Energy blasts erupted, lighting up the night sky like a violent storm. Red and white glows shot across the alleys of Jakanna, the once-proud capital city, now reduced to a battlefield. The acrid stench of smoke clung to the air as rising plumes of fire devoured entire districts. Statues of Jakkan, carved in his supposed divine image, lay shattered in the streets, their broken faces half-buried in rubble.

  The palace walls trembled from the distant explosions, their golden surfaces illuminated by the fires consuming the city below. Jakkan stood at the highest balcony, his ornate robes disheveled, his hands gripping the marble railing so tightly that his knuckles turned white. This could not be happening.

  "I am a god," he whispered to himself, his voice cracking. His glowing eyes reflected the inferno spreading through his domain. This was his city. His people. He had ruled for centuries, unchallenged, untouchable. To fall to Sobek, to be undone by one of Hathor’s mongrels, was unthinkable.

  Yet, the proof was before him. His streets ran red with blood. His temples, where he was once worshipped as a deity, were now battlegrounds littered with the corpses of his Jaffa.

  The last pockets of resistance made their stand at key choke points—loyal warriors holding the palace gates, desperately fending off waves of Sobek’s forces. Jakkan’s elite guards, men who had sworn their lives to him, formed a final defensive ring around the grand entrance. Their armor, gilded and marked with his sigil, was now scorched and cracked from sustained plasma fire.

  But they were falling, one by one.

  The new plasma rifles wielded by Sobek’s slaves—clad in armor resembling weaker Jaffa plate, their faces half-covered by menacing metal collars etched with reptilian fangs—were proving lethal, even against his best warriors. Though the weapons lacked the raw stopping power of a staff blast, they fired in rapid succession, overwhelming Jakkan’s forces through sheer numbers.

  Jakkan gritted his teeth. It was dishonorable. A slaughter, not a battle.

  A tremor ran through the palace. The doors shook from an impact below. They were coming.

  Then, the throne room doors swung open—not from an enemy charge, but from within.

  His First Prime entered, his face grim. His armor, once immaculate, was scratched and scorched from battle. He had fought alongside his men, but now he stood here, instead of dying with them.

  Jakkan’s eyes burned with fury. “What is going on? Why are you here? Go fight!” His voice thundered through the chamber.

  The First Prime hesitated, his hands clenched at his sides. “My Lord… the war is lost.”

  Jakkan’s hands trembled at his sides. “You dare?”

  “We cannot, in good conscience, order more of our brothers to die for nothing,” his First Prime continued. His voice was heavy, filled with something Jakkan had never expected—guilt.

  Jakkan snarled. His vision blurred with rage. His own First Prime, his most loyal servant, dared to betray him?

  With blinding speed, Jakkan lunged. His hand clamped around the First Prime’s throat, fingers tightening like a vice. The First Prime gasped, but did not resist.

  “You will fight, or you will die,” Jakkan hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

  The doors to the palace suddenly shook with another impact, followed by the sounds of weapons fire. Sobek’s forces had breached the final line of defense.

  The First Prime, still struggling for breath, locked eyes with Jakkan. And for the first time in centuries, Jakkan saw defiance.

  The realization struck him like a dagger. His First Prime was not resisting—because he knew Jakkan’s rule was over.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Jakkan released his grip. His First Prime staggered back, rubbing his throat, but said nothing.

  A voice echoed through the throne room—deep, commanding, triumphant.

  “It seems you’ve lost what control you had left.”

  The room fell into silence as the towering form of Sobek strode through the shattered doorway, flanked by his warriors. His armor, gleaming bronze and emerald, bore the sigil of his name.

  “I wasn’t originally interested in coming down until the battle was fully completed,” Sobek mused, stepping forward. “But your men surrendered faster than I expected.”

  Jakkan’s glowing eyes flared. “What is the meaning of this war? When the other System Lords find out—”

  Sobek chuckled, his lips curling into a smug grin. “They will what?” His voice dripped with amusement. “Run to the Supreme System Lord? To Ra?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. “Ra is dead. And the age of his empire has ended.”

  Jakkan’s jaw clenched. He had no response. He had lost.

  But the question remained:

  What would Sobek demand of him?

  Sobek’s grin widened as he stepped toward Jakkan’s throne. The once-mighty ruler of Jakanna sat stiffly, eyes blazing, his hands gripping the armrests as if his sheer will alone could undo the tide of battle. He looked small now. Weak. Afraid.

  Without warning, Sobek struck.

  His massive scaled hand shot forward, fingers wrapping around Jakkan’s throat. Jakkan’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening to curse, but the words never came. Sobek lifted him effortlessly, his clawed grip tightening, before hurling him down the marble staircase leading from the throne.

  Jakkan’s body slammed into the cold stone, his ornate armor clattering as he tumbled down the steps, landing in a crumpled heap at the base. He groaned, struggling to push himself up, his pride more wounded than his body.

  Gasps filled the room.

  Jakkan’s remaining Jaffa warriors, bloodied and exhausted, stood at the edges of the chamber, watching the scene unfold. Their hands hovered near their weapons—but none dared act. Their god had been thrown down, his divinity shattered in an instant.

  Sobek turned to face them, his voice booming.

  "The era of Jakkan is over. His dynasty, his rule, his tyranny—finished!" He spread his arms wide. "You are no longer his. You now serve me. You now serve Lady Hathor!"

  The assembled Jaffa exchanged glances. Some looked uncertain, their faith in Jakkan shattered but hesitant to bow to another. Others remained tense, ready to act should the tides shift once more.

  Sobek noted their skepticism. He had seen this before. Warriors torn between loyalty to a fallen master and the harsh reality of survival. It was time to shape their thoughts.

  He took a step forward, his emerald-and-bronze armor glinting in the firelight, his golden eyes scanning the room. He let the silence linger—commanding attention not with threats, but with sheer presence.

  "I am not Jakkan," Sobek said, his voice calmer now, but no less powerful. "I do not hoard power for myself while my warriors starve. I do not treat my own Jaffa as expendable pawns."

  He gestured toward the palace gates, where outside, the fires of the fallen city still burned.

  "You fought. You bled. You died—for what?" Sobek’s golden eyes narrowed. "For a god who cowered on his throne while you perished in the streets?"

  More murmurs rippled through the ranks.

  Sobek raised a fist. "Under me, under Lady Hathor, things will be different. We rule with fairness! Those with ambition, those with skill—will rise!" He let his words sink in, watching as Jaffa warriors straightened, as doubt flickered in their eyes and was replaced by something else.

  Hope.

  At the back of the chamber, a figure stirred.

  Lady Hathor stood in the shadows, her golden headdress gleaming in the dim firelight. Around her, her personal guard stood silent and motionless, a wall of unwavering devotion.

  Sobek turned slightly, his smirk barely concealed. With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he pointed to her.

  "And she—our great goddess—is not like Jakkan. She does not rule through cruelty alone. She cares for those who serve her. She rewards those who are loyal."

  Hathor’s expression remained unreadable, her dark eyes fixed on him.

  But Sobek was smiling.

  He needed her. For now. Her power, her influence, her divine presence. But in time… he would shape her. She had the raw charisma to win hearts, but she lacked the strength to seize an empire by force.

  That was why she needed him.

  And he would make sure she saw things his way.

  As he looked back to the gathered Jaffa, their faces no longer held fear—but intrigue.

  Jakkan coughed from the floor, glaring up at Sobek with pure hatred. But his reign was over.