Pharaoh Aow Mow looked down from his balcony imperiously. The masses were cowed at his presence. His nose was properly upturned, and he struck an imposing pose with the sun blazing behind his palace.
One hundred thousand soldiers, golems, and demons stood at attention in the heat and raised their fists at their Pharaoh; their voices shook the ground and the heavens. They had conquered the known world, and many other worlds, and even moons and planets beyond that. They were the most feared army ever assembled and could plunder any stretch of heaven or hell if their lord so gave the command.
Aow Mow frowned, such a display was not necessary. Their martial power was great, but his magic had already established him as the supreme wizard of this era, a man whose power easily rivaled the gods. An arcanist responsible for establishing the great schools of magic, forming the Empire of the Sun, and countless other feats that would stand the test of time for eternity. His power was so great that….
"Waahh…"
Aow Mow turned and saw his wife with his new babe in hand. Such a small child. The hard features of the Pharaoh softened at the sight of them. His son would inherit all of this one day, and he only hoped that he would live to uphold his greatness.
Despite his hopes and expectations, there was a part of him that wasn't sure if that was possible. Upholding his lineage was one thing, perhaps form a great Dynasty was another, but to extend or suceed his greatness? Aow Mow shook his head for the impossible task that was set for his small son.
*Crack*
The entire court stood still as Aow Mow struck his son with his scepter.
The son of the Pharaoh Aow winced but did not cry out. Instead he looked at his father with a hard look, a look that dared him to swing his scepter again. Though the Pharaoh was lord of all the land, he froze briefly in a mask of fear, but breathed a sigh of relief as his bloodied son bowed in subservience.
The gathered advisors, ministers, and generals of the Dow Empire smiled smugly , not really understanding the event they witnessed. They thought they had just witnessed a parental spat, a simple show of dominance from their Pharaoh and their prince, but they did not realize how close to oblivion they came.
The son of the Pharaoh knew it was all a show really, a political dance for the benefit of the attendant court. To them it was their feared Pharaoh administering discipline to his spoiled son that refused an order to punish, no butcher, a conquered country. To the son of the Pharaoh however it was a delicate balance to maintain peace and order.
While the Pharaoh was powerful, able to submit worlds to his will, the Pharaoh's son was just as formidable. He was a prodigy of magic, a boy possessed with as much or even more power than his sire. Both knew and respected each other's abilities, and knew that a duel between them would be catastrophic. Not just in physical destruction, but in political turmoil.
The son of the Pharaoh did not agree with the depraved and destructive polices of his father, but he was wise enough to know what would happen if he challenged him direct or indirectly. Though he did not desire power, he was next in succession. The son of the Pharaoh knew that his advisors would fragment the empire soon without his father. To hold such a vast realm intact required a ruthlessness that the son of the Pharaoh knew he did not possess and the minsters and generals of the court would seize upon that weakness and divide it up at first opportunity. Despite its tyranny, the empire was a delicately balanced economic machine, with various realms specialized into different functions such as agriculture, finance, political, and even military functions. Without a cohesive force holding it together, it would quickly collapse, turning on itself and creating untold strife from the chaos. The son of the Pharaoh didn't need his diviniation spells to predict that the stronger worlds and provinces waging war on the weaker ones, as well as the resultant starvation from the broken supply lines. As much as he detested his father he recognized the necessary role he played.
Still, he couldn't just submit to his father's tyranny. He wouldn't massacre a surrendered population simply to please him. He would stand up to him, but in a way to show his defiance while still letting him maintain the illusion of control. The son of the Pharaoh took his father's blow, a show for the gathered court to show that he was still in charge. But both Dow's knew that a day of reckoning would soon come, and despite all his good intentions and power, the world would pay for both their hubris.
While his magic was powerful, the son of the Pharaoh knew not a single spell that could solve his problem. If his hand was forced he knew he could defeat his father, destroy him with fire, ice, or even cast him down to dust, but that would not stop the resultant political strife and chaos. In fact it would inflame the discord even more. Even if he simply submitted to his father's will and played the role of the petulant prince, he could see his legion of ministers ready to tear apart the empire upon his fall. He contemplated attempting to change the system itself, but the corruption and bureaucracy was too ingrained. To attempt such mass sweeping changes would result in civil war faster than open rebellion.
The son of the Pharaoh walked out of the court and sat next to one of the many fountains of the imperial city. He watched the water and despaired. Was he doomed to be the tyrant his father was or would his good intentions result in the death and unsold suffering of millions? Was he bound to his fate?
In the grand laboratory of the imperial city the son of the Pharaoh looked at the bare table before him. It was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, made from rare woods from Gholm by masters from Corymr. It had a rich colour and a slight sheen, but more importantly it was empty.
The son of the Pharaoh looked at the bare table and puzzled. Was there supposed to be something on it? Did his spell work? He looked at his notes, and saw they were unclear. He might have conducted an experiment, but his notes were smudged. That was uncharacteristic of him, he was typically very thorough and meticulous, but he did not rule out such a simple mistake.
The son of the Pharaoh intoned a commune spell, an incantation to a higher power that allows the caster to ask several questions, to be replied with a simple yes, no, or maybe; a handy spell that was the backbone of most diviners.
"Was there an object on the table recently?"
"Maybe."
The son of the Pharaoh scratched his head. Did his spell work? Even the divine powers couldn't tell. The very nature of this new magic he was experimenting on was based on erasing and replacing small pockets of reality. Unlike simple disintegration or evocation spells, this spell would remove something seamlessly allowing the universe to fill in the gaps to prevent disruption of the environment. Like scooping a cup from a pool or perhaps a fountain, the water would fill itself with little or no sign of the act happening. If his spell did work, even he wouldn't know.
The son of the Pharaoh furrowed his brow. Regardless if his spell was a success he saw the inherent flaws in it. Undoing reality and reshaping it would be of limited use if even he didn't know he used it. Also it was a dangerous spell, and even he saw the dangers in it. He would need to refine his research.
The son of the Pharaoh Aow called in several of his father's ministers to gaze upon his latest work of art he had commissioned. It was a garish mural of his father's first conquests, that stretched almost fifty foot long and dominated the room.
"Excellent! "
"A worthy tribute!"
"A worthy addition to the Imperial collection."
The son of the Pharaoh nodded at their sycophantic praise and smiled. He intoned his words, and the mural vanished. Then he stood back and watched.
"Why have we been summoned?"
"How's the weather?"
"Are we here to discuss the next decade's budget?"
The son of the Pharaoh nodded and recorded the results in his notes. Some of the most powerful mages and clerics in the land had succumbed to his spell. He had 'undone' the mural and they didn't even notice. They did not even suspect. He still remembered though. He had made it that he could detect the usage of his spell, but no one else could. It took a while but the secret was in the enchantments he placed in his blood. Not only could anyone use his spell, but no one could even detect they were being used. His words were complete. He finally had the tool that could slay his father and preserve the empire.
The son of the Pharaoh Aow sat alone in the Imperial Laboratory as the city burned around him. After centuries and multiple resurrections, his father Pharaoh Aow had finally passed away. Though he was coronated, his ministers and generals had already plotted and moved against him. He saw through their deception though and moved the Imperial Legions outside the city, ready to crush their rebellion before they could succeed, in a hopefully short but bloody civil war.
He could have stopped the violence if he wanted. If he had the will. A simple word and whomever stood in his way would have vanished, as if they didn't exist at all. All it would have taken was a single word.
Despite succeeding in the impossible, the son of the Pharaoh's world was falling apart. While he had cracked the secrest to the ultimate magic, he could not bring himself to use them on his father, or his ministers. Killing was one thing, but erasing and bending reality to the point that they never existed was another. Though they were killers and murders they also had parents, siblings, and even children. He could not simply erase them out of reality with a simple word. It was too much power for one man to possess. The fact that only he had knowledge that he used the words made it worse.
As the son of the Pharaoh contemplated his situation, he was interrupted by a knock on the laboratory door.
"Sire, your loyalist legions are ready to deploy into the city," said the messanger. "The rebels have tipped their hand, and we are ready to close your trap."
The son of the Pharaoh nodded with a heavy heart. Though he wouldn't use his ultimate magic, there were still mundane and barbaric means to maintain order. " Crush them, bring me those that surrender, execute the rest. The rebellion must not be allowed to spread."
The messenger nodded and left the room.
The son of the Pharaoh closed his eyes and could see the bloodshed done in his name. He had become his father.
The father of the Pharaoh Cow laid on his death bed. His rule was short and bloody. He could have extended his reign but choose not to. Despite his power, he was a mere mortal with all their failings and he welcomed a simple mortal's death. He would not extend his life through dark means like his father had.
While his reign was wracked by chaos, he re-established order by ruthlessly defeating all his foes. He was the most powerful and feared man in over a dozen worlds.
Still the father of the Pharaoh Cow did not feel his life had been as successful and victorious as the accolades heaped on him. He foresaw the great unrest but was unable to prevent it. At best he stemmed the destruction and cowardly passed the problem to his son.
His son. The Pharoah Cow Mow. Despite his patient mentoring, he did not see a kind soul in his son's heart. There was a hard edge to his son. A darkness and anger that was as terrible as his grandfather's. Still, he was the best candidate to maintain order in his bloated realm. Also he lacked the magical talent of himself or even of his father Aow Mow. Cow Mow would be a tyrant, but at least he would be a manageable one.
As the father of the Pharaoh laid dying, he was at least glad of one thing. He didn't use the words. He resisted the supreme temptation. He would not play god regardless of his well-meaning intentions. No one would be able to use his words save himself, he had the foresight to see to that.
His spell's safeguards weren't perfect though. While no one could use the words save himself, that didn't stop imitators. Somehow a demon saw him use it when he was perfecting it, and managed to copy it. A fallen demon lord that was clawing its way back to its former glory had stolen his spell. No, that wasn't right. The demon didn't copy it exactly; it was more mimicking a shadow of his spell. While his spell could undo reality, the demon's imitation could simply undo life. Still, the demon used its newfound power to slay the god Primus and it took a host of deities simply to contain it.
The father of the Pharaoh regretted unable to stop that chain of events. If only he could simply undo those events.
The dying pharaoh paused. Maybe he could. He had always thought the words of undoing would be used on a physical object, but could he use it on an intangible thing like an event? Or even a concept? He was not destroying a physical thing with them, he was destroying reality. No. It was too dangerous especially without testing, and he no longer had the ability or resources to do so. More importantly he was fading and he wouldn't have the time.
Still...to undo one's mistakes. It was all too tempting...
Against his better judgement, he used the words. Not at his full power since he was too weak to do so. Still his words achieved what he couldn't imagine, he undid the demon's new name. His senses spread through the astral and confirmed it, the demon would no longer be known as Tenebrous. Bolstered by his success, he destroyed the demon's knowledge of the words of death. It took a lot out of the father of the Pharaoh, evoking the words was a very draining thing, but it gave him an inner peace to know that he fixed one minor mistake of his mistake filled life. The peace however gave him a thought and he used the words one final time.
"Of course I'm the Pharaoh, who else would I be!" demanded Pharaoh Cow Mow.
The ministers, generals, and advisors were doubtful. The Dow Dynasty had existed for millennium, but since the death of Aow Mow, they had no pharaoh. It was simply the continuation of the bureaucracy of their old lord's administration. Still, this pretender certainly resembled their old lord. The Imperial Court did not recall a son of Aow Mow, but that did not rule out a bastard or a hidden heir. Also there was a certain fear in all their hearts about confronting this man. They recalled the terrible time after Aow Mow's death, and the short but terrible civil war that ensued. They knew that denying this man would result in a similar clash, and thought it wise to entertain this man's claims at least for now.
The ministers bowed as one. "Oh great Pharaoh, to properly coronate you we would require a divination to trace your lineage. Or perhaps you could simply state your relationship to the great Aow Mow," said one of the generals.
Cow Mow raged, but nodded. "Cast your spells if you wish, but know I was raised in the palace in ….err secret. Out in the open but hidden. My father…my father raised me behind the scenes. He was…he was the hidden pharaoh," he explained as he himself couldn't recall his full past.
The ministers nodded and the appropriate spells were cast and recast. When the pharaoh's identity was confirmed and reconfirmed, no one else dared question the legitimacy of his claim.
Pharaoh Dow Mow inspected his pyramid. It regulated the hidden magical energies of the world. Not only did it give him a steady supply of power, but it prevented random arcane events from ravaging the land. He was the scion of the Dow Dynasty and had raised a score of them before; in tundra, on mountains, atop deserts, and even deep underground like this one. He would normally press a band of local denizens, be they efreets, mindflayers or even summoned demons if no sufficiently powerful guards were found. This pyramid however, was different there something off about it that triggered his imperceptibly fine honed magical senses.
At first he thought his architects were at fault and was prepared to whip them for his failure, but upon closer inspection he discovered it wasn't a structural flaw. The pyramid shifted. Or that was the best way he could describe it. His apprentices and advisors could not perceive it, but he could. Passages would move and change slight when he inspected it, in such a way it avoided all detection save for a feeling it gave him that something was off. Even detection and divination spells proved fruitless to test his theory, it was as if reality would bend and shift. To his knowledge there was nothing special about this location. It was an old laboratory once used for mundane research. The area was shifted from the Imperial city millennium ago during the time of his grandfather, the Pharaoh that was not named, and was used as the building blocks of the new construction. The whole situation was most vexing, and the Pharaoh Dow knew that it would require further research.
The skull in the box recanted his tale or as much as he could piece together.
Mindy nodded, but he knew that she didn't understand.
Though he was certain his unnamed grandfather had destroy all traces of his legacy, he was too weak to make it complete. He initially thought that traces of the old lab seeped through for him to detect, but since his meeting with Isah he suspected that perhaps it was his and her bloodline that allowed them to see beyond reality. He suspected his grandfather warded himself from his own spell, and it wasn't out of the question that those of his blood were also exempt or at least partially. He guessed that Isah was perhaps a distant relation, not an unknown thing considered the harems that Pharaohs kept in the past. That she had a stronger 'connection' than himself was unsettling, but he knew that bloodlines surged and ebbed through generations.
Whatever the reason of her sight and clarity, the skull in the box hoped that it was strong enough for her to finish one final task for him.