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Michael waited for the cover of night to discreetly infiltrate the D.H. Institute of Innovative Medicine in Cairo. A soundless flight to the rooftop after enjoying a small cup of espresso left his stomach upset and had him raise his hand and check that timer, at all times on his wrist. Dr. Michael Morbius had earned himself quite a name in the medical world prior to his vampiric discovery which cured his blood disease. Won and refused his Nobel Prize in Biochemistry for the invention of artificial blood, he was well aware that had he made his choices differently, perhaps he would have been in NYC, signing those deals with Stark Industries and Rand Enterprises.

They still used his Nobel worthy innovation worldwide, with minor exceptions to countries which, disgusted by his controversy, refused to reassure for life their stocks in hospitals. Entering this institute, even after closing hours, was a trip down memory lane for him.

The sanitary scent, the cleaness and the emptiness which left room for thoughtful discipline greeted him as soon as he climbed quietly down the stairs from the rooftop, onto the last floor's hall, without entering it. He read, in the dark, the label of the floor, above its entrance: Volunteer Hosting.

Though he was there mainly because he was somewhat agreeing with Clara's suspicions of Priscila's safety, Michael listened closely and realized this floor had nothing of importance to him, nothing he should disturb anyhow, just about ten people, mostly in their 20s, sleeping. He stepped away from the door and continued descending down the stairs, stopping only at the first floor, where the laboratories and inventories got his attention.

No one worked late, so he found himself carelessly walking ahead. It wasn't that he forgot about the existence of security cameras -in fact Michael spotted where all of them were as he walked- but he simply couldn't care less if another city paints him as a villain. He wasn't there to vandalize, he wasn't there even to jeopardize any research. He just needed to know that they were clean and Clara's sister was in safe hands.

"Sir," the security guard behind the screens, on shift that night to watch the security camera footage had called his higher up in and now looked up desperately towards the man. "Shouldn't we call the alarm?"

"No," a light French accent rolled off the boss' lips. He was a supple man, following the aspects of a charming shadow, wearing himself with care and distinction, fitted for running the institute. Were it not for the horrendous scar on the left side of his face, forming a delve into his skin, to the bone, and exposing an obviously glass eye, full of emptiness, he would have been quite close to the definition of a pretty devil.

He straightened up, "Stop all security cameras and delete what we got off of them tonight." The worker complied with a nod and no hesitation. Illegality never crossed his mind.

Michael was planning to be swift once he identified that hallway, glanced in every room, noticed every single familiar aspect and realized this had nothing to do with Arthur Harrow. These were actual researchers, giving their best at creating and discovering new ways to make life easier to live. The glass case at the end of the hallway proved just that to him: framed pictures of doctor teams, leading back to the 1850s, laid next to awards, some smaller, others prestigious, each for countless projects which just reading the name of made him smile.

He needed to look no further than this.

With a sigh, Michael took a step away from the glass case and brought out his phone from the pocket of his dark pants, lined in a nuance of prune purple. He opened his messages with Clara and texted her the result of this trip, even though he knew that if Harrow was not involved with this Institute, then he sure was involved with whatever she had going on in Casablanca. He ended his block text with a colloquial "good luck", not knowing that he was the one who was going to need it.

The blue light of the phone ceased bathing his pale face and Michael sniffed the air once to have to flinch his gaze upward. There was no need for light in order for him to see that there was a man at the end of the hallway, walking towards him. He looked the other way, tried to find the reasonable way out -he thought the window could do- while he was still clinging to the hope that the darkness concealed him.

"Don't leave," the scarred man's voice was a bird's thrill, chilling the shadow in a shiver. "I allowed you into my home, Dr. Morbius, and you cannot leave without granting your host at least a salutation."

"I don't want to cause you any trouble..."

The moonlight was too weak in its current phase and position to creep through the tall windows and shed some clarity on the two men, but one news helicopter passing close over the city, flashed its light towards the institute and there they were: three cold windows away from each other, Michael on the edge of opening a way to jump out and this man, smiling at his last comment. On his right hand, his smallest finger held the heavy shine of a sigil ring, carefully polished.

His scar on the other hand captured no light, only the depths to which his face had been carved into, brutally and mercilessly, by the left hand of a blind sculptor.

"Oh, I know you're not," the scarred man spoke calmly once the light faded and he heard the shift through which Michael straightened up. Morbius didn't know why, but something about this man was telling him to let go of his idea of running away. "In fact, you are here to help."

Clara read through Morbius' message only two days later, when she also got the message from Paul, who hadn't shown his face around much, containing the alerting news that he had sources telling him the party had been moved forward and they had to be ready to go through with the plan that night.

To her, it didn't matter nearly as much as it did to the demon whether or not they were to finish things sooner. In fact, getting to read the text from Michael on top of it brought her an extra wave of confidence she accessorized with getting ready to cause a commotion in a hotel.

El Hachim Resort was a prestigious gem, near the promenade of the Casablanca tourists loved, bordering the older part of the city. Part of their plan was getting in without drawing attention at first and considering the clientele the hotel was accustomed to hosting, Marc and Clara had to dress for the occasion and hide the weapons as well as they could.

They also benefited from another minion of Paul's waiting outside to act as their driver, building up the credibility of their roles. Once they'd get to the restaurant in the lobby of the hotel, they had long decided their havoc wrecking should include no Venom sighting, so cameras didn't reveal his identity as Clara's to the world -a risk she didn't need for just bringing Arthur down-, but no Moon Knight either, because even if not quite at the new moon phase, there was weakness and weariness trapped in Marc's veins.

Until their whole escapade would rely solely on weapons and the skill of getting targets in a calculated enough manner to also leave room for a swift escape out of the resort and through the abandoned gym, they still got to get there on time, on the cue of Paul, who had his own infiltration mission, to get the rites.

Exactly as Paul texted Clara the signal, she stepped out on the street where Marc was already waiting beside the car of the soulless driver. He had decided, in the last second, to button his white shirt to the top, but once looking up at Clara, he realized he was the only one who worried about efficiency-

No, his real first realization once they looked at each other again was that they have been very childish not to speak since that gym kiss.

Clara didn't even know why she didn't talk with him. Venom sure gave her hell for avoiding to solve her problems. But now was not the right time to let awkwardness linger just because she's been impulsive and needy once.

"You clean up nicely," she complimented, genuinely, though without much intent in her voice.

"We look better though," Venom murmured from within in an instant.

Marc wanted to return the compliment. It was only decent, after all. But instead, feeling his gaze get uncontrollable while studying Clara briefly, he blurted out the calm phrase that had nothing to do with his emotions, "How exactly are you going to jump a fence in a long dress?"

"With style, unlike him," the inner symbiote answered quicker than Clara ever could, especially as she stepped closer to Marc. She was trying to forget she's been thinking about that kiss, about how it made her feel to be close with someone again. She forced herself to act as if that never happened and therefore, ignored the tingle of picking up his hand and placing it on her waist just to make him feel that little ridge.

Marc's hand was surprisingly malleable because his mind screamed what his mouth could not bring voice to.

"Skirt's detachable, honey," Clara explained. Letting go of his hand. It fell almost limp beside his body. "And I have pants underneath."

Before he could even form a proper reaction to that information, they were in the car and Marc recalled exactly those worries he's been left alone with for these days, now resurfacing due to the acknowledgement that were it Jake there, or even Steven, he wouldn't have kept the silence going so agonizingly infinite.

"Clara, I need-"

He turned his face towards her and she raised her left hand, while her gaze was still out the window, looking at the city's lights. It moved very slowly away, paired with her hand lowering. She knew what that sounded like from the beginning and she wasn't sure she was ready to hear that he was an emotionally unavailable guy. This silent treatment between them taught her overthinking and regret.

"I know what you want to say, but I think you should take a moment and truly reconsider if this is the right time to say what you're about to say. We're going to have to work together where we are going, so are you positively sure you want to talk about this now?" She didn't hold back on keeping things borderline frank with him and for once, Marc swallowed the lack of communication and stared ahead, about to tackle the topic like a tactical mission.

"Did you kiss me or did you see Steven? Or Jake?" he asked his questions, those tormenting bits which had him tossing and turning when he was supposed to sleep.

"You," Clara answered shortly, placing a tonality that gave away how she thought it was way too obvious the right answer.

"But would you have preferred that I was either of them at that moment?" Now, his gaze turned fearfully to her. The fear didn't reflect on his features, but it vibrated under his collar where a dry gulp placed movement.

He watched, confused, as Clara shrugged, "I wouldn't have minded it, if that's what you want to know. I'm... pretty fond of all three of you."

"You are?"

"I knew it!" Venom puffed at the same time with Marc's question.

When he brought this up, Marc had gotten ready for the worst case scenario, he was ready to embalm his feelings for Clara, but it was no longer the case. This... was a dream come true. A true relief at last, a real blessing that someone like her knew him, all of him, and still wanted that kiss.

"Do you regret it?" she quietly asked a question of her own.

"No," much more confident, unable to keep back his smile, Marc replied in an instant. His reflection in the window to his side looked down at him with a proud crooked grin for just a flash second, before Jake sumburged back into the subconscious of the body.

The corners of Clara's lips lifted a little.

"But I am a tough guy to be in a relationship with..."

If they were warning each other, keeping a steady eye contact now, though a whole seat separated them, then Clara had her own warnings too. "And I have an alien inside of me who might interrupt any future intercorse. Is that a deal breaker?"

"Good one," Venom agreed, "better rip the bandaid off fast."

"It might take some getting used to, but not really." If she could accept every single side of him, then he would be a hypocrite not to give Venom a second chance.

"And if we're really going to do this, you have to be serious about it," Clara added that one last detail, the reason why she denied an attraction for so long to begin with. "I can't handle another person to miss."

Not leaving her could never be a problem to the man scarcely making such a connection -even theirs, he wouldn't have been able to let it happen without Khonshu's push-, but instead of verbalizing that, Marc only gave her a nod.

They had entered that car with a frown of silence and left it with a serene look of joy which fitted their roles better. Though they had rushed in at that gym with lighting the fire of their passion, it felt a bit less overwhelming to take it as slow as walking into El Hachim Resort hand in hand.

Holding Clara's hand was an anchoring sensation for Marc as much as it was an embrace of safety to her.

"Let's talk more about this once we are done here," he whispered only for her to hear as they walked side by side, past the entry gates, through the front yard and into the castle-like construction with an inner yard.

There, El Hachim opened its terrace to the stars above and littered the pavement in places to sit, to eat, to smoke, as well as room to roam and dance to the live orchestra playing next to the stairs going up to the balconies and inside the building.

They were about to cause a commotion down there, in the heart of the guests Harrow invited, loud enough for that crazy man to have to come down and solve it himself. That's why, in their pristine outfits, they've both hidden weapons.

"I'll hold you to your promise," she agreed.

Their first stop was the bar, but Clara couldn't properly announce that she for one was ready to start blasting, that she turned towards Marc and realized he was looking rather perplexed at a fixed spot.

"Follow me," Khonshu spoke to him, from beside the restaurant, next to the door of the bathroom which opened as a man exited it. With its closing, the God disappeared.

"I need to go to the bathroom first," Marc immediately excused himself, leaving very little room for arguing. "It won't take me longer than five minutes, just wait here and don't draw attention." The task was pretty impossible in his mind -he thought Clara would turn quite a few heads considering how well the black dress looked on her- but it didn't stop him from giving the advice anyway, right before letting go of her hand and rushing to follow the illusion of Khonshu.

Marc's been nervous about having this talk Khonshu mentioned after that tough time with Steven. At last, it was time to discover what exactly this God needed to discuss, but some gut instinct, seeing as the timing was legendary bad, told him it was nothing good.

On the way to the bathroom, he felt the tightness of his white shirt against his skin and though initially aiming to be decent, Marc undid the first two buttons, two out of four, right before entering the lobby bathrooms. He checked each stall, purposefully avoiding looking in the mirror and caught a sniff of luck because the place was deserted. In a rush to keep it that way, he blocked the door and locked it.

Only then, he was able to sigh and turn towards the sinks, look at that dreadful reflection of his and-

Marc froze for a moment.

How long has it been since he looked at himself in the mirror and did not see the blood he had to wipe off before he set the scene of a calm day for Steven? How long has it been since he actually stared at his reflection and it was just a reflection which stared back at him?

He shook his head gently then bowed his head. "Alright, Khonshu, let's have that talk already, man. I don't have all day. What is it?" His sentences were spaced by airy breaks, throaty breaths, accentuated by his need to calm down that need to remain moving.

A thud hit the door of one of the toilet stalls and the poor door jumped from its hinges, tumbling onto the clean floors and stopping at Marc's feet, to his right. He looked down at that thing which, a little to the left, would have probably have been strong enough to break his ankles, by the way it had been thrown.

However, he did not waste much time to look up and frown that on the toilet now exposed, cross legged and holding that giant scepter of his, Khonshu waited for his attention. Marc didn't turn around; staring in the mirror at each other should be enough.

"Your impatience is well placed," Khonshu nodded, pleased. "Everything has worked perfectly so far and we are almost done with fulfilling our duty to this planet once again." The God's praises may have touched Marc's heartstrings some years back, but the more he got familiar with the price paid in blood that earned these moments of gratitude, the less he cared to receive reassurance. "It is time that you know exactly why I needed you to gain Clara's trust."

It was Khonshu's choice of words which finally got Marc to straighten up and furrow his eyebrows, attentively.

"This is a tale about Apophis," Khonshu sighed. "The devouring worm, harbinger of chaos, darkness and destruction, a dark serpent which sought to black out Ra's sun and leave us all into perdition of apocalypse."

Confusion built up in Marc, "I don't have time for a mythology lesson right now. Unless you haven't noticed, we were in the middle of something..." And he didn't want to let Clara down, but that part, he unfortunately did not have yet the bravery to speak of.

"You'll understand the story if you let me go through with it, Marc," Khonshu said, condescending. "Now," to the sound of Marc's deep and defeated sigh, he continued, "no matter what book about my kind you read, you'll see the Great Serpent dying, being dismembered and defiled, showing how dangerous the creature which came from the up above darkness truly is. Well, Apophis is back and thanks to this alignment of events, we've been planning to strike two birds with the same stone."

"We've been.. Planning?" Marc repeated. "We? What have we planned exactly?"

"Clara, obviously," Khonshu replied, relaxed, as if his analogy has always been obvious. But once silence prolonged, he uncrossed his legs, "Use your brain for once and think about it, human. She's Apophis' avatar, just like you are mine. That creature in her, the devouring worm which fell from the sky has been purging the earth unbothered for decades until we stumbled upon it and then the revelation-"

"Clara's not Apophis." With his interruption, Marc almost laughed. "That is simply delusional. Venom is an alien, sure, and he also eats people..."

"So you see the signs, but choose to ignore them? You're smarter than that." Khonshu's tone was challenging him to find even more of these disagreeing words, but at that point, Marc found it hard to articulate anything from the shock. He still did not understand what his God was insinuating, so the God was allowed to continue on. "In that junkyard it has been revealed to me, in the stars, a fragment of a time in the future which is within our grasp. Her plan is going to fail tonight, but ours is going to flourish."

"Just tell me what's the plan!" Marc pretty much barked out his raised tone. Though he refused to understand the allusions, they spiked jolts of pain into his heart. His eyes almost forgot to blink while he stared through the mirror at Khonshu.

"O.M.N.I.U.M. brought Apophis to the earth. They've wanted it back for a long time now, using little worms like Arthur to keep track. Harrow will not lead us to O.M.N.I.U.M. and we won't be able to stop them through a piece they do not care about. But if we give Clara to-"

"No!" Marc shook his head in that shout and leant away from the sink, his hands leaving its age and him taking a step back. His eyes closed and he wished he could just forget he ever heard Khonshu say what he just did.

"What do you mean no?" Khonshu's voice made all the other stalls' doors cackle and crank. "That's why I let you gain her trust, so she wouldn't oppose us and look how well it went, we walked her right into the trap set by O.M.N.I.U.M.."

The details swarmed through Marc's ears and overwhelmed him within the second. They stole his breath away and his lungs were depleted, suffocating his heart.

In an explosion of needing to do something about that clogging fog overtaking him from within, he hit the concrete underneath the sink with his right foot and shouted out once more, "No!"

"My son, you are not this big of an idiot...," Khonshu warned.

But over him, Marc's voice was louder, "I am not your son." He turned around with that statement, pointing his finger up because he simply knew that Khonshu stood up from the toilet and now stoon in the middle of the bathroom, looking down upon him.

"She's the embodiment of evil, O.M.N.I.U.M. is going to take her, kill Apophis for us by trying to separate her from that demonic creature and we'll put an end to that apocalyptic organization through tracking her," Khonshu explained the plan more rapidly and watched, in disbelief how heartache was written all over the sudden paleness drawn on Marc's face.

"You mean to tell me," his heavy breath required breaks in his speech now. He did not lower his pointing, accusatory finger, "You let me open up to Clara, just so I can sentence her to death?" Gradually, his voice turned from breaking into a snapping noise.

"Are you denying that she's a human eating creature? Ever-hungry, never satisfied..."

"I have dedicated my entire being to you!" Marc's shout overtook the center of the conversation and he took a step back, shaking from every limb and looking up at Khonshu with a mix of suffering and fury. "I've willingly pledged my service to you and your cause to punish those who do evil under your domain of night. And I've never gone out of your word. Each order, each kill, each wish and desire that you had. I've followed obediently for years and never asked for anything in return because you brought me back to life, you brought me purpose after I've lost everything in my life. And now, this is my loyalty's reward? You want to claim the one thing... the one person which I care for and is not you?"

"You... care for her?"

It was not the God's cluelessness which made Marc properly lose his temper, but the fact that Khonshu's tone hid disappointment and riddled disgust.

"What did you think was going to happen when you made me show myself to her?!" On his neck, with each shout, veins defined themselves in desperation to pop from the fear and stress which accelerated itself into a migraine. He knew Khonshu's power and the very thought that the God would force him to... He couldn't finish the thought because words rushed out in waves of chaotic loudness, "You let me become vulnerable. I let her see me, all of me... and I don't do that, because people don't care, they don't understand and I cannot explain, but I don't have to explain it to her, because she knows!"

All the emotion turned into a swarm of flies inside his head, constantly buzzing and under their pressure, Marc's eyes closed, his sightless gaze fell to the ground. "You can't give me that and then take it away... Make me kill her."

"You're not the one killing her..."

"You can't make me give her away!" Marc shouted once more. His gaze lifted and it begged long before those prayers left his lips, "Please... I've never asked anything from you, I've never questioned your decisions... Don't ask me to do this, Khonshu. Anything else, I'll kill anyone, but not her. Not now, when we just got that taste of a little life."

"There is no other way to stop O.M.N.I.U.M.." Khonshu's grunt was merciless.

Though he was begging, something in Marc refused to let him fall to his knees directly. "We'll find another way."

"So you'll deny me to save a worm?" The bluntness of that question sounded like the warning thunder before a lightning storm about to cause a forest fire.

"I'm denying you because I love her," Marc corrected him carefully, yet no matter how much he tried to temper himself and seem calm, it changed not the reaction the God had to his refusal to follow an order. Khonshu stepped forward and his free hand, boney as it was, wrapped around Marc's throat fully, strangling as he lifted him off the ground so he was at eye level with him.

"I should have known better than to trust my own avatar to be above his kind's flaws," Khonshu's voice sent an earthquake across the bathroom. "From all the times in which you chose to weakling in the treads of fleeting love is when the world needed you most," the God accused mercilessly, holding so tight that Marc's lips turned bruised. "I tell you there is only one way to avoid annihilation of your species and you refuse to hear me because she saw you, in all your broken glory, in all those fractures of your stupid, mortal head. You're not more important than the world, Marc. You're nothing. I am the one who made you something, not the living Apophis. Me. You are mine and you'll feel it now, my power to get my way. Then...," Khonshu's voice tempered down in an ominous hum, "you'll come back begging forgiveness for your blindness."

Marc wasn't seeing properly from the lack of air. Reality twirled and Khonshu's aspect twisted in a deformed mirror's image, until the God was gone and his pawn fell on the ground. His face flattened on the side, to the cold floor and a ringing in his head announced the end of the storm. It seemed like he made it out alive, made it out paying so little. Perhaps he had angered Khonshu enough that his punishment was to leave him be, because oh, it seemed so quiet just then in Marc's mind that though his whole body was in pain and he was still shaking from the shock of the betrayal, he got up.

With quivering steps, he leant against the sink once more and turned on the water with a tired collapse of his hands underneath the source. He gathered up the water in his united palms then dropped his elbows on the edge of the sink and lowered his head. His reflection in the mirror he wasn't looking at did not bow forward though, it remained frozen, slowly blinking, as if it was barely just then waking up to consciousness.

The cold water hit Marc's face and he brushed his hands slowly over his forehead, his closed eyes, his cheeks and finally the air as the hands returned to the sink. The water stopped pouring and he sighed.

If the talk in the car hadn't made it obvious for him, then this did. He stood up to Khonshu... It scared him to know what more he could do now that he found safety, a shred of living in a life of chaos. There was no denying it now, he was even more naive than Steven and even more reckless than Jake: Marc loved Clara.

It was in that tone that he finally straightened up, let the water pool on his chin and dry itself in the warm atmosphere of Casablanca while he exited the bathroom. He didn't bother buttoning up his shirt fully again, but just rejoined beside Clara, who, as promised, waited for him at the bar, toying with a drink she didn't finish.

Whatever that was, he needed him. So once he clashed beside her, left hand pretty much smashing on the bar's surface, his right reached for her glass and immediately brought it to his still recovering lips. He swallowed the alcohol in thirst and Clara watched, taken aback.

All of a sudden, he looked like after a fight with a sleep demon which hasn't been letting him rest for an entire month. His hair was a mess of curls, even more so than when Steven was in charge of the body too. "Are you alright?"

The look Marc gave her for that question was not comforting at all. In fact, it unsettled Clara immediately. He didn't look like he fought a demon, he looked like he had lost that fight and she was facing a dead man walking, returning just to say goodbye. It was a sad and wicked thought that passed her mind then.

Marc couldn't exactly tell her about Khonshu then... or ever. She didn't have to know, not as long as he was there and he made sure Khonshu was not going to be able to hurt her. He'll keep on denying him this mission, no matter what it takes, and that was the promise hidden in his sad eyes.

"I'm fine," he dropped the glass back on the table and forced a smile for her, a tired one that got hidden in the bow of his head quickly. Marc turned his back to the bar and looked at the hotel's lobby. "Let's get this started, shall we?"

Clara couldn't pull words out of his month. It wasn't the right place or time for that, but neither was she the sort of person to pry when someone didn't want to disclose something personal. She let it go and with a light shrug, she lifted the skirt of her dress up and grabbed the two guns attached to her thighs. Marc's hands too slipped behind him, into his jacket, also tangling trigger fingers on two fire weapons. Clara had had all the time in the world to locate every single guest Harrow requested there, as according to Paul's insight.

"Follow my lead," she mentioned to Marc and straightened up, letting her dress cover her legs once more. Without a single blink of hesitation and with a precision helped from the inside by Venom, she lifted the gun in her right hand and shot one of the philanthropists at the closest restaurant table. Her left hand lifted as well and that bullet got the bartender.

Marc followed too, noticing the people who reacted at the other side of the yard by reaching for their guns. With both guns up he shot in precision three of them. The distraction began.

author's note:    marc is in the midst of his character arc and i love that !!! even tho things are rather tense rn..

"what is god to a man in love?" is the verse that highly inspired me with the entirety of this plot line (but also the fact that moon knight punched me into my childhood obsession with Egyptian mythology...)

also.. O.M.N.I.U.M. ...

Did anyone notice why I chose that acronym?? It's the one thing about the moon knight old comics marvel left as a plot hole, they mentioned them once then never ever again, never even explained the acronym... well, i am adopting the organization and i have a meaning behind the acronym and a cause for the group so let's goooo

next update on Thursday and Saturday !!
Next Sunday, Monday and Tuesday are holidays for my religion, so I'll update you all when next chapters will be published, but no worries, I have so many notes and plans to execute hehe