The air in the grand, gilded throne room of the Egyptian Pantheon was thick with the intense, seething, and ancient animosity.
Ra, the Sun God, sat rigid upon his throne, his solar disk crown radiating suppressed fury.
His gaze was fixed, an absolute glare of incandescent hatred, upon the figure seated casually opposite him: Yahweh.
The Christian God appeared as a man of imposing, yet strangely quiet authority, his form glowing with a soft, unsettling inner light.
And Ra despised him with every fiber of his divine being.
It was Yahweh's conquest, aided by the opportunistic siphoning of energy following the initial cosmic wound inflicted by the fragments of an Outer One, that had crippled the Egyptian Universe and initiated its long, agonizing decline.
"Shouldn't you be in your Pantheon," Ra demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "dealing with that pathetic little rebellion of that treacherous son of yours?"
