Hamunaptra, Egypt

Year 1290 BC

The screams could be heard as two men walked down the stairs into the underground preparation chamber. One of them, a tall man with startling stormy blue eyes and light brown hair, looked down on the scene that lay before them. Over a dozen men were being prepared for mummification, except for one major detail; they were still alive.

"Disgusting methods," his companions said as they halted for a moment. He was looking at the display of torture disdainfully. "I don't know why you brought me here, Gabriel."

The first man glanced to his companion, and a pair of black wings on his back ruffled slightly. "To enforce their judgements," he said, now continuing down the stairs and keeping his gaze on what was being enacted before them. "Do you know what these men, commanded by their leader, were attempting to do?"

The other man sighed, his white wings shifting while he watched. Truly, he sometimes regretted certain aspects of his position, though at times like these, he regretted the position of his companion. "I know all about the Egyptians and their study of necromancy," he stated, eyes still drawn to the horrible punishments being inflicted. "But why in the Creator's name must we be here? Surely we have better things to do."

With a sharp glare, the black-winged man silenced his fellow divine being. "You are the Angel of Death, Sariel," he said. "As such, it is your duty to uphold their laws of punishments into the next life."

Again, he sighed. Sariel knew the speech and reasons well, but still, he never could understand why Gabriel, who was not just any angel, but one of the Archangels, could have so much passion for upholding the judgements of the mortal world as well as those of Heaven. "You know that the Creator doesn't like it when we enforce the edicts of lesser deities, Gabriel. It's bad enough that man's beliefs are strong enough to bring those beings into existence, it doesn't help that we-"

"Imhotep has broken our laws as well," Gabriel snapped. He looked to where one man was singled out, a group of the large muscular guards cutting out his tongue. "He defies the laws of death, attempting to bring back one from the dark underworld of their faith."

"And as such, he is subject to the law of God," Sariel finished. His tone indicated that he had well heard similar lectures many times. "Yes, I know...but why enforce the Hom-dai? Doing so will ensure that he defies death."

The Archangel patted his fellow divinity on the shoulder. Sariel didn't understand that these orders came form the highest echelons of Heaven. All he needed to know was that he was to enforce the law of the Egyptians, to damn the man named Imhotep to undeath. "I recall you made the same complaint about Cain."

Sariel groaned. Leave it to Gabriel to bring that subject up. "Again, I still wonder about that. Raziel's suggestion on the matter was bad enough, but then you had to give the idea of making him wander the Earth for all eternity." With a snort, the Angel of Death glanced toward where Imhotep was now being wrapped in bandages. It was then, if he could, he would have paled in disgust. "Oh no," he whispered. "They're using scarabs."

He glanced over, noting as one of the guards, with the head of Anubis as a helmet over his own, walked over to the coffin and poured a swarm of scarab beetles onto Imhotep as he struggled. "For the Angel of Death," he muttered, "you have a rather weak constitution."

"I only move them along most of the time, not watch how they died," Sariel replied. "That's your job, oh Archangel of Judgement, Justice, and causing a lot of death."

"I do my job a lot more reliably than Michael," came the witty retort from the Archangel. "Maybe if he would stop his 'holier than thou' attitude around me, his own equal, and not act like doing his duty is beneath him, I wouldn't be working so hard."

His eyes watched as the guards carried the now locked coffin to a large stone outer sarcophagus and locked it inside. From there, they lowered the sarcophagus into a deep pit at the base of a statue of Anubis, and buried it under the sand. Words were said, curses laid upon the former priest of Seti, to ensure his eternal punishment.

"Is that why you were laughing so hard at Sodom and Gomorrah?"

Well, if Sariel wanted to call him on that one... "First off," Gabriel replied, "I wasn't laughing that badly, though I did get a chuckle out of it. Second, you can't tell me those people didn't have it coming."

The angel tilted his head in contemplation, then conceded the point. "True, but you didn't have to turn that woman to salt!"

"You think that was me?" the Archangel said, a bit confused. "Granted, after telling those people five times 'don't look back', I would have thought they got the hint, but then she went and looked back at the city." He paused a moment. "And the salt thing was Michael's doing, I was just going to burn her eyes out so she learned her lesson." With a grunt, Gabriel headed over to the statue, gesturing for Sariel to follow him while the guards moved to finish up with the other prisoners. "You know your job," he said. "Make sure it sticks."

Sariel groaned, but nodded and spread his wings out, causing a fiery-red light to burn down through the sands over the sarcophagus. "As your people sentence you in death, so shall it be," he said, his words causing a wind to blow through the chamber. "You shall be undead, bound to the laws of your gods, and the curse of the living who have judged you."

The light faded, and for a moment, there was silence. But then, a horrible moan could be heard, like a muffle scream, and just as quickly, it was gone. Sariel shook his head as he began to depart, ruffling his wings and transforming into white light. It was then he noticed that the Archangel was not making his own departure. "Gabriel?"

"I'll be along in a moment," he said to the angel. "I have something first I need to attend to."

Sariel vanished, and Gabriel looked down on Imhotep's grave. He then looked up at the face of Anubis, his eyes shining while they glanced over the statue. "And so," he intoned, "you will also be bound to uphold the laws of all things they place on you, Imhotep. Let us hope that you do not face me should you rise as the undead."

-

Three thousand years later,

1923 AD

The shouting of orders and sounds of men running to their posts filled the air in the ruins of what was once the city of the dead. Now, a crumbling shadow of its former self, Hamunaptra was inhabited by dozens of men who wore the uniforms of the French Foreign Legion. Taking their places at the walls, they readied their rifles, while approaching the city was a massive army of horse-mounted men carrying their own rifles and scimitars.

The commanding officer of the garrison looked out at the oncoming force. There was no way they could fight this horde and hope to survive, much less win. He nervously glanced at the backs of his men, then, throwing down his sword, turned his horse around and fled into the city.

A pair of men at the front wall looked back as the officer fled. One of them was dressed in the tan browns of a junior officer, though he lacked the hat. Brown hair and blue eyes, he was definitely one that stood out in this unit; he was the only American. As he looked to his companion, the smaller man gave a weak smile.

"You just got promoted."

With a grunt, the brunette man looked back toward the oncoming army, steadying his aim. "Prenez vos positions!" he cried out, trying to hold the ranks. Most of his men were bound to be ready for retreat, but where would they go, into the city? That was almost certainly a death trap. "You're with me on this one, right?" he asked of his companion.

A shaky nod. "Oh yes," the smaller man replied. "Your strength gives me strength." He gulped, watching as their enemy continued toward them, then stumbled back and threw down his gun while running after his former commanding officer. "Wait for me!" he screamed.

The American sighed and shook his head in disappointment. "Damn you, Beni," he muttered, but then resumed his new role as senior officer of the garrison. "Steady!" he cried to his troops. "Steady!"

The horsemen were barely in range, but it would not be wise to risk it yet. "Steady!" he ordered again, and then, finally gave the command. "Fire!"

The loud reports of the rifles thundered through the air, bullets screaming forward and hitting their targets. The entire first line of the oncoming army fell, but it left precious little time for the defending side as the enemy force continued toward them. They quickly pulled the bolt action as fast as possible, expelling the used shells while loading fresh ones. Another volley was fired, with the same result, but for every man they shot down, two more seemed to ride forth in his place.

Gunshots now fired from the enemy, hitting their targets both on the ground level and on the higher ramparts of the city walls. The American grunted and cocked his rifle, firing before he began to back away. The Tuaregs were persistent, he had to give them that. But save that one point, he couldn't find much right now that made him any less likely to shoot them. After all, his life and the lives of his men versus theirs made a pretty solid argument.

His gun was empty. "Fine time to need a reload," he muttered. It was a powerful weapon, but the Springfield M1903 was definitely on the short end when it came to how many shots it could hold, especially when up against this many foes. He managed to load in a bullet, then locked the action and raised the gun to shoot one of the Tuaregs off his horse. Another delay allowed him to load it again and make his shot, but the American wasn't so lucky after that. He growled and swung his rifle up like a club, slamming the stock into an oncoming rider's head.

Just as he was about to make another load, he saw one of the downed riders get up, and used his rifle as a club once more. Now, it was pointless to try locking more shells in. He threw the rifle aside and drew out a pair of revolvers that were tucked into his belt. Several shots rang out while he backed away up the rampway into the city, and as the guns ran out of ammunition, he tossed them and pulled another pair of guns from the back of his belt, these a set of automatics.

Shot after shot, he struck his targets, but they were far too many. With a grunt, the American turned and ran into the city, jumping over a fallen pillar just in time to see Beni running for an open doorway of one of the buildings. "Run, Beni!" he cried. "Get inside!"

The Hungarian was only too happy to comply. He ran through the doorway and began pushing the heavy stone door shut. The American, however, was not very happy at his friend's actions. "Don't you close that door!" he screamed, but he was too late as Beni pushed the door shut, trapping him outside.

He groaned, then ran just before a pair of shots hit where he had been standing. About three or four of the riders were chasing after him, and he leapt up over a pillar, crashing to the sand and dropping his guns. The American reached to grab one of them, but was forced to abandon that idea when a trio of shots impacted on the ground only inches from his hand.

Now, he was sprinting through the ruins, halting at one turn as he saw another group of Tuareg riders approach, and taking off again until he was caught at the base of a large sand-buried statue. Turning, he saw the two groups combining, now aiming their guns at him. Nice life while it lasted, he thought, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the pain.

The shots never came. Instead, he heard the horses whining, and then, opening his eyes, he could see that the Tuaregs were gone. Had he done something? The nomads certainly weren't known for their mercy toward enemies, so why had he been spared?

No, it wasn't him. It was something behind him. Turning around, the American looked up at the head of the statue. It was weathered, with part of the right ear on top broken away by time, but it looked like this thing had been designed with the head of a jackal. It was Anubis, the old Egyptian God of the Underworld.

There was a faint whisper, and it sounded like it was coming from under the sand. Something was very creepy about this place now, more so than it had been before. He backed away from the statue, then turned to see sand rising up in waves. One wave flew into him, causing him to jump back, and scrambling as fast as he could away from the statue, the American turned to see a mount of sand that sunk down into the pattern of a face. And then, there was a low and crashing roar.

He ran as fast as he could. Looking around, he could see that the Tuaregs had as well fled the city. All the better if he was going to escape this place. Yet, he could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. As he ran away from the gate of the ruins, he stopped, hearing the distant neighs of a horse. He then turned and looked up onto a nearby bluff, where he could see about a half-dozen horses with riders. More of the Tuaregs? No. If they were, they would be riding down now to kill him.

But he wasn't in the mood to ask questions either. He ran out into the desert, hoping that by some chance, he might just survive long enough to make it back to civilization.