Chapter Text
Looking back, Seto never asked for this - for any of it.
Scaling the cliffside on horseback, one arm supporting the body wrapped securely in a thin cotton shroud, he watched a glossy black hawk swoop by, white-tipped wings steady on course for the massive temple gate still some miles ahead. The rain on his face was anything but cleansing, and he tucked the bundle closer into his side in a meager attempt at shelter.
He could just barely make out the soaring facade through the gloomy drizzle and overcast sky, so dark against the heavens. That night, he left his little brother behind, stole the body of his lover - blood still freshly staining the clothes - grabbed his faithful steed, the sword of legend, and fled the village. The only home he'd ever known had betrayed him, sacrificing his lover in cold blood while he watched, restrained by the village elder.
Normally, witches were burned for the crime of daring to practice their craft, but Yugi never hurt a soul, only using his gifts for good. That didn't matter once the wicked blue steel touched his heart. Now he was gone, and there was nothing that could change that.
But Seto, he believed otherwise.
He grew up on the old stories of the Forbidden Lands and the gods that resided there, lording over the shattered ruins of their temples, unable to corrupt mankind any longer. Legends always had a grain of truth to them, and if any hope for Yugi remained, he would find it there, across the Endless Bridge.
Seto spurred his horse onward, urging the animal to jump a small gap in the path, watching pebbles scatter upon landing. He tapped her on the flank and clicked his tongue, encouraging her to continue their desperate journey.
Through a grey-washed forest they rode, him and his beloved; eyes closed to the world, so peaceful in death. Yugi's sacrifice had broken some hopeful part of him, scattering his future like ash upon the winds. No one deserved to have their life cut short, their dreams and aspirations rotting away with them in the grave. Not like that - not like him.
Dull green canopies sway above him, a painted blur between shifts of light and dark. He saw the moon high above, its light reflected in the lake water beside him, and Seto knew he could ride no more tonight.
He made camp in the shade of an overhang and curled up in a spare blanket to wait out the morning.
***
The next day proved to be no better.
Seto knew the sun had risen an hour ago - had seen through his sleep-deprived haze the blossom of light in the east. It was time to keep moving, the Forbidden Lands would not be much farther. Yugi's body - still swaddled in soft cotton, now damp with dew - went into the saddle first. Seto followed suit, easily boosting himself onto the horse's back.
Tipping his head back, he let the raindrops slide down his skin; so alike the tears he couldn't seem to shed, so wrapped up in grief that it would take a miracle to lift his shattered spirits again.
A miracle is exactly what Seto was counting on.
Across a rain-shrouded meadow they rode; for miles, everything around him is bathed in green hues and kissed by grey light.
"Just a bit more," he mutters, fingers twisting at the soaked funeral shroud as though it were his last, solemn anchor in this world of silence and death.
***
The gateway into the Forbidden Lands comes within sight a few hours later; a cliffside split in two and carved by meticulous hands. A bucolic meadow stands at the forefront, the last guardian of a ravaged land.
Seto urges his white steed forward without preamble. There is light beyond the stone gate, bright and so inviting.
He gets the sudden and distinct feeling that he will not be returning home once all is said and done.
Kisara's hooves clack noisily against the cobblestone path, jarring Seto from his morbid reverie.
The Forbidden Lands stretch out wide before them, majestic and frozen in time. The Endless Bridge lies ahead, and his horse plods onward without prompting. Desert sands spread out beneath him, arid and hungry for another set of bones.
In the distance, he can make out the temple's outline in the graceless afternoon sunlight. The wind is relentless, blowing still damp jade tresses from stoic, hate-shrouded hazel eyes.
Seto was a proud man, but the sting of betrayal and heartache was still too fresh for there to be room in his heart for anything more.
Sheer cliffs - topped in ruffled green and speckled with sand - surrounded the desert on either side. The warrior knew they extended far beyond that, encircling the entire countryside; a natural cage for unnatural beings.
In no time at all, they approach the end of the bridge, the temple looming high above them. A family of black hawks surround the natural rock edifice - a dark omen, if ever there was one. Good thing he paid omens - good or bad - about as much attention as his step-father had before taking the love of his life away.
It was easy to coax Kisara forward; his trusted horse had yet to disobey any command given, and now was no exception.
The heavy stone door slides immediately open, as though it sensed their approach. Kisara prances backward, whickering in displeasure. Seto has no time to worry about frightened animals, quickly nudging her along with a quick press of heels to her flank.
She reluctantly descends the carved steps, and Seto takes a moment to look back as the last slivers of sunshine disappear as the door slides shut.
He gets that wayward feeling again, like this place at the end of the world will be his tomb - or his salvation.
He urges Kisara onward, through pitch black and narrow halls. Finally, a dim grey cuts through the gloom and Seto finds himself in a circular chamber; a ramp spirals around the edge, stone pockmarked with dust everywhere he looks. The ceiling above is too shrouded in darkness to clearly make out, but he knows no sunlight has ever found its way into this place.
Kisara turns of her own accord, following the route downward. The descent is gradual, but with little direction, she makes it down in due time. A shallow pool of water, no deeper than Kisara's chest, rests at the very bottom. Seto spares the murky depths a cursory glance before his horse dances away; with a tug of the reins, she's back on track, bypassing the ramp and walking further into the temple proper.
He spies the first rays of light, swimming in motes of dust and detritus of ages past. His horse needs no more guidance; she must smell fresher air beyond, and makes her way slowly down a short flight of steps into a grand hall, bathed in soft earthy tones and echoing in somber seclusion.
Shafts of light trickle down from above, a circular skylight scored into the stone by ancient hands. Ribbed arches hold the ceiling in sturdy measure, but that is not the first thing that catches his attention.
All along either side of the hall, half-hidden in smoky niches, lie a series of dust-smeared statues. Larger than life, each depicts a monster straight out of the old stories, their faces frozen in time.
Seto feels a sense of unease as he passes each one by, avoiding their dead gaze and clutching his precious bundle tightly against his chest.
If gods were real, then perhaps these were the shades of long-dead immortals, placed here as a reminder to future generations.
There was only one god in particular Seto was interested in speaking with.
A dais lies at the fringes of the hall; a stone overhang shields the plinth from most of the elements, but it is clear to him where Yugi must be placed. He wasn't just a body; somewhere out there was a pure soul of the most beautiful person Seto had ever known, and it was time to reclaim it from the stark reaches of the Afterlife.
Kisara balked before coming to a complete stop a few feet from the steps. She would go no further, which meant the final few steps were his alone to take. A sigh slips into the air as Seto finally dismounts; his feet hit solid ground, resolve kindling anew with every step he takes. He pauses only long enough to take Yugi into his arms before approaching the stone slab.
No human has set foot in this place since ancient times, yet everything seems frozen, sparkling with muted wonder. Should his people decide to break taboo and brave the Forbidden Lands, this temple alone would house the entire populace; just one village scattered along the hills, but he could not imagine a worse fate.
Each step feels like a mile, bright sunlight scorching his eyes; Seto bows his head, standing in the dim shadow of the overhang. The shroud flutters around Yugi's ankles, caught in a sudden swirl of wind. He treasures these last few moments, his lover so light in his arms, peaceful and limp in death.
He swallows the grief down, hot and thick on his tongue; carefully, he sets his precious cargo on the plinth, arranging the body as though Yugi were simply asleep. Dried blood coats his shirt, thick flakes of rust marring an otherwise perfect illusion of tranquility.
In one swift movement, Seto pulls the cloth from Yugi's still body, where it dances on the breeze until it falls, lifeless to the sand-dusted stone.
He really could be sleeping, Seto thinks, his first conscious thought in some time. Yugi's hair was his most distinctive trait; wild and curly, it normally swayed to and fro, unbound by any tool of man. Now it lay still, tied back in beaded braids, leaving the curled lightning at his brow free to frame a fallen angel's face.
Yugi's eyes were a close second; now soft and still, they were once bright with mischief, dark skies sparkling in his irises and crinkling with mirth every time he laughed. Comparing them to anything less was a disservice to his memory.
What was once a picture of innocence, now cold and lifeless, a sea of sunshine his only company.
Seto's hands begin to shake, clenched tightly at his sides and knocking against the pommel of his sword.
He remembers the legends, fresh and crisp in his mind. The old men of his village passed them down, an oral testament to their ancestor's failings.
/That place.. began from the resonance of intersecting points..
They are memories, replaced by ens and naught, and etched into stone.
Blood, young sprouts, sky -
and the one with the ability to control beings created from light../
Gods, Seto thought, eyes shut tight to the world of grey around him. They were so cruel, demanding and frivolous.
If a single tear carved a wet and sorrowful path down his cheek, no one had to be the wiser.
/In that world, it is said that if one should wish it
one can bring back the souls of the dead..
..But to trespass upon that land is strictly forbidden./
Taking a deep breath through parched lungs, he swipes a hand across his eyes, banishing the tears. Time enough for that later, once their reunion in this life was complete. Seto had a task before him, one that he knew would change the course of his life forever: to bring back Yugi's soul from the far reaches of the Afterlife.
Squelching boots through viscous mud, Kisara's neighs of distress, and the moaning of disembodied spirits shatter the tomb-like silence.
Seto turns to find a line of shadows, wearing the dark silhouettes of man. They must have come from the temple itself, manifesting to feed on his rage and grief. He calmly draws the sword strapped to his hip, the blade scraping lightly against a leather scabbard. Kisara prances backward, whickering in fear.
He holds the sword aloft; shafts of light scatter in prisms of ice blue, a holy nimbus around damascus steel. The middle of the blade sweeps inwards, a concavity of sharp intent as he points it at each target. It vibrates, deep bell-like tones sweeping the shadows from sight, back to their realm of inky darkness from whence they crawled.
Thunder and lightning clash, a cacophony of sound over the sweeping hills. Clouds dance and swirl in the heavens, yet the blazing beams of light never waver, shimmers of golden dust floating easily on the still air.
There is a presence here, Seto thinks, cold eyes narrow and thoughtful. Finally.
"Hmm? Thou possess the Ancient Sword?"
A voice - several, at least three or four molded clumsily into a singular audible tone - trickles down from the oracular opening in the temple ceiling. The warrior holds his breath, waiting; rage slowly drips away, revealing an intense curiosity underneath.
"Ah, so thou art mortal.." the voice whispers, a beat of silence following the disembodied words.
"Are you the god of the Forbidden Lands?" His voice is raw, stilted and unused. Seto clears his throat softly, tries again. "I was told that in this place at the ends of the world -" he calmly sheaths the Ancient Sword, the halo of ice white disappearing into darkness "- there exists a being who can control the souls of the dead." A thrill of fear slips down his spine, but he dismisses it. The warrior prince of Khemet fears neither god nor idol.
"Thou art correct," the voice slithers down from the sky, a sibilant hiss on stale air. "I am called Osiris by the bird masters and lords of the sky." It seems to change, a deep guttering rumble of thunder among rubble.
"I am called Obelisk by the tomb keepers, plying their secrets among the shadows." It rises into the light on silent wings, searing and bright, clear as a bird's cry.
"I am called Ra by the sun worshippers who paint the dawn with their somber tunes."
There is a swish of fabric and a swirl of inky shadows; a man appears in the golden aurora, garbed in drops of gold and pale linen, a semblance of wings rippling upon the proud back in sheets of indigo. "But you, traveler, may know me as Atem."
From the corner of his eye, Seto notes the shroud - cream and outlined in the symbols of their tribe - flutter on silent wings into some dark corner of the dais behind him. The warrior prince has eyes for no one but the god standing before him.
Dark skin, sharp angles filled by toned muscle, a crown of sweeping gold resting upon a noble brow. The god's hair falls in coiling wisps of mahogany down to the middle of his back, with auric curls of light - so reminiscent of his fallen love as to leave Seto speechless - framing the face of the forgotten divine.
"He was sacrificed for having a cursed fate," Seto turns his body halfway, glancing back at Yugi's slumbering form. "You have to bring his soul back." He was not one to ask or take no for an answer - not even from a god.
"That man's soul?" Atem laughs, deeply amused at his tenacity. "Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed. Is that not the law of mortals?" His voice almost seems normal now - a charming baritone, smooth as a bolt of silk.
Seto whirls back to face him, fist tight on the sword's grip, tabard rippling in the light breeze. "Then take mine instead!" He takes a step forward, toeing the edge of stone. "A soul for a soul. Isn't that equal?"
Atem sighs, a wisp of breath through glistening white teeth. "I cannot," he holds up a hand before the prince can offer any more. "But with that sword you carry, your request may not be impossible."
Seto bristles, pride coiling in his gut to simmer and boil, stoking the flames of rage once again. "You tell me this now?!"
The god's eyes narrow - flecks of fire among inky shadow - and this time, the prince cannot ignore the fright petering out in a silent snarl.
"Perhaps, if you manage to accomplish what we ask of you in return."
The voice melds once again into an amalgamation of several speaking at once. This was no normal god, of that Seto was sure. He was not yet so bewitched by the appearance of youth and beauty to refuse the lifeline they offered him.
"What do I have to do?"
A note of desperation leaks into his tone, and he prays the god will ignore it, just this once.
Atem's lips curl, just enough to be noticable. "Behold the idols that stand along the wall," he turns, sweeping an arm down the temple to indicate the dusty effigies. "Thou art to destroy all of them."
"That's all?" Seto scoffs, prideful until his last breath.
The god chuckles, high and deep all at once. "Those idols cannot be destroyed - not by the hands of a mere mortal.."
The prince flicks hazel eyes over each idol depiction before turning to face the godling once more.
"Then what must I do?"
Atem shrugs, a quick blur of movement Seto can barely follow. "In this land, there exist colossi that are the incarnations of those idols." He holds up a single finger, pointing it at the prince. "If thou defeat those colossi -" The prince can easily spy the challenge before the god's lips move to deliver it, eyes fixated on the slant of gold holding back his cape. "- the idols shall fall."
"I understand."
"But heed this," Atem's hand lowers to his side, and Seto has no excuse but to look back into the depths of those eyes - swimming in hellfire and brimming with shadow. "The price you pay may be heavy indeed."
"It doesn't matter," His conviction is sealed, and he knows there will be no turning back now. "I'll pay whatever price I need to."
"Very well." Atem flicks a forefinger toward the sun-glazed balcony behind the plinth. "Raise thy sword by the light.." The combination of voices - a sibilant hiss, a baritone rumble, a rasping caw - begins to slowly fade into a ghostly whisper. "- and head to the place where the sword's light gathers.." Seto turns into the light, gazing out into the barren jade fields beyond. "There, thou shalt find the colossi thou art to defeat."
Seto takes a final, long look at Yugi's still form; he brushes a wisp of gold from the pale brow and sighs.
I do this for you, he thinks, just as a shifting of fabric announces the god's departure.
"Now, be on thy way.." the last haunting notes of the god's whisper fill the prince's ears, and he takes the command for what it is: a clear dismissal.
He does so gladly; whistling to Kisara, he mounts the horse with ease and nudges her flank with the tips of his boots.
They depart the temple in swift measure, a warrior on his way to slay a giant, all in the name of love.
Kisara has trouble descending the wide stone steps leading out of the temple behind the dais, but Seto long ago learned patience in raising her; he dismounts, guiding her down each step until they reach solid ground.
A wide plain extends before him, stretching for miles around. A cloudy haze blankets the sky, but not enough to dispel the steady sunshine pouring through the gaps. Straight ahead, a sheer cliff rises into the heavens, broken only by a slim crevice. Even shading his eyes from the light, it's hard to tell how far away he would have to travel, the direction unclear at first glance.
Raise thy sword by the light...
The god's words ring fresh in his mind, and Seto draws the Ancient Sword, holding it proudly above his head.
A holy blue light flickers down the sharp steel edge, a starburst of color in a drab landscape. A scowl marring his features, the prince tilts the blade in a different direction; the light condenses into a single beam, pointing the way to his foe.
The blade sings, a solitary note of glorious challenge, and Seto knows he has found his first mark.
He sheaths the weapon, stepping into the leather stirrup and settling comfortably on his horse's back. He grabs the reins and clicks his tongue; her ears perk up, and she abandons the prospect of grazing to trot forward.
Their first destination is straight ahead, towards the crevice he spied earlier. Smaller hills dot the way, lining the path like a signpost. Seto nudges his heels into Kisara's flank, urging her into a full canter. The wind rushes in his ears, smearing the world around him in an earthy blur of color and sound.
It would be so easy to forget why he was here; if not for the guilt drawing fresh, bloody claws at his heart, Seto could lose himself in the wonders this land provides.
In no time at all, they approach the crevice; Kisara needs no prompting to ascend the small flight of stairs that precede the lone niche. Something was here once, standing proudly in the shadows; nothing now remains but a series of ledges crawling with vines, and the prince knows his horse must stay behind.
He dismounts in quick fashion, letting her reins hang loose. He gives her a soft pat and bids her to graze where she likes.
His only worry now is where to go next. Craning his head back, Seto notes the change in environment with a calculated eye. The sword brought him here, but there is no colossi within sight.
If there is nothing down here, then I will go up, he decides. Khemet's crown prince had long ago learned how to fight, taking down men twice his size when he was but a starry-eyed boy. Now, fully grown into his own, Seto tackles the cliffside with nothing but sheer determination and the will to succeed fueling his efforts.
Seto hops each gap, well aware of the consequences of falling, but never once giving it actual thought. He rolls beneath a fallen column and springs to his feet, eager to continue. The rest of the climb is simple, jumping from one ledge up to the next, until he finally reaches the top.
The crevice opens onto a larger area, hidden behind the cliff face. He takes a moment to catch his breath and rest; it wasn't an arduous climb, but the prince would come to appreciate these moments in the future. Scrub brush dots the field, a calm before the storm.
The earth trembles, gargantuan steps falling and crashing, scattering dust and shale. A hand appears, massive and armored in dusky rock. A leg follows, all dull furry hide and muscle; a large club, far bigger than Seto is tall, gripped tightly in its other hand. It passes by at a sedate pace, slow and uncaring, a force of nature made flesh.
It lumbers on, unaware of the human's presence below. Seto uses this to his advantage, dashing forward and slinging the bow from his back. He carries a small quiver strapped to his other hip for hunting his own game - irony at its finest.
The colossus ambles onward to destinations unknown, but its life would be cut short very soon if Khemet's prince had anything to say about it. Seto whistles to catch the beast's attention, high and piercing. It flicks an ear, but does not otherwise react.
The arrow burrowing itself high on the round of its shoulder has the beast singing a different tune. It turns slowly, startling teal gaze settling on the human below.
Finally, Seto thinks, sheathing his bow and drawing the Ancient Sword. The battle begins.
"Hold up thy sword to reflect the light onto the colossus. Its vitals shall be revealed..."
The voice of the god Atem slithers down from on high, filling his ears until the prince hears nothing but the rumbling and grinding of earthen joints, setting his teeth to chattering.
He holds the blade aloft, sparking the beam of light onto its ursine face. A fluttering of bird's wings overhead become the soundtrack to the beginnings of a fierce battle.
Its snout is fully encased in stone, leaving its hateful eyes free to bore into the crown prince as it steps forward to accept the challenge.
There is only one way to topple a giant: you climb.
Seto spies the edge of a small platform on the bear's back, a stone girdle for an ancient warrior. That's the second step; the first is getting onto the beast itself without being trampled.
He dashes around the massive hooves, shod in stone and crushing grass underfoot with every lumbering step it takes. It is far too slow for him, and the left leg makes an easy first target. Dodging each slothful step, the prince leaps onto the first bit of fur he can reach, grabbing thick clumps in both fists and hanging on for dear life.
A thin crimson mist leaks from a teal fissure in the beast's calf; malformed wisps of discontent, an obvious weak point. Seto lifts the sword high, plunging it into the soft flesh. The bear immediately reacts, stumbling forward onto one knee with an ear-piercing howl, one huge fist striking the ground to catch itself.
There is no indication of death, so there must be another weak point somewhere higher on the colossus. A series of grooves lie before him, hardened rock fastened to vulnerable skin, and Seto does the only logical thing: he keeps climbing.
Instead of sheathing the sword, the prince clutches the handle tightly, awkwardly springing from one groove to the next until he reaches the small platform on the creature's lower back. Seto is a tall man, but never had he reached such heights before. He spies two more small ledges, and leaps higher still, using the bear's coarse fur as a guide.
From his new vantage point, there is nothing else to prevent his ascent onto the creature's back, save for the bear itself. It never stays still, slowly ambling forward, attempting to shake him off every few moments. Seto holds on for dear life, though his own holds no meaning if he cannot avenge his fallen love.
After waiting out the next fit, the prince climbs higher still, like a mouse clinging to a lion's back; no matter how much it cries and shakes, he remains, ever vigilant. By now, he's worked up a sweat, and is well aware of his own limitations. The battle must end soon, or Seto's life will be the one to forfeit.
He crests the spiny hill of the creature's back, alert for any more dark mist. He finds none, but as soon as he reaches the bear's crown, an icy blue light begins to shimmer. The Ancient Sword responds in kind, singing softly in the prince's hand. A shape forms in the light; a symbol, clear as day, and one Seto takes as his sign to strike.
It's almost beautiful in a way, pristine and glowing brightly as he raises the sword high. He wastes no more time, plunging it deep into the center and yanking it free.
A plume of shadows spurt from the wound, soaking the blade in vicious ink and not much else. The beast does not fall, so it must take more than one strike. A deep, rumbling groan low in the ursine belly alerts the prince to the creature's distress. It shakes, a violent upward motion of its head before settling again. Seto manages to hang on through sheer determination alone.
The second strike comes swiftly on the heels of the first; his hand and tabard are splattered with ash and black blood, but the prince soldiers on.
One more attack, he thinks. One more, and you die.
The colossus must sense its imminent demise; it tries harder than before to shake the human free, but Seto is not one to succumb to defeat so easily.
On the third strike, Seto buries the sword all the way to the hilt before pulling it free.
A thick cloud of shadows burst forth, dissipating as quickly as it comes. The creature's dying screams are cut short as it stumbles forward, its own momentum carrying it into the ground. The colossus falls limply to the soil, a marionette with sliced strings.
Miraculously, Seto is unhurt in the fall, managing to cling to an armored ear until the bear lies still. He jumps down, back onto solid ground. He is never more thankful to be alive than right at this moment, pausing to catch his breath.
A frisson of fear slides down his back, icy and full of foreboding.
Seto turns to find a string of dark tentacles sprouting from the dead idol's crown; outlined in sickly blue, they stretch into the heavens like an eldritch being, sentient and foul.
Khemet's prince feared no man, but this thing - coating the idol in a blanket of oily shadow - was no mortal entity. He does the only thing a man can do: he runs, flinging clumps of fur and blood from the tip of his blade.
The tendrils catch him anyway, a mere five steps away from the rotting corpse. They strike his torso in a simultaneous lunge, sinking frigid fingers deep into his belly. Inky black spills from his mouth and stomach in a putrid wave, leaving the prince gasping for breath in a bid to stay alive.
Seto's one thought as he falls to his knees, sword clenched in rigor mortis, is that the god would pay for lying to him - in this life, or the next.
A dusky void swims before his eyes as his body falls limp, cheek striking grass and sand.
His death was all for naught; if his love could not find this life again, then neither would he.
***
A sea of stars rush by at lightning speed, surely carrying his soul to the Afterlife.
He hears nothing but a rush of wind, sees nothing but an endless void, feels everything all at once, and then--
Nothing at all.
***
Seto's eyelids flutter, glossy hummingbird wings against the high arches of his cheeks. Awareness is slow to come, creeping in bit by solitary bit.
At first, there is only the rough stone beneath his body, coarse and dusted in golden sand, gritty beneath the hand still clutched around the handle of his sword.
He feels a dark presence somewhere above him; barely conscious, he cannot even lift his sword to banish the entity, resigning himself to a bitter fate.
Finally, his fingers twitch, the tiniest of movements seeming to break the spell of paralysis. Seto climbs slowly to his feet, groaning with the effort.
The shadow is nowhere to be found.
To his surprise, he finds no visible wounds. The only evidence of his encounter with the colossus gleams wickedly on the edge of his blade, ash and blood running off the concavity to sink into the temple floor. The prince shakes his head, dispelling any leftover haze. He strides forward, out from under the bright lights and into the dim shelter of the overhang.
Yugi.
He sheaths the Ancient Sword, wiping the last of the idol's blood on the edge of his tabard as he ascends the steps of the dais.
Seto approaches his lover's body, unease coiling tight and deep in his belly. Why does he not wake? He did as the god asked of him! He killed the cursed idol, wetting the landscape with its foul miasmal blood.
A great rumble fills the temple proper, and Seto turns back to the hall where he first entered.
The first idol along the right side, standing proud and tall in its dusty niche, begins to glow with an ethereal white light. It shatters, fragments of glowing stone tumbling to the temple floor. The beast's head is the last to crumble, worn and pitiful in simulated death.
The white light fades away, replaced by a crawling tingle of rage, raw and filled with flaming passion.
As if summoned by his very thought, a swirl of golden motes appear, coalescing into the form of a dark-skinned man.
"You!" Seto snarls, taking a threatening step forward. "You promised!"
The god quirks a brow, twirling a long lock of hair around a forefinger.
"We sense your anger, but we are not at fault here," he holds up the other hand, halting Seto in his tracks, as though sensing he was about to speak. "We told you. To regain your love's lost soul -" The prince blinks, and Atem is standing on the step below, staring up with wide eyes, dark as sunset and full of raw power. "-You. Must. Slay. Them. All." The conjoined voices return, painting the last word in otherworldly vibration, a last and final testament.
Seto grits his teeth, unable to lash out. He seethes quietly, a desperate man in shoes far too big to fill.
A rumbling sigh parts the full lips, deep as a coursing river and just as long. The god reaches up, flicking the last bit of blood and ash from the prince's pale cheek.
"We are a god of our word, traveler. Kill them all, and we will bring your lover back from the wide beyond."
The prince of Khemet had never sunk so low, nor flown so high on the words of the forgotten divine.
"Fine." Seto bows his head, defeat etched in every line and curve. "I'll kill them all, and you will bring him back."
Atem chuckles, water tumbling over smooth rocks. "It will be done. You have our word."
A soft touch, whispering down the chiseled edge of his jaw. Seto flicks his eyes upwards, met only with empty light. He looks around, a frantic note of vulnerability in his search.
His worry is all for naught; Atem stands below, bathed in auric tones and awash in holy strength. The god points to his left, at the idol nestled snugly within its shadowy nook.
"Thy next foe is..."
