I'm The Devil - Chapter 276

Chapter 276: Chasing The Israelites

In the dim stillness of his chamber, Pharaoh sat alone, shoulders hunched and eyes hollow as he stared into the flickering shadows cast by the dying embers of a torch. His face was lined with grief, lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line as if to contain the fury and sorrow churning within him. The weight of his loss sat like a stone in his chest, heavy and cold, pulling him deeper into despair with each moment of silence. His hands clenched on the armrests of his throne, the knuckles white, fingers trembling.

A subtle rustling filled the room, breaking the silence, and a cool breeze drifted through the air, tinged with the scent of jasmine and myrrh. Pharaoh’s head lifted, his eyes narrowing, every sense heightened as he felt an unseen presence settle upon him, ancient and powerful. A form seemed to materialize from the shadows—tall, regal, and cloaked in midnight robes that rippled like liquid darkness. Her figure was slender, yet there was a strength in her stance, a coiled power that thrummed through the air.

Pharaoh’s breath caught in his throat as he beheld the figure before him. Though he did not recognize her face, he felt her divinity like a storm pressing down upon him, filling the room with an energy that made the air dense, almost suffocating. His gaze rose slowly, meeting her eyes—sharp and gleaming with a golden, catlike intensity that held both curiosity and contempt.

Bast inclined her head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though it did not reach her eyes. She regarded Pharaoh with a mixture of pity and challenge, as if testing the resolve of a man she found lacking. “So, this is the great Pharaoh,” she murmured, her voice like a purr, low and smooth, laced with a strange mixture of sorrow and scorn. She moved forward, graceful, every step light and predatory, her robes whispering against the floor.

Pharaoh’s lips parted, his expression a mix of awe and anger. He stood slowly, hands dropping to his sides as he gathered the remnants of his shattered pride, struggling to maintain his composure. “Who are you?” he rasped, though his voice was strained, a whisper of the authority he once wielded.

Bast’s smile widened, though it remained cold, her eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I am no stranger to your people,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it seemed to echo through the chamber. “I am the goddess of your land, the protector of your people, and I have come to ask you a question, Pharaoh.”

Her gaze sharpened, pinning him in place as she stepped closer, until the scent of jasmine enveloped him, her presence both alluring and intimidating. “Why did you let them go?” she asked, her tone soft yet biting. “Why did you allow those who caused your suffering to walk away, free to celebrate their escape while you remain here, shackled by grief?”

Pharaoh’s fists clenched, his face contorting with a mixture of pain and anger. His shoulders tensed as he looked away, jaw tight, words caught in his throat. “They… they took everything from me,” he managed, his voice choked with bitterness. “My people suffer, my kingdom suffers… because of them. Yet…” He swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze. “Yet I am powerless against their God.”

Bast’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of disdain crossing her features. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, each word laced with venom. “Do you think their God cares for them?” she asked, her tone laced with scorn. “He let them suffer, year after year. He allowed your land to bleed under his so-called ‘divine hand.’ And now you would let them walk away, taking the wealth of Egypt with them?”

Pharaoh’s gaze snapped back to hers, his expression hardening. Her words stoked the embers of his rage, reigniting the fire that had dulled in the face of his grief. A flicker of something dangerous lit in his eyes—a desire for revenge, sharpened by his helplessness.

“You are Pharaoh,” Bast continued, her voice rising with a fierce, quiet intensity. “The gods have not abandoned you. You have the power, the right to reclaim what is yours, to make them feel what you have endured. To let them leave is to betray the blood that runs in your veins, the legacy of Egypt.”

Pharaoh’s chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing growing ragged as her words sank in, filling the hollow spaces of his heart with anger. His face twisted, a spark of determination igniting behind his dark eyes. Slowly, he straightened, squaring his shoulders, his jaw clenched with a renewed sense of purpose.

Bast’s lips curled into a triumphant smile, the gleam in her eyes feral, satisfied. “Go after them,” she said, her voice like silk, threading through his mind, wrapping around his soul. “Bring them back. Show them the true strength of Pharaoh. Make them suffer, make them regret.” Her gaze bore into his, a silent command that held no room for hesitation or doubt.

A grim smile played at Pharaoh’s lips, his expression resolute. He bowed his head, the shadows deepening on his face as he whispered, “Yes. They will suffer.”

In a flash, Bast vanished, leaving Pharaoh alone, her presence fading like the final breath of a storm. The room was silent, but Pharaoh’s mind was a tempest, alive with a dark resolve. He called for his soldiers, his voice echoing through the palace with a command that held the force of a man renewed, a king unwilling to let his enemies escape unscathed.

—

And so, Pharaoh gathered his chariots, his men, his horses, his heart steeled by the goddess’s words, and set off in pursuit of the Israelites. The sun rose high over Egypt, casting long shadows as the chariots sped across the desert, the thunder of hooves echoing in the stillness, relentless and unyielding.

But when they reached the shore of the Red Sea, the Israelites waited, standing still as Moses lifted his staff, and the waters parted before them, a path opened by the hand of their God. The people crossed in awe, their steps hurried yet steady, their faith carrying them through the walls of water towering on either side.

Pharaoh and his army followed, their shouts piercing the air, their chariots thundering forward in a desperate pursuit. But as the last of the Israelites reached the far shore, Moses turned, his face set with a grim, solemn resolve. He lowered his staff, and the waters surged back, crashing over Pharaoh’s forces with a fury that swallowed every sound, every scream.

The sea returned to its silent depths, the waters still and calm once more, as if erasing the violence that had just unfolded. The Israelites stood in silence, watching as the waves lapped against the shore, a quiet, unspoken reverence filling the air.

Across the sea, Egypt was left to mourn. Bast’s words echoed in the emptiness, but Pharaoh’s power had been broken, his pride washed away with the last of his army.