"This scheme of yours is either brilliant or preposterous."

Zipacna inclined his head - though whether in acknowledgement or offense was impossible to tell. While Apophis seemed completely sold on the idea, Shezmu was struggling to come to terms with what he had just heard.

Ignoring the fact that issuing the plan would render him an enemy of the Tollan, there was a high risk of needless death and destruction. He had also not known that Klorel's host was a young man who still retained a sense of self.

"Why not both?" offered Seshem. She retracted her helmet; letting her hair loose as she approached them. There was a glint in her eye - one he knew better than to ignore.

"It's a viable option, my Lord. Just in case things go south."

"You should listen to your First Prime." said Apophis. "She is far more sensible than you."

Indeed she was, and that was precisely the reason why she had made the position in the first place. However, his best interests did not always coincide with everyone else's, and Seshem had a tendency to favor him.

"Was that a compliment, O Lord of Serpents? I'm honored, truly."

Her tone of voice suggested the direct opposite.

"If only your irreverence did not leave so much to be desired."

While the two glared at each other, Shezmu contemplated the various advantages and drawbacks that came with Zipacna's plan. Triad, from what he had been told, was some kind of philosophical court at best, and a farce at worst.

It would be nearly impossible to convince anyone - let alone a human - that the Goa'uld had right to an unwilling human host. He supposed it depended on just how cold the Tollan were, and how inferior they considered other races to be, but unfortunately much suggested that they saw the Goa'uld as lesser too.

"Yeah? Well, your face leaves much to be desired."

"You dare-"

Shezmu flicked a grape-like fruit in Seshem's direction, which bounced off her forehead before falling to the floor.

"Do not antagonize the System Lord. There will be plenty of time for that come next summit."

The woman actually pouted; lowering her head to glower at the fallen grape as though it were the source of her disappointment. At the promise of future mischief, however, his First Prime seemed to cheer up slightly.

"The next summit?!" exclaimed the underlord. "You- My Lord! Surely you do not mean to attend it?"

He laughed coldly in response, unmoved by the false show of concern. Both Zipacna and Apophis most likely begged that he would attend, hoping for him to tragically end up dead. After all, the summits of old were considered boring when a lord did not die gruesomely - or at the very least lost their Lo'taur.

"Why not? Is it because half of those present made the choice to exile me? I do not hold grudges for such petty reasons."

"I'd hardly call them petty." said Seshem.

"Regardless, I have much catching up to do. Yu is probably going senile without any sane Goa'uld to converse with, and I hear the kitten has managed to carve out a sizeable domain for herself."

"Kitten?"

That was a word he had never expected to hear from Apophis' lips; no matter the amount of vitriol he laced them with.

"Bastet, of course - I have high hopes for her."

She was one of the more agreeable of his kind, if not for the unfortunate habit of displaying her enemies' heads on the walls of her palace. In fact, Bastet had been one of the few to oppose his banishment, and that meant a great deal to Shezmu.

"In any case..." he continued. "I concede the wisdom of Lord Zipacna's proposal. It is unlikely for us to prevail in Triad."

Seshem looked mildly surprised at his admission, while the Goa'uld appeared ready to celebrate a massive victory.

"However, the destruction of the ion cannons shall remain a last resort. There are to be no casualties, and the eventual submission and annexation of Tollana is to be dealt with honorably."

Zipacna's lips twitched with either mirth or disgust - the man's constant air of arrogance and disdain made it difficult to say.

"Of course, my Lord."

"Well, well." said Shezmu; a wide, smug grin on his face. "Would you look at that!"

He felt rather satisfied with himself as he took in the sight of a thousand cheering slaves. Best of all, however, were the utterly stupified expressions of his fellow deities. In Zipacna's case, every inch of his body radiated immense discomfort.

"Don't forget to wave back." piped Seshem.

He grabbed hold of the underlord's arm and raised it high into the air, upon which the cheers grew even louder. Unfortunately, when his First Prime attempted to do the same with Apophis, the god had already inched away.

It made for a curious walk back to the Tel'tak, but a pleasant one nonetheless. Despite the Goa'uld being unfamiliar with acts of kindness and adoration from their subjects, the inherent respect was something that they could appreciate. With enough exposure, Shezmu hoped they would learn to value it higher than that earned by fear.

Seshem grumbled as she stepped inside of the Tel'tak, shaking her gloves and boots fervently before entering. It appeared she had not shared his enjoyment in trekking through the dunes.

"Wretched sand."

"You will have to get used to it. Not all worlds are as lush with greenery as our own."

They leaned against the wall of the ship, waiting for the rest of the Lion Guard and some of Zipacna's own Jaffa to step aboard. Curiously, he noted that Apophis had his eyes fixed on Seshem, watching as she futilely attempted to rid her hair of sand.

"Are all of your servants this petulant?" he asked snidely. "Or is it just her?"

Shezmu raised an eyebrow; stretching his arms as he adjusted the golden plate over his shoulders. He had in fact been wondering about her behavior as of late. While she was cheeky, her public persona rarely showed anything but impeccable poise.

"She is usually far more composed. It might be that leaving home has made her-"

"It's rude to speak about someone when they're standing right beside you!" quipped the woman in question, before swivelling around to face Apophis.

"And you!" exclaimed the agitated Jaffa; jabbing the god in the chest. "Where do I even begin with you?! We've saved your hide twice already, and you show no gratitude at all!"

That was slightly unfair - the fact that Apophis had not attempted to kill them yet was somewhat of a miracle.

"Gratitude is for mortals."

When she then went to stand in a corner and sulk, a thought suddenly occured to Shezmu. It was not something that a Goa'uld or even any regular Jaffa would experience, but since relieving his people the need for a symbiote, they had essentially been rendered humans.

"Yes, of course!" he said; brightening as realization struck him. "It must be that time of the mo-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Lion Lord."

Meanwhile, poor Zipacna had not the slightest clue as to what was happening around him.

"My Lord! Thank the Ennead that you've returned - a moment longer and we wouldn't have known what to do!"

As soon as he materialized on the bridge of his ship, Shezmu was assaulted by a number of flustered healers and guards. Whatever had them riled up was apparently important enough to warrant dragging him away by the arm.

"Nothing like this has ever happened before!"

They led him out of the bridge and down the hallway; all the time speaking over each other in hushed, frantic tones. Luckily, he had just enough presence of mind to tell Seshem to keep the Goa'uld entertained.

It was about time, anyway. He could not babysit them forever.

"Blood of Apep, she's crawled out!"

"What are you-"

Shezmu's words died in his throat. He stood outside the entrance to the sarcophagus chamber; eyes wide in disbelief. Nitocris had awoken half a day too early; something which should have been impossible.

He stepped inside the chamber, and immediately, the priestess turned to him with almost deranged eyes. The gaping hole in her chest had healed considerably, but not fully. There was still a layer of skin missing, and if he squinted, he could even see the outline of her pulsating heart.

"What have you done?!" she cried, sounding aghast.

Just underneath her shoulder, above her dangling arm of bones, a lump of flesh had formed. The sarcophagus had tried and failed to repair it, finding resistance in the unnatural, metallic joints.

At first, Shezmu thought she had been horrified by the state of her body, but that was apparently the last thing on her mind.

"It is forbidden!" she wailed. "Only gods may use the sarcophagus!"

Nitocris clutched the drapery surrouding the healing device; her knuckles whitening as she slid to her knees. Her long, dark hair brushed the floor, and he noticed that the tattoos covering half of her head had vanished.

The implication was unsettling. The sarcophagus was designed to remove injury - not ink.

He approached the distraught woman carefully; the Jaffa standing guard behind him while the scientists peered curiously over their shoulders.

"Is that so?" he asked; sitting down beside her. Nitocris nodded fervently, and he noticed that she was crying.

"Yes! I should have died!" she exclaimed. "I... should have died."

"There are exceptions to every rule. I promised you a choice, and it was taken from you."

"But-"

"A god who cannot keep his promises is worthless."

She seemed to find some amusement in his words, chuckling as he held his Kara'kesh over her chest. There remained just enough naquadah in his veins to grow a layer of skin, even after healing Apophis and blowing both doors and walls apart.

However, following that, he would need to replenish it.

"Magic..." she whispered. Her fingers trailed over the former wound, feeling nothing but smooth, milky skin.

"N-Not even my Lord Sokar-"

Shezmu leaned back against the sarcophagus, feeling faint as the effects of naquadah deficiency came over him. It was the bane of his kind - not impossible but very difficult to overcome. Even after spending a long time in relative sobriety, the urge to imbibe his blood with more and more naquadah was strong.

It made him feel powerful, like he could conquer any foe.

"Make your choice." he ordered curtly. The Jaffa were already nearing him, as per his own orders. It was somewhat of a lottery - at times he would persevere in abstinence, and at others he would promptly fall unconscious.

"I- Yes. My... choice."

He gripped the edge of the sarcophagus, struggling to stay awake, and caught a hint of a smile on Nitocris' face. It was not the vicious grin she displayed when introducing herself, nor the expression that accompanied her mirthless laughter.

"I have died already, and now... I think that I would like to live. Please, my Lord, allow me to serve as your priestess for the remainder of my days."

"You may." he bit out.

Not a moment later, darkness overtook him, and Shezmu fell into a deep slumber. The last thing he could remember was a voice crying out in shock, and several pairs of hands hoisting him into the air.

As the world spun around him, he wondered what he would dream about, and hoped that it would be something enjoyable. Most Goa'uld despised dreams, because that was when the mind of their host ran rampant, leaving them next to powerless in a realm filled with all manner of monstrosities.

He, on the other hand, welcomed the adventure. Reality held far more horrors than any dream ever could, or at least, that was what he had believed.

When a tall, blonde woman appeared before him, Shezmu's heart sank into his boots.

"Why did it have to be you?"