The world, the light.Black. Darkness... where is the light? Consciousness is hard to grasp, the fingers of concreteness gone. He is floating, drifting in the nonentity of this between universe swallowed in deceit. He is a phantom set free to roam, this hellbourne kingdom his awaiting throne.Pressure. SLAM. The earth... the wind is knocked from his lungs, he is wheezing, it hurts. The air rattles from his dark lips to end a convulsed hiss. He staggers in his gait, he is walking uneasy. His head is throbbing, his headache is ungodly. What is this place he has been thrown into? A shudder runs from the base of his feet, it shocks the muscles of his body.He falls, he is now unable to walk, though he fights. He refuses to crumble. His body is feverish, the heat eletrocuting the feeble fibers of his confused temple. The exiled King searches for a threshold -- anything that will allow him to rejuvenate his wanning strength. Amoung these rocks and the pressure of the unforgiving heat, he was becoming exhausted, be it the begining of his journey his body was tired, his mind strained and abused with his thinking. Ungraciously he clings to what shadows he can from the towering monuments, he is breathing to heavy, unlike a prince he is beaten. He closes silver eyes with gratitude it is only then when relief floods his senses. Parched lips expand as he curses, damned be this earth he is not familiar with. It may look like Egypt but it is not.

" words of a god"

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Run, devil, run She moved with all the slow confidence her lineage afforded her, slender legs drifting effortlessly over the surface of the earth with hardly a whisper. Dark bodice seemed to float along the ground as she picked her way through the terrian, crooked crown tilted as she caught sight of something that moved rather unsteadily in the distance. Clenching the rabbit she held in her jaws, the destructive goddess moved forward with a cool curiosity on her beautifully sculpted face. Soft golden eyes scan ahead as she trots on, her ink black flag waving behind her with ever prideful step. Turning the corner, panting with the heat of this place, Sekhmet watched as another familiar figure slumped into the small sliver of shade that was provided by the rocks. Golden coins gilded his frame, a rather pitiful husk remained of what she could remember as her sire. Perhaps this was an imposter, making a poor rendition of her once great father, but she knew by the orbs of weakened light that surrounded him that she was in the presence of Ra. Ba'as was young when she had been forced to leave with her mother and siblings, but she remembered him. Fury bubbled in her chest as she stared at what remained of her frazzled father, holding the rabbit between her jaws. She said nothing, only looked at the male for a moment, then tossed the rabbit to him. "You look like a ghost, like a memory. What is your name?" She had heard stories of Ra, her father, and held an image of his gleaming coat and bright silver eyes. This husk couldn't be the fabled god of her legends. If so, he was worse off than she would have ever believed. "Speech." Walk. Think.

Breath rose off of his tongue like a plague, its very existence a farce and an insult. He was an relentless malice, a sleepless hate that extends across all beings. He was more than a man, he was  a God, an idea that lingers in the backs of the heads of frighten babes. A murky, terrible shadow he chased away the light. The exiled King had been silent for several months, if only to allow his deeds to sink in with the populace. The incubus could not be sure who approched, as he had no idea what voice it was that had called to him, the poison starting to kick in. It was deep and feminine, but utterly foreign. This was not Ramses who summoned him, but a wholly different beast entirely. The stranger's scent was of ash and sand. Someone else would seek to see him dead today? Why? A gurgle of laughter bubbled up past his black lips. Did men need reasons? This one must thought herself powerful, in a position to deal justice as he felt something being thrown at him. What was justice, though, if not poetry? Within moments Ramses slinked across the ground like a viper, his frame contorting with the rocks, taking his time to make it to the stranger. Darkness embraced his firey pelt, giving him the luxury to advance slowly. He pressed his flank into the ground, soaking in its age and dismal destruction. His pores oozed decay. "Don't get clo-ssser..." the snake voice was a cruel whisper, a cold knife in the back of his throat. It drifted from him like smog, rising up from the rocks with greater intensity as he crested the incline to the terrain, wraping himself around the fallen Deity. Danger shown in his black eyes and he lusted for battle, fore he was the protector. This stranger, whose motives were as unknown to both Ramses and the incubus, as much as her name was, was one amongst many spectators. "his name is not of importance to you, creature."

" words of a god"
"ramses"

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Run, devil, run Ba'as watched as shadows moved in the soft, golden glow of the wolf before her. She could easily recognize the shape as that of a serpant and she scoffed at the hissed warning it gave her. As if a snake could tell a goddess what to do. A cold, hard gaze was given to the snake as Sekhmet lowers her head to speak with the creature, hard and pale golden eyes boring deep into the darkness of the reptile's own. There was no fear from her, knowing the snake to be venemous and finding herself confident in her speed and prowess. She had been raised on a diet of them, finding their meat to be rather sweet, even though it was a bit stringy and hard to chew. "I know his face, serpant, I see it in my dreams. It is imprinted on the backs of my eyes the same way my mother is tattooed on my mind and heart. If I wanted him hurt, dead, or worse, he would be so already. Strike, I will strike harder, and your life will be forfeit." Her voice is hard and gritty, not unlike a sandstorm, and it never wavered in its intensity as she growled her warning to the beast. With her words spoken the goddess moved first to get out of strike range, then towards the wolf she suspected to be related to her. She kept an eye on his supposed guardian, making sure he never got too close to her while she looked over the glowing being who lay on the sand. "Do you know what they used to make him this way?" She asked in a softer tone, her golden rimmed ears pulling back on her lopsided crown as she circled around the male. Sekhmet made sure to keep away from the jaws of the snake, though she was more concerned with the wolf at her paws. "Speech." Walk. Think.

The cottonmouth had less movement than the terrain around it. Stone-like, steel eyes embedded in an otherwise unbroken sheath scales, he watched the strange creature movements, cautious was she. The serpent had long forgotten life without his master; in the many years that had passed alongside his comrade he had grown to 50 inches long. His silky smooth skin had finally lost its bulge, two weeks of digesting was over and he was ready for another meal. The light was still soft on his mottled skin of brown and russet and the scent of this woman on his tongue had the taste of something he wasn't accustomed to, something unfamiliar. As she adressed to him, he slinked his way onward toward her. This predator was armed with hooked teeth to latch onto his prey and a body of pure muscle to constrict and choke and she better not forget that. don't to anything fissssshy, young lady. he hissed, his tongue flowing like a river outside of his mouth as he spoke, i am watching you. he continued as he got closer to her within the perimeter, cold, almost dear stare dug a hole within her frame, cautious, suspicious the snake remained perpendicular with the creature and thought for a while before he responded to her. there was a plant, small violet buds adorned her, there were so many. It had small black berries on it. (Belladona) The Luciferian King did not whine but instead she laid there, shifting, his glow losing the sublime luminisence it once possessed, becomeing a mere dim light that almost vanished.

" words of a god"
"ramses"

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