First Apocalypse: Origins of Ragnarok [Chapter 4: Ancient Egypt]

Ancient Egypt.
A time when the gods still walked the sands of the Nile, when their hands shaped the fate of mortals and their breath stirred the winds across the desert. The sun blazed high in the sky, its rays gilding the golden temples and casting long, shimmering reflections upon the waters of the great river.

Within one of the grand palaces of the gods, a chamber glittered like the very vault of heaven. The walls were adorned with lapis lazuli and obsidian, inlaid with hieroglyphs telling the story of the cosmos. Jewels hung like stars from intricate golden lattices. The air was perfumed with incense, thick and sweet, coiling in lazy tendrils toward the domed ceiling. Fine silks billowed at the windows, their colours catching the sunlight like the wings of exotic birds.

A figure entered.

He was tall, his skin the colour of rich, fertile soil, adorned with countless tattoos of deep emerald green, each a sacred symbol and ancient rite inked by divine hands. His broad shoulders were draped in robes of royal linen, dyed the deepest indigo and lined with gold thread. 

Osiris, the new Chief God of the Egyptian pantheon after Ra's retirement.

But for all the glittering wealth and treasures of the chamber, his gaze sought only one thing.

At the heart of the room, reclining upon a bed of silken cushions, surrounded by dutiful handmaidens, was a goddess of surpassing beauty. Her skin was like polished ivory, her hair a cascading waterfall of obsidian, adorned with a circlet of gold and sapphire. Servants fanned her with peacock feathers, their hands working delicately to tend to her every whim.

Isis, goddess of magic and healing and Osiris' beloved wife.

At the sight of her husband, the servants wordlessly withdrew, bowing their heads and slipping from the room, leaving the two alone.

Osiris smiled, his face softening, and strode toward her. He cupped her face with calloused yet tender hands, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.

"How is my desert flower this fine day?" Osiris asked, his voice low and warm like the evening sun.

Isis chuckled softly, eyes glittering with affection. "I'm quite alright, love," she replied. "You mustn't dote on me so much. It is unbecoming of a goddess."

Osiris laughed, a deep, rich sound that seemed to echo against the stone walls. "Is it such a crime that I love my wife so much? And..." his gaze flicked downward as he gently brushed his fingers across the silk draped over her midsection, "if you are comfortable, then so is he."

Isis smiled, her hand moving to tug aside the silk, revealing the gentle swell of her belly. The roundness of impending motherhood.

Osiris’ expression softened to something reverent. He dropped to one knee, resting his ear against her stomach, his hands cradling her gently.

"My son," he murmured. "My Horus."

Isis couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, shaking her head. "Get up, Osiris," she teased. "You look as if you're about to pleasure me."

Osiris smirked as he rose, leaning in close to whisper, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Before she could retort, he nipped at her neck and tickled her sides.

"S-STOP THAT!" Isis squealed through peals of laughter, swatting at him playfully.

The chamber filled with their shared joy, deities though they were, in this moment they were simply husband and wife.

And then, suddenly, Isis stiffened.

"Love... I feel him."

Osiris froze, his hand returning to her stomach. And there, a firm, undeniable kick against his palm. His face split into a grin, pure and radiant.

"He's strong already," Osiris said proudly.

They laughed together, their mirth mingling with the scent of lotus and incense, until a soft voice interrupted them.

A servant stood respectfully at the threshold of the room, head bowed. "Lord Osiris, a message for you."

Osiris sighed and stepped away, taking the rolled papyrus scroll from the servant's hand. The servant bowed once more and departed silently.

"What is it, honey?" Isis asked, adjusting herself among the cushions.

Osiris broke the seal and unrolled the parchment, his brow raising slightly as he read.

"It’s from my brother… Set. He's invited me to his palace for a feast to honour my coming heir" he said.

Isis perked up. "Oh, how thoughtful of him! I’ll get myself ready-"

But Osiris raised a hand to stop her. "That won’t be necessary," he said gently. "He writes that he only wishes to see me. Brother to brother."

Isis' face fell slightly, the light in her eyes dimming. "Ah… I suppose that makes sense. You two have always been close."

Osiris smiled and leaned down to kiss her brow. "I’ll be back soon, my love."

"I’ll hold you to that," Isis whispered, her hand finding his and squeezing it tight.

With a final glance at his wife, and at the life growing within her, Osiris turned and strode from the chamber, the doors closing softly behind him.

The journey through the desert had been long, but not unpleasant. Osiris rode in a grand chariot drawn by two immaculate white horses, their bridles adorned with golden rings and beads of lapis lazuli that shimmered in the sunlight. The wheels of the chariot cut through the sand with ease, the breeze carrying with it the scent of myrrh and dust. In the distance rose the dark, imposing shape of Set’s palace, a towering structure carved from blood-red stone, its spires jagged like ancient fangs, standing stark against the pale desert sky.

As the chariot pulled to a halt before the entrance, Osiris stepped down, his sandals pressing into the hot sand. No sooner had his feet touched the earth than he was set upon by a pair of beasts.

Massive creatures with sleek, obsidian-black fur, long snouted faces, and ears shaped like spears. Their eyes glowed with an unnatural yellow light, and their long, forked tongues lolled out as they panted with excitement. The Typhonian beasts bounded toward Osiris, barking and growling in delight as they leapt at him, their immense size nearly knocking him back.

"Yes, yes! Hello there, you splendid creatures!" Osiris laughed heartily, his hands catching one beast by the scruff, scratching its chin, causing its great hind leg to stamp happily against the sandy ground. The other nudged its nose under his arm, demanding attention of its own.

Osiris chuckled, holding up his pristine, golden sceptre, a symbol of kingship encrusted with jewels that sparkled like captured stars. He raised it high above his head, its polished surface catching the sun’s rays.

"You see it?" he teased, waving it as both beasts lowered their haunches, tails swishing, ready to pounce. Their eyes were fixed on the prize.

"Go fetch!"

With a theatrical flick of his arm, Osiris hurled the sceptre across the open courtyard. The Typhonian beasts lunged after it, kicking up plumes of sand, their claws gouging the ground as they bolted, snarling and yapping in gleeful pursuit. The precious royal relic disappeared beneath a cloud of dust and snapping jaws.

Osiris dusted his hands with a grin, turning back toward the entrance.

And there, standing in the grand threshold of the palace, awaited a god clad in black and crimson jewellery, his muscular frame draped in dark linen. His Nemes headdress, a royal cloth striped in crimson and sable, was unique, for the top bore the snarling face of the Typhonian beasts that now gnawed on Osiris’ priceless sceptre somewhere in the distance.

Set, God of the Desert, Lord of Storms and Chaos.

Set’s face split into a sharp grin, his teeth gleaming as he threw his arms wide.

"Brother!"

Osiris mirrored the gesture, stepping forward, his own smile warm and genuine.

"Brother!"

The two gods met in the centre of the courtyard, their hands locking in a warrior’s clasp before pulling each other into a tight, fierce embrace. The air between them crackled with the ancient bond of blood and shared divinity.

Set pulled away, gripping Osiris by the shoulders.

"It is good to see you, brother. You look well."

"As do you, Set," Osiris replied, his eyes bright with affection.

Set stepped back, gesturing grandly toward the looming archway behind him. "Come, brother! We have much to speak of. And I have had the finest cooks in Egypt prepare a feast in your honour!"

Osiris laughed, the sound carrying like a song on the hot desert wind.

"Then let us not keep them waiting," he said, and together the brothers strode into the shadowed halls of Set’s palace.

The evening had stretched on like a silk tapestry, painted with the deep hues of a setting sun. Within the grand dining hall of Set’s palace, torches flickered against the darkening walls, casting dancing shadows over stone and gold. The long table, laden with the remnants of an opulent feast, roasted fowl, figs dripping with honey, bowls of dates and pomegranates, and goblets of crimson wine, bore witness to the joyful reunion of two brothers.

At either end of the table sat Osiris and Set, their laughter filling the vast chamber as it had in years long past, when they were merely the wild sons of Ra and Nut, racing through the deserts and rivers like unruly storm winds.

Osiris wiped wine from his lip, smiling wide. The lines of age had not touched him, but the weight of kingship sat in the set of his shoulders. “Ah, you still know how to drink me under the table, Set.”

Set roared with laughter, the crimson jewels around his neck catching the firelight. “And you still think you can best me with words!” He clutched his goblet, lifting it in toast. “My own brother. Crowned Pharaoh of our great pantheon. Loving wife to call his queen. And soon… a son to bear your name. I am proud of you, brother.”

The words, sincere yet laden with something heavier, made Osiris’ heart warm. He set down his cup, leaning back in his chair with a fond smile. “What an honour it is to hear that from my older brother, whom I admire so much.”

Set sputtered mid-sip, coughing into his goblet. “O-Older brother?!” he wheezed, eyes wide. “I’m only older than you by a few short minutes!”

Osiris laughed, his voice a rolling tide. “And those few short minutes gave you all the more wisdom, did they not? You humble yourself too much, Set. You know…” his voice softened, thoughtful, “I always did tell Father you would have made a better Pharaoh than I.”

For a moment, silence hung in the chamber. The laughter faded. The clatter of cutlery ceased. The torches seemed to dim.

Set’s lips twitched. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose. “You jest,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual booming mirth.

He gestured to one of the servants lining the walls. The silent figure bowed, and at Set’s subtle nod, the others began to slip from the room, one by one, like shadows fading into the gloom. Osiris, lost in his cup, noticed none of it.

“Come, brother,” Set murmured, rising to his feet. “I would speak with you… alone.”

Osiris arched a brow but smiled, always trusting. “Of course.”

The brothers made their way through an archway to a wide stone balcony overlooking the endless desert. The sky was in that rare, haunting moment between dusk and night, when both the dying sun and the rising moon shared the heavens. A few stars had begun to pierce the deepening blue.

Osiris leaned upon the railing, gazing out at the horizon, where the sands shimmered under the last light of day.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Set said softly, his voice almost tender.

“It is,” Osiris agreed, his eyes half-lidded with contentment.

Behind him, Set’s hand reached for a weapon propped against the wall, a polearm of exquisite craftsmanship, its shaft of gold, both ends crowned with gleaming khopesh blades, sharp as a serpent’s fang. Set ran a nail along the edge of one, a faint metallic scrape breaking the hush of dusk.

“Every sun eventually sets,” Osiris murmured. “That is why Father had to step down. And one day… I shall follow in his footsteps.”

Set nodded. “Such is the way of us gods...”

A pause.

Set spoke again, a strange tone lacing his words. “This heir you have produced… I am truly happy for you, Osiris.” He sighed. “I one day hope to produce my own heir.”

Osiris turned, puzzled. “Your own heir? But you’re not—”

He never finished the sentence.

In a swift, fluid motion, Set drove one blade of the polearm into Osiris’ stomach, the curved edge slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew, bursting out through his back with a sickening sound.

Osiris’ eyes went wide in shock, his breath catching in his throat.

“You are right, Osiris,” Set said softly, his face close, eyes burning with grief and venom. “Every sun must set… but where does that leave the moon? Watching as countless suns rise and fall, knowing damn well he too can shine just as brightly?”

“S-Set…?” Osiris rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Set’s voice cracked, tears beginning to sting his eyes. “I am happy for you, brother. Truly… but oh, how I envy you. Always Father’s favourite. Always everyone’s favourite. Why am I never anyone’s favourite?”

Osiris choked, blood wetting his lips. “You… you are my favourite… I… I love you, brother…” His words faltered as darkness crept into his vision, his knees buckling.

“I love you too, brother.”

Set whispered the words, his voice breaking as he gave one final push, pulling the blade free and letting Osiris’ lifeless body collapse to the stone balcony, crimson pooling beneath him.

The evening had finally surrendered to night. The desert winds moaned through the palace like mourners. Set stood alone, the polearm slick with blood, his hands trembling.

He looked up to the sky, now painted with a thousand cold stars, and for the first time in countless ages, Set wept. The tears spilled freely, tracing paths down his weathered cheeks.

And above them, the moon hung silent, bearing witness to the death of a sun.

The death of Osiris sent shockwaves through Egypt.

In the heavens, among the gods of the Egyptian pantheon, the truth could not be hidden. Whispers became roars, and roars became outcry. Set had taken the throne, not through rite or blessing, but by the bloodied blade.

Some gods, too fearful or opportunistic, bent the knee to Set’s rule. Others mourned silently. But none wept as Isis did.

When the news reached Isis, it shattered her world.

For hours, she wept in unrelenting grief, her cries echoing through the temples and deserts, shaking the very foundations of Egypt. Her servants fled her presence, terrified of the storm of sorrow and fury that surrounded their goddess. The once-kind and nurturing Isis was gone, consumed by heartbreak.

Clutching what few sacred relics remained of Osiris, and carrying the unborn god within her womb, Isis fled. She escaped beyond the reach of Set’s authority, into the hidden sanctuaries and shadowed corners of Egypt’s divine lands, places even the new Pharaoh-God dared not tread.

There, she was found by Thoth, god of wisdom and knowledge, whose heart broke at the sight of her ruin.

“Come,” he said softly. “We will keep you safe, and your child. The sun will rise again.”

In secret, away from Set’s prying eyes, Isis gave birth to Horus. A godling born with the fierce eyes of a falcon and the blood of kings in his veins.

From the moment Horus could crawl, Isis forged a plan.

No lullabies. No tender tales. Every word she spoke, every lesson she gave, was laced with one unbending command:

“Your father was murdered. Your throne was stolen. You will avenge him.”

Thoth, wise and gentle, pleaded with Isis as the years passed. “Let him be a child, Isis. Let him laugh. Let him love. Vengeance is a heavy burden to place upon such young shoulders.”

But Isis was deaf to his wisdom.

“He is Osiris' son. The heir. Egypt’s future. I will not let his father’s killer sit upon that throne one more day than necessary.”

Day by day, Horus was moulded into a weapon.
Thoth taught him the wisdom of the heavens, the names of the stars, the secret words of power.
Isis trained him in warfare, in magic, and in the ways of gods and kings. She drilled the same phrases into him with religious fervour:

“Justice for Osiris.”
“Vengeance for your father.”
“Claim your birth right.”

Horus grew, tall, sharp-eyed, and unyielding. His body became a weapon, his will unbreakable.

And so the day came.

Isis, Horus, and Thoth descended upon Set’s palace, the once-majestic seat of the  Egyptian gods now a fortress of iron, sand, and blood.

The gates were flung open before them. Servants fled. Loyalists fell to their knees. No one dared defy them as they stormed the throne room.

There, seated upon the grand chair of Osiris, was Set.

He reclined lazily, one hand propping up his chin, eyes gleaming like burning coals. Age had not dulled him, if anything, he seemed more terrible now, a godly tyrant wrapped in crimson and ebony, the spitting image of their father Ra when he had ruled in his fiercest days.

He looked down upon Horus and grinned.

“Hah! I never thought I’d see the day…” Set’s voice dripped with bitter amusement, the echo of ancient bloodlines heavy in his tone.

Horus took a step forward, the room quaking with the weight of his presence. “Your reign is over, Set. I’m taking the throne from you.”

Set let out a cold, dark laugh. “If you want it…”

He rose from his seat, reaching for a weapon leaning against the throne, the very same polearm whose blade had once stained Osiris’ blood. The twin khopesh blades gleamed in the firelight.

“Then you’ll have to take it. But you already knew that.”

The throne room emptied.
The palace’s great sandy courtyard was cleared for the battle.

Horus and Set stood across from one another beneath a blood-red sky, as the last vestiges of daylight bled into night. The air crackled with ancient power.

Isis watched, her heart caught between sorrow and fury.
Thoth stood by, his face grim, knowing this moment had been inevitable.

The battlefield was silent, save for the low hiss of the wind as it teased the sands across the open courtyard.

Horus stood firm, spear in hand, the weight of centuries of vengeance burning in his chest. His muscles were taut, his godly duty pounding in his ears. This was the moment he had been born for, the single purpose Isis had drilled into him since his first breath: to avenge his father, to strike down Set, and reclaim what was stolen.

Set grinned across from him, his crimson and obsidian jewels catching the dying light of dusk, polearm in hand. His eyes, fierce, wild and ancient, narrowed as he bared his teeth.

Then they moved.

Two gods rushing at one another with the fury of storms and sun fire. Blades clashed, the sharp clang of metal ringing out like thunder in the desert air.

Set lunged, his twin khopesh blades striking like the fangs of a serpent. Horus parried one, but Set’s swift manoeuvre sent the second blade slashing across his cheek. A thin line of blood blossomed along Horus’ skin, but the god didn’t flinch. He leapt back, planting his feet in the sand, his spear poised to throw.

“I’m finishing this now!” Horus roared, the spear humming with divine power.

Set let out a dark, barking laugh. “Let’s see you aim… through this!”

With a violent motion, Set drove one khopesh into the sand beneath his feet, twisting it. The ground trembled, then exploded upward in a swirling storm of coarse desert sand. The air turned thick and blinding, grains cutting at flesh and obscuring all sight. The winds howled, carrying the bitter stench of ancient chaos.

This was Set’s power:
'Chaos’ Sandstorm'

A living maelstrom of blinding sand and biting wind. The world vanished in a swirling haze. Horus shielded his eyes, unable to see, the sting of coarse grains slashing at his skin. His spear hand trembled. He couldn’t throw, not like this, not without sight.

A voice cut through the storm.

“HORUS! HERE!”

From the edge of the storm, Thoth’s voice rang clear. Something small and heavy landed at Horus’ feet, half-buried in sand.

A helmet, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, forged by Thoth’s own hand for this very moment. Shaped like the head of a falcon, its eye sockets glowed with divine light.

'The Eyes of Horus'

Without hesitation, Horus seized it and pulled it over his head. The world changed.

The sandstorm was still there, yet he could see through it perfectly. Every grain of sand slowed, every hidden shape in the storm laid bare. And standing at its heart, smirking through the storm, was Set.

Horus took aim.

“SKY PIERCING SHOT!”

He hurled his spear with godly force. The weapon tore through the storm like a bolt of pure light, cutting the wind as though it were cloth.

The storm faltered. The sand fell.
And there stood Set, the spear buried deep in his shoulder, blood staining the fine crimson cloth.

The courtyard was deathly quiet.

Horus approached, his steps slow and steady, each footfall stirring the settling sand. Set clutched the spear, his face a mix of pain, shock, and defiance.

“What’s wrong, Horus?” Set spat through gritted teeth, his voice dark and rasping. “You’ve won. Kill me. Take the throne for yourself.”

But something in Horus faltered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them, standing at the edge of the courtyard.

A goddess, trembling, her eyes brimming with tears. Nephthys, Set’s wife, her hands clasped over the eyes of a small godling, the young Anubis, shielding him from witnessing his father’s death.
Beside her, a teenage god stood, tense with grief and fury, Upuat, Set’s eldest son, his face a mixture of defiance and sorrow.

Horus felt a pang in his heart.

He looked back at Set, whose bloodied face twisted in hatred.

“I never knew my father,” Horus murmured. “But to watch him die in front of me? I’d never wish that on anyone.”

He turned and walked away.

“NO!” Set snarled, struggling against the spear pinning him down. “You don’t get to—”

Horus spun back around and gripped the shaft of the spear lodged in Set’s shoulder, and with a sudden, powerful motion, he plunged it into the ground, pinning Set down through the sand and stone.

“If you wish to die so badly,” Horus said, his voice low and steady, “then stay here and die. But I will not be the one to take your life.”

Horus turned again and began walking past Isis, his mother’s face a mask of fury.

“WHY WOULD YOU NOT KILL HIM?!” she screamed, eyes blazing with the madness of long-held vengeance.

Horus turned, his gaze hard as stone, staring into the eyes that had raised him, shaped him, obsessed over him. No words were exchanged, none were needed.

The look alone was enough.

And Horus walked on.

After that day, the gods convened.

The skies themselves trembled, and the pantheon called upon Ra, the ancient sun god, who had long since withdrawn from rule. But seeing the chaos that had unfolded in his absence, Ra returned, reclaiming the throne of Pharaoh to ensure such bloodshed and treachery would never befall Egypt again.

Ra took Horus under his wing, no longer as a mere avenger, but as his heir, his chosen successor. He would mould the young god into a ruler worthy of both his bloodline and the sun itself.

And though Set lived, broken and defeated, his power would wane. The scars of that battle would mark him forever. But the sands of Egypt, stained with blood, would remember the day when vengeance met mercy, and a god chose peace over death.