Heir of Anubis: Survive the God's Deadly Game

Chapter 3. The Roll of the Dice

They slumped, backs to the sealed window, spent. All the tension, the raw fear from the chase, drained out of them, if only for a moment's grace. The silence was thick and heavy.

Then, without warning, Raline listed sideways and slid to the floor weakly. Devon caught her, his arms moving instantly. Her body was still burning hot against his skin.

He lifted her easily as she was so thin, cradling his younger sister, and carried her across the debris strewn floor to the mat he had pulled out and laid down earlier.

This mini mart was a temporary sanctuary. It held everything they needed—food, water, medicine, even a surprisingly clean restroom on the same floor. They could hole up here for a decent while, waiting for the outside to settle down, for the crushing danger to recede.

Gently, he covered her with a thin blanket. He left her to her sleep, which was likely more of a fevered stupor. Devon, however, couldn't rest. His body was aching, but his mind refused the peace of exhaustion.

It was only just past noon. He had time. Time to secure their little patch of safety.

He walked the chaotic aisles, maneuvering around overturned displays and scattered goods, pulling a still intact shopping basket. He took inventory of necessities—more food, more water, bandages, flashlights, even a handful of long-burning candles. He found a small portable stove and a couple of fuel canisters, enough to boil water for sterilizing or, simply, for a warm drink.

"Could've used this kind of supply last week," he muttered, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Raline could've had three proper meals a day."

They lived below the poverty line, occupying a small rental house that was almost entirely constructed from wood and dilapidated plywood. To them, this current abundance of food and basic necessities was a true luxury.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away. It was grim, he knew, to find this short term abundance on top of the misery and literal corpses outside. But guilt wouldn't help. 

Survival was the only thing that mattered now. 

He arranged the cans, the boxes, and the jugs of water near their mat, feeling a creeping disbelief at the day's events. The earthquake, it was long, and devastating. He estimated it was at least an eight on the Richter scale, otherwise, those high rises, built for quakes, wouldn't have crumbled like sandcastles. And then, the utter madness of those black, jagged mountains where the Newark skyline used to be.

He pulled out his phone. Still nothing. No internet. Not even a single bar from any cell provider.

And the skeletons. Skeletons. Those things were fantasy fodder, straight out of an RPG or a bad webcomic. He knew they were classified as undead.

And if skeletons were real, then logic dictated that their buddies couldn't be far behind. Lich, maybe, since they were also mostly bone.

But what about zombies? Wraiths? Banshees? Or those giant, tank-sized zombies he'd seen in that one series?

Devon shivered. If this was really happening, if his horror movie fears were true, were humans just... prey now?

*******

Night fell, the darkness outside the mini-mart complete and silent. An unnatural silence for a major city that usually roared through the night.

The usual smog, the industrial stink of the city, was gone. Only a cold wind blew, likely channeled down from those new, black mountains. When the wind paused, the scent of drying blood wafted in from the street.

Raline woke only to eat and take her medicine. Otherwise, she slept, her fever showed no signs of letting up.

Devon, too wired to sleep, busied himself. He went through the sporting goods aisle, found a larger, tougher backpack, and filled it with his supplies, including a few utility knives he discovered. He fashioned crude sheaths, cinching them to his belt and calf, just in case.

Satisfied with his preparations, he placed the bag next to his mat and lay down. They had both changed into clean clothes from the store's display racks and had cleaned themselves up as best they could. A futile effort, considering the fine layer of dust and rubble that coated everything.

Devon stared up at the cracked, gaping ceiling. The whole place was pitch black. Power and water had cut out completely.

The only light source was a single candle, shielded with paper to keep its tiny glow from spilling out onto the street.

His mind spun, trying to find a single, logical thread to explain the mass disappearance, the colossal change, the... monsters. But it was all absurd, a fantasy novel dumped right onto reality.

'I might have to check out those mountains eventually…' he thought, closing his eyes, the idea both terrifying and compelling. His body finally began to yield, the accumulated exhaustion and shock of the past day dragging his eyelids shut.

Then, he was somewhere else. It was both intensely dark and brilliantly bright, a paradox he couldn't explain. He could see his own hands, his legs, his body, yet other parts of the space were shrouded in absolute darkness.

Before him, a swirling, uneven oval opened up, a tear in a sheet of black mist. Inside this oval, images flickered and moved like a private movie screen.

"Roll the goddamn dice!"

A towering, jet black figure, massive horns curling from its head, spoke. It looked exactly like the stereotypical Devil, addressing a group of beings dressed in what looked like ancient Roman or Greek attire.

Devon frowned, confused. "What the hell? Am I dreaming about watching some low budget film trailer?" he mumbled.

The scene on the screen continued. The one who reached for the dice was a human-shaped figure with the head of a jackal, equally black, shirtless, wearing only a white and gold cloth around its lower body.

"Anubis?" Devon recognized the Egyptian God of Death immediately. Who wouldn't recognize that dog headed god?

Anubis tossed two large dice onto the table. The oval screen zoomed in on the toss. The dice didn't have the usual dots. Instead, they bore written symbols. Devon had never seen the characters before, yet somehow, he understood their meaning instantly.

The first die landed with the word "HUMAN" facing up. The second, however, made his eyes widen, bulging as if they might pop right out of his skull.

It bore his name. His full, infuriatingly pretentious name.

DEVON ADAMS LAMBERT.