A/N:
Hello All! And how are you this fine morning/afternoon/evening/whenever you're reading this? I'm pretty well, thank you. Right, enough of that. I KNOW I promised a sequel what, oh, a year ago? What can I say? I'm not any more immune to qwriter's block thanâwellâthe next person.
Next person: Hey! I am too immune to writer's block!
Me: Well, then fine. YOU might be. But I am NOT. So there. makes face
next person sulks
Anyway, here (finally) is the sequel to Imhotep's Revenge. You will, by the way, want to read Imhotep's Revenge first if you haven't already ;-) Otherwise, this all will be horribly confusing. However, I'm not your mum. Read away if you wish ï.
Neffie: Hi! How are you? Well, here it is. I finally wrote the bloody sequel. Can you believe how awful writer's block is? Ugh, I nearly perished. ;-) Anyway, this chappie is dedicated to you, cuz you're the only one of my old reviewers who has hung around. Maybe I'll hear from more and be able to dedicate chapters to them, no? Ok, enough desperation. Enjoy the story, Neffiegirl.
To all my other reviewers from IR (that is, Imhotep's Revenge): HIIIII! I missed you! Sorry it took me so bloody long to write this. Anyway, thank you all so much! I LOVE your reviews! I read them every so often and am inspired to overcome any and all forms of writer's block. I hope to hear from you all soon. Email me whenever you can, alright?
Alright, no more boring blabbing from me. Read on!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of TM characters, nor will I ever (said with great sorrow). I do, however, own my original characters that never appeared in either Mummy movie. So there.
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Hatred is a powerful thing.
It can tear sanity from the minds of men, snatch emotion from any living creature, and blind anyone and everyone to anything but its devastating effects.
It has the power to command armies, the ability to destroy nations, the capacity to manipulate entire worlds.
Hatred can rightfully be described as a appalling fire, drowning men in its scorching flames, devouring human souls in mere seconds, leaving nothing behind but a marred and empty shell; yet also as a tempting portion of chocolate, able t melt seamlessly into darkness, its taste sweet and its effects gratifying.
Its death toll is many, its destruction infinite.
It is worse than any physical weapon, able to slice cleanly through anyone's heart and thereby infect it with any and all types of darkness.
There isn't a person alive today who hasn't been victim to its almost seducing ways, who hasn't given in to temporary insanity in order to lessen the temptations it can fold on them; yet for some, its call is stronger than it is for others, almost to the point hat it controls their every move.
Imhotep was one of these people; driven so much by his hatred for the O'Connells that it caused a lapse in his sanity.
Of course he did have good reason to detest the O'Connells, if there could be a good reason for he rage he felt at the mere mention of their name; they had defeated him and his love—Anck-su-namun—not once or even twice, but three times.
Three times
Imhotep growled under his breath, his thoughts merely fanning the flames of loathing he held for those people. How could it be that a simple family of three—no, four now; they had adopted that little brat Shanala, or so he'd heard—defeat him, a reincarnated ancient Egyptian with the terrible and awesome powers granted to him for enduring the Hum Dai—the most terrible of ancient Egyptian curses in which his tongue had been cut off, his eyes gouged out, and his body sealed in a coffin with flesh-eating scarabs.
Imhotep shuddered despite the heat; the mere thought of those days locked in that airless, pitch-black sarcophagus with those terrible insects made his skin crawl, as if the scarabs were still scrabbling over his flesh as he stood regally in the desert sun.
"My Lord?"
Imhotep turned, his troubling thoughts interrupted by the deep voice that had called o him.
His captain-of-the-guard—a dark-eyed monster of a man named Abitula--smiled slightly, "The rumors are true; the O'Connell family is moving from London, even as we speak."
Imhotep smirked, shaking his head as he faced the desert horizon; nothing but miles of sand that danced in the hot wind and rippled eerily in the sun's rays greeted him. He considered Abitula's words thoughtfully; did the O'Connells honestly think that leaving their current home—one they had lived in for over a decade—would prevent hi from finding them? He would discover where that had moved, and then he would go to their house himself and crush their bones into fine powder.
The thought sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine, and he turned to the captain, grinning broadly, "Excellent work. Do not lose track of them. We must know where they are going, so that we can close in and attack."
"Yes, My Lord."
Imhotep turned then, preparing to walk away; Abitula stopped him.
"My Lord? I don not know if this is a significant detailâbut we have found that the boy, Alex O'Connell, will be here in Egypt soon." Abitula smirked, "It sees he is undertaking training to become a Medjai."
Imhotep's disturbing smile widened, "And the girl?"
"Her brother insisted that she be with him."
Imhotep laughed; it was a hollow sound, as if his soul was an empty cavern, devoid of any emotion.
"Excellent. We have two--"
"—with only the hassle of one," Abitula nodded in agreement, his own nasty smirk splayed on his lips.
Imhotep turned away from the horizon then, looking out over the hundreds if soldiers gathered before him.
"Tell the men to keep their eyes sharp for the children. As they have yet to reach Egypt, I will take my own men with me to personally greet them and their parents."
His dark eyes flickered, a hungry flame dancing in them, "I have a feeling they may be expecting me."
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Many miles away, in a beautiful manor in London, Shanala O'Connell awoke with a scream.