"A... choice?"

Nitocris raised her arm, shielding herself from the light of Shezmu's eyes. She drew back; the tattoos on her head distorting as she furrowed her brow.

"Indeed." he confirmed. "I demand loyalty from my subjects, but I do not rule by force. Should you wish to remain loyal to Sokar and die in his service, I will not begrudge you the choice."

He stood up; taking in the priestess' broken form.

"A choice between life and death." she whispered, before placing her skeletal arm gently atop her lap. He could not help but pity her when she spoke; her voice charged with melancholy.

"Is that... any choice at all?"

Shezmu blinked, and in an instant, his irises regained their usual verdant sheen.

"It is more than you have been afforded previously." he replied softly.

A flicker of emotion crossed Nitocris' face, and her knuckles cracked and popped as she clenched her fist. She attempted to stand as well, but could not make it further than to her knees before grimacing in pain.

"Does it... hurt?"

"Dying?" he asked. "I would not know, though I am told that it is quicker and easier than falling asleep."

"I see." she said; clutching at his leg as she pulled herself upright.

"Then... I would-"

There was a flash of light, and suddenly, something impacted violently against the priestess' back. She slammed into Shezmu, causing him to stagger, and as she fell he could see the shock and surprise written over her face.

Nitocris died wordlessly, before her head had even touched the floor - a gaping wound reaching all the way through from her back to her chest.

"Good riddance."

A hollow feeling wormed its way into Shezmu's heart, and he lifted his gaze from the corpse to meet Apophis' cold, derisive stare. The god spat in contempt, before tapping his staff against the stone. With a crackle, the tip receded, and the last few bolts of energy fizzled out of existence.

"You imbecile! I told you not to engage-"

Seshem appeared furious, racing across the courtyard with fire in her eyes. Her long hair billowed behind her, and if looks could kill, the Serpent Lord would be dead many times over.

"A god takes orders from no one!"

"You could've harmed my Lord, you- you mik'ta!"

Apophis' face contorted with rage, growing so red with anger that it was a wonder he did not fall unconscious from the sheer pressure in his head. Then again, Shezmu did not believe that anyone had ever called the god an ass directly to his face.

"I am relieved to see the both of you alive and well." he said; attempting to calm the brewing storm. "I would hear more of your travails aboard the ship."

He knelt and took the deceased woman into his arms, acutely aware of the angry duo that now glared daggers at him instead of each other. At any other time, it would have been amusing to watch them adopt nearly identical expressions.

"What do you think you are doing?!" they chorused.

"I promised her a choice." said Shezmu; his lips curling briefly as he looked toward Apophis. "A choice which was stolen from her."

"She must pay for her transgressions."

"I... agree with him?"

Seshem looked conflicted over her own words, as though she could not quite believe what she was saying.

"Be that as it may, the word of a god must count for something."

It was difficult to tell what had the healer most horrified - the dead, crippled priestess, or Shezmu's bloodied form. It did not matter that the blood was not his own, as apparently the sight was sacrilegious enough to send every person he passed into a fit.

He found it incredibly ironic, considering that he was once known as the Lord of Blood.

After an encouraging nod, the Jaffa healer lowered Nitocris' corpse into the sarcophagus. She would have to rest for a day and a half, but thankfully, she would live again.

Apophis, however, took offense to his decision and refused to stay near him - a suprisingly reserved reaction from the otherwise short-tempered Goa'uld. It made Shezmu reconsider what he had witnessed earlier, and he came to the realization that the Serpent Lord had shown remarkable restraint.

Perhaps the fact that Seshem had saved his life earned her somewhat of a soft spot with the deity. When she told him of their escapade, he had been stunned into silence. It was such a simple, obvious thing, and yet no less effective for it.

She had put on her helmet.

While the unfiltered Breath of Sokar whisked him away to Nitocris' nightmarish realm, his First Prime had only taken what amounted to a short nap.

Apophis, somewhat curiously, had apparently been rendered a shaken, blubbering mess of a man, but with some help from Seshem he regained consciousness quickly. From there, much like Shezmu, they had followed the trail of bodies until finding him in the courtyard.

"Thank you, Healer." he said. "Please call for me when the time is right."

"Of course, my Lord." the man replied; bowing as he made his way out of the chamber.

Seshem had waited on him dutifully; something appearing to be on her mind as he stepped out onto the deck. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, however, the woman sniffed and turned on the spot.

When she finally faced him again, it was with a hand covering her face.

"By the Ennead, I hadn't noticed it before, but you stink!"

"What?"

"You stink, Shezmu." she repeated; grimacing as she gave him a once-over. "You... look at you! You're covered in blood and grime! And what's this?"

She used her free hand to poke at something dripping from his chest. It was not quite a liquid, but neither was it a solid. Whatever it was, the substance was dark and clotted, and left horrible stains on the floor of his ship.

"I imagine it is a mixture of dried blood and innards. I must say, it has been a long time since a person last exploded in front of me."

Seshem jerked back her arm as though burned.

"You will clean yourself immediately." she commanded. "For your information, Apophis looks far more presentable than you at the moment."

Shezmu chuckled at that; recognizing the bait for what it was.

"Very well. You have made your point."

"Good." said Seshem; punctuating the word with an imperious nod. "Now, begone with you, and don't return until you smell of flowers and cookies."

"Impudent woman."

"Putrid god."

His First Prime may be one of the most fearsome warriors in the galaxy, but if there was one thing she detested, it was a bad odor.

Shezmu disliked baths - as did any Goa'uld that had ever inhabited a Sekhmet host.

Aside from the host's instinct to flee every instance of running water, the fur took ages to dry. Even now, within the body of a human, the sensation persisted.

Worst of all, however, were the multitude of servants that insisted on scrubbing his back and soaping every inch of his skin. He felt more like an infant than a god - even a false one - and cursed himself for failing to abolish this particular aspect of Goa'uld culture.

While the concept of a Lo'taur was all but done away with, there still remained servants determined to wait on him hand and foot. More often than not, they were also amongst those most willing to take a brazen tone with him.

"My Lord, we've been over this many times already." began a woman; her voice bearing a hint of annoyance. As per tradition, her face was hidden behind a veil.

"Yes, Maia." replied Shezmu. "I am aware. My unwillingness to cooperate only delays the inevitable."

He groaned and took a careful step inside the bathtub. Despite the water being a pleasant temperature, the second it touched his skin, he shivered.

Immediately, several pairs of hands worked together to push him further down into the tub. As he was scrubbed clean of every piece of caked blood and filth, Shezmu struggled not to squirm. He felt pathetic, and the curtains, petals and scented candles adorning the bathroom only worsened his mood.

When one of the servants' hands began to drift lower, however, the humiliated god jerked upright. His eyes now bright and golden, he all but growled.

"Personal... space!"

The women giggled, but allowed him to retain some of his dignity. Their fingers instead worked through his hair, and he would be lying if he said that it did not feel soothing.

"You've really outdone yourself this time." said Maia, and he could easily imagine the frown on her face. For some reason she had taken it upon herself to mother him, and did not hesitate to offer him a piece of her mind.

"Sokar!" she exclaimed incredulously. "You didn't think this through at all, did you? Is a massive fleet truly worth the trouble of dealing with his crazy underlords?"

Shezmu cursed in ancient Goa'uld.

She was right - he had acted far too impulsively. Hopefully most of Sokar's old underlords had died over the ages, but if even half remained, it was still a half too many. It was slightly embarrassing, but he had not considered the possibility at all.

"That's what I thought." huffed Maia. "Up with you, now. You're clean."

He did as she said, and resisted the urge to shake the water off his body. As he was dressed in fresh garments, and his hair combed behind his back, Shezmu was struck with a wonderful idea.

"I shall delegate command of any eventual underlords to Apophis."

"And risk him turning them against you?"

He hated it when Maia made sense.

"Four?!"

"Yes, four." confirmed Medes; looking over the viewscreen on the bridge. "Oh, and would you look at that - one of them is hailing us as we speak."

"Who is it, Medes?" asked Seshem irately.

She held little patience for the Chief's facetious and informal attitude. Shezmu would often point out that she was not too dissimilar herself, but she insisted that there was a time and place for everything.

"Zipacna, son of Chimalmat and Lord of the Mountains... or so he would introduce himself."

The moment that the name left his lips, Apophis made his way to stand in front of the screen. The pilot looked at Shezmu questioningly, and he gave a small shrug in response. He knew nothing of this particular Goa'uld, figuring that he must have been spawned long after his time.

"Open the channel." he ordered, and leaned into one of the arms on his throne. "Let us speak with this... Zipacna."

The image of a human male appeared; looking both arrogant and young in appearance. His features were pronounced, and his hair trimmed short. Upon noticing Apophis, however, his arrogance was replaced with fear.

"Kree, Zipacna! Bon'iqua noc ke'i?"

The man immediately fell to his knees.

Perhaps, despite Maia's reservations, there was some merit to Shezmu's original plan. If the Serpent Lord could inspire such fear and obedience from his fellow Goa'uld, it would certainly make his life much easier.

"I believed you dead, my Lord!"

"Coward!" spat Apophis. "I have yet to hear a reason why your life should be spared."

Zipacna's eyes widened in desperation, and he seemed to be racking his brain for a way to appease his master. Whatever his excuse, it would have to be exceptional.

"Y-Your son, Lord Klorel! He lives! I can take you to him!"

"You have a son?!"

Shezmu's loud and unbelieving exclamation drew the attention of both Goa'uld. Apophis cast him a disdainful stare, as though he were not entirely sound of mind, while Zipacna looked as if he had noticed him only now.

"Is that so difficult to believe?"

"Yes!" he replied, in tandem with Seshem. As astounded as he was, he could not have been more excited. This implied that Apophis had a queen, and perhaps, that he even possessed the ability to care for someone other than himself.

"This is most wonderful news indeed, Lord Zipacna!" said Shezmu. "You are hereby welcomed into the ranks of the Lion Guard, and you shall be made a warmaster in the service of Lord Apophis."

He grinned from ear to ear, and rose from his throne. If anything, it would make for a nice change of pace while his Chiefs sorted out the bureaucracy on Delmak. It took time to set a new hierarchy in place, and until his new fleet was mobilized, there was not much else to do.

"Where might we find this wayward son?"

The confused underlord winced at that.

"Tollana."