Moments earlier, with four hours still remaining and while Tania was facing Sekhmet—

  Horus was walking through a dark chamber, so dark that he couldn’t even see his own hands.

  “How the hell did I end up here?” the Egyptian god wondered as he advanced slowly through the vast darkness.

  Then the darkness began to fade, and bodies appeared all around Horus. He recognized them immediately—friends and family. The place itself was familiar: the Land of Manu. But it was engulfed in flames, the sky dyed red. The once-fertile earth was now dry and cracked. Massive temples, obelisks, and pyramids lay in ruins.

  In the distance stood the figure of a tall man, choking a woman with his right hand. The man wore a square crown on his head—the modius. What looked like a viper was coiled around his body, and two small wings jutted from his back. In his left hand he held a staff topped with twin pincer-like prongs.

  “I see now… so this is your power,” Horus said sarcastically.

  “What’s wrong, Horus?” the man asked. His figure remained indistinct at that distance, little more than a shadow. “Will you let me murder your mother?”

  “You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind illusions,” Horus replied coldly. “Unfortunately for you, those don’t work on me.”

  At that moment, the man tightened his grip on the woman’s neck and severed her head. It fell at Horus’s feet. Her eyes were wide with terror. She had black hair bound with a scarf, tanned skin, golden eyes, and red kohl around them.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Horus said angrily. “Showing me my mother’s severed head, hoping guilt will keep me trapped here?”

  The Egyptian god raised his scepter and pointed it at the shadow before him.

  “That man’s life belongs to me—but I’ll kill him in the real world, not in this amateur illusion.”

  The black-clad figure stepped forward, a macabre smile spreading across his face.

  But at that instant, Horus’s scepter blazed with light as he shouted:

  “Axew Da (Ray of light storm)!”

  Hundreds of laser-like beams of light erupted chaotically from the staff, tearing through everything around them. The rays struck the man, and his form completely dissolved. As the illusionary world collapsed, it began to fade away.

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  The Land of Manu flared like a sun—and vanished like a mirage.

  Horus found himself back on Mars, standing face to face with the god draped in a blood-soaked bull hide. Though his eyes were hidden by the mantle, his mouth twisted in frustration.

  “You escaped the nightmare world by sheer willpower alone? That’s impossible!” Gurzil roared.

  “Sorry,” Horus replied calmly, “but illusions don’t work very well on me. I think you’ve noticed—I only use one eye.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have underestimated the champion of the Land of Manu,” Gurzil snarled. “But all you’ve done is prolong your suffering. Now I’ll have to kill you with my own hands.”

  “With that insignificant divine power?” Horus laughed.

  Gurzil gripped his rusted axe with both hands, and eight copies of himself appeared at his sides. They looked like ghostly phantoms—yet Horus noticed that Gurzil’s divine power had vanished.

  The eight illusions lunged at Horus. He tried to evade them, but one managed to bury its axe into his body. Horus reacted instantly, striking back—but the target vanished. Another illusion.

  Gurzil reappeared behind Horus and licked the blood from the wound he’d inflicted. The injury healed immediately.

  “My illusions are impossible to avoid,” Gurzil said smugly. “Even if I’m weaker than you, all I have to do is keep hitting you until your ichor runs dry.”

  “That sounds like a pathetic plan—perfect for a coward and a loser,” Horus replied as he pointed his staff again. It began to glow.

  “Even if you’re an illusion, these millions of rays will find you wherever you hide.”

  “Axew Da!” Horus shouted.

  Hundreds of beams of light burst forth, so many they wove a complex lattice in the air. Yet none of them struck the real Gurzil. He and his illusions moved constantly, evading every attack.

  Using his phantoms again, Gurzil rushed Horus and slashed his chest. The wound healed almost instantly—but not without forcing a grimace of pain from the Egyptian god.

  “Horus, my illusions are flawless,” Gurzil taunted as he tasted the god’s blood once more. “No matter what you do, you can’t defeat me.”

  Horus raised his staff toward the sky as it shone brilliantly. The heavens turned gold, and thousands of thin beams of light rained straight down onto the Martian surface. They pierced everything they touched, collapsing entire mountains and reducing them to rubble.

  Yet as the light fell, Gurzil merely laughed. Not a single ray touched him.

  After a few seconds, what had once been a valley surrounded by mountains had become a flat plain.

  The rain of light ceased, and the sky returned to its usual grayish-red dusk.

  Then Gurzil’s illusions attacked again, carving multiple wounds into Horus’s body. Though Horus struck back at each phantom, it was futile.

  Horus closed his eye, inhaled deeply, and shifted into a passive stance.

  “Are you giving up?” Gurzil asked mockingly.

  “I’ve found the way to defeat you,” Horus replied.

  “Very well,” Gurzil said. “I accept your challenge.”

  The group of Gurzils lunged once more. Horus didn’t try to evade a single strike.

  One of the phantom axes slammed straight into his chest. Horus winced—but immediately tried to grab the weapon embedded in him.

  To his surprise, although the axe remained lodged in his body, he couldn’t grasp it. It was intangible to his hand.

  Confident, Gurzil yanked the axe upward, carving a vertical gash through Horus’s chest all the way to his neck.

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