The pseudo-sun in the sky pulsates more violently, beginning to drip viscous light rain onto the ground.
Each drop of rain corrodes reality, transforming matter into nightmare creations of non-Euclidean structures. Stone turns into soft flesh, rivers solidify into crystals, air becomes solid and then liquid—the laws of physics are being completely rewritten. Crystallization has already covered his entire body.
Ian Prince has completely transformed into a transparent statue, with only his eyes retaining the last trace of astonishment, gazing at this reality being thoroughly distorted.
The evil god unfurls his wings, which blot out the sky and sun, beginning to sing a sacrilegious hymn of creation—each note reshaping the foundational rules of this world. And the people not yet fully transformed merge one by one into his ever-expanding body, becoming new members of the myriad faces.
A twisted new era is descending, in the most terrifying manner.
Yet.
Even in the apocalyptic moment of heaven and earth collapsing, the gods of Ancient Egypt remain silent. The twisted pseudo-sun in the sky casts a sickly light, staining this once-splendid land with despair.
The Pyramid hums a low resonance in the distance, the last divine power within the ancient temples mourning, but no god responds to the final prayers. Priestess Carina kneels on the shattered steps of the temple, her black priest robes corroded into countless holes by the light rain descended by the evil god.
When she looks up at the already fully crystallized statue, the last glimmer in her amber eyes finally extinguishes. Ian Prince—this legendary wizard from a foreign land, whom she once pinned her last hopes on—now is merely a transparent monument, frozen with the final moment of astonishment and unwillingness.
"So... there really is no Savior..." Carina's murmur is almost swallowed by the wind, but the priests behind her hear every word. This phrase, like the last death knell, shattering the final pillars in everyone's hearts. A few young priests begin to sob quietly, but most remain eerily calm.
They are too exhausted, so tired that even despair seems redundant. Carina slowly stands up, drawing a ritual dagger from her waist, the Eye of Horus engraved on the blade appears to be silently weeping.
"Prepare for the ritual to the afterlife," her voice is disturbingly calm, "We cannot be devoured by that monster. It's better to choose eternal rest than to become part of it."
The priests nod silently and begin arranging the final array around her. The incense burners are reignited, emitting the bitter aroma of myrrh and frankincense. They chant the elegies to open the Netherworld, their voices trembling yet steadfast in the twisted air. Everyone retrieves their own ritual dagger.
The sharp tips aimed at the position of their hearts.
"At least you tried, foreign wizard. May Osiris guide your soul..." Carina takes one last look at Ian Prince's crystalline statue, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. She raises the dagger high, the tip glinting with cold light under the pseudo-sun's rays. The other priests follow suit.
The entire scene is tragic and despairing. Just as the dagger tip is about to pierce down—the shadow not far away, a raven silently folds its wings.
Its eyes are exceptionally bright, shining with a wisdom no bird should possess. As it tilts its head to observe the priests' collective suicide ritual, its eyes reveal a hint of helplessness.
Indeed.
He was Ian.
How could someone as cunning as Ian Prince face an evil god of unknown background with his real body? Ever since he started studying at Hogwarts, he was famous throughout the school for his love of using the Clone Technique. While this might not be a novelty at Hogwarts, in ancient times no one could discover it.
For the wizards here are more adept at sacrificial rituals and Elemental Magic.
Rather than this branch of Transformation Technique requiring extremely high skill.