After they seemed to have things under control, Tyson headed toward the ship's exit hatch. The airlock cycled open with a soft hiss, and he stepped out into the desert.
The temperature was tolerable for now. The sand still radiated the day's heat, and once the sun dropped fully, it would get cold fast. The vast expanse of dunes stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by rocky outcroppings and the occasional scrub brush.
Jean and Jessica emerged from the ship behind him, both squinting against the desert's glare. The heat hit them immediately.
"This is going to be rough," Jessica observed, adjusting the adamantium costume Tyson had crafted for her months earlier during the Sinister Six crisis.
Tyson nodded, then extended his hand toward his armor. Streams of liquid adamantium flowed from various plates and joints, pooling in his palm like mercury. The metal responded to his magnetic manipulation, reshaping.
"Jean, you're going to need protection. We don't know what we might encounter."
The metal stretched and wove itself into a microweave chainmail that looked like fabric. Tyson concentrated on the molecular structure, ensuring the links were small enough to provide comfort while maintaining the adamantium's protective properties.
Jean watched in fascination as the material took shape. "That's incredible. How are you controlling it so precisely?"
"Magnetism works on a molecular level," Tyson explained, continuing to weave the chainmail into recognizable clothing shapes. "Adamantium is nearly unbreakable, but it conforms under my power just like copper or any other metal."
The chainmail formed into a long-sleeved shirt first, the links so fine they created an almost textile-like appearance. Tyson held it up, checking the proportions against Jean before making minor adjustments.
"Try this on," he said, handing her the shirt. "It should fit perfectly, but let me know if anything feels off."
Jean slipped the garment over her head, surprised by how light it felt despite being made of the strongest metal on Earth.
"It's amazing," she said, flexing her arms and shoulders. "I can barely feel the weight."
Tyson was already working on the pants, the adamantium flowing into leg-shaped sections with the same intricate microweave pattern. Instead of handing it to Jean, he just flowed the metal around her, doing the same with her top, allowing it to sit underneath her clothes without needing to change.
He took to the sky, his magnetic abilities lifting him above the desert floor, and he used Maw's telekinesis to pull Jessica and Jean along. The sensation of flight never got old, and the freedom of movement in three dimensions felt as natural as walking. They rose to about a hundred feet, high enough to get a good view of the surrounding landscape but low enough to avoid creating a visible silhouette against the darkening sky.
It didn't take him long to spot them.
Pyramids.
The massive structures rose from the desert like geometric mountains, their triangular forms unmistakable even at a distance. He had never seen the pyramids in person, and even from miles away, their scale was impressive.
They descended back to the ship, landing softly in the sand near the open hatch. The others were still inside, practicing their abilities.
"The pyramids are a few miles that way," he announced, pointing into the distance where the structures were. "We must have landed in Egypt."
Johnny's head appeared in the hatchway. "Egypt? Seriously? That's actually pretty cool."
"I'm just going to head over and check things out, maybe find a place to stay," Tyson continued. "See if I can figure out exactly where we are and what our options might be."
Reed's voice echoed from somewhere inside the ship. "Good idea. We'll need supplies and a way to contact the outside world. The ship's communications are completely fried."
Sue flickered near the hatch. "Be careful. We don't know what kind of reception we'll get if people see you flying around."
"I'll stay low and keep an illusion up," Tyson assured her. "No one will even know I'm there."
"Just don't get yourself arrested, kid. We've got enough problems without having to break you out of an Egyptian prison." Ben called from the cabin.
Tyson grinned and launched himself back into the air, flying low to the ground, just above the surface to remain inconspicuous. Jean and Jessica flanked him. He wrapped an illusion around all three of them, extending Jason's power to make them effectively invisible to casual observation. The technique required almost no concentration.
The flight to the pyramids took only a few minutes at his speed, the desert landscape rushing past below them. As they drew closer, the massive structures grew larger and more impressive, their scale becoming truly apparent. But something struck him as odd.
The stone looked surprisingly new.
Tyson slowed their approach, hovering about fifty feet above the ground as they studied the pyramids more carefully. Jean and Jessica maintained their positions beside him.
"Those don't look right," Jessica said. "Aren't they supposed to be all weathered and missing pieces?"
In every photograph he had ever seen, the ancient structures showed clear signs of age and weathering. The limestone casing stones had been stripped away centuries ago, leaving the underlying core blocks exposed and rough. But these pyramids still had their smooth outer casing intact. The limestone gleamed in the fading sunlight, polished to a mirror finish that reflected the desert sky. The structures looked like they had just undergone a complete renovation, every stone perfectly fitted and pristine.
"Something's wrong here," Jean said.
"You're right," Tyson said. "I noticed something when we entered the atmosphere. There were no satellites in orbit. None. Not a single piece of debris, no space station, nothing."
Jessica turned to him. "Why didn't you mention it?"
"Seemed the least of our concerns at the time. Admittedly, I was enjoying the moment. We were falling out of the sky in a burning ship with four people who'd just triggered genetic mutations." He gestured toward the pristine pyramids below them. "But now it's starting to paint a picture."
Jean looked between the two of them, then back at the structures. "No satellites and brand-new pyramids. You think we traveled through time?"
Jessica crossed her arms. "The casing stones were stripped off the Great Pyramid around the 14th century. These still have theirs. So at minimum, we're looking at pre-1300s. But given how clean they look, we could be much further back than that."
"Thousands of years," Jean said.
"Possibly."
The three of them hovered in silence above the desert. Below, the pyramids stood in their original glory, monuments to a civilization that was very much alive.
A city stretched close to the pyramids, much closer than he remembered from documentaries and travel shows. Modern Cairo was supposed to be some distance away, with the Giza plateau standing somewhat isolated in the desert. But this settlement crept close to the monuments.
He lowered them to the ground at the edge of the settlement, maintaining the illusion as they began walking through the outskirts. A group was heading out from the city into the desert on camelback. It was a strange dichotomy that caught his attention immediately. They wore traditional robes and head coverings, the flowing fabric practical for desert travel, but they also carried what were unmistakably firearms.
"Guns," Jessica whispered, pointing at the departing riders.
Tyson had never been to Egypt and didn't know if that combination was normal for the region, but something about it felt anachronistic. The weapons looked wrong somehow, not quite modern but not entirely primitive either. The group hadn't noticed their trio, so they kept moving deeper into the settlement.
The city itself seemed far older than he expected. The buildings appeared reasonably well-maintained, with fresh mortar between stones and clean surfaces. But the construction was entirely of stone blocks fitted together. There was no modern brick or concrete anywhere, no steel reinforcement or glass windows.
The streets were narrow and winding, paved with fitted stone rather than asphalt. The smell of burning oil and cooking food filled the air, along with the scent of animals and unwashed bodies.
"This place reeks," Jessica muttered, wrinkling her nose. "Like, seriously reeks."
Jean walked in silence, and the tension between her shoulders said enough.
They walked deeper into the settlement, unease growing with each step. Children ran barefoot through the streets, and merchants called out in a language that sounded like Arabic. Thanks to Odin making him a god, he had the Allspeak, but their words were tinged with unfamiliar inflections and cadences.
"Can you understand them?" Jessica asked quietly.
"Yeah, but something's off about the dialect," Tyson replied. "It's like Arabic, but not quite."
Everything felt wrong. The architecture, the clothing, the technology, even the way people moved and interacted. This wasn't the Egypt he knew from history books and documentaries.
As they continued through the city, passing workshops where craftsmen shaped metal with primitive tools and markets where goods were traded without any sign of modern currency, a terrible realization began to form in his mind.
While this city was undoubtedly primitive, it wasn't as primitive as he expected an ancient version of Egypt should be. The Pyramids looked new, but that group they'd seen riding out of town had guns. History wasn't his strongest subject, but he was pretty sure guns weren't commonplace until the 1500s, maybe. And the ones those riders had looked more advanced than muskets. So perhaps the 1800s?
He should've paid more attention in class instead of focusing on Felicia and Natasha when he was at Midtown. History just didn't seem that important then. He needed more information. A newspaper with the date would be nice. So they kept walking. Learning what time period this was had become a priority. They'd need to secure some food in the process.
Tyson moved deeper into the settlement, Jean and Jessica close behind, their invisible forms weaving between groups of people as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing. The inconsistencies grew, creating a puzzle that refused to fit together properly.
The buildings themselves told conflicting stories. Stone blocks formed the foundations and walls, cut with precision that would have impressed modern engineers. The joints between stones were tight, yet no mortar held the blocks together; they relied entirely on weight and perfect fitting. The craftsmanship reminded him of Incan stonework, but this was clearly Egyptian in style.
"Look at that metalwork," Jean said quietly.
Mounted on the walls were metal fixtures that looked far too advanced for primitive construction. Oil lamps hung from wrought iron brackets. The ironwork displayed intricate patterns and curves that suggested advanced forging capabilities.
They paused near a workshop where a blacksmith worked at his forge. The forge itself burned with wood and charcoal; the metal looked like high-quality steel rather than crude iron. Through his metal-sense, he could feel there were a few imperfections. The blacksmith was crafting what appeared to be gun components.
"That's not ancient technology," Jessica whispered. "Those look like rifle parts."
This wasn't the rough, unreliable metalwork of early firearms.
Moving on, they found a marketplace where the contradictions became even more pronounced. Merchants sold goods from wooden stalls that showed expert joinery. Pottery displayed on the stalls all had slight differences and imperfections that suggested they were made on a wheel. Textiles hung from display racks, the weaving so fine and uniform that it suggested mechanical looms, but the patterns and dyes were clearly not modern in origin.
What really caught his attention were the weapons being sold openly in the market. Swords and spears showed metallurgy that was far too advanced for any ancient civilization he knew about. The steel felt like it had been properly tempered and folded, techniques that took centuries to develop. But alongside these advanced weapons sat bronze implements that looked authentically ancient.
"This makes no sense," Jessica said, staring at the weapon displays. "It's like someone took different time periods and mashed them together."
Jean's voice had gone quiet. "Maybe someone did. Maybe that's exactly what happened."
They observed a group of scribes working at a public writing station using reed pens and papyrus, exactly what he would expect from ancient Egypt.
"So what are you thinking?" Jessica asked. "Because you've got that look like you're figuring something out."
"I think we're in the wrong time," Tyson said slowly. Based on what he was seeing, he began to form a hypothesis. The combination of advanced metallurgy, sophisticated weapons, and precision manufacturing suggested a time period much later than ancient Egypt. The presence of firearms alone pushed the timeline forward significantly. "This isn't ancient Egypt. But it's not modern Egypt either. The technology suggests maybe the 1700s, 1800s? Industrial Revolution era, maybe?"
Jean's laugh was sharp and bitter. "Of course, you were right, and it's time travel."
They continued their reconnaissance through the city, the contradictions they'd observed gnawing at their understanding of where and when they'd landed. A commotion near the city's center drew their attention. Voices carried, sharp commands, authoritative tones. They moved toward the sound, Tyson's illusion keeping all three of them hidden as they navigated the narrow passages between buildings.
A patrol emerged from a side street. Their equipment immediately caught Tyson's attention. Each carried weapons.
"Those aren't any firearms I've seen," Jessica said quietly. "The design is completely wrong for any historical period."
Jean studied the patrol. "Soldiers always look the same, regardless of the century."
Tyson led them along rooftops to maintain visuals while staying well clear of detection. The patrol moved through the settlement, checking specific locations and questioning certain individuals.
As they walked, he caught fragments of their conversation. References to "the Pharaoh's will" and "Rama-Tut's commands" peppered their exchanges.
Rama-Tut.
The name echoed in his memory, familiar but frustratingly elusive. He knew he'd heard it before. Was it connected to King Tut? But when had King Tut actually ruled? His knowledge of Egyptian history was embarrassingly limited. Now, stranded in what appeared to be some version of historical Egypt, that ignorance left him fumbling in the dark.
"Rama-Tut," Jessica repeated thoughtfully. "That name doesn't appear in any historical records I know. Either we're dealing with alternate history, or..."
"Or someone's rewriting it," Jean finished.
The patrol continued their rounds, and they maintained surveillance from above. Their route took them through several districts of the settlement, each stop revealing more about their purpose. They weren't just maintaining order; they were enforcing it. Citizens stepped aside with obvious deference, some showing clear fear. This wasn't the casual respect given to local guards. This was the reaction of people living under an authoritarian rule.
A disturbance erupted from a narrow alley ahead of the patrol. Shouts were followed by the sound of running feet. The soldiers immediately shifted formation, weapons raised as they moved toward the commotion.
Tyson dropped to street level while maintaining his illusion over all three of them. He needed to see what was happening, and the rooftops no longer provided adequate visibility.
The scene that unfolded in the alley defied his expectations entirely.
A figure in white flowed between the soldiers. Wrapped in tattered cloth that obscured most details, the person fought with a combination of martial arts and acrobatics that belonged in a superhero movie. Getting a clear look, he recognized them. Though the costume looked far rougher and more primitive than the version he remembered.
"Moon Knight?" he muttered. "What's he doing here?"
"She," Jessica corrected, noting the figure's proportions and movements. "That's definitely a woman."
Jean watched the white-clad figure vault over a soldier's outstretched arm and deliver a spinning kick that sent him sprawling. "Who's Moon Knight? I've never heard of them before." She glanced at Tyson. "Are they a mutant from our time, too?"
"No. Moon Knight isn't a mutant." Tyson tracked the figure's movements, cataloging the fighting style. Brutal, efficient, but with a theatrical flair that served no tactical purpose. "She's more like Batman."
Jean stared at him. "Batman? The comic book character? Batman isn't real."
He gestured toward the alley where the woman in white had just disarmed a soldier with a crescent-shaped blade. "Moon Knight is a vigilante. No powers, or at least, that's debatable. Fights crime, has a thing for the moon. The Batman comparison tracks."
"You're telling me there's a real person who dresses up like a bat," Jean said flatly.
"Dresses up like the moon, actually. Different aesthetic, same energy." He paused.
Jessica had been watching the fight. "Whoever she is, she's losing. There are too many of them, and she's already favoring her left side."
Equally attention-grabbing was the young man Moon Knight was protecting.
The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen, but his clothing was completely wrong for the setting. Instead of linen robes or simple tunics, he wore what looked like armor from a science fiction movie. The material appeared to be some kind of advanced polymer or metal alloy.
"Is that Iron Man?" Jean asked.
The contrast was jarring. Here was someone dressed like he'd stepped out of a futuristic laboratory, being rescued by a figure who looked like an ancient Egyptian bat-girl, while soldiers carrying impossible weapons gave chase through streets belonging to a historical period that made no sense.
The soldiers raised their rifles, and Tyson expected the crack of gunpowder and the smell of smoke. Instead, brilliant beams of energy lanced through the air, striking stone walls and leaving scorch marks that glowed briefly before fading. The weapons weren't firing bullets at all.
"Energy weapons," Jean said.
"Okay, what the hell?" Tyson mumbled.
Moon Knight used the narrow alley walls to bounce between surfaces while protecting the young man. She moved without wasted motion, each leap calculated to avoid the energy beams while positioning herself for the next maneuver. She grabbed the young man's arm and leaped upward, somehow finding handholds on the stone walls that allowed them to climb rapidly toward the rooftops.
"Should we help?" Jessica asked.
"Not yet. Let's see where this leads first."
The chase led through a maze of interconnected buildings, across flat rooftops, and down into courtyards where shadows provided concealment for the fleeing pair.
Eventually, Moon Knight and the young Iron Man reached what appeared to be their destination. A building at the settlement's edge, its architecture distinctly different from the surrounding structures. Where the city buildings showed Egyptian influence mixed with anachronistic elements, this structure was purely ancient in design.
It was a temple with massive stone blocks fitted together with the same technique he'd observed throughout the settlement, but here the craftsmanship served a purely religious purpose. Hieroglyphs were carved deep into the limestone and filled with pigments that still showed vibrant colors despite obvious age. Tall columns supported a roof that disappeared into shadow, their surfaces carved to resemble papyrus stalks bundled together. Between the columns, statues of falcon-headed figures stood guard, their eyes seeming to track movement with unsettling awareness.
But beyond all of it, the structure radiated power that had nothing to do with stone or hieroglyphs.
This wasn't just some church. He could feel the magic.
Moon Knight and the young man disappeared through a side entrance.
Tyson approached the temple entrance, his illusion still active, but he felt Loki's power waver under the weight of whatever power emanated from the ancient stones. The hieroglyphs seemed to pulse, and he felt something stirring in response to his presence.
"You may enter, child of ravens."
The voice resonated not through his ears but directly into his mind, carrying divine weight and the cold touch of moonlight. Tyson's illusion that had concealed his group flickered and died as they stepped through the entrance.
"Khonshu knows that spark. The ravens have sung of you."
The interior of the temple stretched far beyond what the external dimensions seemed to allow. Moonlight streamed through openings that couldn't exist based on the roof structure he'd observed from outside. At the far end of the main chamber, a massive statue of Khonshu dominated the space, its falcon head crowned with a crescent moon that cast silver light across the stone floor.
"Ravonna, we have visitors."
The voice belonged to the young man in the futuristic armor. He emerged from behind one of the columns, his equipment now clearly visible. The armor was definitely advanced technology, but worn and battle-scarred in ways that suggested extended use under harsh conditions.
Jessica said, "Now I'm really confused."
Moon Knight appeared beside him, unwrapping the cloth from her head to reveal a woman's face. She assessed Tyson and his companions. Her dark hair was pulled back.
"Ravonna Renslayer," she said, extending her hand. "And this is Nathaniel Richards."
Nathaniel Richards? It couldn't be. Tyson recognized that name.
Kang. Kang the Conqueror.
The young man stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal a face that was younger than his own, no older than sixteen. "You can call me Nate. Though from your face, I'm guessing you've heard my name before."
"I'm known as Valravn. These are my companions, Jessica and Jean." Since Khonshu seemed to recognize that title, Tyson leaned into it. "And you're right, I do recognize the name, Richards. The question is, which version are you?"
Nate's expression grew grim. "The one trying to prevent myself from becoming a monster."
"The young one speaks truth. He flees from his own shadow. Ravonna serves justice in my name. Both fight against the tyrant who claims dominion over this land."
Ravonna gestured toward a side chamber where cushions and low tables suggested a living space. "We should talk. If Khonshu vouches for you, then you're an ally."
They settled in the smaller chamber, where oil lamps provided warmer light than the temple's supernatural illumination. Ravonna poured water from a clay pitcher.
"Rama-Tut has ruled this region for twenty years," she began. "He appeared with advanced technology and equipped an army of soldiers with energy weapons. Within months, he'd conquered every settlement within a hundred miles of the Nile."
"The people call him Pharaoh," Nate added bitterly. "They don't understand that he's not Egyptian at all. He's from the thirty-first century, using this time period as his personal kingdom."
"And you're here because?" Tyson asked.
"Because I've seen what I become," Nate said. "In my original timeline, I grew up to be him. Rama-Tut, Kang the Conqueror, Immortus. Different names for the same megalomaniac who decides that ruling through fear and violence is the only way to bring order to the timestream. I thought I could stop him here," Nate continued. "Prevent him from gaining the power and knowledge that would eventually turn him into the Conqueror. But he was already established when we arrived. Somehow, he'd gotten here first."
"How many more time travelers are there?" Jean muttered. "Why is this so much more complicated than it should be?"
"The worst part is what he's doing to find En Sabah Nur," Ravonna said.
"Is that someone important?" Jessica asked.
"En Sabah Nur," Tyson repeated. Then he mumbled, "Apocalypse."
Jessica said, "That sounds ominous."
"Why do you know so much about this?" Jean whispered.
"I'll explain later, promise."
"Rama-Tut knows that Apocalypse is somewhere in this time period. He wants to capture him, learn the secrets of his immortality and power, and make him into his inheritor."
Nate's hands clenched into fists. "He's been systematically hunting down anyone who might have information about the mutant. There was a tribe called the Sandstormers who lived in the deep desert. They were nomads, peaceful people who preserved old stories and legends."
"Were?" Tyson asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"Rama-Tut's forces found their camp two months ago," Ravonna said quietly. "They interrogated everyone, from the eldest storytellers to children barely old enough to speak. When they didn't get the information they wanted, they killed them all."
"Three hundred people," Nate whispered. "Men, women, children. All because they might have known something."
Tyson had known Rama-Tut as a footnote in his metaknowledge, and Kang as a series of escalations on a tier list of villains he might one day fight. The footnote was here and had a body count. The kid across from him would give that order himself one day.
He held that fact in one hand and Nate in the other, and didn't know how to resolve them yet.
Two versions of Kang the Conqueror sat on opposite sides of this conflict. Rama-Tut, the established tyrant with advanced technology and a growing power base, ruling through fear and energy weapons. And Nate, this kid, barely old enough to drive, who claimed he was trying to prevent his own dark future.
But if Rama-Tut was already here, already ruling, already slaughtering nomads for information... then Nate had failed. Right? Or would fail. Wasn't that how things worked?
He tried to think through it. If Nate was here trying to stop himself from becoming Rama-Tut, but Rama-Tut was already here, that meant Nate became Rama-Tut. The loop was closed. The kid sitting across from him would one day decide that conquest was easier, that fear worked. That three hundred dead nomads were an acceptable cost for information.
However. Nate might still be able to pull himself back. If he got through to Rama-Tut somehow, made the older version remember what he'd been once, made him turn away from tyranny. That was the play Nate was making, wasn't it? Appeal to the man he used to be. Remind the Conqueror that he'd once been a boy who fought for others.
That sounded good in theory.
The truth was uglier. This Nate would become Rama-Tut. Every choice he made from here forward led to that throne. Every compromise, every failure, every small cruelty justified by necessity would accumulate until the boy became the Pharaoh. So the question formed in the back of Tyson's mind.
If he attacked Nate right now and killed him, would Rama-Tut cease to exist? Would the tyrant blink out of reality mid-sentence somewhere in his palace? Or would it create a paradox that broke things in ways nobody could predict?
He didn't know enough about how time travel actually functioned here. The mechanics. Whether this was a single timeline that could be rewritten or branching paths that existed simultaneously. Whether killing Nate would solve the problem or create something worse.
But that wasn't true. He did know the mechanics. He'd learned them in the TVA, had the principles drilled into him through Ms. Minutes' cheerful quizzes and Mobius's patient explanations and the dense operational manual he'd read cover to cover during downtime between missions. Branching timelines. Nexus events. The threshold at which a variant's deviation became irreversible versus the point where it could still be pruned back to the Sacred Timeline.
He knew how it worked. Or at least, how the TVA said it worked.
The question was whether any of that applied here.
The TVA operated under rules established for the Sacred Timeline. A timeline that wasn't his, by what he saw in the sky at the Citadel at the End of Time. And a rulset created by He Who Remains. A Kang variant. The one who'd won his multiversal war and set himself up as the invisible architect of all temporal reality. Every principle Tyson had learned, every rule about how timelines branched and collapsed and were maintained, had been designed by a version of the same man sitting across from him.
So when the TVA manual said that killing a variant before their nexus event wouldn't eliminate the downstream timeline but would instead create a branch that required pruning, was that science? Or was that policy? Had He Who Remains described how time actually functioned, or had he described how he wanted it to function, and then built an organization to enforce that preference?
And most of all, why had he sent Tyson back at all? Just to take out the competition? The other Kangs? One of which was sitting right here with him.
Tyson looked at Nate. The kid was watching him, waiting for some kind of response.
He didn't have an answer yet.
And there was the other thing. The thing that made that harder than it should have been.
Nate hadn't done anything wrong yet.
But he would. That was certain. The timeline said so. The loop said so. Every version of this story ended with Nathaniel Richards becoming something monstrous.
It was like asking whether you'd kill Hitler as a baby. The philosophical thought experiment that everyone treated as hypothetical, except Tyson was sitting across from baby Hitler right now, and baby Hitler was offering him water and calling him an ally.
Was it or was it not like the Hitler problem?
He Who Remains had told Tyson that he needed to fight his variants. That the other Kangs were the threat, the reason the multiverse needed pruning, the enemy that justified everything the TVA had built. And here sat a Kang variant, young and earnest and apparently fighting against his own future.
Tyson's metaknowledge of Kang was thin. In his previous life, Kang had never been a villain he'd paid much attention to. A time-travel headache wrapped in purple armor, showing up in storylines he'd skimmed past. He knew the broad strokes. Conqueror. Multiple identities across time. Obsessed with legacy and dominion. But he was fairly sure of one thing.
Kang came back.
You killed one, and another appeared. You erased a timeline, and the variant emerged from a different branch. The whole point of He Who Remains' war had been that his variants were persistent.
So did it matter what order he took them out? Did killing Nate here accomplish anything that killing Rama-Tut wouldn't?
"What's your plan?" he asked.
"Survival, mostly," Ravonna admitted. "We've been conducting guerrilla operations, trying to disrupt his supply lines and rescue people before his forces can reach them. But we're outnumbered and outgunned."
"Khonshu provides sanctuary and guidance," Nate added. "But even a god's power has limits. Rama-Tut has technology that can disrupt magical energies and mutant abilities."
Jessica frowned. "And you're sure there's no way to redeem him?"
The look that passed between Ravonna and Nate was answer enough.
"I've tried," Nate said. "I've sent him messages, tried to arrange meetings, even attempted to approach him directly. He sees me as either a threat to be eliminated or a younger version of him to be controlled and shaped. There's no reasoning with him."
"He's already too far down the path," Ravonna added. "The power, the technology, the absolute control over this region. It's corrupted him completely, replaced by something that sees people as resources to be exploited."
Nate's jaw tightened. Ravonna's face was set. They believed what they were telling him, had lived through enough to understand the stakes. But they didn't know what he knew.
Or, since they were the future, maybe they did.
Kang, regardless of their current intentions, represented threats that would eventually span centuries and timelines. The young man sitting across from him, earnest and determined to do better, would eventually become one of the greatest villains.
And Ravonna, for all her current dedication to justice, would eventually return to serving that same villain in future incarnations, whether it was through time shenanigans, resurrection, reincarnation, or something else. Hell, maybe she'd even be the same Ravonna in the TVA, though Tyson doubted it since she didn't recognize him when she judged him back when he arrived there with Loki.
The solution was obvious, even if it was morally complex. Two problems that could be solved with decisive action.
Apocalypse was a whole other issue.
"Tell me more about Rama-Tut," Tyson said. "If we're going to stop him, I need to understand what we're up against. But before that, one thing first. What year is it, exactly?"
Nate blinked at the question. "By your calendar? 3,000 BC."
"Well, you were way off," Jean said.
He deserved that. His original estimate had been somewhere around 1700-1800 based on the architecture, weapons, etc. But Rama-Tut's interventions had knocked his guess off by thousands of years. In his defense, the anachronistic technology scattered throughout the city made dating anything by visual observation almost impossible.
"The settlement is more advanced than it should be," Tyson said. "Rama-Tut's influence?"
"Partially," Nate confirmed. "He introduced certain technologies selectively. Irrigation systems, metallurgy techniques, and architectural methods. Enough to accelerate development and make the population dependent on his knowledge, but not enough to give them any real power."
"Classic colonial playbook," Jessica said. "Give them just enough to need you. Make their lives a little easier, yours a little better, but never give them enough to challenge you."
Nate nodded. "A full generation of people has grown up knowing nothing else. To them, he's always been Pharaoh. His soldiers have always carried weapons that can kill from a distance."
Ravonna's face went hard as she continued. "Before Rama-Tut's arrival, this region was ruled by Pharaoh Amenhotep. He wasn't perfect, but he was a legitimate ruler who cared for his people. When Rama-Tut appeared with his advanced weapons and technology, Amenhotep's forces couldn't stand against him."
"What happened to Amenhotep?" Jean asked.
"Dead within a week," Nate said bitterly. "Rama-Tut had him executed publicly to demonstrate his power. But he kept Amenhotep's children alive."
"As leverage," Ravonna continued. "He forced them into his service, using their loyalty to their father's memory and their people's welfare to ensure compliance. Amenhotep's son, Ozymandias, became Rama-Tut's general. He's the one leading the patrols and carried out the massacre of the Sandstormers. Rama-Tut gave the order, but Ozymandias executed it personally. Three hundred people, including children, all because they might have possessed knowledge about En Sabah Nur's location."
"Ozymandias hates what he's become," Nate added quietly. "But Rama-Tut holds his sister's life as collateral. Every order he refuses to follow brings her closer to execution."
A tyrant with future technology, a corrupted general forced into service, and somewhere in this time period, Apocalypse himself waiting to be found.
Khonshu's voice echoed through the temple.
"Their weapons can nullify your mutations."
Tyson groaned. "Of course they can. Don't get shot or we're depowered. It'll be like the Sinister Six all over again."
Except it'd be worse than that battle, since now he had to worry about two Kangs, Apocalypse, and Moon Knight. For backup, all he had was a Fantastic Four who didn't know how to use their powers yet, plus Jessica. And Jean, who barely counted because she couldn't use her powers while wearing Magneto's helmet.
"Alright, I'm getting the picture. I'll help you take down Rama-Tut. But what I don't understand is your stake in this? What does Khonshu get out of this? If it's about followers, won't you be trading one god-king for another? With Rama-Tut out of the way, won't Apocalypse just take over?"
Ravonna opened her mouth to respond, but Tyson held up a hand.
"And why trust me? Just because I'm Valravn?"
Khonshu's presence filled the chamber, his voice resonating from every surface.
"The Conqueror seeks to chain time itself. He would make all moments serve his will, bend every possibility to his design. This offends the natural order that governs night and day, the cycles that give meaning to existence."
The falcon-headed statue's eyes seemed to glow brighter.
"En Sabah Nur is powerful, but he serves the natural order in his way. The strong survive, the weak perish, and time moves forward as it should. The Conqueror would freeze time in his image, make himself the eternal center of all existence."
The god's attention shifted to Tyson specifically, a weight that pressed against his consciousness.
"As for trust, child of ravens, you carry marks that speak of your nature. The scent of Asgardian magic clings to you, but beneath it lies something else. You have stood against those who would break the world for their own gain. You have chosen sacrifice over safety, protection over power."
The presence intensified, and Tyson felt as though Khonshu was reading something written in his very soul.
"You bear the weight of knowledge that should not exist. You have seen futures that may come to pass, witnessed endings that must be prevented. The ravens whisper of a choice, a price you will pay to stand here in this moment."
Ravonna and Nate exchanged glances, clearly hearing only Khonshu's words without understanding the full context.
Jean had heard most of what Khonshu was saying; the rest she had guessed. The helmet pressed in a steady ring of weight against her temples. This is the man you came with, she reminded herself. This is what you came to stand beside. Even a god agrees.
"But most telling of all, you ask the right questions. You do not assume that removing one threat will solve all problems. You understand that power creates vacuums, and vacuums draw those who would fill them. This wisdom marks you as one who has learned from failure, who has paid the cost of naive heroism. I gain nothing from this conflict save the preservation of natural order. I lose followers whether Rama-Tut rules or falls. But I serve justice, and justice demands that no single being control the flow of time itself. The Conqueror's ambitions threaten not just this era, but all eras. As for En Sabah Nur, when he awakens, he will face the same choice all beings face. Serve the natural order or be brought to justice. But that reckoning belongs to its proper time. The Conqueror seeks to corrupt that awakening, to twist the First One's power to serve his own ends."
The presence began to withdraw, but Khonshu's final words carried the weight of prophecy.
"You ask why trust you, Valravn? Because you are here. Because you chose to come, knowing the dangers, carrying burdens that would crush lesser souls. Because when faced with power beyond measure, you ask not how to claim it, though you could, but how to prevent its misuse."
The chamber returned to normal lighting, leaving Tyson, Ravonna, and Nate sitting in the aftermath of divine attention.
"Well," Ravonna said after a moment, "Khonshu doesn't often explain his reasoning so thoroughly. You must have made quite an impression."
Rama-Tut was actively working to corrupt one of the most dangerous beings in history while building a power base that could threaten the entire timestream. And those energy weapons could strip away his mutations, leaving him as vulnerable as any normal human… Well, any normal human with an adamantium skeleton.
— Rogue Redemption —
Tyson adjusted the belt. Mjolnir hung at his side, the supplies Ravonna had provided clinking in the sack over his shoulder. Water and dried provisions, enough for several days in the desert. The belt allowed him to sling the hammer from one side, and he'd gotten a sheath that he could sling across his back for Nexus.
These were his insurance policy.
When he'd been weakened after Amora's boost, he couldn't call his ninjato from his soul. Mjolnir channeled Thor's power into its wielder. Even if Rama-Tut's weapons stripped away his mutations, now he wouldn't be defenseless.
Jean and Jessica were still waiting inside the temple, along with Ravonna and Nate. He'd planned to return to the Marvel-1 with his supplies, check on his team, and formulate a proper strategy for dealing with Rama-Tut's growing threat. Plus, the time-traveling pharaoh had gotten here somehow. Whatever method he'd used was their ticket home.
Those plans evaporated the moment he caught sight of the procession.
Tyson had been walking down one of the city's thoroughfares when movement in a connecting side street drew his attention. Something about the lead figure struck him as odd. The man sat too proudly on his camel, chest puffed out with the arrogance of someone displaying a prize. The energy weapon, similar to the other patrols, hung across his back.
Curiosity overrode caution. Tyson diverted from his path, slipping into the shadows of the side street's entrance. His illusion wrapped around him like a second skin, rendering him invisible to casual observation.
The procession came into full view, and Tyson's stomach dropped.
Reed Richards stumbled along in chains. He kept trying to stretch his arms, but nothing happened. Behind him, Sue Storm walked with her head held high despite her restraints, though the telltale shimmer that surrounded her when she tested her powers was completely absent.
Johnny Storm looked the worst of all. He kept flexing his fingers, trying desperately to summon even a spark. When nothing happened, his face crumpled with the kind of despair that came from losing a fundamental part of yourself, one he'd just been elated to discover.
Ben Grimm presented the cruelest irony. His rocky orange skin remained intact, marking him as The Thing. But when one of the guards shoved him forward, Ben stumbled like any normal man would. The superhuman strength that came with his monstrous appearance had been stripped away, leaving him trapped in a body that now served only as a prison.
Poor guy, Tyson thought. Even depowered, he still looked like that. He was probably only starting to realize his situation now.
The man leading the procession had to be Ozymandias. He wore the regalia of Egyptian nobility mixed with modern tactical gear.
But the Fantastic Four weren't the only captives.
Behind them, a second group of prisoners shuffled along in similar restraints. Tyson counted at least a dozen people, their clothing and appearance marking them as locals rather than time travelers. Men and women of various ages, all sharing the same defeated expression that came from having their world turned upside down.
One man caught his attention.
He had tan skin, but was separated from the others by his own group of guards. They seemed to be paying more attention to him than the other prisoners, including the Fantastic Four.
Coincidence?
Doubtful.
It had to be En Sabah Nur.
The rest of the local prisoners showed similar signs of recent violence. Bruises, cuts, torn clothing. They'd been taken by force, probably during one of Rama-Tut's raids.
Tyson fell into step behind the procession, maintaining his distance while his illusion kept him hidden. The guards looked professional but not particularly alert. Their confidence in their advanced weapons and the complacency of the populace had led them to be lax about threats. The procession moved through the settlement's streets. Vendors and residents cleared out of the way, their faces showing the specific fear of people who had learned not to draw attention. No one met the prisoners' eyes. No one offered help or comfort. The message was clear.
Resistance brought consequences, and those consequences extended beyond the resisters themselves.
Ozymandias called a halt. "Lord Rama-Tut expects these prisoners delivered within the hour."
One of the guards gestured toward the Fantastic Four. "What about the strange ones? Their weapons had no effect on the rock man's appearance."
"The suppression fields are working perfectly," Ozymandias replied. "Their abilities are completely neutralized. Lord Rama-Tut will be most interested in them."
Reed lifted his head at that, his scientific mind apparently overriding his fear. "You're making a mistake. We're not from here. Our presence could cause major disruptions in ways you can't imagine."
Ozymandias turned to study Reed. "Lord Rama-Tut is quite aware, I assure you. Your arrival was... noticed. Do you think we haven't seen a flying ship before?"
Ozymandias spurred his camel forward, and the procession resumed its march through the settlement. Tyson maintained his distance, noting how the architecture grew more imposing as they approached what had to be Rama-Tut's seat of power.
The buildings here bore clear signs of technological enhancement. Guard towers equipped with scanning devices rose at regular intervals, creating an anachronistic fusion of ancient Egyptian design with futuristic technology.
The procession turned onto a wide avenue that led straight to Rama-Tut's stronghold. The building dominated the settlement's center, a massive pyramid that had been gutted and rebuilt from within. The original stone exterior remained, but energy fields shimmered across its surface, and weapon emplacements jutted from strategic points along its walls.
Guards in matching tactical gear with weapons identical to those carried by the patrol units stood at attention along the avenue. Each guard wore armor that combined ancient Egyptian aesthetics with advanced materials.
Tyson counted at least thirty visible guards just on the approach to the pyramid. More would be stationed inside, and the energy fields suggested automated defenses as well. Breaking in would require careful planning and significant firepower.
The procession reached the pyramid's main entrance, a massive archway fitted with energy barriers. Ozymandias dismounted from his camel and approached a control panel embedded in the wall beside the entrance. He pressed his palm against a scanning surface, and the barriers flickered off.
"Move them inside," he commanded the guards.
The prisoners were herded through the archway into a vast chamber that served as the pyramid's main hall. The interior had been completely transformed. Ancient stone walls now housed banks of advanced computer systems.
Tyson slipped through the entrance behind the last guard. The main hall buzzed with activity as dozens of technicians worked at various stations. Ozymandias led the procession across the main hall toward a series of corridors that branched off from the central chamber. The guards maintained their formation around the prisoners, weapons ready.
"The special prisoners go to the isolation wing," Ozymandias instructed. "Lord Rama-Tut wants them kept separate from the general population."
They entered a corridor lined with detention cells. The original stone construction had been reinforced with energy barriers and monitoring systems. Each cell was equipped with its own suppression field generator, ensuring that any powered individuals would remain helpless while imprisoned. Tyson felt his illusion thin the moment he crossed the corridor's threshold. There was some kind of suppression field interfering with his mutation. It wasn't like wearing a mutation inhibitor collar where his power was snuffed out instantly. In this case, it was like he was trying to sense the metals around him through a haze. He shifted to Asgardian magic, and the illusion held. He filed that under things he needed to adjust for.
The first stop was a heavily reinforced section clearly designed for high-value prisoners. Ozymandias gestured for the guards to halt the procession.
"The four strangers go here," he said, indicating a series of cells that had been modified with additional security measures. "Separate cells, maximum isolation."
Reed was shoved into the first cell, the energy barrier snapping into place behind him. He immediately moved to examine the walls and the barrier itself, scientific curiosity overriding his circumstances even in captivity.
Sue was placed in the adjacent cell. She tested the barrier with her hands, presumably trying to determine if her force fields might work despite the suppression field. When nothing happened, she sat down on the simple cot and began studying the cell's construction with a similar methodical approach.
Johnny's cell was across the corridor from his sister's. He slumped against the wall, still flexing his fingers in futile attempts to produce flame. His frustration was palpable, the loss of his newfound abilities clearly devastating to him.
Ben was placed in the largest cell, reinforced to contain physically powerful prisoners. He tested the walls with his rocky fists, but without his superhuman strength, the impacts produced only dull thuds. He sat heavily on the reinforced cot, which creaked under his weight.
"Monitor them continuously," Ozymandias ordered the guards. "Lord Rama-Tut will want detailed reports on their behavior and any attempts to activate their abilities."
The procession continued deeper into the detention wing. The remaining prisoners were processed more quickly, placed in standard cells that still featured suppression fields but lacked the additional security measures reserved for the Fantastic Four.
The man Tyson suspected of being En Sabah Nur was treated differently. Instead of being placed with the other local prisoners, he was escorted to a separate section of the detention wing. His cell was located in an area with additional security, and the guards handling him wore specialized equipment that suggested they were dealing with someone particularly dangerous.
Ozymandias personally oversaw the man's placement, speaking quietly with the guards about monitoring and security. Tyson couldn't make out the specific words from his position, but the level of attention being paid to this one prisoner confirmed his suspicions about the man's identity.
Once all the prisoners were secured, Ozymandias conducted a final inspection of the detention wing. He checked each cell's suppression field status, reviewed the monitoring systems, and issued additional orders to the guards about patrol schedules and reporting procedures.
"Lord Rama-Tut expects a full briefing within the hour," he told the senior guard. "Ensure that all systems remain operational and that any unusual behavior is reported immediately."
The guards acknowledged their orders, and Ozymandias departed. Tyson remained in the shadows, mapping the detention wing's layout and noting the guard positions. The facility was well-designed and heavily defended, but it wasn't impregnable. The guards relied heavily on their technology, and their patrol patterns showed the kind of predictability that came from routine.
The suppression fields were the primary obstacle. Without a way to disable or bypass them, any rescue attempt would have to rely on conventional methods. The energy barriers could probably be overloaded or disrupted, but doing so would trigger alarms and bring reinforcements.
He spent another hour observing the facility's operations, noting shift changes and identifying potential weaknesses in the security arrangements. The guards were professional but not paranoid, confident in their technological advantages and the apparent passivity of the local population.
The detention wing had three main access points, each equipped with security checkpoints and automated defenses. The ventilation system might provide an alternative route, but the energy fields extended into those spaces as well.
Once he had mapped the basic layout and identified the key security measures, Tyson began his withdrawal from the pyramid. The same illusion that had gotten him inside would get him out, but he needed to time his exit carefully to avoid the guard patrols. He slipped back through the corridors, past the busy technicians in the main hall, and out through the entrance archway. The guards at the perimeter remained focused on external threats, allowing him to pass unnoticed.
The sun had set fully some time earlier as Tyson made his way back through the city's streets. The residents were retreating to their homes, the curfew that came with the occupation forcing them indoors.
By the time he reached the outskirts of the settlement, the moon was high in the desert sky. The Temple of Khonshu stood silhouetted against the stars at the city's outskirts. He paused at the edge of the courtyard.
A single oil lamp burned in the smaller chamber where they had spoken with Ravonna and Nate. Jessica's outline at the lamp, awake, waiting. Jean would be beside her.
The Fantastic Four were waiting for his rescue. Secure for now, but Rama-Tut would undoubtedly have something planned for them soon. And if the man in the isolated cell really was En Sabah Nur, he would need to move to prevent the corruption of one of the most dangerous mutants he knew of.
He didn't have backup. He had a Fantastic Four that didn't know how to use their powers yet, and they were suppressed anyway; Spider-Woman, and Jean Grey wearing Magneto's helmet that caged her power. Plus an unpowered emissary of a god that would one day pass judgment on a past version of himself in the TVA, and a younger version of the tyrant they were going to assault.
He crossed the courtyard.