Faris landed with a thud on the cold, hard ground, a gust of snow swirling up around him. He grunted, sitting up and brushing the snow off of him. He was in a vast chamber, but unlike any he had ever seen before. A wintry tundra sprawled out before him, the ground blanketed in a thick layer of snow that crunched under his weight. Cliff faces stretched high into the sky, the edges sharp and jagged, and the chamber seemed to stretch on for miles in every direction. Having lived most of his life in Kemet-Aaru, Faris had only seen snow one other time in his life—and it wasn’t in a dungeon. The sight of it set his teeth on edge. It was cold.

He reached for his bow, a reflexive action born of years of training and battles, but his hand met only the cold air. His bow was gone. A sense of unease washed over him. He felt naked without it, the weapon was an extension of himself, and many of his abilities revolved around it. But it was nowhere to be seen. He could only assume that it was an side effect of Isha's transportation Ka. If that was the case, he worried as to his companion’s own strength without their chief weapons, as they appeared to have been transported somewhere else. Which meant that this was intentional, and he’d need to be on his guard. He’d likely have a fight on his hands before long—why else separate them?

A bitter wind whistled through the chamber, and Faris pulled his cloak tighter around himself. The whistle around his chest was a comforting weight, a reminder of the tools he still had at his disposal. But it was a last resort, something to be used only in the most desperate circumstances. It was limited to one use per day, and he wasn't sure if he had reached that point yet.

As he moved through the snow, he caught sight of statues. They were ancient and decrepit, worn down by time until many of them were unrecognizable. They had once depicted the gods - Horus, Thoth, and others - but now they were little more than broken figures sticking out of the snow. They were scattered across the tundra, some partially covered in snow, others standing tall against the harsh elements.

Looking up, Faris could see the sky was a dusty gray, swirling clouds obscuring the ceiling. The wind patterns suggested that it was high above him, but it was difficult to tell exactly how far away it was. Faris realized he had fallen a long way, and he squinted, looking up at the cliff's edge. There, high above him, was the portal. It was easily a hundred feet up, and without any transportation or flight Ka, it seemed an impossible height to reach.

A particularly strong gust of wind swept across the tundra, forcing Faris to shield his face. He needed to find shelter, and soon. Through the swirling snow and wind, he spotted a large structure, like a temple. It was hazy in the distance, but it was the best option he had. With a determined set to his jaw, he started making his way towards it, trudging through the snow and against the bitter wind.

—

As Faris pushed open the heavy stone doors, he was greeted by a soft, ethereal green light that filled the vast space. It bounced off the stone walls, casting long shadows and giving the room an otherworldly glow. He could feel the weight of age in this place, the whisper of history that clung to every surface.

The domed ceiling was a masterpiece of architectural genius. Statues filled little alcoves, hundreds of them, all looking down upon the central chamber. They were tributes to gods known and forgotten, each carved with meticulous detail. Faris could recognize some of them - Osiris, Isis, Anubis - but others were unfamiliar, their names lost to time.

As his gaze fell to the center of the chamber, he found himself in awe of the dais that dominated the space. It was a raised platform, surrounded by a semi-circle of seats. Each seat was ornately carved and raised slightly above the one next to it, culminating in a grand, high-backed throne in the center. It was reminiscent of the temples in the old world, before the Great Upheaval, and Faris couldn't help but imagine the ancient rites that took place in this very room.

Approaching the dais, Faris was drawn in by the intricate carvings that adorned the surface. Scenes of worship, of battles, of gods mingling with mortals, were etched into the stone. The detail was astonishing, the artistry unparalleled. He trailed his fingers over the carvings, feeling the grooves under his fingertips, the cold stone a stark contrast to the warm light that filled the room.

At the center of the dais was a large, circular stone. It was smooth and unadorned, unlike the rest of the platform. The green light seemed to emanate from beneath it, giving it an ethereal glow that was both inviting and slightly intimidating. Faris couldn't help but feel drawn to it, a pull that was almost magnetic. As he stood there, regarding the dais and the mystery it held, he felt a sense of wonder, of reverence and tranquility, for the history that this place held.

The serenity was shattered by an eruption of violence. A great figure struck the ground with an earth-shattering force that reverberated through the hollowed-out temple, the shockwave echoing out like the beat of a mighty war drum.

Faris, silver hair spilling over the edges of his shimmering armor, evaded the onslaught with a dancer's grace. His calm demeanor belied the tension in his muscles, his steely eyes locked onto his adversary, scrutinizing the figure with the intensity of a panther studying its prey. As the dust of the initial strike settled, the figure emerged from the haze, a monstrous silhouette carved against the dim light.

The stranger’s voice rumbled through the chamber, heavy with menace, and reverberated off the ancient stone walls.

"I did not anticipate another's presence in this sacred enclave," he declared, his words lingering in the charged silence.

Faris could see the towering figure more clearly now: broad shoulders wrapped in red cloth, a cloak spilling out behind him. Muscular, his exposed forearms seemed hewn from two great tree trunks. His skin was a ghostly gray, his eyes glowing sapphires. Atop his head were a pair of curved horns. It was clear that this was his intended end, who he was to fight, another member of the Heart of the Underpharaoh.

His voice then boomed through the stone chamber, a thunderous proclamation, "I am Bahadur! Prepare yourself!"

Bahadur's confident sneer melted into a taunt, "Though, I doubt you'll last long without your pesky bow and arrow."

Faris responded only with a derisive snort. So, whoever this Bahadur character was, he’d clearly been briefed as to his abilities. Good. That meant there was much to surprise him with.

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Faris’ hand moved to the hilt of his blade, a weapon that had, until now, remained a mystery to his adversaries. He was known for his deadly precision with a bow, but this was a different kind of battle, and it called for a different kind of weapon.

The blade was unsheathed with a fluid, deliberate movement, the sound of steel sliding against leather echoing ominously in the hallowed chamber. The blade glinted under the spectral light, an ethereal glow playing off its polished surface, a stark contrast to the darkness of the chamber, the dragon-headed pommel seeming to roar with the deftness with which he wielded it. He spun the blade in a preparatory arc, the whistle of the cutting air a declaration of the storm to come, before he launched himself towards the waiting giant.

Their weapons met with a jarring crash, a storm of steel and power that sent shockwaves through the hollow temple. From Bahadur's palms, a pair of ethereal khopeshes had materialized, their whole existence seemingly summoned in an unearthly blue energy that danced and flickered in the dim light.

Faris' blade danced through the assault, a whirlwind of steel that met each strike with a lethal grace. His one-handed strikes were relentless, a deadly dance choreographed with fatal precision. The blows exchanged rapidly, each strike resonating through the stone chamber, a testament to their strength and skill.

The air seemed to shudder with the raw power of their clash, and the force of it sent both combatants crashing through the interior wall of the temple and through the other side, landing out in the wintry whirlwind outside again.

But they weren’t alone.

To the mysterious observer on the cliffs far above, the cloud of snow and debris obscured their forms, yet the resounding clash of their weapons echoed through the cliffs, a symphony of violence.

Bahadur lunged, the blue energy crackling around his conjured khopeshes leaving a wake of vibrant streaks as they cut through the thick air. Faris met the attack head-on, but the sheer force catapulted him backwards. His body twisted acrobatically through the air before making a harsh collision with a colossal boulder, the stone disintegrating upon impact.

But Faris was a monument of resilience. He sprung back up, meeting Bahadur's relentless onslaught even as he was hurled through the remnants of the shattered rock.

Hitting the ground amidst the debris of the shattered boulder, Faris skidded to a stop. Snowflakes swirled around him, landing on his shoulders and silver hair, as he settled into a crouch. His form was as unyielding as the granite statues surrounding them, his muscles coiled like a spring, ready to release at a moment's notice.

His eyes, sharp and resolute, never wavered from Bahadur. His adversary was a towering figure of menace, the khopeshes in his grip radiating a spectral blue light that cast an eerie glow on his grizzled features. The energy seething around his weapons pulsed and crackled, a tangible manifestation of his raw power.

Bahadur's muscular form surged forward, his every movement radiating a lethal intent. His blue Ka khopeshes left a trail of flickering light, a deadly comet hurtling through the air. He was a tempest embodied, a storm of violent power and unwavering determination, a promise of an imminent battle that would shake the very foundations of the ancient temple they’d been in moments ago.

As Faris's blade met with the ethereal blue edge of Bahadur's left khopesh, the sheer force of the collision sent Faris hurtling backward, his body slamming into a second towering boulder. Shards of stone exploded around him, dust and debris falling like rain, but his focus remained locked onto Bahadur. The giant was relentless, pressing his advantage, his right khopesh already swinging in a deadly arc toward Faris.

But Faris was not a man easily defeated. His instincts, honed by countless battles, kicked in. His foot shot up, catching Bahadur's incoming blade mid-swing, his shimmering armor resounding with the impact. With a graceful twist of his body, he redirected the momentum, his figure spinning like a top in the snow. As he moved, his blade traced a nearly invisible path, a streak of deadly silver that lashed out and sliced cleanly through the top of Bahadur's horn.

A guttural growl escaped Bahadur's lips, a primal sound of surprise intermingled with simmering rage. The loss of his horn was a minor inconvenience, but the slight stung his pride.

The fight didn't pause, their dance of combat continuing in a blur of motion and steel. Faris, his blade a whirlwind of shimmering silver, unleashed a flurry of strikes. Each swipe was met by the glowing arc of Bahadur's khopesh, the two weapons clashing in a mesmerizing display of skill and power. Bahadur returned the assault, his weapon slicing through the air toward Faris. But the silver-haired warrior ducked under the swing with agile grace, his blade still held in an inverted grip.

With a fluid pivot, Faris turned his back to Bahadur, but it was not an opening—it was a challenge. Bahadur lunged, his knife speeding toward Faris's unprotected back. Yet, Faris was prepared. With a one-handed twist, his blade spun behind him in a graceful arc. With the precision of a seasoned warrior, he intercepted Bahadur's strike, his blade singing as it met the ethereal blue khopesh. His skill was undeniable, his resolve unyielding, as he stood his ground against the relentless onslaught.

Faris's blade spun in an intricate ballet of reverse-blade parries, each executed with a single hand and from behind his back as Bahadur's assault continued relentlessly. The rhythm broke when Faris forced a stall parry, deftly pivoting around Bahadur and retaliating with a swift thrust of his blade. The moment seemed to hang in balance, Faris gaining the upper hand, but Bahadur was quick to respond, their weapons locking in a grueling contest of strength and will.

Bahadur, in a show of raw power, managed to force Faris's blade down into the icy ground, imprisoning both weapons in the frozen landscape. Trapped and momentarily disarmed, Faris had no choice but to abandon his sword. Stepping on the pommel, he used it as a springboard, launching himself into an acrobatic spiraling jump flip. As he ascended, a des appeared in his free hand, the deadly implement spinning in harmony with his own motion.

He descended onto Bahadur's broad back, the des poised for a fatal downward stab. But Bahadur, ever alert, caught his arm mid-strike, using his momentum to flip Faris over his shoulder, sending the silver-haired warrior crashing into the snow-covered earth. Faris rolled away in a swift, evasive maneuver, narrowly avoiding Bahadur's subsequent ground-shaking strike.

Now a considerable distance away, Faris sprang up just as Bahadur rose to his full height. In his hands, the blue-energy khopeshes morphed into a colossal ax, pulsating with a chilling azure energy. Faris recognized now what type of Ka the man used, but did not have a moment to consider the transfigured weapon. With a burst of Ka, Bahadur leaped toward Faris, his massive form spinning in a side-flip, the energy ax whirling dangerously close. Time seemed to hold its breath, the lethal strike imminent.

Yet in the blink of an eye, Faris's form was replaced by a nearby statue, courtesy of Mafdet’s Second Chance, an ability that allowed him to switch places with nearby objects—and took an enormous amount of Ka energy. The energy ax cleaved through the statue, splitting it in half, as Faris reappeared safely at a distance. The shattered remains of the statue rained down onto the snow-covered battlefield, the echoing sound a stark reminder of the narrow escape Faris had just made.

With his sword still trapped in the icy ground, Faris found himself mostly disarmed. His mind raced, searching for an escape from the relentless assault of Bahadur. A plan formed, and he thought to himself that there was never a better time to use up the remainder of his gifts. He grasped the object around his neck and pressed it to his lips. A sharp, piercing whistle echoed through the frigid air.

From somewhere above, a large form emerged—Azar, Faris's Kherian Nightwing; bat-like wings stretched wide and powerful muscles rippling beneath her sunfire hide.

Azar swooped down just as Bahadur launched his energy ax towards Faris. The weapon spun, end over end, a lethal disc of pulsating blue energy. Faris timed his jump perfectly, vaulting himself into Azar's saddle just as the Nightwing passed by. With a powerful beat of its wings, Azar surged upwards, carrying Faris away from the imminent danger. The silver-haired man slumped in his seat—his Ka exhausted. He hated to use up this much energy, but he was left with little choice. He had felt the strength of this foe, and it wasn’t one he thought he could defeat on his own.

Bahadur could only watch as Faris and Azar disappeared through the portal into the chamber, leaving him standing amidst the settling dust and snow. As Faris's figure receded, a second figure descended gently from a snowy cliff high above, landing softly next to Bahadur. This new arrival was a grim specter—ghostly white skin, eyes as yellow as a desert sun, and hair that seemed nearly colorless save for the subtle glimmers of starlight captured within its strands. A smirk pulled at the corners of their mouth, a silent acknowledgment of the unfolding events.

“He got away, Zizi,” Bahadur said, sounding disappointed. “He wasn’t supposed to get away.”

Zizi’s gaze fell on Faris's discarded blade, still wedged in the icy earth. They reached down and pulled the sword free, holding it up to admire its craftsmanship. The cold, ancient metal glinted ominously under the pale light, reflecting their ghostly visage.

"Do not worry, Ba-ba…” Zizi murmured, eyes delighting at the weapon and the promise it represented. “Now…the chase begins.”