Eye of the Moon

It was a bloodbath.

There was no other way to put it. Zara snuck through the portal, managing to slip between statues to avoid detection. Marc had Harrow’s attention – for now, at least – and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Harrow held something in one hand, his cane in the other. Marc approached him, stepping around the bodies of the other avatars as though they were landmines. Zara heard Harrow chant, his disciples freezing in place as he held the object high, before throwing it to the ground, casting his cane at Marc at the same time. Marc flew backward, hitting the stone wall hard enough that it cracked. Zara’s resolve almost turned to ash, and she nearly launched herself at Harrow right then and there. She forced herself to continue creeping through the statues towards the chamber, every fibre of her being wanting to pull her away, to go back to him. Harrow knelt on the ground as purple mist filled the air, every other person in the room dropping to their knees.

And then she saw her.

Ammit rose from the ashes of her prison, the scaled body of a woman with the head of a crocodile, her raspy voice filling the room with a sense of dread. Zara halted as Ammit scanned the room, frozen in horror, the goddess pacing back and forth at the top of the chamber. Her voice boomed, so that Zara felt it vibrate through the walls. To whom do I owe my gratitude?

Zara shuddered, and she saw Marc stir slightly, slumped against the wall. Relief flooded her chest like a tidal wave. He was alive - alive, but in no shape to fight. Clearly, Harrow’s power had gotten stronger since they’d last met. And to make matters even better – Khonshu was nowhere to be seen.

“Your humble disciple, my goddess,” Harrow answered, looking up at her. “To whom you owe nothing.”

Zara saw Marc shift slightly, still unconscious, but Ammit merely continued, her cold eyes not leaving Harrow. Your scales lack balance.

Harrow’s eyes met the ground. His voice was low. “I understand.” He raised his gaze again, full of sorrow. “I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that’s impossible. I accept the scales regardless of the outcome.”

He was nothing if not consistent, she had to give him that.

Ammit scanned him with her icy gaze. They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you.

Harrow’s face crumpled, but he seemed to accept her words. “Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause – ”

What lies ahead of you, Ammit declared. Is your service to me.

Harrow nodded, mildly perplexed. “How may I serve you in death?”

Your death is delayed. You will serve me by becoming my avatar.

“I have disciples all over the world whose scales balance perfectly,” Harrow reasoned. “They are worthy – ”

But you are the one who set me free. Ammit approached Harrow, who bowed his head in what was likely a mix of respect and fear. You are the avatar I need. Serve me, she implored. And you will find peace.

Her scaled hand tilted Harrow’s head back, and Zara saw Marc out of the corner of her eye, struggling to his feet. Blood trickled from the side of his head. Ammit’s followers turned, instantly swarming on him. “As you wish,” Harrow breathed.

All hell broke loose.

She forced herself to run, then – taking off down the corridors, before she lapsed in judgement and joined the fray with Marc. Zara could hear Khonshu’s booming voice as he challenged Ammit, the clash of metal on metal that could only mean Marc’s battle had just escalated, too. Zara ducked and weaved through the passages, searching in vain for the chamber of the imprisoned gods. The pyramid was a seemingly endless maze.

Suddenly, she heard a noise from one of the hallways. Drawing her swords, she approached the corner, noticing with alarm that the commotion in the main chamber had suddenly gone silent. Even here, Ammit’s voice travelled through, rasping like snakes, bouncing off the walls.

Tell me to spare you, and I will.

Oh, shit.

Khonshu’s voice followed soon after. I choose obliteration over mercy.

Marc. Steven. Khonshu. They were going to die, all because she couldn’t find a chamber in this maze. The noise got louder – a man groaning, and she rounded the corner to find Osiris’ avatar, Selim, crawling desperately across the stone floor, a trail of crimson in his wake. Zara immediately sheathed her swords, grabbing him under the arms and helping him stand against the wall. “Zara,” he breathed, gasping for air. “You must find a way to stop her.”

“Selim – ” she pulled him up again, her arms the only thing from preventing Selim from collapsing. “Where’s the chamber of the imprisoned gods? I need to find Anubis.”

Selim’s eyes flicked up hers then, his breathing getting shallower by the second. “It’s just ahead. But you cannot – ”

“He’s the only one who could contain her for good, isn’t he?” Selim’s eyes started to close, and she shook him. “Selim, answer me!”

He shuddered, and Zara knew he was running out of breath – and she was running out of time. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and there could only be one reason for that. And it wasn’t good.

Selim opened his eyes one last time, choking out his final words as his mouth filled with blood. “You are gambling on the grace of a god. But he…” his eyes closed slowly, his body going slack in Zara’s hands. “…is your only hope.”

Zara could hold him up no longer and Selim dropped, his body becoming dead weight in her arms. Voices sounded behind her and she ran – swerving into the chamber of the imprisoned gods just as they caught up to her. Zara just barely made it to the statue she wanted, swiping it just in time for someone to yank her back, hard. Two arms came around her neck from behind in a chokehold, the statue being ripped violently from her hands. Zara summoned her armour, the red and gold swirling around her body as she dropped, throwing her weight forward, flipping her assailant over her shoulder. Zara flipped over them, whirling on her pursuers with swords drawn.

“The armour of the goddess of war.” Harrow announced as he stepped into the chamber, his eyes briefly glowing purple. He scanned her, as if she were a specimen under a microscope. “I thought we were missing an avatar.”

Zara seethed. “You killed them all.”

“Only because they would not see sense – there was no need for violence, if they had just known their place.” He rested both hands on his staff. “They were judges, not warriors.”

“And Marc?” Zara forced her voice to keep from shaking with rage, her fingers tightening around her swords in a white-knuckled grip. “Did you kill him, too?”

Harrow cocked his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Now…why would the avatar of Sekhmet care what happens to Khonshu’s makeshift servant?” He walked towards her, one of his followers handing him the statue they’d taken from her hands. “And why would you be after the statue of Anubis?”

Well, she thought. Here goes nothing.

Zara pulled the mask of Sekhmet down, revealing her face. Harrow merely chuckled, as if he’d expected it. “So Khonshu had a helping hand, after all.”

Get him to the main chamber, Sekhmet’s voice rang through her head. If you want to save Khonshu’s avatar.

He’s alive? Zara reeled, but Sekhmet did not answer. She looked back at Harrow, the plan forming in her head as she spoke, the lies running off her tongue like water. “He told me he would free Marc and Steven if I helped his cause.”

Harrow nodded knowingly. “Khonshu’s deceit and manipulation truly knows no bounds. He chooses violence where it is not needed.” He gestured to the swords she still gripped in her hands. “You, however, need not make the same mistake.”

Zara hesitated, and Harrow stepped towards her. “You know, our goddesses are not so different. The Eye of Ra seeks vengeance on those who have wronged the god of the sun and the balance of Ma’at, and Ammit seeks to punish on those who would do evil before it is done. Together,” he reached out a hand, touching her shoulder. “They would be unstoppable.”

Still, this man insisted on explaining things to her.

Zara looked at him then, eyeing him cautiously. “Why should I believe a word you say? You killed – ” she cut off, true emotion threatening to choke her words. Nagisa. Yatzil. Selim. “You killed every other avatar.”

Harrow’s brows furrowed, his expression the perfect picture of empathy. “I know that Khonshu has manipulated you,” he assured her. “But I would not harm any who join our cause. Especially one who serves such a mighty goddess, as you do.”

Zara considered him a moment, the followers of Ammit watching her closely. Swallowing her pride was always the hardest part of ploys like this. After an instance of silence, she raised her chin, looking him dead in the eyes. “I would meet your goddess. If Sekhmet so chooses, then I will follow where she goes.”

Harrow nodded, a hint of triumph lighting his eyes. She saw him slip the statue of Anubis inside his robe, on the left side, before gesturing for her to follow him.

“As you wish.”

* * * 

Marc opened his eyes to see Ammit standing above Khonshu, pinning him down by the neck with his own staff. He felt the power of the god of the moon waning within him as Khonshu struggled, his life force slowly fading as Ammit used his power against him. Harrow was nowhere to be seen, which could mean only one thing – they’d found Zara.

Suddenly she appeared at the entrance of one of the corridors, flanked by Harrow and his disciples. The sight of her in such proximity to Harrow cleared his head instantly, and Marc forced himself upright, struggling to his feet, Steven’s voice urging him on in his mind. Zara wore her armour except her mask, her expression carefully blank as she took him in from the other side of the room. His face twisted in confusion – Harrow did not have her bound, and she wasn’t dead. There was no sign that she was under duress at all. The worst thoughts rattled through him, and he pushed them away. She wouldn’t.

“Zara,” he breathed. “What are you doing?”

“It’s over, Marc,” Zara stated, her voice flat as a tack. “You don’t have to let Khonshu control you anymore.”

Marc staggered back as though she’d struck him. She couldn’t.

“No,” Steven murmured in his head, in complete disbelief. “Surely not. Surely, not her.”

Ammit pushed the moon-shaped head of the staff further into the stone wall around Khonshu’s neck, keeping him pinned there. Then she turned on Zara, standing on the dais with Harrow. A worthy addition to our cause, she rasped, approaching them. Does the Eye of Ra also choose to follow my path?

“I stand before you, goddess,” Zara began, spreading her arms wide. “As the only remaining avatar of this council.” She paused, her eyes cast down to the fallen avatars, and Marc could swear he saw a flicker of grief cross her face. But her expression smoothed over, and he was left thinking he must’ve imagined it. “I trust it was your judgement which made the call to remove that threat.”

It was. Ammit confirmed, tilting her massive head to the side. Khonshu stirred behind her, but Marc knew that even if he did rise, they were still outnumbered. And without Zara and Sekhmet – absolutely, ridiculously, hopelessly, outgunned.

Zara locked eyes with Marc for a moment, face still blank, as if she’d never known him at all. As if she’d never cared. But something in her fleeting gaze told him a different story. Something was there, as if she was giving him a command: brace yourself.

I knew it, he thought.

“Harrow tried to tell these avatars that they were judges, not warriors.” Her eyes flicked to the man beside her, who merely nodded. “And he was correct.”

“We did not wish for violence,” Harrow confirmed. “It was my greatest hope that all of this bloodshed could have been avoided.”

Zara nodded her head sombrely. Her armour seemed to glow, the sight knocking the breath clean from Marc’s lungs. The armour shimmered and she became as radiant as the sun, turning to face Harrow. “It is true that their duties were always meant to stay non-confrontational. They may not have been warriors…”

But we are.

The voice reverberated through the chamber, the great, glowing form of Sekhmet materialising out of thin air. Ammit turned to the lioness-headed goddess, inclining her reptilian head in acknowledgement. Sekhmet, she rasped. It has been too long.

Not long enough, Sekhmet growled, baring her teeth. Her eyes shone a brilliant gold. You invade a realm on which you have no jurisdiction, Ammit. And it will be my pleasure to send you back to the plane in which you belong, permanently.

You are the protector of Ma’at, Ammit reasoned, her voice booming. The Eye of Ra. She who detests evil. How can you betray me, who seeks only to stop evil before its damage is done?

Do not presume to know Ma’at better than I, Sekhmet responded, her voice crackling like fire. The balance of Ma’at relies on the possibility of evil, in order for the soul to choose to be virtuous. You remove that choice. Sekhmet stalked forward, and Ammit seemed to flinch under her fiery gaze. You do not belong here, making judgements on behalf of Ma’at. That is not what you were created for, Devourer.

Between you and Khonshu, Ammit rasped, her cold-blooded gaze flicking to the incapacitated moon god. I would say the gods of the Ennead are a little too low on faith.

Giant, curved swords appeared in Sekhmet’s hands. Her razor-sharp teeth glinted as she spoke. It is you who does not have faith, flouting your divine purpose for this baseless endeavour, she snarled, advancing. But I will remove the issue at its root.

Ammit looked her directly in her golden eyes, her expression turning to stone. So be it.

Sekhmet roared, and the entire pyramid shook. The goddesses clashed, and Marc saw Zara draw her swords, launching herself at Harrow. Marc raced to the top of the dais, dodging the gunfire of Ammit’s followers, taking them out several at a time with each round of moon-daggers flung. Zara yelled and he turned to see her clash with Harrow, parrying his staff with her swords. Harrow knocked her back and she rolled, narrowly dodging his cane’s blast as she came up low, swinging her foot out to sweep his leg. Harrow hit the ground and Marc advanced, grabbing his staff, which simmered with purple light. Harrow grunted as Marc pulled at the staff, Zara fighting off the gunfire of the remaining disciples. Bullets pinged off her swords as she brought them down in fatal arcs, incapacitating them one by one. Harrow managed to throw Marc off balance and rise to his feet, sending him staggering backwards with a kick to the abdomen. Harrow aimed his staff at Marc’s chest and was yanked backwards, Zara’s hands closing on the cane as she forced it to the wall. Harrow pulled forward again but she slammed the staff back, pinning it to the stone. Marc struck him, the two of them moving in sync with their respective blades, ready to end the fight once and for all. Harrow roared, the staff flickering with purple light, trembling with power in their hands. Then the staff exploded power, the sheer force sending Zara and Marc flying backwards.

They both hit hard – Marc directly colliding with a statue, Zara with the stone wall at the other end of the room. Marc grunted, rolling to his knees. He glanced back at Zara but she wasn’t moving, slumped against the wall. “No!”

Marc sprang up, flinging his moon-daggers at Harrow, who deflected them with disheartening ease. Purple energy shot straight at Marc and he groaned, pushing against Harrow’s force with all his might. It was no use. The power of Ammit was pushing him back, his feet sliding backward across the stone, all his effort to push forward proving futile. The goddesses clashed behind them, Khonshu joining the fray as they met in their endless stalemate.

“Had Ammit been allowed to rule,” Harrow sneered, stalking toward him. “Your brother would still be alive. All the people you’ve hurt, you’ve killed, Marc Spector – ” Harrow jerked his staff forward, the power becoming even more intense. “They never would’ve had to suffer at your hands, because only one weed would’ve had to have been removed from the garden.” He heard Zara stir behind him, and Marc gritted his teeth, desperate to keep the ray of power away from her. Harrow narrowed his gaze, advancing on him. “You.”

Suddenly the power shot him backwards, and Harrow raised his staff, directing the magic to pin him to the ground. The staff pushed at his chest, purple light pulling at his life force, pulling his very soul from his body. Images flashed before his eyes – his mother’s snarling face, his brother entering that cave, that empty London street as he’d knelt on the ground outside his mother’s funeral, barely able to breathe. Hearing Steven’s voice in his head for the first time, the moment when he’d realised he would do anything to protect him, to keep his peace. The job that went wrong, the god who’d spared his life. The first time he’d seen Zara, glowing red and gold, her eyes watching him from the other side of that roof, lips pulled into a smirk. How she’d saved him in the desert, despite being well within her rights to have left him for dead. How she’d vexed him from the start, despite being the only one who’d been willing to fight to save him. And finally, how she’d kissed him.

“Marc!” He heard her voice, saw her coming towards them. “No!”

But she would never get there in time. His vision was fading, and even the sounds of the gods at war with each other were not enough to penetrate the ringing in his head.

And then his vision blacked out.

When Marc came to, he was kneeling above an unconscious Harrow, the staff of Ammit in his hand. The gods fought on around them, and he looked to his side to see Zara staring at him, her mouth agape in shock. He dropped the staff and Harrow, staggering to his feet. “That wasn’t you, was it, Steven?”

Steven fronted then, his eyes wide with horror. “Not a chance, mate.”

Marc came back, glancing around at the wreckage of bodies. Zara approached him slowly, her eyes wide. “Marc,” she breathed. “How the hell did you do that?”

“It wasn’t either of us,” He shook his head, feeling his stomach drop to his feet. “Steven and I – we both blacked out.”

Suddenly Zara ran forward, dropping to her knees beside Harrow. Her eyes flicked up at the gods as she rummaged through his robe. “He put the statue of Anubis in here, when he took it from me.” Marc stared at her – her dark hair dishevelled, blood trickling from her cheekbone, her hazel eyes glinting in the light – and he felt like he was seeing her for the first time. She looked back at him, springing to her feet. “I found it.”

The gods were locked in stalemate – Sekhmet and Khonshu working together to attack Ammit – but the goddess was strong. She knocked Khonshu backward and he hit the wall, crumpling against it. Sekhmet roared, launching at her, the two goddesses locking arms, equalling each other in strength. Zara grabbed his arm, pulling him with her towards the front of the chamber. She looked at him once and he nodded, urging her on. “Do it.”

Zara raised the statue of Anubis above her head as the gods raged on, the statue trembling between her fingers.

Then she threw it.