09/16/2026
The summons came at sunrise.
Three deep blasts blared from the loudspeakers of the shrine-barracks of Ra's Fury.
One for Ra.
One for the Empire.
One for the glorious dead.
Khemet finished shaving beneath his jaw. In the stillness following the call, the scraping of the blade against his stubble sounded as loud as cannon fire.
Across the apartment, his wife looked up from the stove.
Neither of them spoke.
They both knew what three blasts meant.
Khemet wiped the conditioner from his jaw and walked into the bedroom. Kneeling beside the bed, he pulled out the old wooden chest beneath it and lifted the lid.
Inside lay his vestments of war.
He began taking them out, one by one.
A faded red sash embroidered with gold and silver bars for valor and glory.
A small, battered prayer book.
His Warrior fighting vest, already packed with eight magazines of r***e am******on, two grenades, and a first aid kit.
His body armor, well worn and patched from a dozen battles.
And lastly, his Lion's Helm.
This one bore a newly crested plume of horsehair, swept sideways and dyed yellow to signify his rank of Warmonger.
His daughter appeared in the doorway.
"Has Ra summoned you to help?"
Khemet pulled the vest over his head.
"Yes."
Another blast sounded from the loudspeakers in the distance.
Then another shrine answered.
Then another.
Soon, the entire city was awash with the call to arms.
Khemet tightened the straps of his vest.
"Well, this will be interesting."
By the time he reached the street, he was no longer alone.
Hotep the baker stood outside his shop, fastening a khopesh to his waist before checking the action of his revolver.
Senka, the gym teacher, walked past and gave Khemet a nod while checking the action of an old service r***e. The strips of his ghillie suit fluttered behind him as he walked.
Two strapping dockworkers helped each other into heavy armor while their foreman loaded am******on into the back of an automated wagon.
They were the salt of the earth.
Bakers. Teachers. Laborers. Fathers. Mothers.
Worshipers of Ra.
His Warriors.
Khemet arrived at the steps of the Standard of War's temple. A young temple initiate dressed in combat fatigues approached him, holding a sash of white cloth.
Khemet saluted, raising his fist into the air.
The initiate tied the sash around his arm. There was worry in the boy's eyes as he stepped back.
"Warmonger."
Khemet looked across the plaza.
Hundreds had gathered.
They had already fallen into formation beneath their standards. Six shrines were represented, their banners snapping in the morning wind.
Some wore the Lion's Helms of the Ahati line troops.
Others wore the coned helms of the Inbawa engineers. Among them, Khemet spotted Senka and four others in camouflage suits, already zeroing their r***es.
Then there was a single standard of D'jeser shock troops.
Khemet spotted Hotep beneath it, already carousing with a pair of young lads as though they were preparing for a night at the tavern rather than a battle.
A slight breeze brushed against Khemet's back.
He did not turn.
He knew a Reaper had appeared behind him.
The smell of death was unmistakable.
"Unclean one, what has Ra delivered unto us today?"
There was a quiet chuckle behind him.
"And greetings to you too, Warmonger. It seems the Brood Arachnids did not agree with the new settlements west of the city."
Khemet turned to face the Reaper and smirked.
"So, I assume they have not come to file a petition?"
"Oh, they have come to file one."
The Reaper's voice was slightly muffled behind his Deathmask of Souna.
"In blood and death."
The two spoke quietly about the situation on the ground until the temple doors opened.
Father-Colonel Amentep strode through them.
"Well met, Khemet. I assume our friends from the Path of Shadows have briefed you?"
"As well as he could, Father."
Amentep frowned.
"Come now, Khemet. We have shed blood together. Stop with the formalities."
Khemet grunted.
"As you wish, Amen."
Warmonger Khemet turned toward the assembled formations.
Hundreds of Warriors stood beneath the standards of their shrines. Ri**es rested against shoulders. Shields hung from arms. Khopeshes, pistols, grenades, prayer books, and sacred symbols adorned men and women who, only an hour earlier, had been baking bread, teaching children, unloading ships, and eating breakfast with their families.
Khemet smiled.
Then he remembered the words his father had taught him.
The words his father's father had taught him.
The words Warriors had spoken beneath a hundred different banners for a thousand years.
Khemet raised his fist toward the morning sun.
"FOR RA AND THE SCARAB THRONE!"
Hundreds of fists rose with his.
Hundreds of Warriors answered with one voice.
"DEATH OR GLORY!"
And somewhere beyond the city walls, the enemy paused.
Just for a second.
For they knew the Warriors of Ra were coming.
