Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

2018…

            (Y/N) gasped for breath, but their lungs refused to bring in the air they needed. Every limb ached, and their heart beat against their chest. It stuttered, refusing to work correctly. The edges of (Y/N)’s visions blurred to black.

            Everything had gone wrong. They had thought this summer would be a beautiful one, traveling with their parents. Egypt was lovely, and (Y/N) liked to listen to their parents—anthropology and history professors—tell them about the rich history and culture of the country.

            Plus, they were far away from New York where strange aliens had recently attacked and fought Iron Man and a strange wizard. They were safe with their family and free to enjoy themself.

            And then people turned to dust.

            Screams echoed as loved ones disappeared before people’s very eyes. Cars crashed without drivers. Buses overturned and threw out people and sand. Cries went out as crashes sent metal through limbs—through torsos.

            Through (Y/N)’s torso.

            (Y/N) couldn’t even move to cover their chest as it bled. They didn’t try to. They knew they were dying. They didn’t want to (gods, please, no, I don’t want this I don’t want this) but they were.

            And they couldn’t even reach out to hold their mom and dad’s hands. (Y/N) felt like a child again, but unlike nightmares, they couldn’t run to their parents’ arms to feel safe. Even if they could, the chill of death had already taken their parents’ warmth and comfort.

            (Y/N) wished they’d all turned to dust. This was violent, painful, agonizing. Their parents had laid beside them in distress, calling out for help and rescue, dying. No one had come.

            And now (Y/N) was alone—the world hadn’t even been kind enough to let them die before their parents.

            This was just so wrong. Unfair. Unjust.

            “It is unjust.” A calm voice spoke.

            (Y/N) didn’t move. They couldn’t, and they were already dying. Their situation couldn’t get worse.

            “I can feel your pain.”

            This time, a woman, taller than humanely possible, appeared in their line of sight. She knelt among the dust and bodies of the bus and gazed at (Y/N).

            She was Egyptian, dressed in a red gown, and wore an intricate necklace of gold of turquoise. Multicolored Sleeves swept out with her arms like wings. Silky black hair fell around her shoulders, and her eyes were lined in kohl. An ostrich feather stood in a circlet and swayed in the wind.

            (Y/N)’s eyes landed on the feather, and something in their chest pulled towards it.

            The woman tilted her head and watched them in assessment. “You sense the truth.”

            “Who…” (Y/N)’s hoarse voice died.

            “I am the goddess Ma’at.” The wind whipped around her as she spoke. “I am in search of a guardian. To uphold justice in the face of wrongdoing. To protect harmony from discord. To defend truth from falsehood.”

            (Y/N) coughed, and Ma’at tilted her head.

            “I can see the truth in your heart. You want justice for everyone who suffers like you,” said Ma’at. She leaned in. “Pledge yourself to me, pledge yourself to the truth, and I will give you the life to do so.”

            (Y/N) looked into Ma’at’s eyes and summoned all their strength left.

            “Yes.”

l

2023…

            (Y/N) crouched on the roof and dropped onto the balcony below them. The house around them was quiet. The security guards were clueless to their approach, which was just fine. They didn’t want any attention.

            (Y/N) opened the sliding door of the balcony and slipped into the display room. They glanced around themself in distaste. None of the artifacts in glass cases belonged to the owner of this house. He’d “acquired” them in the aftermath of the Blip left countries in disarray, just so like many others.

            After the return of the Blipped, the problem of stolen artifacts had only gotten worse since the chaos had begun again, letting more people profit off the displaced people and their possessions.

            (Y/N) had spent years repatriating the stolen relics from the aftermath of the Blip. This man, Mr. Medrano, was among the worst offenders. He lied about his findings as an “archaeologist” and stole what he needed for glory. And along the way, he removed any competition. A thief, a liar, and a killer. Medrano was a man who brought injustice of all kinds to the world.

            And that was precisely what (Y/N) stood against—what Ma’at stood against.

            (Y/N) stopped in front of a case of Egyptian artifacts. Their eyes scanned the contents for the relic they were supposed to bring back to Egypt (send back, really, by way of another person. (Y/N) was still just a teenager, so they couldn’t send it back themself without raising suspicions. Luckily, putting something in a hidden box and not showing their face did the trick).

            (Y/N) frowned. The hieroglyphic tablet of Tethering wasn’t on the wall. It seemed they were later than expected, and Medrano had begun to work on translation.

            Which means it’ll be in his office.

            (Y/N) went to the door of the display room and peeked outside. No light, no movement. They moved into the hall and crept down towards the room at the other side of the house. Making sure their gloves were on—no sense leaving fingerprints—(Y/N) reached out and felt the door handle.

            The door was unlocked.

            Gently, (Y/N) opened it.

            Shick!

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they took a step back. A man in a white, bandage-like suit stood above Medrano. He pulled two crescent-shaped blades from his chest, and Medrano’s body slumped to the ground. The man paused and looked towards the door, the moon sighting the crescent-illusion in his hood and the symbol on the forehead and chest.

            “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here,” said the man, but (Y/N) felt in their heart that he wasn’t speaking to them.

            “Does it matter? Your job is to punish the wrongdoers in this mansion.”

            (Y/N) blinked as they heard a voice echo from behind them. It was a god’s voice. Not Ma’at, no, but most definitely a deity.

            “I won’t hurt a kid, Khonshu,” snapped the avatar, and his hood folded back.

            (Y/N) turned around and found themself staring up (really up) at a half-man, half-bird skeleton in white wrappings. This was Khonshu.

            “I’m not a wrongdoer,” said (Y/N) to Khonshu, holding up their hands. “I’m, uh, an Avatar.”

            At that, Khonshu and man stopped.

            “You can see him?” said the man, frowning warily.

            “I’m the Avatar of Ma’at,” said (Y/N). They shifted. They weren’t used to saying that. “She’s the goddess of truth.” They could see the “truth” of the world more than others, and that included the gods that walked among them.

            “That ostrich is interfering with my work,” said Khonshu, irritated.

            “You are the one who is not supposed to interfere with human business,” said Ma’at’s calm voice, and (Y/N) glanced at the office’s large window to find her sitting on the sill.

            Khonshu’s avatar looked at the window but saw nothing. “Is another god here?”

            (Y/N) nodded sharply. This was a little too much. They were used to working by themself.

            “You are doing the exact same thing,” said Khonshu.

            “I am returning artifacts to our people,” said Ma’at. “I am not interfering in human life more than that.” She glanced at Medrano’s body. “Unlike some.”

            Khonshu tsked. “I am delivering justice.”

            “A type, yes,” said Ma’at.

            “Ma’at,” said (Y/N) quietly. “I’m going to take the tablet..”

            “Go ahead, (Y/N),” said Ma’at. “Khonshu will not harm you. You have done no wrong.”

            “They interfered with my work,” said Khonshu.

            “Irritating is not wrongdoing,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) decided to leave before the gods continued to argue. It made them uncomfortable. Then again, a lot of interaction did. (Y/N) hadn’t really gotten to slow down and make friends after 2018, so they’d grown used to their own company (or Ma’at’s). Everything else was business, and anything more was out of their realm of understanding.

            (Y/N) opened their bag and slipped the wrapped tablet carefully from the table inside. They looked decidedly away from Medrano’s body, glanced at Khonshu’s avatar, and left the room.

            If that’s what Avatars and gods outside of themself and Ma’at were like, (Y/N) didn’t want to meet them.

l

2025…

            “(Y/N).”

            The now-seventeen-year-old raised their eyes from the book they were reading. “Yes, Ma’at?”

            “I have an important job for you.”

            (Y/N) frowned. Ma’at never described anything as “important.” Necessary? Yes. Important? No. Everything was equally pertinent to upholding justice and order to Ma’at.

            “I need you to retrieve a scarab.”

            “Who stole it?” asked (Y/N).

            “You are.”

            (Y/N) looked at Ma’at in surprise. “What?” Ma’at disliked any injustice or unlawful actions.

            “You are stealing the scarab of Ammit,” said Ma’at.

            Ammit.

            Ammit ruled the scales in the Judgement of the Dead. Ma’at was the Feather of Truth against which human hearts were weighed. One had abandoned true justice; one continued to defend it.

            And (Y/N) was stuck in the middle with the burden to protect the truth of it all.

Mouse Note: Welcome to Burden of Truth! Kind of a rough beginning, but, hey, how else do you become an Avatar to a god? Anyways, housekeeping:
This is a platonic fic, so anyone who suggests anything inappropriate between an adult and minor will be blocked and deleted.
That's pretty much it, but I wanted to make it clear. As for the actual fic, there aren't any warnings other than the violence that Marvel shows. I'm really excited to share this series! Please feel free to comment since I'm always up to answering questions and replying to comments. Plus it makes me keep writing.
Without further ado, though, please enjoy!

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) tugged on the ends of their sweatshirt as they walked through the village. The search for the scarab of Ammit had brought them unexpectedly to the Austrian Alps, but according to their information, the Followers of Ammit’s leader, Arthur Harrow, had many cult members there, and (Y/N) had to get to the scarab before he got possession of it.

            Everyone in the village headed towards the town square, and (Y/N) drifted easily into the flow. If they caught sight of the person delivering the scarab, (Y/N) would pick their pocket and be on their way. They glanced over the crowd. They just had to be careful of the men with guns.

            Their eyes landed on a man with a white hood pulled over his head. (Y/N) frowned. Isn’t that Khonshu’s avatar? They watched him look around almost in fright. That wasn’t like the man they’d seen before. He’d seemed much more self-assured then.

            Still, (Y/N) remained on guard. They had never met an avatar other than him, and Khonshu hadn’t seemed nice, so (Y/N) wasn’t sure about getting closer.

            Their attention went back to the crowd as they all came to a stop at the town square. Murmurs and excited whispers went up as they parted to let a single man walk through.

            Harrow strolled through the crowd as they looked at him reverently. His cane tapped the ground rhythmically. Ammit’s followers bowed and murmured praise to him, thanking him for his presence and for the guidance of Ammit.

            (Y/N) shivered at how honest all the devotion was.

            The people around them jostled to get to the front. They all wanted to reach out to Harrow and even just brush his clothes. (Y/N) and Khonshu’s Avatar ended up nearer, and (Y/N) averted their gaze. They didn’t really want to deal with him. If he was there, it meant something dangerous might happen, and (Y/N) had done a very good job working in the shadows for seven years. They didn’t need it to change now.

            “What a beautiful day,” said Harrow in English. “It’s like we’re in heaven.” He chuckled. “Only it’s not heaven, isn’t it? It’s a darkness.” He smiled kindly. “Sometimes it hides in our very hearts. We are here to make Earth as much like Heaven as possible.” Harrow looked around with a benevolent expression. “Who’d like to go first?”

            (Y/N) watched as a young man stepped forward. They were about to see firsthand what had made Ma’at dislike Ammit so much, what made her want Harrow to never get closer to her teachings and power.

            “You are a brave man, offering your soul for judgement,” said Harrow.

            Judging before their time, before their death? thought (Y/N). But they have no Feather of Truth for their hearts to be weighed against. This was nothing but a perversion of the Judgement of the Dead.

            “Wanting to serve out goddess even before she wakes,” said Harrow.

            He rolled up his sleeves, and (Y/N) spotted the tattoo of scales on his forearm. He balanced his crocodile-headed cane in the man’s hands. The cane began to rock back and forth, and the scales on Harrow’s forearm moved with them.

            “I judge you in Ammit’s name with but a fraction of her power,” declared Harrow.

            The scales balanced and turned green. The crowd gasped, and Harrow smiled at the young man.

            “This is the face of a good man!” he said benevolently. He hugged them, and applause went up in the crowd.

            “Who would like to go next?” said a man next to Harrow.

            “Me,” said an old woman. “Please, Harrow, I must know.”

            “Call me Arthur.” Harrow extended a kindly hand to her. “Come.” She stepped up to him and allowed him to take her hands. “Will you accept your scales, regardless of the outcomes?”

            “Yes,” said the woman.

            The cane swung back and forth, and the woman stared at Harrow’s scales apprehensively. They froze unbalanced and turned a sickening red.

            “I’m sorry,” said Harrow sadly, but (Y/N) felt the lie. He was happy to rid the world of people judged to be unrighteous.

            “I’ve been good my entire life,” said the woman desperately, unable to understand the results of her judgement.

            “I believe you,” said Harrow. Truth. “But the scales see everything. Perhaps it’s something that lies ahead. He sighed. “Well, I wish you could live to see the world we make. Yet, Ammit has decided.”

            The woman gave a gasp that died in her throat. Her body froze before collapsing, dead.

            (Y/N)’s stomach twisted, and they grimaced as every part of them surged angrily at the injustice of these people being given no chance, even for their future. It went against the proper order of life. It was just wrong, and (Y/N) could feel it.

            Harrow knelt sadly beside her body before it was carried away. One of his men walked up and crouched, holding his gun tightly.

            “I’m sorry. There was a problem with the exchange,” he said in German.

            Someone already took the scarab? thought (Y/N). Their eyes went to Khonshu’s Avatar.

            “We got ambushed. Someone killed two of our men,” continued the man.

            It was definitely Khonshu’s Avatar’s doing.

            Harrow stood. “Is he still here?”

            “We think so, yes,” said the guard.

            They know his face, thought (Y/N), glancing at him again.

            Harrow looked out over the crowd. “Bow to Ammit!” he said in Ancient Egyptian.

            The entire crowd knelt ((Y/N), too, to blend in). Khonshu’s Avatar was late, having no idea what the order was and not being part of the cult.

            “Oh, bollocks,” cursed Khonshu’s avatar.

            (Y/N) frowned. That was a totally different accent, English (weird English, too) instead of American. What was going on?

            “You,” said Harrow, looking at him. “I know you.”

            “Me? Hi, uh…” The avatar stood up nervously.

            “Mercenary,” said Harrow coldly, and all eyes went to Khonshu’s avatar.

            “ ‘Mercenary?’ ” repeated the man nervously as the crowd stood up again. “No, no. I’m not a mercenary. No, I’m a gift shop-ist. I work at a gift shop. My name’s Steven Grant.”

            No lies at all, thought (Y/N). He really was Steven Grant and worked at a gift shop. Which, incidentally, made the whole situation more complicated because Harrow was also telling the truth. A regular job as cover? But what about the accents?

            “I’m trying to get back home. To London,” said Steven nervously as Harrow approached. “London? I dunno why I’m saying it like that.”

            “Well, Steven Grant of the gift shop,” said Harrow.

            “Yeah?” said Steven.

            “Will you return to the scarab?” said Harrow, holding out his hands.

            Shit, can’t let him have it, thought (Y/N). Now that they’d seen Harrow judge people and kill them, they knew that even beyond Ma’at’s instructions they needed to stop him. (Y/N) refused to let innocent people get hurt.

            “The…The what?” said Steven, confused. “Oh, alright.” He patted his pockets nervously. “Yeah, the…Oh, you mean…” He pulled the scarab out of his pocket. He stared at in, not having expected it to be there.

            “You will give him nothing.”

            Khonshu’s voice echoed over the street, and Steven looked around for it wildly. He swallowed and held out the scarab to Harrow anyways.

            No! thought (Y/N). They took a step forward.

            Harrow reached out. Steven’s fingers closed suddenly over the scarab. He looked at them in confusion.

            “I strongly encourage you to return that,” said Harrow.

            “I’m not-I’m…” Steven stammered, perplexed. He glared at his fingers, willing them to open. “I’m try—” He hit his hand with his other. “Come on, now. It’s like my fingers froze.” He tried to peel open his fingers. “But here’s some of that…I don’t know, maybe it’s part of the high altitude or something.” He managed to open his hand and grabbed the scarab. “Aha! There, take it, so strange. Sorry, but—” Steven’s hand swiveled behind him, again unbidden.

            “I will not ask again,” said Harrow firmly.

            “I didn’t do that on purpose,” said Steven. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

            Completely truthful, thought (Y/N). This whole thing was proving strange.

            Steven turned his whole body in an attempt to his hand nearer to Harrow. “There, take it, take it.”

            (Y/N) couldn’t let that happen. They darted out and snatched the scarab. Steven and Harrow’s eyes widened, but (Y/N) didn’t wait around to find out their other reactions. They turned and made a run for it.

            “Grab them,” ordered Harrow.

            Several adults emerged from the ground and grabbed for (Y/N). They dodged through a few, but two snagged their arms. (Y/N) yelped and pulled to get away. It didn’t work, so they just curled their fist closed around the scarab, refusing to let go.

            “Who are you?” said Harrow, tilting his head in confusion as his people tried to pry their hand open.

            “Hey, wait, mate, you can’t hurt a kid,” said Steven, brow creasing in concern.

            “Stay out of this, worm,” said Khonshu’s voice.

            Ma’at remained silent, apparently uninterested in getting near Khonshu again.

            The people holding (Y/N) twisted their arm, and they cried out, straining to keep control of their arm. They couldn’t let Harrow get the scarab, not when he was going to hurt people.

            Steven’s eyes rolled into his head for a moment before returning to glare at Harrow and Ammit’s followers. The entire body language had changed.

            “Finally,” said Khonshu.

            Not-Steven—this wasn’t Steven—surged forwards and attacked the people trying to take the scarab for Harrow. He pulled them off of (Y/N) and punched them violently. One tried to attack him in return, but he kicked him to the ground and stomped on his head. (Y/N) stumbled back as their attacker let go, and Not-Steven swung for his head, catching the scarab as it fell. Another grabbed for (Y/N) again, and Not-Steven hit them in the face with the scarab. All the people fell to the ground against Not-Steven, left with bloody knuckles from no wounds on himself.

            (Y/N) stared in surprise, as did Harrow and the crowd. Not-Steven turned to face Harrow, and then his eyes rolled into his head once more. He blinked furiously and looked around in confusion.

            “No, the idiots back,” grumbled Khonshu’s voice.

            Oh. (Y/N) put it together. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Steven and Not-Steven were alters, and one was clearly more of Khonshu’s avatar than the other. (Y/N) had met Not-Steven a year ago, and now they had encountered Steven.

            Steven cleared his throat uncomfortably as he stared at his bloody hands. “S-Sorry…” He put his hands up and glanced at (Y/N). “A-Are you alright?”

            (Y/N) nodded sharply, but they warily eyed the crowd backing off. They needed to get out of that village now. They had been seen by Harrow, which made them a target. If they didn’t leave with the scarab, (Y/N) was going to be killed. Or at least judged, which may end in death.

            “We need to go,” said (Y/N), taking a step back as Harrow and the crowd approached again.

            “Right, right…” Even Steven knew that was the best course of action now. He looked at Harrow warily. “I’m just gonna…we’re gonna go, alright? Yeah.”

            Steven and (Y/N) ran around the crowd, dodging behind tractors and barrels before they could be grabbed. The only escape route they could see was the cupcake-truck. But, seeing as they were desperate, (Y/N) and Steven jumped on.

            “Don’t you dare drop that scarab,” said Khonshu.

            “Alright, alright, alright!” shouted Steven, starting the vehicle.

            “Go, go, go!” said (Y/N), kicking away someone trying to open their door and locking it tightly.

            “We’re going!” cried Steven, stepping on the gas and speeding out of the village onto the roads beyond. “What am I doing, what am I doing?! I don’t even have my license.”

            “Just don’t crash,” said (Y/N), as encouraging as they could be considering the circumstances. They looked behind them. “We’ve got a lot of company.”

            “This has to be a dream,” said Steven nervously.

            “It’s not, Steven,” said (Y/N), grimacing as they saw Harrow’s men catching up. The cupcake van wasn’t going to outrun them.

            “They’re gonna kill us!” cried Steven as he wound around the curves of the roads.

            He tried to speed up, but a chicken-transportation truck appeared in front of them, and he had to slow down. The followers of Ammit rammed into them from the back.

            (Y/N) grit their teeth and squeezed their eyes shut. This isn’t 2018. This isn’t 2018. They weren’t going to die in a car accident. They weren’t.

            Steven honked and swerved around the truck of chickens. “Come on, move your ass!” he grimaced as he saw the old lady glaring at him. “Thank you. So sorry. Thank you.”

            Shots rang out, and a guard jumped from the front of his car to the back the cupcake van. He pulled at the doors, letting them swing wildly in the wind.

            (Y/N) scrambled into the back of the van and kicked him back. The guard fell onto the road, and they grimaced as the cars hit him and kept going. No sooner was he down, though, then another man jumped towards the open back. This time, he kept his gun raised, and (Y/N) dodged to the side. He grabbed for Steven and the scarab, and (Y/N) grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He stumbled and aimed downwards at him with his gun. Alongside them, another car was pulling up with a man with his gun trained on Steven.

            “Wait, no!” shouted Steven, and (Y/N) pushed back to try to avoid being shot.

            In the next moment, Steven—No, Not-Steven—grabbed the man aiming for (Y/N) and smashed his head into the steering wheel. He jerked back, and Not-Steven grabbed his gun. In one fluid motion, he shot the driver of the other car, sending it careening off into the mountain, and he shot the man aiming for (Y/N), letting his body fall back and out of the van.

            No sooner was it done than his eyes rolled again, and Steven dropped the gun in shock and disgust. “I don’t understand what’s happening!” cried Steven.

            “Truck!” shouted (Y/N), grabbing the seat they were behind as Steven screamed and swerved violently around a log truck. It tipped over and crushed a pursuing car.

            Two others pulled up on either side of the van and tried to hit the sides of the cupcake truck. A man on either side raised a gun and aimed.

            (Y/N) ducked and prepared to take the wheel if Steven got shot.

            His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Not-Steven’s eyes focused. He glanced at (Y/N) before spinning the wheel. (Y/N) held onto the seat as the van spun around, hit one car, and ended up backwards. The car crashed off the side of the mountain, and now the cupcake truck faced the final car pursuing them.

            Not-Steven’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Steven focused again.

            “I’m driving backwards!” he cried.

            “Watch out!” said (Y/N), bracing as the car behind(?) them tried to hit them.

            Steven threw the gun at the car, and (Y/N) groaned.

            “Did he just throw the gun?!”

            “I don’t know what I’m doing!” said Steven.

            “Then leave us be, parasite!”

            Steven panicked and turned the wheel, spinning the car around again. They sped towards the forest in the valley, and then…the engine died.

            They coasted to a stop, and the car behind them pulled up to block the road in front. The men got out, readied their guns, and headed towards them.

            “Come on,” said (Y/N), pulling Steven towards the back of the van to escape.

            At the perfect moment, the logs that had come off the truck from earlier landed on the road and crushed the men.

            “Oh, shit!” cried Steven.

            “Oh, god,” said (Y/N), eyes widening. What an unfortunate way to go. Still…it meant they were alive.

            “We need to go.”

            (Y/N) glanced at the man beside them. It was Not-Steven again.

            “Do you still have the scarab?” said (Y/N), following Not-Steven.

            “Yeah,” said Not-Steven. They headed into the woods and walked along the road towards the next town over.

            “What’s your name?” asked (Y/N).

            “Marc,” said Not-Steven. He glanced back at them. “You’re Ma’at’s avatar.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “You’re Khonshu’s.”

            Marc narrowed his eyes. “Yeah.”

            “…I’m (Y/N),” said (Y/N). They realized they should have introduced themself earlier.

            Marc nodded. “Do you have a way back to…wherever you live?”

            “Ma’at will tell me where I need to go next,” said (Y/N). “I’ll figure it out from there.”

            Marc frowned. “You don’t live anywhere?”

            “No?” said (Y/N).

            Marc looked at them and furrowed his brow before turning back to the front. “Be careful.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N). They were the avatar of a god and took back (stole) relics from criminals regularly. They wouldn’t be alive if they didn’t know to be careful.

            But, still, there was something nice about someone saying it instead of (Y/N) having to just take care of themself.

l

            “You were filming our judgement, correct?” Harrow smiled at a young woman.

            She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Harrow.”

            “Please, call me Arthur,” said Harrow. “Would you mind if I took a look?”

            “Of course, Mr-Arthur,” said the young woman.

            “Thank you,” said Harrow, smiling.

            “Mr. Harrow,” said one of his guards, walking up to him. “They got away with the scarab, but we’re already tracking down ‘Steven Grant.’ ”

            “Good,” said Harrow. He held up the phone with a still of the crowd from the video. “And I need you to figure out who this is.” (Y/N)’s face stared out of the crowd.

Chapter Text

            “You must retrieve the scarab.”

            Ma’at’s voice spoke directly into (Y/N)’s head as they sat on the bus out of the alps. (Y/N) pulled their phone and headphones out of their pocket. They slipped the earbuds in and pretended to be on a call.

            “Harrow doesn’t have it. Marc does,” said (Y/N).

            “Marc?”

            “Khonshu’s Avatar.”

            “I do not trust Khonshu to keep the scarab protected.”

            “I can’t fight his Avatar for it.” That wouldn’t end well for (Y/N) at all, even if Marc claimed not to hurt kids.

            “No,” Ma’at agreed. “But Harrow knows Khonshu and his avatar. The scarab isn’t safe there.”

            That was true. That meant Harrow could track Marc or Steven down and put the scarab in danger.

            “Right,” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            They couldn’t let Harrow get to Ammit. They couldn’t let him harm people. They couldn’t let him find the scarab.

            They opened their phone and went to the search bar. Sorry, Steven Grant of the gift shop. I need to figure out where you live.

l

            (Y/N) liked London roofs. They were very easy to sneak around on. (Y/N) was using that precise feature when they arrived at Steven Grant’s apartment. The poor, oblivious man left the window unlocked. (Y/N) opened it easily and slipped inside.

            The entire room was covered in books—lots of Egyptian mythology, coincidentally—and filled with places to hide things. The moment before they could start looking, though, the lock clicked.

            Shit.

            (Y/N) darted to the side and dove under a table. Most of the sides were blocked by various knickknacks and stacks of books, so, hopefully, this would keep them hidden for as long as possible.

            “She shouldn’t be here.”

            (Y/N) frowned when they heard Marc’s voice. They peered out from between the books and saw a girl and Steven? Marc? No, it was Steven. The way he glanced at his reflection in the aquarium glass was too evident.

            Oh.

            Just like (Y/N) could hear the truth of the deities walking among the people of Earth, it seemed they could hear the truth of Steven and Marc’s mind. Weird, certainly, but (Y/N) was the avatar of the goddess of truth. Half the population of Earth had been wiped out for five years before being returned. This was pretty minor in the grand scale of things.

            “Get her out of here, Steven. You’re way out of your depth,” said Marc.

            “Uh, is this your flat, Marc?” said the woman.

            “Um, I’m Steven,” said Steven.

            “Are you living here with someone else?” asked the woman, staring at the cuffs on the bed.

            “No, no, no,” said Steven.

            “Okay, so you guys are talking again?” said the woman.

            Steven nodded, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

            The woman picked up a book. “Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?”

            “Yep,” said Steven. He cleared his throat and spoke one of the poems in French. “I am sad, I want my light put out.”

            “Summers in your absence are as dark as a room,” finished the woman and Steven together.

            This is extremely awkward and weird, thought (Y/N), really wishing they knew where the scarab was so they could take it and leave.

            “She’s my favorite poet,” said Steven.

            “Um, no, she’s my favorite,” said the woman, frowning.

            And they’re both being honest, thought (Y/N)

            “That’s mental,” said Steven.

            The woman frowned and crossed to the desk (Y/N) was hiding under.

            Shit, shit, shit.

            “So you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” said the woman.

            “Yeah, well, that’s not that impressive, really,” said Steven. “It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language. It’s more like an—”

            “An alphabet,” finished the woman.

            “Yeah, and well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it,” said Steven.

            “Sure,” said the woman, humoring him but clearly irritated.

            (Y/N) was really, really not enjoying this.

            “For example, like this one here, right?” said Steven.

            “Funeral rites,” said the woman.

            “Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You,” said Steven, attempting to tease and stumbling over it terribly. “That’s amazing.”

            “Yeah…” The woman stared at Steven.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a creepy way,” said Steven.

            “No, I’m sorry. I’m not buying this, Marc,” said the woman. “Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” She strolled over to the duffel bag and backpack they’d put down. “You sent these papers, but you never signed them.”

            (Y/N) peeked out from beneath the desk. The backpack is hers—the woman was going through it with a sense of ownership—so that duffel bag… (Y/N) looked at it. A part of them—their gut, almost never wrong—told them it was Marc’s. The woman thinking Steven was Marc, knowing him, and bringing him back to his (Steven’s) flat supported that. Which means Marc probably hid the scarab in there.

            “Did I? Uh…” Steven trailed off as he looked at the papers.

            “This is what you wanted,” said the woman. “After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.”

            I think Steven is dealing with Marc’s marital issues…

            “Divorce…?” said Steven.

            “Yeah, we doing this or not?” said the woman.

            “I would never divorce you,” said Steven.

            Yeah, but you aren’t Marc, thought (Y/N). They pushed that out of their mind and focused. They needed to get over to the duffel bag.

            Luckily, marital disputes made for good distractions, so while the woman and Steven spoke, (Y/N) moved from their hiding spot to behind the large bookcase.

            “Marc, what are you doing?” said the woman, sighing tiredly.

            “Look, you seem absolutely lovely,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) looked between them and the duffel bag. So close.

            “This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit. Yeah?” said Steven.

            Marc scoffed in the mirror.

            Damn, he’s going to see me. (Y/N) frowned. But unless he has control of the body, Steeven isn’t that much of a threat. The woman is an unknown, but if I’m fast enough, I’ll be on the roofs in a moment.

            Steven took a step back and sighed. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening.”

            “Steven,” said Marc in warning.

            He’s also distracted, realized (Y/N).

            They felt bad taking advantage of emotional distress—they’re felt enough of it themself—but they needed the scarab so that Harrow wouldn’t know where to find it.

            “I don’t expect you to believe me,” said Steven, basically pacing.

            “Steven, listen to me,” said Marc.

            “I honestly don’t really believe myself,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) slipped towards the table.

            “All I can do is try to show you what I found.”

            “Steven, don’t, listen to me,” begged Marc.

            “I found a bag of stuff,” said Steven.

            “Don’t you dare. You’re gonna get her killed, you hear me?” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” said the woman.

            “Don’t say anything,” said Marc.

            Steven couldn’t even look back at the woman, he was so nervous.

            “If you show Layla that scarab, then you’re when they come after her,” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” repeated Layla.

            “Nothing,” said Steven, keeping his face turned from her.

            “I’ll just look for myself.”

            “Wait, no,” said Steven, panicked, and he turned to grab Layla as she turned to head towards the bag.

            Steven froze. Layla froze. (Y/N) froze.

            “…Hi.” (Y/N) held the scarab tightly.

            “You?!” said Steven, eyes wide.

            “You!” said Marc.

            “Who?” said Layla.

            “Y-You were there—in the village! You were in the van,” said Steven

            “Is that the scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti?” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), moving towards the window slowly.

            “Steven, you can’t let them take that. I have to keep it safe,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) glanced at him, but Layla moved between them and the window before anything else could happen.

            “Marc and I fought side-by-side for that,” said Layla. “I’m not letting you take it, even if he’s trying to do a whole one-man-show thing and keep it to himself.”

            (Y/N) liked her spirit, but they had a job to do. “Sorry, but I need to keep this safe, and I don’t think it is with…Marc.”

            The woman glanced at Steven.

            “I don’t want it!” he said, raising his hands. He was exhausted with it all. “I don’t want it! I swear. Either one of you can have it! I am not Marc Spector, and I want nothing to do with this! I’m just Steven Grant, and I used to work in a gift shop. All I want to is to get help because I’m in trouble.”

            (Y/N) felt bad for him. Unlike Marc, he had clearly not been previously aware of the alter, and discovering that and all of the Egyptian-deity stuff was a lot.

            “…Fine,” said Layla. “I believe you.” She looked at (Y/N). “But I’m sorry, I can’t let you walk away, either. I need to know it’s safe.”

            “We all want the same thing,” said (Y/N), holding the scarab closer. “But I—I have a duty to justice. I can’t leave this here.”

            “Steven, take it from them, just take it, it’s dangerous, and Harrow will come and become their problem as well as mine,” said Marc.

            A knock sounded at the door.

            Everyone fell silent and stared at it.

            “Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” said a woman’s voice.

            “See? They’ve come for me,” said Steven.

            “Why?” said Layla.

            “I vandalized the toilet…” said Steven.

            The knocking continued.

            Steven cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a minute.” He crept towards it and opened it a crack. “Yeah?”

            “DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here,” said the woman, showing her ID.

            Truth. Even though (Y/N) was certain they were telling the truth, they took a wary step away from the door. They still didn’t trust the scenario. This felt too much like Harrow interceding with his many connections.

            “Yeah, one second.”

            Layla ran for the window, and (Y/N) went with her after slipping the scarab into their pocket.

            “Yeah, sorry, I’m having a bit of a day,” said Steven.

            “Mind if we come in, Mr. Grant?” Kennedy didn’t wait for an answer. “Appreciate it.” She pushed in.

            (Y/N) didn’t have a chance to escape with Layla and was left in Kennedy and Fitzgerald’s lines of sight.

            Oh, no.

            For the first time in their life, (Y/N) was caught.

Chapter Text

            Steven looked nervously between Kennedy and Fitzgerald and (Y/N). The teen cursed themself for not making it out the window in time. In the mirror, Marc looked between all of them and narrowed his eyes.

            “Who’s that?” demanded Kennedy.

            “My, uh…neighbor’s kid…I’m babysitting,” said Steven.

            The lie was so terrible (Y/N) didn’t need their abilities to hear it, and they could see Kennedy and Fitzgerald didn’t believe it. In fact, they had recognized (Y/N).

            Harrow knows my face, they realized in horror.

            “What’s your name?” said Fitzgerald.

            (Y/N) really didn’t want to answer. It was bad enough Harrow knew their face, but if he had their identity, their life as they knew it was over. They remained quiet.

            “Come on, what’s your name?” said Kennedy.

            “They, uh, don’t like strangers,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) glanced at him, still deciding whether or not to make a run for it or risk exposing Layla. They knew it was in their best interest to run now, but at the same time, Steven was being kind and trying to defend them, and Layla didn’t seem bad, either, and (Y/N) would feel bad if they abandoned them to Kennedy and Fitzgerald by leaving on the roof.

            They knew Ma’at had given them a job, but (Y/N)’s was the guardian of truth and justice. It was in their heart to try to help people. They wouldn’t leave Steven.

            “So, um,” continued Steven. “Is this about the toilet? ‘Cause it’s been dealt with. Yeah. I’ve been sacked. And, uh, yeah, that’s…”

            As he rambled, Kennedy and Fitzgerald looked around his flat, undoubtedly for the scarab. (Y/N) drifted over to him.

            “We need to go,” they whispered.

            “What?” said Steven.

            “We can’t trust them, we need to go,” said (Y/N).

            “But everything is alright. The museum said I could pay them back in installments, so I’m not in trouble,” said Steven.

            “Steven, listen to them,” said Marc in the mirror. “You need to get out or give me control.”

            “Steven Grant, you’re in possession of a stolen item,” said Kennedy, and (Y/N) stiffened.

            They needed to get out, but every part of them said to stay and help Steven. They didn’t feel right abandoning anyone. It went against their heart.

            “Oh, yeah, no…I don’t have it,” said Steven. “I don’t. It’s not here.”

            It’s nice of him to cover for me instead of just handing me over. Steven had a good heart. (Y/N) felt bad that he was being thrown into all of this.

            Fitzgerald crossed the duffel bag and opened it to see the many passports inside. “ ‘Marc Spector?’ ” he said.

            “That’s not mine,” said Steven quickly.

            “Funny, that,” said Fitzgerald. “Fella looks just like you.”

            “Fake passport and a thief,” said Kennedy. “I think you best come with us, son.” She pulled out handcuffs.

            Steven hung his head in disappointment and nodded.

            “We’ll need to talk to you, too,” said Fitzgerald, looking at (Y/N).

            “Oh, no, I need to send them back to their flat if I can’t keep an eye on them,” said Steven, trying to keep up the pretense that (Y/N) was just being the neighbor’s kid.

            (Y/N) appreciated it, but they knew Kennedy and Fitzgerald weren’t buying it.

            “We need a statement about your whereabouts,” said Kennedy in a “friendly” manner.

            The lie made (Y/N)’s skin prickle. No getting out of it, though. They couldn’t fight their way out. “…Alright.”

            “And we’ll need your ID,” said Kennedy.

            (Y/N) looked nervously between her and Fitzgerald. “I don’t have it with me.” Truth.

            “Don’t lie to us,” said Fitzgerald.

            “I’m not.” I can’t.

            “It’s fine. We don’t need an ID,” said Kennedy. “But we need a name.”

            “…(Y/N).”

            This was the worst.

l

            “Wow, lookie, lookie. Guess what we’ve got here, Billy,” said Kennedy, looking through Marc’s passport information online.

            “Go on, tell me,” said Fitzgerald.

            “We’ve only got ourselves a full- blown international fugitive,” said Kennedy.

            “It’s not-It’s a mistake. That’s not me,” said Steven.

            “Marc Spector was part of a team of mercenaries that hit a dig site in Egypt. Here’s what they did to the archaeologists,” said Kennedy. “Zip-tied and shot in the back of the head, execution-style.”

            “That’s dark, man,” said Fitzgerald.

            (Y/N)’s blood chilled. Archaeologists. That’s what their parents had been, and Marc was capable of killing those people. They felt the desire to curl in on themself build. But there was nowhere for (Y/N) to go. They were stuck in the car with two DCs they couldn’t trust and a man who’s alter wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

            And (Y/N) had no idea how to deal with it. Ever since 2018, they’d followed Ma’at’s instruction. Strange? Yes. A terrible decision? Probably. Unexpected? No. (Y/N) had been ten and lost their parents. How else were they going to survive?

            How am I going to survive this?

            That was the real question.

            “(Y/N) (L/N).” Kennedy flipped to the information on (Y/N). “Presumed dead in accidents following the Blip.”

            “Wonder what you were up to until now,” said Fitzgerald.

            (Y/N) didn’t respond, too tired to put together anything that was truthful enough to be spoken but omitted anything to be used against them. They knew they’d been declared dead. Part of them was.

            Whatever life they’d been meant for before the Blip had died with their parents.

l

            The car rolled to a stop in a back street. Steven frowned.

            “I thought we were going to the police station,” he said.

            Fitzgerald adjusted the rearview mirror. “Now why would you think that?”

            (Y/N)’s blood ran cold as they saw the scales tattoo on his wrist. They’d been right. These two worked for Harrow.

            “Sit tight, yeah?” said Kennedy, getting out of the car without listening to a response. Fitzgerald exited with her.

            “What do we do?” said Steven, panicking. “They’re not real officers!”

            “They’re real, but they don’t have any loyalty to true law or justice,” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “How do you know so much?” said Steven, looking at them.

            “You saw me in the Alps. I’ve dealt with…people like this before,” said (Y/N). That was enough truth.

            “Then you know a way out?” said Steven hopefully.

            “I’m a thief, not a fighter,” said (Y/N). And now that Harrow has my face and name, I’m ruined…

            Panic grasped at their lungs and stole their breath. They had never been so exposed, never. They had always kept their privacy, their identity. Now that had been stolen from them, too. Their one bit of safety was gone.

            A football (“soccer”) rolled to the side of the car, and a girl picked it up. Instantly, Steven knocked his head against the window.

            “Hello. Hello! Excuse me! Could you help us?” he called. “Help, please, we’ve been kidnapped—”

            “Steven,” said (Y/N), eyes trained on the girl’s tattoo of scales. She was part a follower of Ammit. “She’s one of them.”

            The girl barely glanced at them before walking away.

            “Oh my god—Agh!” Steven squeezed his eyes shut as his head pounded.

            “You don’t need to fight me, Steven,” said Marc, and Steven’s eyes went to his reflection in the window. “Surrender control.”

            “No. No, I saw what you did to those people,” said Steven, not even caring he was in front of someone else. He needed speak back to Marc. He refused to be pushed around.

            “It’s not what you think,” said Marc.

            Can’t tell if that’s a lie or not. The phrasing was too ambiguous.

            “Just give me control. I can get you, the kid, and the scarab out of here,” said Marc.

            “I am never giving you control again,” said Steven, slowly, firmly. “Ever? Do you hear me?”

            They really need to talk this out, thought (Y/N), though it was hardly a helpful thought at the moment. (They also wanted to tell Marc and Steven that they could hear them both, but they really weren’t in the right place to do so).

            “I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant of the gift shop.”

            (Y/N) and Steven’s eyes flicked to the radio on the car’s dashboard. Harrow’s voice hung in the air.

            The door of the car opened, and Steven tumbled out. (Y/N) stepped out a bit more gracefully. Waiting for them in a white linen outfit was Harrow himself, his crocodile cane in hand.

            “I’m sorry for the wait,” said Harrow, as gracious as ever. “We just needed a chance to better understand your situation.” He smiled at (Y/N). “My apologies. We will get to you.”

            Anything that (Y/N) could say which was truthful was also rude, so they opted to remain quiet.

            “Do you have the keys?” said Harrow, glancing at Kennedy. She handed them to him. “Let’s get you out of those cuffs.” Harrow undid Steven’s restraints. “There you go.” He nodded to Kennedy and Fitzgerald. “Thank you both.” He guided Steven to his feet and smiled at him and (Y/N). “Aren’t they terrific?”

            “Yeah, they’re lovely,” said Steven.

            “Efficient,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, it’s no wonder your scales don’t balance, Steven,” said Harrow. “It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu…I’m curious, do you think that Khonshu chose you as his Avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”

            “No, I-I’m not broken,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) didn’t need their senses to know that was the truth.

            “Just need some help, maybe,” added Steven.

            That was also true, but (Y/N) was inclined to believe the “help” needed was just some communication.

            “That’s right. That’s why I’m here. To help,” said Harrow.

            Lie. (Y/N) shivered at the intensity of their senses.

            “And you. (Y/N) (L/N),” said Harrow. “I wonder what voice you have in your mind.”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes warily.

            “Oh, yes, I know you’re an Avatar,” said Harrow, smiling. “I recognize the signs. Listening for what others can’t hear. Trying to hide from attention. Hollow eyes.” Harrow continued to gaze at (Y/N) with a benevolent look. “So, who is it?”

            “Be careful,” warned Ma’at.

            (Y/N) raised their eyes to see Ma’at standing, a story tall, behind Harrow.

            “Ah. They’re here. Don’t worry. You don’t need to be afraid,” said Harrow.

            Lie.

            “I understand how you feel. I was once an Avatar,” said Harrow. He chuckled kindly, and (Y/N)’s hairs stood on end as he tried to make them relax with him. “When I was younger. Perhaps, though, not as young as you. Your age is quite…unusual. Maybe that’s why they chose you. Easy to mold.”

            “I was chosen by Ma’at because of my heart,” said (Y/N). Because truth and lies are a part of me.

            “Ah. Ma’at,” said Harrow, and (Y/N) frowned. “Another deity devoted to justice like Ammit.” He looked at Steven. “Like Khonshu. We’re all so similar. We all serve the same ideals.”

            “Kill him!” Khonshu materialized, shouting, and Steven gasped.

            “Oh, is he here now?” said Harrow. He hardly seemed concerned. “What’s he saying, huh? Is he telling you to kill me?”

            “Break his windpipe!” ordered Khonshu.

            “Get away with the scarab,” said Ma’at. “Escape before Harrow does any harm.”

            (Y/N) absolutely wanted to, but one quick glance around said that they were surrounded by Harrow’s people.

            “Yeah, he’s saying that,” said Steven nervously.

            “Well, just remember, neither of you have to do everything your deity asks for,” said Harrow kindly. “So, Steven, before you get excited and put on the cape, and (Y/N), before you try to run, I’d love to take this opportunity to show you around.”

            “We can’t just walk away,” said (Y/N). Truth. They were stuck.

            “You can after we have a brief talk,” said Harrow.

            It didn’t register as a lie, but (Y/N) knew he was omitting that he wanted to scarab in order to let them go.

            Khonshu kicked a trashcan across the alley in anger. Steven jumped, and (Y/N) flinched.

            “Khonshu, do not act rashly,” said Ma’at harshly.

            “Do not think to order me,” retorted Khonshu.

            “It’s alright, it’s alright. Listen to me, not them,” said Harrow. “That’s all either of them can do without your help. Come.” Harrow guided them further into his neighborhood.

            (Y/N) felt like a fly walking farther into the spider’s web.

Chapter Text

            Harrow guided Steven and (Y/N) farther into his neighborhood, gesturing around them proudly.

            “See, this neighborhood used to have the highest crime rate in all the city,” said Harrow. “There was so much suffering, so much pain…” He waved to the people playing music happily. “Good evening. Good evening, everyone.” He turned back to Steven and (Y/N). “It was truly heartbreaking. Now people don’t lock their doors at night. They feel safe.”

            (Y/N) resisted the urge to point out that Harrow had likely judged and killed all those who weren’t part of this “slice of utopia.”

            “Oh, Chase, are those the tomatoes?” said Harrow, smiling at a worker. “You have a green thumb. Beautiful. Thank you.” His attention switched back. “But you don’t tell anyone, no. People don’t want to hear good news. They’d rather cling to their fear, their pain.”

            “Goat…” said Steven, perplexed as one bleated beside him.

            “What? Oh, yes.” Harrow chuckled. “Ah, hello, how are we this evening?” He switched to Mandarin as the girl from before kicked the football to him.

            “Still waiting for you to play me,” she replied in Mandarin as he kicked the ball back.

            “You all speak Chinese?” said Steven.

            “Mandarin,” said (Y/N), truth slipping out.

            Harrow smiled. “(Y/N)’s correct. We all aspire to learn three languages.” He glanced at (Y/N). “How many do you speak?”

            (Y/N) was silent.

            Harrow chuckled. “Come now, it really doesn’t make a difference. It’s not a secret you’re an Avatar.”

            “I speak them all,” said (Y/N).

            Steven stared at them in surprise, and Harrow nodded. Being the Avatar of the Goddess of Truth had some benefits, and speaking/understanding languages was one.

            Harrow guided (Y/N) and Steven into a building where tables of food were set up, a movie was playing, and various people stood around and chatted. It was very warm and comfortable, like a home.

            But beneath it, (Y/N) knew every one of these seemingly peaceful people had allowed others to be judged and killed without a second thought. This heaven was nothing but a sham.

            “You two hungry?” said Harrow. “The food’s free. Steven, you’re a vegan, right?”

            “Yeah…” said Steven, still looking around himself in awe. 

“(Y/N), any dietary restrictions?” asked Harrow.

            “I don’t want to eat.” Yes, (Y/N) was hungry, but they didn’t want to eat what was prepared here.

            “Are you sure? You might want to try the lentil soup. I made it this morning,” said Harrow. “It’s Victor’s recipe.” He gestured to a man on the landing of the stairs on the other side of the room. “Gracias, Victor.” Victor waved back.

            “He’s from the Yucatan,” said Harrow. “He’s…No, he’s very funny.” He handed Steven a tray. “Here.” (Y/N) refused to take anything. That didn’t stop Harrow from speaking to them and Steven, though. “I know being on the right side of things is important to you. Khonshu always tries to ensnare those with a strong moral conscience. I don’t have experience with Ma’at, but as she is also supposed to uphold justice, I suspect it is the same.”

            “You have no conscience,” said Khonshu’s voice angrily.

            “Your sense of right and wrong has been twisted beyond repair,” said Ma’at.

            Steven jumped at Khonshu’s voice, and (Y/N) let out a breath. They weren’t used to Ma’at being upset.

            “You don’t have to listen to them,” assured Harrow benevolently. “Khonshu often throws temper-tantrums, like a two-year-old. None of the gods respect him.” Steven was handed lentil soup. “What is Ma’at like?”

            “She is fair,” said (Y/N).

            “Is she? Strange, then, that she took such a young Avatar. It hardly seems fair to you,” remarked Harrow.

            (Y/N) frowned.

            “Do not listen to him,” said Ma’at.

            “Do you not know? Avatars are supposed to be adults,” continued Harrow. “But you must not have met others. Ah, well, it can’t be too bad, of course. She hasn’t been banished, unlike Khonshu.”

            “I only punish those who have already done harm,” said Khonshu. “I am real justice!”

            “I have done nothing but uphold justice,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) was left wondering what other Avatars were like. It was clear Khonshu and Ma’at’s choices were…singular. Was there more to being an Avatar that they didn’t know about? Were there rules? Did deities have a culture and rules? (Y/N)’s mind whirled with questions.

            “What’s Khonshu saying now? ‘I am real justice?’ ” said Harrow.

            “Can you hear him?” asked Steven quietly.

            “Not anymore.” Harrow smiled. “Though I suspect (Y/N) can.”

            (Y/N) didn’t see a reason to hide what he knew. “I can.”

            “Another ‘truth,’ ” chuckled Harrow.

            “How do you know what he says, then?” asked Steven.

            “I was his former Avatar,” said Harrow. “Before you, I was the fist of vengeance.”

            What a title, thought (Y/N).

            “That’s the little American man living inside of me,” said Steven quietly.

            “And that’s, uh, that’s Marc?” said Harrow carefully.

            Steven looked down at his plate and avoided the question. “Soup’s…Yeah, that’s very good. It’s ace. Yeah, it’s lovely.”

            “Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path,” said Harrow, looking at Steven intently. “His retribution comes too late.” He looked at (Y/N). “As does any action Ma’at takes. By the time any fist of vengeance or defender of truth arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears up evil from the root, casting her judgement before any evil’s done. That’s why we must resurrect her.”

            “Right…but isn’t that a bit dodgy?” said Steven. “Like, trusting the judgement of a weird crocodile lady?”

            “You don’t need to doubt her judgement,” said Harrow, smiling. “Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”

            (Y/N)’s pocket felt all the heavier. Around the room, people got up and began to circle from different vantage points, ready for a fight.

            “That scarab functions as a kind of compass, leading us to Ammit’s tomb,” explained Harrow. His people began to converge. “She’s out there, waiting, longing to be freed. While the cruel masses deserve to face her punishment. And in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated. Steven, (Y/N)…to exist at that moment? Heaven on Earth.” He leaned back. “So, the scarab.”

            “Oh, I don’t have it,” said Steven. He wasn’t going to give up (Y/N), a kid, so that was all he said.

            “No?” Harrow raised a brow.

            “Honestly, I don’t have it,” said Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N), and they cursed their inability to lie. Still, they had to say something.

            “Marc took it from me in the Alps. I came to Steven’s flat to find it,” said (Y/N). Hopefully, that would be enough for Harrow to not directly ask “do you have it?” At some point, they wouldn’t be able to dance around the answer “yes.”

            “Well, maybe you know someone who does?” said Harrow, looking between (Y/N) and Steven. “Maybe Marc hid it and you know where?”

            “Don’t you do it.” Marc spoke from Steven’s reflection in the bowl. “Don’t you give it up. He’ll kill you and the kid.”

            (Y/N) blinked. They were unused to having people consider their safety. Ma’at couldn’t due to their job, so this was…new. Since their parents, no adults had looked twice at them. Steven and Marc weren’t exactly people (Y/N) knew or could be sure they could trust, but they at least didn’t want to throw (Y/N) to the wolves. That was…nice.

            “Just give me the body,” said Marc.

            “No, I don’t know who could have it or where,” lied Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N).

            “Marc hid it somewhere. It wasn’t in the flat when I got there.” Two truths. Marc had hidden the scarab, and Steven had brought the duffel bag into the flat after (Y/N) got there.

            “May I speak with Marc?” asked Harrow.

            “Um…uh,” Steven shifted uncomfortably.

            “Marc, what has Khonshu promised you?” said Harrow. “That this is your last mission? Then you’ll be free?” He looked at Steven. “Trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar, as are all the gods.” He glanced pointedly at (Y/N). “There is always one last thing.”

            (Y/N) decided to intercede to save Steven from the interrogation. They owed him. “If Ammit judges people before they do anything, isn’t she judging an innocent person?”

            Harrow’s eyes flicked to them, and they continued.

            “It goes against the idea we have the ability to make choices. It says that there’s only one path for us and we have no self-determination,” said (Y/N). Everyone was staring at them, but now that their thoughts were in the air, they weren’t stopping. “And what counts as ‘evil’ to her? If it’s action, she’s admitting to judging someone for what they might do. But if it’s thought, then that makes no sense, since thoughts becoming actions is what is harmful. The thought in itself could be ignored.”

            Harrow sighed. “(Y/N), you’re a child. You may be an Avatar, but you do not understand the scope—”

            “Oh, what about children?” said (Y/N), eyes widening. “Would Ammit kill a child for something they might think or do in thirty years?”

            Steven’s eyes widened in horror at the idea.

            Harrow sighed and collected himself. “I’m glad you mentioned that. Sometimes…the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage. Considered a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque, is necessary for the overall health.”

            “A child isn’t a diseased limb,” said (Y/N). They looked around at everyone. “Is that what everyone here thinks? That killing—a terrible thing—a child is fine because that child might do something bad in the future? You’re just as bad as the child’s hypothetical future.”

            Steven nodded emphatically. “Sorry, yeah, but…I kind of draw the line there at child murder.”

            Harrow looked away from them in disappointment. Then, he lifted up his cane. “Do you know what this is?”

            “Yep, it’s a cane, yeah,” said Steven.

            “This is—” Harrow stood and held out the cane “—Ammit’s gift to her first Avatar.”

            “Alright…” said Steven.

            (Y/N) eyed it warily as it glowed purple. The followers of Ammit took steps back as Harrow held it up.

            “It contains in it a tiny sliver of her power,” continued Harrow.

            Not good, thought (Y/N). They and Steven stood up from the table and took a careful step back.

            “I don’t want to use it,” said Harrow. That was the truth, but that wouldn’t stop him from indeed using it. “I don’t.”

            “Then don’t,” said Steven, laughing nervously. He and (Y/N) continued to back away. “We can’t help you.”

            “Yes, you can,” said Harrow. “I need to know, where is the scarab?” Steven and (Y/N) were silent. “Where is the scarab?” repeated Harrow, raising the cane towards Steven. “Where is the scarab?”

            “No,” said Steven, shaking his head.

            “Where’s the scarab?” Harrow lifted the cane.

            “Don’t hurt him.” (Y/N) pulled the scarab from their pocket and held it above their head.

            All eyes snapped to them, and (Y/N)’s body went hot with anxiety at the attention. They knew this was stupid and risky, but they couldn’t just stand by while someone was threatened. It wasn’t who they were.

            Harrow stared at it. “You have no idea the value of what you’re holding.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I can’t let you release Ammit.”

            Harrow sighed. “I’d really prefer to do this the easy way, but I have to make sacrifices for a better world.”

            Steven’s eyes widened in alarm, and (Y/N)’s grip on the scarab tightened. They needed a way out.

            “There is no deal in this, Marc. Fix this! Fix this!” shouted Khonshu.

            “Do not give it to him, (Y/N). Get out of there!” said Ma’at.

            “Don’t touch them.”

            A woman pushed out of the crowd and stood by Steven and (Y/N)’s side. Layla. She, too, wanted to keep the scarab safe, and seeing Steven (who she still thought was Marc) and (Y/N) threatened was unacceptable.

            Layla glanced at Steven. “Summon the suit.”

            “Sorry, what?” said Steven.

            “Summon the suit,” urged Layla.

            Oh, boy, thought (Y/N), still looking around themself warily.

            “ ‘Summon the soup?’ What are you saying?” asked Steven.

            “The suit. Summon it,” repeated Layla urgently.

            “The suit?” said Steven.

            Layla groaned. “So be it.”

            She grabbed Steven and (Y/N)’s wrists and pulled them after her. A man grabbed for them, but Steven shoved him back.

            “Up!” shouted (Y/N), racing towards the stairs with Layla and Steven on their heels.

            Harrow sighed. It seemed he’d have to use the cane. He slammed it against the ground. The building shook, and purple light erupted from cracks spiderwebbing through the floor and walls.

            (Y/N) paused in front of Victor as he emerged from a side hall, knife in hand. They pushed the scarab into Steven’s hands. It seemed they were going to have to fight.

            Fine.

            To protect innocents, (Y/N) would.

Chapter Text

            Victor lunged at (Y/N) with his knife, and they dodged before him. Steven jumped in fear, but Layla grappled with Victor before he could get hurt. Behind Victor, (Y/N) kicked him, and he stumbled. Layla used his clumsiness to throw him over the side of the stairs to the ground below.

            “That was awesome!” exclaimed Steven.

            “Come on, come on,” said (Y/N). “No time!”

            Below, Harrow chanted in Coptic, and the purple light began to expand. A jackal-like creature clambered out of the light, like a demon emerging from hell.

            Layla pulled (Y/N) and Steven into another room and shut the wooden doors. “Here! Bolt the door!”

            Steven shoved the bolt through the lock before looking around. Sarcophagi lined the walls, and Steven made a disgusted face.

            “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man-cave,” he said.

            Something began pounding on the door, and he jumped.

            “Hey, no, listen to me. Listen to me,” said Layla before Steven could get more freaked out. “Your name is Marc. There’s a suit. I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out.”

            “No.” Steven shook his head violently.

            “Where are you? We need you to fight,” said Layla.

            “Let me in, Steven!” said Marc, his face in a mirror lying on the ground.

            “No, I can’t. Stop, please, both of you,” begged Steven.

            “Let me in,” said Marc. “There’s no more time!”

            “Please, stop,” said Steven, backing away.

            “Listen to me. Your name is Marc,” said Layla.

            “Stop it,” said (Y/N), moving between them. They looked intently at Layla. “His name is Steven. Marc’s not…him.”

            “Let me in, let me in!” said Marc.

            “Shut up,” said (Y/N), glaring at him, and Marc and Steven started as Marc was spoken directly to.

            “We need Marc,” said Layla.

            “Please, stop!” Steven held his head.

            “You’re alright, you’re alright,” said (Y/N), crouching with him.

            “I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I’m sorry,” said Steven as the pounding on the door grew louder.

            Layla furrowed her brow. “Alright, alright. We’ll find another way.” She looked at (Y/N). “You’re an Avatar, too, aren’t you?”

            “Yes.” (Y/N) trusted Layla, and they couldn’t lie to a direct question like that.

            “Then bring out your suit and get us out of here,” said Layla.

            “I don’t have one,” said (Y/N).

            “You what?” said Layla.

            “Ma’at never gave me one,” said (Y/N).

            “How the hell does she expect you to survive?!” exclaimed Layla.

            “I’m a thief, not a fighter!” said (Y/N), just as frantic.

            The doors broke down, and (Y/N) and Steven jumped. The mummified jackal growled at them.

            “Jackal, jackal, jackal!” shouted Steven, scrambling back.

            “What jackal?” said Layla, furrowing her brow.

            “It’s there,” said (Y/N), moving to the window to try to judge how far of a jump it would be. Way too big.

            The jackal ran at them, and before (Y/N) could move out of the way, Steven (bravely and foolishly) jumped in front, and it tackled him out the window.

            “Summon the suit!” shouted Khonshu.

            “Shit,” cursed (Y/N), looking down from the window and mapping a way to get down to help Steven.

            “You need a suit,” said Ma’at.

            “I don’t have one,” said (Y/N).

            “I have not given one to you,” corrected Ma’at.

            (Y/N) nearly groaned. “Why not?”

            Layla looked at the in confusion as they spoke to silent air.

            “I wished to keep you from fighting. Now it is unavoidable.”

            “Grant it to me,” said (Y/N).

            “Very well.”

            Around (Y/N), cloth wrappings of blue and white appeared. The blue closed around their legs in slightly-loose pants, and a white shirt appeared before blue wrappings became details on top. Ostrich feathers of gold were stitched into the fabric. Gold boots appeared, and a golden headband with scales stitched in gleamed on their head. The wrappings floated in the wind, and (Y/N) flexed their hands.

            Strength and power they’d never felt before thrummed through them.

            (Y/N) jumped from the edge of the window and landed on the street below. They felt no pain from the landing, and their strength felt unencumbered.

            Poor Steven was thrown into the side of a car by the jackal, and (Y/N) ran towards him. They were a little surprised that he had a suit—literally a formal suit of white—but if that helped him fight and survive, they weren’t complaining.

            “Steven!” called (Y/N). “Move!”

            Steven ducked, and (Y/N) punched the jackal. It went flying and crashed into a wall.

            Behind them, Layla scrambled down a ladder and watched them. She furrowed her brow as she looked at Steven.

            “You look…different,” said Layla.

            Steven brightened, but before he could respond, the jackal grabbed him and dragged him back. (Y/N) grabbed him and pulled him back, but the jackal clawed at them. (Y/N) yelped and ducked, but they were thrown to the side. Their inexperience was, unfortunately, showing.

            Steven ran to help, but the jackal roared and threw him back. Layla ran up and helped him to his feet, but the jackal lunged at her. She couldn’t see it, so (Y/N) pulled her to safety while Steven tried to distract the jackal. It grabbed him and throttled him against a car, and Layla grabbed a broken bottle. She stabbed the jackal in the back, but it didn’t show any pain. In fact, it just turned on her and grabbed her throat alongside Steven’s. The jackal slammed them into the wall, and they fell to the ground. (Y/N) ran at the jackal and punched it back. It slid to a stop before growling and charging again. (Y/N) ducked, but the jackal grabbed their leg and swung them into the wall.

            Steven groaned and pulled himself to his feet. In the metal of the car he’d fallen on, Marc stared out at them.

            “Give me control, Steven,” said Marc. “You can’t handle this.”

            “I think I can.” Steven turned on the jackal as it stalked Layla and (Y/N). “Get away from them, you,” he cried, putting up his fists. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote. You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now. Yeah. Come on. Come on. That’s right. Come on. Ooh, lookie here, lookie here. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a ‘V!’ ”

            The jackal charged, and Steven punched it. It flew to the side, and Steven stared at his fist in surprise. He laughed and cheered.

            “I did it! You got planted!” said Steven. “Did you see tha—”

            The jackal kicked him, and Steven hit a double-decker bus. The jackal continued to attack him. The two continued to grapple in their fight, and even as Steven struggled valiantly, the jackal threw him in front of a car. Steven was thrown backwards and hit the ground hard, his mask knocked off.

            “That was a hell of a punch back there,” said Marc sarcastically as Steven dragged himself to his feet. “Look around. Someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help.”

            Steven swallowed hard. “Alright. Do it. Take control. For now.”

            His eyes rolled back into his head, and he leaned back. His eyes glowed silver as Steven’s suit transformed into Marc’s mummy-themed outfit.

            Layla stared in surprise before taking charge. “Get it out of here!”

            Marc jumped onto the roofs of London to draw the jackal after him. It growled and hesitated to stare at (Y/N). They sighed and leapt up after Marc to not divert the jackal’s attention. It growled and ran after them.

            “Stay back, kid,” shouted Marc.

            “It’s following both of us,” called (Y/N).

            The pair continued to run, and the jackal leapt after them. As they went, the jackal began to catch up. (Y/N) and Marc leapt across a street, crossing the shining moon. Marc landed smoothly, and (Y/N) stumbled. They were used to parkour and gymnastics from their nights of thieving, but with new strength, their balance felt off. This would take some getting used to (and (Y/N) was annoyed at never having been given a suit before).

            They reached the edge of a clocktower, and the jackal grabbed (Y/N). They yelped and twisted to get out, but the jackal threw them to the side. Marc moved instantly and caught them as he leapt from the tower. The jackal pounced, and Marc twisted midair. He kept (Y/N) tucked close to him while kicking the jackal back. His aim was true. The jackal landed on a spire, stabbed through its heart. It wheezed for a moment before disintegrating into the sand from where it came.

            Marc put down (Y/N), and their suits retracted. Marc breathed heavily, having exerted a lot of his strength.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            Marc nodded shortly. “It wasn’t a big deal.” He patted his pockets. He frowned in panic. “No, no. Where is it? Where is it?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Did we lose the scarab?”

            “Shit, it’s gone!” cursed Marc, confirming it.

            “What do we do?” asked (Y/N). They weren’t a fool. By this time, Harrow had likely found the scarab. They’d failed their mission.

            “I don’t know,” said Marc, staring up into the sky.

            Silence descended on them as the two Avatars contemplated their situation and failure.

            “Is this what it’s like?”

            Steven’s voice broke the quiet, and (Y/N) and Marc turned to the statue behind them. The sides were mirrors, and Steven looked out from within.

            “Being on the inside?”

            Marc glanced at (Y/N), but he was too tired to be ashamed of his condition (which he shouldn’t need to be, anyways), so he just nodded. “Yeah,” he said to Steven.

            “It’s horrible,” said Steven nervously.

            “It’s alright. You’re alright,” said Marc, trying to calm Steven.

            “I feel like I can scarcely move,” said Steven.

            “Breathe,” said (Y/N), sitting down. “That’s what I’m doing.” They’d never messed up a job, and now they’d put the world at risk. That was enough to trigger their own mental-health issues (when it came to working for a god, they were bound to develop, and (Y/N) did see their parents die, so trauma + work pressure = mental illness).

            Marc and Steven looked at them.

            “You can hear us?” said Marc.

            “I hear the truth,” said (Y/N), sighing and wrapping their arms around their knees. They were too tired for it.

            “…Thank you, then, for not saying anything to Layla,” said Marc.

            “It’s not my place,” said (Y/N), closing their eyes and focusing on their breathing. They tried not to think of how Ma’at was going to react to their failure.

            “C-Can I have my body back?” said Steven, having tried to breathe but not being able to handle it.

            “I can’t do that right now, Steven,” said Marc.

            “Please,” said Steven.

            “I’m taking it back!” said Steven. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus, but nothing happened.

            “Sorry,” said Marc. “We’ve always managed to keep a wall between us, but something’s changed. The one who controls the body has become stronger. The reflections help, but most of the time, it’ll take all your willpower just to be a fly on the wall.”

            “You can’t do this, keeping me trapped in here. You have no right,” said Steven. “My whole life. I can’t go on a bloody date. I can barely keep a goldfish alive. I lost my job. It’s been you. It’s always been you, eating away at parts of my life like a parasite.”

            “Look, when I am done, when I have repaid my debt, I swear to you, you will never see me or hear from me again,” said Marc. “I promise you, we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Khonshu. And my…servitude is the price that I pay.”

            “What kind of servitude?” said Steven.

            “The kind that leaves me covered in blood,” said Marc.

            “Yeah, well, that blood is on my hands,” snapped Steven. “You ruin people’s lives! Everything you touch, you ruin!”

            Marc threw up his hands and turned away.

            “You hurt people. You abandoned your wife. You left her stranded,” said Steven.

            Marc turned on Steven. “I did not. I am protecting her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Yes you did, I saw!” said Steven.

            “Khonshu has his eyes on her,” snapped Marc. “He wants her as my replacement. I’m never gonna let that happen.”

            “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you! I don’t trust you!” said Steven. “You hurt people!”

            “Just shut up!” said Marc.

            “I won’t let you hurt anyone again! I will never give you a moment of peace, I promise!”

            “Shut! Up!”

            Marc slammed his foot into the mirror. Over and over he stomped on it until the shards were so small that Steven’s face couldn’t appear anywhere.

            Silence.

            Marc glanced at (Y/N), but the teenager hadn’t moved, still breathing and trying to calm themself. They hadn’t listened at all to what was going on with him. Before either Avatar could calm down properly, though, the wind whipped around them, and two gods revealed themselves to both parties.

            “You failed to keep the scarab safe,” said Ma’at. “You should not have entrusted it to that man.”

            “He is a fool,” said Khonshu angrily.

            “I’m sorry,” said (Y/N), looking up at Ma’at, so small compared to her towering stature.

            “I’ll retrieve the scarab,” said Marc.

            “Too late, Harrow has it,” said Khonshu.

            “Then we’ll find another way. We’ll get to Ammit’s tomb first,” said Marc.

            “Ma’at and I have decided that this is…enough of an issue that working together is necessary,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Marc looked at each other. That meant they would be working together.

            “Harrow has many allies. We have few. We must use the resources we have at our disposal,” said Ma’at.

            “I understand,” said (Y/N).

            “I’ll do whatever it takes,” said Marc. “Where are we going?”

            “Where the hell do you think?” said Khonshu scornfully.

            “Cairo, the home of the gods,” said Ma’at.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) was exhausted from traveling, but they had finally arrived in Cairo. They knew that as soon as possible they’d need to start investigating where Ammit’s tomb may be, but they just wanted to fall asleep for a hundred years. Having never been in such a physical fight, (Y/N) really needed to rest, but on the plane ride over, they had forced themself to stay awake in case any of Harrow’s people appeared to attack them.

            “(Y/N)?”

            The teen turned from where they were waiting on a cab to see Marc. “Oh. Hi.”

            “Are you going to a hotel on your own?” asked Marc.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N).

            Marc furrowed his brow and made a quick decision. “Follow me.”

            “…Are you sure?” asked (Y/N).

            “Come on, kid,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) hesitated. Marc was intimidating, and after they’d seen what he’d done to those archaeologists, (Y/N) wasn’t sure how close to him they should get. But at the same time, he’d protected them from the jackal. He’d wanted them to be left out of Harrow’s danger.

            (Y/N) gave a short nod. They’d take a leap and trust him. A little.

l

            “This is where I’m staying,” said Marc. “I’ve been here before. We’ll be safe enough.”

            “It’s nice,” said (Y/N).

            Marc gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, right.”

            “It is. I stay at the cheapest places possible,” said (Y/N).

            “That’s not safe,” said Marc.

            “I’m alive,” said (Y/N).

            Marc frowned. “That’s a terrible measure.”

            “It is?”

            Marc sighed. He had thought his position as an Avatar had caused him issues, and now this kid came along just as lost. “Yeah, kid. It is.” He picked up the phone. “I’m ordering food. What do you want?”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            “Seriously, kid, just tell me,” said Marc.

            “I was being serious,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            “No one’s ever serious about that. They just lie to not seem pushy.” And if Marc knew one thing, that kid looked like someone to keep their problems to themself because gods weren’t exactly the most sympathetic.

            “I’m not lying.”

            Marc sighed. “Kid, I’m really too tired for this.”

            “I can’t lie!” said (Y/N) quickly, pushing out the words.

            They looked down and shifted awkwardly. They hadn’t told anyone that after their parents died. Only Ma’at knew, and it had brought Ma’at to them.

            You…what?” said Marc.

            “I can’t lie,” repeated (Y/N). “I just can’t.”

            “Does Ma’at not allow you to?” It is definitely the sort of thing one of these shit gods would have their Avatar do.

            “No, I never could, even before Ma’at,” said (Y/N). “I can’t tell a lie.”

            “That’s…unhelpful as a thief,” said Marc, brow creasing. It was yet another example of Ma’at putting a child—already an issue—into further danger because they wouldn’t be able to get themself out of trouble.

            “It’s not all bad,” said (Y/N), shrugging and rubbing their arm. “I can tell when someone’s lying or telling the truth. That’s helpful.”

            Marc sighed and backed off. He wasn’t going to press (Y/N), not when they were so clearly uncomfortable. He knew all-too-well how damaging the stress adults could inflict on kids.

            “Alright. So you don’t care what we eat?” said Marc, going to a safer subject.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I’ll eat anything. I just want to eat and sleep.”

            “We can agree on that,” said Marc. He wasn’t sure how to approach working with or even dealing with the teen, but he knew they both needed rest before they stopped Harrow.

            Whatever it took.

l

            (Y/N) and Marc ran across the roofs of Cairo, anxious to reach the one follower of Harrow that was ready to give up where he was. Unfortunately, the moment they pulled themselves onto the roof, two other men were stabbing him, and a third was keeping watch.

            “Oh, shit. You killed him?” said Marc. “We needed to talk to that guy. About a dig site. Guess we’re gonna have to talk with you instead.”

            “You’re two late,” said one man. “You’re never gonna find Harrow.”

            “Really? Kid, what do you think the truth of that statement is?” asked Marc.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “It’s opinion, but I think we’ll find him.”

            The man took out his knife and flipped it around, showing off his skills.

            Marc watched him and moved between him and (Y/N). “Oh. What, are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?”

            The first man leapt to the side, and the second attacked Marc. He blocked them and threw them into the wall while kicking another back. The third, a teenager, ran up to attack (Y/N), and they jumped back, dodging his knife attacks. Marc grabbed him and forced him to his knees. He raised his fist to punch the younger boy, but when he flinched, Marc relaxed and just struck him with his palm.

            (Y/N) blinked as they saw it. Something about it made them feel…safer around Marc. They’d seen what he was capable of, and to know that he knew when to held back meant (Y/N) could feel alright near him. (Which was strange in itself since (Y/N) never had an adult to trust after their parents)

            Another man came at them with his knife, and (Y/N) dodged, scrambling onto another section of the roof. The man slashed at them, but (Y/N) kicked him back into Marc’s waiting arms to disarm him.

            The teenage boy grabbed the knife as it fell to the ground and spat at Marc in Arabic, “in your face, foreigners!”

            He threw the knife at Marc’s face, and it barely missed. By this point, the first man had gotten back up, too, and it was three versus two again. The first licked his knife dramatically. Marc punched him before he could try anything. As he slumped backwards, the second man grabbed Marc and pulled him away. (Y/N) leapt onto his back and struck his head over-and-over until he let go and fell to the ground. (Y/N) stood between the teenage boy and Marc, panting but refusing to give up. Marc had helped them, and they weren’t going to let that go unrepaid.

            The teenager attacked (Y/N), and they blocked, hissing as the blade cut through the outside of their forearm. Still, they didn’t let up and kicked the boy back. Marc quickly got up and tripped him, effectively taking him down without causing much harm.

            The second man stabbed at (Y/N), and they rolled to the side to dodge, but he advanced again. Marc grabbed him and fought him back, pinning him to a wall and pushing his knife against his throat.

            “Marc. Stop it,” said Steven softly, afraid, from the reflection of the knife.

            Marc paused, and (Y/N) watched, glancing between him, the teenager, and the man he had trapped.

            “Marc?” asked (Y/N).

            Marc slammed the man’s head against the wall. “Where’s Harrow?” he hissed. He slammed his head against the stone again to make a bone.

            (Y/N) frowned and took a step back. Not Marc? The accent was all wrong, but (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to do. This felt stranger than Steven and Marc.

            “I-I don’t—” the man coughed, his airway constricted. “I-I won’t—”

            Not(?) Marc smashed his head against the stone and let him slump to the ground. “Inútil.”

            Useless, translated (Y/N)’s mind.

            Not(?) Marc tossed the man to the side and turned away. Without another word, he turned away and walked towards the exit of the roof. He passed (Y/N), paused, and grabbed their wrist, pulling them with him.

            (Y/N) had a feeling they shouldn’t fight Not(?) Marc and let themself be pulled down and out onto the street where Not(?) Marc called a cab. He looked around surreptitiously before pushing (Y/N) in first. Then, he slipped in.

            “Marc? What’s going on?” asked (Y/N) hesitantly, shifting away from the man beside them slightly.

            “Airport,” he said to the cab driver.

            “Marc?”

            Not(?) Marc groaned, and his eyes rolled back before settling. He looked around in confusion.

            “What…?” he trailed off as he saw they were in a cab. “Stop, please!” he said in Arabic to the driver.

            “You’re speaking Arabic, eh?” said the driver. “Why are you acting like a foreigner?”

            Marc looked at (Y/N). “Where were we going?”

            “You said the airport,” said (Y/N) cautiously.

            “I—no, I didn’t, I couldn’t…” He paused as he saw the teenage boy and man he’d fought exiting a nearby building. He opened the door of the cab and got out to speak to them. “Let me talk to you.”

            The two stepped back nervously.

            “Just let us go, man,” said the teenager.

            “That wasn’t me!” cried Marc.

            The teenager and the man made a run for it, and Marc took off after them.

            “My money!” shouted the driver.

            (Y/N) pulled out a couple bills, paid, and ran after Marc.

            They ended up in a marketplace, and the four continued their game of cat-and-mouse through the people and stalls, heedless of any obstacles in their way. Finally, Marc got his hands on the man and threw him to the ground to slow him down. He grabbed his coat and pushed him against the wall.

            He punched him in the stomach, and (Y/N) frowned as they saw it. They had seen terrible things in their life, but they were still getting used to it. They still disliked violence fundamentally, but they knew that when it came to Ammit, it was going to be unavoidable.

            “Where’s Harrow?” questioned Marc. “Where’s Harrow? Tell me!”

            “Marc,” said (Y/N), and Marc paused. “He’s not going to tell you. We already know that—Ah!”

            The first man from the fight on the roof appeared and struck them in the back of the head. (Y/N) stumbled forward, and Marc was distracted long enough to get hit by the man he had pinned, and he fell backwards.

            “Marc!”

            Marc’s unconscious body suddenly awoke, eyes bright and awake. In an instant, he was upon the men, attacking with reckless abandon. It was far more intense than anything else (Y/N) had seen yet. This was once again not Marc. This was violent, and it scared (Y/N). They took a step back, and the moment Not Marc sunk the man’s knife into his own side, (Y/N) made their decision.

            They couldn’t watch this violence.

            (Y/N) turned and ran. They ran until they felt safe, until it was quiet, until they had found an alley to curl up in and control their breathing.

            I can do this. I can do this. I can handle this, thought (Y/N), tapping their fingers rhythmically.

            “What are you doing?”

            (Y/N) looked up to find Ma’at standing over them. “I-I can’t do the killing. I can’t.”

            “It is your job to see the ugliness of the world so that others may be protected,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) flinched. “I know. I just-I couldn’t.”

            “You will have to learn to handle this,” said Ma’at. “Ammit will not hesitate to kill, and neither will Harrow. You must be prepared.”

            “I-I will be. I won’t run away again. I promise,” said (Y/N).

            “Good.”

            (Y/N) knew Ma’at was gone after she spoke, but the deity’s disappointment in her Avatar remained a burden on (Y/N)’s shoulders whether she was there or not.

l

            Marc looked around in confusion as the man’s body he had stabbed fell to the ground. He had blood on him, and he stood on a cliff overlooking Cairo. It was just him and the men he was fighting. Well, not anymore. The two men were both dead, killing by their own weapon by…Marc?

            He shook his head. “What…? Oh, god. Steven, what did you do?”

            Steven glared out from the blade. “I swear, that wasn’t me!”

            “Then who was it?” said Marc. His eyes widened. “And where’s the kid?” (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen, and an unexpected amount of fear flashed through him.

            “I don’t know,” said Steven, shaking his head.

            Before Marc could reply, the teenage boy from before moved, still alive. His leg was broken, though, and he could only drag himself back.

            Marc swallowed. “Where’s the kid I was with?”

            “Ask him about the tomb,” said Khonshu’s voice, and Marc straightened. “Take him to the ledge.”

            “He’s just a kid,” said Marc.

            “He’ll talk,” said Khonshu.

            Marc obeyed and picked up the teenager, holding him up near the ledge, careful not to let him drop. Marc had never been one to harm kids, but all of a sudden, the boy’s face because (Y/N)’s for a sickening moment, and Marc held onto his scarf all the tighter.

            “Where is Harrow?” he demanded, wanting this to be over with quickly.

            The boy looked down and back at Marc. “Praise Ammit.”

            “No, kid—”

            The boy cut his scarf with his knife before Marc could do anything, and he plummeted to his death. Marc’s eyes widened in horror.

            “Mm.” Khonshu barely reacted. “I thought he’d talk.”

            Marc nearly snapped and asked whether or not (Y/N) would think that was a lie. He swallowed his anger, though, and directed it on Steven—and himself.

            “What the hell’s wrong with you, Steven?” he questioned.

            “Me?” Steven’s reflection shone out of the side mirror of a car. “You’re the one going on a killing spree and scaring (Y/N)!”

            “I didn’t do any of this,” snapped Marc.

            “Me neither. Listen, if you’ve got a problem with the high body count, I suggest you stop listening to that bloody pigeon,” retorted Steven.

            “Stay out of my way,” said Marc, turning away. He cleared his throat. “Well, if we can’t find Harrow’s digging crew, we’re gonna have to stop ‘em another way.” He looked around. “I need to find (Y/N) first, though.”

            “Ma’at has an eye on them. You have no need to concern yourself,” said Khonshu dismissively.

            “Oh, yeah, because the gods seem so kind and worried,” muttered Steven in the reflection, and Marc was inclined to agree.

            He looked at Khonshu. “What about the other gods?” he asked. “Are they just going to stand by and allow somebody to unleash Ammit?”

            “To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” said Khonshu.

            “Why? What’s the worst that could happen?” asked Marc.

            “Anger them enough, and they’ll imprison Ma’at and me in stone,” said Khonshu.

            Marc tsked. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

            “See how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor or Ma’at’s strength,” said Khonshu.

            Marc threw up his hands. “Alright. So what? Do you have any good ideas? If not, I’m going to find (Y/N), Ma’at’s ‘concern’ be damned.” He turned away.

            “I have a bad idea.” Khonshu disappeared.

            “Khonshu?” Even for the bird, that was unusual. Marc looked around, and his eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

            A dark shadow was crossing over the sun, blocking out its light in a sudden eclipse.

            “Sending the gods a message they can’t ignore.”

l

            (Y/N) felt the shadows rush over them before they saw the eclipse. They looked up in awe as the sun was blocked out.

            “Ma’at?” they asked. “What’s going on?”

            “Khonshu is risking the wrath of the gods,” said Ma’at. “There is to be a meeting of the Ennead.”

            “Can’t they help with Ammit and Harrow?”

            “They could. Or…” Ma’at’s eyes narrowed. “They could imprison Khonshu and I in stone.”

            “Have you two done something wrong?”

            “According to their nonsensical rules.”

            (Y/N) frowned. Ma’at never avoided speaking matter-of-factly, so to avoid speaking truthfully and twisting her words meant something significant. Still, there wasn’t much (Y/N) could do, and as a doorway opened beside them, (Y/N) knew that they had bigger problems at hand.

            (Y/N) stood, squared their shoulders, and stepped through the door.

            It was time to face the gods.

Chapter Text

            Marc stepped through the doorway that had opened up before him and found himself standing on the inside of the Great Pyramid of Giza. The entire place was lined in stone, statues, and torches, giving it an air of mystery and power. This was undoubtedly a place of the gods.

            However, Marc’s attention didn’t follow the beauty of the pyramid. Instead, he zeroed in on the teenager standing in the corridor in front of him. (Y/N) was there, and they were alright. Unbidden, Marc felt himself relax.

            “Kid,” he said.

            (Y/N) turned and faced him. “Oh. Hi, Marc.”

            “Are you okay?” he asked, looking over them for wounds.

            (Y/N) nodded and shifted nervously. “Yeah. I’m sorry about leaving. I won’t do it again.”

            “It’s alright,” said Marc. He could’ve said more, could’ve apologized for scaring them, but even he wasn’t sure what had happened, so he said nothing.

            “Are you ready?” asked (Y/N), looking at the room in front of them.

            Marc sighed. “We’ll see.”

            They went forward and stepped down into the base of the pyramid. Seats for the members of the Ennead lined the basin, towering over the pair standing. Other doorways opened, and people filtered into the room. The first was a woman in a red-orange dress, and she approached when she saw Marc and (Y/N).

            “Khonshu’s theatrics are unparalleled,” she said. “Though we did not expect Ma’at’s involvement. You must be their Avatars.”

            “Hi. And who are you?” Marc went straight to the point, unsure about meeting other Avatars.

            “I’m Yatzil, Avatar of Hathor,” she said.

            “Alright,” said Marc. “Okay.” He clearly had no real clue who Hathor was.

            “Goddess of music and love?” offered Yatzil.

            “Cool,” said Marc.

            “Surely Khonshu mentioned her?” said Yatzil.

            “The gods aren’t really his favorite topic,” said Marc.

            “Not even when they’re old friends?” said Yatzil.

            Marc shook his head. “Sorry.”

            “It was not long ago that he enjoyed my music.”

            (Y/N) flinched as the new goddess’s voice joined the whispers they regularly heard.

            Yatzil chuckled. “She says it was not so long ago Khonshu enjoyed Hathor’s melodies.”

            “Well, as far as I know, the only melody Khonshu enjoys is the sound of pain,” said Marc. “And the only god he’s tolerating these days is Ma’at.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “They’re not really friendly, either.”

            Yatzil tilted her head. “So you really are Ma’at’s Avatar, then.”

            “Yes?” said (Y/N).

            “I had hoped it was a rumor when I heard you’d be here,” said Yatzil. She shook her head. “So young.”

            “What?” asked (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            “Yatzil,” called another Avatar, taking his place at the head of the Ennead.

            “Coming.” Yatzil started walking towards her own seat. “Have Khonshu and Ma’at told you how this works?”

            “Not really,” said Marc.

            “Is there something we should know?” asked (Y/N).

            “I try not to fight it,” said Yatzil, ascending to her own spot. “It’s a strange sensation, but you’ll get used to it.” Her eyes lit up silver, and when she spoke next, it was not with her voice was Hathor’s. “In attendance, Horus, Isis, Tefnut, Osiris, and Hathor.” Each of the Avatars’ eyes lit up as the gods inhabited them to speak. “To hear the accounts of Khonshu and Ma’at.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes lit up, and they felt Ma’at in their mind, ready to speak her piece.

            “You’ve been banished once for nearly exposing us, Khonshu,” said Osiris. “And Ma’at, to disappear from communication and to return with such a young Avatar…we had thought higher of you.”

            Am I…not supposed to be an Avatar? thought (Y/N).

            “To see you both engaged in such garishness…with masks and weapons…we despise it,” said Osiris. “Manipulate the sky again, and we will imprison you in stone.”

            “Spare me your self-righteous threats!” said Khonshu, speaking angrily through Marc. “I was banished for not abandoning humanity, unlike the rest of you!”

            “We have not abandoned humanity,” said Horus. “They abandoned us.”

            “Of course they did. We serve as nothing but relics if we are not active in their world,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) shivered as she spoke through them. It was an odd sensation. They could hear bits of their own voice speaking, but it was like they were a ventriloquist’s dummy.

            “We simply trust our Avatars to carry out our purposes without calling undue attention to ourselves,” said Horus. “Not like some of us.”

            “Avatars are not enough! We need the might of the gods,” said Khonshu. “Return from the opulence of the Overvoid before you lose this realm.”

            “For the last time, Khonshu,” said Osiris. “The Avatars that remain here are simply meant to observe.” His eyes went to (Y/N). “And speaking of Avatars…”

            (Y/N) had a bad feeling.

            “Ma’at. When you left the Overvoid and declared yourself to defending humanity with an Avatar, we did not anticipate you’d go against your own beliefs and choose such a young human,” said Osiris.

            “I chose an Avatar that had a heart of truth, the only right choice for what I uphold,” said Ma’at.

            “We do not choose such young Avatars,” said Isis. “It is forbidden due to the harm it could bring to them. I never thought you’d take advantage of such a young human.”

            Ma’at isn’t supposed to use me as an Avatar?

            (Y/N) felt something in their heart clench painfully. Being an Avatar was tough, isolating, and without their parents, they had no one. They had always thought helping Ma’at was worth it, being called upon by a higher power. But now they learned they weren’t supposed to be an Avatar. Ma’at, according to the other gods, had done something wrong by choosing them. According to them, she was taking advantage of them. (Y/N)’s heart twisted uncomfortably as that idea settled in their mind.

            “There is no human who could uphold what all the gods are supposed to stand for better than (Y/N),” said Ma’at. “I will not apologize for choosing the right Avatar.”

            “You are taking a child from their time of growth!” said Isis.

            “And you abandon children by staying in the Overvoid, oh goddess of motherhood,” said Ma’at.

            “Enough.” Osiris spoke with finality, and the two goddesses quieted.

            (Y/N) was growing to really dislike the discussion. They didn’t want so much attention on them, not when it was causing their mind to spin in a thousand anxious directions. It was too much for them to deal with.

            “No matter what Avatar you chose, we all long ago agreed to not meddle in the affairs of man,” said Osiris. “And you, Khonshu and Ma’at, have gone against that. We will decide our best course of action.”

            “Speak your purpose,” said Isis. “So that we may finish this.”

            “I call for judgement against Arthur Harrow,” said Khonshu.

            “The charges?” said Hathor.

            “Conspiracy to release Ammit!” said Khonshu.

            “That is a heavy accusation, Khonshu,” said Osiris. “Ma’at, do you support these charges?”

            “Yes,” said Ma’at.

            Osiris nodded. “Let us summon the accused.”

            Wind whipped through the pyramid as another doorway opened up. Harrow, having expected this since the moon covered the sun, stepped through and into the Great Pyramid.

            (Y/N) was unsure about this. Harrow was a manipulative speaker, able to use the truth in ways that supported himself and avoiding the deeper truth of how he was hurting people. (Y/N) wasn’t sure Khonshu, righteous and angry, could keep up with the cunning wordcraft employed by Harrow.

            “So, I see by the presence of Khonshu’s current, makeshift Avatar and Ma’at’s poor, young Avatar, the purpose of our meeting must be nefarious,” said Harrow, instantly on a “kindly” offensive.

            “You know exactly why we are here,” said Khonshu.

            “I must admit I do not miss the sound of that voice,” said Harrow. “But speak, old master, to the point.”

            “Do you not seek to release Ammit from her tomb?” said Khonshu.

            “I was in the desert. But if visiting the sands were a crime, the line of sinners would be longer than the Nile,” said Harrow.

            (Y/N) had called it. Harrow was speaking in half-truths, keeping his words from being truthful or false. He avoided plain words. (Y/N) detested people like that, who twisted everything instead of getting to the point.

            “Khonshu has searched for Ammit’s tomb since he ensared me into his service,” said Harrow.

            That was a true statement, unfortunately.

            “His vision is obscured by jealousy, paranoia, and his—”

            “He is a deceiver!” Khonshu’s voice boomed.

            Khonshu isn’t great, but he’s being truthful right now, thought (Y/N).

            “Do not trust the word of a shamed god,” said Harrow.

            “Then trust my word,” said Ma’at. “Athur Harrow wishes to release Ammit and call judgement upon the living before their time.”

            Harrow turned and smiled at the gods. “Are you sure you wish to listen to the words of a goddess who preyed on a naïve child at their darkest moment?”

            (Y/N)’s blood ran cold.

            “Ma’at took (Y/N) (L/N) as an Avatar moments after their parents died and they nearly did, as well. She claims to uphold justice and truth, yet she uses a teenager that she coerced out of fear into being her Avatar,” said Harrow. “How can we trust she is still upholding the values she claims to if she espouses justice yet manipulates so young a person?”

            No, no, stop! thought (Y/N).

            “Ma’at and Khonshu have lost their ways, and their Avatars are unwell, manipulated and used unjustly,” said Harrow plainly, catching the attention of all the gods in attention. He commanded the room. “This child is confused, afraid, unable to handle the role of Avatar because they are not meant for it—they have been forced into it. And this man literally does not know his own name. He has a marriage certificate under the name of Marc Spector—”

            “Liar!” cried Khonshu.

            “Do not speak on what you do not know!” hissed Ma’at, and (Y/N)’s mind burned as the goddess’s anger spoke through them at her choice in Avatar being challenged.

            “Employment records under the name of Steven Grant,” continued Harrow, knowing that provoking the gods to anger only helped his cause.

            “Stop!” Marc’s voice came through.

            “I’ve seen him speak to himself,” said Harrow.

            “Shut up!” It was more Marc’s voice than Khonshu’s.

            “Threaten himself.” Harrow chuckled. “I have no idea how many personalities he must possess. The man is clearly insane.”

            Marc snapped and threw a punch at Harrow. Osiris stood and raised a hand. Silver bands of light appeared around Marc’s wrist and pulled his hand back. He was forced to his knees, restrained.

            “We will not tolerate violence in this chamber,” declared Osiris.

            “It brings me no pleasure to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man,” said Harrow. “Khonshu is taking advantage of him in the same way that he abused me, the way he aspires to abuse this court. Take action now before it’s too late.”

            “Let us speak to Marc Spector,” said Horus.

            Marc was released from his bonds and caught himself. (Y/N) knelt beside him in concern, making sure he was alright.

            “Are you unwell?” asked Horus.

            Marc looked around and felt (Y/N)’s hand on his shoulder, steadying him as best they could. He nodded shakily. “I am. I am unwell. I need help…But that doesn’t change the fact that this man is…” He groaned and put his head down.

            “This is a safe space for you to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu,” said Hathor. Yatzil’s eyes were creased in concern. “For you both to speak if you are exploited by the gods you serve.”

            (Y/N) felt eyes on them, but they refused to look up. Their anxiety kept their voice in. They weren’t sure how they’d react if they met any of the Avatars’ eyes or heard the gods speak to them again.

            “This isn’t about our feelings! We’re not the ones on trial here. He is!” snapped Marc. He had seen (Y/N)’s expression turn nervous and felt something fierce well up within himself. “This is about how dangerous he is if you would just listen for a second!”

            “He has committed no offense,” said Osiris.

            “He has hurt people.” (Y/N) found their voice and looked around. “He speaks so he does not lie, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t hiding his true intentions. I’ve seen him act; I’ve heard him speak. He serves Ammit and intends to release her. He has sentenced innocents to death and eternity frozen in the sands of the Duat for her. You must see he cannot be allowed to continue harming people!” They gazed intently at each of the Avatars, begging them and their gods to listen.

            “The child has been taken in by Ma’at. They believe they serve some form of truth higher than themself. She has ensured they believe all she says,” said Harrow, shaking his head.

            “This isn’t about Ma’at,” said (Y/N). “This is what I’ve seen, and I cannot lie. I speak the truth!”

            “He has committed no crime,” said Osiris, standing.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. They weren’t listening.

            “This matter is concluded,” said Osiris with finality.

            The Avatars’ eyes glowed, and they were released from speaking for their deities. (Y/N) felt Ma’at leave their mind, and the pressure in their head lessened. Harrow nodded graciously and watched the Avatars pass through their doorways to return to their lives on noninterference. Then, Harrow turned and walked away, leaving (Y/N) and Marc behind with the burden of failure on their shoulders.

            “Marc?” asked (Y/N), kneeling beside him. “Are you alright?”

            “The gods…didn’t listen,” said Marc, glaring at the ground.

            “What are we going to do?” said (Y/N). “We were already out of leads…”

            “There is another way.”

            Marc and (Y/N) looked up. Yatzil stood in front of them. She motioned for them to follow her to a corridor to speak quietly. (Y/N) and Marc glanced at each other for a moment before following. They needed any help they could get.

            “You must listen to me carefully,” said Yatzil.

            “Yes. Yes,” said Marc, urging her to continue.

            “Ammit was buried in secret, the location hidden even from the gods,” explained Yatzil. “Ammit had many followers. I didn’t know who to trust.”

            “But someone had to know something,” said (Y/N).

            Yatzil nodded. “One man. A medjay named Senfu. He was tasked with recording the location of the tomb in case the gods ever changed their minds and decided to show mercy. Find Senfu’s sarcophagus, and you’ll find your tomb.”

            “Okay. How are we supposed to do that?” asked Marc.

            “His sarcophagus was stolen and sold on the black market,” said Yatzil. “You might want to start there.”

            “The black market?” murmured Marc.

            (Y/N) straightened. “I think I can help with that.”

            Marc looked at them. “You can?”

            “Remember? I’m a thief,” said (Y/N), smiling slightly. "I might recognize someone."

            Marc returned the smile.

            "Be safe,” said Yatzil to the two other Avatars. “I wish you luck. If what you say is true, we are in danger.”

Chapter Text

            Marc and (Y/N) walked through the marketplace of Cairo as (Y/N) kept an eye out for possible people to talk to. They had seen a lot of black-market dealings in their time, and that meant they had seen a lot of black-market dealers.

            “Do you recognize anyone?” asked Marc.

            “Not yet,” said (Y/N). “But it’s possible new fronts and new workers could be a part of the scene. If I don’t recognize them, it’s my fault.”

            “You’re doing the best you can, kid,” said Marc. “And I can’t do better.”

            (Y/N) glanced at him, unsure of how to react—still confused in interactions. They opted to nod curtly.

            “…About what Harrow said,” said Marc. “Are you alright?”

            Pouring from him, the words couldn’t be held back. Marc had seen (Y/N)’s reactions to Harrow’s words and accusations, and he didn’t like it. They were a kid. They were working harder for what was right than most adults did. They were good. They didn’t deserve to be looked down on or hurt by Harrow.

            Did I deserve to be hurt?

            Banishing the thought, Marc looked at (Y/N) as their eyes flicked to the ground before raising again.

            “He didn’t lie,” said (Y/N). “My parents died. I am a young Avatar.” They furrowed their brow. “But…I don’t understand why that meant my words could be dismissed. I told the truth, but no one listened.”

            “None of the gods are fair,” said Marc. His hand rose to pat (Y/N)’s shoulder (affectionately), but he forced it back down. “You did the right thing, though. They’re the ones who were stupid enough to listen more to Harrow.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N) quietly, pulling the cuffs of their jacket.

            “How have you guys not gotten anywhere with this whole mission?”

            As a new voice entered the conversation, Marc and (Y/N) whirled. Layla stared at them, hands on her hips.

            “You’re so close, but I guess experience doesn’t make up for being Egyptian and really knowing this place,” said Layla, smirking.

            “Layla, what the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here,” said Marc.

            “Why? Because my name pisses off a few people in Cairo?” said Layla.

            “Well, that could cause a problem,” pointed out (Y/N).

            Perfectly unconcerned, Layla shrugged. “Who cares?”

            “It’s not the locals I’m worried about,” said Marc.

            Layla rolled her eyes. “Just come with me. I’ll help you find what you need.”

            “We have been pretty slow,” said (Y/N). “Harrow’s already on the track of Ammit’s tomb.”

            Marc’s jaw clenched, but he nodded.

            “Perfect! Follow me,” said Layla.

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            That evening, Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) ended up on a boat filled with a family playing music and dancing with one another. Lively, upbeat melodies filled the air, and (Y/N) smiled as they watched, enchanted, as the family celebrated being together as one. As the sun dipped in the east, fiery light danced across the waves as the boat skimmed over the river.

            “So, what exactly are we gonna do here? What’s the plan?” asked Marc.

            Layla raised a brow. “Oh. It’s not pleasant being left in the dark, is it?”

            Marc’s jaw clenched. “Okay.”

            This is one way to ruin the happy family moment, thought (Y/N), sighing.

            “I get that you’re not happy about me leaving so quickly and coming to Cairo,” said Marc. “I understand.”

            “Wait. Is that your apology?” Layla scoffed. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

            (Y/N) didn’t need their ability to know she was lying and being sarcastic.

            “Just so we can get through tonight, maybe let’s just give our shit a rest for a moment and just try to strategize before we get to…” Actually unsure, Marc trailed off.

            “Mogart’s,” finished Layla.

            “Mogart’s?” repeated Marc.

            (Y/N) had heard of him—an antiquities “collector” who was really just a thief and a black-market dealer.

            “Just so you know, I’m not here to help you,” said Layla sharply to Marc. “I’m here for me and for everyone else who would die if Harrow succeeds.” Gesturing to (Y/N), she continued, “And you’re bringing a kid to a fight, so I have every right to take charge.”

            (Y/N) blinked, and they pulled on their sleeves. First Marc, now Layla. Two adults seemed…concerned, or something like that, about them. Due to the unfamiliarity of the feeling, (Y/N) found themself uncomfortable.

            Marc nodded stiffly. “Copy that.”

            “Got it,” said (Y/N), spilling the words out quickly.

            “Good,” said Layla.

            Marc swallowed. “But I am sorry. For whatever that’s worth.”

            Truth. (Y/N) felt it in their bones. They smiled.

            Clearing his throat, Marc brushed aside his vulnerability. “So, this Mogart guy. He’s really gonna have his sarcophagus?”

            “Yes. I asked around,” said Layla. “Mogart’s collection is prime gossip for those of us who deal in antiquities.”

            Abruptly, the music grew louder, and the three at the end of the boat looked back at the others. They were dancing and laughing, in their own world of fun, outside of Marc, Layla, and (Y/N)’s more complicated one.

            Marc smiled and gazed at Layla. “I haven’t heard that sound since…” His eyes softened. “Since our wedding.”

            Layla couldn’t help a smile in return. Feeling it, however, she cleared her throat and looked at (Y/N). She escaped from sharing vulnerability. “(Y/N), we’ll be heading downriver for a while longer. You should take a rest.”

            “I can keep going,” said (Y/N).

            Layla raised a brow, and (Y/N)’s heart clenched as they remembered how their mom used to affectionately scold them, making them feel guided and protected. “Uh-huh. You can, but that doesn’t mean you should. Rest. Unlike Marc, I’m not running off anytime soon.”

            “…Alright.”

            Layla spoke no lies, and, although able to continue, (Y/N) was tired. From running around Cairo to fighting to channeling Ma’at to pleading with the gods for them to listen, (Y/N) had gone through about as much any person could take without crashing. They lay down on the bench, closed their eyes, and drifted off into blissful silence as the sounds of a joyful family swam around them hauntingly.

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            “They shouldn’t be here,” said Layla, looking at (Y/N). She wanted them to rest, yes, but she had also wanted to talk to Marc about bringing a child into danger.

            “They’re an Avatar. Harrow knows who they are. They’re in more danger alone than they are with me. Us,” said Marc.

            Layla remained unimpressed. “They’re more in danger with you.”

            Clenching his jaw, Marc looked away. How was he supposed to answer? Layla was right. Around him, (Y/N) was in danger. Yes, they were an Avatar, but they had still been unseen, working in the shadows, until Marc got involved with Harrow and exposed them in the Alps with Steven.

            It was his fault they were in danger. Marc couldn’t just leave them. He had failed to protect others he led into danger. He couldn’t fail to protect (Y/N). They were too much like him. Like Randall.

            Marc wanted them to turn out better than he had.

            “Maybe. But who else cares about that other than us?” said Marc.

            Layla looked at the sleeping teen. She nodded shortly. Who else was there to care about (Y/N)?

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            “(Y/N).”

            Sitting up, (Y/N) opened their eyes as they heard Marc speak to them. “What?”

            “We’re here,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) looked around. The boat was docking in front of a small carnival with glass, pyramidal structures behind a dirt track for horses. Marc, Layla, and (Y/N) disembarked and approached the grass lawn.

            “This guy’s got a lot of friends,” said Marc.

            “Yeah, and a lot with guns,” said Layla.

            “What else did we expect?” said (Y/N).

            Marc glanced around, and his eyes landed on a small motorboat approaching the pier. They had no lights and were looking around suspiciously.

            “What is it?” asked (Y/N), seeing Marc’s body-language tense.

            “Harrow’s men keeping tabs?” wondered Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “I don’t know. Could be,” said Marc warily.

            “Let’s go,” said Layla, turning towards the carnival. They needed to focus and get this done. The longer they waited, the closer to Ammit Harrow got. “Remember, Marc, your name is Rufino Estrada. (Y/N), your name is Mariana Estrada.”

            Like the Mariana Trench? (Y/N) was confused but nodded.

            “Right,” said Marc.

            “We just got back from a family vacation in the Maldives,” said Layla.

            (Y/N) flinched at the mention of family. The last time they had one…they lost everything. Still, part of them ached at the word, and they sat up straighter.

            “These are strange details to give them,” said Marc.

            “I’d tell them you worked at a gift shop and they were some random kid, but they’d never believe me, would they?” said Layla pointedly.

            The three approached the horse track, and a security guard approached.

            “Bek,” greeted Layla.

            “Layla,” said Bek, glancing at Marc and (Y/N).

            “It’s been a while. Good to see you,” said Layla.

            Bek nodded to her. “Right this way.”

            “Thank you,” said Layla, smiling.

            “He’s looking forward to seeing her,” said Bek as he guided them closer to the horse ring. “After Madripoor, I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about.”

            Madripoor did have quite a few issues recently, thought (Y/N), reminiscing on the super-soldier serum reproduction and gunbattle that had gone down with, reportedly, Avengers.

            “Excuse me for one moment,” said Bek. “Mr. Mogart will be with you shortly.”

            He walked away, and Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) were left watching the men ride horses with lances.

            “So, what? This joker just puts on El-Mermah games in his backyard, for fun?” said Marc, unimpressed.

            “No, he gets private lessons by the best in his backyard,” said Layla.

            “Using money from trading what doesn’t belong to him,” murmured (Y/N).

            Bek approached one man, Mogart, and he descended from his horse. Bek placed a red robe around his shoulders, and Mogart smiled at the group across the track.

            “I like the robe,” muttered Marc.

            Lie. But (Y/N) didn’t need to be told that.

            “Layla,” called Mogart. “Come in.” He walked towards them, and the three came onto the track. “Such a delight to see you.”

            “You, too,” said Layla.

            Mogart took her hand and kissed the back. “How have you been?”

            “Good. Thank you for having us over on such short notice,” said Layla.

            “Oh, please. I hope you realize you need no excuse to drop by,” said Mogart.

            Ignoring us to flirt with Layla and annoy Marc. Is this a man thing? thought (Y/N).

            Layla patted Marc’s shoulder and smiled at (Y/N). “This is my husband, Rufino, and my step-kid, Mariana.”

            “Nice to meet you,” said Marc stiffly, sticking out his hand.

            “Pleasure,” said Mogart, refusing to shake it a moment before taking it to show who was in charge (again, men). He nodded to (Y/N). “Cute kid.”

            (Y/N) avoided eye-contact and nodded.

            “Come, follow me. I’ll show you my collection,” said Mogart, turning towards the pyramidal structures. “I hope you understand, though, that this is more than a collection for me. Preserving history is a responsibility I take very seriously.”

            Marc gave (Y/N) a pointed look to not say anything since they clearly thought differently about his habits and was about to speak way too honestly.

            “A self-appointed responsibility that you alone were able to enjoy, no?” Unfortunately, Marc had forgotten to make sure Layla wouldn’t say anything.

            “Well, as I prefer to see it as a philanthropic effort at preservation,” said Mogart. “Now, if I may ask, why such interest in Senfu in particular?”

            “Oh, actually, our purchases—”

            “I’m sorry.” Mogart interrupted Layla and looked at Marc and (Y/N). “I’d like to hear from your husband or stepchild, if you don’t mind.”

            Marc and Mogart stared at each other evenly, and Mogart crossed his arms.

            “I think…I would just love to take a look,” said Marc, not the best lie by a long shot.

            “I like learning about Egyptian history,” said (Y/N). “And this is a great opportunity.” Not a lie at all, both were true facts. However, (Y/N) wouldn’t be learning about history in general but in Ammit.

            Mogart looked between them and nodded. Gesturing to the pyramid behind him, he said, “Feel free.”

            “Great,” said Layla, smiling. She took his and (Y/N)’s arms and walked into the pyramid. Quietly, she whispered, “Marc, just let Steven out before you blow this.”

            “Not a chance.” Marc looked at the sarcophagus. “Alright, what do you see?”

            “The burial practices are in line with the Studenwachen texts,” said (Y/N).

            “The what?” said Marc.

            “You know those?” asked Layla.

            “Ma’at makes sure I know a lot about Egyptian history,” said (Y/N). And my parents taught me before her. “The sarcophagus is legit, but all I see is the literature to guide the dead. I don’t see a location for Ammit’s tomb.”

            “Because the information has to be unlocked.” Steven spoke, and (Y/N) and Marc glanced up to the reflection in the glass ceiling. “It’s coded.”

            “Okay, um…” Marc took a deep breath. “Will you give me a minute? I gotta talk to Steven. Just keep Mogart occupied, and don’t let (Y/N) speak, they can’t lie.”

            Layla looked at (Y/N) in confusion.

            “I really can’t,” said (Y/N) honestly.

            Taking a deep breath, Layla nodded. “Come on.” They stepped out of the glass pyramid and left Marc and Steven to figure out the mystery of Senfu’s sarcophagus.

            Layla smiled at Bek and Mogart. “He just needs a couple minutes in there alone ‘cause…yeah. He is…” She looked back and winced. Marc was clearly speaking inside the pyramid. “He’s praying.”

            Marc and Steven’s talk isn’t going well, thought (Y/N), frowning worriedly.

            “Is he reaching into the sarcophagus?” said Mogart, frowning.

            “I’m sure he isn’t,” said Layla, but Marc was, guided by Steven.

            “Bek,” said Mogart, narrowing his eyes.

            Bek walked towards the pyramid, and with his back turned, Marc didn’t see him coming. Bek touched his arm.

            “Hey, what are you—”

            On instinct, Marc whirled, grabbed Bek’s gun with the skill a common man shouldn’t have, and pointed it at the mercenary. Instantly, two other guards pulled out their guns and pointed at Marc, Layla, and (Y/N), ready at any instant to shoot any of them.

            “Marc. Don’t,” said Layla, glancing at the guards warily.

            “Shit.” Marc looked between Layla, (Y/N), and the guns trained on them.

            “Marc…” said (Y/N), swallowing, unsure.

            Marc’s eyes met theirs, and he let his grip on the gun loosen, handing it back to Bek and holding his hands up.

            They were trapped.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N), Marc, and Layla stood still as the guards kept their guns trained on them. A single wrong move would get them shot, and they were in a bad enough position without being injured or dead.

            Mogart approached Marc, eyes narrowed. “Do you really think I’m an idiot? Get on your knees.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “No, don’t!” A guard grabbed them roughly and jerked them back.

            “Anton, don’t!” said Layla in alarm, but another guard grabbed her arm to keep her from trying anything.

            “Get on your knees,” repeated Mogart.

            Clenching his jaw, Marc got down on his knees.

            Satisfied, Mogart looked back at Layla and tutted. “Layla, I was so ready to make peace with you.”

            “You don’t understand. We’re trying to save many lives,” said Layla.

            “Hey, pal. Take a look inside the sarcophagus,” said Marc. “There’s something really, really big.”

            Lie. A trick with enough possibility of proverbial truth to lure Mogart closer.

            He stepped towards the sarcophagus, but Bek stopped him. He leaned down to Mogart’s ear and spoke in hushed French.

            “There’s someone here to see you. He claims to know these three’s true identities and has information for your collection,” said Bek, and (Y/N)’s mind translated it in a instance.

            “Well, that’s interesting,” said Mogart, cocking his head and looking around at the group. “It appears we have a concerned third party here.” He stepped into the doorway, and the guards forced (Y/N), Marc, and Layla after him.

            Walking towards them with allies on either side was Harrow. “Whatever they’ve told you, I’m sure I can offer you something much more tangible.” Straight to the point.

            He lifted the scarab, gleaming gold in the moonlight. Mogart’s greedy eyes landed on the scarab hungrily.

            “Why settle for a clue when you can have the treasure?” suggested Harrow.

            Lie, lie, lie! “Don’t listen to him, he won’t give you anything!” said (Y/N), and the cold metal of a gun pressed into their head. (Y/N) quieted, and the gun was pulled back slightly.

            “Anton. Anton, don’t listen to this man,” said Layla forcefully as they were dragged back across the lawn. “He’s trying to stop us from reaching—”

            “Please, stop,” snapped Mogart.

            “He’s gonna kill millions, trust me!” said Layla.

            Mogart scoffed. “Are you seriously talking about trust?”

            “Please, there’s no need to descend into violent accusations,” said Harrow, acting as the ever-calm sage. “Each of you has so much more in common than you know.” Harrow looked at Layla. “Layla, you keep thinking that distance will prevent the wounds from your father’s murder from reopening. But something stands in your way. Your husband doesn’t tell you the truth.” Layla and (Y/N) furrowed their brows and looked at Marc in confusion. He shook his head, but that didn’t stop Harrow from speaking. “And Marc, you don’t tell her because you know that if you do, she’ll see you exactly as you see yourself, as unworthy of love.”

            “You piece of shit,” said Marc, narrowing his eyes.

            “And (Y/N)—” Harrow’s gaze landed on them, and, instinctively, they avoided eye-contact, unable to sustain it “—you think that the only way you deserve to live is by serving a god because if you don’t, you might as well have died in 2018.”

            Flinching, (Y/N) squeezed their hand into a fist. Their nails dug into their palm, and they focused on the sensation. Anything but that memory. Anything but that thought. Anything but that agony.

            Satisfied, Harrow lifted his cane, and the stones glowed purple. The light reflected in Mogart’s enchanted gaze. “The lore surrounding these relics, I offer proof that it’s real.” He looked around. “This sarcophagus doesn’t belong to anyone.”

            “Do it. Summon the suit.” Khonshu’s voice echoed across the lawn.

            “Call it to you,” said Ma’at, and (Y/N) glanced to the roof to see her standing with Khonshu.

            “Give them what they deserve,” said Khonshu.

            “Anton. Would you like to see for yourself?” said Harrow.

            Almost hypnotized by the prospect of power, Mogart nodded and approached Harrow. “I do.”

            Harrow began to chant in Coptic, and (Y/N) shivered as the words translated and Ammit’s power filtered into the staff.

            “You must act!” said Ma’at.

            How? (Y/N) wanted to scream. They’d fought twice, and only once against Harrow’s power. How were they supposed to understand how to act in a situation they had barely encountered?

            “What are you waiting for?” snapped Khonshu.

            Inside the pyramid, purple light and smoke swirled around the sarcophagus. The coffin collapsed into dust, and the light dispersed. Mogart stared in shock.

            “That’s just a taste of the godly power I offer,” said Harrow, walking away calmly.

            Mogart turned eagerly towards Layla, Marc, and (Y/N). With a single order, he could kill them and get some of the power Harrow held.

            Mogart frowned. “Where is he?”

            Marc was gone. The guards looked around in confusion, but Layla and (Y/N) knew where to look. They raised their gazes to another glass pyramid. In his suit, Marc stood and looked down on the men threatening two people Marc wanted to protect.

            He raised his arms, flicked his wrists, and the battle began. Two moon-shaped knives spun through the air and landed in the arms of the men attempting to drag Layla and (Y/N) away. Layla grabbed one of the guns from the ground and slammed into another guard while Marc lunged at several shooting at him.

            Come on, come on!

            (Y/N)’s suit appeared, wrapping around them as they dodged the men grabbing for them. The blue cloth strips wrapped around their hands, (Y/N) reared back, and they punched with heightened strength. The guard they hit went flying and hit another on a horse (fortunately, the horse wasn’t hurt).

            At the shots, the people at the carnival screamed and ran, but the men still on horseback grabbed their lances to fight for their employer. Several guards fell to Layla’s shooting, and (Y/N) threw one into the way of others, giving Marc a moment to finish them.

            Bullets whizzed by their shoulders, and (Y/N) flinched. The men guarding the carnival were approaching through the dirt track, shooting all the while. Marc grabbed Layla and pulled her under his cloak. The bullets hit the cloth but didn’t go through. Seeing (Y/N), Marc pulled them into the protective cape as well.

            Logically, it was likely (Y/N) had similar protection from injury, but Marc couldn’t risk that, and he refused to let go of them or Layla as the firing continued.

            “Buy me some time,” said Layla, looking at Marc. “And keep an eye on (Y/N).”

            “I can do that,” said Marc.

            “I can help,” said (Y/N) forcefully. They had been paralyzed by Ma’at’s demand, but they saw Marc fighting, and they knew they had to be as strong. So they would be.

            Marc turned, flipped, and flicked his cloak. The bullets sailed through the air and hit their former shooters, felling the guards. (Y/N) felt their suit for weapons. Last time, they’d been running on adrenaline and barely gotten to figure out what they could do with the suit. Now, they found several daggers shaped like ostrich feathers. The gods definitely liked their themes.

            (Y/N) trusted their instincts, reared back, and threw their daggers. They reformed into their holsters after, but the previous hit the opponents (Y/N) was up against. Not waiting to rest on their laurels, (Y/N) kept moving and striking the guards.

            Behind them, Marc ran into the horse track and engaged in hand-to-hand combat against the men. Several quickly fell to him, his stamina and strength too much to them. (Y/N) turned towards the pyramids again. Eyes widening, they saw Layla fighting, and struggling, against Bek.

            “Layla!” cried (Y/N), running to her.

            They grabbed Bek and threw him back. His body went through the glass and hit the ground. Bek groaned and stood up, but at that point, Layla was grabbing what she was trying steal and running at him. She pulled her necklace off, took the sharp ends, and stabbed through Bek’s chest. He gasped and fell back again.

            “Go, go!” said Layla, rushing out with (Y/N).

            They ran to the track where Marc was stabbed through with several lances (Steven had come back out and gotten overwhelmed). Riding on a horse, another man was approaching to attack. Layla grabbed a gun from the ground and fired. The guard fell.

            Steering his own horse towards them, Mogart galloped towards them. He swung his lance at Layla, and (Y/N) pushed her out of the way. The pole hit them, and they were knocked down to the ground.

            Marc’s mask disappeared, and he stared in worry as Mogart gabbed a spear, complete with a rounded tip, and turned back towards Layla and (Y/N). Marc’s mask reformed, and Marc snapped the impaled spears. Angry, he pulled out the spears and drove them into his attackers. Within moments, the guards were dead in the dirt, and Marc turned to face Mogart on his horse. The two stared each other down. Layla and (Y/N) were directly in between them, though Layla was trying to pull (Y/N) to the side.

            Mogart kicked the side of his horse. Marc ran forward. Lowering his spear, Mogart charged, but Marc was there first. He grabbed Layla and (Y/N). Pulling them to the side, he whirled and threw a dagger back at Mogart. It hit his back, and he fell from his horse.

            Leaving the body, Marc knelt and helped Layla guide (Y/N) to their feet. “You alright?”

            (Y/N) nodded and winced. “Just a bruise. I’m still getting used to this.”

            Layla smiled and squeezed their shoulder. “You’re doing fine.”

            At the praise, (Y/N) ducked their head in embarrassment. Clearing their throat, they tried to make eye-contact but quickly opted to just speak. “Um, did you grab what you needed?”

            Layla nodded. “I grabbed what Marc was messing with.”

            “Good,” said Marc. “Now we just need a car.”

            “Come on,” said Layla, leading the way.

            Marc and (Y/N)’s suits melted away and they followed.

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            Cairo zipped by as Layla drove them out of the city and the light pollution so they could properly look at the star map Steven had recognized in Senfu’s sarcophagus.

            After he bandaged himself, Marc groaned as he looked at the holes in his jacket. “Ay. I really liked that jacket. Oh, well.” He tossed it to the back beside (Y/N).

            “What was Harrow talking about?” said Layla, as straightforward as ever.

            Marc froze and looked at her. Evasively, he averted his eyes. “What do you mean?”

            “He said I had a right to know,” said Layla.

            “I have no idea,” said Marc as he turned and grabbed a fresh shirt from Mogart’s stash in the back. He made eye-contact with (Y/N) and looked away. He knew (Y/N) had felt his lie.

            “I never told anyone why I really moved,” said Layla. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But he knew. He just saw right through me.”

            “He does that,” murmured (Y/N), pulling on a hoodie they’d found. Stubbornly, desperately, they pushed back thoughts on Harrow’s words to them.

            “He just messes with everyone,” said Marc, looking between Layla and (Y/N). “Don’t let him do that. Just don’t. He’s got this idea that he can see the true nature of people or some baloney like that. If that were true, I don’t think he’d have a bunch of homicidal maniacs as his disciples, would he?”

            “So it’s not true? What he said about you and—”

            “No, it’s not true,” said Marc.

            Lie. (Y/N) kept their mouth tightly shut.

            “He’s just trying to divide us. Don’t let him get in your head,” said Marc.

            Layla took a deep breath and let out a frustrated sigh. Trying not to snap at Marc for keeping so many secrets, she looked in the rearview mirror at (Y/N).

            “Are you alright, (Y/N)?” she asked.

            (Y/N) pursed their lips as they decided how to respond. “I’m recovering from the fight.”

            Layla narrowed her eyes. “I meant with Harrow.” She wasn’t letting (Y/N) avoid the issue.

            “…I don’t want to talk about it,” said (Y/N), looking firmly out the window.

            Layla and Marc exchanged a worried look.

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            “Try this one,” said Marc, handing another scrap of cloth to Layla and (Y/N), but the torn map wasn’t coming back together.

            “Um, no, anything else?” said Layla.

            “It’s all just fragments,” said (Y/N) ruefully, shaking their head.

            Marc hit the hood of the jeep in frustration. Groaning, he hung his head. “This is gonna take forever.”

            Layla looked at him evenly. “Marc, we need Steven.”

            Marc put his head in his hands. Weariness was written into every line of his face.

            “He understands all of this. I really think it’s worth giving him a shot,” said Layla.

            “I summon the gods; you summon the worm,” scoffed Khonshu. “He won’t return the body.”

            “Marc,” said (Y/N), and he looked at them. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

            “Marc, we don’t have time,” said Layla, urging him.

            Marc pulled the side mirror from the jeep, gathered up the map scraps, and walked a few paces away to talk with Steven. Concerned, (Y/N) watched him go.

            Layla groaned. “He can’t seriously be fighting again with Steven.”

            “Give him a moment,” said (Y/N), believing in Marc and Steven. They were different but both good men. (Y/N) trusted them.

            Sure enough, the man knelt and began putting parts of the cloth together. (Y/N) smiled. Steven was there.

            Surprised and still unused to the situation, Layla approached, and (Y/N) followed.

            “Don’t need that,” murmured Steven, the British accent having returned with him. “I don’t need that.”

            Layla and (Y/N) sat down next to him.

            “Steven?” said Layla, unsure of herself.

            He looked up. He paused. He smiled. “Egyptians invented modern navigation,” he said excitedly. “There’s not a lot of landmarks in the desert.” Steven crouched in the sand and began working again. “So they came up with a way to get about using the sun and the stars. It’s bloody genius, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), and Layla nodded, gazing at him softly.

            “Et voila.” Steven held up an, ironically, star-shaped map, taped together.

            “Wow,” said Layla, looking at it.

            “It’s French,” said Steven.

            “I know,” laughed Layla. She and Steven stared at each other, and (Y/N) looked between them in confusion. Clearing her throat, Layla focused. “So, what do we do with it?”

            “Well, I’m not sure, but if…” Steven stood and trailed off as he realized there were pinpricks through the map. “Hang on a minute. You see that? You see those little pinpricks there?”

            “That’s a constellation,” said (Y/N).

            “We should be able to triangulate the stars into coordinates, right?” said Layla. She held up a piece of equipment from the jeep.

            “It’s not that simple,” said (Y/N), shaking their head. “Senfu made the map two thousand years ago. The stars drift over time, not a lot, but enough to change the sky we see from the map.”

            Steven nodded. “It could mean the difference between us searching miles away from where we’re supposed to be looking. So unless we know exactly what the sky looked like on that date…we’re buggered.”

            “I remember the night,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven looked up. He stood on the sand dunes, and Ma’at was beside him.

            “As do I,” she said. “Khonshu is the guardian of the night. I lend balance to the cosmos, the stars. We have lived a thousand years and know each day and night by heart.”

            “Is it Khonshu and Ma’at?” said Layla as the two stared at the dunes.

            (Y/N) nodded, and they and Steven walked up towards the gods. Layla followed, brow furrowed since she couldn’t hear the gods speaking.

            Steven cleared his throat. “Khonshu.”

            “We can turn back the night sky,” said Khonshu.

            “How?” said (Y/N).

            “It will come at a cost,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) looked at Steven. “She said it will come at a cost.”

            “And we cannot do it alone,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven stood, looking out over the desert below them, and the gods stood behind them. A soft wind blew the sand around the group.

            “Steven, when the gods imprison me, tell Marc to free me,” said Khonshu.

            “Imprison?” asked (Y/N).

            “We will be interfering with the mortal world in the way they declared we would be punished for,” said Ma’at. She looked down at (Y/N). “You must continue this journey on your own. Free me, but Ammit must be handled first.”

            Khonshu and Ma’at raised their hands. (Y/N) and Steven’s suits wrapped around them.

            “Do as we do,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Steven copied the deities’ movements. They waved their hands, all four in sync, and the sky lit up with stars. They began to spin, running backwards in time, through decades and centuries of nights.

            It was beautiful, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened in awe.

            “Whoa. This is mental,” exclaimed Steven, just as awestruck.

            “This is the night,” said Khonshu.

            “Precisely as we knew it,” said Ma’at.

            The sky steadied, and Steven and (Y/N) strained with the gods to keep the past in place.

            “This is surprisingly painful,” groaned Steven.

            “Keep holding,” said (Y/N), their muscles straining.

            Layla held up the screen. “It’s working!” The calculations began for the coordinates.

            A pain speared through (Y/N), and they gasped. Behind them, Khonshu and Ma’at fell to their knees.

            “I can feel my energy leaving me,” gasped Steven.

            It fell away from (Y/N), too, and as much as they tried to hold on, the familiar power they’d grown up with—Ma’at’s—was slipping from them. Steven and (Y/N)’s suits began to disappear as the gods behind them began to dissolve into sand. The other gods had seen what they’d done and given their punishment—imprisonment in stone.

            “Layla…we can’t…hold on,” said (Y/N), panting with effort.

            “Coordinates found,” said the computer’s voice. “29 degrees north, 25 degrees.”

            “I got it!” said Layla.

            Letting go in relief, Steven gasped and fell to his knees. Releasing their strength, (Y/N) stumbled back and tried to remain on their feet. They turned and faced Ma’at and Khonshu.

            “Ma’at,” croaked (Y/N) tiredly.

            Ma’at just gazed at the teenager sadly, and when the wind swept over the dune again, she was carried away in the sand. (Y/N) was left alone, bare of any of the power—purpose—they’d had since they were ten.

            The edges of their vision darkened. (Y/N)’s chest constricted in panic. They collapsed into the sand.

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            “You were right about Khonshu and Ma’at,” said Selim, Osiris’s Avatar. He escorted Harrow through the halls of the Great Pyramid of Giza to where they kept the statues of imprisoned deities. “And in the end, they left us no choice.”

            The two statues came into sight, a pair of carved sandstone sculptures less than a foot in height. The once mighty deities were reduced to such a small encasing, unable to escape.

            “Now, they’re tethered to this place like many before them,” said Selim.

            “Can they hear us?” said Harrow, gazing at the statues.

            “We think so, yes,” said Selim.

            Harrow nodded and stepped towards the statues. Selim graciously stepped away, allowing Harrow a private moment with the imprisoned remains of the god he was once an Avatar for.

            “I enjoyed dealing out pain on your behalf,” said Harrow, almost softly. “That is the greatest sin I carry. I am grateful. Had you not broken me so completely, I might have known the value of healing. I’m going to do what you could not do. I want you to remember one thing. Your torment forged me. I owe my victory to you.” He turned to walk away.

            Harrow paused in front of Ma’at statue. He looked down at it and smiled. “And Ma’at, I will make sure all of the knowledge you imparted to young (Y/N) goes to good use. It too will serve my victory well.”

Chapter Text

            Layla closed her eyes against the explosion of the jeep. Her trap had worked, and Harrow’s men went up in a cloud of flares and smoke. She blinked and surveyed the damage as the light faded.

            “Whoa.”

            Layla looked back. Steven was staring in awe at the destruction she’d caused. (Y/N) still lay unconscious in the sand where she rolled them (and Steven) down the dunes.

            She coughed awkwardly. “Help me get them into the jeep.”

            “Right,” said Steven.

            Layla opened the door of the jeep, and Steven scooped (Y/N) up like a child. Gazing at them worriedly, he gently put them down in the backseat.

            “Do you think they’re going to be alright?” said Steven.

            “They’re a tough kid,” said Layla. “And we’re here to help them. We’ll make sure they’re fine.”

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            (Y/N)’s eyes opened as the warmth of sunlight hit their skin. Groaning and blinking, they sat up.

            “What happened?” they asked.

            “We got the location. We’re heading there now,” said Layla, glancing into the rearview mirror.

            “No, what happened?” said (Y/N), looking at Steven.

            “Khonshu and Ma’at are gone,” he said. “We’re on our own.”

            (Y/N) flinched at the truth. What they’d seen before they collapsed came back to their mind, racing like an onslaught of nightmares. Ma’at was gone. The one constant they’d had since their parents’ death had been taken from them, too.

            “Right,” they said.

            “But we’re not stopping,” said Layla. “We can’t lose more time. Harrow must be headed back to the tomb from Cairo.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked at Steven. “And, look, if he is, we’re gonna need Marc, yeah?”

            “Exactly,” said Marc, and Steven glanced at the side mirror. “See, she gets it.”

            “No,” said Steven.

            “No?” said Layla in surprise.

            “Steven, neither of us can fight without Ma’at or Khonshu,” said (Y/N) worriedly, pulling the ends of their sleeves.

            “No,” repeated Steven. “See, the thing is, we made a deal, Marc and I, that when he was done with Khonshu he would disappear for good.”

            Truth. Disappointment settled into (Y/N)’s gut. They didn’t want Steven or Marc to leave.

            But once this is over, you have to leave anyways. Why would they want you to stick around? You’re nothing to them.

            (Y/N) pushed the thought away and tried to focus on the issue at hand.

            “But that deal didn’t involve you getting Layla, (Y/N), and us killed, did it?” said Marc. “That’s not gonna fly with me. And (Y/N) can’t put up with that, either, right?”

            He looked out from the side mirror at (Y/N), but they made no indication they heard him. Marc’s eyes widened. Without Ma’at’s ability to see the truth, (Y/N) couldn’t hear him. They could only hear Steven or Marc when they were fronting.

            “You made a deal?” Words cold, Layla looked at Steven. “That he would just disappear from his life? And you didn’t think that maybe I should’ve been made aware of that?”

            Steven shifted uncomfortably. “…Hadn’t he already disappeared from your life?”

            Layla gripped the steering wheel in frustration. “Yeah. I mean, whatever. His suit was his best feature, wasn’t it? Doesn’t even have that anymore.”

            “Steven, give me the body right now. This is a suicide mission,” said Marc urgently.

            Steven didn’t respond as Layla continued, “Plus, I know him. He’d wanna lone wolf this whole thing. It’s not happening. We’re not gonna do that.”

            “Steven, please. You’re going to get Layla killed. You’re going to get (Y/N) killed.” Marc’s jaw tensed. “I can’t let that happen. We can’t let that happen.”

            Steven looked away to smile at Layla and (Y/N). Instead of addressing anything Marc said, he just gazed at the two people he’d come to care for gently. “We are not. It’s just you, me, (Y/N), and the open road.” He looked back at (Y/N) and smiled. “Are you alright?”

            (Y/N) couldn’t open their mouth without saying no. Anything else would be a lie. They had no Ma’at. No abilities. No family. No purpose. (Y/N) had become nothing.

            “I’m…I’m going to be a liability,” said (Y/N) softly.

            “No, we’re going to need a translator,” said Layla encouragingly. “Fighting is the more useless skill when we need to figure things out.”

            “I can’t translate without Ma’at,” said (Y/N).

            “You can remember, though, right?” said Steven, looking at them.

            They shifted and kept their eyes on the ground. “What do you mean?”

            “Well, languages are about patterns, and if you recognize parts of what you translated with Ma’at many times, then maybe you’ll see and understand more than you think,” said Steven. He smiled, reached back, and patted (Y/N)’s knees. “You’re strong, (Y/N). You’re not a liability.”

            Raising their eyes, (Y/N) looked into Steven’s. Their heart clenched at something so familiar yet faraway in his eyes. “…I’ll try,” said (Y/N), sitting up straighter. “I don’t want to be useless.”

            “I think the only useless one is Steven since he got thrown into this like three days ago,” joked Layla, helping Steven cheer (Y/N) up. “And even he’s doing alright at times.”

            (Y/N) looked between the two, and a bit of warmth gathered in the chest. Odd. They hadn’t felt that in a long time.

            In the side mirror, Marc’s brow creased in frustration and worry. Steven was refusing to let him fight. He was taking Layla right to where Harrow and Ammit were. He was even bringing (Y/N), a now-defenseless teen, and risking their death.

            Marc didn’t want any of them to get hurt. He wouldn’t be able to stand it.

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            Eventually, the road hit a dead end, and Layla, (Y/N), and Steven got out of the jeep to continue on foot. Before them rose cliffs of red, contrasting starkly against the sky. A tiny sliver in the rock would serve as their path, and (Y/N), Steven, and Layla set out before any more time could be lost.

            Animals and birds looked down on them as they went, but the three people kept going. Even when they emerged from the shadows and onto the desert plains, they persevered. The sun beat down on them, but none of the trio backed down. They knew what needed to be done.

            Cresting a hill, Layla paused. “There they are.”

            Harrow’s encampment, having approached from another direction, stood with jeeps and tents in front of a cavern.

            “Let’s keep moving,” said Layla, leading the way down towards it. “It looks like they’re already inside. We’ll need to find another way to beat them to Ammit.”

            Once they arrived at the camp, they found no sign of people. Everyone had seemingly go in search of Ammit. At least that meant (Y/N), Steven, and Layla could go through without worrying about being seen.

            “Let’s check for supplies,” suggested Layla.

            “I’ll find more water,” said (Y/N). Harrow had to have stored some here.

            “I’ll find tools, if I can,” said Steven.

            The three split up.

            Inside one tent, as Steven shoved tools into his backpack, Marc’s reflection on the table spoke to him.

            “You look scared,” he said.

            “I’m not,” said Steven, but that was a lie.

            “You should be,” said Marc. “Without Khonshu, there’s no more suit, no more healing, no more power.”

            “Yeah, no more you, I thought,” said Steven. “It’s what you said, innit? But believing anything that comes out of your mouth just shows what a plonker I am.”

            “Look, I wish I could disappear, I really do,” said Marc. “But unfortunately, I’m still here. If you’re going to go through with this, you gotta be smart, for Layla and (Y/N)’s sakes.” Steven paused. “I’ve been in situations like this before.”

            “So have I. It’s the same body, innit?” said Steven. “It’s in there somewhere. Muscle memory and that.”

            “I’m not sure it works like that,” snarked Marc. “Just—”

            “Whatever,” said Steven, turning away.

            “I’m here,” said Marc. “You’re not alone.”

            “I know I’m not alone! I know I’m bloody not alone. I’ve got Layla and (Y/N),” said Steven. “They’re got my back.”

            “Do you love Layla?” said Marc, furrowing his brow. “Are you in love with my wife?”

            “I appreciate your concern, mate, I really do. But we’ve got it from here,” said Steven. “And I’ll protect Layla and (Y/N). I care about them just like you do.”

            “Steven!” said Marc as Steven walked out of the room.

            “If I need a recipe for a protein shake or something, I’ll call you,” said Steven coldly.

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            Layla laced up the climbing gear around (Y/N). “Does it feel secure enough?”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “Good,” said Layla, turning and repeating her actions with Steven.

            “I have to say, I feel like I’ve been waiting for this my whole life,” said Steven. “The adventure, I mean.”

            Layla smiled. “I know. We want what we never had.”

            “Yeah,” said Steven.

            “I thought you would’ve had enough with adventure by now,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, I don’t like the Harrow parts, but I like the pyramids and Egyptian history,” said Steven as Layla finished. For a moment, they were face-to-face, and they looked at each other curiously.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. They were bad with interpersonal relationships, but there was something going on there. It reminded them of the way Layla and Marc looked at each other when they weren’t fighting. It reminded them of the way their parents had looked at each other.

            “Right,” said Layla awkwardly, chuckling slightly and looking away. For a moment, she nearly leaned in, but Steven stepped back.

            “Marc’s trying to protect you from Khonshu,” said Steven suddenly, the sudden guilt of kissing someone’s else’s wife (as odd as the situation was) keeping him from going through with it, no matter how much he liked Layla.

            (Y/N) had looked pointedly away as Layla stepped in (they weren’t sure how they were supposed to react in such a situation), but upon hearing Steven’s words, they looked back.

            “What?” said Layla in confusion.

            “That’s why he’s been pushing you away, he said,” said Steven. “He thinks Khonshu wants you for his Avatar, and he won’t let that happen.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze softened. Marc was gruff, but, apparently, obviously, he cared about Layla.

            “I just felt like you should know that,” said Steven quietly. He really liked Layla, but he was also honorable. Layla deserved to know that for all Marc’s flaws, he did care.

            Layla looked away and cleared her throat.

            “Here,” said (Y/N), holding out a rope to her to descend into the caverns. They also hoped to end this situation that they knew was awkward and had no idea how to deal with.

            “Why are you telling me this now?” said Layla, looking at Steven.

            “I don’t know.”

            Lie.

            “I just thought you deserved to know.”

            Truth.

            “Well, it wasn’t his call to make,” said Layla.

            “You don’t want to be an Avatar,” said (Y/N).

            Layla and Steven looked at them.

            “I know some gods are kinder than others, but there’s a weight. After years, you can forget who you are outside of being an Avatar,” said (Y/N) as they absently fiddled with the rope in their hands. They paused. “I don’t think I know what I used to do, what I used to like, who I used to be before being an Avatar.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes burned, and they blinked away the sensation. Their entire body suddenly felt so heavy as so many thoughts and feelings appeared they’d never had to confront since they just did the same thing every day, never having to think of their own life, just following orders, moving on autopilot with no thought of their past.

            (Y/N) looked up at Layla. “If a god asks you to be their Avatar…be sure of your answer.”

            “(Y/N)…” Layla frowned, and she and Steven exchanged a glance. (Y/N) barely spoke so much in one go since they could only tell the truth, and that meant uncomfortable thoughts came out. So to see the pain suddenly seize the teenager, so alone for so long, it made Steven and Layla want to pull them close and try to protect them from what the world had done.

            “Let’s go,” said (Y/N), turning to the cavern and counting their fingers in a calming, repetitive manner for a second.

            “Right,” said Layla, deciding not to press. She focused on the task at hand. “It’s time to belay.” She attached everyone’s ropes securely and stepped up in front of the giant hole leading into the earth. She jumped.

            Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) leapt out and fell down into the tomb of Ammit. The wind rushed by them, and they held onto the rope as it unfurled above them. They pushed off the wall as they swung nearer, making their way down until they reached the sandy earth below. (Y/N) removed the harness and stepped out of the way as Steven careened down after them (much less gracefully).

            He groaned as he rolled over in the dust. A slight bruise was on his nose, and (Y/N) furrowed their brow. He hadn’t hit his head, had he? (No, Marc got control of their arm and punched Steven for trying to kiss Layla, but who was going to guess that?)

            “Are you okay?” said Layla, helping him up.

            “I’m aces, yeah,” groaned Steven. “Wish no one had seen that, though.”

            “I crashed through a window the first time I rappelled down a building,” said (Y/N) encouragingly. “I got a scar on my arm from a piece of glass.”

            Layla glanced at them in concern, and, in hindsight, maybe that last piece of information wasn’t helpful. (Y/N) was confused. Were they supposed to be able to judge what people thought was encouraging?

            “Wow, look at you,” said Steven, staring around at the tunnel they found themselves in. A giant statue of a face looked out from a wall, and he gazed in awe at it.

            “Oh, yeah, gorgeous, aren’t they?” said Layla. “They’re just…”

            “They’ve been here for centuries, just standing guard. And now we’re with them,” said (Y/N).

            “Right,” said Layla, smiling fondly.

            “I can’t even…” Steven literally couldn’t even finish a thought as he stared with a dumb smile on his face. “Like, if they just sprang to life right now and asked me a riddle for passage, I’d be thrilled. I’d shit myself, but I’d be thrilled.”

            (Y/N) chuckled at Steven’s enthusiasm. It was nice for someone to be so happy and excited.

            “What’s this?” said Steven, looking at a mark in the sand. “Did one of you do that?”

            Layla looked back. “Oh. Yeah. It’s for my father. He would’ve loved to be here.”

            “Oh, yeah, big history buff, is he?” said Steven.

            (Y/N)’s gaze remained glued to the mark. It was…familiar. If (Y/N) could just focus hard enough, maybe they could remember it’s meaning. (Not be useless, useless, useless).

            “So much worse. Archaeologist on a mission,” said Layla.

            “My parents were an archaeologist and anthropologist,” said (Y/N), smiling slightly despite the pressure in their lungs as they spoke.

            “So cool,” said Steven, so honestly it made the constricting pressure in (Y/N)’s chest dissipate as pride took over their feelings.

            Yes. (Y/N)’s parents had been cool.

            “To my dad, his dream was one worth dying for,” said Layla, reminiscing fondly as she stared walking farther into the tunnels. Her gaze turned melancholy. “And he did.”

            “I’m sorry,” said (Y/N), quietly.

            “Yeah. Really,” said Steven.

            “Yeah, no, it’s fine,” said Layla, brushing it off. “We all lose parents eventually.”

            “I bet that he’d be positively beaming right now, seeing you standing in the proof of his dream,” said Steven, smiling.

            Layla laughed slightly. “Yeah. I think so.”

            Steven turned his warm smile on (Y/N). “And I’m sure your parents are super proud of how far you’ve come.”

            (Y/N) looked around themself at the discovery their parents would have loved to explore and learn from. “I hope so.”

            They really hoped someone was proud of them.

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            As (Y/N), Steven, and Layla walked farther into Ammit’s tomb, they found themselves at a fork in the road. This was the first challenge. They needed to figure out which way was correct and avoid that which was a trap.

            “It’s a maze,” said (Y/N) bluntly.

            “It’s a-maze-ing,” said Steven goofily.

            “No, like, there are six paths,” said Layla, frowning. That was too many options.

            “Right, six points,” said Steven, looking at them.

            Layla knelt in the sand and examined bullet casings left behind by Harrow’s men. “What would they be shooting at?” she murmured.

            In the sand of a slab of stone, Steven began to draw. Hovering next to him, (Y/N) observed his work. He drew the eye of Horus and looked up.

            “This whole structure is a symbol,” explained Steven.

            “The eye of Horus,” identified (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said Steven. “It’s the royal symbol, protection in the afterlife. I mean, like, the resources needed to build this thing.” He was giddy with excitement.

            “Look,” said (Y/N), nodding to the ceiling.

            Steven’s flashlight had reflected on the surface of the table, not simple stone as they’d assumed. The image of the eye of Horus now shone on the ceiling. Since Steven had drawn it according to the curve of the tunnel they’d come from, it created a map of the paths around them.

            “Ammit’s final Avatar was a pharaoh,” said Layla.

            “Whoa!” exclaimed Steven. “A bloody pharaoh!”

            “Someone with power, just like she’d want,” said (Y/N), nodding. They gestured to the symbol. “Do we think it’s a map?”

            Steven nodded. “And the eye of Horus is also the eye of the mind, right?”

            “Six senses, six points, makes sense,” said (Y/N).

            “Eyebrow is thought,” said Steven, tracing it again. “Pupil, sight, obviously. This point here is, uh, hearing. Smell. Touch. And this long line ending in a spiral is the tongue.”

            “The Avatar would be Ammit’s voice,” said Layla.

            (Y/N) nodded in agreement. “Avatar’s can even channel the deities and literally give them voice. It fits perfectly.”

            Steven looked at the paths. “So, we need…this path.” He stepped forward confidently, and Layla and (Y/N) followed after him.

            One obstacle was overcome.

            As they went, they arrived in a larger chamber. A long table lay across the center, and wooden scaffolding lined one side of it.

            “Oh, wow,” said Steven, looking around.

            “Heka priests,” said Layla, staring in awe at the paintings on the walls. “Judging by their masks and ceremonial stance. They would’ve been entombed in here to protect the pharaoh.”

            “The heck’s a Heka?” said Steven.

            “Sorcerers of their time,” said (Y/N).

            Layla looked at the mummified bodies. “These must be some of the unlucky souls who crossed their path.”

            (Y/N)’s flashlight beam landed on the table, and the red, bloody stains shone fresh in the light. “I think Harrow’s men were some of the unlucky souls.” They shivered as memories of blood and screams and pain came back to them.

            Alarmed, Layla and Steven turned towards them, and they too saw the bloody stone slab.

            “Oh, god, that’s fresh blood,” said Steven, gagging. “Oh, no, nope. Those are chunky meat bits.”

            (Y/N) pointed at bloody embalming jars around the base of the stone slab and made a face. “I think organs are in there.”

            “Oh, god.” Steven turned away, retching.

            “Let’s keep moving,” said Layla firmly.

            “Yeah,” said Steven.

            “Good idea,” said (Y/N).

            “Wait,” said Steven as they approached the next tunnel. “I’m just saying what I see, and I see a lot of blood and bones going that way. So I’m just thinking, like, what if there’s maybe another…” He scanned the room and the scaffolding. “There. There’s an opening up there. You see that?”

            “I see it,” said (Y/N).

            “Should we check it out?” asked Steven.

            “Yeah,” said Layla. “You go. (Y/N), stay between him and me.” Keeping them in the center kept them the most protected. “If you see anything wrong, jump back down. I’ll keep an eye out here.”

            “Right,” said Steven, approaching the wooden structure. He pulled himself up a level awkwardly, and (Y/N) scrambled up behind him. “Alright, yeah, we’re up.”

            “You good?” said Layla.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), giving a thumbs-up as they and Steven moved closer to the opening.

            To distract himself from the weird tools and devices around him, Steven continued rambling about Egyptian history. “So, according to the ancient texts, Ammit should be bound to an ushabti.”

            “That’s what Khonshu and Ma’at are bound to, too, now,” said (Y/N).

            “How’s it looking?” called Layla, trying to keep them focused.

            “It’s looking amazing,” said Steven sarcastically, staring at the bloody mortar and pestle. “I mean, it looks like a freshly filled canopic jar and snake skins and self-regeneration…”

            “We should keep moving,” said (Y/N). They respected the funeral practices and magic of the Egyptians, but it also meant danger for them.

            “Yeah, yeah, right,” said Steven, creeping towards the exit. It was big enough for them and lacked blood. He nodded to (Y/N), and they looked down to Layla.

            “We can go this way,” they said.

            Bang! Bang!

            Gunshots rang out, and Layla, Steven, and (Y/N) jumped.

            “Harrow,” gasped Layla.

            “What are they shooting at?” said Steven.

            “No idea,” said (Y/N).

            Click!

            The sound of someone or something clicking echoed through the tunnel.

            “Hide,” hissed Steven.

            Layla dove behind the surgical table, and Steven pulled (Y/N) down on the scaffolding. The clicking creature came into the chamber and threw a heavy object onto the stone slab. (Y/N) and Steven pulled themselves to the edge and peered down. It was, undoubtedly, a Heka, still protecting the pharaoh’s tomb centuries later. One of Harrow’s men lay bleeding as he was carved open by the priest. Steven nearly retched as organs were pulled and dropped into jars. Layla remained frozen, barely out of the priest’s sight. Carefully, she moved farther to the other side of the slab as the Heka priest grabbed the jars closer to her. She knocked one over, and the thud echoed.

            The Heka priest straightened and clicked questioningly. (Y/N) and Steven’s eyes widened as Layla froze. Unfortunately, she had to keep moving as the priest began to circle the slab. Steven backed up, and the wood creaked.

            The Heka priest whirled and looked up. Steven pulled (Y/N) to him protectively, and they covered their mouths. The priest lunged upwards. It crawled upside down on the wooden slats beneath Steven and (Y/N). Its claws hands reached around the top.

            (Y/N) grabbed his hand and stumbled back. The minute it spotted them properly, it would try to kill them. They need to get away.

            On the ground, Layla grabbed a jar and threw it to the other side of the room. Ducking, she was hidden as it crashed against the wall. The priest stopped its climb and jumped down in anger.

            “Run! It’ll find you!” called Steven, shoving the table above down on the Heka priest.

            Layla ran into the tunnels, and the priest let out an inhuman yowl as the table hit it.

            “I squished it. I squished it,” breathed Steven, not really believing it himself.

            “Come on, come on, run!” said (Y/N). “We don’t know if its dead.” They grabbed his hand and pulled him into the exit.

            “What about Layla?” said Steven.

            “She’s better at this than we are,” said (Y/N). “She’ll survive.” And that was the truth.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) and Steven continued on their way through the new tunnel. It was a bit caved in with bits of rock fallen in their way, but nothing impeded them severely. Finally, they rounded a corner, and another chamber opened up.

            “Oh my stars,” said Steven.

            “My god,” said (Y/N).

            They stared at the room, lit by a ray of sunshine reflected off pools and trickles of water. Stepping over rocks, they approached the burial chamber of the pharaoh. Statues and murals lined the walls, and the sarcophagus itself stood on a dais in the center of the room.

            Steven stared at the artifacts. “Thutmose III. Nefertiti. It’s gotta be one of the big ones.”

            “You nearly kissed her,” said Marc, and Steven stumbled.

            “Steven?” asked (Y/N).

            “Just Marc talking,” said Steven, trying to ignore him as they continued.

            (Y/N) frowned and looked at his reflection in the water. They wished they could still hear Marc. It was lonelier without him. They wished they could be with Layla, Steven, and Marc all together again.

            “I should try to drown you or punch you again,” said Marc. “But you also told her the truth about why I’ve been pushing her away. And that was unexpected. And you protected (Y/N).” So he wouldn’t try to hit Steven.

            “Are these Macedonian?” said (Y/N), unknowingly interrupting the conversation. They knelt by the relics and murals. “I can’t remember these symbols or translate them, but these are Macedonian, aren’t they?”

            Steven knelt next to them. “No way. That’s impossible. Only one pharaoh…But he called himself Egyptian.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “No way. No way. Is this really…?”

            “I think we’re looking at the long-lost tomb of Alexander the Great,” breathed Steven, giddy and reverent all at once.

            (Y/N) stared at it. “…Oh god. We have to open the sarcophagus.” It felt wrong to disturb the tomb, but this was Ammit’s tomb. Alexander the Great had been her Avatar. She needed to be stopped. Harrow needed to be stopped.

            “That just feels wrong,” groaned Steven. “Everything inside of me is screaming not to open this thing.”

            “You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?” said Marc.

            “Of course I don’t want him to get to Ammit,” said Steven.

            “Marc again?” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said Steven. He looked at (Y/N). “Ready?”

            “As I’ll ever be,” said (Y/N).

            Steven nodded. Together, they put their hands on the lid of the sarcophagus and pushed. It was tough going, but they managed to shit the top end of the lid off enough so that they could see the mummy within. This was the Alexander the Great. In the flesh (literally, since he was a mummy).

            “Where’s the ushabti?” said Marc.

            “He’s not holding the ushabti,” said (Y/N) at the same moment, frowning.

            Steven nearly smiled at the coincidence and answered both at once. “If you’re gonna hide it for all eternity, you’d probably put it in a place where the average looter wouldn’t think to look.”

            (Y/N) coughed and pulled up their sleeves. “Um, I think I know where.”

            “Where?” said Steven and Marc at the same time, though (Y/N) could only hear one.

            “It’s the voice symbolism again,” said (Y/N), grimacing and gesturing to the wrapped head and throat of Alexander the Great.

            “Oh. Oh, gross,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) steeled themself, reached out, and pulled away the wrappings around Alexander the Great’s face. “I am so sorry,” they muttered to the mummy and the memory of their parents. They shouldn’t be disturbing a resting place like this. But it needed to be done.

            “Oh…” Steven grimaced as (Y/N) slipped their hand into Alexander the Great’s mouth and reached into his throat.

            Forcing themself not to retch, (Y/N) felt a wave of relief as they felt a stone sculpture. Grabbing it, they pulled it out. The sunlight illuminated the return of Ammit’s ushabti to the world.

            “We found it,” breathed Steven.

            “Good job, kid,” said Marc, unable to hold back the pride. He deflated as he remembered (Y/N) couldn’t hear him now.

            (Y/N) nodded and smiled at Steven in relief.

            Footsteps approached, and they tensed, whirling toward the passage. They relaxed as they saw it was Layla. She had made it.

            “Layla, look!” said Steven proudly, gesturing to the ushabti in (Y/N)’s hands. “We won!” He laughed.

            (Y/N) frowned. Layla’s eyes were narrowed, and her body was tense as she came closer. Something was off.

            “(Y/N) had to reach down Alexander the Great’s throat, but we found it,” said Steven. He frowned as he finally saw Layla’s furious gaze. “You alright, love?”

            “Can he hear me?” she snapped.

            “Alexander? No, I don’t think so. God, I hope not,” chuckled Steven, trying to keep the good energy going.

            Layla kept going. “What happened to my father?”

            (Y/N) frowned and flinched. They didn’t like the feeling that was appearing in the room. Everything had been going fine. And now, now, something was wrong. (Y/N) stepped back.

            Layla walked up to Steven. “I’m talking to you.”

            “What?” asked Steven.

            “I’m talking to you, Marc,” snapped Layla, trying to get him to come out and speak to her.

            Steven frowned, his eyes rolled up, and when Layla had him looking at her again, it was Marc staring out. He had gotten control of the body.

            “Come on, come on, let’s go,” said Marc, trying to take control of the situation and avoid the conversation. He took (Y/N)’s arm and Layla’s hand, but Layla pulled back.

            “No,” she said forcefully.

            “We need to go right now,” said Marc.

            “What’s going on?” said (Y/N), pulling the end of their sleeves.

            “Marc, no. No,” repeated Layla, refusing to go with him. “What happened to my father?!”

            “Listen to me. We need to leave right now,” said Marc. “I will explain everything, I swear. But we have to go.”

            “He’s telling the truth,” said (Y/N), trying to help but unsure of themself.

            “No, I want to know now,” said Layla. She glared at Marc. “Did you kill Abdullah El Faouly?!”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and their gaze snapped to Marc. Their chest constricted as the terrible question was left in the air.

            “Of course not. Of course I didn’t!” said Marc.

            “He’s…He’s telling the truth,” said (Y/N). “He didn’t kill him, Layla.”

            “But he was there,” said Layla, seeing that Marc was evading the whole truth. “Weren’t you?”

            “Marc?” asked (Y/N), looking at him.

             “I—” Marc couldn’t answer. Lying was impossible, but the truth was painful. It would destroy everything he’d built with Layla and whatever had started to grow between (Y/N) and Marc.

            “Yeah, you were there,” said Layla. She could read him clearly.

            Marc swallowed. Softly, he admitted the terrible truth. “I was there. Yeah. I was there.”

            “Yeah. And how did he die?” snapped Layla.

            (Y/N) covered their mouth and stepped back. “The mercenaries and the archaeologists.” What Fitzgerald and Kennedy had said in the car.

            “Kid—” Marc reached out to them, but he let his hand drop. “I—My partner got greedy.” He spoke quietly, tiredly, as everything he’d never wanted to admit forced itself to the surface and destroyed what he’d built. “He executed everyone at the dig site. I tried to save your father, Layla, but I couldn’t. And I—”

            Layla glared at him. “No. But you brought a killer right to him. Right?” She shoved him back, and Marc just took it.

            He nodded helplessly, willing to take any abuse to make up for the terrible things he’d done. “Yeah. He shot me, too. I was supposed to die that night. But I didn’t die that night. And I should have.” Marc gazed at Layla with so much emotion as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’ve tried to tell you since the moment we met. But I just didn’t know how.”

            Layla sobbed. Then, she froze. “Oh my god.”

            “I’m sorry,” said Marc.

            Layla turned on him. “That’s the reason we met.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they clutched the ushabti tightly.

            “You just had a guilty conscience?” said Layla incredulously, and the way Marc stared back at her was answer enough.

            “Layla—”

            The sound of a rolling stone broke through the moment, and they all turned towards the passageway. The rustle of footsteps grew louder.

            “They’re here,” said Marc in alarm.

            “There must be another way out,” said Layla, wanting to stay alive to keep being angry.

            “Okay, go, find it. Take (Y/N). I’ll hold them off,” said Marc, grabbing an ornamental axe from the sarcophagus.

            At the same time, (Y/N) took their moment to go with Layla to stuff the ushabti into the backpack to hide it from sight. The moment that Layla darted to grab (Y/N), though, Harrow and his numerous armed men stepped into the room. Layla had to hide behind a column, and as (Y/N) tried to scramble back, a guard that had snuck around the side grabbed them. (Y/N) yelped. Marc’s eyes widened, and he took a step towards (Y/N) but froze as the guard held (Y/N) tightly and raised his gun. They kicked at him, but the man was stronger, and (Y/N) was stuck staring fearfully at Marc.

            “Be gentle with them. They’re just misguided,” said Harrow to the guard.

            (Y/N) and Marc’s eyes went to Harrow as he stood in the tomb with them. The scarab that had guided him there fell into his hand, the magic having done its job.

            “Just you two, isn’t it?” said Harrow. “The rest is silence.” He strolled closer. “I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating. You’re both free. And, of course, with that freedom comes choice. And right now, you both have a very important decision to make.”

            Harrow walked towards (Y/N), and Marc tensed. He smiled at them, and (Y/N) flinched. “I know it’s been hard.” (Y/N) fought to avoid his gaze. “Being used by the gods. Pushed so far. Being so alone. But you can be alright, now.” They shook their head furiously. “You have nothing to worry about. You can let go of all the pain you feel. All the blame you feel.” He smiled kindly. “I know you think your parents’ death is your fault.” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they let out a sound akin to a whimper, a desperate plea for him to stop. “You asked for them to show you Egypt. You begged them to take you to the place they’d met, fallen in love, worked and learned. And then they died.” Harrow reached out and put a hand on (Y/N)’s head, and they winced back. “That’s alright.” He removed his hand and took theirs into his.

            Marc and Layla’s eyes widened as the cane began to swing back and forth. (Y/N)’s soul was being judged.

            “Stop it,” shouted Marc, taking a step forward, but the guns raised and pointed at him.

            (Y/N) was tempted to shut their eyes as the scales tattoo weighed back and forth. Unable to avert their eyes, though, (Y/N) watched as it settled. Their eyes widened. The scales were green. Their soul had been deemed worthy.

            Harrow smiled. “I knew I had a good feeling about you.” He took back his cane and gazed at (Y/N). They reluctantly looked up at him. “Now the choice lies before you. You have been deemed worthy. Ammit wants you on her side. You can help relieve the pain of so many. You can have a purpose.”

            (Y/N) stared at him, that word pulling at them, twisted around their heart and lungs. Their eyes flicked to Marc, staring at them with such worry that they felt their heart stir despite the pressure on it. (Y/N) looked back at Harrow evenly.

            “I will never join you or Ammit,” said (Y/N), the words as honest as could be.

            Harrow sighed. “I’m disappointed. Nonetheless, I’m afraid I can’t let you and live freely just yet.” He smiled. “We need the ritual to release Ammit.”

            (Y/N) froze, and their eyes widened. Long ago, Ma’at had taught them different rituals, bits of ancient magic that might one day be needed. One was to release the gods from ushabtis. (Y/N) hadn’t understood the significance then, nor had they questioned why Ma’at wanted them to learn it, but now that Ma’at was imprisoned, (Y/N) understood. Ma’at had known her actions in the mortal world could get her imprisoned. She had made sure the Avatar she had basically raised would be able to come and free her.

            Unfortunately, now, that meant (Y/N) could also free Ammit.

            “Leave them alone,” said Marc forcefully.

            Harrow turned to him with a smile. “After I bring Ammit to this world and allow her to create a better one, (Y/N) can live a life free of danger and worry. I just need them for a little while longer.” Harrow gestured to them. “And you could be a part of that world, too. You just need to do the right thing.”

            Marc looked at (Y/N) and then at all the armed men. He knew how to answer. He grabbed the gun of one man and dragged him closer. The man stumbled, and Marc slammed the axe onto his arm before he could shoot. He slashed at the next closest man, and then he threw the axe at Harrow.

            One of his guards stepped it front and took the blow, loyal until death. The man fell, and Harrow pulled something from the man’s belt as the guard fell. Harrow looked evenly at Marc, raised the pistol, and shot.

            Bang!

            (Y/N) screamed as Marc stumbled back, blood pooling on his white shirt.

            “Marc!” they cried, trying to pull away from the guard. “No! Marc, Steven!” They screamed for both desperately, tears burning at their eyes.

            Harrow stepped up and raised the pistol again.

            “Please, please, please, no!” shouted (Y/N).

            Bang!

            Behind the column, Layla covered her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. (Y/N) let out another agonized scream. The second wound bled instantly, and Marc fell back. He collapsed off the dais of the sarcophagus and landed in the pool of water.

            “I can’t save anyone who won’t save themselves,” said Harrow, daring enough to be saddened.

            (Y/N) let out a sob as Marc’s body lay in the water, unmoving. He was gone. Steven was gone. The tiny bit of good and warmth and connection (Y/N) had gathered in their life had been ripped away once again.

            (Y/N) was alone.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) sobbed as Harrow’s guards pulled Marc’s body from the water, checking to make he was dead. They knew he was. He was gone. That was the truth.

            Harrow knelt next to the body and glanced at his men. They shook their heads. The ushabti wasn’t on him. Wordlessly, Harrow turned back to the bag abandoned behind Marc. (Y/N) was too exhausted to even be disappointed as he pulled the ushabti out of the backpack.

            “I’m sorry it had to be this way, Marc Spector…Steven Grant…whoever else might be in there.” Harrow had the audacity to place the scarab on Marc’s chest as a gift. He rose. “Sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality.”

            Harrow turned away and raised the ushabti above his head. His men gazed reverently at it. They knelt and bowed, in awe of the mere presence of the statue holding Ammit.

            Harrow smiled. “Who wants to heal the world?”

            In his other hand, he lifted his cane. Sensing the proximity of Ammit, it glowed purple. One of the heads opened its maw and flipped over. Now it was a staff, not a cane, taller than Harrow, with a single menacing crocodile head. The power of Ammit was growing.

            Harrow walked towards the passage out, and his men followed. Helplessly, (Y/N) was dragged away after him.

            Numb, (Y/N) just let themself be pulled through the tunnels and be thrown into a jeep. They lay lifelessly as Harrow and his men drove towards Cairo and the pyramids and all the lives to be judged.

            (Y/N) stared out the window blankly. They knew it stopped periodically, and screams echoed into their mind. Squeezing their eyes shut, they tried to block out the world. They couldn’t fight. (Y/N) had no strength of their own. They were useless, hopeless, purposeless.

l

            Marc and Steven stumbled out of their memories and back onto Taweret’s ship.

            “Taweret, what’s going on?” asked Steven.

            “Fear is spreading in the upper world,” said Taweret. Streaks of purple light fell through the air, landing in the sand around the ship. “Unbalanced souls are being judged and condemned to the sands before their time. Oh, this is bad. This is evil.”

            “This is Harrow,” said Steven, eyes widening. “Oh, god, he’s using Ammit to condemn souls.”

            “(Y/N). Layla.” Marc’s jaw clenched. “They’re in danger.”

            “You see why we have to go back?” said Steven, looking desperately at Taweret.

            “Even if I could send you back up there, you’d just be returning to a body with a bullet in it,” said Taweret ruefully. “You wouldn’t be able to heal.”

            Steven swallowed and looked down. “Harrow’s going to make (Y/N) read the rites to free gods from ushabti to free Ammit. Could it do the same for Khonshu or Ma’at’s ushabtis?”

            Taweret paused. “Well, yes, if the magic was in the same area. But are you sure you want to be with Khonshu again? Seems like you really want to get away from him.”

            Steven looked back at Marc.

            “I did,” admitted Marc. “But this is our only shot to stop Ammit. To save Layla. To protect (Y/N). It’s the way it’s gotta be.”

            Taweret smiled. “You both seem to care about them. Layla and (Y/N).”

            Steven and Marc exchanged a look.

            “Layla’s my wife,” said Marc.

            “Layla’s special,” said Steven. “And (Y/N)…”

            “They deserve so much more than what they had,” said Marc. “I don’t—We don’t want them to suffer any more.”

            “We want to give them the care they deserve,” said Steven, smiling.

            It was true. Throughout their time together, Steven and Marc had both come to care for (Y/N). In different ways they were alike.

            Steven and (Y/N) were both awkward with others, underestimated and made to feel small. Steven wanted to make sure they saw they were worth more. He wanted them to feel like they were more.

            Marc saw a reflection of his younger self in (Y/N)’s desperation for direction. He had been hurt growing up, lost himself, and gone down a dark path. He didn’t want that to happen to (Y/N).

            Steven and Marc saw their own pain in (Y/N), in the teenager fighting to survive, so alone. They refused to let history repeat itself. They would make sure (Y/N) was protected and supported. They wouldn’t leave them to feel alone and lost.

l

            Layla sat in the back of the jeep with Harrow’s men. Keeping her face covered, she looked around herself warily. She’d gotten a message from Taweret that Marc could try (somehow) to return to life, but she wasn’t sure what to believe when it came to the gods. It seemed so far-fetched.

            But what Taweret had said about breaking Khonshu and/or Ma’at’s ushabtis if the ritual rites were read seemed true. Then Marc could fight with his suit, and he had a chance against Harrow like that. (Y/N) had a chance of being safe with their suit, too, and that’s what counted to Layla.

            She squared her shoulders. She’d do what was necessary to defeat Harrow and Ammit. Her eyes flicked to the jeep (Y/N) was in. She also needed to save them. She couldn’t leave them with Harrow.

            Don’t worry, (Y/N). We’re coming.

l

            Dragging (Y/N) up the stones that made up the great pyramids, Harrow’s disciples dutifully followed him and Ammit’s growing power. They stopped only when he did, and they bowed as he raised Ammit’s staff. Slamming it on the ground, the pyramid opened up to the goddess’s power to allow her and her people entry. The pathway to the other gods and their Avatars was clear.

            (Y/N) was pulled inside no matter how much they tried to pull against the guards. Seeing the familiar face of Yatzil and the other Avatars, they tried to fight again, but their strength was too little.

            “Come. You won’t believe what the gods have hidden from mankind,” said Harrow to his followers.

            “Run!” shouted (Y/N) to the other Avatars.

            Their eyes went to the teenager, and the shock was clear. Everything they and Marc and Khonshu and Ma’at had said was true. Harrow was there to release Ammit. And these gods and Avatars had done nothing to prevent it.

            Harrow lifted a hand, and the guard holding (Y/N) clamped a hand over their mouth to stifle their shouts. He looked evenly at the Avatars. “You’re judges, not warriors. This doesn’t need to happen.”

            Selim summoned Osiris’s power, and the other Avatars collected their power to assist him. Harrow held up Ammit’s staff. Purple light exploded towards the Avatars. Letting out a pained cry, (Y/N) watched as they fell to the attack.

            Behind Harrow’s men, Layla slipped away from the group. She had to find Khonshu’s ushabti for when the ritual rites were read. She paused as she found it. In the space beside it stood Ma’at’s ushabti. Layla was torn. Yes, breaking it would free Ma’at, who had fought to keep Ammit from returning, and (Y/N) would be given a suit by Ma’at that would protect them. But it could also tie (Y/N) to a god again, a clearly painful experience that had interrupted their life. Layla touched the ushabti. She needed to make the right choice, but for who? The world or (Y/N)?

            “This was all so avoidable,” sighed Harrow as he looked at the bodies of the fallen Avatars. Then, he turned away and faced (Y/N). “It is time.”

            (Y/N) shook their head furiously, but they were roughly pushed forward to their knees. Fitzgerald handed Harrow Ammit’s ushabti, and he held it in front of himself, over (Y/N)’s head.

            “Read the rites,” said Harrow.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” They wished they could say “can’t.” But they remembered the ritual. They knew it. The words were swirling in their mind, ready to be spoken, but (Y/N) didn’t want to let that magic into the air for Harrow to use.

            “You’ll be safe after,” said Harrow, as terribly benevolent as ever. “Your life will be full of peace.”

            “You’re going to hurt people,” said (Y/N), eyes blazing as they looked at him. “You’re going to hurt more people.”

            Harrow sighed and shook his head in disappointment. “I really hate to do it this way. Truly, I do.” He raised the staff, and it glowed purple.

            The scales tattoo on (Y/N)’s arm burned. They screamed, grabbing it tightly. Flames seemed to light inside their skin, punishing them for going against Harrow and Ammit’s wishes.

            “I don’t want to continue this,” said Harrow sorrowfully, watching (Y/N) curl in on themself and cry out. “Just read the rites.”

            (Y/N) sobbed and tried to squeeze their eyes shut and block out the pain. Behind the columns, Layla watched in horror with her hand over her mouth. Harrow truly was a monster.

            “Read the rites, child,” said Harrow.

            What else could (Y/N) do? As fire burned them from within, the words fell from them unbidden. The Coptic chant mixed with the natural magic of the temple of the gods, and the buzz of energy filled the air, making every mortal’s hair stand on end. (Y/N) sobbed, cried out, and the final words fell from their mind.

            The burning pain left them, and (Y/N) caught themself on their hands. Pushing themself up, they tried to stand and do something, but it was too late.

            Raising the ushabti above his head, Harrow smashed it into the ground. With a rumble equal to that of a thousand thunderstorms, billowing smoke flashing with purple magic exploded from the ushabti, rising to the ceiling of the chamber.

            Harrow watched in awe, and his followers in not a little fear, as Ammit returned to the world. She stood tall and intimidating, towering over the mortals below. Her crocodile scales shone in the pale torchlight, glinting off the golden jewelry across her neck and in the beads of her black hair. Her long snout and maw instantly pulled back in a satisfied sneer, and her tail lashed in the open air.

            Harrow and his disciples fell to their knees, reverent of their goddess. (Y/N) alone remained standing, staring up at Ammit with wide eyes.

            Ammit gazed down at the gathered group, and her golden eyes landed on (Y/N). “To whom do I owe my gratitude? You, young one?”

            (Y/N) blinked and stepped back, pulling the sleeves of their hoodie. Panic gripped them, and words refused to form in their throat.

            “Yes, the language of magic rests heavy around you,” said Ammit, nodding approvingly. She continued her appraising look, and (Y/N) wanted to disappear. “As does truth. It is carved into your very heart. I look for such souls to guide, for who else can speak for my ways but those with truth?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. Did Ammit want them as an Avatar because the truth was strong around them? Is that why Ma’at had chosen them? “I—” (Y/N)’s voice failed them, still constricted.

            “My goddess,” said Harrow, raising his head. “The child was Ma’at’s Avatar. They fought against freeing you. They are not a suitable choice for you, despite their heart. I brought them merely to read the ritual rites.”

            Ammit tsked. “Ah, Ma’at. We worked together once. A pity she could not see we both wish for the same thing—justice. Truth.” Her eyes landed on Harrow. “But if you brought the child here, then you are to whom I owe gratitude.”

            Harrow shook his head. “I am but a humble disciple to whom you owe nothing.”

            “Your scales lack balance,” noted Ammit appraisingly.

            “I understand,” said Harrow, bowing his head. “I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that’s impossible. I accept the scales regardless of the outcome.”

            (Y/N) felt a fury build inside them. Harrow had given himself a second chance but refused it to anyone else. Once again, his teachings and Ammit’s work were nothing more than inconsistent fallacies that hurt so much more than they could ever possibly help.

            “They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you,” said Ammit.

            “Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause,” said Harrow. “I willingly submit.”

            Harrow disgusted (Y/N). Only now that Ammit spoke was he willing to say he had done wrong? That he had hurt people?

            “What lies ahead of you is your service to me,” said Ammit.

            “How may I serve you in death?” said Harrow.

            “Your death is delayed,” said Ammit. “I once relayed on a servant whose scales balanced perfectly. In exchange, I was bound to stone for two thousand years.” She cast a look to (Y/N), who had backed up to the stone wall in an attempt to disappear. “Perhaps the same would happen if I chose another balanced heart, even if the truth is so natural to them.”

            “But I have disciples all over the world whose scales balance perfectly, awaiting your command,” said Harrow, still the ever-reverent, humble man. “They are worthy, my goddess.”

            “But you worked to set me free. That is the loyalty I need of an Avatar,” said Ammit. “You are the Avatar that I need. Serve me, and you will find peace.” She put her hand on Harrow’s head. “Do not let the past control you.”

            But you will judge others on their past, thought (Y/N).

            “As you wish.” Harrow’s eyes glowed purple as he accepted the Avatarhood.

            In the smaller corridors, Layla took a deep breath and stomped on Khonshu’s ushabti. In a swirl of sand and white smoke, Khonshu appeared, and Layla gasped. She had never actually seen one of the gods.

            “I do not sense Marc Spector in this world,” said Khonshu, looking about. “He died fighting, no doubt.”

            “Fighting your war,” said Layla angrily.

            “And it’s far from over,” said Khonshu. “If Marc is truly gone, then I am in need of an Avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night—”

            “Are you joking?” Layla cut him off. “You turned Marc’s life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?”

            “Because you won’t win against Ammit and Harrow alone,” said Khonshu.

            “I’ll take my chances,” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “Nor can you protect (Y/N) against them,” said Khonshu.

            “I said I’ll take my chances,” repeated Layla.

            “You need a plan, little bug. What I offer—”

            “I don’t care what you offer,” said Layla. “(Y/N) warned me about being an Avatar. Marc didn’t trust you. I don’t trust you. We’ll work together without my enslaving myself.”

            “To rebind Ammit, we’ll need Ma’at’s knowledge of rituals,” said Khonshu, bitter but going along with Layla (he needed Ammit gone. That was his first priority).

            Layla turned and picked up the ushabti. Silently apologizing to (Y/N) since she couldn’t be sure how (Y/N) felt about Ma’at returning, Layla smashed it. Blue smoked and sand condensed into Ma’at’s form.

            “Ammit has returned,” said Ma’at, instantly strategizing. “I know the binding ritual. (Y/N) can read it. It will work if they become my Avatar again.”

            “Good, they can repay releasing her,” said Khonshu.

            “That wasn’t their fault,” snapped Layla.

            Khonshu didn’t have the grace to respond and disappeared into sand.

            “Remain watchful, Layla El-Faouly,” said Ma’at. “There is still a battle to come.” She disappeared.

Chapter Text

            In the main chamber of the Great Pyramid of Giza, Ammit turned towards the exit. “Let us purify the souls of Cairo and then the world.”

            Sand condensed in the path of the disciples of Ammit. They slowed warily, and their eyes widened as Khonshu and Ma’at’s figures formed out of the sand.

            “Khonshu. Ma’at. Time has been cruel to you,” said Ammit, sneering.

            “Indeed,” said Khonshu. “I cannot allow you proceed.”

            “Not when you seek to harm so many.” Ma’at’s gaze went to (Y/N). “You even had the audacity to try to ask for my Avatar’s loyalty. You’ve stooped so low, Ammit.” Ma’at smiled. “Are you prepared to be the guardian of justice, harmony, and truth once more, (Y/N)?”

            “Ma’at!” cried (Y/N), eyes widening in shock.

            Before they could make any reply, a burst of purple light hit (Y/N), and they were thrown to the side. They hit the stone wall hard and groaned.

            “Stop them from accepting Avatarhood,” said Harrow to his men, and the disciples grabbed (Y/N). “And there is someone else here who released Khonshu and Ma’at. Find them.”

            “Oh, Khonshu, Ma’at, for gods, you are low on faith,” said Ammit.

            “You’ll never learn,” said Khonshu. He raised his staff.

            “You have betrayed the vow we took to judge souls on your scales against my feather. I cannot let you continue this,” said Ma’at, extending her arms. Feathers glinting in metal moved with her.

            Ammit growled and struck. Her tailed whipped around and struck Ma’at’s wings. She hit the back wall, and Khonshu swung his staff at Ammit. She blocked it, and they struggled back and forth. She pushed him back, but Ma’at slammed her wings into Ammit’s back. The battle of the gods had begun. Khonshu darted around Ammit like smoke, and Ma’at uses the elegant movement of her wings, but Ammit had the brute force and desire to fight above that of Khonshu and Ma’at. She grabbed Khonshu by the bony neck and threw him back. She pulled several of Ma’at’s feathers out and shoved the goddess to the ground.

            “Tell me to spare you, and I will,” said Ammit, approaching her former friends.

            “I choose obliteration over mercy,” growled Khonshu. Then, suddenly, he tensed. “Marc?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and a sudden blossom of hope came to life within them. Marc was alive? Steven was alive?

            Ammit swung her tail down, but Khonshu disappeared into sand, returning to Marc’s side.

            “I will take no mercy from you when you give it to no others,” said Ma’at.

            Ammit raised her tail again.

            “I accept Ma’at’s Avatarhood to defeat Ammit!”

            (Y/N)’s voice echoed around the room. They had bitten down on their captors’ hand, pushed away, and shouted their answer.

            Immediately, Ma’at’s body disappeared in a cloud of blue, and an azure light appeared in (Y/N)’s eyes. Ma’at reformed behind (Y/N), and bandages wrapped around them, forming their suit of white, blue, and gold.

            “Welcome back, my Avatar,” said Ma’at. She swung her wings, and Ammit was thrown back. “Go. We cannot fight in here.”

            Indeed, the minute she spoke, Ammit was upon her again, and the two gods were grappling.

            “Go! Began the judgement!” ordered Harrow to his disciples.

            “Stop them!” commanded Ma’at.

            (Y/N) ran out after Harrow as his disciples. As Harrow climbed to the top of the pyramid, (Y/N) grabbed one of his men and threw them back into the chamber. They hit the wall and went unconscious, but there still so many, and even more numbers waited outside. (Y/N) couldn’t do this alone, and Ma’at lacked the fighting ability needed to defeat Ammit on her own.

            The moment the sun dipped below the horizon, Harrow arrived at the summit of the Great Pyramid of Giza. He raised the staff and slammed it down. A bright purple light lit up the sky, brilliant and powerful and evil.

            No, no, no! thought (Y/N) desperately as they fought more of Harrow’s men.

            The other disciples below saw the light and moved into action, heeding his guidance. They were going to judge the people of Cairo. Even as (Y/N) knocked more of Ammit’s followers down, souls of purple light flitted into the air, ripped too soon from their bodies.

            (Y/N) gasped and gripped their heart as pain lanced through them. Looking at the ground below, their eyes widened in horror. Ma’at had been thrown to the ground and was lying bleeding while Ammit absorbed the souls around her, growing larger and stronger. The mixture of their deity’s pain and the unfair judgement of the souls of Cairo sent panic and agony through (Y/N).

            “Stop…Harrow…” croaked Ma’at’s voice in (Y/N)’s mind, still pinned down by Ammit as she grew stronger.

            (Y/N) heeded Ma’at’s command and leapt from stone to stone, approaching Harrow as he chanted in Coptic to grow Ammit’s power further. A white form slammed into the pyramid next to them, and they jumped, fearful for a moment. Then, their eyes widened.

            “Marc!” they cried in relief. “You’re here! You’re back!”

            “Kid,” said Marc, abandoning his purpose for a moment to run and embrace them. “You’re alright.”

            “I’m sorry, I had to read the rites, I was in pain, I tried, but I—”

            “Hey, hey, you’re alright.” The suit shifted, and Steven’s voice now spoke. “We’re together again. That’s what matters.”

            Purple energy fired into the stone next to them.

            “Bloody hell!” said Steven, jumping.

            “Harrow’s coming,” said (Y/N) in alarm.

            “Then we fight,” said Marc, returning to the moment.

            Harrow leapt towards them, and (Y/N) and Marc prepared themselves. On the ground, Khonshu had arrived and freed Ma’at, allowing the two gods to grow and face Ammit once more. The battle of Avatars and gods grew to new heights.

            Harrow slammed his staff at Marc, but (Y/N) blocked it. It threw them from the pyramid, and Marc leapt after them, falling behind them. He caught them, and the suit shifted to Steven.

            “Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

            “Look out!” said (Y/N), pushing him away as Harrow, having jumped after them, slashed his staff at them.

            Marc switched in again, kicked the staff back, grabbed (Y/N), and opened his cape as a makeshift parachute. The three landed roughly in the streets of Cairo, rolling to a stop.

            “You okay, kid?” said Marc, sitting them up.

            They nodded. “Yeah.”

            “Okay, good,” said Marc, helping them up.

            A few meters away, Harrow pushed himself to his feet, his staff glowing ominously.

            “Get ready,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) nodded, pulling out two daggers and narrowing their eyes.

l

            Against the pyramid, Khonshu had finally pinned Ammit with his staff. Ma’at, finally recovered and stronger as (Y/N) successfully fought, stood beside him. Ammit snapped up at them.

            “There is so little difference in what we want for this world,” said Ammit, reaching up towards them. “Why do this dance for the rest of time?”

            “You know the answer: we only punish those who have chosen evil,” said Khonshu.

            Ammit sneered. “Oh, ‘we’ is it, now?”

            “Yes,” said Ma’at. “You forsook my friendship, then you betrayed your alliance with Khonshu’s ways. We are here to prevent you from harming more people.”

            “And I prevent people from committing evil. You dare to allow them to?” said Ammit. Her tail grabbed Khonshu ankle and dragged him down. His staff fell, and Ammit stood.

            “Khonshu,” said Ma’at worriedly, catching him before he fell.

            Ammit scoffed. “Why fight knowing you will fail?”

            “Because it is our choice,” said Ma’at, slamming her wings down. Ammit braced against them, and the gods glared at one another.

            “The very thing you take away,” said Khonshu.

l

            Harrow raised his staff and fired a bolt of energy. (Y/N) and Marc dodged to the side, and each threw their own daggers at him. Harrow ducked and summoned purple energy to destroy the remaining daggers. Two more bolts of energy flashed towards (Y/N) and Marc. He leapt into the air, and (Y/N) bent backwards, handspringing away. Harrow narrowed his eyes and raised the staff again.

            Wham!

            A figure landed a solid hit to his side, and Harrow went flying. Layla, clad in Egyptian clothing with metallic wings, stood before Marc and (Y/N).

            “Are you two alright?” she asked, smiling.

            “Layla?” said Marc in surprise.

            “Are you an Avatar?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow in concern.

            “Temporarily. For Taweret,” said Layla.

            Harrow stood and fired energy at her. She reacted instantaneously, raising her wings and crossing them in front of her. The energy rebounded, and Harrow flew back again.

            Marc instinctively stepped forward and hugged Layla. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

            “You’re not made about the Avatarhood?” chuckled Layla.

            “Taweret isn’t as bad as the others,” admitted Marc.

            “I’m glad you’re okay,” said (Y/N), relieved.

            “Come on in,” said Layla, grabbing their wrist and pulling (Y/N) into the hug, too.

            (Y/N) felt themself smile as Layla and Marc hugged them. They hugged back.

            “I can’t believe you’re alright,” said Layla. “I was so worried, Marc.”

            “I’m here,” said Marc. He squeezed Layla and (Y/N) tightly. “I’m here.”

            Steven switched in and stepped back to look at Layla. “Wow, you look amazing, Layla! What are you wearing?” Both Marc and Steven were as encouraging and caring as ever, even in their different ways.

            “Harrow’s getting up,” said (Y/N), noticing before the conversation could continue. “And he’s got reinforcements.”

            Indeed, Harrow had been helped up by his disciples as they crowded to his location, guns and other weapons in hand.

            “Right!” said Steven. “Well, hey, I’m really jazzed about showing you guys these new skillsets we have.”

            “You guys are working together,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “We’ve started to work things out,” said Steven brightly.

            “Show us what you’ve got,” said Layla.

            The three of them turned and ran towards Harrow and Ammit’s disciples, a team of people who cared about one another and were ready to defend the world.

            Layla flew through the men, slashing them down with the swords at the ends of her wings.

            (Y/N) dodged and leapt through the crowd, as agile and quick as a cat. They cut through arms and legs, gave quick stabs, and never let someone get ahold of them. They used everything they’d learned as a thief to work effectively against Ammit’s followers.

            Steven slammed his fists into two men, and with his batons, he swung and knocked various disciples down before they had a chance to attack. He fought smoothly, none of the hesitation or fear or awkwardness from before. It was Steven fronting and controlling the body, but a variety of skills Marc had perfected were in the fighting style, adjusted to Steven. They truly had begun to work together.

            Frustrated as his people fell to the fighting team, Harrow fired energy at Steven. He leapt and twisted in midair, avoiding the purple bolt of magic. Steven threw a baton at Harrow, btu the Avatar of Ammit hit it aside with his staff. It ricocheted back.

            Marc, fronting again, caught it. It transformed into a dagger, and he cut down the nearest opponent. He and Layla nodded at each other and raced forward. They cut down opponents, and anyone that tried to stand again was handled by (Y/N), following as quickly and with as much determination as Layla and Marc.

            Layla was the first to come upon Harrow, and she swung down at him. He blocked her swords with his staff, but Marc kicked at him. He was forced to pivot and block the kick instead, giving (Y/N) a moment to slide across the floor and slash at his leg. Harrow dodged, but not far enough, and a cut opened up on his calf. He turned and swung down at (Y/N). They rolled back, and Layla moved in to block it before he hit them. The four battled expertly. Every time one of the trio was attacked by Harrow, another block, and the third attack. It was a never-ending dance, all four vying to land a proper hit.

            Harrow blocked another kick and slid back. Raising his staff, he swung down. Layla, Marc, and (Y/N) dodged back, but the staff hit the ground, and purple light exploded from it. The wave of energy hit the three Avatars, and they were sent flying. Layla went through a store window, Marc landed on the windshield of a car, and (Y/N) fell into café tables.

            Harrow approached and swung down at them, but (Y/N) raised two daggers and, with their strength, managed to block him. Still, they were straining, and Ammit’s staff glowed with energy as Harrow forced it closer to them.

            Steven slammed into him. Throwing Harrow into the wall, Steven grappled with Harrow and exchanged several blows with him. Unfortunately, Harrow’s strength was also enhanced as an Avatar, and he could attack with as much power as Steven. He grabbed Steven’s leg when he next kicked and threw him through the wall and across the street.

            Marc leapt back out at him and kicked him back, delivering just as powerful a blow to Harrow. He rose, and the pair glared at one another. Harrow raised his staff, but (Y/N) jumped from a nearby roof and grabbed him. They refused to let go as Harrow tried to wrench it from their grasp. Layla flew down on his other side and shoved him back against the wall. Marc held one of his crescent daggers and swung. Harrow ducked, but the blade sliced at his staff. He kicked (Y/N), and they stumbled back. With his now free hand, he swung the staff at Layla and Marc, who dodged. Harrow darted away from the wall to open territory again.

            Layla and Marc charged at him, and Harrow blocked with his staff. They each grabbed it, and the three grappled. (Y/N) ran in, and Harrow fired his staff. They dodged to the side, but Harrow took the opportunity and turned the power of the staff on a van of Egyptians trying to escape.

            Layla let go of the staff and flew to help the innocents while (Y/N) leapt back to Marc’s side to fight Harrow. Ammit’s Avatar forced Marc to take a step back, but (Y/N) slammed into him from behind, making him stumble. Near the van, Layla took to protecting innocents as they escaped Ammit’s disciples, who were still prowling the streets.

            That left (Y/N) and Marc against Harrow. He pivoted and swung at (Y/N), and they flipped back. A disciple nearby raised his gun and fired, distracting (Y/N) from the fight. They leapt around the man and threw several daggers to take him down.

            As (Y/N) fought other disciples, Harrow and Marc fought for control of the staff once more. Harrow turned and twisted the staff, shaking Marc from it. He was thrown back and rolled to a stop.

            Harrow fired a blast at Marc, and Marc blocked it. The purple energy raged, and Marc gritted his teeth, bracing against the pure, concentrated power.

            “Had Ammit been allowed to rule, young Randall’s life would’ve been saved,” said Harrow. “Your family would’ve been happy. She need only remove the weed from the garden.” He grunted with effort as he forced more magical energy from the staff towards Marc. The Avatar of Khonshu was forced to his knee. “You,” spat Harrow, losing control for a moment.

            Marc pulled out a crescent dagger and tried to lunge, but the purple energy hit him, and he was forced back once more. Harrow savagely directed the energy to turn the blade back towards him, and Marc fought against his own limbs.

            Finishing her own fight, Layla saw Marc struggling and leapt into the air. Harrow shifted, and the beam of energy forced the dagger from Marc’s hand into Layla’s wing. She was thrown back, and the dagger pinned her to the van behind her.

            Marc stumbled, trying to right himself, but Harrow was already turning the full power of the staff and his rage on him. He let out an angry yell and shot as much magic as he could summon directly at Marc’s chest.

            Marc braced himself.

            Thump!

            Marc stumbled to the side as a body shoved into him. The figure was thrown backwards by the purple light and landed unmoving on the ground.

            “(Y/N)!” shouted Marc, eyes wide.

            Layla gasped in horror.

            (Y/N) groaned and tried to move, but all they managed was a whimper as every nerve fired with pain as purple magic flowed through them. They had saved Marc from the blast, but now they lay defenseless, unable to move. (Y/N)’s eyes fluttered with the effort to stay awake, and their entire vision was blurred.

            “Kid!” Marc surged forward but stumbled on exhausted, injured limbs.

            Harrow sent a blast at him, and Marc stumbled back. Layla remained pinned to the van, no matter how she pulled. Harrow walked towards (Y/N) and stood over them. He stared down at the teenager. (Y/N)’s lungs constricted.

            “What a disappointment,” said Harrow.

            He slammed the staff down on the ostrich feather on (Y/N)’s chest. They screamed, and purple energy lit up the square.

            “No!” shouted Layla.

            Marc’s eyes widened, and pure rage swept through him.

            (Y/N) was left in pure agony. Their throat burned as they screamed, and every nerve cried out with them. The scales on their arm burned, and (Y/N) sobbed as the edges of their vision went back. Their back arched in pain, and (Y/N)’s head rolled to the side, but nothing they did could escape the torture Harrow inflicted upon them.

            Out of the blurry vision they retained, they watched Layla cower and try to cover herself as disciples approached with guns and fire at her, and their heart dropped.

            No…No…

            Everything was growing fuzzy, blurry. (Y/N) couldn’t keep track of what was going on. Their lungs felt heavy. They couldn’t get enough air.

            Mom…Dad…

            Was this Harrow’s staff or the crash sending metal through (Y/N)’s chest? Were they laying dying under the skies of Egypt with their Mom and Dad or with Layla and Marc and Steven?

            Were they going to die this time?

            Suddenly, the light disappeared. The purple glow illuminating the terrible sights (Y/N) could still see vanished, and they were plunged into darkness. Their body went limp on the ground, and phantom pain floated around them. (Y/N)’s eyes closed, and they fought to try to open them again. Everything felt so heavy.

            “What are you—” Harrow cried out, but the sound was far away to (Y/N), like they were falling underwater and leaving all of this behind.

            Other screams echoed in (Y/N)’s mind, and the light of flames danced blurrily in front of (Y/N) as they tried to blink, but everything was slow, lethargic.

            Then silence.

            (Y/N) let out a breath. Blissful silence.

Chapter Text

            Marc blinked and looked down. In one hand, he held Harrow’s staff, the sharpened end pressed to his blood forehead. Harrow was unconscious, helpless. Fires burned around them. Disciples’ bodies littered the ground. He stood and stared at Harrow in shocked horror.

            “That wasn’t you, was it, Steven?” asked Marc slowly. He had no idea what had happened in the last few minutes.

            Steven switched in and shook his head. “Not a chance, mate,” he breathed, looking around at the bloody battlefield.

            “Marc?” asked Layla, finally getting a chance to free herself.

            Marc shook his head as he stared at the bodies. However, all thoughts of what he or Steven did—for who else could have?—flew from his mind as he saw (Y/N) lying motionless on the ground.

            “(Y/N),” he breathed, running towards them.

            Layla didn’t bother to ask what had happened, also worried for the unmoving teenager. She knelt beside them, and her heartbeat quickened as (Y/N) didn’t stir.

            “(Y/N)?” said Marc, lifting them up in his arms. “Hey, come on, kid. Open your eyes.” He cupped their face, shaking them gently. “Come on. Come on. You’re alright.” His heart clenched painfully. “(Y/N). (Y/N).”

            From the reflection of a blade nearby, Steven spoke with equal panicked worry. “(Y/N)! Wake up! Wake up!”

            “Come on, (Y/N). Just open your eyes,” said Layla.

            All three adults stared at the teenager, pure panic in their hearts. They couldn’t lose (Y/N). They couldn’t. If they died, they wouldn’t be able to forgive themselves. Layla couldn’t lose another person she cared for. Steven couldn’t lose the teenager that he saw so much of himself in. Marc couldn’t let another child with so much heart and soul die because he hadn’t protected them.

            (Y/N)’s eyes opened slowly. “…Wh…Wha…” They whimpered as the remnants of Harrow’s power danced through their nerves.

            “It’s okay. You don’t need to speak,” said Layla, smiling in relief.

            “You’re alright.” Marc held them close. “You’re alright.”

            “We’ve got ya!” said Steven, beaming in relief.

            “…Harrow?” groaned (Y/N) softly.

            “He’s down,” said Layla.

            “Am…Ammit?”

            Marc and Steven exchanged a worried glance. Ammit was still fighting Khonshu and Ma’at.

            “She’s still fighting,” said Steven.

            “We need to bind Ammit,” said Layla. “That’s what Taweret said.”

            “I…I know the…rites,” said (Y/N), fighting to lean Marc. “Ma’at…I’m her…Avatar.” He carefully guided them.

            “Alright,” said Marc, though he was still concerned about their health. “We’ll get you to the pyramid.”

            “I’ll bring Harrow,” said Layla.

            Standing, Marc picked up (Y/N). They were still recovering, after all. Yes, with the suit they could heal more quickly, but he wasn’t letting them strain themself. Layla grabbed Harrow’s leg and dragged him behind her.

            Together, the group rushed to the Great Pyramid and through the rubble to the chamber within. Marc gently put (Y/N) down but kept them standing upright while Layla tossed Harrow onto a fallen stone slab.

            “The power of this room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow’s body,” said Layla. “(Y/N)?”

            “I know the spell,” said (Y/N), nodding. They reached out to Layla and Marc. “Take my hands. I don’t—I don’t have enough energy on my own.”

            Layla and Marc took each of their outstretched hands. They hesitated, but their remaining hands intertwined. (Y/N) lifted their head, and Ma’at’s signature azure glow swirled into their eyes. Ancient Egyptian spilled from them, and blue magic twined out from them, extending through Layla and Marc until they were a circle of power.

            The energy spread out from them and connected to the statues of the gods in the chamber, illuminating each with azure light. The magic swelled, and Layla and Marc felt the knowledge enter their mind. Their own chanting added to the power as the spirits of the untethered gods. Having lost their Avatars, they clung to this circle of power to strengthen the magic of the three Avatars standing strong together.

            Harrow let out a gasp and stirred as the magic swarmed around him and began to affect his connection to Ammit.

            A similar circle of light twined around Ammit outside of the pyramid as she yelled and snarled against Khonshu and Ma’at.

            “We could’ve made this our paradise!” said Ammit.

            “It’s too late, Ammit,” said Ma’at. “You have lost our friendship.”

            “And you will be destroyed,” said Khonshu.

            Ammit snarled, but the magic circle was too strong, and parts of her began to turn to sand, swirling downwards. She roared in fury, but she was pulled back into the magic and dissolved into it. Purple light joined azure, and it flew downwards into Harrow’s chest as he gasped.

            He let out a pained breath as the magic and essence of Ammit sealed with him. His eyes turned on (Y/N), Marc, and Layla.

            “You can never contain me,” said Ammit through Harrow. “I’ll never stop.” Then, Harrow’s head fell to the side in exhaustion, and he stared at the chamber blankly.

            (Y/N)’s spell ended, and the magic and light faded. They let go of Marc and Layla’s hands and glanced at them apprehensively.

            “Finish it.” Khonshu appeared in the chamber and loomed over Marc. “Leave neither of them alive.”

            Marc stepped onto the slab of stone, casting a shadow over Harrow’s limp, beaten body. He took out a dagger.

            “Marc?” said Layla, gazing at him.

            “Act, Avatar of Khonshu,” said Ma’at, sorrowful that her former friend and companion had to meet such an end. “While he lives, so does she.”

            (Y/N) shifted uneasily. They knew Harrow had done terrible things. They wanted him beaten, gone. But killing him like this, when he was down, mind destroyed? It felt like what he had done. If he was still fighting, if Harrow still had his magic and strength and power, (Y/N) would understand. Now…

            “I have to finish this,” murmured Marc, gritting his teeth. “If not, I’ll never be free.”

            “Marc,” said (Y/N), and he looked at them. They swallowed. “We have a choice. We beat Harrow. We beat Ammit. We served our purpose.”

            Marc hesitated.

            “The choice is vengeance,” said Khonshu. “We cannot take a chance that Ammit finds a way out. She will kill again.”

            Marc looked up at Khonshu, and the deity stared back coldly. Marc threw his dagger to the side, and it embedded in a rock.

            “You want them dead. Do it yourself,” he said firmly. (Y/N) smiled. “Now. Release us.”

            Khonshu was silent, but he had no other choice. He had made a deal with Marc and Steven. “As you wish.” He disappeared in a swirl of wind and sand.

            Marc exhaled, and his eyes rolled back into his head. The bandages and cloth of his outfit retracted until he wore his regular clothes once more. In a burst of silver light, Marc was released from his Avatarhood.

            “How do you feel?” said Layla, smiling.

            “I…feel new,” said Marc. He was free. No more being an Avatar. No more fighting. He could just…exist.

            Steven switched in. “I like this!” He grinned. “We did it!”

            “We did,” agreed (Y/N).

            “(Y/N).” Ma’at spoke, and (Y/N) turned towards her.

            “Ma’at,” said (Y/N). They shifted and glanced at Layla and Marc. “Can I…Can I have a moment to speak to her? Alone?”

            “Are you going to be alright?” said Layla, furrowing her brow.

            “Don’t let any of the gods push you around,” said Steven quickly.

            “I’m fine. I just need to talk to her,” said (Y/N) calmly.

            “Alright. We’ll give you a moment,” said Layla.

            Layla and Steven walked out of the pyramid, and (Y/N) turned to face Ma’at.

            “You became my Avatar again to defeat Ammit,” said Ma’at. She had noticed the wording. “You wish for our connection to be dissolved.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “I speak the truth, you know that.” They looked up at the goddess they had been with for seven years. “I’m ready for a chance to…be me. Not an Avatar. Not a guardian. Just me.”

            Ma’at smiled. “Then I will honor your decision.”

            “Really?” said (Y/N), blinking. They hadn’t anticipated Ma’at so easily allowing them to leave, to sever their connection as deity and Avatar.

            “Yes.” Ma’at’s body swirled in azure light, and she shrunk into the form of a tall woman. She smiled at (Y/N), standing at (nearly) their height. “You have been an incredible Avatar. The truth comes naturally to you. You see things as they are.” She reached out and touched (Y/N)’s hand. “But the gods were right. Despite your strength, you are young.” Ma’at smiled. “It wouldn’t be right of the goddess of justice to not allow you freedom now after doing so much.”

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N), gazing back at Ma’at.

            “I have pushed you so far,” said Ma’at. “I hope you may forgive me for my wrongs.” (Y/N) opened their mouth to respond, but Ma’at raised a hand. “No. You have no need to respond. It is I who must be just to you now.” She straightened and looked at (Y/N). “You have honored my ways as an Avatar. I wish to honor that. How may I thank you?”

            “What?” said (Y/N), furrowing their brow.

            “Allow me to gift you something that may help you live freely,” said Ma’at.

            “I…” (Y/N) knew their answer and met Ma’at’s gaze. “I want to hear the truth.”

            “You wish to not just hear the language you grew with or the friend who controls the body,” said Ma’at knowingly.

            (Y/N) nodded. They liked understanding people. And they liked hearing Marc or Steven when they weren’t fronting. They didn’t want to lose that connection to them.

            “Very well.” Ma’at leaned in and kissed (Y/N)’s forehead.

            A cool blue light washed over them, and their suit disappeared as their connection to Ma’at was severed. However, the scales tattoo given by Ammit’s judgement illuminated azure. It morphed into a feather, and when (Y/N) touched it gently, they felt a slight buzz of magic. Ma’at’s gift remained engrained within them.

            “Know my offer to you will always stand, my dear Guardian of Truth,” said Ma’at quietly. “And may the truth serve you well.”

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) stepped out of the Great Pyramid. Their mind was their own. Their choices were their own. Their purpose was their own.

            The warmth of the rising sun greeted them as they stepped out, and (Y/N) took a deep breath. Fresh, free air greeted their lungs. For a moment, they just stood there, existing. That’s all they wanted to do, forever.

            “Hey. You alright, (Y/N)?”

            (Y/N) opened their eyes and looked at Layla. They grinned. “I’m great.”

            “You’re not an Avatar anymore, are you?” said Marc.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “No. Ma’at gave me a gift in thanks, and then she let me go.”

            “Nicer than Khonshu,” muttered Marc.

            Steven switched in. “What are you going to do now?”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            “You’re not going to just…wander off alone, are you?” asked Steven worriedly.

            “…I don’t know what else to do,” said (Y/N).

            Layla scoffed. “No way are we letting you go off alone. You’re what, seventeen? No.”

            “What else do I do?” asked (Y/N).

            “Come back to London with me! And Marc!” said Steven instantly.

            (Y/N) blinked, and their heart warmed. “What?”

            “Layla is…going to be off doing Layla things, but we’re…we’re going to try to figure things out, Marc and I, between us. So we’re going back to London, to my flat,” said Steven, smiling.

            “I—You want me to?” whispered (Y/N) as if the spell of being wanted, belonging, would break if they spoke too loudly, no matter how honest Steven’s words were.

            Layla rolled her eyes. (Y/N) was apparently oblivious to how much Steven and Marc had become attached to them. “Of course they do.”

            “Come home with us,” said Steven.

            “Really?” They knew it was the truth, but it felt too impossible to accept. (Y/N) felt tears collect in their eyes, and their heart swelled with so much warmth it felt like they would burst.

            “We’re not leaving you alone, kid,” said Marc, switching to front. He pulled (Y/N) in and hugged them.

            (Y/N) let out a happy sob and grinned. They hugged back.

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A few months later…

            (Y/N)’s eyes opened as sunlight warmed their skin. Rolling over, they looked out the window at the bustle of London below. They smiled.

            “Heya, are you awake, (Y/N)?”

            (Y/N) sat up as Steven poked his head into the room. “I’m up.”

            “Oh, good, I’m making pancakes. Want some?” said Steven.

            (Y/N) smiled. “Sure.”

            Steven grinned and nodded, leaving the room.

            (Y/N) got out of bed and changed into their day clothes. Pulling on a t-shirt and jeans, they looked in the mirror. They didn’t need to be prepared for thievery or fighting. They could just…be.

            Walking out of their room, (Y/N) walked to the kitchen portion of the flat.

            “Hey, Guses,” said (Y/N), picking up fish food and sprinkling it into the tank where two fish swam together.

            “Oh, yeah, we forgot to feed him this morning,” said Steven. “Thanks!”

            “No, I told you too, and you forgot,” said Marc from the mirror.

            “He’s cooking, so it’s alright,” said (Y/N), taking a plate from Steven.

            “He should make an omelet. You don’t get enough protein with him,” said Marc.

            “I make sure they do!” defended Steven, but there was nothing adversarial.

            “Marc, I cook for myself,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly. “You don’t have to worry.”

            “But I do,” said Marc, switching in and pulling out eggs to start cooking.

            (Y/N) laughed and smiled.

            “What are you doing today?” asked Marc, glancing at (Y/N).

            They paused and considered. “I don’t know.” And that was the honest truth. They grinned. “I’m going to walk around and see what interests me.”

            Marc’s gaze softened, and he smiled. “Alright. Just be careful.” He scooped eggs onto their plate. “And don’t forget, you and I are training later.”

            “Right,” said (Y/N), eating their pancakes and eggs. “I’ll be back at 4.”

            “Do you need pocket money?” said Steven from the reflection in the aquarium.

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I managed to save some money when I worked with Ma’at. I’m fine.”

            “Alright, but if you need anything, anything at all, you’ll tell us, right?” said Steven, fretting as usual.

            (Y/N) smiled. “I will. Thank you.” They stood, passed their plate to Marc, and picked up their messenger back—the first item they’d bought in London. It reminded them of what their parents brought with them. “Bye. I’ll see you later.”

            “Bye, kid,” said Marc, watching them go.

            The door slammed closed behind them, and Marc smiled.

            “We’re doing good, aren’t we?” said Steven, looking at Marc.

            “I hope so. They’re a good kid,” said Marc.

            “Yeah. I really like them. It’s kind of like…we’re a family, you know?” said Steven.

            “I know,” said Marc, his gaze softening. “I know.”

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            (Y/N) hummed as they sat down at the café of a bookstore they’d happened upon. Opening their phone, they scrolled through the news. As usual, the first things that popped up were the latest moves of some of the newer superheroes on the scene, like the new, female Hulk or a girl fighting with crystal-like abilities in Jersey City.

            Leaving the news behind, (Y/N) clicked on their music and pressed play.

            “El Melouk” began to play through their earbuds, and they smiled, taking a sip of their coffee.

            “Look, look, look where we have been/and where we are now.”

            (Y/N) smiled.

            They had lost everything, but now, they were living. They had people they cared about. They had a home. (Y/N) even dared say they had a family.

            And (Y/N) had a chance to figure out who they were.

Chapter Text

            “So, what adventures did you get up to today?” said Steven, smiling at (Y/N).

            “I found a skatepark. I met other teenagers,” said (Y/N), taking a bite of their apple.

            “That’s lovely,” said Steven. “I keep telling you to try to meet new people your age, make friends. Will you see them again?”

            (Y/N) tilted their head. “How would I know?”

            “…Well, you make plans with friends. Or, well, you make friends first, and then you make plans,” said Steven.

            “How do I do that?” asked (Y/N).

            “Uh, you—”

            “Don’t act like we know how to make friends,” interjected Marc from a mirror.

            Steven grimaced. “Okay, maybe we don’t…Still, that doesn’t mean (Y/N) shouldn’t have friends.”

            “You guys are my friends,” said (Y/N) plainly.

            “I feel bad for you if we’re your only friends,” said Marc.

            “I have Layla,” said (Y/N).

            “She’s cool,” said Steven, brightening.

            “Can you name literally anyone who wasn’t involved in illegal activities?” said Marc.

            “I don’t meet people outside of illegal activities, so how would I know anyone like that?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “Maybe we should have insisted you go to school…” said Steven.

            “I already know everything, though,” said (Y/N), blinking.

            Marc sighed. This was going in circles because (Y/N) still had no idea that the way they interacted with people wasn’t what most considered “normal,” and, as a teenager, they should have friends their age who don’t nearly get themselves killed. Unfortunately, (Y/N) simply did not see things in that way and did not see social expectations as anything more than a confusing script they didn’t have.

            “I’m going to send you to a karate dojo or something. Maybe that will help,” muttered Marc.

            Steven chuckled. Marc was so protective but wanted (Y/N) to have a good life. They both did. “Despite all that, I’m glad you had some fun. Any plans for adventures tomorrow?”

            (Y/N) pulled on their sweater sleeves, and Marc and Steven recognized the telltale sign of anxiety.

            “What is it?” said Marc, instantly on edge.

            It wasn’t like (Y/N) to put make stupid decisions, but they did have a bad habit of putting themself in danger in order to help others, so he didn’t want them to start doing that again if he could help it. (Y/N) was in London with them to have a normal life, free of danger. He wouldn’t let (Y/N) lose that.

            “London Pride is tomorrow,” said (Y/N) quietly. “I…I wanted to go.” Still couldn’t lie.

            Steven smiled. “I’ll take you. Or Marc. Whoever makes you feel more secure.”

            “You would want to come?” said (Y/N), glancing at him.

            “Yes,” said Steven. “Marc and I support you. Every part of you. Of course we’d want to come.”

            “We don’t care about that,” said Marc. “You’re (Y/N). That’s what matters to us.”

            Truth.

            (Y/N) smiled slightly. They were glad they had Marc and Steven.

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            (Y/N) and Marc walked towards Pride. Steven and Marc had bickered over who got to front while they went to the parade, but they ended up agreeing to let Marc go with (Y/N) in case someone was rude to (Y/N) due to their identity. Marc was the right person to handle that—and he’d do it with pleasure. No one hurt (Y/N) on his watch.

            (Y/N) walked hesitantly towards the parade, and Marc nudged them forward. As it went by with music playing and confetti falling through the air, Marc kept an eye on them. If this was too overwhelming a crowd, Marc would get them out.

            But instead, (Y/N) began to smile. And Marc did, too. In the reflection of a window, Steven smiled as well. Marc noticed a stand beside them and stepped over. Quickly, he bought something and brought it back over to (Y/N).

            They were still staring, spellbound, at the people celebrating their identity. After so long with just having a purpose as an Avatar, (Y/N) got to be themself. More accurately, they were discovering who they were. And they knew part of it wasn’t like some people. Their presentation to others didn’t fit the binary, and the way their brain worked was different, too. (Y/N) understood that.

            But they could be who they were. And these were people who were proud of themselves. (Y/N) could be proud, too.

            Marc returned to their side and draped a rainbow flag over their shoulders. “There you go, kid.”

            (Y/N) looked at it, blinked, and held it closer around their shoulders. “Thank you.”

            “No problem, kid,” said Marc, smiling.

            “We’re proud of you,” said Steven, smiling in the window.

            (Y/N) smiled and leaned into Marc. They were discovering who they were. And they had a good family support group with them.

Chapter Text

            “I’m not dressing up for Halloween, Steven,” said Marc, crossing his arms and looking into the mirror of the silly Halloween decorations at the store.

            Steven pouted in the reflection. “C’mon, Marc, they’ve never celebrated Halloween! We can make it fun for them. Eat candy, watch a scary movie—”

            “You hate scary movies. You get scared,” said Marc.

            “—that’s the point,” said Steven. “And this is for them, not me. Normal teenager stuff, remember?”

            “We weren’t normal teenagers, what do we know about it?” said Marc.

            “Marc, come on. Have some fun,” said Steven.

            “I can watch movies and eat candy without costumes,” said Marc.

            “You can’t go to the Halloween parade,” grumbled Steven.

            “Crowds aren’t good for them,” said Marc.

            Steven crossed his arms.

            Marc felt a pressure and glared. “Are you going to take control to buy a Halloween costume?”

            Steven just grinned.

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            “Who are you?” said (Y/N), tilting their head.

            “Sherlock Holmes,” said Steven, looking pleased with himself with the cape, deerstalker, and fake pipe.

            “An idiot,” said Marc from the reflection of a window as Steven passed by. Steven gave Marc two fingers.

            “…I thought Halloween was scary,” said (Y/N).

            “It can also be fun!” said Steven.

            “Historically, it was to protect from evil spirits,” said (Y/N). They looked at the deerstalker. “I don’t think that would do it.” They looked at their own costume. “But I wouldn’t, either. Who am I, again?”

            “Indiana Jones,” said Steven. “The archaeologist.”

            “I looked him up,” said (Y/N). “He takes objects from temples. I don’t do that.”

            “Yeah, but it’s cute,” said Steven.

            “It’s funny,” said Marc.

            “Hm,” said (Y/N).

            “And don’t worry too much. We don’t have to care when we’re eating candy,” said Steven. He pulled out his wallet. “Time to treat ourselves.”

            “If you give us a stomachache,” groaned Marc.

            “You give us bruises by training,” retorted Steven brightly.

            (Y/N) smiled at their teasing, and Marc and Steven smiled slightly.

            “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be home later.”

            (Y/N) slowed as they passed an alley and heard someone speaking. Lie. They blinked and took another step. They heard lies all the time. There was no reason to pay attention to it.

            “I’m just getting the money now,” said the voice. “Yes, I’m at the bank.” Lie.

            “Steven, Marc,” said (Y/N), catching up with them. “Someone is planning a robbery.”

            Steven paused. “What?”

            “How do you know?” said Marc instantly.

            “Someone was on the phone lying about being at the bank but talking about getting money,” said (Y/N). “Plus it’s Halloween, it’s dark, they’re in an alley, and the likelihood of crime is high.”

            “Good detective work,” said Steven. “Maybe you should’ve been Sherlock.”

            “You want to step in before someone gets mugged?” said Marc.

            (Y/N) nodded. They picked up the lasso from their costume. “Yeah.” They might not be Ma’at’s Avatar anymore, but their sense of justice remained

            “Steven, give me the body,” said Marc.

            “Fine, but no taking off the costume after,” said Steven.

            “Yeah, yeah,” said Marc.

            The pair paused, and a moment later, Marc shook his shoulders. The body language change in the body was stark, and he looked at (Y/N).

            “You wait at the edge of the alley to lasso them,” said Marc. He grinned. “I’ll give them a proper scare for Halloween.”

            (Y/N) nodded. This would be…fun. They liked justice. So, they stood ready with their lasso as Marc squared his shoulder, smirked at them, and walked into the alley.

            In a nearby reflection, Steven was hopping around excitedly and asking for a turn if the would-be mugger ran.

            (Y/N) smiled to themself. They didn’t know a lot about family, not after losing their parents and years of their life to being an Avatar, but this…this was fun. It made their heart just a bit lighter.

            And when the robber let out a cry of fear as Marc loomed over him, (Y/N) flicked their wrist, readying the lasso. The mugger ran out, and (Y/N) tossed it. It grabbed them, and they jerked back. Marc grinned at the mugger as they squirmed. Steven laughed.

            (Y/N) smiled. They were still justice, but now they weren’t alone.

Chapter Text

            “(Y/N), was your family—I mean, are you religious?” asked Steven.

            “Smooth,” said Marc sarcastically from the mirror.

            Steven winced.

            “I don’t think about that a lot,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “I learned that gods of different pantheons existed before I had a chance to grow into my own religious beliefs, so I just didn’t think about it.”

            “So you never celebrated any holidays?” said Steven, frowning.

            “Ma’at didn’t think about them,” said (Y/N) straightforwardly. It wasn’t that Ma’at scoffed at them, it was that she forgot about them since they didn’t apply to her in any capacity so she had no reason to pay attention to them.

            “Like any? No Hannukah?” said Steven—he and Marc were Jewish, after all.

            “Or Christmas?” said Marc.

            “My parents celebrated when I was younger,” said (Y/N).

            “…What about your birthday?” said Marc.

            (Y/N) paused. They tiled their head. “Huh.”

            “You don’t remember your birthday?” said Steven, eyes widening.

            “Is that bad?” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah, kid, it’s one of those ‘definitely a traumatic moment’ things we talked about that isn’t normal,” said Marc.

            “Oh,” said (Y/N). They gathered their plate from lunch and headed to the kitchen. “Well. I can’t change it now.”

            “Marc,” said Steven, looking at the mirror.

            “I know,” said Marc, sighing.

            “We should do something,” said Steven. “The holiday season is coming up for us, but they haven’t gotten any holidays in years.”

            “We can get them something,” said Marc. “We’ll take care of them.”

            “Good,” said Steven. “They deserve to have someone watch out for them.”

            (Y/N) deserved to have parents people take care of them. They were still a kid, after all.

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            “The kugel was delicious, Marc,” said (Y/N).

            A few days had passed since the previous discussion, and it was “family dinner” as Steven called it playfully. He had said it once and, instantly, (Y/N) and Marc had gotten strange, so Steven never said it again. Secretly, though, (Y/N) called it that. Just in their own mind, but it was there. They liked the idea of a family dinner. They hadn’t had one in so long…

            “How did you like the brisket?” said Steven from the reflection in the fishtank. “I made it today.”

            “That was also good,” said (Y/N).

            “Good job, Steven,” said Marc.

            Steven grinned. “Now that we’ve eaten and the candle for the night is lit—” the menorah on the shelves of the room gleamed in the evening air “—we have something to show you, (Y/N).”

            They blinked. “Really?”

            “Yeah,” said Marc, standing and going to a chest of drawers. He opened it and pulled out a box wrapped in blue with a lopsided bow. “Here.” He held it out.

            “Is that for me?” said (Y/N).

            “Who else would it be for?” said Marc.

            “Of course it’s for you,” said Steven. “(Y/N), you deserve gifts for the holiday season! I mean, we only have one—”

            “I love it,” blurted out (Y/N), taking the present.

            “You don’t even know what it is,” said Marc.

            “I know I’ll like it,” said (Y/N). Just the fact that Marc and Steven had gotten them a gift made them smile. No one had thought about them and even what they might want or enjoy in so long.

            “Go on, open it,” said Steven encouragingly.

            (Y/N) nodded and pulled the ribbon off. Then, they unwrapped the gift. Excited, they lifted the top of the box off. Inside was an old book with a worn cover. The title was in an old language, embossed in the leather. (Y/N) ran their hand over it in awe.

            “We know your family loved history, anthropology, and archaeology,” said Steven. “And you’ve been going to lots of bookshops around London, so when we saw that…”

            “We thought of you, your family, and your languages,” said Marc.

            “Is that alright?” said Steven.

            (Y/N) sniffled and wiped their eyes. They smiled at Marc and then at the reflection with Steven tearily. “Yeah. It’s alright.” This was a true gift for them. It reminded them of their parents and all that they had bonded over with their mom and dad. And now they had Marc and Steven. “Thank you.”

            Marc hesitated before hugging (Y/N). “You’re welcome, (Y/N).”

            “We’re here for you, (Y/N),” said Steven.

            After all, as comfortable as (Y/N) felt being hugged by Marc and cared for by Steven, they also cared about (Y/N). They were their kid.

Chapter Text

            This was perhaps not one of (Y/N)’s best decisions. More accurately, there had been a series of bad decisions. One: They had been trying to strike out on their own and discover themself. Two: Steven and Marc told them to “get out” with people their age more. Three: Their kinda-friends? decided to sneak into the club by lying about their ages. Four: (Y/N) was curious to see if their thieving skills were still up to par. Five: (Y/N) had successfully gotten into the club. Six: They had lost everyone they were with.

            Apparently, they were a little more used to clubbing, despite the fact that most hadn’t hit eighteen. (Y/N) wasn’t close, but there they were. The only upside of this situation was that the club had some fun drag performances and great party music because it was a gay disco during Pride month. So, (Y/N) could at least enjoy themself in that way. They couldn’t…talk to anyone, though. They couldn’t lie, and (Y/N) didn’t need to get dragged back to Steven and Marc for being underage (what was the big deal with wanting to dance a bit? They were discovering they liked it).

            Therefore, (Y/N) was left to wander. They watched a few performances and bobbed around the side of the dance floor, keeping a wary eye out for any creeps hovering. They might not be fighting crime all the time anymore, but their instincts remained as sharp as ever (Steven called it “trauma,” (Y/N) and Marc called it “helpful instincts.”)

            As they danced, they bumped into someone else. It was unavoidable, so (Y/N) just turned to apologize. “Sorry,” they said over the music.

            “No, I’m sorry,” said the boy—he looked young, like (Y/N). He wore a dark, mesh shirt over a tank top and jeans with some studs. Eyeliner rimmed his eyes, intensifying them. “I bumped into you.”

            “I guess we both did,” said (Y/N).

            The pair stared at each other for a moment.

            “You’re not supposed to be here,” said the boy finally. He had seen that they were young.

            “Neither are you,” said (Y/N), acknowledging it but calling him out.

            “I won’t tell if you don’t,” he replied.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). They were amenable to that.

            “Why did you sneak in?” he asked.

            “I was with friends,” explained (Y/N). “I lost them.”

            “Not a good place to lose someone,” he said.

            “No,” said (Y/N). “But it’s a fun night.” They looked at where another drag performance had begun. “I’ve been worse places.”

            “Yeah.” He grimaced. “You’re telling me. Not every place is as accepting.”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N). “Being queer in multiple ways…I’m glad there are some places where people just get to relax.”

            “Me, too,” he said. “Especially after high school. Everyone’s so judgmental there.”

            “You know, I should ask why you’re here,” said (Y/N), avoiding having to say anything about high school since they hadn’t gone. Ma’at had taught them. “You’re American.” This was London during the school year. Americans didn’t do weekend trips to London.

            “I’m traveling with family. Doing some research,” he said. “That’s why school isn’t a…huge issue.” He smiled.

            (Y/N) blinked. Those three sentences had gone lie-truth-lie. They knew they were a stranger, but they were strange things to lie about. Huh. “Cool,” they said casually. “What type of research?”

            “Old books,” he said.

            True but vague, thought (Y/N). This boy was definitely interesting. “I like old books, too. My parents were an anthropologist and archaeologist.”

            “That’s cool,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find some books, and it’s been so hard. I bet knowing something about that would help.”

            (Y/N) shrugged. “That stuff is all luck.” Even the gods had their avatars to do research for them. “Unless you got magic or something.”

            With the amount of wizards and superheroes and everything, it wouldn’t be unheard of, and tons of teens imagined what it would be like to have powers. (Y/N) played along with the “wishful thinking,” but they knew what it felt like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders.

            They didn’t need it back.

            “Wouldn’t I be lucky,” he said, grinning slightly. “But I’m pretty sure I’ll find what I’m looking for eventually. I’ve got some help.”

            “That’s good,” said (Y/N). “Is it your parents?”

            “No,” he said abruptly. “My mom—my parents—”

            “Oh,” said (Y/N). “Yeah. Mine too.”

            “Guess that means we’ve got a few things in common,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Gay and orphans.”

            (Y/N) let out a laugh. This teen was fun. “Guess so.”

            Across the dance floor, a woman with white hair and a purple dress waved at the boy. (Y/N) frowned.

            “Hey, I think someone’s trying to get your attention,” they said.

            “Huh?” He turned around and spotted the woman. He looked at (Y/N) suddenly. “You can—”

            “There you are!” said a friendly voice, and a hand latched onto (Y/N)’s arm. Their party group had found them. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

            “Come on, we’re going to miss a performance in the next room,” said another person. “It’s our old high school teacher.”

            “Come on!”

            (Y/N) was dragged backwards, and they waved at the teenage boy. “Bye! Nice to meet you!”

            The boy waved with a strange look on his face as the woman in purple approached him.

            “Look at you, flirting,” teased one of (Y/N)’s companions.

            “Who was that?” asked another.

            “I don’t know,” said (Y/N). “We didn’t get each other’s name.”

            “Boo, should have tried,” said the person leading the back.

            (Y/N) rolled their eyes. They’d probably skip out soon. This was fun, but they liked the dancing more than anything. Unfortunately, so many people and things were…boring. After a life of travel, they’d grow used to the new and the exciting. Trying to find a place to drink or party or sneak around wasn’t their thing. At least they’d met someone interesting.

            I should have gotten his name. He was cute.