The final battle was a sandstorm.
One second, they were advancing—lines formed, weapons drawn, marching toward the fortress. The next?
Hell broke loose.
Steel clashed. Fire erupted. Sand whipped. Wind howled. Earth cracked. Water hissed.
Screams tore through the air, and the scent of blood filled Malik's lungs as the desert became a slaughterhouse.
The enemy Jinn had attacked.
Six of them.
The militia believed that the 'rebels' only had one left, but...
Reinforcements had come from Al-Ayan.
Malik was right.
It was never that simple.
Five walking calamities were upon them.
Now, six kings of battle faced another six.
And Malik watched as, without hesitation, his people split off to meet them.
Nasir was the first, going after who appeared to be their leader.
The ground cracked under every one of his steps—he was dragging half the desert with him.
Graybeard, Uncle Jafar, went after another, his old bones moving like they were young again.
