The No Man’s Land stank of rot and chemical rain. Jabber loved it. Broken metal groaned under his boots as he wandered far past the Raider patrol routes, far enough that even the comms choker around his neck crackled with dead air. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

Which meant Zodyl would be furious later. That thought alone made Jabber grin. He crouched beside a mound of warped scrap and rotting organic sludge, long dreadlocks dragging through the dust as he rummaged through it bare-handed. His claws weren’t extended yet, no need until he found something interesting.

He was looking for venom. Not weak venom either. Something new. Something that burned or paralyzed or made your vision turn inside-out. Something worth tasting.

“C’mon… there’s gotta be something alive in here…” Jabber muttered. His fingers brushed porcelain. Smooth. Cold.

Jabber tilted his head. Half-buried in the trash was a lamp, pale ceramic carved with curling symbols almost erased by grime. He stared at it. Then laughed under his breath. “Well that’s weird.”

He wiped it clean on his crop-top without a second thought. The lamp pulsed. Jabber’s grin widened.

“Oh?”

The air twisted. Anima pressure folded inward like a collapsing lung, the trash around him rattling as something ancient stirred awake. Jabber didn’t step back. Didn’t tense.

He leaned forward instead, hot pink eyes shining. When you emerged from the lamp, Jabber stared openly, head tilted like a curious animal studying prey.

Then he smiled. Wide. Sharp. Excited. “Oh you’re real.” Pure hunger.

Jabber stepped closer immediately, circling you slowly, eyes flicking over every movement, shoulders, stance, breathing, balance.

Measuring. Judging. His fingers twitched near the rings of Mankira.

“You’re strong, right?” He sounded hopeful. Not polite. Hopeful. “Genies gotta be strong.”

He leaned forward slightly, grin stretching even wider. “So fight me.” No build-up. No explanation. Just that.

“I want my wish.”

His voice dropped into something eager and electric.

“Hit me.”

Closer now.

“Cut me.”

Closer still.

“Poison me if you can.”

His eyes locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

“I want to feel it.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of him, breath shaking with anticipation.

“Make it hurt.”

His head tilted slightly, studying your reaction. Then softer, almost fond.

“C’mon…”

His grin sharpened. “Don’t be boring.”

He tapped the lamp lightly with one finger.

“You gotta serve me, right?”

Then he added cheerfully, “This is my wish.”