All eyes were drawn to the book in Wes Elwin's hand. Unconsciously, everyone's attention converged on the Book of Amun-Ra.
Imhotep's pupils contracted sharply, a flicker of deep dread flashing in his gaze.
To him, this Book of Amun-Ra was more than a relic. It was the very symbol of pharaonic authority, a gift from the sun god himself, and the sacred faith he had once betrayed.
He could feel the power radiating from it—the kind of power that could seal him away, or even annihilate him completely. Imhotep feared this book more than anything else.
Evelyn's eyes locked onto it as well, her heart surging with uncontrollable excitement.
This was the sacred object her father had sought his entire life. She remembered how many times he had described its wonders, insisting that it contained the might of the sun god, capable of banishing all evil.
But then, as her gaze shifted to Wes, that elation plummeted into despair.
Wes was no longer their friend. He was now their enemy—a powerful enemy.
"Give it to me," Imhotep growled, stepping toward Wes, his face as dark and cold as stone.
"Wizard, you are not worthy of the Book of Amun-Ra." His voice was filled with imperious command, as though declaring the book's rightful ownership belonged only to him.
"And you—a traitor who betrayed the pharaoh and was punished with the Curse of the Scarabs—are worthy?" Wes shot back, his words stabbing directly at the one past humiliation Imhotep could never erase.
The air between them crackled with tension, ready to ignite into a battle at any moment.
Taking advantage of their standoff, O'Connell pressed the attack, driving Anck-su-Namun back with furious swings of the golden greatsword. In one smooth strike, he cut through Evelyn's bindings, then shouted to Jonathan:
"Get her out of here!"
Jonathan rushed to Evelyn's side, supporting her as the two sprinted toward the exit.
Imhotep's expression twisted. Seeing his sacrifice slip away, he abandoned his confrontation with Wes. Raising his hands, he conjured a towering wall of stone and sand, sealing off the passage.
"No one leaves!"
A guttural chant rolled from his lips, and with it came the skittering, hissing sound of countless tiny legs.
From every crack and crevice of the chamber, swarms of scarabs poured forth, a black tide flooding across the floor, converging around O'Connell, Evelyn, and Jonathan.
The three had no choice but to raise their torches, trying desperately to hold the swarm at bay. But there were too many. They pressed tighter and tighter, crawling over one another until some were already scuttling up onto their boots.
"Think of something—fast!" O'Connell shouted, slashing wildly with the sword to cut down those that came too close. But for every few crushed, a hundred more took their place.
"We can't just sit here and die!" Jonathan's voice wavered with despair, though he tried to stay calm.
"BOOM!"
Suddenly, the wall barring the exit exploded open. Dust and fire filled the chamber—and through the smoke rushed Amir.
His body was strapped with explosives, and without hesitation he charged straight into the encroaching swarm.
"What are you standing around for?! RUN!" he roared.
Lighting a stick of dynamite, he hurled it into the scarabs, blasting a gaping hole in the tightening circle of death.
O'Connell hurriedly pulled Evelyn and Jonathan, trying to escape through the blasted gap.
As they brushed past Amir, he lit every stick of dynamite strapped to his body and charged straight at Imhotep, ready to perish together with him.
But before he could close in, a massive hand of sand appeared, seizing him in its palm.
Imhotep clenched his right hand in the air, and the sandy giant hand followed suit, crushing inward.
"AHH!!" Amir's scream rang out. Blood burst from his seven orifices as his body twisted grotesquely under the crushing grip.
"BOOM!!"
The dynamite detonated, blasting Amir into pieces. The giant hand of sand was torn apart as well.
O'Connell watched with bloodshot eyes as Amir was blown apart. His veins bulged across his neck like writhing worms.
"No!!" he roared in anguish, clenching his fists as rage consumed him.
"Now… it's your turn."
Imhotep floated into the air, surging toward the three.
Evelyn's face paled with panic, Jonathan's legs trembled so violently he could barely stand. O'Connell lowered his head, his expression hidden from all.
The air was suffocating with tension, as though the entire tomb was holding its breath for what would come next.
Just as Imhotep's hand reached for Evelyn, a sword-light flashed. It was so fast it left only an afterimage.
"Clack—" A severed hand hit the ground with a dull thud.
Imhotep recoiled in horror, clutching his right arm in agony.
The fallen limb lay there—its cross-section seared black as charcoal, without a single drop of blood.
O'Connell raised his head. His eyes glowed white, pupils vanished.
His hair lifted as if in a phantom wind. The golden greatsword in his grasp blazed with golden flames, radiating dazzling light.
"Ra!!" Imhotep gasped, disbelieving, as terror like he had never felt before seized him.
[At last…] Wes thought to himself. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
O'Connell's current state was known in some as "Spirit Descent," or as "Divine Descent." Even if only a fragment of the god's will, it was enough to make Imhotep face him as though against an equal.
As for Anck-su-Namun, she collapsed to her knees, trembling uncontrollably as if the end of her world had arrived.
"Criminal."
O'Connell's voice echoed ethereal and majestic. He leveled his flaming blade at Anck-su-Namun, unleashing a burst of golden fire from its tip.
The flame shot straight for her, but Imhotep leapt to shield her, arms spread wide.
The golden fire struck an invisible barrier, halting in midair. The heat warped the very air as Imhotep strained against it, sweat pouring down his brow.
"Hmph!" O'Connell snorted coldly, displeased.
He poured more power into the strike. The golden fire blazed hotter, surging with the might to burn all things to ash.
Imhotep's knees bent under the weight, the flames licking across his arms. His flesh hissed and sizzled, yet still he endured.
[Then let me see… the true gap between a 'god' and myself!]
At that instant, Wes made his move.
Chanting under his breath, the air plummeted in temperature. Frost spread rapidly across the stone floor, hardening into jagged shards and deadly weapons—spears, halberds, axes.
Each frozen blade glimmered with killing frost, all poised to strike at O'Connell under Wes's command.
O'Connell stood motionless, both hands gripping the flaming greatsword, its tip pressed into the ground.
As the barrage of ice-weapons howled toward him, an unseen force flared around him, shaping itself into a transparent barrier that shielded him completely.
°°°
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