Nothing had changed and still, so much wasn't like before. Within just a few months, almost bordering to a year, everything in Marc Spector's life had been turned upside down from what had been his… well, so-called 'life'.
No, it hadn't been a life. It had been an existence. It had been emotional and physical pain. It had been denial and lying to himself. It had been hiding from the truth, from the pain, from the darkest of corners of his mind he had refused to revisit until it had been forced upon himself.
And he had come out… no, not on top. He had held on to his safety net, desperate, close to truly losing himself and everything, but he had survived.
They had survived.
All of them.
So much had come out of it. So much new, positive things, such amazing changes and developments… and Marc still couldn't believe how much he had healed with Steven at his side as an equal, with Khonshu as a partner. With Layla, his wife, at his side and in the know about every last little detail of his dual life.
Marc was still working through all that, mentally and emotionally. He was trying to understand the changes that had been forced upon him, but which didn't hurt, debilitate or enslave him.
He had never been this free, mentally and physically, and he had never had such a safety net, such a powerful backing.
Dealing with it all had Marc lose himself in his jobs, actually taking on mercenary work once or twice, which had brought in a not insubstantial amount of money. Steven hadn't commented; much. He had actually chosen to be completely absent, though Marc had promised not to kill people. It had simply been two retrieval missions, with minimal bloodshed on both sides, and two very happy clients in the end. That had been followed by protection detail and one case of spending three days with an obnoxious little brat who thought he was the top dog, but who had cowered and screamed when there had been an actual attempt on his life.
Khonshu had been along for the ride, curiously watching, rarely commenting, and Marc had only once needed the armor to get out of a very, very tight spot. No one knew he was Moon Knight and he had immediately disappeared, job done.
"The ceremonial armor of the Knight of Khonshu should not be used for menial, human matters," the moon god remarked.
Marc had decided to spend the rest of the night in an abandoned hut in the middle of nowhere, keeping his head down and waiting for things to tide over.
The weather was abysmal. It was cold, raining cats and dogs. There was a relentless and icy wind howling around the decrepit hut, which had more holes and cracks than undamaged wall. The only window was bleary, almost milky white, and while it looked derelict, it was holding up against the weather.
"You want me dead?" he muttered, pulling his jacket more tightly around himself. Damn, it was cold!
Khonshu was suddenly right next to him. "No."
"Then it was the armor or me dead."
At the edge of his mind, he felt a slight pressure as something pushed gently against him; against his very being. His soul.
Marc rested his head on the rough wall behind him, closing his eyes. He was tired, but he had succeeded. The job had taken his mind off the latest events, but never completely.
Because Khonshu was always there. They were eternally connected, bound together, with a bond that, according to a demon-god, had settled so fast, they should have whiplash. There had been no learning period. Acceptance had been immediate.
And apparently anyone outside this soul bond viewed them as bond-mates, which still grated on Marc's nerves. Well, anyone who was a god, that was. Probably their avatars, too.
He had actually no idea why it should bother him. No one had given a rat's ass about the Moon Knight until they had defeated Ammit and saved the human realm. No one had cared about Marc Spector's mental well-being, even as he had knelt on the ground of the opulent Council Chamber, clearly in distress. No one.
And yet, here he was, bothered that they now looked upon him as a consort of sorts. Just because he had finalized a bond that had unknowingly been there since the very first time he had accepted the oath? Sure, the bond had been weak and felt like a possessive hold of a ruthless bastard of a deity on Marc's second chance of a life, but it had started back then.
Now it was a deeply settled soul bond, among three souls, two of them human, one an other-dimensional essence that no human mind was able to grasp. It was there. Marc wanted it. He would fight to keep it.
It didn't make him a bond mate, a consort or whatever else anyone interpreted into this, admittedly intimate, connection. It was so much more, made them all so much more, and nothing anyone could say could ever describe it.
There was a soft hum as Khonshu's presence leaned in closer, warm, heavy, reassuring, only slightly pressing down on his mind to chase away the thoughts that kept coming back to him. Marc knew who and what he was; the same for Steven. They were Khonshu's soul-bound, nothing more, nothing less. Especially nothing less! And he would make good on his promise to kick anyone's arse who called him a consort or something along the lines.
"Marc," the deity murmured.
He smiled tiredly and let the thoughts go. Even physically exerting himself, taking his mind away from Moon Knight work, didn't stop them from circling back to him again.
"Your mind is a tenacious little thing," Khonshu said, voice low and barely even a sound. It arrived in his head without bothering his auditory canal. "Nothing will change by rethinking or overthinking."
He huffed a little laugh. "It's what humans do."
"And you are very much human."
"Thanks for noticing."
"It is hard not to."
He slanted a look to the darkest part of his shelter, the shadows moving as Khonshu leaned forward.
The monster under the bed, he thought fondly. His own soul-bound. His god. And damn, he didn't want to ever live without that snarky bastard, with his moods, his tantrums, his abysmal social skills, but who was protective as hell, who cared, who had suffered and sacrificed a lot for his chosen avatar, too.
They were starting to learn; together. As a team, actually. They were learning what it meant to have this close, intimate connection. Marc had noticed how the temper surges, while still strong and still there, differed from before. How Khonshu leaned on him in a way that hadn't been there before. Steven called in the anchoring effect. It went both ways, actually.
His direct line into the power of the moon hadn't given him access to any form of new powers yet. He was still simply Moon Knight with all his known weapons. The scar deep within, the source and the door toward what Khonshu was underneath all the rags and drab colors, reminded him that yes, he might be more, but nothing had come of it.
Soft linen whispered over his clothes as Khonshu's wrappings and the cape fluttered in the gentle winds. Marc felt him so close, wrapped around his avatar on so many levels.
"Suit up," the moon god said softly.
He slanted a look at the entity. "Didn't you just tell me not to use the ceremonial armor for menial matters?"
"You are not a menial matter, Marc Spector. The suit can keep you warm and protected. Summon it."
"Who am I to argue with the god of the moon?" he snarked.
"You always argue. Even now," Khonshu reminded him with a sarcastic edge. "Summon the suit."
Marc did.
The cold was replaced by warmth and the sensation of being wrapped in a blanket. He was tired, he was worn down, but he didn't feel the endless exhaustion of so long ago. The ceremonial armor healed physical wounds, boosted mental energy, could keep him functional in a fight even when run through with spears, riddled with bullets, or thrown off roofs or moving vehicles.
Marc had never tested the limits, how long he could go without sleep, because he might not ever reach that point. The armor was Khonshu's extension of his power, the moon, and that was endless.
Right now it was more like a drug; a sleeping pill. It was settled over his mind, cocooning it, just like it was everywhere around him, and it was suffusing every cell of his body.
"Sleep," the Khonshu whispered.
It wasn't an order, but it felt good to follow the advice. He closed his eyes and wrapped the cloak around himself. He was aware of the swirl of emotions and thoughts around the edge of his mind and he let them brush over his consciousness in a brief caress. Having Khonshu so close was calming; not something he would have thought just a few years ago. Now… now it was a wanted closeness, something he enjoyed.
The weather grew worse within an hour, turning from bad to abysmal.
The moon god stayed next to him, ignored by the elements churning outside, and if he was close enough to let his own cloak cover the sleeping human, no one was around to see it.
She was back six months after the last encounter and Marc felt his whole body thrum, muscles coiled and ready, yet the suit wasn't out for now.
He had been on a job, this time in Paris. It had been a quick job, ending successfully for the Knight of Khonshu, and he had even squeezed in a visit to the Antiquités Égyptiennes Musée du Louvre. Well, Steven had been the one who had toured the place, wide-eyed and happy, but Marc had been there, too. Co-fronting and not just backseat-riding. We're bonded to an ancient deity. We've been to Egypt. You've been inside tombs and even the Great Pyramid. Why does this stuff still excite you?
"Because this is the past," Steven told him as he sat on a wooden bench, just looking at the sarcophagus of some long dead pharaoh that Marc couldn't remember the name of. "Djedefre," his alter supplied, catching on to his thoughts.
Marc rolled his eyes. They weren't automatically sharing surface thoughts, which was a relief, but whenever Marc relaxed his guard or they were very close together in the mind-space, it happened. He didn't really mind at all. They had yet to get the hang of a silent conversation just in their minds, but Steven was positive they might get there.
"Djedefre's burial site is the most northern pyramid of Egypt. It's believed that he built it on that hill to be closer to Re. There is so much history surrounding just this one pyramid, about its construction, its meaning, and use."
You see and sometimes handle all that old stuff at the museum at home, too.
"This is different old stuff," was the amused reply. "And I'd love to spend just a week in the catacombs underneath and look at what's stored in the backrooms."
Marc just looked at the ancient stone, so very damaged and the splendor of long before washed away or destroyed. He gave a mental shrug, but he didn't leave the mind-space.
Steven gave him an understanding smile, continuing to take in every little chip and chisel mark, clearly very much at home and enjoying himself.
The encounter with Apophis' lady knight was on the outside patio of a very nice café-restaurant right at the Seine. They had left the Louvre when Steven's stomach rumbled and he had handed over the wheel to Marc. It was what he called a compromise since Marc had to tag along for Steven's museum tours de force. He left the decision whether the meal was vegan, vegetarian or contained meat to Marc.
Today it was almost vegetarian with a sprinkle of bacon.
Marc raised his eyebrows as Apophis' avatar stood next to his table, completely ignored by everyone. It was all the reaction he was willing to give to her. People walked around her, but they didn't really notice the woman. He had already had his food served and was now on a very delicious cup of cappuccino.
This time, the lady knight wasn't in her armor. Most of her face was hidden behind huge sunglasses that covered her upper face like a visor and still looked extremely stylish. The wide sunhat added to the masked look since it was large enough to cast a good part of her face into shadows. She was dressed in an expensive looking mix of leisure and business. Marc's mercenary eye catalogued the outfit and he knew it had been chosen to give her the flexibility she needed and the necessary pocket space to hide a ton of weapons. All he could tell from what he saw was that her skin tone leaned toward a darker olive, her hair was black, and she didn't wear any lipstick or nail polish.
"Are you going to just stand there and stare at me?" he asked, voice far from polite but not too gruff either when she didn't say a single word.
Her stare was slightly unnerving, but she finally sat down.
"How can I help the Knight of Apophis?" Marc continued with a neutral kind of politeness, lifting his cappuccino to sip.
"You are a hunter," she replied without preamble or any form of pleasantries. And Marc didn't want to talk about the weather anyway. "As well as a protector. We have watched the efforts of you and your mate to find the other Forbidden."
Marc's blood ran cold and he felt dark, dark and very murderous emotions rise. His muscles tensed and he placed his hands flat on the table at the subtle threat.
Layla. She knew about Layla!
The woman held up a slender hand. He discovered the clearly Egyptian style bracelet around her wrist. "I do not threaten your mate. Nor would I threaten you."
"That's new," he replied, voice so controlled, so absolutely flat, he heard a complete stranger as he spoke. "You've been so good at threats and attacks in the past. Why change?" Okay, there was also sarcasm.
She didn't seem to notice or care. "I only come with a proposal and this," the lady knight replied without a change of inflection.
She reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a clear bag. She placed it onto the table, between them. It contained the small pieces of what could have been…
The other bracelet! At least one of them! Steven exclaimed, rising closer to the front.
Yes. At least it looked like one. Same style, same color, and broken apart into a lot of little pieces.
"What do you want?" he repeated, matching her tone.
"The Forbidden were created as instruments of punishment, torture, death. Pure evil, even by a god's standard. You have encountered the pain of two such items. As have I."
He frowned.
Her smile was cool, bland, her lips a tight line. It was the first time Marc saw something close to an emotion in her expression. "Don't you think the gods have tried to banish those they see as demons, too? Re might be seen as more god than demon, but he is of the same essence as is Apophis. And Apophis is chaos. He has no affiliation."
Like Khonshu?
"There is no good or evil among the immortal essence that is the gods, but there is prejudice, vanity and pride. Your god chose to stand by humankind, not turn his back on their supposed abandonment of his kin as humans evolved. So did Apophis. Just with a little less… flair…" Her lips twitched.
"What. Do. You. Want."
"We have offered our alliance. Your god declined."
"We declined," Marc corrected her neutrally.
"An allegiance with chaos would be befitting the banished and shamed," she stated, an audible smirk in her voice.
Steven took audible offense and Marc fought down annoyance and outright anger at her words.
"But very well, it is his will. As his bond-mate you support that decision."
Marc's face was suddenly absolutely devoid of emotion, but at the same time his eyes were murderous. "Do not call me that," he replied, voice icy, the warning clear.
She cocked her head. "By which title shall I address you then, Knight of the Moon?"
"The name's Marc. No title."
She silently studied him, then nodded. "Marc."
"Want me to repeat my question again?"
"No. Apophis offers his cooperation, his help, and his resources in neutralizing the Forbidden."
"Why?" Marc asked sharply, feeling a first stirring along the bond, coming from his god, who had been absolutely quiet on all fronts.
Now there was a first twitch. Khonshu's attention was fully on them.
"They are relics of a dark time, of crimes committed against avatars and gods alike. They are unacceptable, cruel weapons."
"Yet you guard the seal and won't allow its destruction." He raised his eyebrows, the sarcasm hard to miss.
She silently met his eyes.
"Right," he snorted. "Ambivalence at its best."
"The offer stands," she finally said.
"I'll think about it."
"There is also a second reason. You and your other soul are a very interesting and unique combination," she said calmly.
He gave her an emotionless stare, the warning clear.
"You are quite different, each one of you. There shouldn't be any balance. There should be discord and even chaos inside you."
Steven shivered briefly and Marc's fingers tightened around the cup. Memories teased, none Marc's own, but he knew of them anyway.
"You share a soul bond with an eternal god," the lady knight continued. "You share his essence and his power, yet you do not know anything about what you truly are, Knight of Khonshu."
"And you do?" he challenged.
"No. Only the avatar can know. My connection to Apophis is different from yours to Khonshu. What we can provide is… to help you understand what you are, what you might become, what you could be, through giving you our experience as well as a manner to let go of your restrictions."
Marc stared at her, stunned. "Say what?" he managed.
Is she offering to help us… train? Steven said slowly.
She just looked at him.
"Why?" Marc demanded.
"Because we haven't met anyone like you before. You, your triad, is as different from the Ennead as Apophis is. Learning to handle what you are, to discover what you can do, would assure your survival."
"Why would you want us to survive?"
"We are not enemies, Marc. We are all quite alike, no matter if the one we are bound to is called a demon or a god. You are very much alone in what you have done: forge a triad with a god and a soul that also resides as a full equal inside you. Apophis and I are soul-bound, so we are the closest similarity."
She is kind of right, Marc. We know nothing. Actually less than nothing, Steven argued. Nothing would be an improvement to what we know, he added with a fine smile.
"I think I can manage on my own," Marc snarled. "I have so far."
She folded her hands. "But what about the future?"
"We'll learn," he gnashed.
But they could help!
"We will not revoke this offer."
Khonshu was suddenly behind him, tall and imposing, barely any room between them as he towered over his bonded. The endless sockets were on Apophis' avatar as ribbons curled around Marc, brushing gently over him.
"Isis' list is very much incomplete," she stated, not the least bit fazed by the moon god, as she dropped that new piece of information. "Apophis is also only aware of a small fraction of the Forbidden. A joint search would be beneficial for all of us. Think about it, Khonshu," she looked directly at him, "because those artifacts are nothing but weapons or means of imprisonment. You, as you should very well be aware of, have long since fallen from grace. You have rebelled. The Ennead already punished you once. Apophis and I know what it is like to be shunned and cast aside, threatened… The Forbidden are dangerous to you, to us, to every god. They are unholy, as you call them. They are the darkest magic."
With that she gracefully rose and walked calmly across the patio to disappear down the street.
Marc clenched his hands into fists and tried to relax, but there was a tension inside him that didn't want to abate. Khonshu's presence increased and he leaned into that.
"She's right, isn't she?" he whispered.
"She is."
"You think Osiris has something up his sleeve?"
There was a low rumble. "He is a bureaucrat."
"One who knows whom to dispatch to make our lives difficult?"
"We are not at war. It would be a heinous act that none of the Ennead would ever sanction."
Marc grimaced. "I can think of a few things I'd call heinous and they were sanctioned."
Khonshu's expression, while never changing, showed regret, anger and an empathy that relayed how well he understood. He had been there for all of that, too.
Marc emptied the cup, the cappuccino long cooled down, but it still tasted very good. He finally pocketed the bag with the bracelet's pieces and paid. When he left the café, he was quite aware of the vigilant shadow following him.
Steven was a silent presence, almost thoughtful, but Marc didn't ask him what he was pondering.
He walked along the Seine, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, fingers clenching around the plastic bag, lost in his own thoughts.
The pieces of the destroyed bracelet dug into his hand.