*Year: 4500 BC*
*Location: Eastern Nile River, Pre-Dynastic Egypt*
The sun bled across the horizon like a wounded god, and the sand whispered of old things beneath its breath. The air was thick with incense, blood, and prayer.
Pluto walked alone.
He wore a linen cloak, hood low over his silver eyes, bare feet caked in earth. No one noticed him pass. People averted their eyes as though their instincts screamed he did not belong. Or perhaps... he belonged too much.
The Nile shimmered beside him, dark and alive. Small river villages clung to its edge like desperate children. Their huts were fragile. Their people weary. But their gods were loud.
One god in particular.
A golden statue loomed at the village center—a jackal-faced beast they called *Heskhar*, Lord of the Sun's Womb. They offered goats, grain, and even blood to appease it.
Pluto had seen it before. The *Deviant*, cloaked in illusion, fed on their worship.
He stood outside the temple gates, watching men chant and burn offerings. His system chimed softly.
*[TARGET IDENTIFIED: MID-TIER DEVIANT – CLASS: CULTIC MANIPULATOR]*
*Name: Heskhar (Alias)*
*Power Signature: Illusory Control, Fear Induction, Heat Resistance*
*Status: Active – Feeding Cycle Ongoing*
Pluto stepped through the temple threshold.
The crowd didn't part. They fell silent.
The priests turned. One moved toward him. "You do not belong here, sandwalker. This temple is for the voice of Heskhar."
"I've come for that voice," Pluto said, raising his head.
His silver eyes caught the torchlight.
The priest froze. Others began to murmur.
From deeper inside, something *growled*.
Heskhar emerged.
Ten feet tall, carved from muscle and burning shadow. Its jackal face shifted—part flesh, part illusion, flickering like flame over bone. Its voice was thunder in the chest.
"You bear no scent. No fear. No god. What are you?"
Pluto pulled back his hood. "Correction. I am your ending."
The beast lunged.
***
The fight lasted twelve seconds.
Heskhar's claws met air. Pluto vanished, reappeared behind it, drove a hand into its back—energy surging from his palm. The Deviant howled, twisting, limbs convulsing as light burst from its chest.
With a calm step, Pluto crushed its spine, flipped it over, and stared into its dying eyes.
"You are not a god," he said coldly. "You are a parasite wearing one's skin."
He snapped its neck.
The illusion shattered. The villagers watched, horrified, as Heskhar's monstrous corpse melted into ash. A few dropped to their knees. Others ran.
Pluto turned to the priests. "Find better gods."
And then he walked, cloak fluttering in the burning wind.
He would not stay. Not yet. The world was wide. And the Deviants were many.
***
Far above, unseen, a ripple stirred in the unseen layers of reality.
In a distant chamber of the *Producer's domain*, the being watched.
*Pluto adapts. Efficiently. The simulation is not merely stabilizing... it is evolving.*
Another voice, deeper than the first, responded from the dark.
*"He walks toward his function. Let him."*
And on Earth, the silver-eyed wanderer walked east—toward empires unborn.
A/N: I have exam and I am preparing just said I should drop this