Chapter Text
“We will not tolerate violence in this chamber.”
The words were spoken quietly but firmly. The crack of thunder from the glowing blue force that had manacled Marc’s hand behind his back was still ringing in his ears but he still somehow managed to hear them. He looked up at the possessed avatar, the weight of what just happened dropping through him in a cold sweat while Osiris’ authoritative gaze pinned him down. Marc looked away, quietly affirming the statement before lowering himself further in deference.
He’d fucked up. Harrow had goaded him and he took the bait, hook, line, and sinker. All he could do was try not to screw things up further and hope that they saw past the distraction.
“It brings me… no pleasure,” Harrow continued on in his concerned tone, “to tell you that this is a deeply troubled man.”
Marc licked his lips and furrowed his brow. He glanced up to see the reactions of the council. He was angry, and frustrated, and hurt. As much as he wanted Harrow’s words to mean nothing to him, every spiteful jab wrapped up in condescending pity to fall to the wayside - they still felt like knives tearing him down. They felt true .
He squeezed his eyes shut and took shallow breaths, both to stop the tears from betraying him and to stop himself from lashing out at Harrow again. With his fists behind his back and kneeling practically in half on the stone floor of the chamber, the urge to rip Harrow down physically and stop the poison spewing out of his mouth was hard to ignore.
'Don’t listen to him,' Steven said faintly from inside. 'He’s just spouting that rubbish to hurt you.'
'I know,' Marc answered curtly. He knew damn well what it was. But it was working. That was the problem. If it was working on him, then it might be working on the gods, too.
Steven seemed unconvinced. 'You can’t believe him, alright? You’re none of that- we are none of that. Just block him out mate.'
“Let us speak to Marc Spector.”
Though he didn’t realize that he was once more being incorporated into the conversation, the sudden release of his wrists sending him falling forward brought Marc’s attention back to the moment. He felt the sand on his forearms and the mild stinging in his palms from catching himself, but he was reluctant to face the crowd. He didn’t want to see their eyes and which judgements they held for him.
“Are you unwell?” asked a clipped voice.
Marc forced himself to turn to the one who had spoken—Horus, he thinks—his desire to be polite enough to stay in the other gods’ favor winning out over the desire to be as unacknowledged and non-present as possible. He started to form a word, a denial that came automatically, but then he caught sight of Harrow and the others looking down on him and he swallowed it back.
Five gods and their avatars, five sets of eyes and ears tuned to him. They held more power than he had alone, Khonshu or no. The power to change what he couldn’t. Hopefully.
Marc gave a shaky nod and licked his lips again, tasting sand and salt. “I am. I am unwell.” He looked at each of them, and in a small, strangled voice admitted “I need help.”
Whether it was Hathor or Yatzil whose face was pinched up in pity, Marc couldn’t tell. He looked away and pointed a shaky finger at Harrow.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that this, this man is…” He felt the emotions bubble up, threaten to spill over. He tried to take a breath to reset himself but he knew that if he spoke, his voice would crack like waves against a rocky shore.
“This is a safe space to tell us if you feel exploited by Khonshu-” Hathor began.
They just didn’t get it. This was Harrow’s plan and they weren’t seeing it because they were too wrapped up in Marc’s personal problems for some god forsaken reason.
“This is not about my feelings! I am not the one on trial here, he is,” Marc raspily shouted, pointing more firmly at Harrow. “This is about how dangerous he is, if you would just listen, for a second…” His words petered out; he lost his fire as quickly as he’d regained it.
Osiris tilted his head, as if he were tired of listening, barely sparing a moment of thought. “He has committed no offense.”
Marc squinted. Surely he hadn’t heard that right?
The ruler of the Ennead met the eyes of the other gods. “This matter is-”
“No no, hold up mate!”
Five heads turned back to the man on the ground.
Steven held his hands, palms up, in a little wave, and shrugged his shoulders. “Hi, yeah, sorry to interrupt, so nice to meet you all, I mean no disrespect, but... But are you seriously saying he’s off the hook?”
Some of the gods exchanged glances. Harrow raised an eyebrow and gave a smug smirk, as if to say see? I told you so.
Steven ignored it. He leaned back on his heels and gestured at Harrow. “I mean he’s- he’s literally a cult leader, and they’ve been going around judging people and taking their lives. And you’re not going to, I don’t know, look into that at all, maybe?”
Osiris rose straighter in his seat. “What’s this about?”
“Exactly what I was telling you, I’m afraid,” Harrow answered cordially. “It seems our friend here is proving my point. Isn’t that right, Steven Grant?”
Steven furrowed his brow and shook his head. “No, see, you - you said we were insane. That’s just insensitive, innit?” He gestured at himself. “We have a mental condition or whatever, sure. Right, yeah. Could probably do with a touch of therapy maybe.” He felt Marc kick out at that, but continued on. “You though, you’re the insane one. You’re right cozy with child murder and all that.”
Harrow chuckled and unclasped his hands, smiling to the court. “The man is delusional. No doubt serving Khonshu has only exacerbated the matter.”
“Hang on.” Steven wiggled his finger, indicating Harrow’s person. “Where’s your creepy death stick?”
Osiris tilted his head a fraction, but it was Tefnut who spoke up. “Explain what you mean.”
Steven glanced behind at her then back at Harrow, who had stopped smiling. “Well he usually has this walking stick with two crocodile heads he uses to- what was it again? Judge people in Ammit’s name, past, present, and future, using a fraction of her power or something along those lines?”
Harrow rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to believe-”
“Silence,” a powerful voice boomed in the chamber.
The two men’s attention was drawn to Osiris. He leaned forward in his golden chair, manicured hands resting on the edge of suit-clad knees. Despite appearing like a businessman he held himself like royalty, with all the authority that came with such a title and more. Black eyes focused on Steven. “Do you accuse Arthur Harrow of being in possession of the Staff of Ammit?”
“Well, um.” Steven rubbed his thumbs against his fingers. He felt his neck get hot from the attention. He gave a short nod. “Yeah, I ‘spose. Yeah.”
“Do you deny this claim, Arthur Harrow?”
Harrow once more spread his arms. “As you can see, I currently hold no such object.”
'We need more evidence,' Marc prodded. 'They’re not going to do a thing if we can’t give them evidence here and now.'
Steven stammered, trying to piece together his racing mind. Bit and pieces flew by through his memory that he desperately grabbed at like pieces of paper in a whirlwind. Then he saw it, peaking out of the plain, dull red sleeve.
“I have. I have more proof,” he squeaked out. He locked eyes with Harrow and swallowed down his fear. “He has a tattoo on his arm there. The Scales of Justice but with crocodiles. He uses it when he passes judgment on people.” Steven glanced up at the council. “I’ve seen him do it. The scales move and if it goes red, he- the cane- they suck the life force out of people.”
There was a beat of silence as Steven’s words were considered. Harrow’s face had become stone, unreadable in its neutrality.
“Lift up your sleeve,” Isis instructed, her voice tight. “Show us your arms.”
“Is this really necessary? I mean a tattoo is merely-”
“Do it,” Osiris ordered.
Harrow sighed, his eyes dragging to the side to glare at Steven. But he complied and pushed up his right sleeve, revealing the mark on his forearm.
“This man speaks the truth,” Tefnut observed.
Horus glanced at her. “But how much remains to be seen.”
Osiris lifted his hand. “We will investigate this matter further. Until such time as a conclusion has been reached, Arthur Harrow you are hereby to remain bound here and any artifacts pertaining to Ammit or her release that are found to have been in your possession will be considered proof of guilt for conspiracy against the gods, and you will be punished accordingly.”
The blue manacles that had earlier been used to restrain Marc were now clasped around Harrow’s wrists, forcing his arms jerkily behind his back. The gods rose to their feet as he was thrown off his. His hair fell out of place, partially obscuring his face, and for a moment there was a flash of hatred that slipped through his carefully constructed mask.
“This trial is adjourned.”
Steven felt the tension melt out of his shoulders like water through a sieve. 'We did it. We actually did it.'
Marc was silent, but Steven could feel his apprehension mixed with approval. It was clear he was more inclined to fret about how it wasn’t over yet. Steven let him have it as much as Marc let him bask in his relief.
Hathor’s avatar descended the steps and approached him while the others led Harrow away. “You did well for your first time, considering Khonshu didn’t prepare you.”
Steven snorted as he rose to his feet. “That happen a lot, does it? I can’t imagine what sorts of things you lot get together for normally. Family barbeques or potlucks maybe.”
She smiled slightly. “No. I was referring to the direct conduit connection that we spoke of earlier.”
The small friendly smile slowly fell from Steven’s face, replaced with apprehension. “Oh. Sorry, did we- have we met before?”
She tilted her head for a second, half caught in a chuckle as if anticipating a joke, then closed her eyes and shook it. “No. No I suppose we didn’t.”
Steven rubbed the back of his neck. He felt some of the blood and sweat that had dribbled down there and cringed, at once in desperate need of a shower.
“That is something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, glancing briefly downward. She spoke slowly and carefully. “I… do not know if I fully understand your… situation-”
He held his hands up. “Trust me, I don’t have all the answers either. Until very recently I didn’t even know Marc existed.”
“Of course. That does bring a few concerns though, regarding you and Khonshu.”
“That bloody bird hates me, if that’s what you mean. The feeling’s mutual.” Steven raised an eyebrow and looked up, hoping wherever that skull-headed bean pole was he could hear him.
The woman looked sad and deeply troubled by his words. He suddenly felt very rude. Steven shrunk back, unsure of what to say to fix it. He held his hands to his chest and pulled his sleeves over his bloody knuckles.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she assured. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Steven, correct?” He nodded. “Steven, we avatars have a duty to our gods. A duty that we agree upon when we are offered to serve them. But they also hold a… certain level of responsibility when they offer the role. It is not something to be done lightly or carelessly.”
“What- what are you saying?” He shook his head, blinking a few times, not comprehending what she was trying to get across.
She sucked in a breath. “Well, Khonshu made a deal with Marc, correct?”
“Yeah…”
“Were you considered in that deal at all?”
“Nnn… no, not really. Well, they sort of pretended I didn’t exist, I suppose. Marc promised Khonshu I wouldn’t ‘get in the way.’” He put exaggerated air quotes and an annoyed puff of air on the last bit. “Fat lot of luck they had. I’ve helped! I’ve contributed! Even when I didn’t want to.”
She nodded thoughtfully then squeezed his shoulder once. “I will talk with the others. Just know that you are not alone. You do not have to be voiceless in this.”
Before he could respond the woman whirled away in a swirl of fabric, her shoes a staccato tapping on the stone floor that quickly faded as she disappeared into another chamber of the pyramid. Steven stood there in the trial room alone, suddenly feeling very lost. Tentatively, nervously, he tried prodding Marc for answers, but was met with silence. Not even the annoying bird seemed to care for throwing his two cents in at the moment. If he was even still hanging around now that the meeting was done.
Steven spun in a slow circle, taking in the empty chamber and pervasive quiet. “Bollocks.”