a fetal position, Jasmine awaited another blast, but it never came. When she looked up at Mozenrath, he just looked right back at her; blood streaming slowly from the three thinly slashed cuts. When she finally found her legs and was able to use her strength to stand, she was greeted none so pleasantly by another bolt to the floor that shattered into her mind and caused her vision to blur.
While she figured Mozenrath thought she was holding her side in pain, she was actually getting a firm grip on her sword. After the pain had receded, the adrenaline began to flow once again. She unsheathed it and dove for him, aiming for his abdomen by reflex. With dismay, she missed her target as he flung another fire blast towards her that rammed into her with force and a crushing weight. Not giving him the satisfaction of falling to the ground once again, she fought desperately to hold her ground. Her stance wavered and faulted, but she didn't meet the floor. Her other hand slid down by the crisp handle of her leather whip. With venom and a stormy rush, she uncoiled the whip and lashed it out.
Instead of striking him with it, he simply caught it in his gloved hand and gave it a gentle tug. Realizing too late what was happening, she tried desperately to undo her hand from the tangle of the whip. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Really, Princess, you should've learned by now." With that, he let loose his beam of power that traveled within seconds down the whip and directly into Jasmine.
The shock of the blast and the hurtling wave of pain, fatigue and deja vu, sent her slamming into a wall of smoldering heat that burned from inside. Her scream danced in her throat as she slumped to the ground in a heavy heap. Dazed, Jasmine tried to raise herself, but her arms and legs both weakened, she was unable to push herself from the floor. Mozenrath towered over her, his wicked smile gleaming and splitting into her like a three foot razor.
"Princesses shouldn't play with such dangerous toys, they could get hurt." As he spoke the last of those words, with a fever he brought down the whip and slammed it into Jasmine's leg. Her entire body tightened with the crack, her back curving and her leg's muscle began to throb. She gripped her leg within her hands, but nothing she could do seemed to help.
The hot sensation ripped through Jasmine and tore through her heart, sending violent shockwaves through her body. She tried to scream in absolute torture; to release some of the pent up agony, but all she could let out was a strangled whimper. A burning crease felt like it was melting down her skin to the bone and leaving nothing but charred skin in it's wake. When she thought she could bare no more, the whip came down with another destructive blow, terribly over the original wound.
Jasmine wouldn't give him the benefit to see her cry. Even though tears were all ready swimming in her eyes and her sobs threatened to choke her if she didn't release them, she held it in, desperate to keep her emotions inside and not let a single tear roll down her cheek and reveal a weak, small, frightened girl to him. She was alone now and had no one to count on to save her. No hero to dash to her side and hold her in his arms. No hero. He was gone. All because of the monster before her.
Jasmine's pants were slashed at the contact point and through the ripped fabric, Mozenrath saw her skin red and blistering; radiating from the immense heat. Grinning in pleasure from seeing her pain, Mozenrath hovered over her, sneering down at her through his empty and hollowed eyes. He didn't think she would make such an impact on him, but the stinging pang in his cheek and down his arm was a constant reminder that she was not as fragile or as frail as he thought her to be.
Without another thought or a single doubtful wire in his mind, Mozenrath charged his gauntlet once again. Jasmine was straining and gasping against the pain beneath him, twisting and wincing. He didn't feel a fiber of sympathy. Bringing the glove back and above his head, his eyes met with Jasmine's for a suspended moment before he brought it down on her with as much force as he could muster.
Jasmine didn't even have time to scream.
To Be Continued . . .
Please R/R!