That Which Radiates-

The playful banter had died between them. There was no more distraction, no more merciful interludes to delay what faced him next. Time had tarried long enough in this underground room, and Yami felt a flush of regret and guilt when he saw the trauma that his repeated breakdowns had caused. Seth had died. Isis was nearly slain. Yami himself had been tortured, mutilated, and murdered, only to be reduced to flitting around as a very confused, fragment of his soul, neither belonging to the dead, nor the living, barely centered on any locus of control. Finding his own misery and fears to be warring factions in his rapidly crumbling hold on reality.

Isis seemed to be so ill at ease, and afraid of inflicting more damage to him. Not that he could blame her at all. His whimpering panic attacks had had alarmed her to the point that she would only approach him like he was a wounded animal, and then, only with extreme relunctance. His actions over the last few hours-alternating between a vengeful torturer to a drooling imbicle left him broken, wide open for any wounds. Indeed, he had found himself reduced to a voliltal, anguished,trembling wreck that could only sob in answer, when he was once so certain, and strong.His body lay cold and covered by the cloak, a grim reminder of his severed mortality. He could not help but envy that. At least his body had escaped this brutal labyrith of guilt, and pain.

Yami could only shake his head, and trust Ra, in his wisdom, to sort all of this quagmire out, and make it right. It was beyond his ability to restore any of this. He only hoped that Ra would have some mercy, and let his sacrifice negate all of the horror he had so unwittingly inflicted.

"Isis? Shall we finish?" He gave her a wan, weary smile that was not from mirth.

Isis's trembling returned, and she turned away, to bury her hands in her face.

Isis had to fight back the familiar sob, before she answered:

"I wish with all my heart it was not this way, Yami."

His eyes were filled with sorrow, as he reached forward to cup her cheek, a thumb gracing her jaw to wipe away the tear.

She sensed, rather than felt, his arms draping over hers, in that old, comfortable gesture of friendship, as he drew her closer, and with a

groan, buried his face into the mass of black hair. She felt his arms across her back tighten into one shaking, desperate embrace, as he bowed his head beneith her chin. It was the only way he knew to tell her what words would not say. Then, he stepped away.

For the second time, Yami was preparing himself to die. He held no lofty illusions of grand speeches, or a profound exhaltation given with his last breath before he dramatically lay down to die with a flourish. There was no golden sarcophocous to bear his earthly remains to the afterlife, there was no heralding of servants to prepare his Ka, or even a beloved family member to see that his remains were properly preserved for eternity.

He gazed down at the shattered body he had, delicately stripping the cloak away from his former face. He grimaced again when he saw the eyes wide, and rolled back, glossy, and empty, but still frozen in their sick, useless battle to find anything to stare at besides that dagger as it sliced his throat. Blood and saliva still glittered from his bared teeth, scarlet flecks decorating his face from his eyebrows that were raised and flexed in pain, to the huge, gaping, sticky hole that was where his throat used to be. His lips were flared, his teeth fully exposed from a mouth that was open in its attempt to scream. Yami shuddered to see the pearled glint of his neckbone through the wound, sickened that Seth had slashed him that deep. The rest of his body was still locked in that final spasm, the fists clenched, his legs arched, his back twisted, and the second wound to his heart coloring the rest of his once pristine tunic a dull, murky rust. He had no idea that a body could bleed so much.

It was not him, it was only the usesless carcass left behind, but still...Yami would later recall a well-earned sense of pride that he did not further desecrate his remains by vomiting on them. He was not sure if it was the grace of Ra, or that it had been cruelly ripped away, but he was

beyond tears, beyond cowering, beyond shock.. And it was liberating, for however long this brief respite from the trauma would last.

Yami assumed he would have a long time to muse over the eternal things, or his questions would be answered in a short while, either way. His

attention was focused on the more practical matters at hand, like what would be done with his corpse, and where he was supposed to lie down for the "sealing" as he called it, for want of a better word. It sounded so much kinder than "damnation," or "futile death forever." He sighed, wearily, as

he sent a fervernt prayer for mercy, that whatever world he would be entering would be a bit kinder than the one he was currently residing in.

It was on trembling limbs--wobbling and uncertain as a newborn fawn's- that he allowed himself to be laid down, swathed in his familiar cloak, and spared from the icy feel of that cold table on his back. If he were forced to lay down in his own blood again, in shackles, he would have gone mad. Isis moved, slowly, deliberately, patiently explaining what she was doing as if he were a child. Yami was grateful for that, though. He had been through more than enough unexpected suprises, and he felt that even the touch of a feather could send him into hysterics. He drew his bare arms over his chest, with a shiver. Spirit though he may be, he still felt as if he had the same vulnerable flesh-flesh that could be cut open on a whim, and so subject to weakness, and pain...He didn't think he would miss that much, either.

Isis kindly pillowed his head with the excess material of his cloak, as she glided over to his side, with the Pyramid dangling between two of her fingers. Yami was cheered to see that the horrible dagger-and any other sharp, cutting implement-was notably abscent. Even when that agony had

passed, he could not control his body's natural instinct to shiver. Had Yami asked her, she would have found some sort of covering for him. The thin tunic was familiar, and comfortable, still. It was his last piece of his former life, and he was grateful that it was unmarred in his spirit form.

Yami knew that was futile, though. It was not the actual cold that brought the prickles to his flesh--it was still the same old fear of being defenseless.

After all that he had been through, and withstood, and endured, he was certain that it was a valid emotion, but one that Isis could do nothing to ease. He had suffered at her hands, too, regardless of how he forgave her for it. He had been stripped of his inocence, and it had left its own scars. The instictive flinch whenever an alien hand brushed his shoulder. The whimper of fear that he could not choke down, regardless of how prepared he was, or how expected the course of action to be. The involuntary shudder of his entire frame when he was embraced, by friend, or foe, or loved one. He knew it would be all he could do in the future to smother the blind instinct to claw his way out of any enclosing touch that reminded him of being tortured. That comfort, however inocently offered out of love, or regard was irrevocably tainted by those moments when he felt his mind eroding and his body failing at the hands of the two people he once trusted the most.

It was the loss of everything he knew and loved, uncertainly offered up with a trembling hope that it might spare the Egyptian inocents who would not even know his name the present anguish he was suffering from now. His eyes fell on the Pyramid, and it glowed through his vapid thoughts like a beacon. Yami had only held it a few times, but recoiled at how warm and alive it felt. It was eerie, it was wrong, it was to be his dwelling, shortly. Again, another decision shackling him to the path he so desperately feared...all because of his bedamned sense of morality, and his rather rash decision to sacrifice himself.

Maybe it was the fact that he had tied himself into enough mental knots trying to figure the whole thing out, or the sad admission that there was nothing left for him to do after that decision, except deal with its final outworkings.

And, somewhere in the depths of all the pain,and the uncertain anguish, by an act of his own broken will, or Ra's grace, Yami found himself ready to accept that.

He felt a shadow fall over him, and looked up to see Isis's careworn, but serene face gazing down at him with her azure eyes now taking on the depths of heaven's warmth. She was haloed in the soft orb of healing sleep she was weaving, the glittering wafting between extended hands as if she were holding the stars themselves. The walls around him-bare bricks that were damp and cold-now took on the warm, living light until they shimmered as if they were cast of jewels. They were achingly bueatiful. The dark ceiling above him disolved into a gossemer veil of pearled light, beacons, he hoped, to guide him on his path.

Isis did not speak as he nodded permission, and raised his chin high, as he gently set aside the cloak. With a small gulp of his last fear, Yami

lay himself down again, and did not flinch when he felt the slender hands of grace and fire ghost over his temples, sending trails of light in a swath over his bare flesh. It did not burn, it did not hurt. It only gentled away the last of the pain, made the torture a brief memory, made his drawn mouth relax to a smile.

It was the eerie, reverent hush that filled the room with the waiting, expectant welcome. It was his limbs going limp, and willingly yielding to the stillness, not battling against the loss of control and that terrible sensation of his muscles, sinews, bones, all that was solid, and him sliding like water over stone, into paralyzed hysteria. It was the serene acceptance that his flesh and bones were no longer needed,and he was free to cast aside the mortal shackles for something more worthy of eternity...when he got there, at last.

The Pyramid had taken on the same golden hue, tendrils of falling light showering Yami with the radiance, inviting his weary spirit to its temporary sanctuary. Yami allowed his spirit to rise, timidly at first, but then soaring like a phoenix in the dizzying sensation of such freedom, only to hesitate, as his form-now faintly shimmering as if he were cast in starlight-gazed back at Isis. He dipped downward, gracefully, and Isis felt his arms-light as air and healed of the scars, gather her in a farewell gesture of infinite gratitude. She watched as his fingers lighted across his throat, and proudly unfurled to show that the gaping scar from his old wound was gone, and the flesh had been fully restored. Isis was weeping, the tears making their shining paths down her cheeks as she gave Yami the most luminous smile she could muster, before she gave a joyous laugh to see him unbroken, and restored. The Pyradmid shimmered in silent welcome. Yami gave Isis one last look, and she saw the violet eyes shimmering with tears of joy, instead of anguish, before he waved, and yielded the last of his spirit to the Pyramid in one golden arch and a flash. It was so sudden, she stared uncomprehendingly at the thing for long moments, as the room faded, and the only gold warmth was the Pyramid itself. The last thing she remembered was Yami's last use of the mind probe, as she was engulfed with the overflowing peace.

Yami had told her it felt like he was going home.