XIV.
Israphiel gasped. "A serpent?"
The muck-dweller nodded in confirmation.
His visions of the past were absolute.
Still, Israphiel was doubtful. "But there are no serpents in the garden!" He cried. Not since--
"The humans have captured her," the muck-dweller continued. "They march her across a desert, they keep her in a cage. I see a gathering of them, and I see fire. Now, El is--"
The muck-dweller grew silent, as his mouth fell open into a look of horror.
"Speak, abomination!" Israphiel ordered impatiently, grabbing him by his slimy, mud-coated shoulders and shaking him. "What else do you see?"
But time had run out.
Israphiel's attention was shifted to a biting cold tendril of frost, that had started steadily creeping up his leg. He glanced up at the dial suspended in the sky again, and saw that it was almost fully depleted.
