Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 85: The Life Of Herpo
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 15:03:10 +0000 UTCAuthor's Note: You won’t find me using the term Pharaoh here. While writing this chapter, I wanted to use real places and names, but here’s the interesting part—Ancient Egypt didn’t use the term Pharaoh. Instead, they had kings based on dynasties. The term Pharaoh itself comes from words changing over time and being adopted in other languages, it is more of a high managerial position that evolved over thousands of years.
During the late 19th century, archaeologists wanted to verify biblical accounts, including the Exodus story. They wanted to know if Jews had lived in Egypt and Palestine in the past. So, they dug everywhere in search of evidence for the last 150 years, still no evidence to this day. Instead of proving their presence, they completed the connection in the historical period of the region for more than ten thousands which made the Exodus story more of symbolic rather than historical fact. However, the idea was still popularized through movies and media, and it worked so well that even Egyptians began preferring to call themselves descendants of the Pharaohs instead of ancient kings, as they considered the word unique to their heritage.
Interestingly, the term Pharaoh was actually used in Yemen thousands of years ago, in the ancient Himyarite kingdom. Some locations and family names there still carry "Pharaoh" to this day, and the Torah’s descriptions align with this region. In addition, there are Jewish communities that have lived in Yemen for thousands of years. So the true origin of jews is Yemen. Disclaimer: some called Yemen’s Pharaoh a wild theory, but honestly it matched the Exodus story far more than Egypt, even other Torah scriptures fit Yemen more. Check both and you will understand what I mean.
I joke you not—a quick Google search turned into days of reading research papers and listening to archaeologists discussing this. Childhood and history: ruined successfully. Don’t take my word for it—do your own research if you want. You’ll find some really strange stuff out there—better than any fanfiction 😂.
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The ancient kingdom of Egypt was a land of golden sands, towering pyramids, and gods who walked among men—or so the priests claimed. In the city of Thinis, under the early rule of the Nermar Dynasty, a child was born in the shadow of the royal palace. His name was Herpo, and his birth was as unremarkable as it was tragic. His mother, a servant in the palace, died during childbirth, leaving the boy to be raised among the other servants. Herpo never knew his father, nor did he care to find out. In truth, the boy was far older than anyone could imagine. This was his third life in this world, and he carried with him the weight of centuries.
Herpo grew quickly, his mind sharp and his demeanor cold. While other children played and laughed, Herpo observed and learned. His intelligence and behavior were abnormal, even for a child of the palace. He spoke little, his words always measured and precise, and his eyes held a depth that unnerved those who looked into them. The servants whispered among themselves, calling him strange and unnatural, but Herpo paid them no mind. He had seen too much, lived too long, to care for the opinions of others.
By the age of six, Herpo had already shown exceptional magic, though he didn’t show the true limits of abilities. He spent his days wandering the palace, absorbing knowledge from the scrolls and tablets stored in the royal archives. It was during one of these wanderings that he encountered King Nermar and the priests of the Temple of Ra. The two sides were locked in a heated argument, their voices echoing through the grand halls of the palace.
The priests, clad in their ornate robes and carrying staffs adorned with golden symbols of Ra, demanded tribute from the king. "The god Ra demands gold to ensure the prosperity and safety of your kingdom," one of the priests declared, his voice dripping with self-righteousness. "Without his blessing, your reign will falter."
King Nermar, a tall and imposing figure with a crown of gold resting on his brow, frowned deeply. He was a man of logic and reason, skeptical of the gods and their supposed demands. "Ra does not need gold," the king replied, his voice firm. "If he is truly a god, he has no use for such trivial things. Your demands are nothing more than greed disguised as piety."
The priests bristled at the king's words, their faces red with anger. It was at this moment that Herpo, walking by with a scroll in hand, caught their attention. One of the priests, a man with a long beard and a staff topped with a glowing crystal, called out to him. "Boy!" he said, his voice commanding. "Even a child understands the importance of tribute. Tell our great king how important Ra is and how the tribute keeps us safe."
Herpo stopped in his tracks, his cold gaze shifting from the scroll to the priest. He regarded the man with a detached curiosity, as if studying an insect. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice calm. "I don't believe in Ra," he said. "And if it exists, I believe it is more interested in souls rather than gold."
The priests were stunned into silence, their faces twisting with outrage. The one who had called Herpo forward pointed his staff at the boy, his voice trembling with fury. "Your words are blasphemy! You must be punished!"
Before anyone could react, fire erupted from the priest's staff, a roaring ball of flame hurtling toward Herpo. The servants gasped, and even King Nermar took a step back, his eyes wide with shock, before it narrowed in anger. But Herpo remained calm. With a flick of his hand, a shimmering shield materialized in front of him, blocking the fireball with ease. The flames dissipated harmlessly against the barrier, and Herpo's expression remained unchanged.
The boy lowered his hand, his cold eyes locking onto the priest. "You can beat me if you wield the power of the gods," he said, his voice icy. "But for that, you need contracts and souls. I refuse to believe a trash like you can contract them. Scram while I am being nice."
With that, Herpo raised his hand again, and a fireball of his own erupted from his palm, striking the priest and engulfing him in flames. The man screamed, dropping his staff and flailing wildly as the fire consumed his robes. The other priests rushed to his aid, using their robes to smother the flames, their faces pale with fear.
King Nermar, who had been watching the entire scene unfold, burst into laughter. His deep, booming voice filled the hall as he clapped his hands in amusement. "Herpo!" he exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with admiration. "I didn't expect your magic was this strong already. I agree with you—they are just greedy trash. If they cause you trouble, let me know."
Herpo nodded, his expression as calm as ever. He had no fear of the priests, nor did he care for their threats. The king, however, was a different matter. Nermar was a man of vision, a ruler who valued talent and intelligence over blind faith. When he realized Herpo's potential, he saw an opportunity to strengthen his kingdom.
From that day forward, Herpo was given access to the palace's vast library and resources. The king hoped the boy would grow into a powerful wizard, a loyal asset to his reign. Herpo, for his part, accepted the king's offer without hesitation. He had no loyalty to Nermar or his kingdom, but he saw the arrangement as a means to an end. The palace was a place of knowledge, and knowledge was what he sought above all else.
As the years passed, Herpo's reputation grew. The servants whispered of the cold, brilliant boy who could wield magic with ease. The priests avoided him, their fear of his power outweighing their desire for revenge. And King Nermar watched with pride as Herpo's abilities flourished, unaware of the true nature of the boy he had taken under his wing.
For Herpo, this life was but another step in his endless journey. He had no interest in gods or kings, in gold or power. His goals were far greater, his ambitions far beyond the reach of others.
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The ancient kingdom of Egypt was a land of cycles—cycles of life, death, and rebirth, cycles of the sun and moon, and most importantly, the cycle of the Nile. The river was the lifeblood of the kingdom, its annual flooding bringing both prosperity and destruction. The Egyptians had developed the lunar system to measure time, dividing the year into 365 days to predict the flooding of the Nile. But prediction was not enough. The king sought a solution, a way to control the river’s fury and protect his people from its devastation.
In the grand hall of the palace, King Nermar sat upon his throne, his court of wizards gathered before him. Among them stood Herpo, now twenty years old. Though he was the youngest in appearance, his presence commanded respect. His cold demeanor and unparalleled mastery of magic had earned him a place at the king’s side. To the other wizards, he was a prodigy..
The king’s voice echoed through the hall, his tone grave. “The flooding of the Nile brings life to our lands, but it also brings destruction. Every year, we lose homes, crops, and lives. We must find a way to control the river, to harness its power without suffering its wrath. I have gathered you here to discuss this matter. What solutions do you propose?”
The wizards began to debate, their voices rising in a cacophony of ideas. Some suggested gathering the kingdom’s strongest wizards to block the flooding with magic, creating barriers to hold back the river’s surge. Others proposed developing faster methods of evacuation, ensuring that people and their goods could be moved to safety before the waters rose. The arguments grew heated, each wizard convinced of the superiority of their plan.
Herpo remained silent, his sharp mind analyzing the problem from every angle. The flooding of the Nile was not just a human problem—it affected the animals that lived in and around the river as well. The fish, the crocodiles, the hippopotamuses—all were subject to the river’s whims. If the animals could be given the ability to control or mitigate the flooding, the problem could be solved without relying solely on human effort.
When the debate reached a lull, Herpo spoke, his voice calm and measured. “Instead of trying to control the river ourselves, why not merge magic with the animals of the Nile? The flooding affects them as much as it does us. If we can give them the ability to influence the river, they could become our allies in managing its power.”
The hall fell silent, the wizards turning to stare at Herpo with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. One of the older wizards, a man with a long white beard and a staff adorned with hieroglyphs, scoffed. “Merge magic with animals? That is madness! Such a thing has never been done. It is a dream, nothing more.”
Another wizard, a woman with sharp features and a voice like a whip, added, “Even if it were possible, the risks are too great. We would be meddling with forces we do not understand.”
Herpo’s expression remained impassive, his cold eyes scanning the room. He had expected such reactions. The wizards of this era were bound by tradition and fear, unwilling to venture beyond the limits of their understanding. But King Nermar was different. The king leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Herpo,” he said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the court, “your idea is bold, but it is not without merit. If you believe you can achieve this, you have my permission to try. If it succeeds, we will have a solution to our greatest problem. If it fails, no harm will be done.”
Herpo nodded slightly. He had no intention of failing. This was not just about controlling the Nile—it was about understanding the very nature of magic and life itself.
In the weeks that followed, Herpo immersed himself in his work. His recent experiments had led him to develop a keen interest in magical transformation. What made magical beasts different from ordinary animals? They possessed magic, but how had they come to be? The royal library contained records of magical creatures, but many of them didn’t exist in his past life. Herpo was determined to uncover the secrets of their creation.
His studies led him to a profound realization: magical beings were born when body, soul, mind, and magic worked in harmony. The stronger and more in tune these components were, the more powerful the being became. But there was a catch—a weak body could not withstand powerful magic or a strong soul. This realization struck Herpo deeply. Even if his soul and mind were capable of controlling immense magic, his current body would not be able to sustain it. To achieve his ultimate goal, he would need a body that could match the strength of his soul and mind.
This understanding became the foundation of his work on merging magic with animals. If he could create a powerful body by combining the strengths of different creatures, he could not only solve the problem of the Nile but also pave the way for his own transformation. The key lay in understanding how magical creatures came to be. By unraveling that mystery, he could create a body capable of housing immense magical power.
Herpo began his experiments in secret, away from the prying eyes of the court. He studied the animals of the Nile, observing their behaviors and strengths. Crocodiles, with their armored hides and powerful jaws. Hippopotamuses, with their immense strength and resilience. Fish, with their adaptability and speed. Each creature had something to offer, and Herpo sought to combine these traits into a single, magical being.
His work was meticulous and methodical. He started with small creatures, using his magic to enhance their natural abilities. A fish that could swim against the strongest currents. A bird that could see through the darkest nights. Each success brought him closer to his goal, but he knew the true challenge lay ahead. To create a being capable of influencing the Nile, he would need to merge magic with a creature on a much larger scale.
Herpo’s experiments were not without risks. The process of merging magic with living beings was unpredictable, and failure often resulted in death of the animal. But Herpo was undeterred. He had lived through countless failures in his previous lives, and he knew that each one brought him closer to success.
As the months passed, Herpo’s work began to yield results. He created a hybrid creature—a crocodile with the strength of a hippopotamus and had clear traces of magic in it. The creature, though imperfect, showed promise. It could manipulate water, creating small waves and currents with its magic. Herpo knew he was on the right path.
But his ultimate goal was still far away. To create a being capable of controlling the Nile, he would need to push the boundaries of magic even further. And to do that, he would need to understand the true nature of magical transformation.
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After nearly a year of relentless experimentation, Herpo stood at the edge of the Nile, his cold eyes fixed on the water. His work had borne fruit—thirty creatures swam in the river, their upper halves resembling humans while their lower halves remained fish-like. These beings, which Herpo called Fish People, possessed intelligence akin to human children and a limited ability to manipulate water. They were far from perfect, but they were a start.
The Fish People were the result of countless trials and errors, a fusion of magic and body that pushed the boundaries of what was thought possible. Herpo had carefully selected the strongest and most adaptable fish from the Nile, using his magic to reshape their bodies and minds. The process was grueling, both for the creatures and for Herpo, but he had succeeded. The Fish People were now a part of the Nile’s ecosystem, their presence a testament to Herpo’s genius—or madness, depending on who was asked.
When Herpo presented his creation to the king’s court, the reaction was mixed. The wizards, many of whom had dismissed his ideas as impossible, stared at the Fish People with a mixture of awe and horror. Some whispered that Herpo had gone too far, that his work was an affront to nature and the gods. One particularly outspoken wizard, a man with a long beard and a staff adorned with golden symbols, stepped forward. “This is blasphemy!” he declared, his voice trembling with anger. “You have created abominations, creatures that defy the natural order. The gods will punish us for this!”
Herpo turned his cold gaze on the man, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the hall fell silent, the weight of Herpo’s presence stifling all objections. The outspoken wizard took a step back, his face pale, and said nothing more. Herpo’s glare was enough to silence even the most vocal critics.
King Nermar, however, was amused by the situation. He leaned back on his throne, a smile playing on his lips. “Herpo,” he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration, “you continue to surprise me. The flooding season is near. Let us see what your creations can do.”
Herpo nodded, his mind already focused on the next step. He transferred the Fish People to the Nile, instructing them to live and grow in the river. The king, impressed by Herpo’s work, issued a decree forbidding anyone from harming or disturbing the creatures. “These Fish People are our allies,” he declared. “They will help us during the flooding season. Anyone who harms them will face severe punishment.”
Two months later, the time had come. The Nile began to flood, its waters rising with a force that had devastated the kingdom for generations. But this time, something was different. Beneath the surface, the Fish People worked tirelessly, using their limited magic to weaken the flood’s power. They redirected currents, created small barriers, and absorbed excess water, reducing the flood’s intensity to less than half of what it had been in previous years.
The difference was undeniable. Villages that would have been destroyed were spared. Crops that would have been washed away remained intact. The people of Egypt watched in awe as the river’s fury was tempered by the creatures Herpo had created. The king, standing on the banks of the Nile, turned to Herpo with a look of genuine admiration. “You have done it,” he said. “You have tamed the Nile.”
Herpo, ever pragmatic, clarified the limitations of his work. “The Fish People are still few in number,” he said. “In time, their population will grow, and their control over the river will strengthen. Eventually, they will be able to suppress the flooding entirely.”
The king’s admiration turned to reverence. “Herpo,” he declared, “you are the greatest wizard of this era. Others should learn from you.”
But not everyone shared the king’s enthusiasm. The temple wizards, who had long viewed Herpo with hatred, now saw him as a direct threat. His success undermined their authority, and his creations challenged their beliefs. To them, Herpo’s work was not just an achievement—it was blasphemy. They whispered among themselves, their anger simmering beneath the surface.
With the flooding crisis resolved, Herpo turned his attention to his next goal. He announced his intention to leave Egypt for a time, to explore the world and uncover its secrets. The king was reluctant to let his greatest wizard go, but he knew he had no real power to stop Herpo. Their relationship was built on mutual respect, not obligation. Herpo had stayed out of goodwill, and the king could only hope he would return.
Herpo set out, heading northwest. His journey took him far from the golden sands of Egypt, through unfamiliar lands and across vast distances. His first stop was the lake near his tomb, a place that held both memories and mysteries. As he walked along the shore, Herpo observed the lake’s ecosystem. The water was clear, the fish abundant. It was a suitable environment for his creations.
Using his magic, Herpo hunted a few fish from the lake and spent a day transforming them into Fish People. When he released them back into the water, they swam away, their human-like eyes glinting with curiosity. Herpo watched them for a moment, before continuing on his journey.
His next destination was his tomb. As he approached, Herpo noticed something unusual—the area surrounding the tomb was slightly damaged, as if something had been attacking it. His frown deepened as he examined the marks.
So Herpo communicated with the fragment of his soul stored within the tomb, seeking answers. The response was clear: elves from a nearby mountain had been attacking the tomb for countless years. They came sporadically, their motives unknown, but their persistence was undeniable.
Herpo’s cold eyes narrowed as he processed this information. The elves, remnants of a bygone era, had no place in his plans. If they posed a threat to his tomb—and by extension, his immortality—they would have to be dealt with.
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Herpo’s searched the nearby mountains, where the elves who had been attacking his tomb were said to reside. After an entire day of searching, he found their settlement—a hidden enclave nestled in the rocky terrain. The elves, numbering nearly 300, were a proud and ancient race, their eyes gleaming with disdain as they saw a human approach. One of them, stepped forward to confront Herpo.
“Why do you attack the tomb near the lake?” Herpo asked, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of menace.
The elf sneered, his expression one of contempt. “The writing on that tomb is from a past era, thousands of years ago,” he said. “It belongs to one of the servants of Solomon, an evil human who declared war against all living beings. He sought to enslave the world, to bend it to his will. We elves joined forces with humans and other creatures to stop him. After countless sacrifices, we finally defeated him.”
The elf paused, his gaze narrowing as he studied Herpo. “We believe the tomb belongs to one of Solomon’s greatest servants, a man who shared his evil ambitions. That is why we have been trying to destroy it.”
Herpo listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When the elf finished, he expected a response—surprise or awe. But Herpo said nothing. His cold eyes scanned the elves, their faces filled with arrogance and disdain. To them, he was just another human, weak and insignificant. They had no idea who they were dealing with.
Finally, Herpo spoke, his voice low and filled with venom. “You were the ones who tarnished my brother’s name and legacy after he spared all of you. I was right. I should have killed all of you at the end of the war.”
The elves froze, their expressions shifting from arrogance to shock. Before they could react, Herpo raised his hand and uttered a single word: ‘Ekhdaa.’ The elves’ chests began to glow, a searing pain spreading through their bodies. They screamed, collapsing to the ground as the spell took hold. Herpo watched coldly, his expression devoid of mercy. These elves had defiled his brother’s memory and threatened his tomb. He won’t spare them again.
One by one, Herpo collected the elves, their bodies writhing in agony, and threw them into a pouch he carried. The spell kept them alive but trapped, their pain unending. When the last elf was secured, Herpo disapparated, leaving the mountains silent and empty.
Herpo returned to his tomb. He brought out a hundred elves and used their life force to empower a powerful enchantment. The spell would hide his tomb in hidden halls, ensuring that only he could open the path to it.
With his tomb secure, Herpo turned his attention to his next destination. He disapparated, reappearing hours later at the base of a snowy mountain. This was the site of the hall he had created long ago, the resting place of his wife and son. The entrance was hidden, but Herpo knew the way. He brought out another hundred elves and used their life force to conceal the path, ensuring that only he could find it.
Once the enchantment was complete, Herpo entered the cave, his heart heavy with emotion. The hall was as beautiful as he remembered, its walls adorned with shimmering crystals and glowing stones. At the center of the hall, floating above the graves, was the ghostly form of Frigg. Her translucent figure glowed faintly, her silver eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow.
Frigg turned to look at Herpo, her expression unreadable. She didn’t recognize his face, but she could sense who he was. “Is this your new life?” she asked, her voice echoing softly in the hall.
Herpo nodded, his heart aching at the sight of her. “Yes,” he said simply.
Frigg sneered, her ghostly form flickering with emotion. “You’ve been making progress in that mad goal of yours, haven’t you? You know, Odin, you would be the perfect wizard if not for how heartless you are.”
Herpo looked down, his chest tightening with pain. He had no will to tell the truth. So Frigg’s anger was justified. “Just scram” she said, her voice cold. “I don’t want to see you.”
Herpo’s voice was barely a whisper as he replied, “I miss you.” Then he turned and left, his heart heavier than ever.
After leaving the hall, Herpo wandered aimlessly for a time, his mind consumed by thoughts of the past. Eventually, he decided to seek out nearby villages, curious to see how the world had changed and what had become of the magic and knowledge he had left behind. It didn’t take him long to find a small settlement nestled in the mountains.
Herpo entered the village, disguising himself as a traveler. He asked the villagers about Frigg, hoping to hear how her legacy had endured. To his shock and disappointment, the people spoke of Frigg as a goddess—a being of beauty and fertility, worshipped alongside Odin, Loki, and others from his tribe. Odin, they said, was the supreme god, a figure of wisdom and power. Frigg, meanwhile, had been reduced to a symbol of femininity and domesticity.
Herpo’s heart sank as he listened. The magic, the runes, the knowledge he had worked so hard to preserve—it had all been lost. Even the Horcrux he created, the stone that could help find closure with the dead, was unknown to them. The legacy he had hoped to leave behind had been twisted and diluted, reduced to gods and religion.
Determined to learn more, Herpo traveled from village to village, asking questions and gathering information. The answers were always the same. The world had moved on, and the truths of the past had been forgotten. His Horcrux, the key to his immortality, was nowhere to be found.
As he searched, Herpo came across a rumor that piqued his interest. In a village to the east, there was talk of a resurrection stone—a magical artifact said to have the power to revive the dead. The stone had been lost a century ago after the village was destroyed in an avalanche. Herpo’s cold eyes gleamed with determination. With a renewed sense of purpose, Herpo set out for the east.
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Herpo stood amidst the icy wasteland, his breath visible in the frigid air. The remnants of the destroyed village lay buried under layers of snow and ice, a grim reminder of the passage of time. Finding his Horcrux in this vast, frozen expanse seemed impossible, but Herpo was not one to give up. His mind drifted to magic, as it always did when faced with an insurmountable challenge. He needed a spell—a way to track and locate his soul fragment.
For three months, Herpo remained in the area, experimenting and refining his magic. He combined his knowledge of the mind’s eye and soul magic, weaving them together into a new spell. When he finally succeeded, he named it ‘Animabus deprehendere’—a spell that made fated and soul connections visible to the naked eye. It was a breakthrough, a spell that would allow him to track his Horcruxes across lifetimes.
When Herpo cast the spell, a ghostly light erupted from his hands, spreading outward like ripples across water. The light expanded in all directions, illuminating the frozen landscape. Soon, faint threads of light began to appear, branching out in countless directions. These threads represented the connections between souls and fates, a web of invisible bonds made visible by his magic.
Herpo’s eyes followed one particular thread—a glowing line that emerged from his chest and snaked its way under the snow toward the base of a nearby mountain. He followed it, his movements deliberate and unhurried. When he reached the spot where the thread disappeared beneath the snow, he began to dig. He eventually uncovered a corpse buried deep beneath the ice. Clutched in its frozen hand was his Horcrux—the resurrection stone.
Herpo retrieved the stone and sighed in relief. He held it in his hands, feeling the familiar presence within it. This stone was a piece of his soul, a fragment of his immortality. But the experience had taught him a valuable lesson. He needed a way to track his Horcruxes between lives or hide them in more secure locations. The stone, while powerful, was vulnerable. It needed to be circulated among people to collect memories, but his other Horcruxes had to be better protected.
For now, Herpo decided to move south. He carried the stone with him until he reached the first village he encountered. There, he presented the stone to the villagers, claiming it was the Eye of Odin—a relic left by the god to aid his followers. The villagers, awed by the stone’s power, accepted it without question. They began to worship it, treating it as a sacred object. Herpo didn’t like resorting to such deception, but he needed the stone to be cared for and used by people for generations to come.
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Herpo’s journey back to Egypt was long and filled with disappointment. The world had changed in ways he could never have anticipated. His brother’s legacy, once a story of sacrifice and unity, had been twisted into a tale of evil and conquest by the elves he spared. The efforts of his second life—his work with Frigg, Loki, and the tribe—had been lost to time, their story distorted beyond recognition. Even Frigg, the woman he had loved, lingered in the world as a ghost, consumed by pain and hatred.
When Herpo finally returned to Egypt, he was met with hostility. The people and wizards alike were angry, blaming him for a curse they believed had been brought upon them by the gods. Herpo was confused until he reached the king’s court. There, King Nermar explained that a disease had spread shortly after Herpo’s departure. The people, led by the priests of the Temple of Ra, had blamed the Fish People, claiming they were an abomination that angered the gods. In their fear and ignorance, they had hunted and killed the creatures Herpo had created to protect them.
The priests of Ra watched Herpo with disdain, their eyes filled with contempt. Some even called for his punishment, accusing him of bringing the gods’ wrath upon the kingdom. The king, though skeptical, was caught between his people’s demands and his respect for Herpo. “We still don’t know for sure what caused the disease,” the king said, his voice heavy with uncertainty.
Herpo listened in silence, his cold eyes scanning the room. He recalled how history had been twisted and rewritten in his past life, and now it was happening again—right before his eyes. The people he had tried to help had turned on him, their fear and ignorance blinding them to the truth. A deep disappointment settled in his chest, mingling with a growing anger.
Without warning, Herpo raised his hand, and a bolt of lightning struck the head priest of the Temple of Ra, killing him instantly. The room erupted into chaos, but Herpo’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “Thousands of years ago,” he said, his tone icy and deliberate, “I witnessed firsthand the power of the so-called gods and the cost of their favor. In the north, people worship my name as their god. This is the last time I will allow you to bring that false filth into my presence. If I hear it again, I will destroy your temple and kill every follower.”
The room fell silent, the people were shaking from his presence. Herpo’s cold eyes scanned the terrified faces before landing on the king. “I will look into the cause of the disease,” he said, his voice firm. “And this will be the last time I help this kingdom. And if I hear my name insulted again, I will make you understand how puny you all are”
With that, Herpo turned and left, his heart heavy with disillusionment. He had lost faith in the people around him, their fear and ignorance too great to overcome. As he walked away from the court, his mind turned to the future. The world was flawed, its people weak and easily swayed. But he was not like them. He would continue his journey, his quest for immortality and mastery over life and death, his goal to learn everything the world has to offer. And he would do it alone.
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Herpo arrived at the areas affected by the disease near the Nile, his sharp eyes immediately noticing something unusual. Small, blue-bodied creatures with yellow heads scurried about, their presence invisible to non-magical eyes. These were smurfs, mischievous beings that rarely ventured into this region. Herpo narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. Normally, smurfs avoided the Nile due to the annual flooding, which kept the area too wet for their liking. But now, with the flooding suppressed by the Fish People, the environment had become suitable for them.
A thought crossed Herpo’s mind. The smurfs’ sudden appearance and the outbreak of the disease were likely connected. For the next few days, he observed the creatures silently, studying their behavior. While the smurfs were mostly harmless, their occasional thefts and mischief were a nuisance. More importantly, people who came into close contact with them soon fell ill. Herpo was almost certain the smurfs were the cause of the disease, but he didn’t act rashly. Instead, he captured all the smurfs near the Nile, placing them in cages and transporting them to his secluded workplace.
With the smurfs secured, Herpo needed time to confirm his theory. In the meantime, he decided to fortify his workplace, turning it into a hidden stash for future use. He brought out the last hundred elves he had imprisoned, their bodies weak and malnourished after nearly four months in the pouch. Using their life force, Herpo cast a powerful enchantment to conceal his workplace, ensuring that only he could access it.
Days passed, and the disease began to subside. Herpo shared his findings with King Nermar, explaining the connection between the smurfs and the illness. The king, relieved to have an answer, immediately ordered the execution of all smurfs in the kingdom. He then turned to Herpo, his gratitude evident. “You have helped us once again,” the king said. “I ask that you create more Fish People to help us in the coming years.”
Herpo’s response was firm and final. “I have already told you I will not help anymore. This was the last time.”
The king’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. Herpo’s connection to the kingdom was severed that day. He left the palace, his heart heavy with disillusionment, and retreated into seclusion. From that moment on, Herpo lived alone, his focus entirely on his experiments and his quest for immortality.
Herpo’s work on magical creatures continued unabated. The smurfs he had captured became the subject of his experiments. He altered their forms, turning them into small, completely blue, flying creatures he called pixies. These pixies, while still mischievous, were less harmful than their predecessors. Herpo released them into the world, curious to see how they would adapt.
He also created other creatures, each designed with a specific purpose in mind. The basilisk, a massive serpent with deadly eyes, was intended to aid in hunting. Herpo’s creations were a testament to his genius, but they also reflected his growing detachment from humanity. He no longer saw himself as part of the world.
As the years passed, Herpo’s experiments grew more daring. He began experimenting on himself, using magic to mutate his body into a form that could withstand the immense power of his soul and mind. The process was painful and grotesque, transforming him into a heinous monster. But Herpo didn’t mind. His new form increased his lifespan, bringing him closer to his ultimate goal.
Near the end of his life, Herpo created one final creature: a winged python. He killed the creature and used its skeleton as a Horcrux, embedding it with the seed of magical transformation. When the time came, he would absorb the skeleton, and his body would begin to transform, matching the strength of his soul and magic. It was a bold plan, one that would ensure his success at the end of his journey.
At the age of 300, Herpo died alone in the confines of his workplace. His body, twisted and monstrous, it didn’t resemble human anymore, lay still as his soul prepared for its next journey. The world would remember him as a madman, a creator of monsters, and a wielder of forbidden magic. But Herpo didn’t care. He had achieved what he set out to do. His legacy would endure, not in the hearts of men, but in the creatures he had created and the magic he had mastered. And when the time came, he would rise again, his quest for immortality unending.
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