Welcome to day 13 of Hypnovember, involving an archeologist facing the consequences of his tomb raiding~! Forever shall he serve as a servant of Anubis~
Enjoy <3

Kinks:
-Hypnosis
-Artefact
-Anubis
-Master/Servant

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The jackal’s face lights up as his trowel lands with a metal clank against stone. His muzzle transforms into a wide beaming smile, teeth shining in the desert sun. He lays the digging instrument beside himself, overcome with excitement, yet still able to restrain himself. Scholars can’t damage anything over their zealousness, afterall. To think, after nearly half a decade of searching and digging in all the wrong spots, he had finally narrowed down his hunt. Here, deep within the sands of Egypt, the Jackal had found his prize. His paws wipe away the sand covering the etched mastabas. A tomb made of dried bricks. His head ran the information off without a second thought, having been similarly etched into the folds of his brain.

Osamu sits back, grinning widely at the sight before him. Hieroglyphics, ones denoting the ancient god Anubis. Translated loosely, they marked this very sight as his tomb. His mastaba. An ancient, holy place that must never be disturbed. Well… That’s never stopped any other archeologist. He begins to rise to his paws, about to wave down his research team. That is, until he realizes how far into the desert this search has taken him. Here, deep within the Sahara, only the words of his colleagues would hold any weight. And unfortunately for him, burning more than a few bridges hadn’t exactly made him favored among his crew. His hand stops midway into the air before he very slowly brings it back to his side. Would he really be able to take credit for such an accomplishment if the crew rallied against him. For a fleeting moment, his senses returned to him. The people of this team were good folk and believed in the sanctity of scientific achievement. Like sands upon the dunes of the desert, the thought is whisked away, replaced by the swirling jealousy roaring in his head.

He turns away, focusing only on his discovery. His tomb. His achievement. Throwing procedure and integrity to the wayside, he shoves his sand covered trowel into the seam of the tomb’s door. It chips and breaks, torn away by the shovel’s edge. Regardless of the consequences, he heaves and groans beneath his breath. The Jackal’s muscles strain with the effort, slowly but surely lifting the heavy bricks from their ancient resting place. The door slides, opening the dark room before him. He puffs and pants for breath, stumbling into the darkness below.

Click! His flashlight illuminates the path before him. A short hallway surrounds him, leading into an enormous antechamber. Sandstone reaches high above him, coming to a vanishing point above. The air is still and lifeless, heavy with the stench of must and dirt. His grin only widens in such an ancient place, finding the stale oxygen comforting. The only draft came from behind him. This tomb has been untouched for thousands of years. It was an incredible find, one that he intended to capitalize on. Directly in front of him, seated just before a rectangular tomb was an interesting artefact. The visage of Anubis, placed at his feet. An ornate, gilded mask of a pure black jackal adorned in jewelry.

Osamu bends his knees, his wild, unrestrained grin contrasting against the slight frown of the patron of lost souls. His eyes gaze into its own, unable to pull away from such a valuable find. The doors that would open for him after this discovery would be limitless. It’s astonishing how well preserved the piece is, from the gilding seeming to be freshly laid to the eyes shining red with rubies. His eyes squint, focusing in on the glinting eyes before him. No rubies, simply just a low, red light.

...lost… A whisper breaths into his ear. He attempts to whirl his head around, but finds himself locked against the eyes of the mask. It’s so hard to look away, to turn away from the visage of the god he has pursued for half a decade. It’s beautiful, captivating, mesmerizing.

….serve… There it was again, louder and closer. However, he felt less concerned. Just seconds had passed by, but he no longer felt a spike of fear in his chest. He was uneasy, but he couldn’t turn himself away from his god. He wouldn’t turn away, not when he was this close. The eyes pull him in, dragging him downwards. The tension flees from his body, guided by the quiet whispers unfolding between his ears. They became more frequent, lulling him beneath their wispy, breathless gasps. His breath was slower, more relaxed. Ancient, musty air flowed into his lungs, pushed out by his limp lips. His arms dangled by his sides, having long dropped his trowel onto the bricks beneath his feet.

Serve me. The whisper had become a command, reverberating inside his head. It swirled and spun around him, twisting and guiding him through the tomb. Pedestals with beautifully preserved gold raiments laid before. Cuffs and a collar that he locked around his wrists and neck with the gentle guide of the voice in his mind. His god demanded that he serve. He had no right nor no desire to disobey. The voice was soothing away his worries, leading him into a new life. His goal had been accomplished and he had nothing in front of him. What better way to fulfill his life searching for the patron of lost souls, than to guide him back to the living realm?

Osamu’s eyes glow just as the artefact’s does, shimmering with a ruby red. His thoughts and memories had been flushed away, replaced with the endless devotion to his god. So much searching and hunting had led him to his ultimate purpose. To stand at the feet of his Master’s tomb, waiting and watching. Silently, quietly, thoughtlessly waiting for him to return to the living realm at the end of his journey, all for the slave raiment adorned jackal to welcome him with open arms. He had waited half a decade to find his Master, he could wait decades to invite him back into his domain.

A heavy thud rings out from behind Osamu, unheeded by the empty, doting slave. His paws are locked together, always ready for his god, Anubis. The draft dissipates, shut away by the tomb sealing shut. High above, sands shift and move, covering the tomb’s door. The hieroglyphics disappear beneath the sands of the Sahara, soon to be forgotten as a sandstorm brews in the distance. All the while, as the archeology team packs away their gear, intent on escaping the storm, Osamu waits below. For as long as it takes for his Master to awake from his slumber.