Have you ever had half a day to do nothing but consider how much of an idiot you really are? I mean really just sit down without any distractions or complications to pull you away from the magnitude of all the bad decisions you've been making lately. It wasn't the first time I'd been literally forced into a moment of introspection, but it was one of the few times I was literally trapped with the object of my feelings of shame.

That freaking chair. I just had to sit in that freaking chair.

I'd been left behind in this room with just one, single instruction from Loki. Think before I act. And what do I do? I sit on Anubis' throne because I don't feel like standing. I do the literal opposite of what was suggested to me and yet again marked myself with powers that I didn't even begin to understand.

I sat there for hours, contemplating what the right thing to do even was. I ran over my decisions from the past days, months, and years – trying to figure out what I could have done differently. Sure it was easy to doubt myself in retrospect, but how could I possibly have made a different choice in the moment? It wasn't like I tried to take the most difficult route possible. It just so happened that the morally right choice was often the most painful one to take.

I hoped I was making the right choices.

I looked down at my hands, searching for seams in the flesh where there ought to have been scars as I pulled off my gauntlets to examine my porcelain white flesh. There were no scars, no marks, no wounds of any kind even though I know the flesh had been rotted down to the bone. I'd seen that sort of thing before, but never from mortal flesh. It was the sort of thing that happened to the ectoplasmic bodies Fairies and Demons created for themselves from the stuff of the Nevernever.

"I'm not human." I spoke the words slowly, addressing them to the Pharaohs for lack of another audience. Their shambling forms murmured with rasping whispers in reply as I talked, hissing the memories of what had stopped being language long ago. "I stopped being human when I killed Cum Hau. No – that's wrong, I stopped being human the moment Lash attacked Heka."

I paused in my speech, realizing that the mummies were laser focused on my words. The forty two Pharaohs leaned forward as I spoke, their eyes glowing slightly with that same green glow I recognized from Ammit's display of power on the Helicopter. Whatever power or agency granted her the ability to see truth from lies must extend to the pharaohs. I wasn't sure what was going to happen if I lied or stopped talking, but I knew for sure that it wouldn't be good.

So, for the first time in I can't remember how long, I told the truth. I told them who I was. I told them what I had done. I told them everything. I couldn't remember the forty two specific sins I was supposed to be confessing, but I did remember my own life. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. I unburdened myself of every sin, every mistake, every childhood fear, every moment of sadness in the orphanage, every regret, every love, every case - I told them everything that had led me up to that point.

I needed to tell them. I couldn't have put my finger on exactly why I was trusting this court of spirits with things I'd never even admitted to myself, let alone another person. But the deep well of power that had become my mantle pulsed with the conviction that I was doing the right thing as I spoke. As I unburdened myself of my history and regrets the tumultuous storm of energies that always seemed at the edge of my mind calmed, the very act of unburdening myself of my secrets seeming to rob me of their power over me.

The tight wrappings around the mouths of the Pharaohs pulled away from their lips as I continued, their desiccated jaws unhinging as I talked. Motes of icy blue detached from my pale fingers as they did so, brilliant blue moving from my fingers into them. The icy touch of death was upon those motes, the cloying touch of necromancy in them.

Unlike my previous experiences with necromancy, however, the collective of Pharaohs seemed to be leeching the seductive sensation of oblivion away from me. It was the direct opposite of what being in a Sarcophagus had felt like, the glorious sensation of life rushed into me as the excess necromantic buildup siphoned away from me.

I hadn't realized just how much of the taint of black magic had been building up within me, corrupting my body and spirit, until it started leeching away from me. It was as though the scales were being cast away from my eyes and I was suddenly able to see the world again. It was as though I could finally remember being happy, even though I hadn't even realized I was in the depths of depression. Tears welled in my eyes as I spoke of my life, my companions, and even what little remained of my family. Stars and Stones, I talked for hours until my voice was horse and I was barely able to keep talking.

A deep well of sadness that seemed to have been walled off from me – either through necromancy or willing avoidance of my loss – hit me all at once as I tried to choke out the life I'd lost in Chicago. My little apartment, my basement, and my office – I wasn't speaking of things that were going to be part of my life again. I was mourning the death of who I had once been.

"I'm never going to be able to go back." I spoke the words, twisting my neck to return my helmet into the neck of my armor as my tears pooled in my visor and blotted out my HUD. They were as true as anything I'd ever said. "I'm not Harry anymore, I don't get to be who I used to be."

"No." Spoke a voice chattering with the hollow rasp of rigor-mortis. I lifted my tear-stained face to look up at the nearest pharaoh. He glowed blue with the shimmering light of the necromancy taken from me, his dessicated flesh now revered to a ghastly pallor more resembling that of a recently deceased corpse than what he had once resembled. The entire court seemed to have restored itself to functionality, those of them with mummies or dust turned into zombie-like creatures of similar wholeness and those without form glowing with the solidness of ectoplasm. "But all things must end, Advocate. Change is inviolate."

I looked around at the suddenly invigorated court of the dead, watching as the vast legions of servants, pets, family, and slaves moved with actual agency and purpose rather than the shadowed memory of purpose and function I'd seen only moments ago. "You're more spry than you seemed to be a moment ago there, King Tut."

"King Khayu." The Pharoah corrected me. "I speak for the Judges, Advocate, just as you will one day speak for the dead."

"I can barely speak for myself." I joked, pulling my gauntlets back on my fingers as I tried to get a count of the invigorated dead. "Yeesh. How many of you ended up feeding off that story?"

"The dead feed off of memories. We rely upon the truth of others to keep us going so that we might help them to where their truth is immortal. Your truth carried particular weight, Advocate. The secret truth of a God's sins is a greater meal than the court has supped on since the last Advocate and Executioner departed us." The Pharaoh stroked his jeweled imitation beard. "You've restored them all Warden. The court is once more. Once you are ready to stand judgement, you and the executioner can continue your duties."

"I don't think there are people to judge anymore." I replied in confusion. "Earth hasn't worshipped the Egyptian gods in centuries."

"And yet I see a trail of millions why cry out to you to help them find their path to the next world." The Pharaoh replied, his eyes glowing yellow with the light of the Goa'uld spirit within him. "Hades has taken them thus far, Advocate – keeping them in holding until such time as they can be properly claimed. But it is a poor god who abandons the souls of his followers to the mercies of other pantheons."

"I never promised them an afterlife." I growled. "I never told them to worship me."

The Pharaoh tilted his head in confusion, his eyes glowing gold then green before reverting to a shimmering gold. "No… you didn't… but you won't abandon them. Not now. Not now that you know that you hold dominion over them."

He waved his hand and a seemingly endless line of glowing white figures shimmered into being. A queue of men, women, and children all looking terrified for what came next. Oh, hell's bells. I recognized some of them. The head of the queue were Jaffa who'd died fighting alongside me on Delmak. I didn't even know their names and they'd died praying for me to save their souls.

"I – I don't have a boatman. I don't have an afterlife to send them to. I don't even know if I have the right to try." The sheer weight of responsibility was utterly beyond me. "Hell's bells – I can't stay here forever just to judge the living and the dead. I have responsibilities to the living. I have to save the Archive."

The Pharaoh snapped his fingers and the line disappeared. "They are safe in Hades for now, Advocate. But his patience will not last forever. You will have to address your duties eventually. Until then, the court can wait."

"I – I don't know what I should do." I waved at the court of dead men. "This, I didn't ask for any of it. I'm just trying to keep my head above water."

"Advocate, nobody asks for responsibility." The Pharaohs and their attendants tittered, ghastly amusement echoing in the wide hall. "Responsibility finds those who cannot help but exercise it. As to your doubts in general – I can only tell you that you have found the kindness and peace in life that most of our kind do not find until long after they've been forced to officiate ending."

"I'm not really your kind though, am I?" I replied, suddenly uncomfortable that I'd been so forthright with the mummies. My mantle had prompted it, but it had also felt that murdering people to weather set to Queen had been a reasoned response. Perhaps its judgement was a bit… faulty at times.

As though he could read my mind, the Pharaoh replied jovially. His rasping whisper held a song of laughter to it. He seemed genuine in his intent as he said, "Worry not for your secrets – death protects the truth of Sins from the living. Only the Judges and the Advocate truly know the magnitude of a man."

"Not the executioner?" It was obvious he was referring to Ammit.

"The Executioner only remembers their sins. She must forget their glories, else her role would become too great for even a goddess." The Pharoah replied. "Her recollection of their truth leaves her once she departs this hall. And, unless I miss my guess, she will be eager to depart."

"What makes you say that?" I inquired, scratching the back of my head.

"The expression of absolute murder on her face." The Pharaoh pointed past my shoulder, indicating the group of figures ascending where the line of souls had been only moments ago. "She generally wears that when she's eager to leave. Oh – and the power that binds her to this place will have told her that you've claimed the Throne without asking her permission. She's going to love that."

"Oh crap." I closed my eyes, steeling myself for the inevitable shout of fury as it came.

"Lord Warden Dre'su'den the Ha'ri. You utter and complete moron!" Ammit's apoplectic screech of fury parted the court of the dead like Moses in the Red Sea. Her lips were frothing with collected spittle as she struggled to form words that weren't just a collection of incoherent growling yips. "Only you could go to a sacred site that is entirely agreed upon neutral territory safe for all Goa'uld to walk and find the single source of near lethal danger to yourself then bind yourself to it!"

Enlil's open-mouthed horror was nearly as striking. He was entirely silent as he looked out at the city-scape of the necropolis, just staring. My brother looked out with him, whistling long and low as he examined what the Akkadian god was looking at. They stood outside the great hall, just beyond another transparent barrier of energy. I craned my neck hoping to see what they were looking at as Ammit rounded on me, blocking my view as she strode though the force-fields as though they weren't there.

"How did you get through the force-field?" I inquired in confusion, rapping it with my knuckle just to assure myself it was still there. The shimmering corona of energy assured me that it was.

Ammit let out a long-suffering rumble of desperation as though cursing the universe for inflicting me upon her. "Warden, Goa'uld shields are one-way barriers. This shield was in place to prevent the judged from fleeing not to…. Warden, for the love of Apep do not tell me that you have been trapped behind this shield since Loki brought you here."

"Uh…" I blushed. "Maybe."

Ammit's eye twitched as she grabbed me by the wrist and fiddled with my wrist computer, turning off the barrier of transparent energy. "Three buttons, Warden. You spent hours trapped like an utter fool because you didn't know to press three buttons. How is it possible for you to shatter the very forces of reality in a single instant but lack even the basic understanding of technology? That at least should have been part of the genetic… " Ammit stopped mid-rant, as though realizing the obvious. "You don't have genetic memories from your Queen mother, do you? You've had to learn everything from scratch. That's why you're unbound by the terms. You never had them imposed on your memories. That's why you've spend every waking hour in Heka's library. You don't have the knowledge of your mother to guide you."

"Something like that." I replied, rubbing my arm as she let go of it. "I had an unconventional childhood for a Goa'uld. I'm positive of that much."

"Warden… how old are you?" Ammit asked, her expression softening. The attempt at seeming non-threatening was greatly undercut by the frothing foam on her lips. "Have you even been alive for a century yet?"

I didn't reply, but my hesitation spoke volumes. Ammit's eyes bulged. "Whore of Thoth's Folly – you're an infant. You can't be more than a few decades whelped from the belly of a Jaffa! How did you even have the wherewithal to depose Heka?"

"I'm a fast learner." I replied. "And he was an ass."

"You have to be the single most potent Goa'uld child of all time." Ammit whispered in befuddlement, looking from me to Anubis' throne and back. She gasped audibly, looking at me as though for the first time. "Oh, child – what has been done to you?"

"I don't know." I replied, honestly. "I just… sat in it and it did something to me."

"No child. It was already done to you if the Throne allowed you on it." Ammit's growl became a purr of confusion. "We will speak of this later, child. You have beholden yourself to a role I believed long dead. I will not allow you to mishandle what remains of my brother's legacy. He was a good man before he became a monster – most are."

"Ok, I don't want to be that guy, but I really want to leave the city of terrifying corpse people." The Russian Colonel shouted over at us from the door to the throne room. He, and the other living members of our cadre, were standing outside the doorway to the throne room. There was apparently a barrier of blue energy blocking them from entry.

"Can I let them in?" I looked at my wrist computer, considering its vast array of symbols.

Ammit shook her head. "This is a place for the dead. Only those touched by death may enter else they join them."

"Are… we dead?" I asked, considering the previous state of disembowelment I'd been in.

"Partially." Ammit agreed. "That barrier isn't a forcefield… it's the space between. We are gods of death. We walk the space between."

"That's going to take a longer explanation than we have time for right now, isn't it?" I sighed, trying to do the math in my head for how long it had been since Koschei took the archive. "Liver Spots has probably already legged it to Buyan, hasn't he?"

"Likely," Ammit agreed, "but I have been alive for longer than most species and I have only begun to understand the role you have assumed."

"I don't suppose dragging Koschei on the express train to hell would constitute on the Job training, could it?" I joked.

"Warden – here I was thinking you were a fool." Ammit snarled gleefully. "I can't think of a better way to break in your role as Advocate. Even if you are just a child."

"Are you going to keep calling me a kid forever Ammit?" I rolled my eyes as she ruffled my hair, yet again.

"You are tens of millennia my junior. I have teeth older than you are." Ammit scoffed. "I don't care if you've figured out dangerous toys and tricks, child, you are going to learn from your elders or I will eat you."

"You'll try." I replied, flaring the runes on my staff as we walked to the entryway of the great hall. The court of the dead left the throne room as we did. The Pharaohs leading their people down into the lower levels of the pyramid now that there was no longer anyone to hold court.

"Oh yes, showing off how deadly you are. That will convince me of your maturity." Ammit snorted as we breached the barrier of blue light and I was finally able to see what Thomas and Enlil were staring at.

"Oh Hell's Bells!" I swore, catching sight of the suddenly teeming city. I had done far more than just bring the residents of the throne room back to vitality. The entire necropolis was suddenly bustling with the dead. Ghosts, shades, mummies, and zombie-like constructs of flesh and bone were wandering the city. The star well that had previously been empty was now lined with constructs of flesh and bone, amalgam-creatures of parts taken from humans and animals brought back and given life. They stood at the ready, holding bronze spears and shields. It was the sort of thing the Kemmlerites had dreamed of when they'd tried to enact the darkhallow – a kingdom of the undead.

"Anubis… only Anubis can resurrect this place." Enlil whispered, looking at me. "His power was bound to it. It can't be done by anyone else."

Ammit guffawed. "The Lord Warden isn't great at 'can't' Enlil. I thought you knew that by now."

Muminah fell to the ground before me, groveling utterly as she whispered out a prayer. "Blessed is the Warden, protector of souls and god of Death."

"Oh get up." I pulled Muminah to her feet and waved to the scene in front of us. "This is just…" I tried to find an explanation of what I had done that wasn't exactly what she thought it was and came up blank. "…ok I'll admit, even I can't try to think of a way to contexualize this in a way that isn't a bit much but I am not here for you to grovel. We've got work to do."

"Of course, my Lord Warden." Muminah replied, keeping her head bowed.

Not privy to the conversation the four of us were having in Goa'uld language, the Russians caught only Ammit's tone of amusement and Enlils voice of befuddlement as they too assessed the millions of undead constructs within the necropolis.

"Do… do I shoot them?" Sergei looked to the Colonel and addressed him in Russian, clearly out of his element. I wasn't sure if "them" referred to the undead, the Goa'uld, or both. I wasn't even sure if he knew.

"Sure, if you want to piss them off and get us all killed." Kincaid interjected before the Colonel had the opportunity to reply. "Undead get stronger the older the corpse is. I'm pretty sure these things have been here since before human being even had a history to record. Hell, the solution to necromantic constructs is pretty much "kill the necromancer" and I don't even know if starry eyes even can die. So no do not shoot a God in his place of power while you're here as his guest you moronic human hunk of Doctor's Sausage."

"You do not discipline my men. Only I discipline my men." The Colonel interjected before rounding on Sergei and grabbing him by the front of his shirt and waving out at the collection of undead with the blade of his other hand hand. "That being said, exactly what part of today has led you to believe that bullets are going to solve this problem?"

"It isn't really a problem." I replied in Russian, closing my eyes and focusing my mind out at the collected necromantic constructs. I could feel them at the edge of my mind, just as I'd felt Sue the night of the Darkhallow. They were more complex than she was, so the subterranean city's undead residents felt more like a chorus of voices at the back of my mind rather than the primal instincts she'd broadcast, but they were most definitely mine. "They're friendly."

"Oh good. The armies of the damned are friends." Vallarin sighed. "You know what? As long as something isn't trying to kill us, I'm happy."

"You get used to it eventually." I assured the Russians before flipping to English so that I could be understood by all. "Ammit. Where do we go now?"

"The rings are over there." Ammit pointed at an open platform. "We can use those to board the ship. Asumming, of course, that you've learned how to use them without someone reminding you that you can."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you Ammit?" I sighed, walking over to the circle. I stopped as I reached it. "Wait, what? That's way too big!"

"Warden, you didn't think we just had one size of ring transporter, did you?" Ammit laughed. "We mass produced the standard sized ones, but the ships from before the folly had multiple technologies that have fallen out of common use. The Cyclops and Hekatonkhieres haven't needed ships in centuries, not since they started living in the lands beyond Sun and Snow. And the hosts that needed them… they are a relic of the Folly best forgotten."

"Well… everybody onboard." I stood at the center of the circle and waited for the collected group of my allies to pool together in the circle before manipulating my wrist computer and summoning the massive rings around us. The brilliant light of the rings enveloped us, projecting us up and out of the city of the dead.

When the brilliant light receded from view it brought back to my attention a striking moment from the roll call for the White Council. Some of the more interesting reasons that Wizards hadn't been in attendance included "He got Real married," "Living under the Polar Icecaps," and a couple of other absurd and uniquely wizardly reasons for not attending a meeting of the Council. It was, however, the previously absurd concept of "Pyramid Sitting" that stood out in my mind as the light dissolved around us and the Pyramid sitter in question was before us.

Anastasia Luccio, Commander of the Wardens of the White Council, had apparently personally taken on the task of Guarding the ship left behind by Ammit. And I, the clearly inhuman "Lord Warden" of the Goa'uld, had just showed up to the pyramid she was guarding with a cadre of armed men and monsters.

And – of freaking course – she wasn't alone.