Random Voice 1
Woo! Guess who's narrating again! Damn, it's been awhile. Anyways, I'm about to head off from the all-knowing nothingness to observe tonight's dreams, or more so ba trips, of a very special little boy. Are you ready, kids? Because things are about to get fucking dark. And a little fever-dream-like. Let's go!
Carter's spirit floats up to the steamboat's wheelhouse, but it isn't Bloodstained Blade who's at the wheel. Instead, a young man in leather armor navigates the boat. His eyes are outlined with kohl. His head is bald, except for a braided ponytail. If I had a body and wasn't just a random voice, I would've asked him where he worked out, 'cause, man, the guy is ripped! A khopsh is strapped to his belt.
"The river is treacherous," he tells Carter in a familiar voice. "A pilot cannot get distracted. He must always be alert for sandbars and hidden snags. That's why boats are painted with my eyes, you know—to see the dangers."
"The Eyes of Horus," Carter says. "You."
The falcon god looks at his host. His eyes shine in the darkness of the Duat – one blazing yellow like the sun, the other reflective silver like the moon. His shadow is there, too, stretching across the wheelhouse. But instead of matching his form, it's the silhouette of a giant falcon.
"You wonder if order is better than chaos," Horus says. "You become distracted from our real enemy: Set. You should be taught a lesson."
Before he has he chance to respond, Carter's ba is yanked away. We have to follow him, I guess. We lend on board an airplane. Zia Rashid, Desjardins, Mel and some other guy are scrunched up in a middle row. They're surrounded by families with screaming children. Desjardins and Mel (and that other irrelevant guy) look sooo uncomfortable. Zia, on the other hand, is mediating peacefully, her eyes closed. This whole scene is worthy of a vine.
The plane rocks back and forth. Desjardins spills wine all over his lap. The seat belt light blinks on, and a voice crackles over the intercom: "This is the captain. It looks like we'll be experiencing some minor turbulence as we make our descent into Dallas, so I'm going to ask the flight attendants—"
A blast rattles the windows—lightning followed immediately by thunder.
Zia's eyes snap open. "The Red Lord."
The passengers scream as the plane plummets several hundred feet.
"Il commence!" Desjardins shouts over the noise. "Quickly!"
The plane shakes. Passengers shriek and grab their seats. Desjardins gets up and opens the overhead compartment.
"Sir!" a flight attendant yells. "Sir, sit down!"
Desjardins ignores the attendant. He grabs four magical tool kits and throws them to his colleagues.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is when things go horribly wrong. A shudder passes through the cabin and the plane lurches sideways. The right-hand windows give a first-hand view of the plane's wing being sheared off by a five-hundred-mile-an-hour wind.
The cabin devolves into chaos—drinks, books, and shoes flying everywhere, oxygen masks dropping and tangling, people screaming for their lives.
"Protect the innocents!" Desjardins orders.
The plane began to shake. Cracks appear in the windows and walls. The passengers slump into unconsciousness as the air pressure drops. The four magicians raise their wands as the airplane brakes to pieces.
For a moment, the magicians float in a maelstrom of storm clouds, chunks of fuselage, luggage, and spinning passengers still strapped to their seats. Then a white glow expands around them, a bubble of power that slows the breakup of the plane and keeps the pieces swirling in a tight orbit. Desjardins reaches out his hand and the edge of a cloud stretches toward him—a tendril of cottony white mist, like a safety line. The other magicians do likewise, and the storm bents to their will. White vapor wraps around them and begins to send out more tendrils, like funnel clouds, which snatch pieces of the plane and pull them back together.
A child falls past Zia, but she points her staff and murmurs a spell. A cloud envelops the little girl and brings her back. Soon the four magicians are reassembling the plane around them, sealing the breaches with cloudy cobwebs until the entire cabin is encased in a glowing cocoon of vapor. Outside, the storm rages and thunder booms. The passengers sleep soundly in their seats.
"Zia!" Desjardins shouts. "We can't hold this for long."
Zia runs past him up the aisle to the flight deck. Somehow the front of the plane has survived the breakup intact. The door is armored and locked, but Zia's staff flares, and the door melts like wax. Oh, the irony. She steps through and finds three unconscious pilots. Time is running out. The ground is coming. And it's coming very fast.
Zia slams her wand against the controls. Red energy surges through the displays. Dials spin, meters blink, and the altimeter levels out. The plane's nose comes up, its speed dropping. Zia glides the plane toward a cow pasture and lands it without even a bump. Then her eyes roll back in her head, and she collapses.
Desjardins walks in and picks her up. "Quickly," he tells his colleagues, "the mortals will wake soon."
As they carry Zia out of the cockpit, Carter flies away.
We're in Phoenix. A massive red sandstorm churns across the valley. It swallows buildings and mountains. What isn't yet destroyed will soon be. The harsh, hot wind silences the screams all around us. The only thing louder than the storm, is Set's laughter as he revels in power.
Then we're in Brooklyn. The Kane Mansion is in ruins. So is the warehouse under it, with the head of the Thoth statue poking from its roof. A winter storm is raging overhead, howling winds slamming the city with sleet and hail.
The scene changes again. A river, winding through a desert canyon. The sky is a blanket of pitch-black clouds. The river's surface seems to boil. Something is moving under the water, something huge, evil, and powerful. And waiting.
This is only the beginning, Horus's voice echoes in the air. Set will destroy everyone you care about. Believe me, I know.
The river becomes a marsh of tall reeds. The sun blazes overhead. Snakes and crocodiles slide through the water. At the water's edge sits a thatched hut. Outside it, a woman and a child of about ten are examining a battered sarcophagus. The coffin had once been a work of art—gold encrusted with gems—but now it's dented and black with grime.
The woman runs her hands over the coffin's lid.
"Finally." Isis's energy emanates from the face of Ruby Kane. Her piercing blue eyes and caramel-colored hair glow with magical radiance.
She turns to the boy. "We have searched so long, my son. Finally we have retrieved him. I will use my magic and give him life again!"
Papa?" The boy gazes wide-eyed at the box. "He's really inside?"
"Yes, Horus. And now—"
Suddenly their hut erupts into flames. Set steps from the inferno—a mighty red-skinned warrior with smoldering black eyes. He rocks the double crown of Egypt and the robes of a pharaoh. In his hands, an iron staff smolders.
"Found the coffin, did you?" he said. "Good for you!"
Isis reaches toward the sky. She summons lightning against the god of chaos, but Set's rod absorbs the attack and reflects it back at her. Arcs of electricity blast the goddess and send her sprawling.
"Mother!" The boy draws a knife and charges Set. "I'll kill you!"
Set bellows with laughter. He easily sidesteps the boy and kicks him into the dirt.
"You have spirit, nephew," Set admits. "But you won't live long enough to challenge me. As for your father, I'll just have to dispose of him more permanently."
Set slams his iron staff against the coffin's lid. Isis screams as the coffin shatters like ice.
"Make a wish." Set blows with all his might, and the shards of coffin fly into the sky, scattering in all directions. "Poor Osiris—he's gone to pieces, scattered all over Egypt now. And as for you, sister Isis—run! That's what you do best!"
Set lunges forward. Isis grabs her son's hand and they both turn into birds, flying for their lives.
The scene fades. We're back in the steamboat's wheelhouse. The sun The sun rises in fast-forward as towns and barges speed up and the banks of the Mississippi blur into a play of light and shadow. The second demon day has already begun.
"He destroyed my father," Horus tells Carter. "He will do the same to yours."
"No," Carter says.
Horus fixes his eyes on Carter—one blazing gold, one full-moon silver. "My mother and Aunt Nephthys spent years searching for the pieces of the coffin and Father's body. When they collected all fourteen, my cousin Anubis helped bind my father back together with mummy wrappings, but still Mother's magic could not bring him back to life fully. Osiris became an undead god, a half-living shadow of my father, fit to rule only in the Duat. But his loss gave me anger. Anger gave me the strength to defeat Set and take the throne for myself. You must do the same."
"I don't want a throne," Carter says. "I want my dad."
"Don't deceive yourself. Set is merely toying with you. He will bring you to despair, and your sorrow will make you weak."
"I have to save my dad!"
"That is not your mission," Horus chides. "The world is at stake. Now, wake!"