0
Que sera sera
Whatever will be will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera sera
Que sera sera, Pink Martini
I I I
Before the Nameless Pharaoh, before the pieces of Ra-Horakhty, before her own hallowed namesake, her first memory had been of The Creator.
"She is The Terrifying One," she remembered her mother whispering in her ear with warm hands on her shoulders. "Are you able to read the inscription there, Isis?"
It was not an unreasonable question. She was bright for her age, and she remembered tracing over the image of the shield and crossed arrows with her stubby little fingers, wondering how the bronze statue of the veiled woman at the shrine could bear to stand the suckling of a crocodile at her breast.
She said the words slowly as she took each hieroglyph into consideration.
"I am all that has been,
that is and that will be.
No mortal has yet been able
to lift the veil that covers me."
"Very good," her mother cooed. "Do you know what that means?"
"She is very powerful," Isis said simply. She took her hands away from the base of the statue, clinging to her mother's robes.
"Yes," her mother had nodded with a gracious smile. "She is, indeed, for it is she who brought forth the sun and weaves the realms. She decides all that has been and all that will ever be."
Isis bit her lip, and it was the first time she felt nervous outside the presence of her father.
"But..." she had begun, twisting her mother's robes in her little hands. "What about Ma'at, Mama?
"What of her, little one?" her mother had asked with genuine inquiry.
"Why does Ma'at weigh the hearts of the dead if The Terrifying One has already decided what will happen? Is not everything decided for us, then?"
That was the first time she felt a sense of hopelessness, too.
"A very good question," her mother regarded, but still she smiled. "One can hope she shows you favor in her design. Although..."
Her mother leaned down to her eye level and placed a finger to the tip of her nose with a small titter.
"The Terrifying One may decide, but never forget the power of Isis is that she can change fate. In that, you have a choice, my daughter."
"So Isis meddles with her work?" she asked quietly.
"... An interesting way to put it," her mother said with a raised brow and a tilt of her head. "Perhaps that is so."
"The Terrifying One must not like her very much if she changes what she works so hard to create."
"Perhaps that is so, as well..."
That was also the first time she saw a flash of worry cross her mother's eyes.
"Let us not talk anymore of such things, Isis. Give me your hand, and let us instead go to the surface to visit the bazaar."
She learned later that was her mother's way of avoiding difficult situations.
Not long after visiting the shrine of The Terrifying One, she learned that she was given the name of the Sorceress Supreme as a blessing, as a means of opportunity to harness the magic of her patron goddess and alter the destiny of their family.
That was what had gone through her head when she donned the Millennium Necklace for the first time, the hope that she could salvage her family's legacy after what had happened with Malik, Rishid, and her Father, for she was all who remained after the debacle.
She did not find hope.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
"You're walking bow-legged, sister, but I don't see you on your high horse. Did Pegasus use you for another experiment?"
Isis said nothing in return, taking in the state of its current accoutrements. She had checked the charts, reviewed the codex, marked the movement of the celestial bodies, and saught clarity with the Necklace. When she had all the information she needed, she had the Dark Thing moved.
Alignment was everything.
"You don't have to say anything. I can practically smell it all over you, sister. There's a filth on you even a shower can't wash away."
The Dark Thing's voice bounced off the cell wall. Its hands were raised above its head, hanging from chains anchored to the ceiling while it rested on its knees. It faced the wall, the Pharaoh's Memories laid bare before her and flexing slightly with each breath the Dark Thing took, rolling every now and again as it adjusted its shoulders. The lower half of its body was covered by a simple, mint green paper gown, and she supposed it was a step above sheer nudity, undoubtedly for the guards' sakes when they had to walk in to feed it.
Not that it would be a problem for much longer.
"The guards have been talking about it non-stop."
She looked beyond the stainless steel bars and traced the edges of the new cell with her eyes, a simple white cube composed of even smaller squares upon closer inspection. It was far more sterile and cleanly in appearance compared to its previous drab stone holding place. She had never taken part in athletics or so much as seen the interior of a gym, but she assumed this was the typical layout for a locker room washing station: smooth white tiles, a sink with a mirror, a shower with a removable head, a drain in the center.
"Pegasus won't keep his promise, you know."
She was beyond gullibility when it softened its voice. Malik was gone along with Rishid. That's all there was to it.
It will be easier this way...
"You think you can carry the destiny of the Tomb Keepers on your shoulders, but he will keep you bound on your hands and knees," it started. "The Gods will never reach the Pharaoh, and even if that were so, I'm not going with you so easily, sister."
"I would think you would show more gratitude," she finally responded, adjusting the faux glasses on her nose as she stared at the back of its head. "It was only by my intervention that day that you were spared the full brunt of his penalty game."
"Only because I have the Pharaoh's Memories," it barked. "Don't act so gracious, sister, nor should you be so proud. He knows of my importance to our family's legacy, and he's kept you on your back so mine would remain intact."
Isis remained silent, double checking the last of her notes. The Dark Thing was correct in that assessment. For millennia, her family had taken on the duty, the isolation, the mutilation to guard the legacy of the Nameless Pharaoh until his return, and she was not going to allow Pegasus to mar thousands of years of her ancestors' hardships in a day.
Not when she was so close.
"He won't let you leave," the Dark Thing cackled. "He'll keep you as his side piece. You'll be that little bit of spice in reserve for when he gets bored with the domestic bitch."
"Pegasus will abide," she said, signing off the last of the notes and cradling the clipboard in her elbow. "There is a contract in place."
"You think Pegasus will respect a contract?!" it guffawed, shaking its head while its shoulders shivered with the thought. "He is a spoiled child, and you are his favorite toy. Even if you had forged your agreement in blood, he would rather rip it to pieces and rot in the jaws of The Devourer than let you go."
"You misunderstand," she hummed, eyeing the Egyptian Gods before settling on the ankh in the center of the Dark Thing's back. It narrowed its eyes and its lips, cranking its neck in an attempt to look at her over its shoulder.
"What?" it snarled.
She closed her eyes and nudged the glasses up her nose once more.
"Worry not, Dark Thing. Fate has a plan for all of us," she smiled. "I shall see you after the ceremony."
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
The screeching wouldn't stop.
Since that horrendous Egyptian blue lotus wine spritzer, it just
Wouldn't.
Fucking.
Stop.
Shut up, goddammit!
No matter how Mai pleaded and cursed, the frequency persisted. She had started pulling her hair out to combat the relentless echo in her ears, something to dull the pick axe chipping away at her skull and rattling the edges of her brain. The image of wings and talons throwing themselves against the bars of a cage wouldn't fade, no matter how hard she tried. She was certain she would have had a fantastic bald spot by now if the witch doctor hadn't intervened and told the guards to tie her down to her bed. She had screamed and thrashed the rest of the day, thumping the back of her head as hard as she could against the mattress in some hope of causing a concussion and knocking herself out, but it was too soft and absorbed all the blows.
Stupid hand-stitched Swedish horsehair cotton lump of fuck—
Fuck, make it stop!
Please, God, make it stop!
She wasn't sure why she was pleading to God now. It wasn't like He had ever been there before. He wasn't there when her parents died, wasn't there on her prom night, and certainly wasn't there when she touched foot on Pegasus' island.
Probably wasn't there at all.
Still, she found herself begging, praying, asking for anything to make the noise stop. Even the humiliating violation of the cleanse did nothing to combat it. The screeching intensified after that, and beating wings drummed against her eyelids while claws tore at her sinuses.
Mai sobbed and howled and flailed when they stripped her of the chemise and rubbed her down with a blend of essential oils, before they squeezed her into some godawful Victorian dress that was several sizes too small for her bust. Why didn't she listen? Why couldn't she have been content being alone, content with the Harpies, the holograms, the imaginary voices? They had never harmed her, betrayed her like her former 'friends', never tricked her or made false promises. Why did she open that letter? Why did she accept that invitation? Why didn't she run when she had the chance?
Why?
Why?
Why, me?
"It is your destiny, Miss Valentine," she thought the witch doctor had murmured behind her clipboard before she stalked off, saying something about 'getting everything in place'. Through the psychedelic haze marked by the constant screeching and the scratching within her mind, she remembered reaching through the bars and grabbing at the witch doctor, only gaining fistfuls of air.
"Bring her down in an hour, and do restrain her in the meantime. The garment of the deceased must stay intact, and Mister Pegasus will be quite cross if it tears."
The witch doctor's instructions echoed and warped through her ears, the cold noise stretching with her vision. Slashes and gashes stained her view as the world swirled around her, and she found herself desperately wanting to run head-first into the walls to make that fucking awful screeching stop.
The hour felt like a minute, like a day, like a second, like a year. Mai was certain they had strapped her to the bed again, but she felt like she had been sliding across the floor and dragging herself against the ceiling. She found it miraculous she hadn't vomited in that time (or, at least, she didn't remember vomiting), and the demented suits had the fucking nerve to strap a ball gag in her mouth.
"To keep you from biting your lip again. Miss Ishtar doesn't want you to bleed on the dress."
Fucking bullshit.
They were all getting off on this.
Perverted cock-sucking sons of bitches.
If Pegasus and the witch doctor had rigged up a stage "down stairs" or wherever the hell it was, Mai wouldn't have been surprised.
She could see it all now. Pegasus would be in a long lab coat standing behind a camera while the witch doctor sported a squeaky black rubber apron and gloves to match, along with set of goggles on her head to complete the mad scientist vibe they were undoubtedly going for. The witch doctor would stalk around the set in a black leather corset and knee-high boots underneath all the rubber to suit the Victorian theme as they pinned her to a surgical table and laid out the saws, syringes, and speculums alongside her. Pegasus would clap with a "lights, camera, action!" and the snuff fest would kick off. There'd probably be a goat or a donkey involved somewhere and the witch doctor would eventually end her misery with a rusted nail up her nostril while Pegasus licked the blood off her boots.
Fucking freaks.
Mai wanted to throw up so badly, but she couldn't even heave. Just what the hell was in those flowers?
"It is my sincerest condolences that I must escort you to the ceremonial chamber, Miss Valentine."
Who was that?
Oh, the creepy porn 'stache dude. What's his face? Crocketts? Crochet?
"I harbor no ill will against you, Miss Valentine, nor do I have any fondness for what is about to take place. I am duty bound to Mister Pegasus and have been given strict instruction to adhere to Miss Ishtar's requests. I do apologize for taking part in this."
Shit, when had she been untied from the bed? When did they remove the gag? Was she walking? It didn't feel like she was being carried. It felt more like she was being... rolled? What the hell was she strapped to?
Mai caught a glimpse of herself in the polished reflection of the white floor, and her jaw lost tension at the image.
They had attached her to a goddamn hand truck, like she was a pile of personal possessions packed into tidy little boxes and prepped to move into a new home.
Really? You assholes!
"Let me go!" she shrieked. "Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!"
"I cannot do that, Miss Valentine," Croquet uttered sadly behind her. "I have orders."
"Oh, fuck you, Macramé!" Mai slurred. "What sort of jackass goes through life named after a yarn pattern?"
Croquet didn't dignify the drug induced ranting with a response, strolling her along in silence until he reached the steps to the ceremonial chamber. He took careful consideration not to bounce her too roughly during transport down the stairs, and he tried to ignore the pain in his ears as Mai's shrieking bounced off the surrounding rock. The descent wasn't wholly memorable, a narrow passage of green-grey stone, but where the stairway ended, a hall began, painted hieroglyphics and images of deities with animal heads lining the walls.
"My goodness, quite a pair of pipes on that woman!"
"Hmm."
The screeching in Mai's mind and whatever had been leaving her mouth ceased when she realized what lied ahead.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
Maximillion Pegasus and Isis Ishtar stood at the center of the ceremonial chamber, the large portrait of Cecelia Pegasus hanging above the sacrificial altar painted with winged sun discs, framed by blazing torches on either side, casting the room with a yellow glow. To one side of Cecelia's portrait were the Egyptian Gods; to the other, the Millennium Ankh, Scales, and Rod.
Isis cradled the sacred codex in her arms, clothed in a white dress with golden bands encircling her waist, emphasizing her hourglass figure. Simple brown sandals covered her feet while more golden bands decorated her ankles and wrists, her shoulders bear as the top of the dress, a gold and black pattern with a green jade in the center, wrapped around her chest and linked to her back. Atop her head sat a white headdress with the golden Eye of Wjdat sitting above the gem at her forehead, and the Millennium Necklace glowed with her determined stare.
Pegasus slid his hands underneath the spacious arms of his flowing beige robes with a small smirk, momentarily taking his attention off Mai to look at Isis. He didn't favor the latter in white, but Isis had informed him that she needed the dress for the ritual, just as he had to be clothed in his current, drab attire.
He shrugged inwardly at the thought. It wasn't as though this would be an everyday event. He could bear the ascetic aesthetics for the time being.
"Good to see you in high spirits today, Croquet," Pegasus nodded to his butler as the mustached man wheeled Mai to where they stood. The servant responded with a brief grunt, and Isis turned her attention to the altar.
"Place her on the slab."
"As you wish, Miss Ishtar."
"Oh... fuck you all..." Mai murmured with a bowed head, shaking as Isis stared her down. She wanted to throttle everyone in the room, but her limbs felt like lead under Isis' gaze—rather, under the gaze of the Necklace, and Croquet lifted her with little struggle. Croquet secured her wrists and ankles in the golden shackles at either corner of the altar, and he stepped away with a solemn bow.
"Is there anything else, Miss Ishtar?"
"None at all, Croquet. Your role is done here. You may leave."
"Not yet!" Pegasus interjected, and Isis' head slumped to her shoulder.
"Of course, sir," Croquet uttered robotically, and he pulled out a glass and a bottle wine from underneath his blazer.
"I swear, Croquet, you're a mind reader!" Pegasus guffawed, and Mai and Isis glared daggers into his cloaked backside. "Now you're dismissed."
With nothing to add (and no willingness to extend his time in the room), Croquet made a stiff, hasty exit.
"You're going to drink after the ceremony?" Isis droned.
"Well, it is a special occasion, Miss Ishtar, and last I checked, your little spell book doesn't forbid imbibing after the main event." He placed the glass and bottle off to the side, away from the altar, and Mai heard a rough, heavy sigh escape through Isis' lips.
"Indeed," was all she said, fingering through her codex and tracing the words. "It is almost time to begin. Take your place here, Mister Pegasus."
"Mmm... fuck you..." Mai hissed, lips quivering with the words. She tried to pull at the shackles, but her limbs weren't moving. What the hell did the witch doctor just do to her?
"Such foul language!" Pegasus gasped, splaying his fingertips at his collar and acting aghast. "Little wonder as to why you were always in such a poor mood after your inspections, Miss Ishtar."
Isis only hummed in response, hugging the open book to her chest as she took a bundle of lit incense and waved it over Mai's body. Everything was here. Everything was as it should have been and would be. The measurements of the spacing between the Egyptian Gods and the Items on either side of the portrait were exact to the millimeter. Her Necklace at Mai's right side, the Eye at her left. The planets and the stars set in the very places they had been three-thousand years ago.
The Dark Thing, directly above them.
Isis wondered to the sort of fatigue that would transpire through the Rod, just how much of Shadi's essence remained in the Ankh and Scales, but that was all of little concern to her as she traced the raised stitching on her book while the Necklace throbbed against her collar.
What will be, will be.
The Millennium Eye pulsed in his head as he beheld Mai on the slab, holding his chin in his hand. He thought he had accounted for all her measurements when he altered the dress, but the way her bosom was nearly bursting at the seams had proven him to be far too conservative in his estimate. For a brief moment, Pegasus found himself disappointed with his prior calculations, a small wound to his pride, but the feeling didn't linger. He'd be a fool to complain about such generous additions.
Still, there was the matter of complementary colors. There was certainly some disappointment in that the sharp, defiant violet of her eyes clashed with the royal blue and rose pink. Well, the eyes were the window to the soul, were they not? Only time would tell whether or not he would have to swap out the wardrobe.
"So... this is it...?" Mai struggled, looking up at Isis. Why did her face feel like it was made of iron? "This is... your twisted... little ritual?"
"This is the preparation to the ritual, Miss Valentine," Isis intoned, continuing to waft the incense back and forth across her person. "It cannot start until you die."
"Ah, I guess that's my cue, isn't it?" Pegasus clapped. "Oh, what fun!"
The screeching and scratching returned to her mind, imaginary wings (or were they real after all?) beating her eyelids and making them flutter. Mai winced as she bared her teeth. Her eyes scoured the room, looking for some sort of knife, a scalpel, any sort of blade.
"Goodness, Miss Valentine, how violent! You would really think I would resort to something so crude after all the care I've placed into looking after that sumptuous body of yours?" Pegasus reprimanded with the wagging of his finger, and Mai hissed as she inhaled through her teeth.
What the hell? How did he—
"We have a much more refined method in mind," Pegasus tapped the Eye with a grin. "Is she ready, Miss Ishtar?"
"It is not a matter of her readiness, Mister Pegasus," Isis said, placing the incense aside and running her fingers over the thick book. "You may begin as you please."
"Why... are you... helping him?" Mai squeaked, a desperate appeal to the witch doctor. "He... treats you... like shit..."
"Well, that's a little harsh," Pegasus pouted. "I took Miss Ishtar into my home. I've clothed her. I've fed her."
"Raped her," Mai snapped.
"Rape is such an ugly word," Pegasus sighed with the wave of his hand. "And not at all what's taken place. We have been in agreement about the conditions of our relationship all this time, have we not, Miss Ishtar?"
"Take her soul so we can begin," Isis demanded flatly. She was tiring of their idle chatter.
Get on with it...
"Don't you have... any pride...?" Mai growled. "How can you still... look so cocky... when he's using you... for his sick... science experiment!"
"Oh, my!" Pegasus gasped. "My, my, my! Thank you so much for that reminder, Miss Valentine! I nearly forgot!"
Isis' jaw cocked as she looked to the ceiling while Mai's eyes blanched.
"What—?"
"You have just added to your misery," Isis droned, tapping her foot on the ground.
Mai didn't have time to register the statement as Pegasus reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a small remote.
"Let's add some ambiance, shall we?"
With the depression of a button and a small "beep", music blared throughout the room and Pegasus sang along with the opening lyrics, spreading his hands with a dramatic flourish.
"From my heart and from my hand, why don't people understand my intentions?"
Isis sighed in exasperation and placed a hand on her hip as she watched him bob his head to the upbeat tune, swaying and humming with the intermittent trumpets and drum beats of the song.
Mai's jaw parted with her eyes as she lost all her nerves.
WHAT.
THE.
FUCK?!
Was this a fucking joke to him?!
She was about to die, for Christ's sake!
"Really?" Isis asked with half-lidded eyes. "That's what you want to play?"
"Come now, Miss Ishtar!" Pegasus chided as he shimmied in place. "Who better to mark the occasion than Danny-boy and the Mystic Knights? Dance with me!"
"No," Isis said. "You may keep the music if you wish, but turn the volume down so I can recite the incantations properly. The Gods are expected to make their presence known at the climax and I wish for them to hear my voice."
"Oh, my God," Mai sobbed. "You're both... so fucked up..."
"And you're a dead woman," Isis said pointedly. "Mister Pegasus..."
"Always such a sour puss!" Pegasus teased, tapping the volume button on the remote. "This better?"
"It's manageable," Isis replied, moving her hand from her hip and fanning it over Mai's body. "Now, may we please proceed?"
"Fuck you..." Mai sobbed, throwing her head back. "Fuck you... Fuck you... Fuck you, you heartless bitch..."
"My, what a vile potty mouth," Pegasus tittered, as though scandalized, tossing the remote over his shoulder. "Let's adjust that too, shall we?"
Isis took a deep breath through her nostrils and pinched the edges of the codex in her hands.
Finally.
The shrieking, slashing, and battering of wings dulled in Mai's head when Pegasus pulled a blank trading card from his sleeve, and the world slowed down.
… So this was it, wasn't it?
Mai hadn't often entertained the idea of her own death, but even in those quiet, reflective moments, she had hoped it would be a peaceful passing. If not in her slumber, then maybe on a quiet evening watching a sunset in her mid-80s. She had never imagined she'd be lured to an island in the Pacific, never imagined she'd be locked up like a bird in a cage, never imagined she'd be dressed up like a doll and thrown on a slab like a sack of meat, all so she could die to the tune of a new wave band while some pretty boy plotted to use her body like he had used the witch doctor. She had fantasized, had dreamed, had planned to escape—there had always been that chance, that hope that she would find some way out, that she would free herself of this nightmare. She had hoped, she had wished, that everything was just a terrible dream and that she would wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake up!
… But she was still here.
This wasn't an illusion.
This wasn't a dream.
This was real.
There was no escape.
There was no way out.
There was no waking up.
There was only sleep.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
"Hmm, so that's it then? Rather anticlimactic, to be honest with you."
Pegasus cocked his lips to the side as he held the slip of paper to the torch light.
"I was expecting her to beg, at least. It was like stealing a soul from a limp fish. I thought she'd be a more attractive trading card, too. Looks rather morose. One feels depressed just staring at it."
"A life for a life," Isis began, index finger tracing the hieratic text in her hands. "Once we begin, Mister Pegasus, you must not lose focus. You must be willing to place your entirety, your will, your soul in the stead of the Gods. You must be willing to stare into the realm beyond and reach for the divine. Do you accept?"
"Is there any doubt, Miss Ishtar?" he smirked.
"Mister Pegasus," Isis urged, "I need your confirmation if we are to begin."
"I accept heartily," he drawled, tossing the trading card into the fire with the flick of his wrist. "Let us begin!"
Isis placed the book at Mai's side on the altar, eyes tracing the pages as her hands hovered over the body with her palms facing down. She retained her loathing as Pegasus slid his hands over hers, and their fingers intertwined.
There was almost no need to look at the ancient manuscript. Isis had seen it, time and time again, reviewed it ad nauseum in her visions, memorized it to the point that she could recite the words backwards at a moment's notice. The Gods, the Ankh, the Scales, the Rod, her Necklace, his Eye, she could feel the ethereal pulse within all, the lifting of the veil between all worlds, all dimensions, the eternal beat of all that once was and all that would be.
And she heard the Dark Thing's screaming above them.
Oh, did the light hurt? Poor thing.
She'd worry about that later.
Several minutes passed and Pegasus dug his fingers into her knuckles to the point of drawing blood. He was heaving, groaning, sweat dripping from his brow and splashing against the blue dress below.
"Focus, Maximillion Pegasus," Isis commanded between her chanting, coaxing the light out of his Eye. "Look into the void and search for what you hold dear. Show the Gods what you are willing to sacrifice in their presence, what you are willing to give, what you wish to take!"
"Cecelia," he moaned, a tear slipping from his eye. "I see her!"
"Take her!" Isis urged, the light of their Items consuming the room, Mai's body thrumming with a white, otherworldly fire. "Quickly! The veil is coming down! Reach forth and seize her! Now!"
The chamber shook and the torches flared with a final, explosive cry as Pegasus dragged his nails against the back of Isis' hands, as though being pulled apart by another force, and collapsed on top of Mai's body. He shook like a leaf atop her, whimpering, trembling, panting from the effort, and he groaned as he opened his biological eye.
"What...?" he whispered, rubbing his head with a grimace. "Did it work?"
Isis pushed a wine glass beside his head with a small smirk.
"I think you have reason to celebrate, Mister Pegasus."
"Mmm," came a moan from Mai's lips.
Pegasus' eye went alight like a child who received a puppy on Christmas morning, clasping his hands together with an excited puff.
"Cecelia! Cecelia, is that really you?"
He reached forward and ran his hands over her face, massaging her eyes open and chortling in delight when he saw a spark of cobalt among the violet.
"Ma... Maximillion?" Cecelia whispered. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision, and it took her a moment to recognize the silver hair and amber eye.
"Yes!" Pegasus giggled, stroking her face and placing his lips over hers, showering her with kisses. "Yes, yes, darling, it's me. Welcome back, my angel!"
Cecelia's eyes watered, brimmed with tears as her lips trembled against his. Her chest grew, sucking in a heap of air when his mouth left hers, and Isis plugged her ears with her fingers as she stepped away from the couple to retrieve something important.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
Tears streamed down Cecelia's cheeks and stained the stone altar as she recoiled from his touch.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
She was in Hell.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!"
"Oh, even with a different voice, I know that shriek anywhere," Pegasus doted with a hand over his heart, nuzzling her cheek as she thrashed in her chains. "It really is you."
"God, God, no! Dear, God, why?!" Cecelia sobbed, flexing her hands and bending her torso away from the man above her. "What did I do? What did I do?!"
"Oh, my darling angel, always so prone to your hysterical fits," he murmured in her hair as he cupped her chin. He inhaled and caught a hint of a powdery, floral aroma, not quite like a rose, but not at all unpleasant. What an interesting change. "Not to worry. I kept the labels of all your prescriptions, and many new ones have come into production since your passing. If your prior meds don't work with this body, there's a plethora of options that can help you. I still have the number for your psychiatrist."
"Stop touching me!" she cried, rolling her face away from his hand and kicking in her chains. "Get away from me! I don't want to be here! Let me go! Dear God, please, let me die!"
"And that's why I kept your psychiatrist on speed dial," Pegasus cooed, squishing her cheeks between his fingers and placing his lips to her forehead. "Poor dear, you went so far downhill in those final weeks. I've never forgiven myself for letting you out of my sight that weekend."
"Stop," she recoiled from his lips and rolled her head to the side. She squeezed her eyes shut, squirming and sniffling as she grasped at the cuffs on her wrists. "Please, God, no. Not again. Not again."
"Don't worry, angel, I won't make the same mistake again," Pegasus promised as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tears. "I'll make sure you'll be watched 24/7. You'll never be alone so long as I am here to take care of you."
"No," Cecelia rasped, her throat already sore and swollen from crying. "Get away. Get away. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be alone with you."
"Oh, my darling Cecelia, you aren't just here with me," Pegasus reassured. "I want you to meet a dear friend of mine. Why, without her, this wouldn't have been possible! Would you care to introduce yourself to my wife, Miss Ishtar?"
The light of his Millennium Eye flickered with a grin as he raised his wine glass in a toast. Though, he would ensure they would have plenty of time to get well acquainted with one another later...
"I am pleased you could make it to the party, Mrs. Pegasus. Your presence is most appreciated."
Pegasus furrowed his brow with a wry smirk, his shoulders arching with a scoff as he turned his head.
"Odd choice of words, Miss Ishtar. Just what—"
Even in the midst of being brought back from the grave, an unbelievable and awful realization unto itself, Cecelia never would have guessed she'd witness what happened then.
- 0 – 0 – 0 -
This was it.
This was it.
As the triumphant shout echoed in her head, Isis Ishtar recalled the first time she saw the realm within the Millennium Necklace. It was a floating cosmos in itself: stars, dust, and darkness suspended in an endless web of strings, and its center, a seamstress of green skin wearing a red crown. Isis did not understand how or why, and she could not see but felt the woman smiling under her dark veil, and she took a moment to glance up from her loom to point above where Isis stood.
So Isis looked.
A name such as The Terrifying One looks impressive in many languages, and it may sound as such in many tongues, but Isis had the recognition to acknowledge that "The Terrifying One" does not, at first, sound so terrifying in the language of whence the title originated. The proper pronunciation of The Terrifying One, Neith, is spoken through one's teeth and said like a thought had come to surface and was forgotten the millisecond it had begun to reach one's ears.
Nrt.
For The Terrifying One was there before all else and created all thereafter, she who gave life as her aspect of the sky and she who took it away as she surged down the war path, and she had not the mind nor the interest to entertain the opinions of those who showed no fondness for their place on her tapestry. The Terrifying One did not tolerate the wailing of men on the battlefield in their final moments, nor did she savor the shrieks of mothers as their babes were torn from their arms.
Nrt.
Her name was not the howls of horror or the cries of fear, not the screeching of the damned or the bellows of the mad. It was the sound of a sudden death, the sound that starts in the chest and halts in the throat, the sound of the moment one stared into the face of death but had not yet processed their doom, the sound of pure terror.
Nrt.
It was the final sound that had leaked through Mai Valentine's lips, and it had been the same sound that had escaped through Isis' fingers when they clamped over her mouth and saw what The Terrifying One had trapped in her web: the broken wings, the mangled limbs, the bloodied horns, the shattered disc, the cracked ankh. All the miracles of The Brilliant One herself could not bring her entirety back from such mutilation.
Magic meant nothing to Fate.
Yet, when Isis felt the cold hand on her shoulder, when she was encouraged to look beyond the corpse of her namesake and inspect the bloodied threads, she found that The Terrifying One was giving her something more powerful than magic or hope.
Certainty.
She had thrown herself at the feet of The Terrifying One and begged—Oh, how she had begged! Another way, another method, another plan that wouldn't subject her to the sickness of the man in red. She could endure all else, just anything but him.
But The Creator did not concede or bend to her crying, for it had all been decided from the very beginning, from the time before time, from when there was only mind with no matter. To make her understand, to help her see the path, to cease her incessant whining, The Terrifying One placed a hand to her lips and lifted her veil.
A lesser person would have gone mad.
Or, perhaps, Isis did go mad in the realm of endless threads, but The Terrifying One made it so she could function thereafter in the realm of waking.
There was no question, no doubt, no uncertainty. Before her eyes, she had seen all that had been and all that will ever be: the ultimate conscientiousness that gazed into the mirror, the cosmic mist that brought forth life, the intertwining of the rays, the alignment of the astral aspects, the detail of each individual strand that was woven and crossed and cut, the thought and influence of the carefully crafted web. Past, Present, and Future were not divided, but constant, braided, unchangeable, one and the same. The origins of all thought, all desire, all motivation and reason existed before any lifetime, experiences prepared for eternity.
So it was, The Terrifying One had already decided she would suffer under the hands of the man in red—for a time.
Isis Ishtar could have written a book on the ways she dreamed of killing Maximillion Pegasus.
A gun was a simple answer, but a bullet would have been too quick, too good for him. Yet the thought of seeing brain matter splatter and stain the priceless dalbergia headboard in his boudoir had always clinged to her mind whenever she caught of a glimpse of the polished metal adorning the waist of his guards. Yet the guns were always protected with the most scrutinizing security, hidden away or kept just out of her reach, and the fantasies of a bloody hole in the head were just that.
The thought of a knife was also a comfort that ebbed through her deepest dreams. How often she would lick her lips as she watched him sip his wine at the dinner table and contemplate the blade in her right hand. How often she imagined the scarlet in the glass passing through his lips and spurting out of his neck with a slash before she turned her attention below the waist. Alas, they had always been seated at either ends of the vast table, and she was a vegetarian. It was not often she needed a knife for her meals, and whatever she received for tougher morsels was far too dull for flesh. The sharpest blades were kept in the kitchen and locked away from everyone else; even she knew it was unwise to attempt stealing a knife from a chef.
There was also the complicated matter of the Rod. She knew of its hidden "feature", but alignment was everything. If she moved it from the wall now, then the Eye would—
Well, she didn't need to worry about that.
She had wondered to the tone of Pegasus' screams as he gripped his shattered kneecaps, his breath coming out in staggered wheezes as she sent his ribs into his lungs with each downward swing of a metal pipe, a bat, or a baton—whatever occupied her reveries that night. Yet Pegasus was not an athlete by any means, everything in the castle was up to spec, and his guards didn't carry sticks.
She imagined how his proportions would be divided if placed on a table, the lanky measurements of his forearms and biceps compared to his calves and thighs, his torso and neck alongside his head and feet. Sadly, chainsaws, hacksaws, jigsaws, or any saw was eliminated from the equation. Pegasus' architects were in Sweden, his construction crews from Japan, his favorite handyman on call along the California coast, and his own abilities as a craftsman were a prominent zero. Even something as small as a screwdriver (how she would have loved to make one disappear in his head) wasn't feasible.
She enjoyed imagining Pegasus staggering through the woods, clothes torn and barefoot, as he had done to her during the first orgy when he dressed her in that wretched outfit with the deer skull and tassels. She imagined him slipping on a rock by a river and the dogs or lions or leopards would descend and hollow out his torso, tearing out his entrails while he clawed helplessly at their heads before they crushed his hands in their jaws. But Pegasus had no affinity for keeping such pets (that's why he made all those costumes, the miserable letch), so that was another vision dashed.
It would have been satisfying to see him choke while foam flowed from his mouth, clutching at his throat as he fell over after dining on his usual serving of Gorgonzola Piccante, yet even poison was out of reach. He knew of everything flowing in and out of the island, and whatever was in the cupboards under the sink had been kept under locks as well.
There was always the daily fantasy of strangling him in his slumber, but even the ropes were kept elsewhere, and she knew very well of his personal preferences. She found no fondness in arousing him with his demise.
As it was, Isis Ishtar did not have access to a gun, a knife, a baton, a lion, a pack of dogs, poison, or a rope, but there had always been a weapon in every room.
The past was present was future. None were separate and all were one.
Everything happened for a reason.
When the accomplished Visconte Angelo Gioele Luca Giuseppe de Montay had his castle built in Casale Monferrato in 14th century Italy, he had very little time to enjoy it. For not long after its completion, the young Visconte met his untimely end on the prongs of a farmer's pitchfork when he was making his usual rounds collecting taxes in the surrounding province, and he died in obscurity. The castle switched many hands over the centuries, but ultimately languished in the last 300 years with little interest to preserve its foundation, its walls, its halls, and its lost history. As Fate would have it, however, Maximillion Pegasus had taken quite a fancy to the castle when a luxury realtor put it up for sale, and he purchased it as a birthday gift to himself. He then had the castle disassembled and reassembled on his private island, stone by stone, updated the interior, and added the dungeons beneath. As a result of its altered design, Pegasus' castle was reconstructed to adhere to modern fire codes, and it was ensured the castle's integrity would excel in taking all the proper precautions if such an event were to occur.
So it was, Isis Ishtar took immense satisfaction at the resounding crack that reverberated throughout the ceremonial chamber as she smashed Maximillion Pegasus' face with a fire extinguisher.
The shattering of the wine glass synced perfectly with his surprised yelp as he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Weird Science ended, but Pegasus' play list stayed on the same band as the next song in the queue began, and Isis couldn't retain her smile when the following tune reached her ears.
Dead Man's Party, indeed.
"Aaarrgh, you ungrateful whore!"
Pegasus clutched at his face as blood flowed down his contorted features and through his hands, dripping to the ground and blending with the spilled wine and broken glass beside him. He kicked and scrabbled in the first throws of agony, the fire starting in his forehead and pulsing through his nerves as he huddled in a ball.
"This is how you repay me? After everything I've done for you! I'll punish you severely for this, you treacherous bitch!"
The Millennium Eye glowed as his lips turned in a snarl, lifting his head from the ground to stare up and focus on the Necklace. How dare she. If she thought she had it rough before, once he was done with her—
"Now, now, Mister Pegasus, there's no need for that."
The light of his Eye sputtered and died as her Necklace glowed, and he cried out again as her foot stomped on his ear and kept his head pinned to the floor.
"The ritual has exhausted you terribly, Mister Pegasus. To continue with anything further would be an exercise in foolishness," she hummed as she ground her heel into his face. "I think you need to go to sleep."
"Y-you lying bitch... You deceived me..." he said weakly, hands shaking as he dug his fingers into her ankle with little result. Her foot crushed his cheek into his molars, the pressure in his head building from the force of her applying the weight of her leg on his skull.
"I did no such thing, Mister Pegasus."
"Agh!" he yapped when she lifted her foot and brought it back down on his vagus nerve.
"I promised to bring your dearly beloved back, and I did."
Isis balanced herself on one leg and folded the one with which she had curb stomped his jaw, dropping her full weight into her knee and settling it into his ribs.
"AGH!"
"I warned you that the ritual would cause you some fatigue, and it has."
She placed the fire extinguisher aside and straddled his torso.
"I even had the courtesy of telling you ahead of time that you would suffer a headache, and that, too, has occurred."
She grabbed a fistful of his hair and lifted up, savoring his grimace before she slammed the back of his head into the ground.
"You used me," Pegasus groaned, biological eye twitching with the pangs surging through his head, grabbing weakly at her wrist. "You whore."
"As have you, motherfucker," she retorted, "but we're nowhere near even."
In addition to the security, the restrictions, and the limitations on the island, what had ultimately kept Isis under his heel had been the terrible matter of his Item. She could have had her finger hovering above the button for a nuke, but it would have done her no good as long as Pegasus had control over the Millennium Eye.
Had.
She smirked.
"I thank you graciously, Cecelia," Isis murmured without looking at the woman on the slab. "This wouldn't have been possible without you. You must indeed be an incredible woman for a worm such as this to drive himself to the point of death to bring you back."
"Wh-what?" Cecelia stuttered. "What are you going to do to him?"
"You'll see," Isis said to her simply. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at Pegasus. "You won't."
"You fucking two-faced—Aaaaaahhhhhhh!"
Pegasus' scream melted with the snappy guitar riffs and upbeat drum beats echoing in the chamber as Isis twisted a hand in his hair and pulled at the Millennium Eye. He writhed between her thighs and kicked at the stonework beneath them, clutching desperately at her arm to stop the searing pins and needles twirling around his socket and leaking into the deepest parts of his mind. A flurry of purple and red shadows surged forth from the Eye and flooded her face, and she sneered into the onslaught.
"That won't work on me," she declared, and the shadows screeched along with Pegasus as the light of the Necklace consumed them.
"I... I won't... Let you get away..." Pegasus grunted, sinking his nails into her wrist.
"I would say I admire your fighting spirit, Mister Pegasus," Isis hissed, recalling something he had said to her long ago, "but then that would make a liar of me."
The shadows continued to swirl around her face, searching for and trying to pry their way into every orifice before being peeled away and rebuffed by the golden fire of the Necklace. Pegasus continued to cry out and thrash beneath her, the Eye coming out centimeter by agonizing centimeter, pink membrane tearing and red veins rupturing with each tug. Isis grumbled in frustration at the resistance.
The Eye was refusing to part with its host, or rather, it could have been the other way around. It seemed Pegasus wasn't quite as weak as she had surmised.
How annoying.
"Let go of it, you bastard!"
She moved the hand that was in his hair to his cheek and jabbed her thumb into his biological eye, her nail starting at the corner by the bridge of his nose and scraping until she felt her digit penetrate the sclera and settle into the squishy vitreous fluid beneath. All the fire within the Millennium Necklace shot out and whirled around the Millennium Eye, rotating like a drill, searing the surrounding tissue and scorching whatever lied beneath. Cecelia's ears rang as Pegasus' wail bounced off the walls and drowned out the warbles of Danny Elfman over the catchy trumpet tones, mixing with Isis' victorious shout as she whipped her head back with the final wave of shadows as she tore out the Millennium Eye.
Pegasus' hands dropped away from her wrist with an exanimate thud against the floor, one hand splishing in the puddle of wine while the other landed with a flat thump on the dry ground at the opposite side of his waist. The darkness clinging to Isis' head dissipated around her eyes, purple overtaken by gold and sealed with a brief, amber glow before it all gave way to cold sapphire.
Cecelia wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or laugh.
"He's... He's dead..." she whispered.
"Not quite," Isis sighed agitatedly, flicking little pieces of mucous membrane off the Millennium Eye with a fingernail. The body of Pegasus groaned weakly in response, fingers twitching with the observation. The Eye may have taken his spirit, but his brain was still intact.
Isis let the Millennium Eye drop with a dense, lifeless bounce to the side. She would get back to it later.
She shook her head as she observed the damaged sockets, blood leaking in small, bright red streams from where she had originally struck him at his temple. She took another deep breath as she picked up the fire extinguisher that had been waiting patiently beside them during the short struggle, gripping the top end and mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
She didn't want it to end this way.
She dreamed, she hoped it wouldn't come to this. She had seen it, time and time again, after every violation and desecration Pegasus forced upon her, the vision that both disgusted and comforted her to her slumber. She wished there could have been another way, but this was Fate's plan, Fate's design, and as a servant of The Terrifying One, Isis would adhere to the path that was set before her. It was destined.
This was how Maximillion Pegasus had to die.
Isis scowled, and she found herself yearning, relenting on the cruelty of Fate. She wasn't concerned about the flailing limbs or the intermittent screams, the nails scratching at her thighs or the inevitable soreness from the repeated lifting of the metal object. He deserved all of it, and she was more than willing to deliver his punishment.
Still, Isis couldn't help but feel a little upset as she raised the fire extinguisher over head.
It was just... just...
Just going to be so messy!
Cecelia whimpered and closed her eyes, turning her head away as she felt blood splatter in her hair with every crack as Isis brought the edge of the fire extinguisher down on his skull. It didn't give in so easily with the first handful of blows, only breaking the skin and revealing the bone beneath. The flesh at the forehead had bunched together with each strike, peeling away as blood burst forth and poured freely from the open wound, coating his face and soaking his hair. Isis ignored the discomfort of the sticky red puddle growing around her legs and his hands still grasping at her person while groans and whines escaped through his lips. She changed her angle, trapping his head between her knees as she jammed the extinguisher once, twice, three times in the center of his skull until the fused pieces there came undone. With the structure compromised, Isis turned her attention back to the face, bashing the extinguisher like a mortar in a pestle as his features caved into the concave bowl of the crown.
His screams had subsided, but his body continued to twitch and flop underneath her. Sizable chunks started to flake off with each hit, silver strands pulling away and sticking to the rounded bottom of the extinguisher, an appearance of scarlet stained spider webs floating and falling off in oblong arcs with every other strike, pieces of scalp and skull splashing in the puddle below. The metallic rush of blood seeped into the corners of her mouth as it splattered across her face and landed on her snarling teeth, memories flashing before her eyes.
Pegasus had taken so much from her: her chastity, her family, her virtue, her self. Within a day of landing on the island, he had stripped her of her clothes and burned all but one of her favored articles, dressing her like he would a doll and toying with her in his endless games. The only reason he had allowed Isis to keep her current attire was because she had told him that the trappings were ceremonial garb, necessary for the ritual, which was not wholly a lie as she had seen herself wearing it in her visions. Yet she had a small comfort in the past year when she had run her hands over the white Egyptian cotton, the polished bands of gold, the Eye of Wdjat on the headdress, taking solace in that she still had something she could call her own.
Which made it all the more agonizing when she brought the fire extinguisher down on his head. With every blow, every deformation, every crack and crunch, there was a colorful splatter that hurled forward and stained her favorite dress, and her tears mixed with the blood on her face as the force behind her strikes multiplied tenfold.
Even in death, this bastard had to ruin the last piece of clothing she owned.
"Ya ibn el sharmouta," Isis growled.
The world blurred as she wept, only seeing the red between her legs, only feeling the weight in her hands and the burn of lactic acid in her arms, only hearing the metal whacks and fleshy thumps as she pummeled the remains of Pegasus' face into the ground, the haunting vocals and cheery instrumentals of Oingo Boingo fading in and out. Isis wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally registered the orange glow to the edges of her vision turning to black, hieroglyphs and stonework ravaged by shadows, a signal that the torch light was on its last legs. Her panting filled the dim chamber, her dress completely soaked through and sticking to her skin. The fire extinguisher struck the ground with a clang as her hand went limp, scarlet droplets running down her chin and fingertips as her chest slowly rose and sank with every breath.
Isis tilted her head and cocked her jaw as she looked—really looked—at what was resting between her knees. Laying in a pile of matted silver tresses was what appeared to be a gushy mess of raspberry preserves with intermittent mints strewn throughout, and Isis blinked leadenly when she realized the little white bits were loose teeth. A stray pink tongue lolled out of an intact mandible, and she arched her brows as a small chuckle left her lips.
All the magic in the world couldn't fix that.
With a temporary sway, Isis got to her feet and stretched, linking her hands above her head. Her knuckles and back popped with the motion, and she sighed in satisfaction.
"That's finally done," she muttered lazily as she leaned over to pick up the Eye. She wiped it against the hem of the corpse's cloak to clean the gold and cradled it in her palm. She stepped over Pegasus' body and around the altar, taking out a leather suitcase and opening it with two clicks. She first collected the Egyptian Gods, then the Ankh, Scales, and Rod from their places on the wall, putting them back into the appropriate sized slots in the case's red velvet lining. When everything was secured, she picked the leather bound codex off the corner of the altar and tucked it in the crook of her elbow.
"W-wait," Cecelia finally spoke up, watching Isis roll the Eye between her fingers as she walked away with the suitcase and book in hand. "Where are you going?"
"I need to retrieve one more thing," Isis said flatly, "and then I'm leaving."
"What about me?" Cecelia asked timidly, and she tried not to stare at the blood adorning the Egyptian woman's features like a grotesque war paint.
"What about you?" Isis asked. Her eyes were half-lidded as she stopped just before the exit to the chamber, glancing over her shoulder.
"Aren't you going to unlock me?" she gestured to the chains around her wrists.
Isis closed her eyes and rotated her head towards the steps.
"That is of little concern to me."
She had other things to get to.
Cecelia's teeth clicked in shock before she opened her mouth to reply, to beg, but Isis gave her a departing clue before she ascended the stairs.
"Look down and figure it out."
Author's Notes: Dang, just... Dang...
Sorry I missed the Sunday deadline by an hour! My wedding anniversary trip was a little longer than I had surmised (and I had a lot of fun), but hey, better late than never. :/
This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I realized upon my review that the tone of the latter half disrupted the first in a bad way (that wasn't good), so I divided it up and now we have an extra chapter I can save for Halloween night. Yay! Say it with me! Hip-hip—
Whyyyy?
