Gods of War

Chapter 1

Author: Miss Lizz

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Mummies Alive! However, the Gods of War are mine. Aren't you just so proud!

Author's note: This is the first fic about MA! I have posted so be gentle. Some scenes contain extreme violence and severe blood loss so viewer discretion is advised. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

"That's it! Heka, I've done it!" Scarab let out a peal of laughter and danced around the room in glee.

"What? Lost your mind?"

With a lightning fast motion, Scarab grabbed Heka but, strangely, did not look angry. He smiled instead, "Since I'm in such a good mood, I'll forget you said that. I have found the key to destroying the mummies and with them gone there'll be nothing in my way to immortality."

"Do tell?"

"I'm going to bring back the 'Gods of War.'"

Heka arched her equivalent of an eyebrow, "I thought you tried Set and failed miserably."

"No, you ignorant serpent, not the god of war, the 'Gods of War.' They were the greatest team of warriors in all Egypt. With them on my side, I can't lose!"

Heka only half-listened after that bit; she had heard his little tirades about not being able to lose this or that one. She no longer cared; she just made the expected grunts and noises when he paused for breath. It was truly pathetic sometimes; he was really quite a brilliant man if he focused on something other than the mummies and that annoying kid. Surely there was some other way to gain immortality than stealing that brat's soul. Besides, being an immortal was so boring after a while. Though in truth there was very little that was boring now that she was servant to Scarab; her first master, her creator, was an old, tedious coot in comparison. Still, she might as well play along; it could be entertaining at the very least.

"How are you going to get them here, Boss?"

He just smiled in the way that made her blood run cold. She was beginning to hate this plan already.

She growled deep in her throat like a leopard and clenched balled fists at her sides. He still barely trusted her it seems. Sometimes she hated him, like when he won the arguments and when he yelled at her and made her feel miserable and weak and stupid; Rath did a fine enough job of that, no one else needed to add to it.

But, she still loved the stubborn hunter, no matter what he did or how his words were construed. She hated how she was too big a coward to tell him how he made her feel; how she loved the way his blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. She could not, now or ever. He was married, for Bastet's sake, it was wrong to have these feelings for a married man. She loathed these feelings but she yearned for them just the same.

Why did she fall in love with him? It hurt. It was wrong. She had no right. She had not deserved to fall in love but she had and it tore her up inside. It was wrong. It was impossible for him to ever feel the same. It always will be. How could he ever feel anything for someone like her? She lied to him about her entire life when he told her everything about his.

Armon wandered into the garage then, "Nef, are you okay?" He had missed the recent argument but saw its aftermath and apparently guessed what happened, "You had another fight with Jakal."

"What makes you say that?" she replied bitterly, secretly appalled that she was so transparent, "I need some air." She ran for the jetcycle before he could say anything more and accelerated out of the sphinx so fast a black streak of burned rubber was left behind.

"Of all the reckless…" Rath suddenly appeared and scowled at the black marks, "She's 3500 years old, one would think she could show some amount of maturity. When she comes back, I'll see to it that she cleans up after herself."

The larger, one-armed mummy hid a glare and pretended to act dumb of the whole incident. He shrugged at the thin scribe and went back to the main chamber to watch the sacred box.

Nefertina had not gone far from the others in the off chance they might need her.

Off chance? Yeah, right, more like fat chance. They never needed her. They probably never would. The jetcycle took her to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, and she sat and watched the twinkling lights of the city. Pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping thin, muscular arms round them, she faced the wind and let it billow her hair out behind her, eyes closing tightly in an attempt to halt her threatening tears.

Will he ever trust me again? I'm still the same person they simply know my real gender. Do I even deserve something like trust?

I doubt it. That would be like me actually deserving love. It's not gonna happen. I lied to them, they'll never look past that. I don't deserve their trust; I've already betrayed it once. There's no sense in doing so again. I just wish…

No. There's no sense in wishing for something that will never happen. I just wish they would trust me, even a little. A compliment or two wouldn't hurt either. They never have anything nice to say to me, especially Rath. Sexist pigs. I love them like brothers and more.

When everyone thought I was a boy, he trusted me like no other. Now… he barely seems to tolerate me at all let alone trust me, her throat constricted with tears that could never be shed. What do I have to do? How can I make him trust me again? Will he ever trust me again? I don't know what to do…Bastet, help me. I'm so alone. I'm so lonely. Why can't they trust me? Why can't they treat me like a friend? Why can't he?

Someday, I'll make him see I can be trusted as I am… I swear. Someday…

A faint glow caught her eye below; someone was either coming from or going into the Western Gate. The only one who could want anything from it or know anything about it was Scarab. She peered over the edge of the turret she sat on and could barely make out a barge far below. What was going on now?

Scarab stood on the deck of his barge with Heka firmly in his wizened grip. He raised his arms high and wide, the purple cloak he wore surging with a heavy, damp wind that foretold rain, and began the intonation, "Wise spirits, O mighty Osiris, I humbly call upon the four great warriors, the dreaded champions of discord, the destroyers of their enemies. I call upon their aid. I call upon the Gods of War, whose names are: Morankh… Khalset… Zarg… Ikari. O great lord of the dead, bring them forth so that they serve only me. I beseech you! Gods of War, COME!"

There was no clichéd bolt of lightning, no sound, only a diffused white light and the faint outline of the great doorposts to the underworld. Four shapes that materialized into solid figures strode forward and stopped before the old sorcerer. As bronze of body and canny of mind as in life they gained concrete form as the light from the Western Gate faded to the normal darkness of night behind them. The warriors stood of imposing height for their time in front of Scarab and Heka.

They were Morankh, the swordsman, strong in both mind and body. The burly Khalset, whose only weaponry were his incredible strength, brutal temper, and caustic tongue. There was young Zarg, the battle-axe wielder, the jaunty and lean braggart. And Ikari, the staff wielding elder of the team, was a thin and sinewy sorcerer and a very wise man in his own right. To call them bewildered to be back among the living would an understatement of the truth more than anything. Still, there were protocols for them in the face of higher authority.

"What is it you want, Lord?" Black haired Ikari asked in a light baritone.

"I am the Vizier and I require your services in small venture," Scarab began, "Some… people are causing me problems, mummies to be precise and―"

"Mummies? A bunch of walking corpses is causing you problems? Hah," the big fighter of the group smirked, and was elbowed in the ribs by Morankh, the only one close to Khalset's size. He scowled darkly.

"As I was saying, these mummies gather around a small boy I am in need of. I was wondering if perhaps you could get rid of them for me and possibly bring me the boy also."

Out of age-old habit to higher authority they obeyed without question, none that this royal man knew about at least. It was ingrained in them to follow the dictates of those above them in station. Be that as it may, the older of the warriors, Ikari and Morankh, wondered why this man of obvious power needed a small boy. And who were the mummies he spoke of? How could they possibly be causing him problems? The dead were not known to just get up and go after someone unless under the control of a sorcerer or in protection of a person or thing. Was this boy a sorcerer?

Nefertina narrowed her storm-grey eyes but could not clearly make out the four people on the prow with Scarab. She could barely make out anything about the barge, the people looked like little dots or coloured specks. They were people and not gods at any rate, which would be possible to tell from any distance.

She needed to get home and tell the others, it was a small blessing that she was too far away for the engines of the jetcycle to be heard. No one saw her take off from the turret either and she went quickly to the Sphinx.

After parking the jetcycle and running into the main room she crashed into Armon upon rounding a corner and, for a moment, sat dazed on the floor. The big mummy smiled and lifted the small woman to her feet. Rath crossed his arms and frowned at her and prepared to take her to task for the mess she made earlier.

"Come with me, I'll probably have to teach you to use a mop," he said while grabbing her upper arm and attempted to drag her back to the garage. She protested mightily and flipped him onto his back when he ignored her.

"Listen to me, Scarab brought some people though the Western Gate and they're human but they'll come after the prince. They looked alive, not like us, from what I saw of them. I couldn't see them well enough to tell who they may have been," she spoke rapidly, fearing they would not believe her and steeled herself for an argument.

They did, oddly enough, believe her, "Hmm, we'll find out soon enough what Scarab is planning. At least we can expect something," Rath said, "Jakal will want to know of this."

"Know what?" Jakal walked into the room then and a less rushed, slightly longer version of the tale was told. In the end he simply said they should guard the prince more carefully. They all agreed that was the best. The simplest plans usually were.

Yet as the falcon-warrior went to his sarcophagus for the night he could not understand the poorly concealed glare Nefertina cast his way. What had he done now? He hated it when she was angry with him, and it had been happening a lot lately. What had gotten into her this time? He needed to find out or the workings of the team could suffer and fall apart. She looked hurt somehow. Jakal hated seeing her hurt. Maybe he should talk to her. No, he would talk to her. It would have to be later, but he would do it.

The four fighters sat or stood around Scarab's office going over their mission, they were now dressed in modern clothing. The clothing completely transformed them; no one would guess they were nearly 3600 years out of their time. It was just before dawn now, the night having largely been spent familiarizing themselves with this new time. Scarab had given them pictures of the boy he wanted and the mummies, another thing to marvel at. This time held many such marvels according to all they had seen thus far.

One such wonder was the photograph. It amazed and unsettled them that such images could be created by mere men. There was such a lifelike quality about them, it was as if they had been captured and placed in the little squares by magic.

Zarg had a stack of the little slick squares of paper he was perusing. All the warriors had them to better find the mummies and boy when the hunt began tomorrow. Personally, he couldn't wait to see this 20th century world first-hand, especially those horseless chariots, or better yet, one of the two-wheeled machines. What had the vizier called them? Motorcycles? Yes, that was it.

He flipped through the photographs and stopped as one caught his eye, it was a motorcycle. The Tuscan-redhead admired the simple, stylistic lines accentuated by the red and gold paintjob. It was a beautiful vehicle and his eyes began to roam up the leg of the decidedly feminine driver.

Wait… that could not right, the guardians were supposed to all be male. The driver, however, was a woman and he silently thought her curves were as eye-catching as that of the machine she straddled. Unfortunately, a feline-styled helmet concealed her face. He was not the only one to notice this unexpected turn of events.

Morankh noticed this fourth guardian, too, " Why is one this boy's guardians a woman?"

The vizier was obviously caught a little off by the question, "…The pharaoh was unaware of what she truly was; she disguised herself as a boy."

Khalset chuckled derisively, "A woman guardian? I think―"

"Whatever you're going to say, don't," Morankh murmured disapprovingly.

Zarg ignored them as they began yet another argument, the two fought worse than a married couple. He flipped though the pictures again, looking this time for any of the girl. The young man found only one other and in it too her face was half-hidden by that headdress of hers.

If her eyes are as beautiful as the rest of her… he thought wistfully before a bark of laughter from Khalset brought him back to reality.

With the advent of morning came the hunt's beginning. Zarg did manage to get his hands on a motorcycle, there was one stored in the private garage of the great glass pyramid. It even had a name: Harley-Davidson. A strange name. When the old vizier tossed him the keys it came with a warning about the power this particular vehicle possessed.

"If it has wheels, I can handle it," he confidently boasted before blasting onto the street.

Presley tightened his grip around Nefertina's waist as a pick-up almost sideswiped them. He nearly screamed as well. Why had he ever asked to have her drive him to school? Having to not ride the bus was certainly not worth dieing over. The reincarnated prince was never happier to arrive at school than he was that morning. He had survived this trip; maybe he would survive this afternoon's.

"Have a great day at studies, O' Prince," she sounded and looked happy, perhaps she was, yet he had the feeling it was only skin deep though he had no idea why he felt this way or what would make her unhappy, "I'll pick you up at 3:45?"

"Yeah, sure," he couldn't ask her anything now, it would have to wait, "Bye, Nef."

The boy ran to class because of the bell having already sounded as Nefertina sped off down the street. A part of her was happy that Jakal let her take Presley to school without tagging along to watch over them both. It galled her, no matter how much she secretly loved him.

Yet how can she love someone who never trusts her? What cruel joke of fate was this? She should stay away from all of them, she decided suddenly. It would be for the best. The less they saw of her, the less trouble she could cause them. Maybe her feelings for the handsome archer would diminish if she did not see him so often. But what could she do to make him trust her?

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone begin following her. A goon hired by Scarab, perhaps? Had the person seen her drop off the prince? She would have to lead him away from the school and lose him in the city. That would be a simple matter. If Scarab was behind this, the man behind her could not be very intelligent unless the wizard was hiring from a different place.

Zarg cursed himself a thousand kinds of fool for being so careless when the girl mummy suddenly began to pick up speed. He had been out of practice far too long to have been spotted so quickly. The quick little motorcycle erratically darting in and out of traffic shot off far ahead of him. At first, the lean axe-wielder thought she might elude him, but she made the mistake of being brash and she obviously did not know who was pursuing her.

No one could outrun him if he chose not to let them. She still led him on a dangerous two-hour chase throughout the city.

What a woman, he thought appreciatively, swerving a large, loud vehicle that blared at him in anger.

When she turned down an alley, he thought the chase would soon be ending, but there was no one in the alley when he streaked into it.

The hell? Where'd she go? The alley was a dead end but there was no sign of the female rider anywhere. What magic was this? This had never happened to him before. He had been outfoxed in a chase… by a woman! Damn.

Several blocks from the dead end alley where she left the joker following her, Nefertina landed the jetcycle on a deserted street and grinned to herself. That little disappearing act would confuse the schmuck to no end without a doubt. Funny, though, but that rider had seemed familiar; there was something about his style. Where had she seen that style of riding before?

Glancing back over her shoulder, as if she could see him, she frowned in puzzlement. Could she have met or raced him before?

She did that sometimes, racing late at night and had won a lot of money, gaining more than a few enemies because of it. It was these thoughts and the fact that she was still looking over her shoulder that she never saw the huge figure that stepped in her path. She noticed too late to brace herself against the powerful fist that slammed familiarly into her face. She was stopped dead and hit the ground hard on her back but the cycle kept moving. The riderless jetcycle fell to its side and slid along the asphalt, kicking up sparks and losing paint.

Nefertina put a hand up assess the damage to her nose and groaned, dazed, looking up at the figure standing over her. The light was coming from behind him so she could not see much save a silhouette, but it was a stance and build she was frighteningly familiar with. Vaguely, she was aware of something wet dripping out of her nose, and there was a coppery taste in the liquid that pooled in her bruised and torn mouth.

Despite herself and everything she had faced in her life as a guardian, her eyes widened in abject terror when she gazed clearly at her lifelong nightmare. She wanted to scream and cry and deny what her vision told her. She wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted this to be a hallucination brought on by the pain. She wanted this to be anything but real. But how could she deny it?

Why did he have to come back? Why!

Papa?

No. Not again. This isn't possible. No…Oh, gods, no…

Why did he have to come back into my life? Is this a punishment?

The small charioteer scrambled to her feet in a mad dash to the fallen, sputtering jetcycle. She never looked back, fear had gripped her too tightly in its devastating embrace. With a choked sob, she raced down the street, nearly crashing more than once, trying to put as much space as possible between herself and the man who featured so prominently in her darkest nightmares.

End chapter 1.

I took the advice to break the first chapter up into smaller portions so it will be easier to handle. I hope this helps future readings. And a great big cuddly 'thank you' to all who have been kind enough to review so far. More chapters will eventually come; I just have no clue in earth or heaven when that will be.