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β‡’ πŸπŸ’ Λ—ΛΛ‹πšƒπš˜πš–πš‹ π™²πš˜πš—πšπš›πš˜πš—πšπšŠπšπš’πš˜πš—πšœ ࿐ྂ

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

(Y/N) allowed her feet to drag her through the passage she had gone through to avoid hearing Harrow's voice even further, but even though she was too far away from him now, she could still hear his words echoing in her ears.

Her feet surprisingly took her to the end of the passage, a glooming light brightening her watery eyes as she took a step into the wide room and discovered that she was finally at the end of the line. Ammit's tomb was placed not that far from where she stood, but she didn't have it in her to celebrate at the moment.

Steven's eyes twinkled when he spotted her and eyed how she slowly made her way to him. He raised the ushabti in the air proudly. "(Y/N), look. We won."

He laughed enthusiastically. "And the ushabti goes to us," Steven saw Layla joining the two through the same passage and it seemed like she was sharing the same interest as him. "Layla, I found it. I had to go digging down old Alexander the Great's gullet, but I found it."

Layla quickly noticed how (Y/N) wasn't smiling brightly with that look in her eyes whenever Steven was near, and took note of the way her posture was slump and she looked more fragile than usual. It was as if something was weighting her down with anger.

"(Y/N), what's wrong?" Layla asked, but she was ignored.

(Y/N) felt a pint of guilt drown her at the way Steven's excitement washed over and his eyebrows knitted in concern. "You're all right, love?"

She shook her head and her eyes were set firmly on him, but he felt like the angry glare wasn't really directed at him. "Can he hear me?"

"Alexander?" Steven raised his eyebrows as he glanced back at the tomb. " I don't think so. God, I hope not."

(Y/N) wanted to think her words through, confront the situation in a nice way, but the anger and betrayal she felt at the moment was too much that it controlled her like a puppet.

"How long?"

She made her way towards him and saw the confusion rise to Steven's face, a frown deepened in his face. "What?"

"Marc, I'm talking to you."

A hint of realization flushed over him and his eyes rolled to the back of his head with a sigh leaving his lips. The transition between Steven and Marc being completely evident to her and Layla, who didn't understand her sudden outburst.

Marc, now in control of the body, looked down at (Y/N)'s form for a millisecond before he tried to reach out for her hand and guide her away. "Come on. Let's go. Let's go."

"No," (Y/N) tugged back on his arm.

"We need to go right now."

"No, no. Marc, no."

Marc whirled on his heel to stand right in front of (Y/N) again as she placed a hand on his chest accusingly. "How long have you known?"

"We need to leave right now. I'll explain everything, I swear. But we have to go."

(Y/N) shook her head again, and this time, her patience was being held by one small and delicate string. "I'm not going to ask you again, Marc. How long have you known about it?"

"I didn't! I don't know anything."

"Marc," she said his name in that awfully dry, twisted tone. It was full of anger, silently telling him that she didn't want any more lies.

Marc went deadly silent."For more than a year."

(Y/N) let out a huff through her nose and she placed her hands together. "I can't believe you."

Marc wanted to rush over and explain, but (Y/N) didn't give him the chance to. Layla could only suppress the gasp that left her lips behind her hands, and her eyes went back and forth between the two.

"You watched me struggle with this. . . sickness," she gestured to herself. "When you had the answer all along!"

"You don't understand," Marc's look was guilty, shameful, even. His eyes were drained and he desperately wanted to give his explanation. "It was for your own good."

"No, you don't understand!" (Y/N) didn't want to take out her frustration and anger physically, her nails were digging into her own palms to stop herself from doing anything stupid. "How could you?"

"I've tried to tell you since the moment we met," Marc reasoned.

(Y/N) had her face in her hands and laughed derisively, shaking her head as another thought came into her head. Layla, at this point, moved over to stand behind her and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"But I just didn't know. . ." Marc softly explained. His eyes flickering from her to Layla behind her. "I'm sorry."

"That's. . .that's the reason why we even met in the first place," (Y/N) stated, and the look on Marc's face confirmed it. "You just had a guilty conscience. And you just wanted to clear it by making sure the fragile and weak bird was okay under your own supervision, didn't you?"

Before Marc could open his mouth to utter simple but genuine apologies to (Y/N), a rustling noise alerted the three of them. Their heads snapped to the direction the noise came from, and the tension was still high between.

"They're here."

"There must be another way out."

"Okay. Go, find it. I'll hold them off."

(Y/N) seemed to forget about her last minute anger and the argument she'd had with him and decided to interfere. Marc was the only one who could help in defeating Harrow, and they would be slowed down even more to achieve that if he got hurt, or worse.

"No," she spoke confidently, and Marc and Layla's gazes moved back to her like she'd grown two more heads. "You're the one they want, Marc. I'll try to see what I can do."

She knew it was stupid, of course she did, especially risking her life to someone who she'd just been fighting with, but she couldn't afford to loose him. Not now, not ever.

Marc shook his head. "No, no. Absolutely not. Im the only one who can fight against them."

A look of understanding flashed between Layla and (Y/N). The curly haired woman swallowed her fear and grabbed onto Marc's shoulder. "Come on. She can handle it."

"No!" Marc tried to shake Layla off, but her grip on his shoulder tightened. By now, she had grasped onto his two shoulders firmly and pulled him back against the pillars. "No, no!"

(Y/N) stood in front of the tomb and grabbed onto the first self defense object she could find, and that ended up being the weapon held in between the mummified body of Alexander the Great inside the tomb.

She swallowed down her nerves and tried to rack her brain for a solution, just like her father had taught her. Countless thoughts swarmed her head until she saw several men walking up the entrance of the room with shotguns aiming right at her.

These men were surrounding (Y/N) entirely, something she didn't quite think of. Marc was battling against Layla's grip, and she was forced to muffle his protests with her palm.

Harrow stepped right in between his followers with his cane held in a tight grip. His eyes flashed disappointment when he noticed it was only her in front of him, eyeing her up and down.

"Just you?" Harrow's voice was dripping with a disappointing tone, one she was all too familiar with. The scarab in his hand returned to its original form and he stepped forward. "The rest is silence. I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone."

"The quiet was liberating," Harrow got closer, and she kept backing away. "No more guilt weighting you for seeing a poor little girl suffering and not doing anything about it. You become a free person."

(Y/N) lowered her head at those words, now truly understanding that she'd been a pity game for most of her entire life.

"And, of course, with that freedom comes choice," he continued, stopping right before the steps to the tomb. "And right now, you have a very important decision to make."

She inhaled a breath through her nose. "Fine."

The grip on the weapon got tighter, but she knew that would be too predictable. Instead, she waited until the men with the pointed guns got closer until making her move. (Y/N) grabbed the barrel of the shotgun closest to her just when the man holding that gun was ready to fire at her, making him hit the other man in front of him.

(Y/N) used the man's surprise in her advantage and used her leg to kick him down on the back of his knee and the crack it gave out was enough to make her toes curl. But before she could take out anyone else, she didn't see in time the way Harrow pulled out his own revolver and aimed.

"You were going to perish sooner or later," he mumbled.

All went deafeningly silent in (Y/N)'s ears. Nothing but an eerie ringing being the only sound that entered her ears in a quick matter.

The impact knocked her back, slowly loosing balance but she didn't quite understand why. What happened? Why did she feel strange?

The smell got to her before she could even see. The metallic smell getting into her nose was the first thing she noticed before she looked down to find a blood covered bullet hole in her chest.

The ringing hadn't left (Y/N)'s ears, so she wasn't able to hear the piercing scream that Marc let out from the back of his throat before strongly freeing himself from Layla's grip, who had loosened it because of the shock.

"(Y/N)!" Marc didn't care how reckless this was, he couldn't even care less, he tried to rush over to her and aid her before her body could even hit the ground.

But he wasn't able to do so. Harrow was prepared for this, and he didn't hesitate in firing again, this time at Marc, who staggered back in shock.

Layla clasped her hands over her mouth to muffle her whimpers and cries, watching how (Y/N) collapsed in the cold ground while Marc was embraced by the icing cold water.

"I can't save anyone who won't save themselves," Harrow muttered under his breath.

(Y/N) tried, she so desperately tried to keep herself awake, not wanting to give up so easily. But the comfort of sleeping and resting was sounding too convincing now.

Her eyelids weighted and she couldn't fight the feeling much longer, the sound of her blood dripping into the ground from the bullet hole in her chest making her head spin in circles.

So she closed her eyes and allowed the darkness envelop her, pulling and tugging her down. Suddenly, the pain didn't have that effect anymore.

It was peace. It was quiet.

She finally understood that solemn feeling. Allowing it to embrace her in a pitch black and eternal darkness, unless, that's what she thought.

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