Disclaimer:
Dear Reader,
Sadly, I do not own any of the characters in this story except the ones you've never heard of. Which is quite unfortunate really, as if I owned the ones you had heard of, I would probably be quite wealthy and could sit on some beach all day writing this kind of thing. Which, come to think of it, from your perspective is probably something of a relief.
Undoubtedly some small liberty taking with history, ancient mythology, the bible (yes I know some people would regard that as the same thing), and with a take on some characters history that may clash a little with the novels but not (I hope) with the movies. Apologies to those any of that might annoy. But then this is only a story.
________________________________
THE MUMMY'S SHADOW
Prologue
In his pain,, he longed for oblivion. That his soul might be eaten up and destroyed, never to return to the world of man, as those that failed the test of life were warned it would be. Twice he had experienced life and twice he had been judged to have failed it, and yet still his soul existed.
How he prayed for it to be finished.
Prayed that he would no longer have to live in his own personal hell, experiencing and re-experiencing the moment in his life, when his entire world crumbled around him, when his heart broke, and his entire being was filled with disbelief and despair. The moment when he finally realised that everything he had done, all that he had given up, all the betrayal, the physical pain, and all the deaths, had all been for nothing.
What he experienced now, was far worse in it's way than the curse he had endured for almost 3,000 years. More than fire and brimstone, far more than physical torment, living in this one moment of despair and hopelessness unable to experience anything else was the worst hell a man could face. For without hope there is nothing.
It was enough to drive a man insane with grief and pain. But that relief was denied him, all relief was denied him, in revenge for his betrayal both of man and Gods. So he prayed to the Gods for that relief, even as he screamed his torment.
But the Gods had long ago deserted him.
Just as he had deserted Osiris, whose High Priest he had been. Deserted him for unquenchable love of a woman forbidden to him, a woman who had loved him with a similar unquenchable fire.
Or so he had thought.
But the truth of it had been different. The truth was the moment he was living now, and would live forever, as long as Ma'at endured and kept the cosmic balance. Until then he would live this moment, the moment when, after 3,000 years of struggle to finally be reunited with her and take vengeance on the world that kept them apart, she had turned from him, her eyes filled with fear, unwilling to risk herself to help save the lover who had risked all for her. And she had run. In that very moment his entire world collapsed in on itself, just as the ancient temple they were in was doing.
Anck-sa-namun!
He screamed her name for the countless time. Pleading, in disbelief, watching her go, watching her leave him, the hurt, the despair, piercing his soul once again, with all the dizzying freshness of new experience.
She had been fickle. All this time.
As High Priest he had had power and influence, the greatest of all save Pharaoh and his eldest son. A living God, in his way. Returned from his grave he was a God, with powers that manipulated the very earth itself to inflict death and suffering on those that dwelt upon it. And she had loved him.
But, powers stripped by an ancient trap of Anubis, he was a mortal man, and she was frightened. He thought at first it was fear for him, for the danger that he strode into without his powers unafraid, willing to risk all to gain the world for them. For her. But in truth, it was fear for herself, for what might become of her if he did not return. Newly restored to this world her fear was stronger than her love for him.
And in his defeat, revealed as normal mortal man brought low, she had run. Run from him even as his pleas for her aid rang in her ears.
Unlike the other. The one who had restored him once at Hamanaptra, and who had there, later, sent him back to his curse. The one he thought they had killed but who had herself been restored to life. She did not run from the man who was hers when he too was in mortal jeopardy.
No. Even with his limited knowledge of the modern language, he knew that the man who fought him at every hands turn, and who hung with him now over the crevasse where they had both fallen, had cried out to his wife to leave him. No, he had cried.
But with her man's words begging her to stay back, and amidst the falling temple, she had risked her newly restored life once more, her love greater than her fear, and had managed to pull him to the safety of her embrace.
In seeing them, his nemeses, their love and strength together shining as he thought only his and Anck-sa-namun's could, and with the memory of the retreating back of his lovers form, he had known the death of his spirit. And had gladly fallen into the pit, seeking his oblivion.
But had not found it.
Instead, fresh torments had been found for him, by Osiris, who he had betrayed and who ruled the underworld. And with no one left to restore him, and even in his pain, no wish to be restored to a world without her, he would dwell here in agony for ever.
There was no anger, no desire for revenge. Just the moment of truth.
For what might have been the millionth time, or could've been the first. He screamed his loss once more, unheeding, unaware, of all the other similar screams of the lost souls around him, for hell was endured alone. It would begin again, afresh, instantaneously, playing over and over again, all the emotions fresh, the wounds new, with no respite, no relief.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, there was nothing.
No vision of a betraying lover, no pain, no despair, no heartbreak.
Nothing but the sound of other souls torments, as his own suddenly ended.
Whether his consciousness perceived himself to be whole, or whether his body had been held intact after he had thrown himself into the outstretched hands of the denizens of hell, he knew not, but he looked around, and saw, or imagined he saw, the other souls with whom he shared this vast unending horror.
Their multitude of screams assaulted his ears like a weapon, and he clamped his hands, or envisioned himself in the action of doing so, over his ears. Strangely restored to himself, such a sound threatened to truly drive him insane. But just as suddenly as he had been restored to this state of awareness, the sound faded, through no aid of his hands, real or not. And everything went black.
For a fleeting moment, freed from it's shackles, there was hope. A hope that the oblivion he had sought had been granted to him. But in realising that thought, he knew that it had not.
In as much as he could feel, it felt like he was in a vast black underground cavern, and all around him a gentle wind blew, sighing along the walls he could not see, as he strained what senses he had to hear, he could almost make out words, whispering to him.
Then it came to him. Shooting through him like frigid blast of air.
"Imhotep." The voice echoed, full of ancient raging fury, yet quiet as a murmur.
"Lord." His own remembered voice replied, full of fear and true servility. There was silence for a long moment. Then the cold blast of air whipped through his being again.
"You wish release from your torment?" it asked with the same impossible sound of thunder and whisper both together, even though it knew the answer to the question. It whipped through him again. "To return to the living?"
An aching weariness consumed the soul of the High Priest. 3,000 years out of his time nothing remained for him there, save Anck-sa-namun and vengeance. But even if she lived she did not love him the way he loved her, and his appetite for vengeance had finally died with him.
"I wish only for the true peace of death, or oblivion, great lord Osiris." He whispered as truthfully and penitently as he had ever spoken, unthinkingly making an assumption.
The raging force of a hurricane with all it's sheer mind numbing coldness, the coldness of absolute nothingness blasted through him, causing him to scream as it permeated his very soul.
"Know this." The voice blasted the ancient terrifying fury in it directed at him. "I am not Osiris."
His mind freed, from the chains of his torment, Imhotep's knowledge had flooded back to him, and in that instant of disclaimer, he knew to whom he spoke.
"Lord Set." He gasped, his fear growing exponentially at the mention of the dark God's name. The wind died down, as if it were well pleased with the almost instant recognition and fear in the response. When the whip of cold passed through him again, there was an almost tangible sense of satisfaction in it.
"Serve me," it whispered "and you will receive the oblivion you desire. None else can aid you in this place."
Imhotep was silent. Maybe it was his life as a priest of Osiris, the brother and natural enemy of Set, or maybe it was the torment of the anguish he had been through here, with it's knowledge of the folly of his actions thus far, but the idea of serving this God, even to gain what he most desired did not sit well with him.
But Gods can read what resides within the souls of men, and Set's fury whipped through him once more at his apparent reluctance.
When his screams had died down. The God spoke to him once more.
"Very well." It thundered and murmured. "Return to your torment, but take with you the knowledge of this offer as your only hope in this place of absolute despair. And when the anguish has broken you, call out to me, and I will come." There was an absolute tone of certainty in the Gods next words "And know this, priest of despised Osiris. You will call to me. For it has been written so, since long before your birth."
A fraction of a moment later, Imhotep was returned to the moment of his eternal anguish, as events within the temple of Ahm Shere played out again and again. But even as he screamed his pain, in chorus with those around him, there remained in his memory this time the offer that had been made to him, and the soft dying whisper of the God, that almost crowed as it faded from him
"You are the culmination of a thousand generations of our labours. You will be ours to wield."
_______________________________
Dear Reader,
Sadly, I do not own any of the characters in this story except the ones you've never heard of. Which is quite unfortunate really, as if I owned the ones you had heard of, I would probably be quite wealthy and could sit on some beach all day writing this kind of thing. Which, come to think of it, from your perspective is probably something of a relief.
Undoubtedly some small liberty taking with history, ancient mythology, the bible (yes I know some people would regard that as the same thing), and with a take on some characters history that may clash a little with the novels but not (I hope) with the movies. Apologies to those any of that might annoy. But then this is only a story.
________________________________
THE MUMMY'S SHADOW
Prologue
In his pain,, he longed for oblivion. That his soul might be eaten up and destroyed, never to return to the world of man, as those that failed the test of life were warned it would be. Twice he had experienced life and twice he had been judged to have failed it, and yet still his soul existed.
How he prayed for it to be finished.
Prayed that he would no longer have to live in his own personal hell, experiencing and re-experiencing the moment in his life, when his entire world crumbled around him, when his heart broke, and his entire being was filled with disbelief and despair. The moment when he finally realised that everything he had done, all that he had given up, all the betrayal, the physical pain, and all the deaths, had all been for nothing.
What he experienced now, was far worse in it's way than the curse he had endured for almost 3,000 years. More than fire and brimstone, far more than physical torment, living in this one moment of despair and hopelessness unable to experience anything else was the worst hell a man could face. For without hope there is nothing.
It was enough to drive a man insane with grief and pain. But that relief was denied him, all relief was denied him, in revenge for his betrayal both of man and Gods. So he prayed to the Gods for that relief, even as he screamed his torment.
But the Gods had long ago deserted him.
Just as he had deserted Osiris, whose High Priest he had been. Deserted him for unquenchable love of a woman forbidden to him, a woman who had loved him with a similar unquenchable fire.
Or so he had thought.
But the truth of it had been different. The truth was the moment he was living now, and would live forever, as long as Ma'at endured and kept the cosmic balance. Until then he would live this moment, the moment when, after 3,000 years of struggle to finally be reunited with her and take vengeance on the world that kept them apart, she had turned from him, her eyes filled with fear, unwilling to risk herself to help save the lover who had risked all for her. And she had run. In that very moment his entire world collapsed in on itself, just as the ancient temple they were in was doing.
Anck-sa-namun!
He screamed her name for the countless time. Pleading, in disbelief, watching her go, watching her leave him, the hurt, the despair, piercing his soul once again, with all the dizzying freshness of new experience.
She had been fickle. All this time.
As High Priest he had had power and influence, the greatest of all save Pharaoh and his eldest son. A living God, in his way. Returned from his grave he was a God, with powers that manipulated the very earth itself to inflict death and suffering on those that dwelt upon it. And she had loved him.
But, powers stripped by an ancient trap of Anubis, he was a mortal man, and she was frightened. He thought at first it was fear for him, for the danger that he strode into without his powers unafraid, willing to risk all to gain the world for them. For her. But in truth, it was fear for herself, for what might become of her if he did not return. Newly restored to this world her fear was stronger than her love for him.
And in his defeat, revealed as normal mortal man brought low, she had run. Run from him even as his pleas for her aid rang in her ears.
Unlike the other. The one who had restored him once at Hamanaptra, and who had there, later, sent him back to his curse. The one he thought they had killed but who had herself been restored to life. She did not run from the man who was hers when he too was in mortal jeopardy.
No. Even with his limited knowledge of the modern language, he knew that the man who fought him at every hands turn, and who hung with him now over the crevasse where they had both fallen, had cried out to his wife to leave him. No, he had cried.
But with her man's words begging her to stay back, and amidst the falling temple, she had risked her newly restored life once more, her love greater than her fear, and had managed to pull him to the safety of her embrace.
In seeing them, his nemeses, their love and strength together shining as he thought only his and Anck-sa-namun's could, and with the memory of the retreating back of his lovers form, he had known the death of his spirit. And had gladly fallen into the pit, seeking his oblivion.
But had not found it.
Instead, fresh torments had been found for him, by Osiris, who he had betrayed and who ruled the underworld. And with no one left to restore him, and even in his pain, no wish to be restored to a world without her, he would dwell here in agony for ever.
There was no anger, no desire for revenge. Just the moment of truth.
For what might have been the millionth time, or could've been the first. He screamed his loss once more, unheeding, unaware, of all the other similar screams of the lost souls around him, for hell was endured alone. It would begin again, afresh, instantaneously, playing over and over again, all the emotions fresh, the wounds new, with no respite, no relief.
But suddenly, unexpectedly, there was nothing.
No vision of a betraying lover, no pain, no despair, no heartbreak.
Nothing but the sound of other souls torments, as his own suddenly ended.
Whether his consciousness perceived himself to be whole, or whether his body had been held intact after he had thrown himself into the outstretched hands of the denizens of hell, he knew not, but he looked around, and saw, or imagined he saw, the other souls with whom he shared this vast unending horror.
Their multitude of screams assaulted his ears like a weapon, and he clamped his hands, or envisioned himself in the action of doing so, over his ears. Strangely restored to himself, such a sound threatened to truly drive him insane. But just as suddenly as he had been restored to this state of awareness, the sound faded, through no aid of his hands, real or not. And everything went black.
For a fleeting moment, freed from it's shackles, there was hope. A hope that the oblivion he had sought had been granted to him. But in realising that thought, he knew that it had not.
In as much as he could feel, it felt like he was in a vast black underground cavern, and all around him a gentle wind blew, sighing along the walls he could not see, as he strained what senses he had to hear, he could almost make out words, whispering to him.
Then it came to him. Shooting through him like frigid blast of air.
"Imhotep." The voice echoed, full of ancient raging fury, yet quiet as a murmur.
"Lord." His own remembered voice replied, full of fear and true servility. There was silence for a long moment. Then the cold blast of air whipped through his being again.
"You wish release from your torment?" it asked with the same impossible sound of thunder and whisper both together, even though it knew the answer to the question. It whipped through him again. "To return to the living?"
An aching weariness consumed the soul of the High Priest. 3,000 years out of his time nothing remained for him there, save Anck-sa-namun and vengeance. But even if she lived she did not love him the way he loved her, and his appetite for vengeance had finally died with him.
"I wish only for the true peace of death, or oblivion, great lord Osiris." He whispered as truthfully and penitently as he had ever spoken, unthinkingly making an assumption.
The raging force of a hurricane with all it's sheer mind numbing coldness, the coldness of absolute nothingness blasted through him, causing him to scream as it permeated his very soul.
"Know this." The voice blasted the ancient terrifying fury in it directed at him. "I am not Osiris."
His mind freed, from the chains of his torment, Imhotep's knowledge had flooded back to him, and in that instant of disclaimer, he knew to whom he spoke.
"Lord Set." He gasped, his fear growing exponentially at the mention of the dark God's name. The wind died down, as if it were well pleased with the almost instant recognition and fear in the response. When the whip of cold passed through him again, there was an almost tangible sense of satisfaction in it.
"Serve me," it whispered "and you will receive the oblivion you desire. None else can aid you in this place."
Imhotep was silent. Maybe it was his life as a priest of Osiris, the brother and natural enemy of Set, or maybe it was the torment of the anguish he had been through here, with it's knowledge of the folly of his actions thus far, but the idea of serving this God, even to gain what he most desired did not sit well with him.
But Gods can read what resides within the souls of men, and Set's fury whipped through him once more at his apparent reluctance.
When his screams had died down. The God spoke to him once more.
"Very well." It thundered and murmured. "Return to your torment, but take with you the knowledge of this offer as your only hope in this place of absolute despair. And when the anguish has broken you, call out to me, and I will come." There was an absolute tone of certainty in the Gods next words "And know this, priest of despised Osiris. You will call to me. For it has been written so, since long before your birth."
A fraction of a moment later, Imhotep was returned to the moment of his eternal anguish, as events within the temple of Ahm Shere played out again and again. But even as he screamed his pain, in chorus with those around him, there remained in his memory this time the offer that had been made to him, and the soft dying whisper of the God, that almost crowed as it faded from him
"You are the culmination of a thousand generations of our labours. You will be ours to wield."
_______________________________
