Sekhmet went back to where he’d left the gateway open and stepped through. He hurriedly went to his room to get his armor orb and pack some supplies. He was going on a quest. As he left his rooms, his eyes swept over the objects he had managed to collect over the years, wondering if he would ever see them again. Sekhmet pulled himself back to the task at hand, rushing off to the palace sublevel. Standing in front of the mirror, he took a deep breath. Sekhmet focused his thoughts, trying to conjure up a clear image of his homeland. He would never have been able to visualize it without the clarifying power of the Staff. It had been too long. He thought of the hut in the woods where he had grown up and touched the mirror. Nothing happened. Its shiny surface showed only his own angry face. What was wrong? He didn’t…Idiot! Sekhmet cursed himself for a fool. Surely the land had changed much since he was a boy. The mirror could not pinpoint a hut that hadn’t existed in millennia. Perhaps he should focus on larger landmarks. He thought of the mountains that he, his brother, and sister had often watched rising in the distance from the edge of the forest. He pictured them in his mind and touched the mirror. The surface slowly shifted until a rolling countryside appeared. The area looked somewhat familiar, but it didn’t appear truly “mountainous” to him. Perhaps time had smoothed those high peaks. Perhaps it had been only a little boy’s imagination that had made them seem so imposing. Either way, this was as close as he was likely to get. He stepped through.
After Sekhmet had gone, a lone figured emerged from the shadows where he had been watching. Kale. Not for the first time in recent days did he wonder what Sekhmet was up to.
Sekhmet looked around, taking in the vivid green of the hills. Strange that he had never returned to his homeland since the day he became a Warlord. But perhaps not so strange after all, knowing that there was nothing left for him here. He looked at the position of the sun and studied the terrain. The forest stretched in the distance like a mirage. He was too far east! Many miles in facts. Sekhmet cursed himself for closing the portal behind him. He’d assumed he would arrive close enough. He had never expected to go back after this battle, anyway.
It would take him a few days to reach the place where the old village had stood—the one not far from his boyhood cabin. He knew the buildings would have long since crumbled, but he would know the area—he would be able to sense it. From there, he should be able to get a better idea of where exactly the H’ris were. He could feel them right now, but not strongly enough to figure direction. Once he got to where the village once was, he would know the way. He had no reason to believe the H’ris would have moved on from their old lands. Father had told him often that they were creatures of habit, never changing, never questioning. That is why his father had not fit in there. He’d wanted to change things. The H’ris would still be on their sacred, ancestral lands, all right. And on those lands, they would die. He steeled himself for the long march and headed towards the afternoon sun.
Oshay sat on the top of a hill, overlooking a river. Sekhmet should be along any time now. She thought of her brother, Ket. Seeing Sekhmet in her dream-vision had brought him to mind. She and most of her brothers and sisters were born with green hair, but only Ket’s was as unruly and wild as this new kinsman’s. None of her immediate family had had the beady black eyes, though. Those were rare among her people. If Sekhmet had lived with her clan, he would have been considered blessed. She wondered what it had been like for him. Had he grown up in another clan somewhere? Or had he been forced to make his way alone? Hypnos and Thanatos had told her very little about him except that he, too, had been in the grip of evil. They would be able to relate to one another. Then a horrible thought occurred to her. What if he didn’t want her around? What if he had no use for her? No, she must not consider that. Hypnos and Thanatos would not have sent her here only for Sekhmet to turn her away. She would trust in that. And if he tried to send her away…well, she would just not let him.
Sekhmet had sensed their approach the moment they began moving in his direction. He could feel them out there following him, even if he couldn’t see them. Four, no five, H’ris lurked behind the hills and trees. And another one nearby—up in the hills perhaps. That one felt different. He didn’t know why. This must be a scouting group or small hunting party. He knew for sure now that he was headed in the right direction. He kept walking. Let them make the first move. They thought they had surprise on their side, but they would be the ones surprised when he killed them all.
Sekhmet tensed. They were about to attack. Two of them jumped out in front of him. He could hear the others behind him. With the nervous, undulating movements of lizards, they approached, watching with beady black eyes. Their forked tongues flicked dangerously—ready to spew venom, no doubt. For a moment he couldn’t breathe from the weight of memory. They looked just as they had when he was a boy. That wild green hair, the scaly green skin. His father had looked like them. But they had killed his father. Sekhmet pulled himself back to the present. He was no longer a boy. He was a Warlord--the Warlord of Venom. He waved his sword over his head until it became almost whip-like, energy flying from it. “SNAKE FANG STRIKE!” A flurry of blasts snapped from his sword at the H’ris. They scurried away like vermin. One of the blasts struck a H’ris, killing him. His smoking corpse lay immobile in the grass.
One of the H’ris, the leader perhaps, called out to him. “What are you that we should feel the pulse of your blood coursing through your body?” He looked Sekhmet up and down, examining him carefully for the first time. The other H’ris were now doing the same. They all suddenly recoiled in disgust. “Abomination! How is this possible? You are H’ris and human! Your very existence is an insult to us and to S’rpes the Deadly!”
Sekhmet snarled. “I have heard your people invoke his name before. I hope your god is watching because I’m going to humiliate his little sycophants today. I will not even need my ‘Snake Fang Strike’ again to do it.”
Oshay saw the H’ris attack. Sekhmet was a fearsome fighter—she was sure he could take out all the warriors by himself. But seeing her only relative in danger made her feel protective. Hypnos and Thanatos had repaired the Nemesis weapons and given them back to her—except the mask. It was no longer necessary. The power was within her now. She was the Nemesis and no one could take that from her. Sliding the naginata from her back, she leaped down from the overlooking hill, landing in their midst. Oshay twirled her weapon before her in warning. “Harm this man, and you will each die one tiny piece at a time.”
Sehkmet stared at her. This was the other presence he had sensed—similar to, but not quite, H’ris. He turned just in time to see a H’ris warrior charging from the left. He crossed two katanas in front of himself to block the blow. He quickly slid his inside blade down and brought it around the side. In one smooth motion he’d cut a deep, mortal gash into the surprised warrior’s head.
Oshay was using both ends of her naginata—whacking with the blunt, then slicing with the blade. She jammed her weapon into the ground blade first and used it to vault over her staggered opponent’s head. She grabbed her bullwhip and snapped it out, coiling it around the warrior’s neck. She jerked hard with her magically enhanced strength. His neck cracked as he crumpled to the ground.
Sekhmet’s opponent rushed him. Sekhmet thought that was a stupid move until he realized why the warrior wanted to get that close. The H’ris spat in his face, venom steaming as it struck him. Sekhmet could feel it burning, but not as terribly as it was probably supposed to. The fool didn’t realize he was immune to most poisons. Better to kill this H’ris quickly before he could change poisons to something he wasn’t immune to. Sekhmet sliced backhand from the left, then the right. The warrior’s eyes widened in confusion as he fell dead at the Warlord of Venom’s feet.
Oshay spun, kicking her opponent in the head. Blood spurted from his mouth. The warrior slashed wildly at her. Oshay blocked vertically with her naginata. She slid her bottom hand down the staff and flipped the blunt end up, catching the H’ris under the chin. He dropped his weapon. Her hand suddenly bulked up, twisting into a large claw. Leaping at her enemy, she sliced at his throat with that razor-sharp claw. No sound escaped his lips as he wildly clutched his throat before he died.
Sekhmet looked at the corpses of the H’ris. He thought he would feel happy, satisfied…something. He just felt empty. Would he have to kill them all to be fulfilled?