AN: Alright folks...sighs I wanted to put something else up...and well...this is what I came up with. Now...c'mon who could pass up a good 80 pages...right? 'Specially some nice add-ins of the Med-Jai, right coughardethbaycough?'s the skinny...

WARNING: Possible Mary-Sue content. The reading of such fan-fiction will increase Paranoia, Attention Deficit Disorder, Premature hair loss, The Head Pigeons Disease (think Invader Zim), Nuclear waste will enter your brain and you will inevitably perish... (the bell-toll of DOOM!)

Now...I may go back and try to re-arrange her (hey, I wrote this when I was thriteen...gimme a break...x.x;;), but for now...proceed at your own risk (complete with original Authors Note and artificially vanilla flavoured! All yours for 12.99! [couldn't resist sweatdrop]) ...and go on...flame if you must...but...just...have a look at my better developed stuff, ya? (Jesus! I've gotta stop playing FFX-2...AUGH!...sorry for the dorkdom insert...x.x;;)

The Mummy

AN: Okay, this is my first fic (well, not really...I have on another website based on Castlevania: Legacy of Darkness from Ortega's POV...okay that was really irrelevant...) I know I should get on with the story. This is My version of "The Mummy"(It takes a while but you'll see), All the Characters (Rick, Evelyn, Jonathan, Ardeth Bay, Imhotep, and Anak-Su-Namun...hey if you don't see anyone that you don't recognize then they're mine(sometimes, I like to be mean to my characters... but hey don't we all...) pause ...MWA HA HA HA HA!!!...ahem heh-heh...okay...)they aren't mine and all the legal stuff, blah, blah, blah...ZZZZ (Steven Sommers kicks ass by the way...) ZZZZ. It gets quite boring so...(I really wish they were mine...specially Ardeth(Oded)...sigh...). BUT, I'll tell you which characters are mine, Caley (tell me if she's a tight-blouse wearing bitch...I'll change her if you think that she is, so that she has more IQ) Ahmed, Jarim, Devin, Asim, Sami, Wadid, and Siad are mine (You'll see as the plot unfolds...don't start beating me up on the ship's name now (at Giza Port)! It's really cheezy!) I'd rate this PG-13 (does it really matter? I mean people will read it anyway, they like anything with blood gore and all that other good shtuff, heh-heh) So...sorry to bore you (kind of a long AN but I'm prone to these things...Think large cardboard box...yeeesssss...) Here we go....

P r o l o g u e : S a n d a n d B l o o d

The morning unfolded with a blossoming sun that washed the sand in a pinkish, yellow color. The ruins stood like large sentinels keeping watch over a small camp, their shadows casting long wraith like shapes. Large obelisks and pillars lay smashed on the ground, their sand-stone features glimmering in the young light. The others that stood were crumbling but provided enough protection against marauding Tuareg warriors. The stars were still giving their dying glow along with the moon, a pale ship that gave a pristine and crisp feel to the cool air.

A single figure stood gazing out onto the vast sea of sand that began to absorb the livid heat of the sun. His brown hair was still tousled from sleeping, or at least of what he could get of it. He couldn't have slept, thinking about the day ahead was enough. He knew they were going to lose. His pale blue eyes scanned the ruins, seeming to look for an omen of some sort. He wore a white shirt with his jacket open, letting it catch in the faint desert wind, and light brown issued jodhpur that fit into his boots, worn from marching. He had two pistols tucked into his belt, one on either side. The sun glinted off them, showing what had to be done today. This man had no idea what was going to happen to him.

This was Richard O'Connell.

The war that was going on had kept him well awake, the strategy of doing well and not to get so many of the soldiers killed. The Tuaregs were fighting them for Hamunaptra, City of the Dead. No one knew much about it, except the Arab storytellers on the streets. Many did not believe much about the stories that hat had told, or more likely "woven". Rick didn't believe it that much. Only when he was a little boy, as an orphan running away. He had listened to them to hear the stories about the ancient curses, and most of all, adventure. He remembered that inspired him to join the French legion. He loved Egypt, he had lived in Egypt since the last he could remember, but he wasn't a native.

He kept on staring out into the space as a faint breeze passed over the dunes, in the likeness of the last, dying breath of the night, letting her sister take over, giving the world life again. He heard footsteps behind him, the crunching of sand. It was slow and limping. O'Connell felt a sudden pang of fear slowly creep over him, like a brief shadow in the wake of the sun's passing. He removed one firearm from his belt, and slowly pulled back the hammer, giving a small click that was only audible to him. The limping continued and when the time was right, O'Connell turned around, quick and sharp, frightening his comrade, Beni.

Beni was a tall, thin, bony man. He was a Frenchman that believed in quite a few religions, especially stealing from various holy places along the way to Egypt. He had learned the Hebrew language that way, and was very good at it. "O'Connell!," Beni stared down the barrel of the gun, "Uh...Hello..." O'Connell put his pistol away and clapped the Frenchman on the shoulder. "Sorry, Beni, I just don't think that I can trust anyone today, or at least when we're here,"

"You though I was a Tuareg, eh,"

"Yeah, pretty "

O'Connell looked around a bit then kept his gaze onto one standing obelisk, the sun washing it in a blood red. This was the omen that Rick was seeking. Fear slightly kept her hand around his heart, teasing him with her sick romantic ways.

"Today is going to be a day that I'm not going to forget,"

A single warrior on a black horse rode from a cliff that overlooked a small camp. He had watched the small encounter with the strong man and the small skinny one. The warrior's black robes fluttered in the wind, he wore a veil that covered his face to protect himself from the sand that the wind kicked up. His face, what could be seen of it, was covered in strange puzzle-like tattoos. His light brown eyes scanned the desert for any movement.

He rode back to where the others were. They too were all dressed in black robes, four of them watched him come. There were two of the Council Elders, the second in command, and the chieftain of the Med-Jai. The warrior removed his face cover as the chieftain of the Med-Jai asked him in arabic, "What have you observed, Jarim?"

Jarim was a young Med-Jai, but he was not useless. He gave the Med-Jai commander a small smile, "Some more fools have come to try and take Hamunaptra,"

The others looked at each other making small remarks, some chuckling to themselves. Ardeth Bay, the chieftain of the Med-Jai, shook his head, and gave a look to his second in command and his closest friend, Rashid. Ardeth was a tall, dark, handsome man. He had long hair that went past his shoulders, and he wore a black turban. His angular face was touched with the puzzle like tatoos, as well as a dark beard. His dark eyes looked past Jarim to the horizon, watching the sun rise, wondering why people fought over the City of the Dead , "How many?"

"I do not know, but I think there are at least three hundred," less remarks but more laughter. Ardeth thought this was one of the most piteous things he had heard yet. Why would someone wait in the middle of the Sahara Desert just to be killed by Tuaregs, or did they know something about Hamunaptra that they did as well? Ardeth though this over quickly then looked to Ahmed, the seventh elder and as well as being the closest to him, making him like an uncle even they had no blood relation of any sort, "Go, get the others. We will watch this bloody spectacle, to see if anything goes wrong," Ahmed gave him a confused look "Anything goes wrong?"

"I think they know something that we do,"

Ahmed nodded then turned his horse and rode away in a gallop. The rest of the Med-Jai watched him go. They brought their horses close to the cliff's edge. Ardeth looked onto the camp and saw their colors flying: the French. Ardeth's father had taught him what some of the flags looked like. Ardeth's father had died about three years ago and he still felt pained. He loved his father very much, the only parent he had. His father had taught him most of everything he knew. That he needed to keep watch over The City of the Dead for all of his life. Most felt a bit uneasy, that such a young man could become the leader of the Med-Jai so early.

They were very concerned when he first came to rule. The Elders believed in him, but Ardeth was an arrogant man before he had actually learned anything from his uncle in Cairo. He had learned much, and had become practical over time, but if he needed to take a risk, he would take it. Being the leader of the Med-Jai wasn't as easy as he had thought. He knew it was going to be difficult, but not this difficult.

Ardeth stared out at the small camp and knew something was going to change his life today, he didn't know in what form, or in what proportions, he just knew and he wouldn't question or analyze his thoughts. Something was waiting...waiting for him.

It was about mid-afternoon when the French troops had all assembled and were all looking around Hamunaptra to see what lay beneath the sands. O'Connell never liked the desert and never intended to return, but the troops dragged him out there with many others and now they were in this wasteland of nothing and for nothing.

He had wished that he knew what the hell was the General thinking when they set out here. He was a weak man, a cowardly weak man that would lead them all to their deaths. Nothing interesting was happening, and the worst part of it was that it was the hottest part of the day. Sweat began to curve and twist down Rick's cheekbones before being absorbed into the skin again. Everyone was talking or trying to find something or some way underground. Rick shook his head. Why would some people believe these tales woven with great care to make it all seem real? Maybe it was because of the treasure. Or it could have been the book of Amun-Ra, made out of solid gold.

A scout running, yelling at the top of his lungs, interrupted Rick's musings. Rick walked up to the young man who was about fifteen or sixteen when he crossed his path. "What's wrong?"

"The Tuaregs! They're attacking!!!" The boy ran off to see the General and O'Connell as many others ran to get their rifles. Some ran to a wall that was at least a half-mile long, while others managed to climb on top of the two large walls that stretched for about seventy feet and was a good seventy foot drop down below to the sand, to death.

While all this was happening, they could hear the war cries of the Tuareg being screamed out, like an angry beast. And that's when O'Connell saw them coming. There were at least a thousand of them on galloping horses, speeding, raising dust, and their scimitars held high, mullioning a few times. Their white tassels of their turbans streaming out behind them.

Their General rode up to expect some other sight, maybe less Tuaregs, but when he saw them he gave a surprised yelp, unsheathed his saber, hit his horse with the flat of it, and rode away as fast as he could go. Beni and O'Connell looked behind themselves and the fleeing General then at each other, rifles still aimed. "He just got promoted," Beni shrugged and O'Connell shook his head, aiming his gun at the oncoming Tuaregs, "STEADY!!!" They were coming closer with each increasing heartbeat, adrenaline speeding, pulsating. Beni dropped his rifle and ran screaming after the General "Wait for me!!!". O'Connell shook his head again, "STEADY!!!" He screamed again, this time in spite of himself, He couldn't delay any longer, he was afraid that he would say the word too late and they would all be killed, every last one of them. "FIRE!!!" O'Connell squeezed the trigger and hit a Tuareg. It knocked the warrior off his horse and fell to the ground, being trampled by the other horses. The other gunshots echoed and resounded, making O'Connell's ears ring, even though he had heard he sound of gunshots before.

Many Tuaregs and horses fell, but that was hardly any of them. The Tuaregs came back with a force so great that they hit may men off the two great walls, falling to their deaths, hitting the ground with a thud. Many of their limbs at very odd angles and bones sticking out of the skin, but blood soaked the sand in many places.

The French fired again but the desert warriors over took them, easily, unsheathing their scimitars and slitting their enemies throats. They lay on the sand as death claimed them, eyes opened with a thin milky film over them, and skin pale, left for food for the animals. O'Connell was finishing his last rounds of his rifle hitting a warrior here and a horse there. Soon there were too many and he began to back up. He dropped his rifle and pulled out two pistols and began to fire them hitting many, but not enough. Sweat dripped into his eyes and made them sting, as he kept on shooting. He ran out of ammo trying to shoot again, not believing it. His mind screamed at him to run, which he did, quickly pulling out a pistol, being followed by the Tuaregs.

Rick saw that Beni hadn't gotten far, both sprinting for their lives, the sand slipping under their feet. Up ahead, there was a tower worn down by wind, sand and time, but Rick didn't have time for his artistic side. "Beni," Rick screamed "Get inside! Get inside!!!" But Beni seemed to have other plans. As soon as the skinny Frenchman reached the tower he began to push this large slab of obsidian rock closed, "Don't you close that door!!" O'Connell screamed at Beni. Beni stopped, as if to listen to him, then his eyes widened in terror as he saw the Tuaregs behind Rick and he proceeded to shut it "Don't you close that door!!" Rick screamed again, but Beni didn't listen. He never did.

Rick reached the door as soon as it closed, he was in the niche of the door and was about to run out when suddenly bullets hit the stone letting small, minute shards and dust fall from the building. Rick ducked then ran for his life through the ruins. He sped through as the warriors were in hot pursuit. O'Connell saw a fallen pillar in the way so he dived then rolled, and heard a small thud. Rick spun around fast to see that it was his pistol. He panicked and tried to regain it, but a few shots from a sub-machine gun quickly changed his mind. He looked up at four Tuaregs speeding towards him. Rick sprinted again, his body screaming at him, until he reached a dead end.

No way out. Rick looked at the wall ahead of him wishing it was a mirage, but he knew that it wasn't. He heard the cocking of guns and he turned around slowly, with both of his hands up. This is it, Rick thought, I'm a dead man now. He shut his eyes expecting to hear gunshots and feel a burning pain, but he heard the horses whinny and exclamations in arabic, and heard them ride away.

Rick slowly opened one eye, looked around, and then the other. O'Connell wasclearly confused and didn't have the slightest idea to what had happened. His heart stopped racing and even though he really didn't believe in god he began to thank him. Suddenly, as if a slight breeze passed though the desert, he heard words not in any language that spoke dust, that wheezed and mumbled from the years scattered to the winds. He turned around and nearly jumped to see the statue of Anubis worn down by time, stripped of it's paint, then the faint barking of jackles could be heard and then the sand exploded moving in a certain way, felling Rick, choking him, making him cough, as an eerie sight filled the sand.

It was that of a face...

The battle was done, blood soaked the sand and was splattered on the walls. The Med-Jai had observed and saw that nothing had gone wrong, except the battle and many bodies had been strewn across the ground. Ahmed had brought back the other four Med-Jai. The Tuaregs had left in fear of the statue of Anubis. Ardeth breathed silent sigh of relief. The Creature had remained undisturbed.

Suddenly, there was a flash of movement. The Med-Jai looked down onto a man with brown hair running, then he stopped, noticing someone looking at him. He stared straight back at them. Ardeth then noticed that this man would play a large role in his life.

"And what of this one?" One of the council elders asked "Should we kill him?"

"No," Ardeth said, he knew that he couldn't kill him "The desert will kill him," He looked back at Jarim. Jarim had never seen so many people killed in one day. His expression was that of shock and confusion, but it was subtle and a bit onerous to differentiate the changes in his face.

"Jarim, go bring the other council elders and a few more warriors so we can bury the dead and make sure if there are any survivors," Ardeth doubted there were but, just to be safe. Jarim nodded, still slightly dazed, then rode off quickly becoming a black speck in the vast desert. Ardeth gave one look back at the disappearing warrior, then turned back to the bloody motif and rode down to the City of the Dead.

AN: wide eyed holy freaking shite...I wrote so much when I was a whelpish urchin of only 13...and smarter too...wait. how'd that happen...