Nezzar

Part One: The Power Shift

"There is this..." Marduk paused, casting his head to the side as if in search of the right word. "There is this being I know—one I hate with as much passion as I admire." Tapping the side of his left eye, he cast Hazael a glance. "He was the one who took my eyes."

Hazael remained frozen where he stood, helpless but within arm's reach of his sister. Now that he was at absolute rock bottom and hope had fled, now that he couldn't speak a word because his lips would not obey, he cried out in his mind, pleading with any god whose ears were open.

I am begging. Whoever is out there, I am pleading with you. Save Ziram from this evil.

The strange incense from the burners was getting to Ziram. She no longer wailed, instead, she grew quiet then still. Eyes turning vacant, she blinked slowly.

"There is something he does to certain... chosen humans." Marduk strolled around Ziram. There was a sneer on his face, and his pale clawed fingers danced over Ziram's shoulders and head as he moved. When he finally rested his hand upon her left shoulder, Hazael could only stare. She didn't react to his touch; the vacant look in her eyes remained. Perhaps she was caught in a trance; her tears had stopped flowing. Maybe she couldn't feel what was happening. Maybe she wasn't aware. Maybe...

"The king of Babylon is one of such marked humans. Right here." Marduk swept a claw down Ziram's forehead. "Marked as his. Under his protection of sort. The mortal isn't even righteous and yet enjoys protection because of some... some prophecy." His face contorted with a hateful glower. "But that protection will come to an end. I will ruin what belongs to him—destroy his marked one."

Hazael's focus darted to Ziram's face and lingered on the spot Marduk's claws had touched. No visible markings. Relief washed over him.

"Just as the mortal king was marked, I planned to mark you as well—to make you formidable. I planned to place you at the pinnacle of power. One so young will do great things over time." The glower in Marduk's face melted away as his expression grew flat. "Then you ruined your glory and almost took me down with you." His hand fell to his side as he stepped away from Ziram. "But I win this time, Hazael. I win."

One moment, Ziram was standing, and the next, she floated off the ground and began drifting toward the open fire.

Hazael barely noticed the robed figures and Abilsin fall to their knees. They were murmuring a rising chant. A suffocating presence breathed in time with the rise and fall of their voices. And as Marduk promised, all Hazael could do was watch as the flames rose. What looked like arms of fire unfurled from the flames and embraced Ziram.

At that moment, something in Hazael died. Coldness seeped into his bones, the hairs on his arms rising as he watched his sister get consumed.

Ziram was burning.

Ziram was burning before his eyes.

A silhouette of her form flickered in the fire. It was a strange kind of burning. No sound but the roar of the fire itself. She was suspended amid its fiery depths, hair whipping about, legs pressed together, toes pointed to the earth, arms spread apart. Marduk spread his arms as well, face cast to the high ceiling, and long hair thrashing like stripes of clothes in a desert storm.

Hazael observed it all like one detached from his body. He was unable to tear his eyes away no matter how he begged his body to obey. Unable to scream. Unable to strike himself to check if he was dreaming. Unable to do a thing.

Soon he could no longer make out Ziram's form in the fire; all that remained was the angry flames. Tall and bright and hot against his face. He mutely observed that he could sense its heat for the first time since he stepped into this nightmare.