Content warnings: uncensored cussing; canon events (including temporary major character death); threats of violence and murder; mentions of various hells and underworlds; Sarah being bloodthirsty again but who can blame her
Media: Moon Knight S1E4 "The Tomb"; Moon Knight S1E6 "Gods and Monsters"; references to Primeval S3E3
Word count: 6,766
His head turned to the tomb's entrance. "Layla, look! We won!" Steven declared, triumphantly holding the ushabti up for the woman in question to see. He whooped with joy. "And the ushabti goes to? Us!"
Sarah looked over to her new friend, both relieved to know she was alive and ecstatic that they had accomplished their mission, beating Harrow and preventing Ammit's resurgence. But Layla's face was dark, her eyes wet and red as if from crying. She didn't look the least bit happy about their victory. Dread curled in Sarah's gut. What the hell had happened to her to make her so upset?
"I had to go digging down old Alexander the Great's gullet, but I found it." Steven continued, not realizing that something was Not Right Here. But the moment Sarah thought that, he apparently did. "You alright, love?"
"Can he hear me?" Layla questioned.
"Alexander?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder briefly. "I don't think so. God, I hope not." He laughed nervously. Frowning deeply now, Sarah moved slowly away from it, preparing to defend Steven from Layla if she decided to attack- and unfortunately, as much as she hated to admit it, the murderous look on her face did give that impression.
"What happened to my father?" Layla demanded, seething.
"We're discussing this now?" Sarah blurted before she could stop herself. "Not that I know anything about it, or that it isn't something you should have closure about, but… here? Now?"
Layla advanced on Steven. "I'm talking to you." He spluttered in confusion. "I'm talking to you, Marc!" She shoved him in the chest.
Steven's eyes rolled back, and the next words out of his mouth came with an American accent. "Come on, let's go, let's go, let's go, let's go." He urged, making for the entrance. "Sarah, come on."
"No." Layla caught him by the arm firmly.
"We have to go-"
"Marc, no."
"-right now."
"No. What happened to my father?"
"Stop. Listen to me. We need to leave right now. I will explain everything, I swear, but we have to go." Marc insisted.
"Did you kill Abdallah El Faouly?" Layla demanded, stunning Sarah.
"Of course not! Of course I didn't!" Marc's immediate, vehement answer made Sarah doubt that he could be lying, but remembering how completely she had been deceived in the past, she didn't dare believe him just like that.
Layla was silent for a moment, her emotions playing clearly across her face. "But you were there."
It wasn't a question.
"You were there." She reiterated as Marc floundered for an answer.
"I-"
"Yeah, you were there." She accused, her voice deadly low.
"I was there. Yeah, I was there." He confessed, his own voice quiet and soft. With a pang, Sarah recognized his tone as one she'd heard before- that same tone she'd heard in Professor Nick Cutter's voice on the rare occasion he talked about Stephen Hart's death; that same tone she'd heard in Connor Temple's voice after Nick's death. It was one of guilt and grief and shame, and in that moment Sarah understood completely.
Marc Spector had not killed or meant any harm toward Abdallah El Faouly, but he held himself responsible for it, and it haunted him.
"How- How did he die?" Layla pressed, tears threatening to overflow.
"My partner got greedy and he… and he executed everyone at the dig site." Marc admitted. That made perfect sense- probably, he'd tried to intervene, protect the civilians, but was unsuccessful, and for that failure he now blamed himself.
Layla turned away, her hand going to her face as Marc continued, confirming Sarah's theory: "I tried to save him. I tried to save your father, but I couldn't save him. And I-"
"No," Layla agreed, turning to face him again with warring grief and anger on her pretty face. "but you brought a killer right to him!" She shoved him in the chest. "Right?"
"Yeah." Marc admitted, voice thick with tears.
"Yeah."
"He shot me too." Marc revealed, further horrifying Sarah. "I was supposed to die that night. But I didn't die that night, and- and I should have." Layla turned away again, but Marc kept speaking. "I've tried to tell you since the moment we met." Layla laughed mockingly, disdainfully. "But I just didn't know-"
"Oh my God." Layla uttered, exactly how she felt about that (hint: pissed off) obvious in her voice.
"I'm sorry." He whispered.
"That's… the reason that we met. You just had a guilty conscience." Layla snarled.
Noises from the passage leading to the tomb's entrance put an end to that conversation, drawing their collective attention. "They're here." Marc realized.
Layla and Marc started moving immediately, the former shedding Steven's backpack. "There must be another way out." Layla insisted.
"Go find it. I'll hold them off." Marc decided, grabbing a ceremonial axe out of the sarcophagus to defend himself with. "Sarah, go with her."
"The hell I will!" Sarah snapped. "Look, your marriage dispute is none of my business, but I consider all three of you my friends- you, Layla, and Steven- and those psychopaths want me dead too. Besides-" she drew her pistol from where she'd concealed it, pointing it toward the entrance, "-I've got a gun, and I was trained by the best."
Becker would lose his shit if he knew how much danger she was in ('He thinks I'm dead. Oh God, he thinks I'm dead, and if this all goes to shit I really will be.'), but he'd also be bloody proud of her for defending her friends and the world from this threat, wielding a gun and his training against them.
"The hell?" The reveal clearly took him by surprise. "Look, still go with Layla- they won't see you and if it comes to it, you'll be able to take more of them out with the element of surprise. Go!"
Layla took the decision out of her hands, grabbing Sarah's free arm and dragging her away as Marc took his place at the foot of Alexander the Great's sarcophagus. "Come on!" He shouted, daring the cultists to attack him.
They spilled into the room, wielding guns with torches attached. Arthur Harrow in his bloody stupid grape onesie (she'd prefer him to wear a grey one) came swanning in, that bloody cane of death and destruction still in his hand. Marc lowered his axe, concerning Sarah. "Just you?" He queried, sounding surprised. "The rest is silence. I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone." Sarah rolled her eyes. "The quiet was liberating. You're a free man. And of course, with that freedom… comes choice. And right now, you have a very important decision to make."
Marc nodded slowly. "Okay."
Sarah held her breath. She knew that Marc would never hand over the ushabti when she and Layla weren't in the line of fire, but what consequences would defying Harrow bring? Would he summon another jackal- or multiple? It took Khonshu's incredible gifts to kill the first two, and with him trapped in his own ushabti, Sarah didn't think that they could stop another assault of that nature. Even if he simply had his men fire on Marc, without Khonshu's armor Marc was very mortal and would not heal. She adjusted her sweaty-palmed grip on her gun, watching tensely as one of Harrow's cultists approached Marc, rifle still raised.
But the moment he was in range, Marc let out a war cry of a yell, attacking with his axe and taking out at least three cultists in rapid succession.
And then before she knew it, Harrow had produced a revolver and fired a single shot.
Layla smothered her own reaction with a hand clamped across her mouth, but Sarah could neither gasp nor cry out, finding herself breathless and paralyzed. Entirely forgetting her gun and entirely unable to use it, she could only watch in horror as Marc stumbled back, crimson blooming on his pale garments. Harrow advanced, raising the gun again, and firing a second time. Now Marc fell backward, landing in the water behind the sarcophagus with a loud splash. "I can't save anyone who won't save themselves." Harrow announced solemnly, utterly uncaring that he just murdered at least two men.
He lowered his gun, and Layla seized Sarah, clamping one hand over her mouth as she dragged her fully behind the pillar. A sloshing sound "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, whoever else might be in there." Harrow said. "Sometimes we need the cold light of death before we can see reality."
Abruptly, a cultist passed the pillar that the two women hid behind, and Layla lunged, taking the person down and knocking them out in mere moments. She settled him against the pillar and beckoned to Sarah, and the two women concealed themselves as they once more watched Harrow. He held up Ammit's ushabti, prompting his cultists to kneel in reverence. "Who wants to heal the world?" He asked.
Sarah watched in horror as he held up his cane, which glowed that strange purple again as the head of it changed. One crocodilian head morphed and folded backward over the other, reforming the entire head of the cane into a single, much larger crocodile head. With that, he led his followers out of the tomb, leaving Sarah and Layla with the body.
The moment Layla was sure they were gone, she moved forward quickly, going to Marc's side. "Marc. Marc." She urged, touching his face.
But he didn't stir, and as Sarah reached them, she took in the full sight of her friends' corpse. His eyes were closed, no sign of Steven's wonder or Marc's anger on their face. Two matching crimson spots marked the fatal wounds on his shirt, which was soaked along with the rest of his clothes. On his chest was the golden scarab compass, which Sarah could only presume Harrow had placed there.
Layla cried silently, a hand to her mouth as she wept. Sarah barely even noticed, too absorbed in her own misery to notice anything else (to be fair, Ammit herself could've appeared and started wreaking havoc at that very moment and Sarah would not have noticed).
She was no stranger to loss and death. Her grandparents and great-aunts and uncles had passed in her youth. Marion Taylor's death had marked the turning point in her life- well, one of them. Professor Nick Cutter's had jarred her more than she had thought possible- her boss, her mentor, her friend; the man that had recruited her, that had believed in her, that had worked with her to create their wondrous brainchild that was the anomaly matrix. She had never hated anyone before that, not even her school bully Jane or her university bully Debbie, not even Marion. But standing at Nick's funeral, she had reflected on how much more fitting it was that he was buried beside his best friend Stephen Hart instead of the empty grave bearing Helen's name, and she had found herself hating Helen with a strong passion. Her desire to accompany Connor, Abby, and Danny in pursuit of her hadn't been solely to be with her friends, but to protect them from that traitorous bitch Helen, but to stop Helen herself if necessary, in Nick's name and to amend for her shameful oblivion to Helen walking among them in disguise (it didn't matter that her perusal of Helen's diary had been what tipped off Connor to Helen being Helen). And she had gone on all four search missions not only to locate her friends, but to find and destroy Helen.
Of course, that had landed her in this universe, where she was promptly saved by Marc Spector, and soon after befriended Steven Grant. And now in a few short moments, both had been brutally ripped from her, and she couldn't help but blame herself for that too. If she had disobeyed Marc and remained with him, maybe she could've stopped Harrow and his cultists. Maybe she could've taken a bullet for them. Maybe she could've prevented this.
And like at Nick's funeral, the numbing grief for the loss of a loved one (doubled now) melted into hatred for his killer.
Layla gasped and sobbed, kneeling over their body to rest her head on their chest, her tears joining the sweat and blood and tomb water already drenching it. Her entire being hot with rage, Sarah could now properly see and hear her, and her throat tightened. Layla's tears were bringing Sarah's out, and the tidal wave was quickly becoming a monsoon.
Her knees gave out in the storm, and she dropped to them beside her friends. Words failed her, and weakly she reached out to place a hand on their chest as Layla lifted her head from it. She watched as Layla leaned up, pressing a kiss to their forehead.
Sarah's fingers found their way to the scarab, curling around it so tightly her knuckles whitened. "That bastard left this here like a fucking apology, like flowers." Sarah hissed, chest suddenly heaving with a fresh onslaught of fury. "I'm gonna shove it so far up his arse he chokes on it."
"Good idea." Layla agreed, hoarse with tears and anger. "And then I'm gonna fucking kill him."
Sarah lifted her head, and her dark eyes met Layla's, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. Sarah's friendship with Steven and Marc both was not the same as Layla and Marc's strange marriage or her possibly mutual crush with Steven, but those four relationships were all special despite each being unique from the others, and the loss that the women felt was deep and real. Once, their respective feelings for Marc and Steven had caused discord simply because of the unknowns and misunderstandings about them, but now, those feelings united them in their grief and their desire for vengeance.
Sarah uncurled her hand, and the scarab lifted out of her palm, hovering with its wings out. Layla retracted her own hands from Marc and Steven's body, and it slipped back into the water Harrow's goons had dragged it partly out of.
Sarah watched them go, and prayed that Taweret would guide them to the Field of Reeds, or that they would find their ways- together or separate- to peaceful afterlives, no matter what belief system that fell under.
Perhaps they would find Abdallah El Faouly, and tell him of his daughter's adventures. Perhaps they would find Nick Cutter, and keep him company.
Layla stripped nearly all the clothes from the cultist she had downed, and using his garments and their own the two women disguised themselves, covering their faces and veiling their hair to avoid being recognized too soon. Then they hurriedly pursued the cultists as they left the tomb, subtly mingling with the group and successfully climbing into the back of one of the four vehicles.
Sarah found it was quite difficult to act natural when she was boiling with murderous rage and also on the verge of a breakdown. She wanted to sob. She wanted to scream. She wanted to strangle. But she couldn't do any of those things- not yet. As soon as they got ahold of Harrow, she and Layla could avenge Marc and Steven. If they had to fight their way through the rest of the cultists too, so be it. She had her gun and was pretty sure that Layla was armed also, and they both could physically fight if need be.
She suddenly found herself longing for the good old days- Jenny or Abby coming to the office with two helpings of takeaway for her and Nick who had forgotten that they had stomachs as they worked. A fresh wave of grief- this time, an old hurt- surged through her, and Sarah abruptly turned her head away, shutting her eyes to hide the tears as they formed.
The vehicles roared across the burning desert, jostling across the uneven terrain. After about forty-five minutes of stewing in silence, the caravan left the sand, moving onto a road and almost immediately coming to stop at a police checkpoint. Sarah tensed, discretely dropping her hand to her side so she could grab her pistol at a moment's notice. "What are you doing on this road?" She could faintly hear a man querying in Arabic.
Surprising the women, cultists began jumping out of the vehicles, which startled the Egyptian officers into raising their guns warily. A cacophony of shouted Arabic accompanied it- the officers and Harrow, Sarah realized. Just hearing his voice had her clenching her jaw concerningly tight. She cast a glance at Layla, whose dark eyes were hard. "It's alright, it's alright." Harrow continued in English, and Layla's eyes twitched narrower. Sarah's free hand curled into a white-knuckled fist. "It's alright. It's alright. It's alright."
"Show me your papers." One officer ordered, this time in English.
"I don't need to show you my papers." Harrow replied calmly. The officer shouted in Arabic, too quickly and too muffled for Sarah to translate. "You need to show us your soul."
A simultaneous flash of annoyance and concern went through Sarah, but before she could act Harrow had raised his cane and stabbed the ground with it. A ring of purple light briefly shot out, and a moment later an aura of the same color formed from the chests of each soldier, pulling skyward. The soldiers screamed and cried out, and as the auras faded they collapsed.
All except one- the man standing directly in front of Harrow.
Harrow removed his glasses and rested his hand almost kindly on the officer's shoulder. "This is the face of a good man." He announced. He plucked the radio off the soldier's vest and switched it off before tossing it aside. "You don't need this anymore."
"Move the bodies out of the way." The fake cop woman- Kennedy- ordered. Sarah glowered at her. More cultists got out of their vehicles as she added, "Let's go! Clear a path!"
Layla climbed out of the back of the truck, offering Sarah a helping hand. Sarah took it, getting out as quickly as was safe, and the pair advanced slowly toward Harrow. He was easy to pick out of the moving group thanks to his dumb outfit. Layla pulled the mask down from over her mouth and nose and lifted the side of her shirt, unsheathing a knife she had concealed on her hip, and Sarah produced her pistol, using the loose and long cuff of her own shirtsleeve to hide as much of the weapon as she could.
But as they stalked forward, one of the dead police officers- notably male- picked his head up off the ground and said in a feminine voice: "Don't do it. Layla, Sarah, wait. I am the goddess Taweret."
Sarah stopped in her tracks. Taweret? "Layla, hold up." She whispered, but the other woman didn't listen, causing Sarah to frustratedly scurry after her.
The pair moved around the other side of one of the vehicles, closing in on the unsuspecting Harrow. "Layla." Another soldier- this one with a mustache- suddenly seemed to revive, speaking with the same voice as the other. "It's Marc who's telling you to stop." He (she?) revealed, holding up his (her?) hands pleadingly.
"What the hell is this?" Layla demanded, equally angered and confused. "He's dead."
"Taweret was known for being the goddess of childbirth and fertility, but she was also known to be responsible for guiding the souls of the dead into the afterlife." Sarah whispered hurriedly. "She might be telling the truth."
"Thank you!" Taweret (?) chimed in. "Yes, he's dead. And I'm talking to you through dead people right now. So what? Listen, Harrow is too powerful for you two to stop him alone. If Marc- if he can return to life-"
That piqued both their interests immediately, and Sarah almost entirely forgot about Harrow. "What do you mean, 'return to life'?" Layla demanded.
"And can Steven come back with him?" Sarah interjected.
Taweret groaned, the body she possessed sagging dramatically on the ground. "He is going to need Khonshu." Taweret explained emphatically. "Break his ushabti- it's in the Chamber of the Gods."
"I know where that is!" Sarah realized, hope blossoming in her chest, beginning to fill that hollow place.
"And one of you can be my Avatar." Taweret suggested.
"We'll get back to you on that." Sarah hissed, mentally slamming the breaks at the thought of that.
"Marc says wonderful things about you Layla, and Steven is sure you can handle this, Sarah."
"No no no." Layla refuted, scrambling to hide her knife. "We'll fight him on our own." She smacked Sarah's gun hand, gesturing for her to conceal it again.
"It's time to go!" Kennedy called out.
The cultists obeyed her decree, and Layla hurriedly covered her face once more. Sarah shoved the gun back into its hiding place and tugged Layla's sleeve, half-running back to the vehicle they'd originally ridden in. They climbed inside as casually as they could, and moments later they were on the move again.
By some incredible stroke of luck, Harrow's destination was none other than the Great Pyramid of Giza. Sarah's heart soared when she saw it, but it wasn't out of an Egyptologist's love and fascination for the monument; rather, a hope that she could fulfill the task Taweret had set for them and bring her friends back to life so that they could all take down Harrow together and prevent Ammit's rise.
As the cultists got out of their vehicles and followed Harrow toward the foot of the pyramid, Sarah caught Layla's wrist and held her behind. Leaning in close, she whispered harshly, "I don't want to be an Avatar any more than you do, but if lending my body to Taweret for a bit and making nice with Khonshu means Ammit stays in her ushabti and Harrow goes down, I'll do it. I'll do anything. With or without you, I'm freeing Khonshu, and if Taweret asks me to be her Avatar, I'm gonna accept." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "I may not have been in love with either of them, but I owe Marc my life at least three times over and for a long time Steven was my only friend, the only good thing I had in my life. I have no issue with avenging them, but if there's even the tiniest chance that they can come back… I'm taking it."
Layla met her eyes. "They're lucky to have you." She said, and Sarah could tell that there was no bitterness or jealousy behind it. "I'm with you- all the way. I made up my mind on the ride. But don't say 'yes' to Taweret; I'm Marc's wife. It's my job."
Sarah softened, just a little, and she found herself wishing that she could've met Layla under better circumstances. "Let's go. It'll be suspicious if we hang too far behind."
Layla nodded, and they moved quickly to catch up to the cultists. The group ascended the stair-like exterior of the Pyramid, pausing when Harrow did. At a place that seemed random to Sarah, he halted and stabbed the stone with his staff. A fissure opened before him, forming an entrance to the Pyramid. Harrow led the way, a tunnel continuing to carve ahead of them. The darkness was blinding at first, but Sarah's eyes quickly adjusted.
The tunnel ended as it reached a massive chamber dimly lit by purple and gold. "Come," Harrow said, "you won't believe what the gods have hidden from mankind."
Layla stopped, Sarah mimicking her, and they let the rest of the cultists march in past them. Sarah spared a moment to run her eager gaze over the interior of the chamber- ornate and beautiful in indescribable ways. "You're judges, not warriors." Harrow called out to the five people- Avatars- coming to stand against Harrow. One man with a suit and a receding hairline had a strange white glow in his palms, apparently some kind of power bestowed on him by the god he served. "This doesn't need to happen."
The Avatar crossed his arms before himself in an X shape, then flung them apart. The others on either side of him tensed jerkily, their eyes glowing white. Harrow reacted immediately by aiming the head of his staff at the Avatar, bright purple surging out of it. Layla grabbed Sarah's hand and ran, heading off in search of the ushabtis.
Sarah cast one last glance behind her just before they entered a hallway, hoping desperately that whatever the Avatars were doing would be enough to delay Harrow.
Candlelight at the end of one of the corridors was a beacon of hope for the women, and as they got closer they could see the outlines of numerous ushabtis. "Khonshu will be represented by a bird of some kind, probably with a full or crescent moon as well." Sarah apprised Layla, pulling the mask off her face.
Mimicking her, Layla reached the wall and crouched, checking the shapes of the ushabtis for one denoting Khonshu. Sarah went to the opposite side of the wall.
"I think it's this one." Layla announced after just a few seconds, and Sarah rushed to her side.
She peered at the figurine. "That's him, that's him!"
Layla took it carefully out of its nook, hand almost shaking. "How do I break it?"
"I imagine you just smash it." Sarah suggested. "Throw it, stomp on it, hit it with a rock- something'll work eventually."
Layla nodded, but before she could act, a strange feeling settled in Sarah's gut- a dread like she had never known, and that feeling of fearful awe she always got around the anomalies. "Whoa. Did you feel that?"
"That… feeling?" Layla queried, and Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Was that-"
"I think Ammit just rose." Sarah whispered in horror. Her eyes turned down to the ushabti. "Smash that now. We're out of time."
She whirled around, but Layla's hand closed around her wrist. "Where are you going?"
"Back to the main chamber." Replied Sarah. "The Avatars may still be alive, just unconscious, or bound. Even if they're not, there may be artefacts- weapons, maybe- that we can use, or perhaps the chamber itself holds power. Get Khonshu out and apprise him of the situation."
She bolted back to the main chamber, tearing her arm from Layla's grasp and ignoring the desperate shouts of her name. The sight that greeted Sarah was far from ideal. The five Avatars lay motionless on the ground, more than likely dead. Harrow and his cultists knelt before a monstrous giant.
Ammit was horrifying and beautiful; terrible and breathtaking all at once. She was vaguely anthropomorphic, in that way that all Egyptian gods were depicted, from her bipedal stance to her humanoid hands. Despite her distinctive crocodilian head, her skin- greenish and golden- was the only other reptilian thing about her. She lacked a tail, but a massive mane of braids bound together by bands of gold almost looked like one, though it seemed to have its own movement. She wore nemes like in all her iconography, and on the front of her garment's bodice was depicted a golden snake- a cobra, from what Sarah could see. A paneled skirt of chainmail swayed with every turn and step.
Already Sarah could tell that she'd prefer the Pristichampsus.
"To whom do I owe my gratitude?" The demon goddess spoke, her deep, accented voice reverberating through the chamber, raising goosebumps on Sarah's skin under her garments. It also raised confusion in her mind; she had thought that Harrow was Ammit's Avatar in some fashion, but apparently not.
"Your humble disciple, my goddess," Harrow rasped, "to whom you owe nothing."
"Your scales lack balance." Ammit noted.
"I understand. I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that's impossible." Harrow responded. "I accept the scales regardless of the outcome."
"They lack balance because of what lies ahead of you." Ammit clarified.
"Then we must spare the world the pain I will cause. I willingly submit." Harrow answered, voice wobbling slightly with tears. Sarah felt no sympathy for the man, rather feeling an admittedly sickening sense of anticipation at the thought of Harrow dying.
"What lies ahead of you is your service to me." Clarified Ammit, and Sarah's heart sank into the pit in her stomach.
"How may I serve you in death?"
"Your death is delayed." Ammit told him, and Sarah felt sick. "I once relied on a servant whose scales balanced perfectly. In exchange, I was bound to stone for 2,000 years."
"You're breaking my heart." Muttered Sarah sardonically, glaring up at the dark deity.
"But I have disciples all over the world whose scales balance perfectly, awaiting your command. They're worthy, my goddess." Harrow refuted. Sarah's mood soured even further. She'd prefer a self-righteous, narcissistic, arrogant enemy than one like Helen or Harrow, who held no self-worth beyond their belief that their cause justified their twisted crusade.
"But you are the one who set me free. You are the Avatar that I need." Ammit insisted. "Serve me, and you will find peace. Do not let the pain of the past control you."
She rested her giant hand on his head, stroking his hair like a parent might a child. "As you wish." He whispered, accepting his new role. Barely a moment later, his eyes glowed that shade of purple she'd never see the same way again. That same feeling from earlier coursed through her once more.
Sarah swallowed hard. The tables had really turned now. Where the hell was Khonshu? Preening? Something must've held up Layla. Gritting her teeth, she turned around and quickly ran down the hall again.
And skidded to a stop just in time to avoid colliding with Layla. "Thank God, you're okay." The Egyptian woman breathed.
"Smash the ushabti now – Ammit's free and Harrow's her Avatar."
Layla nodded, and without further hesitation stomped on the ushabti, shattering it into dust. The dust on the floor of the passageway swirled and rose into a towering cloud that morphed into a great and terrible form.
Khonshu was a sight to behold.
In the hallway, he towered over both of them at at least ten, if not twelve, feet tall. His body was cloaked in robes of muted tones, and in his humanoid hand he held a great staff whose head was a shining crescent. His head was a massive skull- like that of a hummingbird or corvid, reminiscent of a plague doctor's mask- that hovered above the collar of his garments. He had no eyes.
"I do not sense Marc Spector in this world." He announced, his voice deep and chilling. His head swiveled, beak pointing down at them. If Sarah had to put emotions on a look cast by a skull, she'd say it was somewhere between accusing and inquiring. "He died fighting, no doubt."
"Fighting your war." Layla seethed, though she shook in fear.
"And it's far from over." The avian god remarked. "If Marc is truly gone, I am in need of an Avatar. Would you, Layla El-Faouly, protect the travelers of the night-"
"Are you joking?" Layla cut him off, enraged. "You turned Marc's life into a waking nightmare. Why would I ever sign up for that?"
"Because you won't win against Harrow and Ammit alone." Khonshu responded, and Sarah had to admit that it was a fair point. He turned his eyeless gaze to her. "Sarah Page, will you protect-"
"Go fuck yourself."
"…Modern women." Khonshu grumbled.
"We'll take our chances." Layla spoke supportively of Sarah.
"Marc was in crisis over you, Layla. His lack of focus got him killed. You need a plan, little bugs. What I offer-"
"I don't care what you can offer!" Layla cut him off again. "Marc didn't trust you. I don't trust you."
"And neither do I." Sarah agreed.
Layla stood straight. "We'll work together without Sarah and I enslaving ourselves."
"We must rebind Ammit." Khonshu conceded.
"How are we supposed to do that?" Queried Sarah.
"Only an Avatar can do it." Revealed Khonshu pointedly.
"We said 'no'." Layla hissed.
"Last time I checked, there were half a dozen or so out there." Sarah indicated the chamber they'd left Harrow and the others in. "Go get one of them to do it."
With an irritated sigh, Khonshu disappeared into a swirl of dust.
"I'm surprised Marc didn't go mad listening that that bastard for so long." Remarked Sarah. "Alright, what's our game plan?"
Layla gave her a tentative look. "Should we smash the other ushabtis and hope they're enough to stop Ammit?"
Sarah shook her head. "I recognized a few of them- Set, Apophis, not sure about the others. If we let them out, they might help for personal gain, but then we might have even more bad guys on our hands. Or they'd just leave and we'd still have to deal with them after. Or they might join forces with Ammit in revenge for being imprisioned. Other than Khonshu pissing off the Ennead, all those gods were bound to ushabtis for good reason. We can't risk it." She hesitated. "We could try to get Taweret's help again."
Layla nodded after a moment. "How do we do that?"
"Well, she communicated to us through dead bodies, so… find corpses? We could see if there's mummies anywhere, or… or go back to the main chamber. The five Avatars we saw when we came in are dead, I'm pretty sure. I'm guessing the fresher, the better, since old corpses would've already had their souls escorted to their afterlives, even if it's the Duat or Hell or Hades. The ones out there might be recent enough for her to talk through the officers on the road."
Layla nodded. "It's the best we've got." With that, she ran, and Sarah was on her heels.
They quickly crossed paths with one of the Avatars- the suited man who had wielded white light against Harrow. He was crawling desperately against the sandy floor, clinging to life.
Sarah and Layla rushed to his side and pulled him to his feet, moving him quickly into a nearby passage. "Are you the ones who released Khonshu?" He asked.
"Yeah." Layla panted. They set him against a wall. "Okay. Hey, hey! How do we stop Ammit?"
"This chamber is our most powerful place." He panted. "From here, we need to imprison Ammit in a mortal form."
"A body instead of a statue." Layla realized. "She'd be vulnerable."
"Can we use Harrow?" Sarah asked quickly, hoping a little meanly that the answer was affirmative.
"He is her Avatar; all the better." The man confirmed.
"Okay, how do we do it?" Layla pressed.
"We need more Avatars than we have left." He said, then collapsed to the ground despite the women's best efforts.
"What? No no, no no no." Layla spoke desperately, feeling along his neck for a pulse.
"He's dead." Sarah realized. "Taweret? Can you hear us?"
The man gasped, his body temporarily revived. "Sarah?!" He shrieked with Taweret's voice, causing Sarah to flinch in surprise. "I'm so thrilled. We're gonna have so much fun together." She said excitedly.
"There's no way they didn't hear that." Layla muttered, quickly returning to the mouth of the hallway. Rushing back, she pulled Sarah off the ground by her arm. "Harrow's coming!"
They dashed down the winding passages together, but mere moments later the structure shook, and a chunk of the ceiling fell down, nearly crushing them. Abruptly, Layla stopped mid-stride, and Sarah skidded to a halt as she looked at her friend in confusion. Layla's eyes glowed blue for a moment, and Sarah feared that Khonshu had claimed her as Avatar without her permission. "Oh! You've changed your mind!" Layla said- in Taweret's voice, a broad smile on her face. "I would be delighted to accept you as my Avatar."
"How did- nevermind." Sarah prioritized. "Look, the Avatar you were possessing a minute ago, he said that we needed more Avatars than we had. Is it possible that Layla and I could both be your Avatars?"
Taweret-Layla frowned. "Two Avatars? I don't know, that's never been attempted before."
"But Marc and Steven are two different people- at least, as far as I can tell- and they were both Khonshu's Avatar. They shared a body, but when they shifted back and forth, their suit changed. Two Avatars."
She tilted her head. "Well, we could try it. But I can't promise you anything."
Abruptly, Layla's body sagged, and in her real voice she panted out, "Okay, okay- temporary Avatars."
Layla's body jolted upright again, Taweret speaking through her once more. "Yes, of course! Oh, your father is going to be over the moon when he hears!"
Layla's body dropped again. "My father?" She questioned tearily.
Taweret seized control again, seeming strangely content despite the present danger. "Yes! I met him when I took him to the Field of Reeds."
"What?"
Taweret pushed Layla out of control again. "Are we doing this or what? I have a fabulous costume in mind."
Dust rained down on them, and Sarah frantically shoved Layla's body backward a tad, following to avoid the crumbling structure. "Okay, my conditions: you let me go when this is all over, you heal any injuries I may obtain, and you give me the capability to do what we need to to stop Ammit and Harrow. Deal?"
"Deal!" Taweret shrieked. "Layla, how about you?"
"Works for me." Layla panted.
Sarah lifted her chin and declared, "I accept the role as Avatar of Taweret." In her head, she added, 'But give the more power and protection to Layla, please.' Layla repeated her spoken words, and in the next moment everything changed.
Sarah's entire body felt electrified, felt like it was soaring high on dopamine and serotonin like all the good things in life rolled into one with a dash of adrenaline. A foreign power that felt like a less ominous version of Ammit's rising filled her, and her body tensed without her permission. Her head was thrown back, a bright white light filling her vison as her eyes glowed.
Abruptly regaining control of herself, Sarah stumbled forward, and as her body impacted a wall of stone, it broke on contact. She and Layla staggered out of the passageway, and looking down at themselves they found their bodies clad in Taweret's ceremonial, protective armor. Their bodices were a deep scarlet leather, and their breastplates, trousers vambraces, sabatons, greaves, and upper-arm cuffs were shining bronze fabric. A cream-colored panel skirt hung in the front and the back. Leather of a matching color bordered the breastplates and scarlet leather. Around their necks were Egyptian wesekh collars, scarlet and bronze with large scarlet scarabs in the middle. Though Layla's short, curly hair had come loose, Sarah found her own inky locks suddenly plaited into traditional Moroccan twist braids, bronze beads scattered among them.
"Amazing." Sarah breathed.
Layla reached back hesitantly, feeling for something on her back, and a moment later as she extended her arms, beautiful reddish-bronze metallic wings were revealed. Sarah gasped, reaching behind herself and drawing a matching pair forward.
"Hey, Taweret… love the outfit." Sarah admitted.
"Eee! Thank you!" The goddess' voice came from above, and both women snapped their heads up to look at her. Taweret stood before them, far less imposing and terrifying than Khonshu. She seemed only a few feet taller than Sarah and Layla, and her overall demeanor- aura, perhaps- was friendly and nonthreatening. She was bipedal, but very clearly a hippopotamus, although her hands were anthropomorphic. She was dressed in colorful garments, an ornately decorated sun disk between her twitching ears. Black braids spilled down around her shoulders and ended in gold metal.
"Taweret…." Sarah breathed in reverential awe. "You're incredible."
"Oh, you're very kind." Taweret replied, grinning as much as a hippo could. "Come along now, dearies. Ammit and Harrow have already caused a lot of damage. Khonshu is doing what he can to stop Ammit, but Harrow and his followers are beyond his capability, and the Moon Knight is only one body."
A moment later, she vanished from sight, leaving her two Avatars confused and concerned.
"'Moon Knight'?" Sarah quoted, exchanging a glance with Layla.
"I guess Khonshu found another Avatar." The Egyptian woman replied. Glancing down at her wings, she asked, "You think these will carry us in the air?"
Sarah gave her an impish grin. "Only one way to find out."
The grey jumpsuit/onesie Sarah muses she'd like Harrow to wear is a UK prison uniform.