Eliphaz ran through the city, ignoring the gawking onlookers who had seen his fight with Melzichek. The temple’s doors were undefended, presumably the guards had fled rather than face the wrath of the terrible vines. He flung open the doors and entered the temple’s atrium. It was a dark room lined with thin windows that let in slivers of light.

There were several more priests within, who conjured up fireballs at Eliphaz’s entrance. Dashing to the side, Eliphaz avoided the initial onslaught, only for Molek’s priests to conjure more flames from their hands. Blocking his way into the temple, the barrage of flame pushed Eliphaz into a corner, as his attackers edged closer and closer.

Out of the nearest window a vine appeared, grabbing the leg of the nearest priest before violently lifting him into the air and bashing the man into the ground. The others, who had been preparing to launch their fireballs, turned quickly in surprise. Yet vines emerged from the opposite side, snaring them as well.

Eliphaz dashed past the unconscious bodies and went deeper into the temple. The sunlight slowly receded until the only light visible was from the flicker of torches that lined the wall. The path did not descend, yet Eliphaz felt as if he had entered a shadowy netherworld, some place beyond his ordinary reality. Emerging out of the snaking hallway he found himself at the inner chamber.

The chamber was circular, and in its center was a pit of fire. Behind that was a ritual altar, on which a young girl was bound and gagged. There was another priest, dressed in the same dark cloak as Melzichek, who stood before the young sacrifice and held a curved dagger of obsidian in his hand. Behind him was a statue of Molek, a massive and hulking form with a head of bull, horns pointing towards the sky. The chamber was dark, the only source of sunlight an opening above the firepit. The chamber was dark and flickered with red shadows, the Baal’s horns casting twisted forms across the walls.

“Stop the sacrifice!” Eliphaz shouted.

The priest let out a haughty laugh. “You have no power here, in the innermost chamber of our Baal-Molek. How will your wicked vines reach us now? There are no windows, no source of earth from which your vines can sprout.”

He turned his obsidian blade towards the sacrifice, who panted in fear and dripped of sweat in the heat of the fire. A trickle of blood dripped from her neck, pooled upon the altar before it flowed down into the fire pit. The flames gurgled, emitting what sounded like a deep chuckle that echoed against the walls of the chamber.

“Is this sacrifice to your liking, my Baal?” the priest wailed, possessed by divine fervor. “Just wait until you taste her sweet, supple flesh—”

Eliphaz ran across the chamber, jumping over the fire pit and towards the altar. In his hand he held a small twig.

Staff of Thorns!

The branch grew and grew, until it transformed into a staff. It grew directly into the face of the unsuspecting priest, thorns emerging out the wooden furrows, digging deep into the man’s fleshy face. The priest staggered back, before Eliphaz struck again, swinging the staff around so that both ends were now bloodied.

Rivulets of blood pooled around the altar. The chamber was lined with small grooves that circled it, spiraling in towards fire that raged in the center. The priest’s blood now poured in, filling the miniature rivers and flowing down into the pit.

Molek was a Baal—that is a god of the earth, and so he thrived on sacrifices from the bountiful fruits of the land. Farmers, shepherds and others who depended on the soil would leave bread on holy stones, or burn sacred herbs in hopes of a blessed harvest. But while lesser Baals were more civilized, Molek was ancient and cruel. It was not enough for his worshippers to fill the furrows of earth with grain and seed; not enough for him to taste the blood of a ram or wild beast. Only human blood sated his thirst and provoked his pleasure.

The flames grew into a column of fire, and within it a dark figure appeared. It was a black demon, tall and slender, skin taut against its ghastly bones.

Eliphaz stared in horror. He reached towards the young sacrifice, her limbs bound tightly with leather ropes. “We have to get out of here now!” he shouted.

“WHO DENIES ME MY SACRIFICE?” The voice boomed and rattled the chamber, but at the same time it seemed to be coming from inside Eliphaz’s head, a terrible buzzing seared through his brain and he stumbled back in pain.

“YOU HAVE POWERS…BEYOND ANY MORTAL. WHO SENT YOU?”

Eliphaz tugged at the girl, pulling her across the floor, inching away from the column of fire. It had only grown stronger, fueled by the blood of the priest, who now lay unconscious at the foot of his own altar.

“I WAS PROMISED MORE. WHERE IS MY SACRIFICE?” The flames ate at the priest, greedily licking at flesh until it turned to ash. Eliphaz was sweating in the heat, he felt his grip slip on the girl, forcing him to double back, grabbing her with two arms, pulling with all his weight—

Molek’s chamber burst into flame. The idol of the bull turned black, the blood-strewn floor boiled and bubbled with red vapor.

Eliphaz and the would-be sacrifice scrambled through the door. Looking in, the fury and heat burned into his eyes, and for a moment he glimpsed the white of the flame and the strange, chthonic figure within it. The voice still resounded inside his mind.

“I’VE FOUND YOU, STUPID BOY. DON’T THINK YOU’LL BE ABLE TO SURPRISE ME AGAIN.”

Eliphaz was exhausted. He collapsed to the floor, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. A slew of notifications went off in his mind.

Mana at critical levels! Stamina at critical levels!

You defeated 5 lesser Priests of Molek! +150 exp

You defeated a High Priest of Molek! +100 exp

You reached level 12!

Ishtar smiles upon you!

+4 stat points

+2 skill points

Eliphaz

[Briarsworn] Level 12 Experience 25/400 HP 67/81 MP 4/29 SP 5/24 Strength 22 Stamina 20 Agility 21 Spirit 37

“Who are you?” He felt a hand brush against his shoulder. With bracing effort, he turned onto his back.

He looked up into the eyes of the sacrifice. She was young, barely a woman with dark, half-burnt hair which had been consumed by the flames. Her limbs had grown slick with sweat, which presumably aided her in removing the restraints from her hands and feet. Her eyes were dark like the cosmic ocean, alit with invisible, glittering stars. She repeated the question.

“My name is Narina. You saved my life. Who are you?”

“Eliphaz, son of Esau.”