Chapter Forty-Four

A thin mist trickled from the sickly scented fluid that burned in vial. Its odour was a merge of death and life, crafting sensations of unease and uncertainty.

It was a wise smell. Knowing more than it would ever give away, even when created by the great God himself.

Atum watched with baited breath, knitting his fingers together as it wisped about the old map, dipping and tripping as it searched.

Slowly and surely, it began to settle over an area, on closer inspection Atum saw it was an old churchyard just outside the outskirts of the city.

"I should have known," he muttered irritably "blasted grave robbers never had any care or respect. The curses that befell them were fitting, albeit perhaps rather too lenient when one considers the damage they did." He unconsciously ground his teeth, stopping only when his jaw began to ache. "Have they no respect for the dead or their resting place?"

He gave a sigh and s