In the aftermath of nine devastating plagues that ravaged ancient Egypt, a high priestess desperately seeks to prevent the impending tenth plague. Still, her efforts fail, leaving her at the mercy of an enraged pharaoh. Meanwhile, the pharaoh's son...
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Ra blinked his eyes open and forced his perception to take in his surroundings. Frowning, he pulled at his memory. He remembered massive paws descending on him and the feeling of being flung down a great height. He also recalled he and the other gods had been waiting for midnight. What was to happen at midnight? Where was he?
To Ra's dismay, he discovered he could not turn his neck, and whenever he tried to move his right hand, his senses were assailed with the agonising burn of liquid fire. He released a pained gasp at the slight movement, and the sound echoed unnaturally as it travelled downward, upward and around him.
What happened? Who brought him here?
When Ra managed to twist his neck to the side, he gnashed his teeth both in agony and shock. His left arm and right wing were impaled with thick burning silver pegs, and one of the chains that extended from his arm encircled his neck in a chokehold. He did not need to look up to know another peg held the chain in place. The pegs were the only things that kept him from plummeting deeper into the pits. Though they held him securely, they also left him at the peak of maddening pain.
The pits were a merciless place of punishment reserved for spiritual beings. Its uncountable dark holes led into tunnels connecting in unpredictable tangles of ups, downs and sideways. And it was alive. The pits stretched, shrunk, pushed out spikes and vines when its victim least expected and secreted burning acids that left nasty scars. Each pit was about twenty feet wide and as deep as deep could be. Chiselled on their surface were inscriptions that sometimes served as seals that kept rebellious spiritual beings trapped.
The absence of light in the pits did not bother Ra; he could see perfectly fine in the dark. What bothered him was the pits' ability to drain the strength of those it held captive, making wounds impossible to heal and escape unattainable. Though the pits were a place of punishment for his kind, Ra was certain he wasn't sent here any in his camp. None of them were that powerful. Then who did? He was missing something significant that should be apparent.
Ra raked his mind to recall what might have led to his capture but came up empty. When he looked up and saw no light, his hope of escape took a rather bleak turn. When he looked around again, he noticed a clear inscription on the wall opposite him. He reduced his eyes to slits as he focused on the words written in a mixture of eight languages.
"I will not be merciful next time." —Abaddon.
Abaddon was the Destroyer and the warden of the pits. Ra released a string of profanities as memories of the night before came rushing back. Useless anger washed over him as he recalled his humiliating defeat. It had taken little for Abaddon to subdue and pin him in the pits.
"Brilliant idea, Abaddon. Really brilliant."
Ra laughed bitterly as he considered his predicament. The demeaning memory of his fight with the Destroyer came with stabbing vengeance. He remembered he tried to gather his wits after his initial shock upon seeing Abaddon's true form, but he was too late.
"What? Do not tell me you wish to flee. A bit too late for that, I think," Abaddon said that night, his expression grave as he glared down at Ra.
The Destroyer's tail had descended on Ra like a whip on a slave's back. When the tail coiled around his ankle, Ra unfurled his wings in a useless attempt to escape. The Destroyer smashed the chance, shooting Ra across the sky. Ra recalled struggling to steady himself as he tumbled through the air and fought to summon his mace. His momentary disorientation had left him open to Abaddon's devastating blow. A slash across his chest.
Ra had groaned as searing pain blossomed in his chest. Black fluid spurted from the wound and trailed his fall. Barely recovering from the pain and shock of his injury, another clawed paw had torn across his back. He twisted around, looking about widely to get a glimpse of Abaddon, trying his best to think past the pain and act.
The sphinx had been there alright, and his expression was calm, almost bored. Staring back at Abaddon, Ra was consumed by an intense urge to cause the pompous dark angel some form of pain—something to wipe that condescending blank stare off his face. And as though Abaddon could read his mind, he dared him with his gaze. He tilted his head and released a roar, exposing humongous canines. Ra remembered thinking the teeth appeared out of place on the human face the sphinx possessed.
Though the sight of Abaddon had intimidated Ra, he chose to beat down his fear and act. Clenching his fists, he sunk into his fury, allowing it to consume every aspect of his mind. Black flames blazed around him as he shot Abaddon a menacing glower. About thirty blazing chains shot out of Ra's arms and torso and headed straight for the Destroyer. If Abaddon noticed the chains, he never showed it.
Ra recalled allowing a grin as the chains encircled the Destroyer and burned. He tightened the weapon around the sphinx's gigantic form, spinning it around his wings and pumping more power into the inferno they produced. No foe had ever escaped that move unscathed.
"You disappoint me," Abaddon said, expression still flat and voice without inflection. "I was expecting more."
Ra only had the opportunity to blink before the Destroyer vanished. The empty chains pulled his arms down, their flame extinguishing. He never had the time to collect himself or flee to a safe distance before Abaddon appeared once more. When Ra saw his chains in the Destroyer's paws and felt him jerk him closer, he accepted defeat.
As Ra thought of the encounter, he recognised the futility of his effort. There was no way he could have stood a chance against Abaddon. He recollected the uncountable shadows, the glint of razor-sharp claws and everything going black.
Ra gritted his teeth when his physical pain pulled him out of his memory. How could he release himself from the constraints? This was not a permanent entrapment because if that were the case, there would be a seal between his eyes and no possibility of escape until he served his sentence.
The Destroyer had made it that a route to escape exists, but the path to it would be most excruciating. Ra's wing was wounded, and his other arm was in bad shape. Black blood oozed from his wounds, and his physical strength ebbed with each drip. Ra could not help marvelling at Abaddon's wit. Every wound he inflicted was precise and intentional.
The image of a certain serpentine god leading the other gods away returned to Ra's memory. He had not anticipated Quatesh's treachery. The lesser god had done well to maintain a position of spinelessness. But this betrayal... Ra could not take it. If the lesser god had not convinced the others to flee, perhaps he might have stood a chance against Abaddon with their help.
"I am coming for you, Quatesh. You will regret your betrayal; this I promise you."
Ra snarled as he looked up and tried to imagine how long it would take to reach the mouth of the pits. Quatesh's betrayal gave him a renewed purpose, a reason not to rot away in the pits. He attempted stretching his right arm to reach one of the pegs, but it was useless. His arm wasn't long enough, and the pain from the little effort was almost unbearable. Abaddon had thought everything through; there was an order to the peg arrangement.
He took a deep breath and released it in a gust. Think Ra, he admonished himself. Surely, there must be a loophole somewhere. When he looked down at the open wound on his chest, an idea struck him. Grimacing in agony, he forced his body to work with his low energy despite the sharp stabs from his injuries. Ra watched as two chains wormed out of the gory mess at his chest; the chains seemed to test the air like linked metal snakes before ascending.
Ra gritted his teeth and willed the chains to advance toward the pegs. Though the chains moved at a crawling pace, he was patient; he had to be if he was determined to escape.
