Atum-Ra's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Atum-Ra drove his spear into Apep's neck, and the spear broke. Again. The point snapped like dry reed. Bright shards fell into the dark water of the Duat. The serpent's scales did not even scratch. They were black glass, and no weapon Atum-Ra made could cut them. He had fought this monster every night since the world began. He wanted the serpent dead for good, so night could never swallow the sun. But every dawn his spear shattered, and the fight only reset. He remembered the night the serpent nearly won. The sky went black. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. He had seen the world stop. He would not see it again. So he climbed out of the Duat before the fight could reset, still burning, still angry, and he went looking for someone who could tell him what a scale like that was made of. He found his grandson in the great gold palace of the dead king. Statues of old pharaohs lined the stairs. Horus stood between the lotus columns, checking the edge of his own blade against his thumb. He had killed his uncle's armies with weapons like it. If anyone knew how to break something that would not break, it was the falcon king. "My spear cannot cut Apep," Atum-Ra said. "I have tried every dawn." Horus did not look up. "Then the spear is wrong." He set his blade down. "You strike the scales. Scales are armor. Armor is made to be struck." "There is no gap," Atum-Ra said. "I have searched." "There is always a gap." Horus met his eyes. "Set was armored too. I did not cut through him. I waited until he opened his mouth to swallow me." He tapped his own throat. "Inside. Nothing guards the inside." Atum-Ra went cold with understanding. Apep opened his jaws every night, wide enough to take the whole sun. The inside of that mouth had no scales. "You want me to let it swallow me," Atum-Ra said. "I want you to win." Horus picked his blade back up. "You cannot do both from the outside." He turned away. The matter, for him, was closed. Atum-Ra returned to the Duat before the next dark came. He carried no new spear. He carried a single blade of hardened flame, short and thin, hidden against his wrist. When Apep rose and opened its jaws to take the sun, Atum-Ra did not strike the scales. He let the mouth close over him. Down in the wet dark of the serpent's throat, where no black glass grew, he drove the flame up through soft flesh. Apep shuddered. The great body twisted once and went still. For the first time since the world began, the serpent did not reset at dawn. But Atum-Ra was still inside it. The jaws had shut behind him. The dead weight sank, and it carried him down with it, deeper than the sun had ever gone.