The worker smashed his rake into the muddy ground of the riverbank. The shine of the fading sun burned down on him while sweat dripped from his body. He only wore a loincloth and sandals. He wasn't big or strong, not intelligent or dumb. Just an average, hard-working person serving Horus, the god-king. The work for the great pharaoh was hard, but those in favor of the gods were said to be protected and guided by them. But those who slack or ignored their purpose were crushed, and all of their family was given to the sands. Their fellow servants were watching the Nil-farmers.
One of them was standing about 20 meters away. He and the farmer were old friends, having known each other since childhood. He was one of the loyal guards of the gods, a giant of a man. He wore the traditional weapons of the goldy guard. A curved chepesh, a bronze club, and a shield out of woven straw and massive wood. Chosen and trained since birth, he was good with his weapons and experienced tactics. While being young, he would often sneak out of the training camps during their spare time to watch the Nil, just at the point where the farmer's family lived. The two of them bonded with time, and now, in their mid-thirties, whenever the soldier was on guard duty, he would choose his friend's field to stay. While the farmer now had a wife and a little daughter, the godly guards were not allowed to have a family. But even though the guard still was a welcomed guest at the small family's house and treated as one of their own.
As part of the godly guard vowed to Horus, he wasn't sent to the northern border, where the two claws of Horus, Sachmet, the lion-goddess and one of the most bloodthirsty warriors existing, and Basted, the cat-goddess and former guardian of Ra, were leading a deadly war against the barbarian tribes. There were tales about these people worshipping trees and making bloody offerings to cruel demons. On the other hand, these demons should grand them strength and protection, even creating pathways into other worlds, one crueler and more gruesome than the other. But the only protection a tree could offer, at least in the eyes of the farmer, was protection from the burning sun. Protection the farmer would like to have now, but he was dammed to work under Ra's burning gaze. Also, it was a well-known fact that the only gods existing were those under the rule of Horus, so why praise a tree when you could just praise the gods living in the palace a few hills away? Even if these gods, most of the time, were just fucking random girls from the villages and sitting in their thrones without ever looking at the humans working under them. But who else was there to protect them from enemies and dangers? Also, it wasn't a good idea to plead against the gods, a bloody lesson learned during the last rebellion of Seath. Horus singlehandedly had beaten several of the rebels to bloody pulps. And even a single, lesser god would prove a nearly impossible challenge for humans to overcome.
Pearls of sweat run down the farmer's face. He had worked for hours; the sun was almost set now. He had heard some commotion from one of his neighbor's fields as the man foolishly tried to evade his duties to the gods and was beaten and taken prisoner by the guards. A fool, too self-righteous to work. It was hard, the farmer admitted to himself, but it was a trade that both sides would benefit from. It was well known the gods cared for those who helped them grow the kingdom. With the back of his hands, the farmer removed the sweat before it could reach his eyes. His rake seemed to weigh tons by now, every muscle in his body begged to get a rest. His friend, also covered in sweat and being cooked in his armor didn't seem to be much better.
"Come," the farmer whispered. "Enough for today, the day is already set. Let's take a break and drink something. Its hot and Ra's gaze is burning us. Lets get some henget." The soldier nodded and shouldered his spear as they walked towards the farmer's simple clay hut. the godly guard was forbidden to drink or indulge in any carnal pleasure, but the giant soldier could empty several of the large jugs before his drinking was noticed. while sometimes sitting after his watch in one of the taverns by the harbor, he consumed more of the beer than three other men combined before joining the local sailors in their contests. Beating each other with his bare hands was an art in itself if you didn't want to beat your opponent to a pulp with the soldier's own giant strength. rumor had it that he had won five fights in a row in a single night without losing a drop of sweat. He was considered the undefeated champion of the city and a lot of seafarers who docked here only visited the port taverns to fight with him. so far, everyone had drawn the short straw. But when he was in the farmer's house, he was a different man. Still tall and hulking, his shoulders took the place of two other men's, and one of his coarse hands completely grasped the massive clay jars from which he drank. yet he spoke in a soft, gentle voice and revealed an alert mind. Something pretty unexpected from a guy with his looks. One could clearly see the scars along his arms, white welts inflicted by the blades of his brothers in arms, and the whips of his instructors. You could see the marks of a broken jaw and a broken nose, the bulges left by open wounds. The man was a painting of his battles, each strand of muscle telling its own story of pain and hard work.
But not the slightest bit of aggression could be sensed from him. He moved gently and carefully, never spilling a drop, never causing even the slightest discomfort for his host. The farmer's daughter, now seven summers old, loved the warrior. She always tried to play with him and he, even though feeling a bit uncomfortable, always acted as she wished. But on this evening, she was already asleep as the three adults sat down to drink and eat. It was a merry round but ended pretty quick. As the soldier stepped in front of the hut, the sun was already set and the only light was those of a dozen torch, lit by the night patrol. He was a bit drunk, so it took him a second to realize what was wrong. Not a single star lit the sky. The moon was covered but not by clouds and not a tiny bit of his light was to be seen. With a swift move, he unsheathed his bronze spear and stepped toward the nearest patrol.
"What's going on?", he asked but the man didn't know either.
"Lets gather as many men as possible, even villagers. We don't know whats going on but it could be dangerous. We don't have enough soldiers to cover the whole city and if we can get some helping hands it would be great.", the soldier said.
"No, it may be better if they stayed in their…", the other man interrupted his sentence as the night went bright. A giant, red eye, bigger than the moon and brighter than any star gazed down on them. Its serpentine form sent shivers down the soldier's back and as he looked closer, he could see the shapes of gigantic scales around the eye.
"Apophis…", he whispered as his comrades drew their weapons. As the light fell on the bronze of their blades and spears, the world shook as the serpent began to laugh. From the darkness, drops of shadow, just like rain, fell down to earth. First, there were just a few, then, hundreds. Before the first of them touched the ground, the soldier was already running back to the hut of his old friend.