Sphinx soil was in desperate need of rainfall.

It was the first of many observations Amon had made during his first visit and the deduction remained for his second. Heat beat down upon the shawl swathed about his head, revealing no more than his milky eyes and a thin line of scar tissue between them. Whatever patches of foliage managed to squeeze its way through the cobblestone roads were sunbleached and withered, awaiting to crumble with the stray firm breeze. A thicker grouping of grass crunched audibly under the hooves of his steed, followed by the carriage it pulled along.

Usually, reaching the heart of Sphinx Nation from Isis Nation took three days but with Amon's haste and his duty as bodyguard coursing through his veins, he arrived in a matter one. There was a shift in the air, a decay of vitality in comparison to the last time he'd been there, and the change didn't go unnoticed. Something huge happened. Regardless, his attention belonged to one goal and one goal only.

Following the scent of peppermint oil.

Upon crossing the official border, his nose first lead him to the trail where Lord Osiris's head was severed from his shoulders, then he found himself scouring more suspicious sectors. Drug addicts, petty thieves, manipulative traders, homeless scum--not a single spectrum of filth was missed by Amon's eye. It wasn't surprising at all to assume an assassin to be in cahoots with criminal kind and yet, a killer bold enough to slaughter Osiris proved to be a different story. Surely, this murderous shadow was relying on the cushion of expensive employers, the kind to pay handsomely for a royal's death.

As skepticism and inquiries swirled about the bodyguard's mind, he slowed his carriage to a stop outside his next destination.

It was tucked away deeply into the bowels of society, lurking in the shadows of rats and feces. The building was, for all purposes and reasons, large in size and constructed of sun hardened mudbrick, but age riddled its walls with cracks and crumbling holes. A palpable heat and the clashing of voices billowed from the gaps, which instantly stirred Amon's intrigue.

He descended the cart and approached the entrance, a practiced and calm ease in each of his steps, in every lazy swing of his sword. The tip of his blade pressed against the door and with a single push, granted the man easy access; he failed to bat an eyelash as a horrendously long creak sliced through the humidity.

In an instant, activity ceased and the gathering of men inside froze in place. All eyes turned to Amon like the snapping of a snake's maw. Their grime and sweat riddled visages contorted as daggers slipped into their palms.

What Amon bore witness to was interesting, to say the least.

A molding pit, one that was long abandoned and reused for smaller crooked affairs. Such as illegal technology trade. A massive rotation of crates were stacked and organized about the building, filling up three floors worth of space. He spotted several boxes rolling by on rickety carts and assumed they were prepped for imminent transport or bargaining. Dismantled devices and wires decorated workstations dispersed throughout the main floor, though the individuals manning them didn't seem to have education beyond basic literacy, let alone the skills for western engineering. The headcount overall was sorely lacking, nowhere near enough manpower to handle the load. It was a hopeless endeavor, if Amon had any say on the matter--

"Hey!" One man marched forward, posture tensed and hunched over like a wild bull. He held a machete at his side with the grace of an ill-tempered novice. He jammed the edge of the blade against Amon's throat, staining his shawl with maroon rust and dust. "You've made a mistake showing up here," he growled, "We can't let you leave in one piece!" A poorly composed threat. The makings of an angry child who never grew into his body.

Slowly, Amon's eyes rolled in his direction. Bored. Unimpressed. "But how are you certain..." His fingertips rested atop the man's own. "That I'll die in two... pieces?" Bloodlust rolled from him like a winter storm and froze every single body in place with fear. Muscles taut. Jaws clenched. Limbs trembling. The instinctual need for survival firing left and right.

A solitary moment was all Amon needed.

There was the intimate noise of flesh ripping in two, followed by an animalistic wail emanating from the man. He gripped the base of Amon's blade but the immense amount of blood ate away at friction and he had no hope of yanking it free from his wrist. With a twirl of his weapon, Amon forced the man down to his knees and twisted his arm painfully behind him, skewered limb on full display for everyone to see. Before anyone could blink, the bodyguard's foot lashed out with a vicious kick to his victim's skull--

Snap!

The head dangled from its corpse, only connected by skin and muscle. Amon allowed it to fall with an unceremonious thud before running the blade along his trousers and leaving behind a streak of crimson. He waved his sword before him in a figure eight motion, playful and nonchalant.

"Pardon the intrusion. I'm... merely seeking information," he said. He was answered with deafening silence. "How quiet." Bemused, his blade came to a stop and pointed out a random laborer who fell stiff, eyes wide and face glistening with sweat. "You'll work... nicely." Protests fell upon deaf ears as Amon approached and jerked the man around, back flush to the other's front, and a grip stronger than steel wrapping around his shoulders. The tip of Amon's sword prodded the tender junction where jawbone met ear, applying deceivingly delicate pressure. He began to move forward with his hostage in tow. "This place reeks of... sweat and disappointment."

Amon pulled a slow and exaggerated whiff from the air.

"And just the tiniest hint... of peppermint." Delight rippled through his body; finally, the trail lead him to something interesting. He pushed forward, steps slow and steady in comparison to his hostage's shaky ones. "Tell me, did you have... a recent visitor?"

Again, no answer. A raspy and hollow chuckle escaped Amon as the pressure of his blade increased, finally breaking skin, and a bead of blood rolled down the side of the man's throat. He whimpered, trying to jolt away from the sword. "S-somebody answer him for Ra's sake!"

"Alright! We'll talk!" The interjection traveled from the second floor, a man of clearly higher status leaning into the rails and peering down at Amon. He descended the stairs swiftly but fell into a more cautious pace once he reached ground floor and raised his hands. "Just put the sword down. We can't afford to lose anymore hands." A bitterness crept into the last of his words, comfortable yet scathing on his tongue.

Amon's sword remained where it was. "We can talk like... this. I'd prefer it." Not a single ounce of the bodyguard's demeanor showed signs of compromise on the matter. The supposed leader swallowed, followed by a begrudging nod.

"Fine. We're a smuggling ring--"

"I know."

His jaw clenched. "But we're... small. And prefer to work with as little attention drawn to us as possible."

"Saddening." Amon's gaze roamed the upper levels once more, taking in the cobwebs lining the walls and ceiling. "Your lying skills, I mean."

"I've barely told you enough to lie about anything!" Anger pierced the leader's patience like a spear. However, whatever burst of bravado he had slipped through the cracks as the blade burrowed further into his laborer's neck.

"The correction is... this. You used to be a smuggling ring," Amon said, "Now, you're a pathetic little hovel... Explain how that came to be." His mask crinkled to suggest a smile. "Who ruined you?"

Contemplation hung over the leader as he worked his jaw around, as if he was fighting tooth and nail to swallow back the bitterest elixir known to man. Finally, he began, "An assassin. They slaughtered more than half of my men. Once the story spread, no one else was willing to join us... Our business and partnership died."

"Partnership with whom?"

"Anuket. The cargo loaders there are always looking for more gold. For a job on the side." The leader huffed, an odd cross between nostalgia and agitation. "But when it comes to loyalty and preserving their own lives, they dropped us. Now we're just... doing what we can to scrape by."

"Again, saddening." Amon could spot the twitch of the leader's lips, an otherwise pointless elaboration of the story peeking over the horizon; however, the bodyguard was quick to smother that chance as he continued, "Their weapon of... choice. Do you recall?"

The leader's brow furrowed, smoothing away a curtain of oily curls from his eyes. "Swords, I believe. Maybe two? I'm not really sure if that was all they had, but they were golden too. If I could've gotten my hands on one--"

"I've heard enough," Amon interrupted. "Gentlemen?" As before, the mass surrounding him tensed and in that singular, breathless moment, he could smell fresh sweat spilling by the pints. His sword lowered in tandem with his hostage's massive sigh of relief. "It's been a... pleasure. Thank you."

Amon seized both sides of the lackey's head and before an inkling of realization could sink in, a crisp snap pierced the air, his neck twisting until lifeless eyes spun around to face the bodyguard. He stood back, allowing the corpse to fall before studying the collection of shocked gapes showering him from all angles. Amon bowed, then spun on his heels to leave.

An assassin skilled enough to murder half a warehouse worth of armed men and strike fear into the hearts of Sphinx's crooked underbelly. The lingering scent of peppermint oil. The twin golden Khopeshes. The dismantlement of a business that posed as a threat to one source and one source only--the Ra Family.

Amon's suspicions were right.

†

A polite knock.

"Enter."

Although access was granted, Dado entered at his leisure. At his hesitance. The moment his gaze landed on the form before him, he gave pause and found refuge in a far corner of the chamber. "You've requested my presence, Queen Sekhmet?"

The queen's delighted hum slithered down Dado's spine like molasses. There was amusement swimming about it--always--but the general failed to note her humor in situations such as this. "Now, now, general," Sekhmet said. Silk robes hung loosely upon her form, only to slide further down her shoulders as she arose from her reclined position on the bed, exposing smooth and tempting caramel skin. And yet, the only temptation Dado battled was freeing himself of her presence. The woman raised a single arm, fingers stretching forth and curling in like the yanking of a leash around his neck. "Shyness isn't an option. Not tonight." Fine talons for nails scraped across the sheets. "Come."

Another moment held Dado hostage. A force not unlike an old friend made his gaze roam the lithe body before him and an unwilling warmth flooded his veins. A magnetic pull. Shame and disgust and creeping want broiled deep in his gut, a thousand pounds weighing down his tongue. "Yes, Your Majesty."

He was one of the most feared generals in Egyptian history.

He'd never felt so weak and pliable in his entire life.

Dado climbed into bed, his massive being nearing the queen and casting a long shadow over her; against all means and odds, her power seemed to double in its brilliance. A smooth grin graced her lips as her finger caressed the black forest coiling down his cheek. Cheek to jaw; jaw to chin; chin to bottom lip. Without word nor signal, Dado's mouth parted, revealing a slither of a gap and the whites of his teeth. A pleased purr escaped Sekhmet. "Shed your robes," she whispered.

The general's thick ropes for fingers reached for his collar.

Only to fall frozen.

"How much longer must this go on?" he asked. "The betrayal of our lord, these secret arrangements. I..." His eyes misted over, a pain as ancient as his wisdom bubbling to the surface. "I was once a man of honor and truth. And yet, I cannot be honest with my own blood." He expected the face below him to twist with discontent, perhaps impatience, but the touches continued. They migrated down his throat and circled the dip just above his clavicle.

"You choose now of all moments to plead your case?" A sultry chuckle. "Fortunately for you, this flower's thirst exceeds her thorns. For now." Her finger hooked into his shawl and pulled him closer. Her voice dipped into a sweet whisper. Saccharine and malicious. "You're aware of your current objective, dear Dado. Do not make your queen wait." Ice encased the pair and solidified them into place. The silence reigned for what seemed to be an eternity, each and every passing second slicing into the muscles of Dado's back like razors. His strength threatened to leave him behind in the dust, nothing more than a broken heap fated to face defeat every morning he woke.

His hand curled around Sekhmet's and the chill shattered.

"Sekhmet," he said. It was then that whatever pool of pleasure the queen wished to dip her toes in dried like the deserts of their homeland. Every ounce of her being hardened, her eyes more so, yet she remained silent. Followed the man's words with masterfully suppressed ire. Dado swallowed shallowly. "She's my daughter--"

"She's a weapon." In a shocking burst of strength, the queen flipped their positions and slammed Dado onto his back, straddling his wide waist. Those same nails buried into his chest, pinning him in place. "And your tool. Rayna is an exquisitely crafted dagger and it's your job to sharpen the blade. Every single day. Training. Missions. Discipline. This foolishness you speak of? About blood and family?" Slowly, her hand trailed lower and tore through the front of Dado's shawl; tiny beads of blood stained the fabric, though he showed no visible signs of reaction.

No more nor less than an inch remained between their lips.

"It's weak, Dado. It constitutes emotion." Her nose circled his own, the movement chaste and taunting. "And emotions equate to weakness. Now then," A strip of Dado's shawl was pinched delicately betwixt her fingers, displaying her prize with a smile oozing in triumph. An expression so knowing and smug that Dado couldn't help but shut his eyes, the sight coiling his lungs into knots. "No more talking. I demand to be ravaged tonight. Do I make myself clear, general?"

Dado sighed and cupped Sekhmet's hips.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."