The bracelet sat on Alastor’s desk, the strange weight of its presence almost palpable. The blood that had stained it had long since dried, but the hieroglyphs etched into the metal shimmered faintly in the low light of his penthouse. Each symbol pulsed with a strange energy, as though the knowledge it contained was just out of reach, taunting him.

Alastor couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

The fight with the assassin had left him more shaken than he cared to admit. Not because of the violence, or even the near-death experience, but because of the symbols. He’d seen them before, in his neural link, in the visions that flickered across his mind whenever he died. And now, with this bracelet in his possession, he was closer than ever to unlocking their meaning.

He paced across the room, his neural interface projecting holograms of Egyptian texts and historical archives into the air. The more he dug into the hieroglyphs, the more their connection to the Assassination Pyramid became clear. This wasn’t just a language. It was a code, a system of symbols that held the key to the Pyramid’s power.

His mind raced through centuries of mythology and history, parsing through every detail he could find about ancient Egypt’s relationship with life, death, and the afterlife. The ankh, the scarab, the udjat—they were all symbols tied to Egyptian gods and their rituals of resurrection, immortality, and power over death. But these symbols weren’t just religious—they were clues. Pieces of a much larger puzzle that had been constructed by the Pyramid’s founders, hidden in plain sight for those who sought the ultimate truth.

Enlightenment through death.

Alastor stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he studied the projection of an ancient Egyptian scroll. The Pyramid had existed for millennia, its influence stretching back to the time of the pharaohs. Its members were not just assassins—they were seekers of knowledge, using death as a tool to transcend the mortal plane. Every death was a step toward enlightenment, and each resurrection brought them closer to the gods they worshipped—Osiris, Anubis, Thoth.

image [https://prideontee.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/Untitled-design-1.png]

The hieroglyphs in his neural link, and now on the bracelet, were not random symbols. They were steps in a journey. A journey that every member of the Pyramid had to take. And that journey wasn’t just about killing—it was about dying. Over and over again, each death bringing the assassin closer to the ultimate truth.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Death as a guide.

Alastor’s mind clicked into place, the pieces of the puzzle slowly forming a coherent picture. The Pyramid’s hierarchy was built on this ancient knowledge, its members ascending through the ranks by mastering the art of death. Each assassin, each death they experienced, wasn’t just a test of skill—it was part of a ritual. A ritual that granted them more than just power—it granted them understanding.

He looked at the bracelet again, running his fingers over the hieroglyphs. Each one represented a phase in that journey. The ankh for life, the udjat for protection, the scarab for rebirth—but there were others he hadn’t seen before. New symbols that didn’t align with any known Egyptian mythology. Symbols that seemed to twist and shift as he stared at them, as though they were alive with their own energy.

There was more to this than he had first realized. The Assassination Pyramid wasn’t just manipulating life and death—they were transcending it. The cycle of death and rebirth wasn’t a curse—it was their path to godhood.

The hieroglyphs, each one more cryptic than the last, formed a map of sorts. A guide for those within the Pyramid to follow, leading them toward the ultimate prize. But the cost of that prize was death—death after death, until they reached enlightenment.

He turned back to the holograms, scrolling through the historical texts with renewed determination. The Pyramid’s founders had encoded this knowledge in their rituals, but they had also hidden it in their assassins’ very lives. Each life taken, each death experienced, was a step along the path.

But there was something else—a hidden message buried within the ancient texts. As he scanned through the hieroglyphs once more, one symbol caught his eye. A scarab, but not the simple one he had seen before. This one was surrounded by a circle of symbols, all pointing toward the center. And at the center, a hieroglyph he hadn’t noticed until now—a pyramid.

He zoomed in, focusing on the pyramid symbol, its lines sharp and jagged. It wasn’t just a representation of the physical structure—it was the Pyramid itself, the organization that spanned millennia. And beneath the pyramid, in tiny, almost imperceptible script, was a single word.

"Du’at."

Alastor’s heart skipped a beat. The Egyptian underworld. The land of the dead.

The Pyramid’s path didn’t just lead to enlightenment—it led to Du’at, the final resting place of souls. This was their ultimate goal: not just to kill and be reborn, but to transcend into the afterlife, to become gods in the underworld itself.

He sat back, staring at the holograms, his mind whirling. The Pyramid’s founders had created this system to guide their assassins toward immortality in Du’at. They weren’t just playing with life and death—they were playing with the very fabric of the universe. And each assassin was a part of that puzzle.

But what about him? Why had they chosen him to be part of this?

His fingers hovered over the bracelet again, tracing the hieroglyphs. The message was clear now. The Pyramid wasn’t just about power—it was about control. Control over life, over death, over the very soul.

And to unlock that control, he would have to follow their path. He would have to embrace the deaths, each one leading him closer to their truth.

But the key wasn’t in the words of the hieroglyphs. It was in the deaths they described.