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December 25, 2014
A ripple of tension had traced through the world's hero community, even those with few direct connections or who actively avoided such interactions with their peers. Something big was coming, perhaps already there, and the Freedom League was calling in everyone, every able body, to meet it. Details were scares and answers were scarcer but the apprehension of a soldier the night before shipping out hung over them all the same.
That silent tension was broken as Asli Sadik's phone vibrated with a message notification, marked urgent with an attached video file. The compression had sacrificed some of the image quality but the hood, cloak and mask of Seven, a relatively recent addition to the League reputed to be a witch of considerable power, was immediately recognizable. The background was an indistinct blur but the urgency in her voice came through clearly enough. "Greetings, hero. My apologies for the intrusion but the need is great..."

* * * * *

"...great-whatever owed my great-whatever a favour and I'm calling in the chip," the porcine young man who'd identified himself as a descendant of Zhu Bajie told Daniel Lee as the grainy video played on the engineer's laptop screen. He snorted absently in a manner that wrinkled the entirety of his flat nose and hitched up his belt with both hands. "I ain't really got time to explain everything but I figure if I tell you there's adventure and demons to punch involved, won't take much convincing anyway..."

* * * * *

"...obviously the west bank of the Nile is a little out of the way for you," admitted Elwyn Eldrich, hockey jersey wearing nephew of the Master Mage, waving about a rune covered staff for emphasis, "but we're stretched a little thin here, frankly. Believe me, if I could leave the dread dimensions myself right now-- well, you know how they get around the holidays, I'm sure." As the video played the shadows in the corner of Jeremiah Cornwell's dorm room deepened unnaturally. "Now, can't keep the shadow portal I'm making for you open long..."

* * * * *

"...realize this is-- It's not how I wanted to do this," the stern young woman with Asgardian armor and a bow strapped to her back frowned, crossing and uncrossing her arms uncomfortably as John Fraser watched on his aging laptop's monitor. "But my mother always said that in a real emergency, you were the one I should contract. I'm sure you have a lot of questions - I would, too - but right now the world needs Arrowhawk." The video file ended and the gently spinning whirlpool of pitch black and midnight purple that had appeared a few meters away beckoned.

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Jeremiah watched the video he had recieved on his laptop with equal parts fascination, anxiousness, and dread. Not only Elwyn knew about Jerry's... extracurricular activities, a significant feat considering Jerry's lack of exposure thus far, but he also managed to send a video to Jerry's laptop... How he managed to find his email address, Jerry wasn't sure. And then... there was the shadow portal that had appeared in his room. Jerry wasn't much of a magician (all knowledge he had on the subject was courtesy of that damned Tetramegedon book that had fused with him, and even then, he had barely more access to its contents than he had to his breathing process), but even he could tell that there were some powerful magics on play here. And I had the good fortune of attracting that person's attentions, eh? Dammit. That does not bode well, not for my regular life, nor for my crime fighting career. If one guy can learn about me so easily... Jerry's heartbeat accelerated, as he dwelled upon the implications of his situation.


"And you say that this doorway will take me to... the Nile, correct?" He asked, half-expecting a reply, while regarding the waning portal with some hesitation. Well, Jerry... either this is for real, and for once I'll be dealing with more than just common thugs, or it's a trap... which, considering my current sitch, I'm dead meat whether I step through  the portal or not... Gulping accumulated saliva down, Jerry tried to gather his courage and steeled himself. "This must be the proverbial leap of faith, then." He noted, and as he started removing his clothes, revealing the suit he was wearing underneath, he slowly walked towards the eldritch doorway. I wonder if Egypt is cold this time of year.  Jerry thought, moments after stepping through the shadows... Maybe I should pack some extra clothes, just in case.

Edited by Vahnyu
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The spirit of the season pervaded all of Freedom City, even the depressed districts like Greenbank. Asli Sadik could look out her tiny window and see green laurels strung from street light to street light, and if she turned on the radio Christmas carols would be playing on all the local stations.

None of which meant anything for the woman bent over her laptop with early Rush playing. She felt the need for a hard guitar line as she looked over the latest ad copy sitting in her inbox; the piece wasn't supposed to be aired until April, and the company wanted a "smooth rocking soundtrack that won't scare off the soccer moms." For AC/heating repair. Sometimes she felt like her day job involved more magic than her night life.

Of course, her night life didn't also involve sudden emails from 'seven@freedomleague'. The video attached made her forget entirely about the potential job and instead start inventorying her gear. She eyed the dark, swirling portal that grew in the air above her coffee table, edging around it as she grabbed up a canvas bag and dropped in her Walkman, a tube of sunscreen, the Diary that contained most of Deosil's musings on Egyptian magic -- and, after a moment's consideration, her travel Qu'ran and an Arabic copy of the Book of Going Forth by Day. If there was a magical problem in Egypt, it was even odds to be old-school Pharonic or new-school theurge. Either way, she wanted reference texts.

She filled any empty space with bottled water, then with a rush of power called up her costume of flowing, mantled robes. At least they would keep her relatively cool in the sands and the heat; much more suitable than scraps of spandex and a too-long cape, that's for sure. Miras gave the portal another look, but she didn't have much choice. Taking a deep breath she stepped through the portal.

Edited by Raveled
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December 25, 2014


"...great-whatever owed my great-whatever a favor and I'm calling in the chip," the porcine young man who'd identified himself as a descendant of Zhu Bajie told Daniel Lee as the grainy video played on the engineer's laptop screen. He snorted absently in a manner that wrinkled the entirety of his flat nose and hitched up his belt with both hands. "I ain't really got time to explain everything but I figure if I tell you there's adventure and demons to punch involved, won't take much convincing anyway..."



Daniel considered the words of the other young man, before nodding. He recorded a short video and sent it back using the secondary email account the first email had arrived at. He was not incredibly well-known, but he had figured having one or two means of contact was not a bad idea for an up-and-coming superhero. He had been right.


"Perhaps when this matter is finished we can meet in person and share a drink, to honor the friendship of our ancestors. And if the matter is as dire as you say, I will consider my favor to still be owed to yourself, as this may well be something I would have helped with regardless. I know the value of favors."


With that, he sent off his own short video and stood, shucking the work overalls he had over simple jeans and a t-shirt. He took a moment there in his living room, breathing deeply, in and out, in and out.


Then, in a flash of golden light, Daniel Jeremiah Lee was no more, and Sun Walker, the Exceedingly Prime Savant-Warrior stood in his place, tail twitching behind his personage, face still serene as he viewed the portal. With a resolute nod of his head, he stepped forward into the portal and toward what lay beyond.

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Arrowhawk slammed shut the laptop, and looked around the dingy room. That... couldn't be possible. She was dead. He'd been at the graveside. Dead people couldn't have children. He reached for his glass of whisky, and downed it in one. And goddamn, Egypt.


He levered himself off the bed, and leaned heavily on the night stand, pouring himself another dose. The old man looked over at where his armour and bow leaned against the wall. A daughter. And Egypt. He limped over to them, stripping off his shirt to let him put on the undersuit, and then the full weight of his costume. 


John Fraser looked at himself in the dingy mirror. A greying, wrinkled old man. Scar tissue framed parts of his jaw, parting the unkempt stubble. His frame, still broad, was draped in black armour, a long cape draped over his back. He let out a long sigh, and pulled up his hood, pushing a domino mask into place under it. "Merry Christmas, John," he growled, picking up the glass and draining it. Bow hefted up on his shoulder, he walked through the shimmering black portal.

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Stepping into the shadows felt like pushing through layer after layer of impossibly silken curtains chilled well below freezing. Once each of the heroes moved fully into the airless darkness an unseen force pulled them forward toward their destination with an unsettling sense of timelessness between heartbeats and impossible angles. Thankfully the sensation was over almost before it had time to register and the quartet stepped out onto solid stone and shifting sand, spread out evenly around a wide circle of hieroglyphs glowing with ultraviolet light.

Sitting cross-legged at the center of the circle was a striking young man in a simple white shendyt trimmed in red and very little else. He exhaled in relief as the portal winked out of existence behind them, shaking a head full of thick, brick red dreadlocks and rolling his shoulders as though having just set down a tremendous weight. He reached out a hand to the powerfully athletic and similarly dressed woman standing beside him and when she ignored him completely the strange youth sighed and helped himself to his feet on his own. Brushing sand off of his knees he smiled winningly at the eclectic gathering. "Hail! Set here! Now, be not upset, however tis a tiny chance some misdirection was involved in your recruitment."

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Miras walked through the portal, muttering a quick prayer and keeping her eyes resolutely closed until she felt the warm sun on her face. She opened her eyes slowly to give them time to adjust to the harsh sunlight, but even beore they were open she felt the need to shield herself from a feeling like a harsh fire. The people standing there before her... She recognized Set mostly as a media-concious young hero who probably thought he was very edgy for taking the name of a villain who had been missing for years. As for the woman next to him, she vaguely remembered that she went by Sekhmet -- a poor choice of names, if she was regularly teaming up with Set. Probably she opened a book on myths and picked the first name she saw that was in a story with Set, she thought to herself.

It would be easy to dismiss the pair as a couple of teenagers who didn't have any idea of the depths they had stepped in... if it wasn't for the fact of four simultaneous portals plucking people from across the world, and the feeling she got just by standing there. It was like being inches away from a blast furnace, a heat so powerful it was almost a pressure in her lungs, a level of sheet power she had never encountered personally. She few times she had read of such a feeling in Desoli's journals he had been dealing with...

Hm. Maybe they weren't just kids with bad taste. Still, no matter who they were it wouldn't do to be to impressed. So she made sure to reach in her bag and grab a bottle of water, taking a deep pull on it before speaking. "I should've realized that most mages would have a more exciting way to reach out to someone rather than a YouTube video."

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The distinctly ape-like man, who...no one there had likely really heard of before, tilted his head a bit to one side (a gesture pronounced a bit by his rather wild hairstyle). He then shrugged a bit as he returned it to its previous position. Clearly, he was called in as a favor, but not by whom he had thought.


"I am willing to lend aid if there is a true crisis looming. I cannot promise the breadth of experience some may have, but I shall give you my best effort. With that said, why did you feel the need to put forth the misdirection that you did? And why did you choose this group of people in particular? Why do you need us?"


There was no anger or condemnation in his voice. Just mild curiosity, and loads of politeness. He seemed like the sort who was difficult to "ruffle". 

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Going through the portal was even less of an easy feat for Jerry, who could have sworn that the Tetramegedon inside him screamed in protest as the shadow magic passed through him. The disorientation from the transmaterialisation he just went through quickly gave way to puzzlement, and then a sense of impeding dread. Not only because his feeling about this being a trap turned out correct, and neither because he found himself a stranger amongst strangers in what could possibly be a foreign land, but because he only now noticed that, in his haste, he had forgot to put his hood and mask on, leaving his face and red hair exposed. "Wait, waitwaitahdammit." he said in a panic, while trying to put his mask back on. "Great, so not only did it turn out to be a trap, now everyone here knows who I am..." he murmured to himself, before thinking Calm down. If these guys were in on it, they'd probably already know even with my mask on, and if they weren't, then at least we might work together to... to, uhhh... biting his lips, Meatheral perched up, as the words of the young man had finally sunk in. "Wait a minute... Set? As in, that boy who is running around and heroing it up in the media, as if he is an ancient egyptian god?" He said, his eyes widening in realization.


Now that he could see him clearly, the young man really did look the part, at least, from the few scattered images Jerry had found when surfing for information about this hero. Of course, he was vaguely aware that Set had previously been used as the name of a major supervillain, though that was long before Jerry had been born. What had interested Jerry more, however, was the fact that Set was the name of a powerful Egyptian Deity, one that had been known to antagonize the other gods, and especially his brother Osiris and his nephew Horus. "Well... that's.... something." He really couldn't find any words. The magic that summoned him there was the real deal, as far as he knew, and a strange feeling of vague uneasyness stirred inside him. Could this boy really possess the powers of the god Set? Considering that said god was not one for making deals with humans, that certainly didn't bode well for the god's namesake, and neither for Meatheral, for that matter.


At least, when the others spoke, Jerry felt somewhat relieved. If anything, they don't appear to be feigning ignorance. A small comfort, to be sure, but I'll take it.



"I am willing to lend aid if there is a true crisis looming. I cannot promise the breadth of experience some may have, but I shall give you my best effort. With that said, why did you feel the need to put forth the misdirection that you did? And why did you choose this group of people in particular? Why do you need us?"


"I can't say I know much of our host, nor do I claim to know the inner trappings of his mind, but if he is channeling the modus operandi of his namesake even a little, then I'd say that the misdirection bit would be par for the course. Set WAS a trickster god, after all, one known for using underhanded methods to achieve his goals." Meatheral responded, going by his knowledge on the subject.

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Arrowhawk glanced around at the others who'd appeared in Egypt with him. Great. Capes. And a monkey. 


And him. Someone who, apparently unlike the others, wasn't quite as quick to talk. He glanced at the redhead who'd not put his mask on right away. "Pretending to be a god, eh?" His voice under the cowl was like gargling razors and bourbon. So, he puts on someone pretending to be the daughter of... no. Lips coiled into a snarl. The eyes under the cowl locked onto Set. The other one, he wasn't ignoring, but, well, se wasn't the one who'd irritated him.


Arrowhawk casually let his bow slide down to his side, holding it with a taut, ready arm. Thick black combat boots slid in the sand to a position more suited to a quick assault. "Son,he said emphatically. If it was a real god, quite possible in these circumstances, then a jibe to the ego would likely hurt a little. If it was a superpowered kid pretending to be a god, then a... jibe to the ego would likely hurt a little. "You recruited us here for a mission, and you probably knew who we were beforehand. So let me just say that I am not like Monkey Man here." Red eyes quickly flicked to the side. "No offence." Back on Set. "And I do not like even a tiny bit of misdirection. You ask, or don't ask. Be straight with people, like an adult. If it was so vital, then even a trickster god should lay down the tricking if it's vital."

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"So bottling sights and sounds from faraway as lightning and sending them invisibly through the air around the globe to a little box in your hand isn't exciting?" Set responded to Miras first, planting his hands on his hips. "And they tis only millennials who have been spoiled by technology. Tis on account of such jaded reckoning that I felt the need to... embellish thy summons," the godling continued, turning to Sun Walker with a florid bow that matched the simian hero's polite tone. "When a god of chaos asks one to step into his whirlpool of shadows, one might be forgiven some reasonable apprehension and time was truly of the essence!"

Set's considerably less animated companion spoke up, "You have the apologies of Sekhmet, Eye of Ra for the deception, mortals." The last word had a very distinctly feline growl to it and was accompanied by a scathing glare in the shorter deity's direction. "The liesmith shall of course submit to any punishment thy deem appropriate when our labours be complete."

"Shall I?" Set asked in a tone of amused surprise. "That does not sound like me. The stripey spearmint one seems to have the right of things, eh? A proverb involving a scorpion comes to mind, in fac--" His ramblings were cut short by Arrowhawk's far less accommodating reaction to the situation. If the godling was stung by the archer's pointedly dismissive tone it was far outweighed by apparent delight. "So growly!" he cheered, clapping his hands and giving Sekhmet a smug look. "And you said twas folly recruiting someone who fights monsters with 'a stick and bit of string'."

"His arms be... impressively proportioned," the warrior goddess allowed with a faint cough, crossing her arms under her chest and making an effort not to meet Arrowhawk's masked eyes directly.

"As though pythons swallowed cantaloupes! If my elder self's many ignoble defeats taught me but one thing, tis that one should always bring an archer to a god fight. This one tis even sober!"

Sekhmet sniffed the air and pursed her lips, catching the faint scent of whisky on the air. "Not entirely sober," she observed.

Set shrugged. "He fights monsters with a stick and bit of string. How sober would you have him be? Speaking of monsters, however--" He was again interrupted by an explosive rumble from the direction of the sand covered ruins in the distance, multiple plumes of ominous smoke rising into the air. "Hmph. One cannot fault his dramatic timing, I suppose..." Set muttered under his breath in the first break in good cheer the gathered heroes had seen from him since arriving. It passed quickly enough and he waved them in the direction of the smoke. "Onward, then! Better to show than tell, eh?" With that he was off, taking long, bounding strides across the dunes, dreadlocks bouncing behind him. Sekhmet seemed to throw herself forward and in the span of a blink the woman was replaced by a tawny lioness with a distinctive streak of black fur, likewise sprinting toward danger.

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Miras rolled her concealed eyes at Arrowhawk's reply. "Cut down on the grouch, Grinch. Set's always been a trickster, I don't think you could get a straight answer from him under pain of death. After all, if you get angry at a lion for biting, you're going to be angry at every lion you see." Not that she was happy to be plucked from her apartment and dumped in the desert, but it said something that there had been a choice. Someone capable of sending the messages and the vortex at the same time could have simply plucked them away without warning. Of course she was fairly sure that she could use this place to make a spell to send them all back to Freedom City anyway, so she had a rather different view on things than the others.

The sudden rumbling and plumes of smoke drew her attention to the horizon, and any spell she might have been planning evaporated. "I guess I can put that Cairo vacation off," she said, raising her hands and intoning. Her body became... flickery, just the edges of herself bending and disappearing into the wind like a candleflame. There wasn't much time to examine the effect, though, because soon she raced off towards the explosions, cutting directly through the ruins as she went.

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The man who looks like a monkey sighs at the looming argument.


"You all may call me Sun Walker. I would be glad to fight against a threat to others. I cannot say I truly appreciate deception, though. With that said, more infighting would be bad."


The others begin moving quickly, and Sun Walker himself seems to gear up to leave...before pausing and turning to Arrowhawk. He seems...embarassed?


"Pardon me sir, but, ah, will you require any assistance reaching the combat zone?"

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"Well, angry at the lion's smarter than petting it like it's a good kitty cat!" snarled Arrowhawk after Miras as she vanished into the air. He turned and shook his head. And he was uncomfortable with the ogling. Dammit, why couldn't he just have a quiet Christmas alone.


He looked the monkey up and down. Then looked back at the distance between him and the explosions. Then looked the monkey up and down again. Soon, his top lip curled back. "We don't mention it again," rumbled a low voice, as the archer held out one powerful arm to grasp.

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Set AND Sekhmet? Jerry was confounded by the fact that he was in the pressence of two people who very well might be actual, honest-to-goodness deities. Sun Walker - the monkey looking person - appeared to be very polite, though he seemed to be very focused and composed. The woman named Miras came off as a strong and selfconfident person, but unlike Sekhmet who appeared more stoic, she at least seemed more sociable. Whoever, the one in the bunch provoking Jerry with genuine fear and gravitas was Arrowhawk. His entire demeanor screamed <been there, done that, seen everything>, paradoxically, even more than the self-professed gods.


Seeing everyone take off, in a rush, Meatheral decided to stop deliberating, and take action. Well, everyone's in  a hurry, so I doubt I'll be getting anywhere anytime soon if I don't make a choice. And since speed may be in order... as he made up his mind, Meatheral opened his mouth and shouted a spell. "IGNIS IN ME COMBURIT!" His body started catching fire, and after a second or two, it begun to break down in a biological level, and giving way to a body that was comprised entirely of flames. "In that case, I will be heading off as well." He said to Miras and Arrowhawk, his voice coming out with the intensity of a burning furnace, as he concentrated his flames into giving him a boost of movement. Flying like a rocket made out of fire, Meatheral closely followed Miras' trail not too long after her.

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"Well, angry at the lion's smarter than petting it like it's a good kitty cat!" snarled Arrowhawk after Miras as she vanished into the air. He turned and shook his head. And he was uncomfortable with the ogling. Dammit, why couldn't he just have a quiet Christmas alone.


He looked the monkey up and down. Then looked back at the distance between him and the explosions. Then looked the monkey up and down again. Soon, his top lip curled back. "We don't mention it again," rumbled a low voice, as the archer held out one powerful arm to grasp.


The man with the monkey features simply gave a quick, slight bow, showing deep respect. Though as he straightened up, there might have been the ghost of a smirk on his face that quickly fell away.


"Speak of what, good sir?"


The arm is taken, and with surprising grace Arrowhawk found himself being carried on the back and shoulders of the somewhat furry man. The tail, which had previously been mostly wrapped around Sun Walker's waist, was placed around Arrowhawk not unlike a safety harness.


"My apologies, but this is the closest I have to a safety belt at this time. I will endeavor to provide a smooth and safe ride for you."


And suddenly they were moving as fast as a sports car across the desert sand, with Walker not even looking like he was putting forth much effort. Dust kicked up behind him in great plumes, and Arrowhawk was pretty sure he should have slipped more on some of those dunes, but it was no impediment to his speed.


Over the rushing air, the overly-polite hero's voice carried back to the grumpy Scotsman.


"I fear I am at a disadvantage, good sir. You know my name, or at least the one I use in this guise, but I am at a loss for yours."


There is a pause, and a seasoned veteran like Arrowhawk can feel the embarrassment.


"I am very new at being a hero and do not know many other "hero folks" just yet. I hope I have not provided offense."


The guy had to be in the technical field somehow in his "day job"; he apologized with the mechanical precision of an engineer while still being 100% sincere about it!

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Sekhmet's ears twitched irritably as she ran across the sand and when Sun Walker's loping stride caught up with her she turned to look sidelong at Arrowhawk. "No lion be Set, though thou would indeed be a fool to lay hands on one," her distinctly accented voice emerged from the sharp toothed mouth of the powerful jungle cat, "without permission."

"Focus, Lady of Slaughter," Set called from nearby, his own legs having lengthened and developed additional joints as he ran, sprouting short, spotted fur. They propelled him forward with better than human speed and sureness so that with his head start he reached the edge of the ancient necropolis just moments before the rest of the assembled heroes and he not like what he saw. The almost uniform light brown of sand and weathered stone was broken by ominous patches of dark, glassy green with ribbons of etched gold the reflected the light of the sun. The plumes of smoke, it became clear, were not the result of bombardment or outside attack but rather pouring forth from places where the ruin walls had been broken from within.

From those openings shambled nightmare things, dessicated corpses trailing bits of bandages and protruding bone, their broken forms reinforced by misshapen beams of silvery metal and coiling tubing. Mouths hanging open, the creatures let loose harsh, electronic screams of random pulses and tones.

Crimson electricity sparked at the corners of Set's grey eyes as he snarled, "No."

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"I think these were on TV when I was a kid," scowled Arrowhawk, bringing his bow up as he loped away from the speedy monkey. He quickly sighted on the closest approaching mummy, and drew a long, pointed arrow from his quiver. He lifted his weapon to his shoulder and drew back, quickly realigning his arrow so that the wind and trajectory'd hit the mummy in the gaping eye socket. An inch to the left of the sparking power cable.


"These ones aren't very verbose, though." He let the arrow fly, his aim utterly precise, the arrow flying true and hitting exactly where intended.

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The arrow sliced through a tube sloshing with silver liquid and wedged itself into a bony joint, the ancient limb crumbling as it strained against the sudden obstruction. The shambling remains attempted to continue forward unabated but toppled into a trashing heap atop the sandy ground. The rest continued forward toward the heroes unabated, ignoring their fallen comrade and continuing to shriek their unnatural war cries into the air. The next closest literally stepped over the Scot's target to bludgeon him with skeletal hands crackling with sickly green electricity, pushing past the archer's bow with no regard for its own defense, the gut turning smell of putrid decay mixed with perfumes and dust rolling from its mouth.

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As Arrowhawk started rainning death upon the defiled monstrocities, the fiery form of Meatheral darted from one corner of the battlefield to another, with the typical speed of an air-to-air missile, inspecting the enemy forces. He could feel his burning heart pulsing wildly to the combined thrill and terror of the situation, as he made his way to the black-clad archer, who was currently recieving unwanted attention from one of the shambling corpses. "Careful there." He cautioned, his almost formless hand morphing into a laser-like whip of solid and live flame combined, as Meatheral closed in on the abomination, and making carefully sure not to accidentally touch Arrowhawk with his flames, Meatheral took a swipe at the creature's waist, as he flew by. Standing next to gods and fighting mummies. I suppose Jiangshi and frost giants would be next in order... Meatheral thought to himself, as he continued darting around the battlefield, going in between the re-animated corpses, before taking flight to the air. "But what's with the metalic noise?... It's almost like these things have Auto-tune installed in their larynxes." He noted, as he stopped at a height of about 120 feet above the ground.

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"I believe I recall the show in question, Arrowhawk. It was entertaining if a bit formulaic."


He had smoothly dropped the Scottish archer when they approached the battlefield, curling his tail back about his person. He took just a few moments to survey the enemy forces, such as they were. In those few moments, a couple of the "mummies" had been dropped and Arrowhawk had had an assault upon his personage. Sun Walker frowned.


Then he was a blur of motion and was next to another of the cybernetic (such as it were) creatures, his fists and feet flashing out in a dazzling display of deft and skilled martial arts knowledge. Even his tail seemed to provide a lash or two in the brief-yet-overwhelming assault.


"Disturbing remains of the deceased in this manner is most disrespectful. While I find it distasteful to have to strike them, whoever you are controlling them has forced my hand. I find this...displeasing."


The guy was so polite that had to be the closest he could come to smack talk. It was kind of sad, really.

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"Oh indeed, dated popular culture reference, quip about advanced years, derisive banter on modern music," Set snapped impatiently and even those present unfamiliar with the godling's usually verbose manner could tell from the disproportionate amount of venom in his tone that it wasn't the battle chatter that had him upset. Miras was close enough to see the young man's fists clenched tightly enough to pale his knuckles, darkly painted nails digging into his palms. Overhead the sky rumbled threateningly.

Beside him the lioness stretched backward and rose to her feet back in human form, the warrior goddess giving her shorter ward an obviously concerned glance while keeping most of her attention on the advancing abominations the gathered heroes were handily dismantling. "Set. Tis too late already too--"

"Well aware, Mistress of Dread" he interrupted with a scowl, making a sweeping gesture with both arms. In response the sand around him surged forward like a tidal wave, sweeping over the remaining mummified remains and leaving one of them encased in a dune that became rock solid on contact. Set did not look at all gratified by his success. "Damnation."

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Miras drifted out of the dunes and settled onto the sand, her feet finally making impressions in the dunes as she released her power. She frowned at the approaching line of fast, angry corpses. Mobile dead men she was used to -- but the strange green glow was something new to her. Still, they fell to fire easily enough, so she summoned a handful of flickering, smokeless fire in one hand. She wound up and pitched it, the mess of flame striking one of them square in the chest. "Hope this doesn't mess up your ka or ib or shet or whatever," she said, "but we kind of need to get past you all."

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Miras' target fell in a reeking pile of seared meat and heated metal, leaving only a single tortured creature staggering forward across the sand. The woman who had introduced herself as Sekhmet looked the better part of a decade younger than the djinn mage but the glare she gave her contained no hint of deference. "Speak not of matters thy fail to grasp," she warned with a growl before her own first erupted in flame, bright and golden compared to that wielded by Miras or Meatheral. Dashing forward she set about the last abomination with unrestrained fury. Where Sun Walker's blows had belonged to a practiced artisan Sekhmet's display was that of a predator culling the sick and weak from the herd.

With the immediate threat dealt with Set walked up to the closest of the fallen things and began muttering something under his breath. The words were not in English and came haltingly, the recitation of something that had once been rote but had gone unpracticed for a very long time indeed.

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Meatheral slowly descended from his flight, once the last of the anit-mummies had been dealt with. Wether Set and Sekhmet were trully the gods they claimed to be or not, he couldn't tell for sure, but he COULD tell that the grief and anger they exhibited had been genuine. "The lady speaks the truth." his burning voice declared, a sympathetic yet sombre tone accompanying his words. "This is not just a mere matter of someone showing disrespect on the dead; according to Egyptian lore, mummification is a ritual in which the dead are prepared for properly experiencing eternal life after death. A ritual, may I add, which could take months to complete. Without their bodies properly preserved, these unfortunate souls are now doomed to eternally wander the afterlife as lost souls, bereft of any memory of their lives or any sense of identity. Though, having said that..." the Fire Elemental turned to the Lion Goddess. "It does us no good being hostile to each other. While we did what we had to do, I doubt anyone of us took pleasure in performing the deed."


"Now... what I want to know is who would have the means, and the motive to match, to weaponise these mummies in such a manner, and I'm getting the feeling that our summoner here has something to say about that." Meatheral noted, as Set begun the sending ritual.

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