1648 B.C.:
Anen ran down the temple corridor. He could hear the dying cries of his fellow priests as they mustered the best defense they could against the formidable warriors. Enkartep had done something bad, but they did not know what; all they knew was that they needed to defend their high priest.
He turned the corner and saw a crack in the wall. Beyond it were voices.
When he squeezed through the crack, he saw a half-dozen warriors, their swords and spears pointing at Enkartep. A dead priest lay face down on the floor in a puddle of blood.
"High priest!" Anen called out. Enkartep was on his knees, head hung, an overturned jar next to him. Liquid dark as ink trickled from the jar to stain the floor.
"Treacherous fiend," one of the warriors snarled. "Stand and face your judgment!"
Enkartep stood. His skin was rippling, the color changing from a weathered brown to a smooth light gray. The ripples arced back over his head, the hair there disappearing. When the ripples ceased, Enkartep seemed somehow taller and stronger.
"You will pay for your actions," another warrior said.
Enkartep ignored him. He instead glanced around the chamber, as if taking it in for the first time. Anen had no idea what room it was; objects were arrayed around the room on pedestals, as if they were treasured relics.
"You will not escape," another warrior threatened.
That drew Enkartep's interest and gaze. His eyes, darker and deeper than Anen remembered, fixed on the warrior. The high priest was surprisingly placid and calm for somebody facing death.
"What threat do you pose me?" Enkartep asked softly.
"There are six of us," a warrior reminded him. "Six warriors versus one high priest."
Enkartep smiled.
"I am not a high priest," he said, "I am something more."
"Indeed," a warrior said, "you are a traitor."
Enkartep smiled again. "No, I am a god."
Anen gasped, but the noise was covered by the various incredulous shouts from the warriors.
"How dare you!" one bellowed. "You would blaspheme in this temple!?"
Enkartep's smile did not waver. Instead, he raised his arms from his side.
"Allow me to show you what I mean," he said.
He gestured with a hand. The warriors grunted in surprise as their weapons were yanked from their hands by some invisible force. The swords and spears hovered in the air before their previous owners.
The warriors stared in shock. Another gesture, and the weapons flew forward. The warriors were not fast enough to dodge; each one was impaled by sword or spear. One after the other, they breathed their last and fell dead.
Enkartep turned his head. His eyes locked on Anen.
"High priest, I came to warn you," Anen said lamely, stepping back fearfully.
"Fear not, Anen," Enkartep said, "I mean you no harm."
He moved, walking past him and back out into the main corridor. Anen followed him.
They were halfway down the corridor when another gaggle of warriors met them.
"Stop, traitor!" one called. Enkartep gestured lazily.
Anen waited a few seconds for something to happen.
That something was the horrific sight of the warriors' skin disintegrating, as if some strange force was flaying them alive. Their screams echoed in the corridor as their bodies were rent from flesh, to muscle, to bone, to dust. Enkartep continued forward, his feet crunching on what was left of the warriors. Anen hurried after him.
"What would have me do for you?" Anen asked fearfully. His mind was spinning, the situation wildly out of control. All he could think to do was obey the high priest, lest his fate be similar to the warriors'.
Enkartep stopped and turned back to him. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, his head tilting, his eyes seeming to bore into Anen's.
"You are afraid," he said, more a statement than a query.
"Yes," Anen admitted.
"Don't be," Enkartep said, "you have nothing to fear from me."
Anen nodded numbly.
"Gather the others," Enkartep commanded, "and bring them outside."
Anen hurried to his task, rushing through the temple, not wanting to leave the new Enkartep waiting. Some of his peers were dead, felled by warriors as they did their best to protect their high priest. Others were alive but confused, and they followed Anen. After half an hour, Anen had found all of the survivors. He led them out, in front of the temple, where Enkartep was standing, calm and collected.
"Egypt needs a strong leader," he said, almost as if to himself.
"You would lead?" one of the others said. Enkartep turned to regard him; the speaker stepped back, apprehensive.
"I would," Enkartep said. "Not as pharaoh. As...something more."
Anen watched as Enkartep turned his back to them again.
"We need warriors," he said.
"But the warriors will not follow you," Anen reminded him, immediately regretting it when Enkartep again turned to face him.
"I know," he said calmly. "I have no need of them; I shall have my own warriors."
Anen saw the confused looks of the others. He himself was confused, but had already seen the strange, new power that the high priest could wield.
Enkartep raised his hands and tilted his head back. As Anen and the others watched, the sand around them began to swirl. They all stepped back, curious.
The sand began to coalesce into form. As they continued to watch, rooted to the spot, the form became figures, dozens of them, tall and lanky.
Horrified gasps spilled from his and his peers' mouths at the sight before them. The newly created warriors were like vicious dogs on two legs, with leathery brown skin, sharp teeth, and dagger-like claws. Each one wore little armor and wielded a wicked scythe.
