Summary: With Ni - Senkhara taking charge of the school, the Anubis gang are forced to split up and go their separate ways. Sooner than they expect, an opportunity to oust Senkhara - and get Nina back - is given to them, but can they accept the cost?
Pairings: Amfie, angsty!Jara friendship, Mickra, Mick/Alfie/Amber friendship
Setting: AU. One year Post S2.
Rating: M
Warnings: Cursing, gore, character death in later chapters, attempted & implied sexual abuse (Some might think this could be rated T, but a T rated fic in my opinion wouldn't have so many warnings.)
Notes: So, this short multi-chap is written for bs13's horror contest. For research, I rewatched the first season of Game of Thrones, watched Requiem for a Dream multiple times and let my mind fill in the blanks. The first chapter isn't too scary, because all the gore's left for later chapters.

Senkhara smirked as she saw the students gather before her. Her army numbered to nearly one thousand, which was more than enough for a starting troop. Most of them were making some progress in the physical department, and a special few had strangely adept strategic abilities. She was thankful that she found her way to an able-bodied bunch of people; most of them weren't even at their prime yet.

The girl – Nina – had been quiet today, as she had been for several months. At first, she had resisted once she had gained control of her mind. There were constant flashes of some Fabian and this girl called Amber and the Gran that she had done away with the moment she had full control. Over time, she caved in like any human would. She stopped sending images, she stopped talking back so often, and eventually she became mute. The first full day in this lithe body, without a resisting owner, Senkhara thought that it was her coronation day in Lower Egypt all over again.

It was.

Their uniforms were suitable for training: white tunics made out of the finest cotton made it simple for them to move and to fight. There was also light armour for when battle was to take place, but only she knew where the vault was.

She was freezing despite the overcast clouds above, but Senkhara had never such simple matters distract her from her course of action. As the final cluster of students assembled, she gathered on her makeshift stage built by the most able of men.

"Greetings," she began, all eyes focused solely on her. She could detect the smallest flicker of an eye a mile away, and she found none. "Today is yet another day in our beginning. The beginning of a new era. I have read all of your progress reports, and I am very glad to say that we can enter battle soon."

Silence.

"This is a good thing!" she exclaimed, face heated by the lack of glory she found. "That means the world can be ours. We can share the glory between ourselves. You, as my dedicated pioneer warriors, ensigns, and soldiers, will get the largest portion of our glory, when we one day attain it."

A holler of shouts began in one corner, and they quickly erupted into loud, relentless cheers that sent ripples throughout the crowd. Her smirk widening, Senkhara lifted her arms. "Yes! That is it! Applaud yourselves! You have gotten yourselves this far, and we will go further! Together, we can have this world in our hands! We can own it!"

The cheering overwhelmed her, but she was okay with it. Soon, she finds herself laughing with the audience. But joy was not easily attained, and she intended it to be. "Quiet!" she bellowed, and these young, impressionable fools quickly did as she bid. "If all of you are good, then I may consider adding a little extra food to your rations." She gave a passive glare to the Farmers, the least able of the lot, who had now practiced the art of standing tall without their knees withering beneath them.

No one seemed perturbed by it; instead, they whooped even louder. Many began chanting the words she thought of banning at first, but had now grown on her.

"Long Live the Queen! Long Live the Queen!"

She let the chants simmer, and she could hear the warrior within each and every one of the teenagers that stood before her today.

Snapping her fingers, the crowd dispersed in single file. Most were holding hands with their assigned partners. Lust had always overpowered her thousands of years ago, and she hoped that history would repeat itself. Senkhara knew that in due time, her army would grow. A larger army meant more reinforcements and a stronger presence.

Her mind had a sudden change of heart. With a single whistle, Senkhara managed to summon her most loyal advisers. They were both young men, and one of them had strange, golden hair – the Osirian – and the other had dark brown hair that looked too red to be mud-coloured. When Nina still had some control of her brain, she often referred to him as her Chosen One. Such endearments confused the forgotten Queen for she never had any. Little Nina was the Chosen One, yes? she had thought the first time. It took her a lot of explaining from both her advisers to reassure her that the meaning was metaphorical.

There was a reason she never understood the morals her father taught her.

Her eyes grazed the fine glimpse of peach under Fabian's tunic. When she had first set eyes on the boy nearly two years ago, he was flimsy. She knew him well enough (with Nina's aid, of course) to know that his tactical analysis was on par with the generals of her age, if not surpassing that, and that was why she left him the simple task of training future generals. So far he had done a decent job, and due to his intensive physical training she hoped that he could fight too.

It also made him that much easier to look at.

Senkhara took her dagger from beneath its sheath, enclosing it from view with her fingers. "Rutter and Miller," she hissed, their foreign names never ceasing to leave imprints on her tongue, "as my most trusted men, I would like to ask you a vital question, do you have any thoughts of rebellion?"

They shook their heads.

"Do you know of any rebellious troops? Militias? Guerrillas? Anything?"

Unsheathing her dagger from her fingers, Senkhara kept a firm grip on the hilt. She twisted it around her fingers, her eyes narrowing into slits on both boys. "Withholding information from me," she reminded them, leaning into the Osirian's ear and keeping the dagger's tip on his chin, "carries capital punishment. You haven't forgotten that part, haven't you?" Their lack of reaction both relieved and stunned her; perhaps she has trained them too well.

"No," he replied. "There are no signs of civil unrest."

She drew a breath, turning towards the brunet's ear. To her surprise he did not squirm, or flinch, his eyes remaining perfectly level and his stance unwavering. "How about you?" she interrogated slowly, the dagger's tip dancing on his "have you heard of anything that could disrupt our peace, Mis – ter Rut – ter?"

He shook his head. "No."

Senkhara traced the outline of his face with mock care, the cold metal shining like a lighthouse in comparison to his dull eyes. Inching it towards his ear, she gave it a quick slash. It quickly drew blood. Beads of red began to form in a straight, seamless line.

Neither boy dared to glare, though Edison began tending to it.

"It has been a while since I was able to do that," she smirked idly, shooing them away. "Ensure that all goes well on my anniversary feast, Osirian, the other Chosen One, and you shall be promptly rewarded."

Mara couldn't keep her eyes off her stomach.

It was her turn to take care of Joy, who continued to stare upwards at the ceiling. She had never moved since that incident nearly a year ago, and even when she coaxed the other Anubis residents of the details she can't seem to squeeze it out of them. Too painful, they said. Too painful.

She didn't blame them.

In the eve of Patricia and Edison's 'wedding' (it was illegal considering they were only seventeen, but modern laws never applied to Ni – Senkhara), Mara had gone to Mick and Fabian's former chamber for the last time. They gave one another a fleeting moment of comfort, and a week later the Forgotten Queen somehow discovered the girl's pregnancy before she did.

She had Mick killed, and Fabian could never look at Mara in the eye ever again.

The door creaked, revealing a solemn blond with a gold and sapphire necklace wrung around his neck, symbolising his status as Lieutenant. Standing at over six feet tall, he managed to overwhelm everyone in his presence with or without his rapier wit. Mara didn't have to look at the man to know his identity.

It was Jerome Clarke.

"I thought it was my turn to look after her today," he said, his azure eyes now clouded to an obscure shade of grey.

"No, it's mine," she corrects.

He shook his head. "Right, I'm going to have to look after her. I already told my superiors that I'd be having the afternoon off – "

" – and so have I." She didn't remember sounding so firm outside of work in ages. Her eyes travel to the floor. "We can look after her together."

Proposing such a notion made her cringe, but to her relief he nodded in agreement. "Fine, but only because…" His voice faltered, and both of them mentally filled in the gaps.

Because any time off from my post is better than nothing.

There happened to be only one chair in Patricia, Mara and Joy's old room, and both teenagers wanted the other to take it. Eventually, Jerome wrapped an arm around his former crush's waist, gently pushing her down until her arse was firmly secured on the seat.

"You're pregnant, and that entitles you to special treatment," Jerome insisted, his words lacking the sneaky tweak they would've had nearly a year ago.

Mara sighed, resigned. She takes Joy's hand in hers, and smiled wanly at the shell of her friend. Her hand was freezing, and she looked ghostly, but something about her eyebrows and her pouting lips gave the farmer assurance that she was alive under this deathly mask. The ring on her finger shined more than the eclectic spark that had shadowed one of her closest friends.

"Joy," Mara began, an internal monologue of worries beginning to spill out, "I – hello. It's been a while, but a month isn't that long compared to that time you disappeared last year. But at least – at least you weren't dead then." She gave Joy's hand a gentle squeeze. "Not like you're dead now, but everyone else is losing hope. Jerome, Fabian… even Patricia's going to lose it.

"I bet you're thinking how Alfie and Amber are. I know you'd hate it if I sugar coated the truth, so I won't. No new Intel came in on either of their locations, and it bloody sucks. It feels like they've disappeared into thin air, but I know they haven't. They're here, somewhere, but I don't know if I'm going to see them ever again. I want to. I need to tell Alfie I platonically love him and Amber needs to know that if anything happens I'll be there for her."

The tears start falling, and Mara had been waiting for this day for too long to care that Jerome was in the room. "I miss you, Joy. Having you just lie here on your deathbed fucking sucks. You're not dead, but everyone's planning for your funeral. Fabian misses you so, so much, and he wants to see you but you know he can't. Patricia and Eddie can't either, because he's the Osirian and they love each other too much to let go even for one minute. They're married remember? I – If… if Mick was alive, I bet he'd miss you too. Even Jerome misses you."

She lets go of Joy's hand, and wraps her arms around Jerome when he comes to lend a shoulder. "I – It's not f – f – fair," she protested, sniffling into his shirt.

"Life isn't fair," he countered. This made her bawl even more, but he didn't mind; from the hell she'd been through at work with some of the younger years getting more and more sick, she needed the release. He had to try and make her loosen her grip on him. If she was going to hold him like this for much longer he was sure he'd be choking. So he rocked her back and forth in his arms, and she became a flaccid thing.

"I'm going to give you a minute," he suggested as he backed towards the door, letting Mara's form droop into the bed.

She darted round to face him. "No, Jerome. I want you to stay." She shut her eyes. "I need to talk to you."

He shook his head, trying to convince himself of the determination he did not have. "Mara, if you're going to make us talk about what we had between us again – "

" – I'm not – "

" – then I won't let you."

Mara stood up from her seat, taking a step towards the blond. Swallowing her pride, she turned her face upwards to stare him in the eye. "It's a matter of life and death, and I'm afraid that if we miss the window we'll have to wait God knows how fucking long before another opportunity arises."

He took a step back. "I don't love you, Mara."

"I know. I don't love you either."

The words tasted bittersweet on both their tongues. It relieved Jerome of the guilt that had washed over him when he kissed Mara in her boyfriend's presence, and Mara felt relief at finally being able to let him go emotionally. Admitting it to each other after so long didn't make it any less hard.

"I'm listening," he said unexpectedly, "a window for what, exactly?"

The raven-haired girl gave a shifty eye around the room, shuffling through her old belongings for signs of cameras, microphones, recording devices. When she returned to Jerome's gaze, his curious stare gave her the impression that he'd swept this room enough times to know there weren't any. A small, genuine smile flickered in her eyes; for the first time in a while, she felt liberated.

"I have a plan that can possibly save Nina, you, me, all of us," Mara said furtively, her inner Gryffindor shining through, "but it's complicated, and farfetched, and morally unsound – "

" – our lives are morally unsound as they are," he barked, though his eyes were wide with an intent to listen, "but yes, keep going."

She linked her hands together, the courage that had kept her together in the previous minutes seeping away. "Well, it's mostly Fabian's idea so if you want go and thank him for it; I just put two and two together."

"No one cares about the credits, Mara. Keep talking."

She brushed her hair away from the face, shuffling towards the door and glancing shadily at the comatose girl. "Fine," she mumbled, staring at the floor. "Okay. I'll… I should…"

"You said we have to hurry, and the sooner you tell us, the more time we have to plan this shit."

He'd grasped her hand in his, and at such a realisation he broke off the one minute of skin contact with her, looking ashamed at himself. She gulped, nodding. "So, if I'm not mistaken, Senkhara has total control over Nina's body, mind and soul. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Nina, even if she was still resisting in her mind – though unlikely – would have no control over her actions, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then, we go for the heart."

Jerome's eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?"

"We have to stab Ni, no, Senkhara in the heart. Technically, the spirit should bleed out of it, giving Nina full control of her body again."

It took a few milliseconds for Mara to register the shock that shook Jerome's body like a leaf. He was gaping at her now, wondering if she was insane or if this was something she legitimately thought through. His lips were parted, his eyes scanning an invisible book of thought that she couldn't see. She could see the refusal on his tongue and the denial forming on his face as he buried it within his hands. Come to think of it, the valedictorian did sound far too level when she delivered the plan.

"I – I'm sorry," she added, breaking the iceberg. She rolled her eyes and laughed cynically at her failure. "What the hell was I thinking? I'm so stupid – "

"No, you're right." He broke out of his manic trance. "Problem being none of us would get ten feet of Senkhara with the exception of Fabian and Eddie. You know how hard it is to get them alone nowadays for a minute, let alone several to think this through. Even if I could get within a couple of metres within her they'd confiscate any weapon I had in my pocket – "

"I'm not done, Jerome," Mara snapped. "There is a possibility we might kill Nina as well, if we shove the knife in too deep. With the data from my thought experiment, the knife must be twisted between three and five inches deep. No shallower and no deeper."

"Simple enough, seeing as it's a thought experiment."

"Can you shut your gob for a minute?" Jerome didn't look the least bit thrown aback by her brashness, but his silence was good enough for her. "I also found out about the seven acolytes thing from Patricia a couple of months ago, before she married Eddie. You learned about this when Joy was the supposed Chosen One. If Senkhara can't take Nina's body, then she'll have another of the seven acolytes."

His face blanched, and silence settled. "What? She can possess us too?" His rage was unmistakable as his hand rushed to the nearest shelf and shoved everything off it. A series of clatters imprint themselves into the floor: it is now littered with shards of glass. "I thought she could only possess us if we were in possession of the mask, and now that thing is long since gone."

"Well, you thought wrong. The only thing that can stop her from taking any of your bodies is either hyper vigilance, or death. Most of you will be once you've stabbed Senkhara, but not all of you."

His jaw slackens, and she could tell by the way his mind was working that he was genuinely and utterly terrified. "For fuck's sake, what are you trying to say, Mara?"

She glanced at her bed, her words coming out as timid whispers.

"We're going to have to kill Joy."

Summer lingered on the branches outside, but it could never penetrate this hell.

"You're a pretty girl," he whispered, kissing the skin in the valley between her breasts. He continued his journey downward, his lips marking her as his. "It's surprising, how such an annoying bunch of kids managed to pick up a beauty of your calibre."

She swallowed, trying to nod. Ever since he'd chained her in the gatehouse as his own private prisoner, the only light that she was graced with during her torture was the light from the stars. Once, she would be terrified of the dark and would give anything for the moonlight shining from above. Now it only made things worse. When there was light that meant she could see him, and all of him. He was so red and putrid underneath those clothes.

God, she missed having them.

All she had when she wasn't Rufus's marionette were a few sheets of blankets to curl up in, and during winter she could feel herself slowly become a large chunk of frost. Sometimes there was blood between her legs, sometimes worse, and she felt so filthy and she looked like shit and her lips can never stop bleeding and it hurts to eat. When she was allowed to shower, she made the most of her fifteen-minute window.

His fingertips felt like ice on her thighs.

"I'm going to fuck you, and you're going to like it."

She was used to it. The insults, the degradation: he had said the worst things, and then some. As he bit into the skin of her neck, she shuddered. Roaming up towards her ear, he moaned from the back of his throat. She bit her lip, dreading for that moment when his fingers would grip her jaw and force her to face him. He'd then make him kiss her, those chapped lips of his that had nothing within them but lust and hate and evil.

When the moment comes, her lips crashed on his. She could feel the smirk up his spine and his member hardening against her foot. She groaned as she shoved him against the wall behind her. They broke apart, gasping for air.

"Tell me you want me, you slut."

"I w - want you."

"What's that? I can't hear you, slut!"

"I want you!"

Her throat burned, and she wished she didn't put in so much effort into saying his words. The problem came when she didn't, and he'd make her say it over and over again. Sometimes she thought that the more she said it, the more she wanted it, but only so that he could get it over with and leave her alone. She remembered when his visits seemed so often she could only get a few minutes of sleep before he woke her, but now they were getting more infrequent. If there was one thing she was grateful of during the oncoming months, it was that.

Rufus closed her open lips by putting his between them. She kissed him back, only because gut instinct told her to. He wrapped his arm around her, pushing her backward.

He was on top of her, and that meant whatever control she had was slipping.

Three brief knocks on the door interrupted them. He grumbled as he put his clothes back on. "What is it this time, Lewis?" he barked.

"The Queen insists that you're present during her small council meeting," the voice responded calmly.

He ran his fingers through his hair, storming out of the room. When Rufus's footsteps were merely echoes, Alfie rushed in and wrapped his girlfriend in her bloodstained blankets. Her head instinctively landed on his shoulder as he brushed her back. "Where's Mick?" she croaked.

The bed rattled as a blond sneaked himself out from beneath it. He gave Alfie and Amber a lopsided grin before propping himself on the bed next to them. "Hey Ambs," he greeted, "my back wants to kill me and I'm sure I have more cramps than an old woman, but I'm here."

"Good," she sighed. Turning her head to face him, she cracked a smile.

"You okay?" asked Alfie, holding her body closer to his.

She shook her head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, Ambs."

Alfie brushed his fingers through her hair, trying to untangle the knots. Her platinum blonde hair had all but lost its sheen; the new hair that had grown atop her head was dull in comparison. Amber continued to stare at him, her brown eyes fixated on his. They hadn't kissed since the day she was brought down nearly a year ago; Rufus had forced her innocence out of her. That pretty much reduced their former passionate snogging to nothing more than chaste pecks on the cheek. Anything more emotional than that, she would flinch away from.

She linked the fingers of her left hand with Alfie's, the fingers of her right with Mick's. Her eyes would not leave them: this tender hint of human love, contact between other people that was not forced and that she was sure would not lead to pain. "My boys," she mouthed, kissing each hand in turn, "my favourite boys."

Alfie smiled, and Mick let go of her. She gazed up at him with doe-eyed worry, before he shook his head and said that he only wanted to let her have some time alone with her boyfriend. She could only rasp a quick thank you; the sing-along quality of her voice had disappeared months ago.

The guardsman rubbed his thumb on her fingers, gazing down at them as curiously as Amber had. She remembered the time when she thought silence meant awkwardness, and that totally meant that you weren't working out. Now, she was glad it existed. Her mind had been churning with dangerous thoughts far too often, and there were voices that didn't belong to her that told her to do things. Things that still, after all she went through, made her heart flip.

"I love you," she mumbled, leaning in towards Alfie. She closed the distance between them, starting off gentle. Passion kicked in and the kiss lasted much longer than a couple of seconds.

"I love you too," Alfie said, breaking away from his girlfriend. Cupping his face with one hand, she had this look in her eyes he didn't recognise. His eyes widened as she attempted to capture his lips once more.

"No." He inched himself away from her. "No."

"Please," she begged, "make love to me, Alfie."

"No," he retaliated, pushing himself away from her. "Not in here, and not now. One day when everything is safer and we have all the time in the world, maybe. But no, not now. You're only saying that because you're terrified." He held a tighter grip on her hand. "You deserve candlelight, and flowers, and soft music. You don't deserve this."

"But that's what I got, and you don't know if there will be a one day."

"There will be a one day, because we - you, Mick, me - we're fighting. Jerome, Fabian, Eddie, Patricia, Mara… they're all fighting too. Fighting for us."

"You don't know that. They all think we're dead for all they care."

"I do know that they care about us, and I know it as much as I love you."

The quiet resumed, and it was Alfie who chose to break it. "Do you know how much I want to marry you right now? You're eighteen soon, and so am I, and then the moment we get out of here we're going to tie the knot. We've been through too much not to." He knelt on the floor, still holding her hand. "Amber Daphne Millington, I don't know if I'll ever be worthy of you, but will you be the honour of being my wife?"

Amber nodded, tears streaming down her face. Instead of giving her a ring, Alfie draws an Eye of Horus on her ring finger with a Sharpie. Laughing, she embraced him, their lips colliding to seal their vows.