AN: Hi guys! I am indeed alive. I apologize again for the slow update on this one. I knew there'd be a lot of ground to cover in the final pyramid, but there ended up being so much that I had to split it into two chapters. I'm about halfway done with part 2, but I wanted to get part 1 out to you guys before y'all just give up on me. _ Again, thanks so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy the first half of this encounter!
When Atem stepped into the shadow of the Great Pyramid, he had never been more relieved to escape the sun's scorching wrath. With Ra's eye at its peak, only a narrow strip of shade was cast on the north side of the pyramid, enough for no more than two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. As the convoy dismounted and started toward the center of the north face, Atem stole a glance to his right to see Satiah staring wide-eyed up at the capstone glinting overhead. He reached out and touched her arm, causing her to jolt and turn to him. She looked around a moment, almost as if she'd been awoken from a dream unexpectedly.
"Is everything alright?" he asked in a light whisper, pulling her eyes back to him.
She nodded, but the hollowness never left her gaze. He slid his hand down to grasp at her palm, holding it as tight as he had earlier that morning. He was relieved to feel her fingers close around his, even though her grip still had a slight tremble in it.
Slowly, he turned and started toward the tomb's entrance, set neatly into the gentle slope of granite slabs running up the side of the pyramid. There, he took a torch from Seto, then bid goodbye to his advisors once again before sinking into the black chill within.
Khufu's tomb was somehow even less inviting than his son's and grandson's. After squeezing down a narrow decline, the pathway steepened upward into the aptly named Grand Gallery, its angled roof rising up to a sharp apex overhead. The light from Atem's torch licked at the jagged walls, painting ghostly images upon the stones with each step they took.
Eventually, the orange glow pierced its way into the narrow opening of the King's Chamber at the very top of the Gallery. The opening was small enough that Atem had to get onto all fours to edge his way through it; after surfacing in the burial chamber, he turned back to help Satiah upright as well.
He then cast his eyes around the understated resting place of the Father of Pharaohs. Khufu was the only one of his lineage to build his tomb within his pyramid, rather than carved from the bedrock below it. Whereas the tombs of his heirs felt close and stifling, Khufu's had a strange precariousness to it — as if, with the slightest careless breath, the entire pyramid might come crashing down around them.
The entirety of the King's Chamber was cased in granite, including the king's sarcophagus itself. Not a single etching or painting adorned any of the surfaces in the room, but two small niches were carved into the east and west walls, casting thin, precise rays of sunlight onto the coffin lid.
Slowly, Atem made his way toward the Father's sarcophagus, taking a moment to lower his torch to the ground beside it. As he straightened, he turned to Satiah and took her hand once more, gripping it tight. He wanted her to know — to understand that he had no intention of letting her go this time. But when she looked at him, her eyes were still empty, as if she were lost in the maze of her own thoughts.
With one last squeeze of her hand, Atem closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath before finding the will to utter his plea to Ra:
"'Almighty Ra, creator and ender of all things — your fire consumes the impure and casts the world in shining truth. Let us bask beneath the Blaze of your glory, so that we may have the power to burn away the shadows.'"
Jaw clenched, fists tightened, eyes squeezed shut — Atem felt the vastness of the cosmos trying to cleave its way between him and Satiah, but he held firm, straining against his own teetering momentum to pull her even closer to him. Through the stretching and folding of time and space, he barely noticed the soft impact of his feet back on solid ground; it was only when Satiah's weight threatened to buckle his knees that he opened his eyes to find them met with thick, unending darkness.
Staggering upright, he backed away from Satiah a few inches, finding her eyes long enough to make sure she was unharmed. Her face was cast in a soft glow from the only light source among the cavernous blackness; her eyes sharpened as they focused on it, leading Atem to turn and look upon it as well. Several yards away and suspended some two stories overhead, a large, metallic sphere shone warm against the oppressive dark.
Strange shapes and symbols decorated the surface of the orb, and from each deep groove, light seeped out — strong enough to illuminate the ground before them, but only just. Instead, the bulk of its glow ran into a concentrated stream at the bottom of the sphere, trickling down like molten rain to surround another flat, round object standing upright on the floor beneath it. The light created a soft halo around the object, and as Atem looked upon it, he was first reminded of an eclipse — as if the object were trying to steal the sphere's light for its own. But after two brave steps toward it, Atem was able to glimpse something within the flat plane: his own reflection — clearer than he'd ever seen in polished bronze, but darker than it had any right to be.
Atem was surprised when he felt Satiah leave his side. She took three more long strides toward the huge mirror, stopping nearly within arm's length of it. Atem followed close, casting his eyes around the black expanse as if it might hold some secret other than his own shaded form staring back at him. Standing in its shadow, he could feel the warmth from the sphere overhead — fierce, but gentle, like coals left behind after a raging fire.
Atem was so rapt by the sphere, he almost didn't notice a subtle movement taking root in the center of the mirror before him. A single ripple swept across the flat surface, wiping away his reflection and replacing it with a new image: a vast, empty sky stretched out over a broken cityscape, marred with derelict buildings and crumbling monuments. Then, as if the mirror had a will of its own, the image began to move — sweeping further out over the shattered land like a bird soaring on an updraft. As the city drew closer, the familiar landmarks of Thebes began to take shape: the parapets of Karnak, half-collapsed and stained with heretical graffiti; the market district, its stalls abandoned and fires snuffed out. Above it all, a blood-red sun glowed hot and unyielding, baking the stone and mudbrick until they were nothing but melting mirages.
Atem flinched as another ripple scattered itself across the surface of the mirror, purging the image of the city and replacing it with a view of the countryside at high noon. Rows of thin wheat stalks lay wilting among the rolling hills, with the backs of ailing farmers bent over to reap what little healthy crop they could. The rows were tended by menacing soldiers bearing whips and canes; Atem watched in horror as an elderly worker collapsed in the dirt, only to be beaten mercilessly by the soldiers until he rose to resume his work.
Another ripple, and this time the view of the city returned. The image began sweeping back through the sunbaked streets and giving glimpses of more toil and tyranny: priests lurking in shadows, using their ka to terrorize civilians into submission; thieves and cutthroats bribing soldiers to let them plunder homes and holy houses.
Finally, the image arrived at the entrance to the royal palace. Though it appeared relatively unscathed compared to the rest of the city, Atem could not help but feel a fist of dread pulling at his stomach as the image moved past the foremost pylons, winding through the dark palace halls until it entered the throne room — the only place seemingly untouched by scorching sunlight. Though the vague shape of the throne was visible against the writhing shadows, Atem could not see who sat upon it. Slowly, the image crawled toward the foot of the dias, but the darkness grew only thicker, closing in around the mirror until all Atem could see was his shaded reflection again.
Heart hammering, he turned to look at Satiah, whose face was painted with the same uncertainty that twisted in his core. He opened his mouth to speak but found his attention drawn back to the mirror at the sight of another ripple sweeping across it. He thought his eyes were cheating him when his reflection began to move on its own — first just a subtle shift, as if it were drawing its shoulders up with pride. But then, the silhouette drew closer, falling into a steady, purposeful gait until it broke through the very surface of the mirror, willing itself into existence like a god descended from the heavens.
A sword of fear drove into Atem's heart as he looked upon his own living, breathing reflection. The apparition resembled him perfectly in almost every way, except for faint, uncanny disparities — lips turned up with a crazed smirk, eyes glowing a deeper, almost crimson hue. A cloak in a similar bloody shade cascaded down his shoulders, framing a black tunic and shendyt, all trimmed in radiant gold.
The reflection paused for a fleeting moment on the threshold of the mirror, then resumed his swift approach. Instinctively, Atem sidestepped in front of Satiah and backed away just as quickly. At this, the spectre stopped and sneered.
"Who are you?" Atem demanded, his voice swallowed up by the vast darkness.
The sneer twisted itself back into a smile on the spectre's face. "Who am I?" he repeated, as if he were considering it for the first time. "I … am your destiny."
Atem froze up, his mind unwilling to follow where the words desperately wanted to lead him. But his reflection smiled on, looking back over his shoulder as the mirror displayed more images of cruelty and despotism — farmlands laid waste by plague and famine, holy lands pillaged, citizens forced into slavery.
"No," Atem gasped, giving a weak shake of his head. "No, I don't believe it. I would never—"
His shadow barked a laugh as he faced forward again. His lips remained cut through with a manic smile. "This is the fate you are bound for," he declared, voice booming with conviction. "This is the truth of your birthright — the testament to your legacy."
The spectre pivoted forward yet another step, extending his hand as if in a welcoming gesture. Atem continued his cautious backsteps, but his mind drew blank with fear, his dry mouth failing to form words.
"The Gods would not lie to you," his reflection continued, as if reading Atem's mind, "nor would your own heart. Look inside yourself. You know it to be true."
Atem winced at the feel of a hand falling to his shoulder. Satiah swept forward and put herself between him and his menacing shadow. "Don't listen to him," she said in a low voice. "He speaks only lies. I know your heart. I have seen it—"
"Silence!"
Over Satiah's shoulder, Atem glimpsed a bright flash radiating from the Pendant around the spectre's neck. A bolt of light streaked forth to pierce Satiah's middle, causing her to cry out in pain and stagger forward.
"Satiah!"
Atem caught her, but her weight began dissipating instantly in his arms. Her eyes rolled back into her head, her corporeal form turning hazy and white, like ka returning to the ethereal plane. But instead of dispersing to nothingness, the wisps of her spirit were drawn downward, flowing like a stream into the Eye of Wadjet carved on his own Millennium Pendant. Atem grasped at the empty air where she'd just stood, then curled his hands into fists.
"What have you done with her?!" he cried, returning his burning eyes to the reflection before him.
The spectre bared his teeth in a ruthless grin. "Fret not," he said. "She will be safe and sound within the room of your heart."
The fear and dread and uncertainty that had been creeping in Atem's core soon clawed itself into wrathful consternation. "What do you want from me?" he shouted. "What tribute does the Almighty One demand?"
Again, the reflection raised a hand to point in Atem's direction. "Only this: that you accept your fate, and embrace your future as you have seen it."
Atem dug his fingers further into his palms, remembering with searing rebuke the sights shown to him in the black mirror. It seemed impossible — unthinkable that his reign might ever amount to such cruelty and ruination. And yet, a familiar guilt still tugged at the back of his mind — memories of Memphis, burning hot under the setting sun.
With a sharp grit of his teeth, he forced himself to rise above the weight sinking in his soul. "No," he declared, the syllable short enough to conceal the waver in his voice. "I refuse."
Another measured laugh rippled out from his reflection. "Whether you resist or submit makes no difference," he said. "You cannot defy your own fate. It is the will of the God who made you." The spectre raised both arms now, looking over his shoulder toward the sphere which hovered above the black mirror. "Come — meet your Creator, and let yourself be judged by his Light."
At this, the sphere shuddered wildly, filling the void with dissonant sounds as it began to crimp and coil, sections breaking free to form new, sweeping shapes. Atem watched in awe as two wings unfurled, revealing the regal head of a falcon, rearing and framed by a gilded halo. Fierce arms and legs stretched out from Ra's body, beset with talons long enough to impale a man. With a beat of its mighty wings and a flick of its long tail, the God Creator steadied itself effortlessly as it came to hover before its presumptive master.
Atem's eyes began to water as he gazed upon the God's radiance. He forced himself to look away at the sound of his shadow's amused laughter.
"Atem son of Aknamkanon, Wielder of the Millennium Pendant, Chosen Sovereign, Blood of the New Kings…" The reflection lifted his hand to point accusingly across the arena. "Accept your destiny … or be cleansed by Ra's Holy fire."
In the heat of the Almighty One, the doubts left lingering in Atem's mind quickly melted away. Instead, a familiar pain trickled white-hot down from the top of his skull — the rageful defiance of his captured Gods. They thrashed angrily, mournfully in the pit of his soul, both begging and resisting the call of their Creator.
But when Ra parted its jaws to let loose an earth-defying cry, the challenge could no longer be ignored. Atem reached up and felt the emptiness in his heart filled instantly with the might of the heavens. Osiris bled like a wound into the blackness, red scales turned to gold sparks in the God Creator's light. Its great length curled and coiled overhead — poised to deliver the wrath of its new master.
"You are a fool if you think Death can prevail over Life," his reflection scoffed, raising his hand toward the Almighty One. "Ra! I beseech you — burn away our weakness!"
Again, Ra opened its hooked beak, gathering cosmic light between its jaws. Staring into the blinding flare, Atem felt as though his skin were already turning to ash. Bravely, he thrust his hand out to his own God-servant. "Osiris! Do what you must to protect our future!"
A haunting scream rose up to join the roar of flame, followed soon after by the deep crackle of lightning as Osiris prepared to heed its master's call. Streaks of red and gold soon consumed Atem's vision, until he was forced to wince away and cover his eyes as the ancient magic of his forefathers emerged and collided in a proliferous cataclysm. The sounds were shrill and dulcet; deafening and silent. Heat clawed and caressed him; maimed and nurtured him. He could feel his spirit eroding away — purging from him like a fever purges sickness — and he knew his God was failing him. Life was indeed conquering Death, as certain as the sun breaks through the clouds.
Then, the omnipotence of the Gods shrank back on itself like a collapsing star. The force incinerated what little strength Atem had left, pulling him sharply to his hands and knees. Through sweat-soaked eyes, he looked up to see clouds of rippling heat consuming Osiris, turning its regal hide to cinders — inch by inch and scale by scale.
His heart would have burnt with it, if not for what he saw across the arena: dealt a great blow by its Holy brethren, Ra smoldered and smoked, screeching its pain as it crumpled into a writhing heap on the ground.
In the same way, Atem's reflection doubled over, clutching to himself and shivering as though the entirety of this world hadn't just been set aflame. Seizing his chance, Atem staggered to his feet, clinging to any shred of hope he could find in the face of these insurmountable odds. Even from across the arena, Atem could see his shadow's eyes flying wide, teeth clenched tight in a grimace of disbelief.
"Impossible!" the reflection cried. "How dare you continue to defy your Creator!"
Atem lengthened his stance in a weak attempt to brace himself, but his legs shook beneath him, his chest gripped by desperate, ragged breaths.
With equal effort, the spectre straightened and reached out to the Ra's shuddering form. "Our future depends upon your defeat," he muttered with venom. "If I must offer up my essence to bring about this reality … then that is a price I will happily pay."
Though his vision slid in and out of focus, Atem saw clearly the moment Ra's flame lashed out to touch the spectre's outstretched hand, igniting his flesh as effortlessly as a spark among dried tinder. The fire ripped its way down the shadow's arm and across his chest; as he cried out, Atem, too, felt pain raking like hot coals across his core. The sound of the spectre's tortured screams was almost enough to drain what remained of Atem's will, but bravely, he held onto his consciousness — long enough to see his reflection's molten essence drawn into the body of the God still sprawled on the floor of the arena. The fire soon consumed it too — streaks of orange and white and blazing blue running together and curling outward in hungry bursts, searching for more lifeblood to feed its ceaseless inferno.
Like a phoenix from the ashes, Ra rose again, given new life by the sacrifice of its master. With a meteoric cry, the Immortal God dipped its head in preparation to inflict its final, unerring judgment.
Atem lifted a hand, at first intending to call upon another ka, in the hopes it might protect him from the coming conflagration. Instead, he thrust his palm into his chest and took hold of his Millennium Pendant. A warm echo eminanted from within it — a sweet, sonorous sound, like a bell being struck to ring for all eternity.
And though the heat of a thousand suns threatened to rend his spirit to pieces, a smile came freely to his lips.
