The flight from JFK to Heathrow took seven hours. Anubis spent it staring out the window, watching the clouds and thinking.
He hasn't flown on a plane since the 1950s. Back then, it was an exciting innovation. Now, it's just transportation with terrible snacks and seats that are too small.
"Can I get you anything?" the flight attendant stopped next to her with a sincere, professional smile.
— Coffee, please. Black.
- Certainly!
The man next to him in the row—a plump man in a business suit—had been watching a thriller on headphones for three hours already, periodically crunching on chips with such intensity that Anubis began to suspect a natural disaster.
Five thousand years of existence, Anubis thought as he drank his coffee, and this test seemed like one of the hardest.
His phone—a special, secure one provided by S.H.I.E.L.D.—vibrated. A message from Fury:
"Our agent will meet you at the airport. Name is Hill. Don't be late."
Below is a postscript:
"And try not to destroy British cultural values. We have enough diplomatic problems."
Anubis put the phone away and looked at the clouds.
He hadn't been to London since 1888. The city was in the grip of panic over the Whitechapel murders, and Anubis spent several weeks trying to figure out if there was something supernatural behind it.
It turned out—no. Just a man. Sometimes people were more terrifying than any demon.
The man with the chips crunched with redoubled force.
Almost any demon.
Heathrow greeted him with gray skies, a drizzle, and Agent Hill—a middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and wearing a gray coat. She held a clipboard with his name on it, but her expression suggested she approached the assignment with professional skepticism.
"Anubis?" she said as he approached.
"Maria Hill," he replied. "Pleased to meet you."
She frowned slightly.
- You know my name.
"Fury described you. More precisely, he said: 'The most competent person in S.H.I.E.L.D., not counting me.' For him, that's the highest praise."
Hill almost smiled. Almost.
— The car is at the exit. I'll give you directions.
They stepped out into the London rain. Hill held an umbrella as if it were standard issue for an agent. Anubis walked alongside, letting the rain soak the shoulders of his jacket. After the Egyptian desert, rain never seemed unpleasant to him.
"Three days ago," Hill began as they climbed into a black car, "an anomaly occurred at the British Museum. A night security guard discovered that several artifacts from the Egyptian collection... had activated."
— How exactly?
— They were glowing. They were moving. One of the Uskh-collars rose into the air and hovered at a height of two meters for forty minutes before falling back down. The cameras recorded everything.
— Security guard?
"Physically, I'm fine. Psychologically, I'm consulting with our specialist. He tried googling "Egyptian artifacts come to life" and is now convinced that Tutankhamun's curse is real."
"Technically, curses exist," Anubis noted.
— This particular one? No. We checked.
- Nice to know.
The car moved along the grey and damp streets of London. Anubis looked out the window at buildings both familiar and unfamiliar—a city he had seen grow from a small riverside settlement into a metropolis.
"What exactly do you expect from me?" he asked.
— To understand what happened and why. Our paranormal experts are stumped. They say the magical signature doesn't match anything in their databases. But according to you, it matches the one at the New York museum.
"The same source," Anubis agreed. "So it's systematic."
— Exactly. Someone or something is activating ancient Egyptian artifacts all over the world. New York, now London. Our analysts are tracking three more possible incidents—Cairo, Paris, Tokyo.
"Tokyo?" Anubis asked, surprised. "There aren't any significant Egyptian collections there."
— There was a private collector. He was found unconscious in his home yesterday morning, surrounded by glowing hieroglyphs on the floor.
Anubis fell silent, thinking.
"This isn't just the activation of artifacts," he finally said. "Someone is gathering power. Using the artifacts as points of empowerment."
- For what?
— I don't know. But nothing good.
The British Museum greeted them with closed doors and a S.H.I.E.L.D. perimeter disguised as ordinary police tape with a sign reading "Building Inspection."
Hill led him inside, past plainclothes agents, past a coffee machine that looked like it had seen better days, past disoriented museum staff who clearly hadn't been told what was going on.
The Egyptian hall was cordoned off.
When Anubis entered, he felt it immediately—the residual magical energy permeating the air. Powerful, painfully familiar.
"Oh God," he whispered.
"What?" Hill became wary.
"This magic. I know it." He walked slowly across the room, touching the air with his fingertips, feeling the vibrations. "This isn't dark magic, like with Stone. This... this is Egyptian magic in its purest form. Ancient. Primordial."
- Whose?
Anubis stopped in front of a display case containing a large papyrus covered in hieroglyphs. They weren't glowing now, but the traces of energy were clear.
"Thoth," he said quietly. "This is Thoth's magic."
- Who is He?
"The god of wisdom, writing, and magic. One of the most powerful Egyptian gods. He created writing and preserved the knowledge of the universe." Anubis straightened, his expression serious. "If his magic is activated in artifacts around the world, it means only one thing."
- What?
- He's coming back.
Hill was silent for a second.
"Another god," she finally said in the voice of someone who is beginning to get used to the incredible.
"Another god," Anubis confirmed.
— Is he dangerous?
Anubis thought about this question.
"He was never a warrior or a destroyer. He was a keeper of knowledge, a mediator, a judge. But his magic... his magic could change reality itself. Rewrite history. Create and destroy.
- That sounds dangerous.
"It all depends on why he's coming back. And who helped him do it."
Anubis continued his examination, carefully touching the artifacts, reading traces of magic as one reads traces on the ground.
A young agent followed him quietly with a notepad, writing down everything Anubis said out loud. Hill stood to the side, watching.
Suddenly, Anubis stopped at a small statue in the corner of the room. An ibis with a bird's head, holding scales.
"This is a new exhibit," he noted. "I wasn't here three days ago when the anomaly occurred."
"How do you know he wasn't here?" asked the young agent with a notepad.
"Because I was looking at the collection catalog on the plane," Anubis replied. "This statuette isn't listed in the museum's inventory."
Hill came over immediately.
- So, someone brought it?
"Or maybe she came on her own," Anubis leaned closer, not touching. "This isn't a reproduction. It's the original. It's about three thousand years old. But the magical trace..."
He fell silent.
"What?" Hill tensed.
— Fresh. The magical trace is completely fresh. As if it was created yesterday.
He carefully picked up the statue and the hieroglyphs on its base flashed with golden light, causing several agents to retreat.
Anubis didn't back down. He read the symbols, his lips moving silently.
"A message," he finally said, lowering the statuette. "It's a message. For me."
"What's in it?" Hill stood nearby, her hand instinctively reaching for her weapon.
— "Guardian Brother. I see you've woken up. Finally. We need to talk. Come to where the Thames meets the ancient stone. Tonight, midnight. Come alone. — That one."
Silence fell in the room.
"You're not going alone," Hill said immediately.
- He said one.
- It could be a trap.
"He doesn't set traps. He doesn't work like that." Anubis put the statue back. "He wants to talk. That means he has information."
- Or he wants to neutralize you.
"If Thoth had wanted to neutralize me, he could have done it three thousand years more effectively than he can now.
Hill looked at him with a long gaze, in which professional duty and logic warred.
"I'll be at a distance," she finally said. "A sniper position. You won't see us, but we'll see you."
- Agreed.
There were a few hours left until midnight, and Anubis decided to spend them usefully.
Hill settled him into a nearby hotel—a basic room, modest but clean. Anubis unpacked a small bag, took a shower, and went out unaccompanied.
He liked London. Unlike New York, which was always in a hurry, this city carried layers of history—medieval stones beneath Victorian buildings, modern glass next to thousand-year-old churches. Here, time was palpable.
He found a small café near Covent Garden and ordered tea—real, strong, with milk, as is customary here. He settled himself by the window, watching the passersby.
The phone vibrated. Sarah.
- Hello?
— Boss! How's London? Rain? Of course it's raining, it always rains there. We're doing fine here, by the way. Pedro you hired turned out to be a great bartender, although he went a bit overboard with the rum in the mojito for table three...
"Sarah," Anubis interrupted her. "Breathe."
— I'm breathing. I just... miss your composure. When are you coming back?
— One or two days. Depends on the circumstances.
— I see. Secret divine affairs?
- Something like that.
"Be careful, okay?" Her voice grew quieter. "You may be a god, but still... be careful."
- Absolutely. Good night, Sarah.
He put his phone away and looked out the window again. Two tourists walked past the café with a London map, arguing over directions. An elderly woman led a pug, looking as if the pug was making important architectural decisions. A student sat on a bench with a laptop, despite the rain.
People, Anubis thought with familiar warmth. Infinitely diverse, infinitely amazing.
The next call was from Eric.
"Andy, I've analyzed the new data. The patterns we discussed are forming a certain structure. Look at the map."
An image arrived on my phone. A world map with anomaly points marked.
"You see?" Eric continued. "If you connect the dots..."
"It's a circle," Anubis said slowly.
"It's not just a circle. It's a mandala. A magical diagram. Each activation of the artifact is a nodal point in a larger ritual. Someone is creating a global magical structure."
Anubis put on the tea, his thoughts working quickly.
- If this is a mandala, then the center...
"Cairo," Eric replied. "The center of the structure is directly above the pyramids of Giza."
Silence.
"Eric, you're a good boy," Anubis finally said. "Really."
- Thank you. What does this mean?
- This means that today's meeting is more important than I thought.
He explained to Eric about the message from Thoth, about the meeting place.
"Be careful," Eric said. "And keep us posted."
- I'm holding it.
Half an hour before midnight, Anubis came out to the Thames.
He knew the place—Tower Bridge, one of London's most recognizable symbols. "Where the Thames meets ancient stone"—the Tower, the city's oldest stone structure.
London at night was beautiful. Lights reflected in the dark waters of the river, Tower Bridge glowed, and fog swirled over the Thames.
Anubis walked along the embankment, sensing the presence of Hill's agents—invisible, professional ones. He gave no sign of noticing them.
There was no one on the observation deck by the bridge. It was empty and quiet, only the sound of the water and the distant sounds of the city.
Anubis stood at the parapet, looking out over the river.
Exactly at midnight the air around him thickened.
Not suddenly, not with a flash. Simply—there was empty air, and then someone was standing there.
A tall man in a white linen suit, clearly inappropriate for London weather, yet remaining dry despite the rain. He had dark skin, intelligent dark eyes, and carried a long staff tipped with an ibis feather.
His face was young, but his eyes were ancient. Very ancient.
"Anubis," he said, his voice melodic and layered, as if several voices were speaking at once. "Finally."
"That one," Anubis replied, turning around. "You look... surprisingly well for someone who's been gone for three thousand years."
"And you look good for a bartender," Thoth said, amusement flickering in his eyes. "A bar. Really, Anubis? Of all the jobs."
— I like it. The hours are flexible.
— You run a bar while the world is heading towards disaster.
"I ran a bar while the world was heading toward disaster," Anubis corrected. "Now I run a bar and sometimes prevent disasters. Progress."
He looked at him with an expression that combined admiration and slight despair.
- You haven't changed.
— You too. Still wearing linen in November.
"The cold doesn't bother me." He walked over to the parapet and stood next to it, looking out over the river. "We need to have a serious talk, Anubis."
"I guessed." Anubis leaned on the parapet. "A mandala. Artifacts. A global ritual centered in Giza. Are you going to explain, or are we just guessing?"
He looked at him with surprise.
— Have you figured out the mandala yet?
— Not me. My friend is a physicist.
- Mortal?
"Mortals can be surprisingly smart," Anubis said. "You should have remembered that."
He smiled warmly, almost sadly.
"You've always loved them. From the very beginning. While other gods looked upon humans as flock or playthings, you saw them as... humans."
- Because that's exactly what they are.
Pause. He looked at the water.
"The ritual is not mine," he finally said. "I did not create the mandala."
- Then whose magic is it?
"Mine. But stolen." Thoth's voice grew serious, losing its lightness. "Three months ago, someone broke into my archives. The place where I've kept my knowledge all this time. They stole the records of ancient rituals. The most powerful. The most dangerous."
- Who?
"I don't know personally. But I saw the imprint of their consciousness. This isn't a person, Anubis. This is something old. Very old. So old that I couldn't recognize its nature."
Anubis straightened up.
— Older than the gods?
"Older than most." He turned to him. "Do you remember the stories of the Firstborn? The ones who existed before the creation of the world order?"
"Fairy tales," Anubis said slowly. "Myths about myths."
— I thought the same. Until three months ago.
Silence.
Somewhere on the other bank of the Thames the tower clock was ringing.
"They use my magic," Thoth continued. "But they don't fully understand it. The mandala they're building is a key. A key to unlocking something deep in the Duat."
"What exactly?" Anubis's voice was even, but something inside him clenched.
He looked at him for a long time.
— The Hall of Two Truths.
Anubis paused.
The Hall of Two Truths. The place where he judged souls. The place where the heart of the deceased was weighed. The sacred center of the afterlife, a place of power so powerful that even the gods entered with caution.
"If someone opens it from here," Anubis said slowly, "from the world of the living..."
"The boundary between life and death will disappear," Thoth confirmed. "Completely. Forever. The dead and the living will find themselves in the same space. The afterlife will flow into this one."
— Apocalypse.
"Not exactly," Thoth corrected. "Worse. The Apocalypse implies the end. It will be a fusion. Chaos without end. Endless existence without distinction between life and death."
Anubis thought quickly. Ammut. Stone. Papyrus. Apophis. Artifact activations. It all came together to form a coherent picture.
"It was all preparation," he said. "Ammut, the attempt with Apop—all of it distracted me while someone built the mandala."
"Exactly. You were used, Anubis. While you were fighting demons and mages, the real work was happening elsewhere."
"The center is in Giza," Anubis gripped the parapet. "The pyramids. Of course. There is no better place of power on earth."
"The mandala is almost complete. One key artifact remains." He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket, ancient and fragile. "I managed to find out which one before I lost track of the thieves."
Anubis took the sheet and unfolded it.
Hieroglyphs. The artifact depicts a small, canopic-shaped vessel with a jackal's head.
His breath caught.
"This is mine," he whispered. "This is my canopic jar. My personal artifact from the first temple in Memphis."
- I know.
"It should be in the Cairo Museum. In the storerooms, not on display. I personally made sure it was safely hidden."
"It was," He answered quietly. "It disappeared from the storerooms three days ago."
Anubis lowered the leaf.
Everything instantly became clear. Not just a mandala. Not just a ritual. Someone wasn't just using Egyptian magic—someone was using his own artifact, directly linked to his power, as a key.
"Without my canopic jar, the mandala will not be complete," he said slowly. "But if it is used..."
"You will be part of the ritual, whether you want it or not," Thoth confirmed. "Your power will be used to open the Hall of Two Truths."
Anubis was silent for a few seconds.
Then he straightened up and said very calmly, very evenly:
— We need to go to Cairo.
"Us?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Did you think I'd let you go alone with stolen magic and the apocalypse plan?" Anubis turned to him. "We work together. Like before."
He smiled broadly, sincerely, for the first time during the conversation.
"Just like before," he agreed. "Although before, we didn't have a mortal physicist or an organization with a letter acronym."
— The world is changing.
- Obviously.
From the embankment, Anubis took out his phone and dialed Hill.
— We need a plane to Cairo. As soon as possible.
"When?" she answered shortly.
- Now.
Pause.
- Okay. Twenty minutes. And I'll fly with you.
- There will be three of us.
Another pause, a longer one.
- Who's third?
Anubis looked at Thoth, standing next to him in his ridiculous white suit in the middle of the London rain, completely dry and completely unperturbed.
"Another god," Anubis replied. "Don't worry, he's safe."
"You say that about every god," Hill sighed. "And then half the city is in ruins."
- This time I promise to be more careful.
"Your promises are worth exactly as much as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s insurance policy on Egyptian museums. Twenty minutes, Anubis."
She passed out.
He looked at him with undisguised amusement.
- She doesn't trust the gods.
"She's a smart person," Anubis replied, putting his phone away. "Let's go. Cairo awaits us."
They walked off the embankment, two ancient gods in the London rain, one in a leather jacket, the other in a linen suit, heading off to save the world.
"By the way," said He. "Your bar. 'Eternity.' Good name."
- Thanks. I came up with it myself.
"I know." A pause. "Can I come in when it's all over?"
"The first cocktail is on the house," Anubis replied. "For all the gods."
— Generous.
— Just good marketing.
And despite the impending apocalypse, the looming Cairo, and the stolen artifact, Anubis felt something strange.
Anticipation.
The storm was approaching. And he was not alone in facing it.