POV Clan Keimnwati
Under the scorching rays of Ra, the richest and most expansive estate lived its life. In the three and a half thousand years since its founding by its great ancestor, the Priest of Great Apop, the Dark Family had accomplished much.
Listening carefully to their God, the Dark Priest Family knew from the very beginning what their goal was and who the enemy was, now or in the future. And the family, named after the first head of the Keimnvati, persevered toward their goal.
The great Apop, one of the dark gods, was always wise, so he instructed his servants to establish a caste system within the family. Thus, some of the sorcerers and witches were dedicated to their god from birth, and their magic became intertwined with Apop's power.
Other parts, the castes, were left free to acquire gifts, of which they managed to collect many, but only four were enshrined. Unfortunately, the laws of the world cannot be bought with gold or cursed/poisoned/killed, so the stolen Gifts were never enshrined. But even in a single generation of a Stolen Gift's existence, the Keimnwati managed to accomplish a great deal.
Years, centuries, millennia have passed. Every move, every cunning plan, every decision has been weighed many times, discussed many times. Cautiously, lurking in the shadows of others' glory and power, the servants of Apop gradually and imperceptibly infiltrated everywhere.
In every temple, in every cult, there were agents loyal to their dark deity. One by one, Thoth, Bast, Nebethet, Maat, Maahes, Nemti, Taurth, Sebek, Inpu (Anubis), Osiris, Horus (Horus) and others slowly, drop by drop, lost their power and their priests. Their cults lost relics and artifacts and later lives.
The gods cannot directly interfere in the mortal world, only in the most exceptional cases are they allowed to do so, but in the affairs of mortals they can only whisper advice... if there is someone to hear it, or if there is someone to hear it, or if those who could have the strength and knowledge to do so.
For three and a half millennia, the worshipers of the dark gods and incarnations have ensured their own safety by depriving the other gods of the support of the personal families of the priests. The treasuries and vaults of the palaces of the Keimnvati family have accumulated immense wealth during this time. Many lands and temples now belong to them, and power is held by the "Dark Council of High Rulers".
In a luxurious white stone palace, amidst lush greenery, expensive jewelry, exotic trained animals and slaves, enjoys the power of the eldest of the many and one of the strongest families of Egypt. In the spacious hall, tasting the best dishes, wines and the aroma of hookah, sat father and son.
Very similar to each other and black eyes on beautiful oval faces, and the lines of a straight nose, and thin lips, so conveniently folded into a wicked and triumphant grin, and the figures of both father and son are indistinguishable from each other, despite the difference of sixteen years.
In fact, the current head of the family is still very young and would not be the head of the family for a long time were it not for his innate cunning and guile. The whole essence of the family lies in them, but in this particular sorcerer, these qualities were so strong that his father died in his sleep when the boy was only fifteen. Father and son enjoyed their time together after months of separation.
The slave girls who served them overheard the men discussing new plans for advancing their power, talking about lucrative investments, and then the conversation turned to the most enjoyable thing of all: new slave girls. What could be better for a strong man than to capture and subjugate a new toy?
No, even after that, if there is a desire, the master can and will condescend to his property, but it is most pleasant to prove his power, strength, intelligence and cunning. It takes a lot of different efforts to get a new prize. Isn't that something to boast about?
Here, the respected father realized that his son had gone into it: to capture such a value — twins with ancient magic — he should be able to do it! No, the father himself is not a bad guy, and among his personal slave girls there are many wonderful specimens, but he did not start this fun at seventeen, but a little later. It should be recognized that his eldest son, Badru, was already worthy to occupy the Third Palace as a full-fledged master and to stand at his father's right shoulder in the Council.
The men did not count the time and happily "sucked" the details of their son's achievement, but then Badru froze, as if listening to something, and then closed his eyes. As if by magic, but why "as if"? A ritual staff appeared in his hand, and the heir began to whisper something with his lips only, without opening his eyes.
Smiling broadly, evil and triumphant, Badru swung the staff sharply and opened his eyes. The head also felt the movement of the family's magic, even caught a glimpse of the Protector incarnate in the world, and soon returned to the world of the gods to the Master.
— What happened? — sounded the deep voice of the Head, who could not leave the question of the Protector's incarnation unanswered.
— Ha! — the satisfied Badru grinned broadly. — My new slave girls were tried to be kidnapped by breaking the seal.....
— You don't need to continue. — The Head waved his hand imperiously. — The Protector has punished this worm, and his soul is already with the Lord.
The men grinned contentedly at each other. None of them cared that the twins had been turned into mincemeat. What did they care if the most pleasurable pleasure was obtained? And they had palaces full of mindless and submissive slave girls. Badru picked up the mouthpiece of the water pipe, inhaled the fragrant smoke, but coughed. Violently, with a burst. The head arched an eyebrow sarcastically.
At the same time, in the dungeons of the Goblin Bank, among the symbols and patterns burning red fire directly on the stone, a young Japanese man cut the last throat with a stone knife, letting the blood flow generously. Behind the red liquid, the ground and the toes of the Japanese man's bare feet could not be seen.
The carcasses of the sacrificial bulls were very tightly packed together, preventing the blood from leaving the ten-meter circle. The man, covered in blood from head to toe, with bloody palm marks on his cheeks and his hair beginning to lighten, walked to the center of the burning symbols. The red flames did not harm the mage.
The guy stopped at a half-meter ring with a ball of flame floating in the sky above it. A few archaic growls, and the watching goblins noticed the mage's enlarged fangs and glowing eyes. A stone knife slices into his palm, and a spray of human blood forms a semicircular arc. New figures and symbols appear in the air. The dagger is intercepted by the wounded hand and the process is repeated, covering the ritual hexagon with soaring lights.
Again, a series of unfamiliar local words. The flames erupt with purple sparks and a line of light shoots upward from the central sphere. The Japanese man makes an elusive gesture, and in his hand he holds a black glass ball covered with gold Oriental characters, from which two glass chains with a blade and snake-shaped top dangle. A few more words and the glass ball was thrown into the ball of fire, which immediately turned purple with blue sparks.
Badru couldn't stop coughing, he felt something inside him choking and gagging. His mind seized a thought and the gold ring on his finger crumbled to dust and the coughing subsided. Hands, mouthpiece and snow-white shirt in a spray of blood.
The head frowns in concern, he opens his mouth, but instead of a scream he gasps at the onset of pain in his chest and collapses onto his side, feeling the pain not only in his chest, but in his entire body, and also somewhere down below, underground. Black evil eyes open in disbelief at the realization of the impossible. But it is beyond the power of him, his son, or anyone else in his family to do anything about it.
At that moment, more than five hundred wizards and priests shuddered in pain, barely able to think. Not all of them realized that such a thing was possible, and some even refused to believe in it. This family is the best! The strongest! How could this be possible? But the truth was not interested in the opinions of mortals.
At that very moment, Maat — the goddess whose powers include Truth — was smirking in her halls. Who but she should know the truth?
The searing, jagged pain intensified in an instant, just for a moment, but it was enough. In that instant, over a hundred wizards and witches died of a heart attack. Each of the crowd felt something inside them snap with a crackling sound. At that moment, a huge stone rectangle, solidly covered with ancient symbols and gold, cracked beneath the family's main palace, four hundred meters deep.
For a minute, the astonished family members tried to comprehend what had just happened, but they could not. Most of the slaves were already dead by then, and the rest lay unconscious. At the end of the second minute, the pain returned. But this time it was torture.
The dark ones could feel the flesh tearing inside them, even hear it. From their mouths, eyes, ears and other orifices flowed a thick mass of purple colors. It was as if something was grinding them from within, and it lasted for a very long time....in my personal experience.
Not only were the Keimnwati dying in their own lands, but those who had blood ties to them, no matter how distant, were dying as well. Black magic made no distinction. An hour later, as the last Keimnwati died, powerful magical domes rose over every treasury, palace, and temple, literally erasing their existence from the memories of the people.....almost all of them.