To Love and Blood

A ragged raspy cough climbs up Kats throat as she feels her body jerk upwards and her lungs expand with sudden intensity. The ground is cold, no, not ground. It moves around her and chills her skin with its smooth touch. Kats reflection stares back at her as she crouches and hacks up water and spit. Her chest heaves as her back arches painfully with each strained gasp.

Water. Kat recognizes, she's lying in a shallow pool of water. Her skin feels hot, too hot. Actually it's burning, it's stinging her nerves and lighting a fire in her throat. Kats whole body is sore and tired, she just wants a nap. With little coherent thoughts, Kat easily lays back down into the cool water and has just closed her eyes when the flash of memory zaps into her.

Shooting bolt upright despite the shriek of pain it causes, Kat looks around wildly for any sign of Steven or Marc, any sign of the men she loves. Her gaze lands on the body, laying still and unmoving in the water, blood still seeping from the wound and staining the water around it. Kat has to lean over again as a wave of nausea emerges and sends her spitting into the water.

“No, no, no!” Kat shouts, her throat tearing and cracking with the use of her voice, “No, take me back!”

Kat looks up to the heavens desperately, on her knees and praying for once in her life to anything, anybody, to let her go back. She doesn't care that she will forever be dead if she goes back. All Kat wants is to be with Marc and Steven again.

‘Oh god, Steven.’ Kat remembers everything, her chest cracking open and spilling its tears.

Kats fist pounds against the smooth flooring, bruised and battered but she doesn't care, her screaming sounds again with renewed vigor as she pleads and begs to be sent back to the duat, to be given the chance to save Steven. At some point, her nails bleed and crack and her blood smears against the floor until she finally collapses with exhaustion.

Staring listlessly at the ceiling above her, Kat feels so alone. So empty. Everything hurts; everything is too much to handle. Her heart feels crushed and dead in her chest, simply an organ now. Her throat is raw and reddened and she cannot swallow the cries that stutter through her chest and out her lips.

The world spins and continues on, but Kat stays frozen in horrific grief and lets time pass on.

The whisper of cloth against flooring makes Kat turn her head and look at the hem of a deep violet dress that brushes the ground beside her. Following the trail up, Kat stares into the sympathetic slitted eyes of her goddess.

Kat can't bring herself to even speak, hardly can even think. Bastet takes sympathy on her and sits silently beside Kat, waiting for her avatar to speak first.

“They're gone,” Kat finally speaks after a long stretch of silence, “aren't they?”

Bastet sighs, brushing her avatar's hair from her forehead and letting a soothing warmth of power pass through her avatar and heal the cuts and bruises littering her body.

“Yes.” Bastet answers softly, looking down at Kat with deep pity, “Marc is in the field of reeds and Steven…”

The goddess trails off, letting the sentence finish itself.

Steven is gone.

Kat nods, resuming her listless staring at the ceiling, unable to do much else.

“Katalya,” Bastet begins gently as her avatar lays still and silent, “we must stop Ammit.”

Kat shakes her head, her brows furrowing as she glares at the ceiling, “Why? What does it even matter anymore?”

“You do not mean that.” Bastet says sternly, whiskers twitching, “There are still millions of people to save. I heard word that Layla is working to release Konshue as we speak.”

Kat sits up, spine straightening as she looks into Bastets face for any trace of a lie. She finds none and releases a soft puff of air as she slowly nods, building up her energy and trying to lock the grief away.

“Layla.” Kat repeats, forcing the wobble out of her voice as she takes a deep breath and wipes away her tears, ignoring the way her heart aches in her chest. Kat turns to Bastet who is watching warily as her avatar places a mask over herself again, “Okay, lets go.”

***

A strong wind filled with dust and ancient sands whirls through the dark room in a tornado and swiftly brushes away to reveal the bony old figure of Konshues bird head. Standing tall and proud as the god stretches and feels the air for his avatar.

“I do not sense Marc Spector in this world.” He notes, glancing down at the woman staring up at him with a harsh accusatory glare, arms crossed defensively, “He died fighting, no doubt.”

Layla scoffs, “Fighting your war.”

Konshue nods and responds, “And it's far from over.”

His big bone head tilts to the side as he peers down at the woman, a renewed interest becoming apparent as Layla makes no moves and continues to stare the god down.

“If Marc is truly gone, then I am in need of an avatar.” Konshue says, filling his voice with purpose as he declares, “Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night-”

“Are you joking?” Layla interrupts with a disbelieving scoff, uncrossing her arms as she points a finger at Konshue, “You turned Marc's life into a living nightmare, why would I ever sign up for that?”

Layla's face grows red as the anger rises in her, hands shaking at her sides. This god got Marc and Steven killed, and now he has the gall to ask Layla to be his avatar? She knows exactly where his bird brain can go shove his proposal.

“Because you won't win against Harrow and Ammit alone.” Konshue explains, smugness coloring his words.

“I'll take my chances.” Layla replies, going to walk away and leave this god behind when he speaks again and stalls her movements.

“Marc was in crisis over you.” Konshue tells her, continuing when she turns around to face him, “His lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little bug. What I offer-”

“I don't care what you offer.” Layla interrupts again, voice scathing and filled with ire, “Marc didn't trust you. I don't trust you. We’ll work together without me enslaving myself.”

Layla's tone leaves no room for argument as she walks away, forcing Konshue to follow her.

“We rebind Ammit.” Konshue tells her as they walk.

“How?”

“Only an avatar can do it.” Konshue says, banking on this being the final piece to draw Layla into his grasp.

“I said no.” Layla rebuts firmly, glaring at the god until he disappears in a swirl of dust.

Sighing, Layla sneaks through the passageways, silent on her feet and holding her breath as she hears footsteps of soldiers passing around her. Harrow must know she's there now, he must have sent people after her.

Ducking into a large chamber, Layla is barely able to stifle a scream as a bloody hand grabs her arm and pulls her into an enclave, shushing her. Eyes adjusting, Layla sees a bald man covered in blood, his chest heaving with gasping breaths.

“Are you the one who released Konshue?” The man asks through panting breaths, hands shaking as he grows paler and paler by the second.

“Yes.” Layla nods, grabbing the man's shoulder and shaking him as he lingers away from consciousness, “Hey, hey! How do we stop Ammit?”

The man blinks heavy eyes open again, focusing back on Layla as he slurs his words, “This chamber is our most powerful place. From here, we need to imprison Ammit in a mortal form.”

The man groans as he doubles over and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, hissing out, “A body instead of a statue, she’d be more vulnerable.”

Layla nods and winces as the man gives a pained groan and struggles to stay standing.

“Okay, how do we do that?” Layla asks quickly, hoping to get enough information before the man dies.

“We need more avatars than we have left.” The man says sadly, slumping further down against the wall as his head lolls to the side, “We have one returned, but it is not enough…”

The man's words fade as he drops to the ground and gives into the calling of death. His body is cold and pale as he dies thinking he has failed.

“No, no, no.” Layla mutters, shaking the man fruitlessly and shaking her head as tears gather in her eyes.

Swallowing, Layla closes her eyes and shouts for Tarwet.

***

The soft rustling of reeds fills the air along with the humming buzz of flies. The air is sweet and fragrant with earthy scents that wrap everything in a familiar feeling of pure peace. Somewhere far away Marc can hear water trickling through a stream as he gazes out at the sea of swaying reeds, green waves with brown and tan popping through.

It's quiet, for once in his life everything is quiet. There's no one in his head, no god or other person, not even his own scathing thoughts bother him now. The breeze is cool and soft against his skin as it brushes against him, running its fingers through his hair. It feels so calm, so simple, to just exist in this plane of peacefulness.

“The scales are balanced.” Tarwets voice, soft and gentle, says from behind Marc, “Your heart is full. Your journey is over.”

“It's so…quiet.” Marc whispers, words carried away on the breeze, looking around in wonder.

Tarwet nods, “The peace you’ve always wanted but never had, you're manifesting it. No loneliness or hurt.”

Marc stares out at the swaying reeds, content, until a frown slowly forms on his face as he turns to face the goddess.

“What about Steven? Kat?” Marc asks, brows furrowing as the moment of peace breaks and worry invades the space.

Tarwet looks at him sadly, head tilting to the side as she weighs her words.

“Kat has returned to the world of the living,” Tarwet says, explaining, “Bastet regained enough strength to save her from the duat.”

Marc nods, chest aching as he realizes she's no longer with him, but at least she is alive and safe.

“And Steven?”

Tarwet can't look Marc in the eye, instead looking everywhere else as she responds.

“He's gone, Marc. The duat has him.” The goddess says softly, resting a large hand on Marc's shoulder as she peers into his eyes and implores, “Please, enjoy your peace.”

The moment lingers, still and silent, until Marc shuffles away and shakes his head resolutely.

“We need to go back for him.” Marc says, looking around at the peace he's abandoning.

“It doesn't work like that, leave here and you can never return.” Tarwet warns, making sure Marc is listening, “Anyway, you don't need him anymore, Marc.”

Tarwets words strike something within him. Yeah, he made Steven to deal with everything going on, to deal with all the guilt, but all that is gone now. He has no reason to keep Steven, he has no need for Steven. But Marc wants Steven, he realizes with a start. He enjoys having Steven with him and can't imagine his life without the dork.

“So I get to go on in eternal peace and he just stays lost in the sands forever?” Marc challenges, shaking his head, “No, I'm not good with that.”

Squaring his shoulders, Marc turns away from the promised peace and walks away from it all. Away from the blessed quiet, away from the promising rest, away from the endless peace. The field falls and fades away around him as Marc steps back into the dark purple sands of the duat.

Walking quickly, Marc finds Stevens' frozen figure and drops to his knees with a deep and pained sigh.

“Steven, looking pretty rough man.” Marc begins with an empty chuckle, staring into Stevens glassy glazed over eyes and holding his frozen outreached hand, “I don't know if you can hear me.”

Marc feels ridiculous like this, but he knows he needs to say this.

“From the moment you arrived, way back then, we were so young. You saved me.” Marc sniffles and wipes at the tears brimming in his eyes as he spills his soul, “I survived because I knew I wasn’t alone. You were always there, alive, full of hope.”

Marc smiles, a wobbly and weak smile, as he holds Steven's face and lets the tears fall freely.

“And I tried to protect that, and I failed. I couldn't protect you.” Tears fall softly into the awaiting sand and stain it darkly as sand begins to creep up Marc's feet, “But you didn't abandon me, you didn’t abandon me.”

The sand climbs higher and higher, freezing into place each limb it touches.

“And although that field was looking pretty good back there,” Marc gives a watery chuckle before affirming, “There was no way in hell I'm gonna abandon you.”

Marc can feel the grit of sand encasing his neck and climbing over his skin, tight and grainy as it solidifies over him, enclosing on his face.

“You’re the only real super power I ever really had.” Marc finishes, just as the sand fully encases his face and captures him in the duats deadly sands.

Marc inhales a large gasp and blinks back to life. Steven does the same across from him, looking around and feeling as if he's just missed something important.

“Marc.” Steven gasps, surging forward and pulling Marc into a tight hug, clinging onto each other and afraid to let go, “You came back? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Marc laughs, a bright relieved smile crinkling his eyes as he responds sheepishly, “Well I did a whole little speech there.”

“It wasn’t that little.” Steven teases, pulling back and inhaling an audible gasp as his eyes catch on a pure white light in the distance, “Marc, look! The gates are open!”

The large imposing doors slowly reveal a growing line of light that burns brightly in the dark duat. Grabbing Steven and letting him lean on his shoulder, Marc pulls Steven towards the gates, a large smile on his face as they hobble towards their chance at life again. The sand beneath them becomes heavier and heavier with each step, their feet sinking further in as their pace slows.

“Come on!” Marc grunts, smile falling away into a frustrated frown as the sand refuses to move, refuses to let them walk any further and instead beginning to eat them slowly into its maw.

Stumbling forward and leaning against each other heavily, Marc and Steven keep their eyes trained on the gates to spur them on despite the dragging sands. The gates linger in the distance, it feels like they're not getting any closer and Marc's hope is dwindling.

***

“I implore you to think this through.” Bastet calls after Kat as the woman marches down the hall and towards the sounding gun fire and crashing echoing through the temple.

After collecting herself, Kat had pulled Marc and Stevens body from the water and laid it gently behind a nearby pillar for safe keeping, promising to come back and give a proper burial after all this is over. She had placed the necklace Marc had given her, the one she hadn't taken off since, onto Marc's chest and placed his hands over it securely. Despite the tearing pain in her heart, Kat gave them a single last kiss goodbye, salty tears mingling together, and left to go find Harrow.

Kat was able to track him and his followers down to the temple that she had been in before for the council of gods, and now Kat is walking into a death match.

“I did think it through.” Kat responds, eyes trained on the tightly closed doors waiting at the end of the long stretch of hallway, beyond which lies Harrow and Ammit.

“You obviously did not think enough.” Bastet refutes with a sour glare, worry gnawing at her as her avatar has determinately set herself on a path of sure death. Now that Kat cannot return to the duat, death is an even worse fate than before.

Kat adjusts the top of her tactical suit and sighs deeply, letting the weight of her blades rest heavy in her palms as she stares at the door ahead.

“I need to stop Harrow, I need to make this right. For Marc and Steven.”

Kats whisper, though quiet, carries weight that settles on the air, strong and sure. Bastet peers down at her avatar and gives a small nod, giving her support despite how much she disagrees with this.

Pushing open the doors, Kat slips into the shadows lining the golden walls and watches with wide wondering eyes as Konshue and Ammit, a large crocodile lady, fight and clash violently in the temple.

Below the giant gods, Harrow stands calmly watching. His cane is glowing purple, and Kat regrets not breaking the damn thing when she had the chance. Slipping through the shadows like a snake in grass, Kat creeps closer and dodges around the fighting gods as she stalks towards Harrow.

“I'm surprised you have come back, Ms. Menteuse.” Harrow states, the perfect picture of calmness as he doesn’t even look at her as he speaks, instead continuing to watch the fighting gods, “Not many have the strength to do so.”

“You certainly won't.” Kat vows vehemently, stepping from the shadows and into the low orange light, eyes glinting with rage, “Not after I’m done with you.”

Harrow hums and nods his head, a small smirk teasing at the edge of his lips, a secret only he knows. Narrowing her eyes, Kat cautiously creeps closer. She gets about five more steps forwards when a sudden violent wind crashes into her and sends her sprawling backwards across the floor.

Looking up, Kat sees the end of Harrow's cane pointed directly at her head, pulsating with purple power. Harrow smirks from the end of the cane as Kat glares at him and picks herself up, settling into a defensive crouch and baring her sharpened canines like a tiger ready to pounce.

“We could use you on our side, Katalya.” Harrow offers, an easy smile on his aged face as he lowers his cane.

“No!” A deep booming voice rattles through Kats skull and shakes the ground.

Kat turns to glare at Konshue who has become pinned by Ammit, his skull turned towards Kat and shaking his head. Rolling her eyes, Kat shushes the god and turns back to Harrow.

“As bird brain said, no thanks.”

Harrow sighs regretfully and raises his cane again, “Then I hate to do this, but if you will not join us..”

Kat is ready this time when the burst of power slams into her. Planting her feet, Kat uses the burst of wind to propel her up into the air and towards the wall which she kicks off of and back towards Harrow, landing in front of him and slowly rising to her feet, a sharp feral grin on her face.

“Let's dance, glass shoes.”

***

Sand kicks up on all sides and sprays over the duats dunes, flying through the air as a boat slides like a reckless car through the sands and towards Marc and Steven.

“Coming through!” Tarwet announces in her bright sweet voice as she steers the boat and smiles up at the widening gates, “Osiris, you old softie.”

Marc and Steven stand frozen in place, not because of the sand but just out of pure shock.

“Now run!” Tarwet prompts, clearing a pathway for the two men, “Bastet has told me your girlfriend is on a death mission, go help her!”

That snaps them both out of their shock and sends them running towards the gates again.

“Hippo!” Steven whoops, throwing his hands up in the air in excitement with a large toothy smile.

Marc shakes his head and grabs Stevens arm, pulling him towards the gates. Towards life. Towards Kat and her stupid death mission.

Taking the last steps through, Marc and Steven are swallowed by blinding light. It shoots through their body and fires every nerve and cell, reconstructing, rebuilding. It erases everything from them and pieces it back together in a dizzying array.

***

Rubble rains down around Kat as she collides with the wall, sending spidery cracks through the stone from the impact. Dust and bits of gravel decide to make their home in her hair as Kat brushes herself off and stands back up, glaring at Harrow and refusing to back down as she rushes at him again.

A beam of purple light streams towards her and Kat barely has a second to duck out of the way. Beside the two avatars, two giant gods fight just as ruthlessly.

Rolling behind a large overturned block of stone, Kat puffs out panting breaths and takes a moment to readjust her grip on her weapons and wipe the sweat from her brow.

“Come on Cinderella, is that all you got?” Kat taunts as her chest heaves and she takes large gulps of air before jumping back into the fray.

Leaping over her hiding place, Kat runs at Harrow and catches him off guard as she gets close enough to finally make damage. It's not much, but her blade is able to nick his arm and tear open the sleeve of his blood red shirt and slice just deep enough in the skin to draw blood.

Harrow makes no show of pain and instead turns with surprising quickness and hits Kat with the head of his cane, crocodile teeth catching on her jaw and tearing at the tender flesh.

Hissing and gripping her bleeding jaw, Kat stumbles back.

“You took the people I love!” Kat shouts, anger bubbling into blinding rage, “You're going to pay.”

Kat dives forward and kicks Harrow's feet out from under him, but the man grabs her arm and takes her down with him. Rolling away, Kat spits out grit and rises back to her feet, but Harrow is quicker and kicks her back down.

Harrow leers over her, cane raised and pulsating with power. Beside them, the gods are in much the same position.

Konshues head tilts up as he recognizes the presence of his avatar once again in the living world. The god disappears in a swirl of dust, leaving Kat alone to fight Harrow. Kat hates him.

“It seems your god has abandoned you.” Harrow taunts, mock sympathy in his voice as he tilts his head.

“Not my god.” Kat grits out, smirking as Bastet appears behind Ammit and dives her sharp claws through the crocodile's hide, deep and painful, “That's my god.”

With Harrow distracted by Ammits cries, Kat kicks upwards and sends the cane skittering across the dirt strewn floor and flips onto her feet. Harrow's attention snaps back to her, he stays still for a moment, before diving for the cane.

Kat follows after him and the two reach the cane at the same time, grappling for the item like Karens on black friday. All hands and bullying shoulders as they each try to pry it from the others grasp.

Bastet is busy fending off Ammit, the goddesses exchanging powerful blows back and forth.

Harrow's leg flies up and kicks Kat in the abdomen with unnatural power that sends her stumbling back as air is forced from her lungs and she stutters out breathless coughs. Harrow grabs the cane and advances on Kat, eyes promising destruction.

***

Marc groans as he opens his eyes to the shaded darkness provided by the pillar he lays hidden behind, the cool floor hard and solid against his back as his chest stutters and the chill of blood loss creeps into his senses. The feeling of something metal beneath his folded hands is sharp in the haze of fog, something to ground himself too.

“Marc?” Konshues voice calls, echoing in Marc's head as the god speaks.

“Konshue…” Marc grunts, unable to say much more.

The gods powerful presence fills the room as his voice becomes the commanding boom of power, “I feel the pain inside of you. Do you want life, or do you want death?”

Marc's finger twitches over the metal and recognition sparks. It's a necklace, the same necklace he had given Kat. Had she left it for him? Does she think they failed? Marc's fingers trail over the ears of the cat pendant and over the crescent moon etched in the middle. He wants life.

“Do you swear to protect the travelers of the night?” Konshue continues, announcing proudly “Then rise and live again, my Moon Knight!”

The familiar rush of power and strength runs through Marc's veins, filling his lungs and chest. His blood begins pumping again as it resumes its pace through his body and his muscles, despite their soreness, are rejuvenated. Now fully conscious, Marc rises to his feet as the suit wraps itself around him, mask settling around his face.

Marc glows with power. His eyes through the mask, bright and pale. Yet with all the strength he has, he holds the necklace delicately and with the utmost care, tucking it into his pocket with the silent promise to return it to the proper owner.

“All right, here we go.” Marc sighs, stretching out his unused muscles and cracking his neck with a sigh as the tension releases.

“I knew you’d miss me.” Konshue says, smugness in his voice as he speaks in Marc's mind and transfers them to the middle of the desert and away from imminent danger.

Marc scoffs and rolls his eyes, a bemused smile teasing his lips under the wrapping of the mask, “Layla turned you down, didn't she?”

Konshue chooses not to answer that, ignoring the question with an air of embarrassment and moving on.

“Ammit has been freed. I was not strong enough to stop her.” Konshue hums disappointedly, adding, “Bastets little avatar makes a valiant effort but she will not be strong enough to stop Harrow and Ammit.”

Marc's heart stalls it's beating rhythm, standing still in his chest as emotion soars through him. Relief is the most present, elated unfettered relief. Then comes hope and happiness.

“Kat’s here? She's alive?” Marc asks, feeling the weight of the necklace in his pocket and smiling to himself.

Marc can feel Konshue roll his nonexistent eyes as he answers, “Yes, she is alive.” And focuses back on the task at hand, “Marc Spector, I need your help.”

Marc feels a pressing presence, a request, and lets go of control, fading into the back as Steven emerges at the front and takes over. The traditional robes disappear and are replaced with Stevens three piece sweater suit and horribly stitched mask.

“Ah, just curious about something,” Steven says, ever the polite one, “How's this whole new arrangement going to work then?”

“Steven Grant, I was not talking to you.” Konshue grits out, annoyance coloring his croaky voice as Steven stares up at the god, unafraid.

Steven Grant has faced a hekat priest, died, went through the duat, and kissed the girl he fancies. An Egyptian god who can't even do anything without their help isn't going to scare him anymore.

“Yeah, alright. But we come as, like, a package now, so you're gonna have to deal with me.” Steven can feel Marc's pride and mentally high fives himself, “And we did just save your life, so you're welcome for that.”

Konshue grumbles like a toddler, not saying anything as he moodily turns away and harrumphs. Oh if Kat could see them now, Steven thinks, talking back to a bloody god!

“But I do think you should answer my question,” Steven prods when Konshue continues to say nothing, “How's this deal gonna work?”

“You would negotiate now? With so much at stake?”

“Well, we did learn from the best, you silly old bird.” Steven teases, cocking his head to the side in silent challenge.

Konshue sighs, a deep and ancient sound, and agrees, “I will release you both, you have my word.”

Satisfied with that deal, Steven claps his gloved hands and stands, looking around at the bare sandy desert with his hands on his hips. The dunes sparkle in the bright gleaming sun like diamonds rising from the earth.

“Now, how the heck are we gonna get to Cairo?” Steven asks, peering up at the old god.

“You forget, little worm,” Konshue chuckles a deep throaty laugh, “I am still the god of the night sky.”

The sky grows dark before Steven's eyes, dipping into an inky blackness coating the previously bright blue expanse, stars peeking out and shining their faces for the world to see. The ground beneath Stevens' feet shakes and rumbles like a hungry monster lays beneath.

“All right, you know what,” Steven declares as he nervously shifts to keep balance, his voice pitched higher, “I think you can take this one, Marc.”

With a huffed laugh, Marc comes to the front of the body and takes over, the ceremonial robes appearing with him as they switch places. Breathing in the desert air, Marc feels the switch settle calmly into place.

“Hurry up, idiots!” Konshue calls as he jumps and soars into the sky, floating high above like an actual bird with wings instead of just bones.

Rolling his shoulders back and cracking his neck, Marc leaps up into the air and lets the power push him higher and higher into the night sky. His cape billows out behind him in its crescent shape as Marc follows Konshue through the air.

***

One moment, Kat was baring her teeth and getting ready for another blast of power from Harrow's cane and the next, she's appearing in a room full of ushabtis that line the walls and a woman in a winged costume and bouncy dark hair in the middle.

Shaking her head to adjust to the change in action, Kat blinks and looks around as Bastets voice floats smoothly through her mind.

“I have brought you to Tarwets new avatar, you will be safer with her by your side.” Bastet tells her, disappearing from Kats mind and leaving the woman alone with this mysterious new avatar.

Kat tilts her head as she examines this avatar, a familiarity wiggling at the back of her mind. The woman wears metallic wings and a white dress with a wide collar, her head is looking down at something that lays at her feet. A man, Kat realizes looking closer, Orisises avatar lays dead in front of the avatar.

“Hello?” Kat calls out hesitantly, readying herself in case this avatar is not actually that friendly, “I am Bastets avatar, I was told that you could help?”

The woman's head jerks up, sending bouncy curls flying with it, and turns quickly, eyes wide and disbelieving. Kat stares back, a similar expression on her face as she stares at Layla El-Faouly.

“Kat?” Layla squeaks, mouth dropping open before she rushes forward and gathers Kat in a tight hug.

Kat hugs back just as tightly, a wet laugh echoing in the wide room as she feels Layla's tears drop onto her shoulders. Her whole body shakes with emotion as she and Layla reunite, grateful to be back together.

“I'm so sorry.” Layla apologizes, pulling back with a wet, puffy face, “I'm so sorry for everything I said. I know you wouldn't hurt Steven or Marc, I was just upset..”

Layla trails off, looking away guiltily as Kat stares at her, eyes softening as she pulls Layla back into a hug.

“I forgive you.” Kat tells her sincerely, “And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too.”

They pull back and wipe at their tears as the two women laugh quietly. A flash of a presence appears in Kats mind, glowing and warm as if purring.

“You will need more power, little avatar.” Bastets voice says into Kats mind, “I will give you some of mine, but it will weaken me.”

“Then keep it for yourself,” Kat argues, holding up a finger when Layla looks at her questioningly, “I don't need it.”

“You do.” Bastet insists, instructing, “Seal Ammit in a physical form, a form she is already a part of.”

With that, Bastets presence disappears from Kats mind and leaves the woman confused and frustrated.

“Avatar stuff?” Layla asks, raising her brows expectantly.

Kat nods as a warmth of power flows through her and disappears into her veins, laying in wait for her to use it.

A crash sounds outside and prompts them both to ready their weapons. Layla runs to the doors and is about to exit when she looks behind to make sure Kat is following and stops in her tracks.

“What?” Kat asks as Layla stares at her, looking behind herself to make sure there isn't someone sneaking up behind her.

“When did you get changed?” Layla asks, eyes trailing over Kat.

Looking down at herself, Kat yelps and jumps back. The tactical suit that should have been there, that had been there before, is gone and replaced with those stupid traditional robes.

“Bastet!” Kat groans loudly, glaring at the ceiling despite the fact that she knows the goddess is busy fighting Ammit far away.

Kat grabs at the long hem of the purple robes and rips, tearing the fabric until it is only falling to her knees instead of her feet. She does the same with the long extra fabric that hangs off her arms and looks at Layla for approval.

Layla nods appreciatively and gestures to her face questioningly.

Kats fingers trace along her cheeks and can feel the smooth swipes of paint across her face. Deciding that it won't impact her fighting, Kat shrugs and leaves it be.

“Come on, let's go before Bastet decides to fix the robes.” Kat says, running out of the room and into the glow of the night.

***

Marc and Steven switch seamlessly as they fight Harrow in the middle of a Cairo street. The two have found their balance and now play on each other's strengths, letting the other take over when needed. Marc is better for force and technique while Steven prevails at agility and quick dodging. Marc is surprised to find that Stevens clumsiness can actually be used as a strength rather than a weakness.

Harrow is terrifying as he attacks without pause and just keeps coming at them, his grey hair flying around him as he shoots purple beams of power from his cane and throws Marc and Steven back into the street as a van swerves around them.

Groaning, Marc pushes himself up and regains his stance. People scream around them as the chaos of Harrow's agents spreads. There's no way Marc can protect all these people, so his plan is to cut off the head of the snake instead.

“You're very resilient, Marc Spector.” Harrow mocks, waiting openly for Marc or Steven to try and get near him again, “Much more so than your friend.”

Marc shakes his head and ignores Harrow's words, knowing it's an attempt at distraction. But Steven has a harder time dismissing it, instead his mind lingers distracted on worries of Kat and leaving Marc to continue the fighting.

“Steven, focus.” Marc grits out as he rolls to the side just as a beam of purple flies past him, “I need you here with me, buddy.”

“Right, yeah, I'm here.” Steven says, pressing forward and taking over as he jumps behind a trash can and uses it as a shield for the beam of power to deflect off of, tossing it to the side as it explodes into pieces.

People scream and run away around them as the two men fight viciously, a dance of danger and death. When Marc gets the upper hand, Harrow is sure to take it back, neither succeeding in defeating the other as they exchange blows and taunts through barbed words.

They fight through the city, following each other as they wind through the rubble ruined streets. Marc can feel himself tiring, the strain on his newly awakened body weighing him down as he and Steven switch back and forth easily. He knows that, unless he can get and maintain the upper hand, he will fall soon.

That moment comes when, out of the blue, Harrow pauses and gives a smirk as an idea lights his grey eyes.

Steven only has a moment to jump back as Harrow's cane slams into the ground and spreads glowing purple cracks through the pavement are spindly spider legs that crackle and spit with power. The ground beneath Stevens' feet rumbles in a familiar tone as a dark growl emerges from beneath the ground and rises to the surface.

“Oh bollocks.” Steven breathes, immediately being flown backwards as a large mass connects with his chest and forces the air from his lungs.