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"Vowing revenge, he made a choice to embrace evil. Set. The god of death."

𝔸ℍ𝕄𝔸ℕ𝕀𝕊 sat in the dimly lit room bare, the oppressive silence broken only by the crackling of a distant fire. The air was thick with the smell of incense and the heavy scent of something ancient. Dead ravens, their glossy feathers long gone, hung from the ceiling by their talons, their empty eyes staring down at him as if watching his every move.

He unrolled an ancient scroll before him, the parchment brittle with age, the ink faded but still legible. The symbol of Set, the god of chaos and destruction, stared up at him—an image both powerful and foreboding. Ahmanis's gaze was unwavering as he traced the intricate symbols with his fingers, murmuring the words of the chant under his breath, each syllable heavy with intent.

With a sharp motion, he drew a dagger across his palm, wincing as the blood welled up dark and red. He dipped his hand into a vessel of white liquid, the cold substance swirling around his fingers as he mixed it with his blood. The mixture burned with an eerie intensity, casting shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally in the dim light.

"They made a pact. A pact that would unleash darkness itself." 

Ahmanis's gaze flickered up toward the dead ravens hanging from the ceiling, and in that moment, a low, guttural cry filled the room as the birds suddenly came to life, their dark wings flapping violently in the heavy air. The wind rushed in with such force that it seemed to shake the very walls, whipping through the space with a chilling presence. The temperature dropped, and the shadows in the room lengthened, twisting unnaturally as a figure emerged from the darkness.

It approached him slowly, the air thick with its presence. The figure made a low, snarling sound, a noise that echoed with ancient malice. Ahmanis didn't turn, knowing exactly what was happening—what had come. The figure stopped behind him, its shape indistinct but menacing, and from the shadows, it extended a hand, offering him a dagger. The handle gleamed darkly, crowned with a red stone that pulsed with an eerie, unnatural glow.

Ahmanis stared at the weapon, his pulse quickening. He hesitated for only a moment before he gripped the hilt, the sharp metal burning his skin with a searing heat that shot up his arm. The figure let out a final, pained snarl before it disintegrated, turning to ash before his eyes, scattering into nothingness like dust on the wind.

The dagger remained in his hand, the burn from its touch still searing through his veins, but the pain quickly transformed. Ahmanis gritted his teeth, fighting to control his breathing, as an intense heat coursed through him. His blood seemed to ignite, a fire rising from deep within his chest, spreading outwards. Markings—dark and intricate—began to form across his skin, ancient symbols that pulsed with power. His eyes burned, the pupils splitting, multiplying until each eye held two distinct pupils, each one glowing faintly, unnatural and eerie.

A shudder rippled through him, and he stood, feeling the overwhelming surge of power threatening to consume him. He wrapped himself in cloth, covering the markings and his altered form, the fabric feeling almost foreign against his skin. With the dagger still in his hand, its weight grounding him, he walked out of the room slowly, his steps measured but filled with purpose. Each footfall seemed to resonate with menace, and as he moved through the shadows, a new presence—one that was darker, more lethal—began to take shape around him. The power within him thrummed, and there was no turning back now.

"Ahmanis was reborn a monster." 

Ahmanis moved silently through the palace, the weight of his resolve heavier with each step. The room he entered was dim, the soft sound of his father's and the woman's breathing filling the space. The Pharaoh, his father, slept peacefully beside the woman—a quiet picture of the life that had been. But that life was about to end.

With a swift motion, Ahmanis placed the dagger at the Pharaoh's throat, his hand steady, his eyes unblinking. The silence in the room seemed to thicken, the tension palpable, but before his father could react or speak, Ahmanis sliced through the air with the blade, cutting through skin and muscle with the precision of a man who had already made up his mind. The Pharaoh's life spilled out in a gush of blood, his last breath a gasp that was quickly silenced.

Ahmanis's eyes moved to the woman beside him—his father's most trusted, yet nothing more than a casualty in the game of power. He wasted no time, the blade meeting her throat with equal finality. Her life extinguished, just as swiftly.

With his heart pounding, he left the room as quietly as he had entered, the blood on his hands now a symbol of the path he had chosen. He walked with purpose, not pausing until he reached the nursery where the sound of a baby's cry echoed in the silence. The baby boy, innocent and unaware, screamed in fear, but his cries were quickly stilled by the cold steel of Ahmanis's blade. The baby's tiny body went limp, and the room was filled with a suffocating silence.

Wiping the blood from his face, Ahmanis moved on, his next destination already set in his mind.

Satiah. His desert flower.

She lay in her bed, the soft rise and fall of her chest marking her peaceful slumber. Ahmanis approached her like a shadow, moving gently, reverently, as if the moment held more than just passion—it held a promise. He reached for her hair, moving it tenderly from her face, his fingers grazing her soft skin as he placed his hand on her cheek.

"Ahmanis?" Her voice was barely a whisper as she slowly woke, the sound of his name on her lips filled with surprise. But before she could speak another word, his lips met her jaw, trailing down to her neck in a kiss that was both desperate and longing. His passion surged, and before she could react, his lips found hers, pressing with a force that made her pulse race. The kiss deepened, urgent and wild, and Satiah, taken aback at first, kissed him back just as fervently.

There was no hesitation, no doubt in that moment—only the overwhelming need to feel, to possess, to give and take everything.

"Rule with me," Ahmanis murmured against her lips, his voice hushed yet filled with a demand that couldn't be ignored. "Be mine."

Satiah's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into his eyes, the same eyes that had once held the warmth of love, now darkened by something far more dangerous. But even in the transformation, it was still him—the same Ahmanis she had fallen in love with.

Without a word, he lay her back down, his body covering hers as he kissed her neck, his lips moving with a feverish hunger as he kissed her chest, tasting her skin as though he needed to consume her, to make her a part of him.

When he pulled back, his chest heaving, he looked down at her, breathless, and she, too, was gasping for air. The connection between them was undeniable, electric. He reached for the dagger, his fingers caressing its hilt, and then gently—almost reverently—he touched the cool steel to her skin. The sensation sent a shiver through her, a mix of fear and desire intertwining.

Ahmanis's eyes met hers, a silent promise in his gaze as he held the blade delicately against her skin, his breathing slow but intense. The power he held over her was undeniable, but so was the power she had over him. And in that moment, as their hearts beat as one, nothing else mattered but the two of them and the bond they shared.

"He swore an oath to grant his lover immortality, to wield Set's powers, and together, they would rule the world, exacting vengeance on all who had wronged them."

Ahmanis raised the dagger high, the weight of his resolve pressing down on him as he prepared to strike. But before he could bring the blade down, a dart shot through the air, piercing his neck with a sharp sting. The venom seared his skin, causing him to stagger back in shock and pain. His body burned with a fierce heat as the world around him blurred.

Satiah caught him before he collapsed, her arms steady around him as she looked at him with wide, desperate eyes. "Ahmanis!" she cried, her voice trembling. But before she could react further, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the room. Guards appeared from the shadows, advancing toward them with weapons drawn.

In an instant, they pulled Satiah away from him, and Ahmanis's heart seized as he reached out for her, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. His desperation only grew when one of the guards thrust a blade into Satiah's chest, her body going limp in their grasp. She crumpled to the ground, and Ahmanis's anguished scream filled the air.

"Satiah!" His voice was raw with fury and pain, but his body was slow to respond, his vision darkening at the edges. He lunged for the dagger, his fingers brushing its hilt, but before he could reach it, the guards overpowered him, pulling him back and pinning him to the ground.

His eyes never left her—her lifeless form, her hand just out of his reach. His chest burned with a cold rage as he looked at the woman he loved, the woman who had been taken from him. Without a second thought, he clasped her cold hand in his, whispering an ancient chant through gritted teeth. The words were sharp, desperate, a prayer to bring her back, to defy the fate that had just torn her from him.

But the guards didn't relent. They dragged him away from her, their hands tightening on his arms as he was pulled further from the one person who had ever meant everything to him. His eyes stayed locked on her, the words of the chant slipping from his lips as the shadows closed in.

"For his sins, Ahmanis was mummified alive, his body carried far from Egypt."

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By: SilverMist707

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