Each woman and child we rescued who lived in these Quraysh camps was gathered in a designated location. Most of the people in the camp are the ones the Quraysh tribe kidnapped. The women who were born into the Quraysh tribe, surprisingly, are more fanatic worshippers of Manat than the men are. They are telling us that they would rather see us die and that they love death more than we love life. So, we gave them the death they loved so much.
We left their corpses in the desert, where beasts could pick on them. We can't afford to have people who put a declaration of war against us at the center of their lives, for whatever reason. If they had said:
"Because you have let us starve, we hate you and we want to kill you," or "You are oppressive tyrants!" or even "We want to have our nation!"
That would mean the conflict could be solved by fixing the underlying reason. However, since they are hell bent on destroying us with no room for solution or negotiation, those who held steadfast to their religion have all died by our hands.
If it were left to the commander's whims, everyone here would die.
Some of the women—I reckon the ones who were kidnapped—pointed at the corpses and laughed madly. They have been suffering at the hands of these savages.
Those who were originally Qurayshi were happy too. Since the fundamentalists have been weeded out, they have been more sympathetic to our cause. They were freed from their oppressive garments and were free to wear normal clothes.
The pathetic happiness on their faces signaled that, for the first time in their lives, they felt pretty. The clumsy make-up and sheer joy on their faces melted the hearts of those who saw them.
The Quraysh women who sided with us told us the places our enemies might be hiding. The desert is harsh. There could only be certain locations where they could hide. We flew to those locations regularly to check them out.
After a few weeks of such patrols, we stopped finding them at these places. They were regrouping.
Zahir might have felt the pressure on him. He might go for a desperate attack. That's what we are hoping for. The more concentrated their forces are, the easier it is for us to fight them. The fact that they were scattered throughout the desert had made us fly around a lot, wasting precious golden sand.
On an unrelated note, the former Manat worshipping Qurayshi women are looking at me differently than everyone else. Most of these women are the ones I freed through the trials of Manat.
I have proven myself right in the eyes of Manat as far as they were concerned. They might still believe in Manat. The only difference is that they think I'm a truer worshipper of Manat than the Quraysh tribesmen. Otherwise, why would Manat have had me win in those trials? They are lusting after me. To them, I'm a great man who uses the hands of unbelievers to cleanse the Manat believer community from the hypocrites who say they believe yet twist or outright deny the words of Manat in their hearts. I was a religious figure. A hero of Al-Manat.
Aisha told me about the Quraysh tribe in detail. They shoehorned their religion into everything and didn't give any breathing place to other thoughts in their heads. Every time they interacted with people, the name Al-Manat would always come up.
To get rid of a harmful idea is a daunting task. Like quicksilver, it escapes every which way if you let it. Even when you take over the people, it escapes in every way in their heads instead.
The women insist on calling me Zaffer. They refuse to refer to me as Nazhotep, no matter how many times I tell them otherwise.
They formed a clique. One of them turns out to be a good artist. She drew copies of my face on little pieces of wood, and they are now carrying those pieces of wood everywhere. The sickly delusional need to worship has seeped into their bones. They would cling to everything they could. In comparison, the gods of the Nylle, the pantheon, give back to their worshippers and also only take a small time out of their day. Only when the worshippers decide to chase immortality do they request more. A worshipper of the Nylle pantheon rarely thinks of their gods throughout the day. There is enough space in Nylle pantheon worshippers heads to form a real person. A Manat worshipper is intellectually crippled and needs nurturing to build up even after they leave the religion of Al-Manat.
They told me they would be able to go to paradise as my servants if they served me. Since the Quraysh tribe had previously proven themselves to be fake Manat worshippers through the trial of Manat, they were also fake worshippers of Manat. They believe I, as a real worshipper of Manat, could use the mercy of Manat to take them to paradise.
They keep feeding me grapes whenever they see me. They get upset when I refuse to eat the grapes they feed me. They keep approaching me, telling me things with their heavy accents:
"We will serve you in everything, Zaffer. And I mean everything."
They would blush afterward. Their nipples would become visibly erect underneath their clothes. I'm a man who is weak toward women; this is torturous to me.
The Quraysh tribe consists of several thousand people. The considerable number we hold in this camp, added to the ones we killed, means we have taken a good chink of Quraysh power out of the equation.
Five days later, Zahir sent a letter to our commander, calling him out for a classical war in which armies meet to clash. Our commander accepted the request. We sortied out and met at the designated location.
Our numbers are about the same; it is so that Qurayshi wouldn't escape at the sight of us.
Zahir walked in front with a spear in his hand. He then called out,
"Zaffer! Zaffer I know you are there! I challenge you to a trial of Manat!"
Qurayshi slammed the bottoms of their spears to the ground and chanted in unison.
"Trial! Trial! Trial!"
The commander knows I'm Zaffer. He knows I would walk forward if he ordered me to do so.
"Nazhotep! Walk forward!"
For fucks sake,I knew he would respond with that. Of course. He would risk his life as long as the life in question wasn't his. Truly a great commander indeed.
I walked forward with my spear held high, galvanizing my brother in arms. Since I've been called out, I can't shame my side in this war.
We circled each other with spears in our hands.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Zaffer."
I was confused.
"What do you mean?"
Zahir's face turned sour. I never knew a face could contort in disgust with such intensity as the one that Zahir is displaying right now.
"I hate them. I hate the fucking heart out of them. I've collected them together, so your colleagues could eliminate them. You have brought the enemy to our home just as I thought you would. Now these retards are going to die. I have to kill you first, though. They have pushed me to have a trial of manat with you. If you win, they will attach themselves to you and survive. I don't want that."
I readied my spear.
"I don't plan to die."
I dodged his quick spear. He understands not to signal his attacks. I almost died. I smacked his spear with mine so I could have an opening to kill him with.
However, the tip of his spear stayed firmer than I'd hoped. His terrible spear scratched the skin on my shoulder. In exchange, I put a nasty cut on his right leg.
I controlled grains of sand so I could bother his eyes. That way, I could create and exploit an opening.
He just kept on moving, giving my sand no chance to reach him.
I decided to rely on my spearmanship more. I threw a faint. He jumped to his side in a futile move. I struck his knee with a jab and had him kneel.
After accepting he was going to die, Zahir screamed:
"Zaffer! You will…"
He was unable to yell more because there was a spear in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, and he lost his life then and there. I lifted his corpse with my spear and waved him to the enemy like a flag.
Among the Qurayshi people,there were ones lamenting, ones looking at me with reverence, and ones looking at me in horror.
Zahir is dead. That fact is sinking into the minds of the Quraysh people as of now. Now is a crucial time.
Will they lay down their spear or will they keep fighting?