The echo of Plutus's Legendary Call still vibrated against the marble walls of the sanctuary, leaving the onlookers in a trance of anticipation. One question burned on every lip: which warriors, which legends did the God of Wealth intend to tear from the void? Plutus, his face etched with fierce determination, had first turned to Hades. But the sovereign of Erebus, cold and inflexible, had remained deaf to his pleas. The silence of the God of the Dead was a wall of iron that even gold could not breach.
Discouraged but not defeated, Plutus turned to another power: Khonshu, the Egyptian God of the Moon, the Traveler of the Night. Crossing the silver gaze of the lunar deity, Plutus understood he was playing his final card. Khonshu, draped in his spectral white shrouds, immediately sensed the unspeakable.
"If you seek a Master of the Dead," Khonshu whispered, his voice reminiscent of the rustling of ancient papyrus, "it is because your ambition exceeds the world of the living. You wish to awaken what has slept for centuries."
He paused, his eyes gleaming with a light of warning.
"Know, Plutus, that within the strict laws of Egypt, Anubis is the scrupulous guardian of balance. His mission is sacred: to ensure the deceased remain within the embrace of the West. To him, bringing back a soul after millennia is not a miracle—it is an insult to Ma'at, the cosmic order he protects with fierce fervor."
Plutus prepared to protest, but Khonshu raised a pale hand.
"However, I do not want you to believe this is a categorical refusal. Let us go see him. Perhaps your presence, and the nature of your quest, will sway the scales. Come, let us walk into the darkness."
"You are the best, Khonshu!" Plutus exclaimed, a radiant smile chasing away his inner shadows.
The two gods faced each other—Khonshu to the left, Plutus to the right. Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet turned into a whirlwind of black sand and ether, a roaring vortex that sucked them into the bowels of the earth. They began their descent into the Duat, that frontier realm where souls wait to know if they will be devoured by the Great Devourer or guided toward the Fields of Reeds.
The Queue of the Judged
The world they emerged into was a spectacle of desolation and power. Cyclones of spiritual energy swept across a crimson horizon. Before them stretched an interminable single-file line—a silent procession of shadows that, for some, had been waiting centuries for their turn before the Tribunal of Osiris.
"I plan to bring back three forgotten heroes," Plutus began, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "Are you certain we can convince Anubis?"
Khonshu observed the line of the dead with millennial intensity.
"You have a chance, Plutus. If they are still in this line, if the weight of their hearts has not yet been measured against the Feather of Truth, we can intercept them. But be swift, for once judgment is rendered, even gods hesitate to intervene."
With an imperious gesture, Khonshu pointed toward the middle of the procession.
"Hold our place in line. I have a lead. I shall return."
"Me? Stand in line?" Plutus asked, stunned, but Khonshu had already vanished like a nocturnal mist.
The Lion of Africa: Shaka Zulu
Khonshu moved up the line with the ease of a silent predator. His eyes stopped on an imposing silhouette—a man whose stature commanded respect even in death. His skin was like polished ebony, and his gaze did not flinch before any shadow.
"Valiant warrior," Khonshu greeted. "I am Khonshu, the God of the Night Sun."
The man did not blink. His voice, deep as a distant roll of thunder, resonated:
"I am not afraid, Moon God. I will never implore my fate. What must happen, shall happen. My destiny is written in the blood of my enemies and the courage of my people."
Khonshu smiled beneath his invisible mask.
"That is precisely why I am here. Since your last breath, the world has never ceased whispering your name. Centuries have passed, decades have accumulated, but your story refuses to die. You are the bravest among the brave. Do you know that the men of today still use the war tactics you forged in the furnace of combat?"
The man appeared moved. A spark of pride ignited in his dark eyes.
"The world knows my name? My techniques... hand-to-hand combat did not disappear with me, then?"
"No," Khonshu replied with emphasis. "The world awaits your return to learn once more the science of bravery. I offer you a chance—not to pray, but to prove your worth once more to the eyes of the universe. What say you, Shaka, King of the Zulus?"
The warrior squared his broad shoulders, his shadow seeming to grow upon the sands of the Duat.
"Then I am your man. Tell them that the great Shaka is delighted to teach them how to wage war once again!"
The Bulwark of Sparta: Leonidas
Khonshu continued his quest and, further down the line, he spotted a familiar silhouette draped in the tattered remains of a crimson cape. The man still held an invisible shield, but his face was ravaged by bitter sadness.
"Why this mournful look, my King?" Khonshu asked.
The Spartan turned abruptly, teeth bared in rage.
"What are you? A god? If so, keep your distance, for I might well drive my spear into your divine skull! Is it not you who claim to control destiny? Why did you let that hunchback betray me? Why did you condemn my three hundred braves? Was my quest unjust? Was it a crime to want to free my people from the clutches of a tyrant who claimed to be a god? Is this your justice for Sparta?"
Leonidas's shouts made the surrounding shadows tremble. Khonshu approached with solemn gentleness.
"No, my King. Listen to me. Your sacrifice was not in vain. Your wife, your son, and all of Greece rose as one after your fall. The hot gates of Thermopylae saw thirty-five thousand Spartans surge forth to crush Xerxes. Your name is engraved in time. Your glory is at its zenith in every book, on every continent."
Leonidas froze. His shield hand trembled slightly.
"Xerxes was defeated? Sparta... Sparta is free?"
The King turned away, and though he tried to hide it, Khonshu heard the sobs of a man whose heart had finally been freed from a weight heavier than the world. Tears of joy ran down his weathered face.
"I offer you a chance," Khonshu resumed. "A new tyrant, more bloodthirsty than Xerxes, has surfaced. We need the Lion of Sparta. In return, you shall see Greece as it has become. You shall see your descendants—your great-great-grandchildren who still carry your legacy."
Leonidas stood tall, a new flame in his gaze.
"My grandchildren... I would like to see that. As long as Leonidas is by your side, this tyrant shall be nothing but a bad memory. Let us show this new Xerxes that the descendant of Heracles stands against him!"
The Wrath of Anubis
Khonshu searched for the third man in vain until he reached the very head of the line, but finding no sign of Samson, he returned to Plutus with Shaka and Leonidas. Plutus, still breathless from the wait, was dazzled by the presence of the two kings.
Suddenly, the sky darkened. A rain of ebony spears plummeted toward them. By reflex, Leonidas raised his shield, while Shaka crossed his weapons to protect Plutus. Khonshu raised his scepter, freezing the projectiles in mid-air with an imperious gesture.
Then, He appeared. Anubis—immense, jackal-headed, eyes burning like embers.
"Khonshu!" thundered the funerary god. "What are you doing here? You know the laws! What is this chaos you are causing in my realm?"
"Calm yourself, brother," Khonshu replied. "We meant no harm..."
"You enter my palace and steal souls!" Anubis roared, before stopping short. His eyes landed on Plutus. His fury dropped instantly. "Plutus? Is it you who causes this intrusion?"
The God of Wealth stepped forward with humility, explaining the dire situation and the threat looming over the world. Anubis, after a long silence, sighed.
"There is a possibility, but the price is immense. For every soul taken, a balance must be met. Since it is you, Plutus, I will not demand a life, but divine gold from your sacred fortune. And know this: it is only for two years. After that, these souls must resume their eternal journey."
Plutus accepted without hesitation. He then asked for Samson. Anubis shook his head.
"Samson is not here. His soul belongs to another jurisdiction, where the All-Powerful Creator has called him. However... Samson's remains were preserved by the rites I myself created. The bond between his body and spirit remains intact. By my authority over embalming, I can recall him."
In a whirlwind of gold dust, a third silhouette appeared: Samson, a force of nature, whose hair seemed to hold the power of suns. Upon hearing the mission, he agreed to join Plutus's party.
The Return of the Heroes
Plutus summoned a massive chest, filled with gold so pure it illuminated the darkness of the Duat. Anubis's payment was sealed.
The Jackal God faded into the shadows, and with a gesture, Khonshu and Plutus opened the way back to the world of the living. Behind them marched Shaka Zulu, Leonidas, and Samson—three legends, three eras, three indomitable forces ready to rewrite history.
Plutus, crossing the threshold of the sanctuary, felt an immense joy wash over him. He had achieved the impossible. But as the three heroes discovered the light of day, one question remained: would their ancient strength be enough to face the Tyrant of Hell and Mammon?