The underworld stretched beneath Thoth’s feet like a labyrinth of forgotten pathways, each twist and turn leading deeper into its cold, suffocating embrace. The air here was different, thick with the weight of eons and the secrets buried within them. No light reached this far down; only the faint glow of the ancient inscriptions carved into the blackened stone walls illuminated his way. But Thoth did not need light. He was driven by something far more powerful—a hunger for knowledge, for a solution that had been denied him.

The rebellion had begun in silence. He had not declared it openly; there was no need. Osiris, Anubis, and the others could not see what he saw. They clung to their traditions, to their blind faith in Iset’s sacrifice. But Thoth, as always, sought another way. His rebellion was not one of loud defiance, but of quiet determination, a slow unraveling of the bonds that held him to the path Osiris demanded.

(Thoth had never been one to follow the rules. Even when the pantheon was young, and the gods were newly formed, he had always sought the knowledge others feared. Forbidden truths, the ancient wisdom hidden in the darkest corners of the universe—these had always called to him. And each time, he had answered. But now, as the force grew stronger, that call was louder, more urgent. And for the first time, it carried with it the scent of danger.)

Seshat’s voice, a distant whisper that seemed to drift through the twisting halls of the underworld, carried the weight of Thoth’s past, a reminder of how many times he had walked this same path. The gods had always known him as the seeker, the one who pushed boundaries. But what they did not understand—what perhaps even Seshat did not understand—was that knowledge was not enough. It had never been enough. Control was what he sought.

The force had whispered to him, shown him glimpses of power beyond what the gods themselves could wield. And now, as Osiris commanded restraint, as Anubis warned of destruction, Thoth saw only potential. He could feel the ancient power coursing through the very walls around him, waiting to be unlocked. He would bind the force—he had to. But not at the cost of Iset. Not at the cost of the fragile balance they all held so dear.

His steps echoed through the narrow, twisting corridors as he descended further into the underworld, past the realms that even Anubis rarely ventured into. Here, the boundaries between life and death were thin, and the shadows seemed to move of their own accord, watching, waiting. The knowledge he sought was hidden in the deeper parts of the underworld, beyond the reach of most gods, guarded by secrets as old as time itself.

(Thoth had always been drawn to these places, to the spaces between life and death, where the rules of the universe blurred. It was here, in the quietest, most forbidden corners of existence, that he had always found the answers no one else dared to seek. And now, as he descended into the depths of the underworld, Seshat could only watch. She knew what drove him. She had seen it before—the hunger, the insatiable need to know more, to control more.)

Seshat’s narration was a constant presence, a reminder of the dangers he had always courted. But Thoth did not falter. The force was growing, and time was running out. He could feel it. The power beneath his feet, the whispers in his mind—it was all coming to a head. Osiris could not stop it. Anubis could not stop it. But Thoth could.

The path grew narrower as he moved deeper, the walls closing in around him, the inscriptions becoming more fragmented, more obscure. These were not the teachings of the gods—these were older, darker secrets, remnants of an age before the pantheon. Thoth ran his fingers over the symbols as he walked, deciphering their meanings, absorbing their truths. He had always been able to understand the ancient languages in ways that others could not. It was his gift—and his curse.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Thoth reached a vast, open chamber, its ceiling lost to the shadows above. In the center of the room stood a single altar, ancient and worn, its surface covered in dust and cobwebs. The air here was colder, the weight of time pressing down on him from all sides. This was the place he had been searching for—the heart of the underworld, where the most forbidden knowledge was kept, guarded by the dead themselves.

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(There had been a time when Thoth would have hesitated before crossing such a threshold, when the warnings of Anubis and Osiris would have given him pause. But that time had long passed. Now, as Seshat watched him, she saw the change in him. The force had already begun to twist him, to reshape him into something darker, something more dangerous. His thirst for knowledge had become something else—something more like a hunger for power.)

Thoth stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the altar. The force was stronger here, almost tangible in the air around him. He could feel it pulling at him, urging him closer. The ancient knowledge he sought was hidden beneath the surface, buried deep within the fabric of the underworld itself. And he would tear it free.

He knelt before the altar, his hands brushing away the dust and cobwebs, revealing the intricate carvings beneath. These were not the inscriptions of the gods—these were older, more primal, the language of the first beings, those who had existed before time itself. Thoth’s fingers traced the symbols, his mind racing as he pieced together their meaning.

It was here, in this chamber, that the ancient ones had first discovered the force. It was here that they had bound it, using knowledge that had been lost to the gods for millennia. But Thoth had found it. He had always been able to find what others could not.

(Seshat’s voice was quieter now, more distant, as though she too understood the gravity of what was happening. Thoth had always been able to see further than the others, to reach into the depths of the universe and pull out its secrets. But this time, there was a sense of finality to his quest, as though the knowledge he sought would change everything—perhaps even himself.)

Thoth began to chant, his voice low and steady, the ancient words flowing from his lips like a river of power. The air around him trembled, the shadows deepening as the force responded to his call. He could feel it now, surging beneath the surface, pushing against the bonds that held it in place. It wanted to be free. And Thoth would free it—but on his terms.

The symbols on the altar began to glow, faint at first, but growing brighter with each passing moment. The force was waking, responding to Thoth’s command. His heart raced with anticipation. This was it. This was the power he had been seeking—the power that would allow him to bind the force without the need for Iset’s sacrifice. He could feel it within his grasp.

But as the light grew brighter, and the force surged toward the surface, a sudden coldness swept through the chamber. Thoth froze, his chant faltering as a shadow fell over him. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as he saw the figure standing at the edge of the chamber.

Anubis.

He had followed him.

Anubis stepped forward, his face unreadable, his eyes cold and unforgiving. “You think you can control this, Thoth?” His voice was low, but it carried with it the weight of judgment.

Thoth rose to his feet, his hands still glowing with the power of the force. “I can,” he said, his voice steady but edged with defiance. “I’ve found the knowledge we need. I can bind the force without sacrificing Iset.”

Anubis’ gaze darkened. “You’re a fool,” he said, his voice filled with quiet anger. “You’ve always been a fool.”

Thoth’s eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t understand. Osiris doesn’t understand. I have seen the truth, Anubis. I can control it.”

(Thoth had always believed in his own vision above all others. It was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. Seshat had seen this pattern before—the way Thoth’s thirst for knowledge blinded him to the dangers he faced. But now, as Anubis stood before him, she wondered if even Thoth could see what was happening to him.)

Anubis took another step forward, his eyes burning with intensity. “You think you’re different from the others who have tried? You think you can control a force older than the gods themselves?” He shook his head, his voice filled with quiet fury. “This will destroy you, Thoth. And it will destroy us all.”

Thoth’s hands clenched into fists, the power surging through him. “I will not be bound by your fear, Anubis. I will not be bound by Osiris’ caution. I am the god of wisdom, and I will find a way.”

Anubis’ gaze was cold, his expression unyielding. “Wisdom without restraint is madness, Thoth. And you are walking the path of madness.”

The two gods stood in silence for a long moment, the weight of their conflict hanging heavy in the air. Thoth could feel the force pulsing beneath him, urging him to act, to seize the power that lay within his grasp. But Anubis’ presence was a cold, immovable barrier, a reminder of the consequences he had always refused to acknowledge.

Finally, Anubis spoke, his voice quiet but filled with finality. “If you continue down this path, Thoth, I will not stand by and watch. I will stop you.”

Thoth’s eyes burned with defiance, his hands still glowing with the power of the force. “You cannot stop me, Anubis.”

Anubis’ gaze hardened. “I can. And I will.”

The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with the weight of their unspoken conflict. Thoth knew that this was a turning point, that the path he chose now would determine everything. But even as he stood before Anubis, even as the warnings echoed in his mind, he could not turn back.

(Seshat’s voice was distant now, almost lost in the darkness. She had seen this before—the moment when Thoth’s ambition overtook his wisdom, when his thirst for control led him down a path from which there was no return. And now, as he stood on the edge of that same precipice, she knew that nothing could stop him. Not even Anubis.)

Thoth turned away from Anubis, his hands still glowing with the power of the force. He had made his choice. He would find a way to bind the force—on his terms. And not even Anubis could stop him.