Death's claws
Gazing into the golden field and the glimmering sky around him, Marc couldn't truly understand what just happened. He was sure that he was dreaming. He was asleep. Maybe he got drugged again and was hallucinating? That had to be it. He tried to tell himself that nothing of this was real, that Steven didn't fall off the boat instead of him. That Steven did not just give his life for Marc's existence. That Steven did not turn into sand and died. "Please... Please let this not be real. No, no, no, no! Don't do this to me, please... Come back Steven, please come back."
After a while of looking around, not being able to feel or hear Steven, Marc slowly started to crumble into himself as his knees gave out under him. He didn't feel the pain as his knees landed on the ground, nor was he able to hear the reeds around him moving in the soft breeze and breaking under his weight. He couldn't see his hands in front of him anymore, due to the tears rising in his eyes as he slowly understood that everything he wished was just a dream, was as real as it can be.
"I'm so sorry. I should have- It should have been me. Why- Why did you save me?" His breathing grew heavier as he felt the panic settle in. Something was tearing at his heart as if wanting to rip the last remaining parts of it out of his chest.
Do I even still have a heart? The hippo— Taweret— Steven said her name was Taweret. Taweret took our hearts out of our chests. Maybe that is what I am feeling? The loss of a heart that was lost long ago.
His body started to tremble. The tears started to overflow his eyes, only to flow down his cheeks and drop down on his hands, which are gripping the ground below. His whole body shuttered under the onslaught of emotions and a cry ripped itself free from his lungs.
Closing his eyes and starting to rock back and forth didn't bring any salvation, it only brought more tears. He tried to wipe them away, but each attempt to do so was undone by even more tears.
"I'm sorry. I tried. I tried. I'm sorry." Marc said quietly to himself. Why did he get to see this even though Steven had to encounter death? "I mean, more dead than dead can't be, right?" He said, starting to chuckle. "We were already dead... We-" the chuckles turned into sobs.
He lost himself in the moment. His breathing came out as small gasps while his vision started to turn black in the corners of his eyes. His mind started to circle about what happened just moments ago. He couldn't save Steven, just as he was not able to save Randall. He failed. He failed then and he failed now again. "I'm sorry. I failed you. I'm sorry. I-" he gasped for air as he hugged himself, rubbing his hands on his arms. "I tried. Please believe me."
I couldn't save Randall. I failed him the moment I didn't listen to him about not going into that cave. I'm sorry.
I couldn't save Steven. I failed him the moment I slipped and let him see my life— my function. I'm sorry. I tried to save you. Both. I tried. I would give my life for yours anytime. Just, please- please come back. Don't leave me. I- I can't.
Marc's mind brought back old memories of the day Randall drowned. The day his mother started to see him as the monster he was since the day he was born.
I should never have been born, I'm sorry
The countless days she told him how useless he was. "Can't even save your brother! That was the only thing you needed to do!" What embarrassment of a son he was. The first time she took the belt.
I'm sorry, you're right. I should have died instead of him. I should have tried better.
He remembered the countless times he used Steven's body to bring vengeance in the name of Khonshu. The countless times the body didn't get any sleep because of him.
I could have been faster. I could have been more efficient. You wouldn't have had such problems with your boss. You wouldn't have had to see all this. You wouldn't have had to die. I'm sorry Steven. I was supposed to protect you. I'm sorry. Please give me another chance. Please.
⊰᯽⊱┈──╌ •| ⊱✿⊰ |• ╌──┈⊰᯽⊱
Steven remembered cold sand everywhere. He could see it around him, taste it on his tongue, and feel it in his bones. He got surrounded by it after he fell, saving Marc from the same fate. Adrenaline was racing through his veins at that moment he run up to the first undead man and he knew just one thing: Save Marc.
He could feel his body going limp as the masses of sand enveloped him. Like a wall to shut everything out, or himself in. The last things he was able to remember were Marc's desperate cries for him. He shuddered as he recalled the sandy hands of the undead on his body and shook his head, before opening his eyes to- Steven needed some time to process the situation as everything set in. He was in the Field of Reeds.
Steven took in his surroundings with awe. He was not damned to suffer in the sands like so many before them. Maybe because they were one body? Because they were connected? "Marc! We are in the Field of Reeds! We made it! We balanced the scale!" He said, looking around, searching for Marc. "Oh no, no, no, no!" He hurriedly stood up, glancing around the wide fields. "Marc? Marc where are you? Marc!" Steven tried to call as loud as he could, but no answer reached his senses. Nothing besides the whispers of the wind.
He had to be here too, right? Steven fell but was still here. So Marc had also to be here. He was still on the boat the moment Taweret announced that the scale was balanced. "But why would it only balance after I fell...?" He mumbled to himself. He could feel a distant feeling in his chest. As if it wasn't his own. "Come on, this can't be! Where are you?" Steven scurried over the field of reeds as his hands started to shake. He fidgeted with his fingers around only to take them up to his face, into his hair, holding and lightly pulling at it, lifting it out of his face.
The scale was unbalanced. But it balanced as I fell. Why? I-
He stopped shortly to look in all directions but just found more golden reeds. Nothing of which would suggest that there was another human being. Or any living being for that matter. "Marc, where are you? This is not funny!"
Something made our scales disorder in balance. Made it not balance without me falling. Was it me all along, was I the imbalance? Where we needed to— was Marc needed to face his demons for our hearts to be able to balance. Was I needing to fall? Was I supposed to save him all along... Was that my use for this system? Was there something else? Some-
A voice brought him out of his line of thoughts as it said something in the distance. "Marc?" He asked into the wind and started running. He could see a figure standing there, jogging toward him. The feeling in his chest grew, making him feel uncomfortable. Something was wrong. He tried to see who was coming to him and stopped in doing so.
⊰᯽⊱┈──╌ •| ⊱✿⊰ |• ╌──┈⊰᯽⊱
"Fuck." was the first thing he said when he saw where he was. "Is this a fucking field? Where the fuck am I now?"
The hell did the idiots do again?
Just a few moments ago, he was standing in a box. Everything was pitch black and he tried to get out of there. His knuckles were bloody and his nose felt broken as he continued to hit the box, to try and get it open.
He was shortly able to hear some voices but wasn't able to assign them to anyone he knows, not even being able to hear what they were saying until he heard screams. After some more minutes of trying to get out of that box—
Is this a freaking coffin? What the fucking hell?
He suddenly was sitting in a chair. In front of him was a man, sitting behind a glass table. Talking to him. He questioned himself where he was, only to realise that Marc must have been here because the person in front of him called him that. Marc
He looked confused around the room. After that, he just looked at the man in front of him to realise that that was Harrow. The man who they were after. Their foe. The man who is the reason why they were here. Why they—
Fuck. Fuck! We died. Marc died. Shit, fuck. Fuck!
He didn't listen to what Harrow said. As soon as he laid eyes on the small pyramid on the table he took it and started smiling, talking, reassuring. He rose from his seat, trying to stab Harrow. Make him bleed how they did bleed. As soon as he was standing someone gripped him and the next thing he knew was that he was standing here, in this field.
After a short debate on how he was now supposed to handle the situation. He tried to find Marc or Steven in his mind but couldn't find any traces of them. No voices inside his mind. Nothing on where they are or where he is.
He let out a frustrated scream as he ripped out some of the reeds in his arm's reach. Memories were flickering in and out of his mind as he carefully watched his surroundings. Searching for danger. Why would he surface if there wasn't any danger Marc or Steven were in? "Marc? Shit, what happened..." He continued looking around and started walking through the field of reeds. Trying to get to see the memories, not his own. Marc's or maybe Steven's, he walked in one direction, searching for a path to get into safety. Just walking in the direction of the sun. As one of the memories started to play out in his mind he stopped.
They were in a cave, running after two children. The cave started to flood from the poring water, as it fell from the sky. He— Steven— called after one of the boys in the memory. He called after Marc. Marc and his little brother.
He shook his head. He knew that one. He once saw that. Played over and over again in their mind while Marc was panicking. Remembering. Another onslaught of memories hit him right in the chest as he saw how they got shot. How he got shot. How he died. How Marc died. How Steven died. "Fuck," he whispered, only to rip out more reeds and scream louder. "Fuck!" The suffocating urge to kill, to hurt someone. To make Harrow suffer. Make him suffer so that he could never again hurt anyone. That he could never again hurt Marc. He tried to stay somewhat calm but that never was his strong suit.
He was there for the hard work. For the dirty work that Marc couldn't do because of his moral code. Because Marc still tried, after all, he had gone through, to do good. To archive good things whit what he does.
His eyebrows knitted together as he started to think of an answer to what was happening. They died. Probably. They got shot in the chest. Twice. They fell into shallow water. He tried to think of what happened afterwards but the only thing he could come up with was the coffin he woke up in.
Maybe our mind is going through a funny time before we are brain-dead? Would make sense after all this mind went through.
He chuckled and shook his head.
Not the time.
He glared against the golden light of the sun and he saw something. A dark figure is standing, walking in the fields. He did the only reasonable thing in this situation. Slowly he approaches the figure and—
Is that-
"Marc? Marc!" He started jogging to the frozen person in the fields. The closer he got his mind supplied him with some pieces of information.
Not Marc.
It's Steven.
Steven doesn't know him as well.
Steven will probably start to panic.
Steven cared enough for Marc to cooperate.
Steven is out of their body.
If Steven and himself had a body on their own, that means Marc is right now completely alone.
"Fuck."
