RAVEN’S GAMBIT | Episode 79: The Jewel Hungers
The first golem slammed its glaive into the stone just inches from Sir Cedric’s shield, and the shock of impact nearly tore the paladin’s arm from its socket. The metal groaned, his boots skidding across the floor as he braced himself, teeth bared, jaw clenched.
A second golem lifted Elowyn off the ground with one massive iron fist — not even striking her, just gripping. Her breath caught as her ribs compressed. Her legs kicked uselessly in the air, and for a moment, her eyes dimmed.
Thog roared and crashed into the construct’s side like a battering ram, Whelm sending cracks through its torso. “Put her DOWN!”
It did — by hurling Elowyn across the vault. She hit a chest with a sickening crunch, slid to the floor, and didn’t rise.
“Elowyn!” Lira cried out, scrambling to her side.
Elric crawled toward her, hands trembling, reading the incantation for a healing spell from a scroll.
Nothing.
The spell fizzled. Dead air.
The antimagic field drank it before it could form.
The green jewel above them spun, faster now. It gave off no light — only a deepening cold. Frost began to coat the iron urn, and within it, the efreeti’s howls reached a pitch like a teakettle from Hell.
Tessa, ducking beneath the sweeping arm of a golem, looked up just long enough to see the mist from the sarcophagus drifting downward now — not dissipating but coiling.
It wanted a host.
Thalia, bloodied and pinned behind a chest, watched in paralyzed horror as one of the iron statues stopped mid-swing. Its head twitched, then turned sharply toward the jewel. A hum passed through its frame.
“Did it just... kneel?” she whispered.
The golem bent slightly at one knee.
Another followed.
“Thog, they’re not just constructs anymore!” Lira shouted. “They’re answering him!”
The bronze urn burst open with a deafening clang. Steam and sulfur gushed upward — but the efreeti inside had no time to rise. The emerald darted downward and slammed into the genie’s chest.
The scream that followed shook the walls.
Flame poured from every seam of the urn — black flame, unnatural and cold.
Then silence.
The smoke settled. And standing in the curling ash was not an efreeti.
It was a thing wearing his skin.
Elric’s voice cracked as he whispered, “He’s possessing them. The urn… the golems… everything. He’s awake.”
The possessed efreeti lifted its molten eyes and spoke — not in Ignan, nor in any mortal tongue. The words came in a psychic hiss, deep and dry and full of hunger.
“Your deaths will not be swift. I have waited too long for such sport.”