⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

After helping the women inside the van out of danger, Layla and (Y/N) nearly got to take two steps away from the van before they got attacked by the remaining men of Harrow's disciples.

The one closest to Layla shot a few bullets at her, which Layla was able to quickly dodge with the wings before slicing through the man and pushing him to the ground. (Y/N), who was standing on her other side, saw another of Harrow's men and twisted the spear upward to make the hilt of it strike the man in the face before pulling it back and knocking him off his feet.

Marc was still engaged in his fight with Harrow and got thrown into the concrete ground, barely catching his breath before Harrow directed the purple blast towards him. Marc crossed his arms in front of his masked face and was able to block the blast, but it still made him stagger back.

"Had Ammit been allowed to rule, young Randall's life would've been saved, your family would've been happy," Harrow took slow stepped closer to Marc, sneering his words out. "She need only remove one weed from the garden. You."

Marc dropped his arms and quickly grabbed his crescent moon dart in the ground to stop the purple blast from coming his way, a loud yell leaving his lips.

(Y/N) dropped her focus on helping Layla with the men at the cry of pain that left Marc's lips, trying to do anything to interfere, but before she could, the purple glow from Harrow's cane erupted and its force was strong enough to make her crash back into the van with Layla.

Harrow grunted and raised the cane to a higher point, the blast still coming out of the crocodile head from his cane, its power knocking Marc back down with incredible force back into the ground.

The mask was pulled off from his head, and he could feel his own heartbeat thumping in his ears. Marc couldn't stop the groan that came out of his throat because of the blast, and he could barely open his eyes to see how Ammit was overpowering Khonshu and even Sekhmet in their own battle.

He wasn't prepared to see how Harrow approached him again, this time with a yell as he raised the cane and stomped it into Marc's chest.

The pain was nothing like Marc had ever felt before; it was completely different. He let out a scream at the top of his lungs as a string of purple light connected to his chest plate, but his eyes couldn't help but drift off towards the sound of (Y/N)'s voice.

(Y/N) was being held at gunpoint by the last of Harrow's men, some of them even firing at Layla, who had a shield to protect herself from the bullets. On the other hand, (Y/N) didn't seem that much preoccupied at the blink of death she could be experiencing at the moment, her focus was more on Marc on the floor and if it wasn't for his own screaming of pain, he would've heard her cry for him too.

All of the sudden, Marc's glare on Harrow above him hardened, a wave of anger he hadn't felt before washing all over him. Before Marc knew what was going on, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and lost control.

He regained his consciousness in a matter of seconds, but he wasn't sure if it was the exact amount of time it was for him as it was for everybody else. Marc was starting to grow comfortable with the changes between Steven and him, but this wasn't what he felt when losing control of the body with him. It confused him to no end.

Marc was now kneeling in front of a bloodied and nearly unconscious Harrow, holding his own cane by his head, as if he was ready to finish off with him. Marc released a shaky breath and dropped the cane into the ground, standing on his two feet to notice the scene around him.

"That wasn't you, was it, Steven?" he asked carefully, seeing how nearly everything around him was destroyed or set on fire.

The suit shifted and Steven was now the one seeing the scene in the front lines, worry written all over his face. "Not a chance, mate."

Bodies were dropped all over the floor, broken shards of glass around them and their weapons being discarded in the ground. Marc took control again, not believing what his eyes were still seeing.

(Y/N) was still in her spot from before, but she looked absolutely terrified, even if she tried to hide it terribly. Layla eyed him like a ticking bomb without a word, but (Y/N) was brave enough to speak up.

"Marc?" she called out carefully.

"Yeah?" Marc responded, it looked like he was still trying to reassure himself that it was him and not somebody else.

"What the hell just happened?" (Y/N) muttered.

Marc took a shaky breath. "I blacked out."

The trio heard rumbling from behind and they looked around to see how the enormous figure of Ammit was starting to drag Khonshu and Sekhmet by her own bare hands towards the Pyramid of Giza.

Layla directed her attention towards (Y/N) and Marc as she started to grab spare material from the ground.

"Both of you, get Harrow. I know how to stop Ammit."

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

With (Y/N)'s help, Marc was able to set the unconscious Harrow into the broken table in the Chamber of the gods. Because of the destruction Ammit had caused once she was freshly released, the place was now in complete ruins, the pillars crumbled in the highest points of the chamber as well as the stairs and the chairs for the gods.

A crack in the roof was set perfectly for the moon light to illuminate half of Harrow's face as he laid unconscious on the table. (Y/N) dusted her hands off and felt her knees slightly wobble as if her body was tired and hadn't slept for days. She brushed that off and turned back to face Layla just like Marc was already doing.

"The power of this room will help us bind Ammit to Harrow's body," Layla explained shortly. "Quick, grab my hands so we can start the spell."

Marc and (Y/N) stood on either side of Layla and began the spell by chanting in Ancient Egyptian, and this instantly made a dim purple glow emit from Marc's hand as it bonded with the rest of the crumbled statues of the gods inside the chamber, closing into a circle with (Y/N).

Their chant grew stronger and firmer as the glow from the circle continued flowing, slowly dragging Ammit in a cloud of smoke towards Harrow in the stone table to bind them together.

The cloud of smoke entered Harrow's body and he unconsciously jerked from side to side because of this. The cloud dispersed into thin air along with the glowing circle as Ammit was completely restrained inside the human body of his most loyal follower.

"You can never contain me," Harrow's eyes opened and he spoke up with wide eyes, his voice being drowned by Ammit's. "I'll never stop."

Marc dropped his head forward and felt Khonshu's presence a few feet away, looking toward the side to see him walk over calmly by (Y/N)'s side, who took a small step away from him as he approached.

"Finish it," Khonshu ordered. "And leave neither of them alive."

Marc's expression turned into a grimace, he dropped Layla's hand to step forward just like Khonshu had told him to do and stepped onto the stone table just above Harrow. It was out of pure muscle memory how Marc pulled one of his moon darts out of his chest plate and raised it to brace himself for the impact.

Harrow shot up from the table as Marc grabbed a fist full of his shirt.

"While he lives, so too does she," Khonshu said.

"I have to finish this," Marc reminded himself. "If not, I'll never be free."

"Marc!" (Y/N) interfered, her tone sounding weak even though she tried to make it sound otherwise. "You do have a choice. You are free."

Khonshu looked outraged. "The choice is vengeance."

Marc thought her words through, still gripping the dart in his hands with all his strength. But then, his mind was decided. "You want them dead. . ." he threw the dart away into the sand. "Do it yourself."

Khonshu looked ready to argue with his staff held tightly in his ancient fingers, but he wasn't able to because (Y/N) was extending her hand forward in search for something to grip for, as if she was totally lost and didn't see where to hold onto.

"Marc? Layla?" her voice was like fragile glass, nearly breaking and it worried the both of them to no end.

But neither of them were able to react on time when (Y/N)'s knees gave up entirely, almost dropping to the sand floor if it wasn't for Layla holding onto her arm before she fell. Marc instantly rushed to her side in order to help Layla and joist her up, kneeling in the sand.

Layla cursed under her breath and (Y/N) began having one of her coughing fits, but her eyes started changing from their original color to some sort of milky white combination, which meant nothing good.

"What's happening?" Layla asked out loud with panic laced in her tone.

"I don't know," Marc frantically held onto her and tried to knock her awake, but nothing seemed to help. Her coughing increased and her breath began growing heavy.

"The illness," Sekhmet appeared out of thin air. "It has drained her soul."

"Can't you heal her?" Layla wasn't that sure of who this goddess was, but she was desperate for a solution now.

"I can't, young one," Sekhmet spoke. "I'm not the god that has that kind of power."

All eyes fell on the moon god, who hasn't spoken a word after the woman's collapse. Khonshu didn't dare to open his beak and pronounce a sound, yet the fire behind Marc's eyes was enough to make even him somehow scared, even Layla, who tried to keep calm, was worried of his state.

"You," Marc sneered, and this time he sounded truthfully, completely, angered with the god. "Fix this. I know you can."

"It is possibly too late to hope for her salvation."

"I do not care," Marc snapped. "Don't let her suffer. I won't let that happen anymore. Do it, heal her, do anything. It's the only thing I've ever begged you to do."

Khonshu let out some sort of sigh, his staff still in his left hand as he extended his other gloved palm right above (Y/N)'s head, and before anyone could question what he was about to do, he started chanting in Ancient Egyptian.

A shimmer shined down Khonshu's fingers and a cloud of mist appeared around (Y/N)'s head, while the god never stopped chanting in the ancient language to continue the spell. Marc looked on the edge of collapse, his body still rocking (Y/N)'s fragile body against his.

"Please," Marc lowered his head and buried it into her neck. "Let this work, please."

He wasn't sure it was going to, but those thoughts were quickly shut down when he spotted in the shadows some sort of demon-like silhouette rising from (Y/N)'s own silhouette in the shadows. If Marc hadn't lifted her head up enough to check if the spell was working, he would've missed it. The spirit was starting to be dragged out by the powerful spell that Khonshu kept chanting in a low volume, its lower body separating from (Y/N)'s form as it tried to get a firm grip and not let go, but the spell was way stronger and was able to remove the evil spirit.

After all this time, all those torturous years, (Y/N) was finally free and safe from the evil spirit that was draining her from the inside out.

Marc still wasn't able to let the tension in his shoulders drop, until he felt the familiar warmth of a hand mixing in within his curls, grabbing his attention back down to where (Y/N) was now opening her eyes, blinking to regain her full vision.

"Marc?" she whispered his name, and he let out an emotional laugh. "Are you crying?"

Marc didn't have her a verbal answer and instead crashed his own chapped lips against her own. (Y/N)'s eyes were wide in the first seconds, but after that, she deepened the kiss and allowed herself to melt against Marc's lips. It felt just right; the feeling of giddiness and excitement rushing in her veins just like with Steven.

When Marc pulled back, he blinked away the unshed tears from his eyes and was able to see the proud look behind Layla's eyes before he allowed Steven to take control, knowing that he also deserved to be with her right now.

Steven placed a shorter but still passionate kiss to her lips and (Y/N) found herself smiling at the feeling. He felt a firm hand behind her back to still reassure himself that she was all right and well.

"'Feeling better, now, love?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," (Y/N) nodded before Layla finally gave her friend a well deserved hug. Layla pulled away the slightest inch away to press a kiss on her forehead, rubbing her arm up and down.

The switch between Steven and Marc was obvious, and now Marc was the one with his eyes set firmly and coldly on Khonshu while still holding a careful grip on (Y/N).

"Now release us," Marc ordered.

"As you wish."