The Hall of Two Truths was usually quiet, save for the sound of a feather dropping on a scale. Today, it was a brawl.
Ammit, the Devourer, was agitated. She was a chimera of terror—head of a crocodile, body of a lion, hindquarters of a hippo. She was designed by the gods for one purpose: to eat the heavy hearts of sinners.
But the intruder had no heart.
The Djinn floated above the scales, legs crossed in mid-air. He was made of smokeless fire and sarcasm. "Nice decor," he mocked, looking at the hieroglyphs. "Very... morbid chic."
Ammit roared. Duat-Bound Hunger.
The roar created a vacuum. Ammit didn't just bite flesh; she sucked the soul out of the body. The air rushed into her crocodile maw, pulling the Djinn with it.
The Impossible Meal
The Djinn didn't fight the pull. He let himself be inhaled.
Ammit snapped her jaws shut with a satisfying CRUNCH.
She swallowed. Then she frowned. Her stomach felt... bubbly.
"Little cramped in here," a voice echoed from inside her gullet.
Smokeform.
Smoke poured out of Ammit’s nose and ears. She coughed, hacking and gagging as the Djinn reformed outside her body, completely unharmed. You cannot chew smoke. You cannot digest fire.
"My turn," the Djinn grinned.
The Third Wish
"I grant you three wishes!" the Djinn announced, holding up three fingers.
Ammit, confused and angry, lunged again.
"First wish: You wish you were faster! Granted!" The Djinn sped up time, making Ammit scramble comically fast on the slick floor.
"Second wish: You wish you were lighter!" The Djinn snapped his fingers. Gravity released its hold on the hippo-lion. Ammit floated into the air, flailing her legs, helpless without leverage.
"And for the big finale... Third wish: You wish you had a nice, cozy home!"
The Djinn held up an ornate, brass oil lamp.
Threefold Wish Pact.
The magic of the Djinn was binding. By accepting the reality of the first two "wishes" (even involuntarily), the Pact was sealed. Ammit roared in protest, but the vacuum of the lamp was stronger than her own hunger.
She was sucked in, swirling like water down a drain. The Djinn slammed the cork shut and polished the brass with his sleeve.
"Heavy," he noted, weighing the lamp. "I think I'll toss this in the Nile. Let the fish deal with her."