The Ankh of Anubis... Trials of Fate Book III

PROLOGUE

He took yet another stroll through the depths of hell.

As he strolled, the Ankh in his arm became a spectre of darkness, morphing into a shepherd's staff. While the Ankh had changed form, its powers were still intact. It still radiated an aura of darkness, of death and chaos. From the staff a ghostly green aura emitted, momentarily turning stark black at random.

Strolling past the plains, he came to a valley in the desolate landscape. The mountains on both sides of him stretched as far as mortal eyes could see, and his long ears could hear the flow of the Nile from the vast expanse of the Duat. The skies were blood-red and the atmosphere was sulfuric; a rather nice weather, he noted.

As he walked through the valley, he heard small noises. From the corner of his eyes, he could see demons scattered across the mountains, the nearest ones retreating into their caves. It was only a natural reaction to feeling his presence; he emitted an aura of death and damnation, an aura so powerful a mere change of mood could destroy any demon within its range. It was a fearsome aura only accentuated by the Ankh in his arms.

The shepherd's staff glowed a ghostly green for a moment, then regained its dark colour. Another pure soul had ascended into the Duat. Those were getting rarer these days.

Mortals. They were once devout followers and worshippers of the gods of Egypt, but those glory days were behind now. They thought themselves independent, powerful, smarter. In a way, they thought themselves gods; they began to bow to their own illusions. They built on their wealth, war, and wisdom, and slowly decided they didn't need their gods anymore. He wasn't complaining; the less popularity was sometimes the better. If there was one thing he and his father agreed on, it was a distaste for mortals.

But as the god of death, he knew within himself that some mortals were more than who he'd made them to be; insignificant beings who deceived themselves and let their shame and pride disconnect them from the spiritual beings they truly were. A few mortals came to mind.

He reached the end of the valley, where the more hostile environments lay. The air was so acidic it started to pierce the skin, the river Nile splashed and flowed more violently, and ash and soot fell from the red skies. The atmosphere became so hot he suspected it was well over four thousand degrees. The weather really was good today, the god noted. It was a rare occurrence.

Circumstances like this would be deadly to mortals; they weren't built to survive this sort of environment. Or, to be more specific, the environment was built to ensure no mortal survived. He could hear their screams, the screams of the souls of the damned, who were condemned to endure the pains of the nether realm forever. Depending on their sins, the environment was the least of their problems.

The god moved on, crossing the violent river Nile. At this point of the underworld, it had been stained by so many sins, so much blood, so many horrors, that the water was probably toxic. The surface of the water was greener than he remembered. It was so green that he could barely see his own reflection. His black fur was still noticeable, as was his jackal head. His eyes glowed a light ghostly green that could almost be seen from the surface of the water, and he looked a bit thinner than usual. Perhaps it was because he was not wearing any armour today; only a traditional white skirt. He thought it unnecessary to wear amour, anyway. With the power he bore and the Ankh in his hands, what fool of a demon would wish to attack him?

He crossed the Nile and walked down the hilly ground. From this height he could already see the fallen god. Several chains from both sides of the surrounding stony mountains held up the god's arms, keeping them from causing any more mischief. A bit of the Nile was flowing into the valley, and while it had only been ankle-deep for Anubis, the water had flowed well enough to reach the chained god's waist.