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The Libyan snatched the soldiers’ necks and smashed their heads together, killing them. Asim used the opportunity to jab forward with the sword, the blade punching into the Libyan’s stomach. An unearthly scream roared out of the man’s wide-open mouth. Khufu, behind a line of his imperial guards, was less than ten feet away, watching the bizarre spectacle. The Pharaoh gasped in horror as Asim struck once more before the Libyan’s body was ripped apart from the inside. The tip of a tentacle punched out of the man’s skin from his chest.

The tentacle was gray and tipped with three digits that bent and twisted as they grasped for a target. The body of the Libyan was bent in an extremely unnatural manner, as if the spine had been turned into a loose string. Asim swung the sword, severing the end of the tentacle. The end that fell to the stone shriveled as if baked, while the other slid back into the body. Then the priest stepped back, Excalibur at the ready.

“What was that?” Khufu demanded.

Asim jabbed the sword several more times into the body, but there was no movement. “Burn the body,” Asim ordered several of the Imperial guard. “Scatter the ashes.”

As they gingerly picked up the Libyan’s body, Asim walked over to the Pharaoh, sweat staining his robes. “The Ancient Enemy, my lord. It came out of what we saw yesterday.”

Khufu could only shake his head, the events of the past twenty-four hours threatening to overwhelm his sanity. “What kind of enemy is this?”

“It is the enemy of the Gods and our enemy.” “How did it get in that man?”

“I do not know, my lord. I was told to watch for this by the apparition yesterday.”

“How did it survive? We saw the sky thing destroyed.”

“I do not know that either, my lord, but the apparition warned me it could. And it told me that the sword would kill it.”

Khufu looked at the blade in Asim’s hands. “That is indeed very powerful.”

“It was designed so that whoever wielded it could rule supreme,” Asim said.

Khufu understood that concept of consolidating power and ruling supreme. A thing that one person could carry and that held such power held both great opportunity and great danger.

Asim signaled for the soldiers to continue to bring prisoners forward and went back to his grim task. By the time the last worker was dead and the body unceremoniously tossed over the side to be burned, all four sides of the Great Pyramid were stained red. There was no repeat of what had happened with the Libyan.

Over five thousand had died in four hours. Asim came back to Khufu, his arm trembling with exhaustion. He handed the sword to Khufu, who slid the bloodstained blade into the scabbard.

“I have done as the Gods ordered me,” Asim said. “Now you must have your men finish what must be done to the pyramid.”

Khufu gave the orders. Soldiers hammered spikes into joints all along the edge of the platform, between the white limestone blocks on the facing and the more coarse building stones underneath. What had been so carefully placed and fitted onto the pyramid, was ripped off, the stone tumbling down to the ground, revealing the unfinished stone underneath.

The destruction of the facing begun, Khufu took his leave before the ramp was destroyed, Asim close at his side. When they reached the ground, they went to the Great Sphinx. The Horus statue between the paws had been removed, replaced by a stone one. The original had been taken by Asim and his priests into the Roads of Rostau in the early morning, to what destination, only the high priest knew. The men who had helped drag it underground were among those killed. Khufu and Asim stood between the massive stone paws, out of earshot of anyone else.

“You must decree that no one will write of this day’s events, my lord,” Asim said.

Khufu said nothing. He had begun the day with hopes of immortality, and as night fell, he was seeing his greatest achievement defaced. He had hoped that building the Great Pyramid would bring him the favor of the Gods. Instead, all was crumbling around him. It would not be hard to issue an order to ensure that no one wrote of this. He could sense the fear among his people — the flying spider thing, the killings, the creature coming out of the Libyan, and the desecration of the pyramid’s facing. A cloud passed by, blocking the sun, and Khufu shivered.

“What should I do with the sword?” Khufu asked. “Perhaps I should keep it in case we are attacked again.”

“It was the Master Guardian that stopped the Ancient Enemy craft,” Asim said, “not the sword. Without the facing, the pyramid will not be found by the Ancient Enemy.” Asim pointed at Excalibur. “Without the sword, the Master Guardian is powerless.”

“How can that be?”

“I do not know but it is what I was told. And what people may desire in the duats along the Roads of Rostau are secure in one form or another.”

“Why did you have to use Excalibur and not your ceremonial dagger?” Khufu asked.

“The sword has another special power,” Asim said. “As you saw, it is the only thing that can kill the undead and the immortal.”

“The undead?”

“The Ancient Enemy.”

“The immortal?” Khufu stepped closer to the priest. “Someone has partaken of the Grail?”

“I very much doubt it,” Asim said, “but all who could have had access to the duats had to die.”

“I do not understand,” Khufu said.

“I do not either, my lord,” Asim said. “I only do what the Gods command. The sword is the key that must be hidden away again.”

“Why did the gods have us build that”—Khufu jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the pyramid—“if it would only bring enemies?”

“The Gods hoped it would bring their kindred Gods from the sky,” Asim said. It was the same answer he had given before, but Khufu felt despair.

“And now?” Khufu spread his hands wide. “Now what do I do?”

“You rule, my lord,” Asim said.

“What will I do with Excalibur?” Khufu asked once more.

“We will leave it in the sheath and return it to its place in the duats so that the Gods may have access to it when it is needed. When the Master Guardian is returned or needed again.”

On one hand, Khufu was reluctant to pass the sword back to the high priest. It was, after all, the sword of the Gods and obviously very powerful. But that same thought frightened him with the potential responsibility for having such a thing. He unbuckled it from his belt and handed it over to Asim, who tucked it under his cloak.

Asim left Khufu watching the desecration of the greatest achievement of his realm, indeed in the entire history of mankind, and headed toward the Sphinx. He used his scepter and the stone door slid open. He entered, the door sliding shut behind him.

He made his way down the stone corridor, scepter in one hand, Excalibur in the other. He paused, cocking his head, as if he sensed something was wrong. He waited several moments, then continued. When he reached the intersection, he turned right and came to a complete halt as a man stepped forward to confront him.

Asim held the sword in his good hand, across the front of his body, still covered by the sheath. “Kaji. I knew you would be about. Scurrying around like the rat you are.”

“Even a rat is better than being a slave,” Kaji said.

Asim spit at the other man’s feet. “You Watchers. You have betrayed our ancient priesthood.”

Kaji shook his head. “We betrayed? Whom did we betray? The ‘gods’ who left us to fend for ourselves? Who allowed our homes to be destroyed, our people killed? What did you perform today? How many people died today because of the ‘gods’? How many more will have to die?”

“You are a Watcher,” Asim said. “You can do nothing according to the laws of your order. Get out of my way.”