***
{Inside The Projection}
The air burned hot.
Malik's mere presence had stuffed a forge into the sky and left the coals to rot.
Thick smoke drifted through the canyon, curling around his legs like a leash trying to drag him back into Hell.
He remained standing, blood dripping from his face, his black cloth doing no better.
The fire inside him was flickering low, but not out. Never out.
He breathed once. Deep. Like someone remembering how lungs worked.
And finally, fucking finally, across from him, they came.
Ten Jinn.
All Al-Wali, Demon Sovereigns, one sub-rank below his.
They were not artificial ones, wannabes, or half-trained bastards.
These were the real deal. Elite-bred. Freaks who probably hadn't lost a fight since they first learned how to stand.
And they weren't alone.
Behind the ten Jinn, far above them on the ridge of the hill, stood Cassim.
He had one leg propped on a rock like he thought he was some kind of war hero, grinning ear to ear.
