He felt like in a haze.

Around him, the world was absolutely surreal. Not the white room. Not some kind of underworld horror scenario. It was just… a room. Still a little unfocused, but it didn't feel alien or dangerous. It was… like home.

Someone held him. He was leaning against another body and it felt safe. Protected. Warm.

"W-hat?" he managed.

The room started to coalesce into something more familiar.

Hands carded into his hair. "We're okay."

"Steven?"

The other hummed. "This was… bad. Wow, this was really bad. Abysmally bad. Lord, was that bad. I'm not sure it's real, but it was real somewhere I guess. Like some wild ride through some badly cut movie reel with all the different endings and options. I read a book like that once. Choose your own adventure. Didn't really like it."

"Steven!" he managed.

His alter chuckled. "Sorry. I tend to babble, I know. This really freaked me out."

"Got it, got it," Marc mumbled. "What happened?"

"You rushed in as usual. Then got stabbed with a dagger. A ceremonial blade, actually. Quite a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. Most likely 18th dynasty and made for a king's mother. Probably one of a kind. I've seen likenesses, but never one so simple and yet intriguing."

Only Steven would gush over a deadly weapon that had managed to pierce the Moon Knight armor like that.

Marc's eyes fell on his arms, and he raised the hands a little to stare at them. Gloved in ceremonial wrappings. He was still fully suited up, though from the way Steven was petting his hair and how open he felt, he knew the mask was off.

"Where are we?" he asked numbly.

He didn't have the energy to think about a lot right now. Steven had been correct that it had been an awful ride and it felt like different scenarios playing out, one worse than the other. It had felt like something tearing into his mind, trying to break it, trying to sever it from its anchor.

"I'm not quite sure, but this could be us."

"Hn?"

"Like the Realm of Souls? Just… absolutely not like it? Because we don't exist in memories. In the Realm… those were memories we shared. This is like something more real. It also feels… different. Like home…"

"You are the smarter one," Khonshu hummed.

There were windows. Chairs. A bed. It was… really familiar… Marc frowned and tried to focus on something specific.

Crouching down in front of the two men, the moon good reached out and placed a hand flat against Marc's chest where the crescent moon emblem sat. He felt a surge of energy, though it was like a warm caress. A soft gasp left his lips.

"This is where you are. This is where we all are. The root of the soul bond. The heart of it, where we all touch. Our core."

Khonshu's hand remained on his chest, a second anchor to the first that was already provided through Steven. Another wave thrummed along the connection that was strung tight between them.

He felt more grounded, rooted, the hazy feeling lifting completely.

"What happened?" Marc asked again.

"The blade contained an old magic. Dark and unholy. It cuts into an avatar's connection to its god," Khonshu explained, voice reflecting controlled fury.

He stared at the entity, the meaning clear. "It can sever the bond?"

"Yes. It failed." There was vicious satisfaction. "The claim is permanent. Nothing can release it." Khonshu tilted his head. "You also refused to even consider it, no matter the magic's attack on your mind."

Steven's embrace tightened briefly. Marc reached blindly for one hand and fumbled to interlace their gloved fingers. Steven squeezed them.

"I've got you," he murmured. "Always. Wherever. Also wasn't a fair fight," the alter told him, light humor in his voice. "Two against one."

Marc laughed roughly, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't."

"Oh, and Layla shot the bloke who stabbed you. That was the last I got before we… well, had the fun freaky ride."

"Layla!" He tried to sit up, but the hand on his chest pinned him back down against Steven again and the arms around him tightened their hold. "What…?"

"She is a formidable warrior. She would make a worthy avatar," Khonshu told him.

There was a flare of anger and Marc glared at the god. "Don't…!"

And this time the emotion was different. Not the anger of old, the protective instinct to keep his wife safe and sound away from the manipulative bastard of an ancient deity. This time it was personal. It was jealousy, he realized, flabbergasted.

He was… jealous...

Khonshu's amusement was clear to feel. He raised his hand from the chest armor, but Marc's hand shot out and grabbed the deity's wrist. White-gloved fingers curled around grayish brown wrappings.

He didn't want to lose the contact… Khonshu…

"You are mine," the moon god said softly, leaning closer. "Only you. I stand by the choice I made. I do not lie."

"Bastard," Marc managed, fighting those emotions. "I really hate you."

Steven briefly tightened his hold and he heard a little chuff of laughter from his alter.

He released the god's arm and Khonshu sat back a little, but not too far, watching them attentively.

Marc finally managed to push himself up, Steven's arms sliding away. He wasn't too unsteady on his feet and there was no danger of keeling over. Good. Right.

"Marc…"

He turned to his alter and Marc let himself assess his alter's state. Steven was still wearing the three-piece suit of his own armor, sans face mask, which was just as strange as his own armored-up appearance.

Blood… the blood…!

Marc reached out and patted over the smartly fitting vest.

"Marc, I'm fine," Steven insisted, catching the frantically searching hands. "It was an illusion. The dagger stabbed you and whatever this dark magic was, it mirrored it on my suit."

"You're not hurt?" he whispered.

"No, I'm perfectly fine. You were the one who got injured. The Moon Knight."

There really wasn't a scuff mark on him; actually, he looked really relaxed, though with a hint of tiredness around the eyes. There were lines where there hadn't been before.

"You're okay…" Marc pulled the other man into a hard hug, closing his eyes as the tension drained. "You're okay… Thank god, you're okay… you're okay…"

Steven embraced him just as fiercely. "I am. Brilliant, actually. Marvelous. We kicked arse. We're bloody curse-breakers!"

Marc smiled softly and gave him one last squeeze, then stepped back.

"And this place is actually amazing!" Steven gestured at the world around them, beaming. "So much better than the Realm of Souls."

He choked out a little laugh. "Yeah?"

"Because this is you, Marc! Not some other realm. This is you, your core."

"How is this happening?"

"It always existed," Khonshu told him, still so close. The moon staff towered above them. "Your realm." Light reflected off the top, soft white and familiar.

"Huh." He studied the weathered skull. "I have a realm?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since the day you bound yourself to me as my avatar."

Marc stared at the empty sockets; hard. "You're fucking kidding me!"

Khonshu tilted his head. "Why would I lie?"

He never had before. He had never lied.

"And you didn't think to mention this?!"

"It wasn't necessary."

"Fuck…"

Khonshu silently met his wide-eyed, slightly shocked gaze, soft magical winds brushing over the two men. "There was no time to go into the intricacies of your connection to me. At that time, I didn't see the need. At the time it served no purpose, was weak, fickle, barely even a flicker in your mind. Matters have changed profoundly and the attack on the soul bond showed just how strongly your souls defend themselves when threatened with the annihilation of what connects us."

Steven was right beside him, a determined expression on his face. "We're not going to let that happen," he stated.

No, they weren't going to let that happen, Marc thought faintly.

"Any other surprises?" he asked, looking at the tall entity. "Maybe I'll sprout wings next?"

"It got him an amused huff. "No."

"So why now?"

"You needed it. You never did before."

"Not even after Ammit nearly devoured all of us?!"

"No."

"I hate that mystical crap and you know it!"

Khonshu chuckled. "This is the place within you where we are tethered. The origin. The beginning and the end. The heart of us."

Where he could touch his alter. Where Khonshu's bond originated.

"You created this stronghold when you opened your soul to me, Marc Spector. The foundations were there, but we weren't. You created the core afterwards, balanced it as you balanced yourselves. The twisted magic attacked this." Khonshu made a sweeping gesture. "This. You. Us. You defended this. Both of you did." The god sounded proud.

Steven looked intrigued. "That's amazing."

Marc just about kept himself from rolling his eyes at the other man's enthusiasm.

"I… we can just… come here?" he asked the entity, stunned.

"You are always here."

"I said no mystical crap!"

Khonshu lightly tapped his finger tips over his forehead, stroking over his face in a loving gesture. "You are always here, Marc Spector," the god repeated. "You triggered this because of the stress you were under, fighting the darkness of the blade."

"This is inside me?"

"Your soul," the moon god confirmed. "At the root and core."

Marc's eyes scanned the room, took in the familiar outline of the London flat, and he almost laughed. His safe haven and core was the flat? Really?

"The shape is fluid," Khonshu could be heard.

The skull hovered above him, the ragged cape fluttering lightly around them.

"You chose this place because it is safety."

Because it reminded him of Steven. His shield. The one who protected Marc's mind. As if he had heard his thoughts, Steven met his eyes, smiling brightly. There was a power to his alter's presence, a strength and backbone, that reflected in the white suit.

Yes, his shield, Marc thought, pride and wonder racing through him.

"That stuff… those things weren't memories," Marc murmured. "Not my memories… because it didn't happen to me. I didn't kill myself in your temple. I didn't kill Layla's father…"

"No. They were possibilities. Fears. Alternate planes of reality. The unholy magic attacks the avatar's fears. It creates nightmares. It even allows a consciousness to cycle through realities. It cuts into the avatar's mind and leaves it adrift."

He shuddered. Steven suddenly stood in front of him again, concern written on his features.

"It never happened," he echoed Khonshu's words.

"I saw Harrow… as your avatar." He met the empty sockets.

"You never met him while he was," Khonshu said calmly. "The foul spells preyed on your fears… to renounce me."

It had felt so real. So wrong, but so real.

"It confronted you with the What Ifs and the Might Bes," Steven said firmly. "Nothing was real. Terrible, horrible, nightmarish stuff."

Yes, it had been. He drew in a deep breath.

"You?" he asked his alter.

"I wasn't the one fronting."

"You were there."

"Yes, well, but the spell didn't really see me." Steven grinned devilishly. "I snuck up like some ninja spy and kicked it where it hurt."

Marc burst out laughing and just drew him into a quick, hard hug. Tightly, eyes closed, face buried against the white suit. "Yeah, you did. We did."

Steven gently took his hands when they parted. "It never happened. And it won't. We're not adrift. This is our anchor and it's impossible to break."

"This sinister magic attacks the mind," Khonshu rumbled, sounding disgusted. "Tearing into an avatar, tainting a connection, severing a binding vow. It twists the mind and soul. What is left is a soulless, dead husk. The life and soul forever perished."

"It's gone now?" he asked, looking up at Khonshu.

"The blade is still there, but the darkness was broken. It no longer tarnishes the human realm."

"And I'm not lying in the sands of the desert, bleeding out, dying?"

Khonshu's magic flared, whipping about them, enveloping the two men. "No."

"How… do I get back? We… how do we get back?"

The moon god raised his staff, imposing, protective and a very reassuring sight.

"Simple," he only said.


And Marc started awake, bright white eyes snapping open, his body immediately switching into fight mode. He was standing in the middle of the warehouse, bodies all around him, blood on the ground, the smell of gun fire and explosions in the air.

His hands held the golden dagger, which was covered in blood. His blood. But the wound in his side had closed, the suit healing him with the moon's power.

"Steven?" he whispered sharply.

I'm fine, was the reassuring reply.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the suited-up figure. Steven was in his Mr. Knight armor. Which was quite telling of how bad this had been. He had never suited up… not when Marc was Moon Knight. Not ever.

"Steven…"

We're okay, Steven replied firmly. We made it.

Off to the side was Layla, gun in hand, face ashen and wide-eyed.

Only seconds had passed.

"Marc!" she exclaimed.

"I'm fine." He stared at the dagger, the gloves creaking slightly with the force he held on to the relic.

"You were stabbed!" she yelled. "That's not fine! I saw you bleed! You have never bled before! Not in the suit! Never in the suit!"

Well, yes, there was that. He looked at the place where the dagger had been moments ago. There wasn't a trace of blood. Not a single drop.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

He felt Steven close to him; not co-fronting, not attempting to take over. He was simply there, alert and ready to do whatever was in his power to keep Marc safe. It was incredibly reassuring.

He looked around and found their target close by. Dead. Shot in the chest. More bodies lay in the immediate vicinity. Most showed wounds associated with the crescent blades. Only one other had a gunshot wound.

Up in the rafters, surveying the grounds, was Khonshu. He was radiating fury; in waves. Marc could feel it, like a living thing prowling around, looking for something to maim and kill.

"Cut it out," he snarled under his breath.

Khonshu's empty sockets flared with the dark of the moon.

"We need to go," Marc decided.

The buyer was dead. As was the seller and his men. Layla didn't hesitate. She efficiently grabbed the most important and valuable pieces they had come for, then nodded at him.


"What happened?" she asked when they were in the car, driving away at a moderate pace as not to arouse any unwanted attention. The car was as unremarkable as it could be. "Tell me what the fuck happened back there, Marc! You were stabbed! It went into your stomach! That blade pierced the Moon Knight armor!"

Marc let his head rest against the back of the seat and briefly closed his eyes. One hand came to rest over where he had been stabbed. Finally he looked at her.

"The dagger was cursed."

The dagger which was safely wrapped and stowed in a satchel.

Layla shot him a quick look, but she kept on driving, weaving through the nighttime streets. "Say what?"

"Unholy magic. I'm not completely up to speed yet and Steven will probably geek out over the thing…"

Hey!

"…but what I got from Khonshu, the ancient Egyptians used it to… sever an avatar's link to their god."

"What?! Being chosen as an avatar was the highest honor!" Layla argued hotly. "It would be atrocious to even consider severing that connection!"

"Exactly," Khonshu's disembodied voice rumbled through Marc's head. The god sounded really pissed off. Seriously, seriously livid. "Sacrilegious! A violation of a blessed bond!"

Layla suddenly parked the car in a dead end alley. She gave him a serious once-over. "You're okay? You and Khonshu? Steven?"

"Yeah. We're good."

"Stop lying, Spector!"

Marc, Steven cajoled. She's part of us. We're a team. We're fine, but we weren't.

He sighed softly and let his hand fall away from his stomach. "It was bad. Really bad. That curse tried its best to separate us, but it didn't. It showed me… stuff. Tried to get me to turn my back on Khonshu. It was like a coercion, promising me freedom. I saw twisted stuff, Layla. Really twisted stuff."

Like that horrifying creature that was and wasn't Khonshu. Like Arthur Harrow as the moon god's avatar…

Khonshu's presence grew more possessive, heavier, wrapping around him like a heavy cloak. His whole body was thrumming with the very energy of the deity and it was almost too much to bear as it raked over his very soul. This had rattled the entity more than getting imprisoned in stone by his fellow gods.

Her hand suddenly rested over his clenched fingers and he entwined their fingers, holding on. Marc exhaled slowly. There was a steep line of worry between her eyes.

"It couldn't break us," he said softly, meeting her eyes.

Layla nodded, still searching his face, his eyes.

"Steven's really okay," he reassured her with a thin smile. "Absolutely fine. Salivating to get to study the thing."

Layla smiled grimly. "We're gonna bury that thing!"

No! Steven protested. And then he fronted, the body language shifting as Marc surrendered.

"It's no longer cursed," he added.

Her eyebrows shot up. She took to the change like the pro she was. It rarely happened like that, but in their time together Layla El-Faouly had adapted at light speed.

"Say what?"

"The bloody curse was broken, Layla," Steven insisted. "It can't hurt us anymore. It's such a valuable and fascinating relic, we can't just destroy it!"

"It pierced the Moon Knight armor, Steven! It hurt both of you, probably even the bird!"

"But we broke it!"

"But it's still there!" He gestured at the satchel.

Steven slumped a little. "Yes. But it's harmless. Just… a dagger."

It's not my first rodeo with a cursed object, and it won't be my last.

"Do these relics always attack a soul bond?" she demanded angrily as Steven relayed the words almost hesitantly.

"No. That… was a first. Which is why we should look into it, right?"

"I need a drink," Layla whispered and put the car into gear again. "A big one. And you're paying."

Steven stepped back and Marc fronted.

"Sure." He gave his wife a little smile. He glanced at Khonshu, who was sitting on an industrial-sized garbage container. "You?"

It got him a chuff, then the tall figure was gone.

"Thought as much," Marc chuckled.

Layla just raised her eyebrows, though it didn't chase away the worry. Truth be told, the whole experience had rattled Marc. Deeply. Even after all the other impossible things he had been through, the dark magic had left a mark.

He could have lost this again.

Something seemed to wrap around him, insubstantial and yet very, very real.

"You cannot," Khonshu promised, voice low, soft, humming through his mind. "You can't ever."