The air was hot and difficult to breathe. Zane knelt in front of the rift that ran across the large chamber, the books on either side of him. The rift was cold and dark, but Zane's inner vision showed it filled with fire, and heat, and souls. Imhotep had entered the underworld from here – bodily. Zane knew that if he stopped to think about what he was doing, he wouldn't do it. He took a few deep breaths and placed the Book of the Dead on his lap. The key was still in the lock, and he turned it. The mechanism released with a click, and Zane's hands took over for him, opening the book and turning the pages until he got to the right one. A few more breaths and Zane began to read, aided by the light that was already growing in the rift below.

"Amon-Ra, Amon-day . . ."

The energy in the room seemed to draw in closer. It was almost suffocating. As Zane continued to read the spell, the words echoing off the walls, the light continued to grow. Fire could be seen at the edge of the rift, and now the sound of thousands of voices (cheering? screaming?) rose from the great crack in the earth. Zane couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. The words and the power were carrying him along. Every cell in his body was vibrating as if electrically charged. His voice, deeper and more resonate than it had ever been, spoke the last few words, "Yah-tuay, yah-tuay, yah-tuay!"

A deep rumble shook the ground, and fire erupted from the rift. Zane had just enough presence of mind to grab the books before stumbling backward. The wall of fire reminded Zane of footage of a volcano eruption he had seen on TV before. The heat was intense, but nothing burned beyond the fire itself. After a few long seconds, the fire subsided, going back down into the rift from whence it came. The voices, too, were gone. Silence descended to fill the space the noise had left behind.

In the fading light, Zane saw something on the other side of the rift. A body was lying face down on the floor. Even without seeing his face, he knew that it was Imhotep. He could feel him, almost like a vibration. He could now feel Anck-su-namon now, too. She was not far from here, her body nothing more than dust. It was a very odd sensation to feel people like this, and with everything else that had gone on, Zane was feeling overwhelmed. He took a few seconds to steady himself, then picked up the flashlight and got to his feet. Anubis was still there, but he felt more distant. "Be careful. He doesn't know where he is, or what has happened to him." The god said quietly. There was something in his tone, gentleness or sadness. For the first time Zane realized that this was more than a job to Anubis. Perhaps the Lord of the Dead himself had something to do with the decision to resurrect the doomed lovers.

The rift loomed ominously between him and Imhotep. It was not wide, but he would need to jump across it to reach the other side. Trying not to think, Zane backed up and ran as fast as he could. In the shaking beam of his flashlight he saw the rift approach and he jumped. In the brief second that he hung over the abyss, the sound of the souls deep below filled his head. It was so sudden and so loud that he almost passed out. Then he felt sold stone beneath him and he grabbed his head screaming, "Out, out, out!" to the voices. The cacophony was so loud that he couldn't make a single word out among it. The sound threatened to drive him mad. Then, a single voice, clearly in English, cut through the noise. "Help me." It said. And he knew that voice, knew it in a way that should not have been possible. It was Anck-su-namon. A part of him recognized it from the dreams and visions, but another part of him felt as if he truly remembered her. A few dozen feet away, Imhotep moved.

The voices dwindled and fell silent. Zane regained control of himself and slowly got to his feet. He picked up the flashlight that had thankfully not been broken when he dropped it. He would have to move quickly now. Imhotep could awaken at any moment and something told him he would need to be there when he did.

In a few seconds, Zane's flashlight illuminated the body of Imhotep. He hesitated a few feet away, moved closer and knelt down. Then he hesitated again. He was still trying to figure out what this odd feeling was. The vibration was stronger now that he was closer. He knew he had to wake Imhotep up, but he feared what might happen when he did. There was no way of knowing what he had been through. If Imhotep had been floating in unconsciousness this whole time, he would still recall falling through the rift and being snatched at by the eager souls waiting below. If he had been conscious the whole time . . . Zane didn't want to know what he may have been through.

Get it over with. Get it over with. Zane told himself. He reached out his hand and touched Imhotep's shoulder. For a second, nothing happened. Then, Zane was seeing that last moment again, with Imhotep hanging over the chasm. But this time he was seeing it from Imhotep's perspective, feeling what he felt. He watched Anck-su-namon as she ran away, and his heart was filled with such despair that life itself did not matter. All he had been through, all the suffering and pain, everything was pointless. Everything was empty. He loved her so much that it hurt, and now that she was gone there was nothing. Nothing. He didn't care what happened to him. It didn't mater. And it was so easy to let go . . . for a while he simply fell, sadness numbing him. Then he felt the hands, hundreds – thousands of them. Grabbing, pulling, pushing. And the screams. All he could hear were the screams. All else was pushed aside as fear finally took hold.

Zane came back to himself screaming. And face to face with Imhotep, who was also screaming. They both blinked, realizing they were no longer down in that fiery pit. Then they stumbled backwards on their hands and knees a few paces. Imhotep began to yell in Egyptian, but Zane wasn't able to translate. He forced himself to concentrate harder and was able to make out a few words. Imhotep was screaming about falling, and fire and the feeling of grasping hands on his body. He took a breath and some of the fear left his eyes, "Where am I? Where am I?" He asked. Then his expression changed again, and Zane knew he was in trouble.

This was the Imhotep that had sucked the life out of men, killed without thought, and plotted to take the world by force. He got to his feet quickly, if a bit shakily, and Zane did the same. "You are back in the pyramid of the Scorpion King." Zane said badly in Egyptian.

There was a flicker that Imhotep tried to hide. "Who are you?"

"My name is Zane. I brought you back."

"Why?"

"I serve the will of the gods."

Imhotep laughed. "The gods! I have no need of gods. I am a god!"

"I can help you bring back Anck-su-namon." Zane said.

"She is dead?" Imhotep said carefully.

"Yes."

"What happened to her?"

Zane dropped his gaze. "Scarabs. It was . . . it was pretty quick, but . . ." He trailed off. After a deep breath, he continued. "Do you want her back?"

Imhotep considered. She had abandoned him to death, caused him pain that transcended anything physical that he had ever suffered. How could she do that to him? He had thought their love was eternal, unbreakable. Perhaps she did not feel the same. Perhaps she never had. And now this boy was telling him that she had died, suffering death in the ravenous mouths of scarabs. Good. If only he could make her suffer three thousand years of agony, trapped in living death, as he had. Still . . . part of him desperately wished to see her again. Part of him hoped that she still loved him.

"Why does it matter if I want her back or not? Why do I need you?" Imhotep asked. Zane knew the priest was sizing him up, wondering if it was worth the trouble to kill him.

Zane hadn't understood before, but he did now. "Because there is no body. The only spell you know requires her body. But I know another. Without me, you have nothing."

"Why do you care for Anck-su-namon?"

It was hard to explain with his limited grasp of Egyptian. "I have seen her, and I have seen you, in visions. I have seen your love. I have felt it." He took a breath, "Can't you hear her? Whispering in the back of your mind? Don't you want to bring her back, living and breathing?"

Imhotep could indeed hear Anck-su-namon. Her voice was distant, and nearly lost beneath the cries of other souls. She was calling out for help. As much as he tried to harden his heart against her, he could not.

Zane could feel Imhotep's desire. "Then let's go bring her back. Follow me." Zane turned and backed up so he could jump across the gap. The souls below called out to him again, but Zane was able to block them out. He landed on the other side and heard Imhotep land behind him a moment later. The priest could easily pick Zane up and throw him into the chasm if he wished, but Imhotep made no move of aggression. The boy had given him no reason for distrust yet. He would wait a while longer.

Without a word, Zane picked up the black book and handed it to Imhotep. The Egyptian took the book, feeling the weight of power in it, and the weight of the events that had surrounded it. Zane picked up the gold book and put on his backpack before leaving the chamber.