It was a moment of clarity as yet another spear was aimed at his chest. They seemed to rely on aged tools, from spears to swords; there was little to no use of guns or modern ammunition. 

Was that because such weapons couldn't kill them? Or were they too outdated in their thinking to try them? 

Verando couldn't cast too many stones, as his weapon of choice was outdated and frowned upon for anything but hand-to-hand combat. 

How would Seth respond when his prey did not die? 

His heart was no longer housed in this body. The gods who had come before had tested and proven the theory of his immortality beyond immortality. But perhaps they didn't report back to Seth, or the man just wanted to confirm for himself. It would appear that as much as the gods of Eygpt were related in some stretch, they didn't necessarily get along. 

It was enough to make Verando smirk, hidden behind the black depths of the hood. Fenrir seems to find amusement in their situation, for he begins to chuckle, and together, they find humor in their capture. 

When one is this angry, one must find humor in their situation; otherwise, it might consume them and cause them to do something truly insane. His amusement only irritates the God of War, making Hathor smirk, furthering the assumption she was here to save him rather than report back to Anubis that he'd been slaughtered. 

More than anything else, the nagging need for vengeance echoed in the back of his mind as Fenrir paced in his cage. Convincing himself to trust a Siren had been foolish; their relationship hadn't been the same since the hand, let alone the near-death experience. 

Tiberius would have to suffer.

This capture did give him a good look at the masks adorned by those who hunted him, but it was inconvenient nonetheless. The undertones of Norse influence did not go unnoticed, a clear warning that Odin was unhappy that Fenrir remained on Earth.

 Hunted by two sets of Gods and outed by a Siren gone rogue sounded right for the trouble he'd gotten himself into. It would be time to start making moves; fate would not wait forever. 

Hathor giggles, "Oh, good. I thought I was the only one who found this whole thing hysterical." She pulls him back out of his musings—it was as if time moved slower in the tomb. Perhaps he was finally acting like an otherworldly being, using more than just enough to get by. Fenrir had been pushing him to expand his knowledge just as Steffan had. 

 The ring on the floor shudders—a blood circle with an array of candles, bones, and ash scrawled across the stone. His hand has already tested the edges, scalding his fingertips as if hell flames resided in the seal—his nose twitches, his senses overwhelmed by the oils that saturated the Egyptians. 

How inconvenient, indeed. 

Though he knew it wouldn't kill him, the thought of being run through by the spear sounded less than appealing. Verando exhaled, rolling his shoulders with a satisfying pop. 

Time to go to work.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, producing the karambits, Verando adjusted his stance to prepare an attempt at deflecting. Seth's stance was strong, not a straight down stab like Anubis' but an upward thrust that a more experienced warrior might attempt. 

Forming the dual-sided blades into an 'X,' he leaned back onto his heel, forcing the spear upward instead of allowing it to gain purchase. The spear narrowly missed, and the gleaming tip skirted dangerously close to his chest. If he could keep from being impaled, he could at least keep Seth guessing for that much longer. 

"Not a mortal, at least not entirely. I'm glad you decided to fight back; it would have been disappointing to gut you so quickly." Seth tells him smoothly, with a calm, low tone. The angry, emotional tyrant has turned into someone sickeningly comfortable in battle. This was his peace, the place he was most familiar with. 

Verando set his jaw, keeping his thoughts to himself. The less time they spent fighting, the better. The god was drinking him in, absorbing every move and technique. A master, someone who can begin to predict the battle after just a few interactions.

Jerking the spear downward to dislodge the handheld blades from Verando's hands, the lycan collapses the blades together. 

"Break." 

It's a simple command, and the spear's head disintegrates into dust in one swift move. Steffan had shown him a technique for putting words to his abilities, which gave him more control when the lycan rage attempted to manifest in unrelenting destruction. 

I'd tried desperately to help him with it, but learning from me was surprisingly difficult. 

 Verando's hands almost burn, releasing an aura of decimation that darkens the stone around his feet. This was the issue with his ability to become 'Death'; it could do so much more than end someone's life. Fenrir's influence had made it even more potent, taking it far behind its intended power threshold.

Seth cocks his head to the side, the angular mask exaggerating the gesture. 

He took him in and dropped the spear handle while it withered away. The expression on his visible mouth was unreadable, yet the tension in his lips suggested he was displeased with this newfound knowledge.

"Anubis has been dabbling in the underworld for you to have an ability like that. So he gave his toy some new features. Is there anything human left in there?"

Verando could feel the itch, the desire to hunt. He had a prediction of his own, that there would be a massacre before the night was over.

Disciples of Seth and Sehkmet began to drift inward from the shadows, nothing more than mortals, but they didn't appear enchanted or charmed; nobody was forced to be here save for him. A glance showed him the results as fates became sealed, making him shudder as his hands tightened on the handles of the blades.

"Let me go, Seth, and there will be no backlash." Verando insists, "None of your followers have to die today." 

The God of War chuckles, "Oh, we are far past simply letting you go. This is a cull; you are faulty, and you pose a threat to my siblings and me. We want to play on Earth for a bit, and well- You are getting in the way of that."

Sekhmet growls low in her throat from the background. "As if you'd truly go in peace. Once a jackal, always a jackal. These are sneaky words with double meanings, and a scavenger can't be trusted with such promises. Tell us, Death, did Anubis instill in your rules that you are not to reap the Gods? If not, why would we let you continue to roam?"

Hathor practically snorts, moving to intercept though ever cautious. "A feline would think all dogs look alike. Is a lion comparable to a house cat?" 

Sekhmet grits her teeth in response, and Hathor shrugs innocently, 

"Death is no longer a scavenger, Sehkmet. Anubis went and found himself a predator. Times are changing, and we must change with it, even if it means ending this eternal life in favor of new higher beings. The hunters are about to become the hunted, and you've just shown the monster where you live." She positions herself, her body becoming more rigid, giving away that she had no intention of surrendering here. 

Seth practically roars in response. The temple rumbles with an echo of destruction in its deeper cells, and grit trickles from the stone ceiling. The place is fragile, an actual tomb; it would not tolerate a brawl. 

"Do not dare propose that there is another who could rule as me. The concept that Gods are to have successors is blasphemy. A falsehood created by those who can not uphold their titles. You tell your masters you serve; if they do not wish to keep their title, they can hand it over!"

With a sigh, Hathor pulls two sickles off her back, glancing towards the warlord with a grimace at his long-sleeved button-up and dress pants. "You dressed poorly for today. I hope you have a plan."

"Do not act against us, Hathor! There is no coming back if this is the side you declare." Sekhmet snarls as the thin woman scuffs her bare foot across the blood circle. 

Hathor composed her face; her shimmering eyes hinted that this was hard for her. "I must serve my master, Sekhmet. What I want does not determine what brings balance."

Cracks slowly began to spiderweb up the walls as sand poured in from all corners of the temple, seeping rapidly from each crevice and the mouth of every statue. 

It threatened to snuff out the burning torches on the walls, dimming the void of the room even further. The followers raced across the stone, dressed modestly; they were more adept at quick movements than a warlord trapped in a suit. 

Verando dodged the swipe of Seth's arm, a blade made of sand covering it. Slashing at the weapon with the back of the karambit, the God of war drops the sand off as it dies. 

"You're going to bury us alive?" Verando demands, stumbling in the crumbling stone as Hathor pulls him backward. Seth swung again, every block disintegrating more sand, and yet, he could feel that this was a tactic to chip away at his reserves. 

"He's the God of War and Sand; of course, he will bury us. Do some reading!" She hisses, "Sekhmet won't contribute, she's more so mischievous than a fighter, but Seth... we're pretty screwed. I was hoping it wasn't Seth who was after you." She swings her sickles, fighting off incoming foot soldiers while attempting not to kill them.

Verando narrowly misses a full-on assault, swinging for his throat as Seth lands a blow to the warlord's abdomen, sending them both sailing across the room. 

Hathor narrowly misses being crushed as his body hits the stone. The weight of a demi-god bearing the compressed version of Fenrir decimates a wall as if it were made of chalk instead of solid limestone and granite. 

This time, Seth looks surprised, the corner of his mouth barely turning down as Verando climbs out of the wreckage and Hathor skirts to her feet. "You keep getting more interesting. You take a hit like a god."

Hathor shrugs, "Technically, he is." She taunts, sticking out her tongue as Seth scowls. 

While the hit hadn't killed him, his body throbbed with the discomfort of being used as a battering ram. Fenrir barked in his mental cage, biting at the bars, causing the headache to begin again. "Release me, and I'll devour him. Problem solved."

If only it were so easy. 

Being trapped in the circle had sent the beast back to the days of his imprisonment, and he could sense the fear, the desire to lash out, and the need to escape. A man who was supposed to be their friend had betrayed them, almost costing them eternity. Just as Tyr did, just as everyone else seemed to be trying to do with the chain. 

With a heavy sigh, Verando kneels, pressing his palm to the floor. Chilled fog leaves his lips; his body feels like it is made of stone as he sends energy into his hand. Some questions needed no answers, only actions. If Seth wanted to believe him to be a god, he would allow him to think it. 

"If you want to get out of here, I'm going to need your help," he murmurs to the beast lurking within, "I won't let them trap us, but you've got to get out of my way and lend me your strength."

Fenrir hesitates, concerned as he watches the approaching God of War. The only thing he can be sure of is that Verando will find a way to get back to me. 

The ground implodes, like black ink spreading from his fingertips across the floor in savage streaks that crumble away. One by one, the followers fall into the depths below across the expanse of stone, powder, and shrapnel. Seth's eyes glow red within his mask as he drops through the floor, enraged. 

Suddenly, a light tug catches his attention, and he whips his head around to see Hathor plucking at the hood as if to pull it down. 

"How do you get this to stay up? I'm pulling pretty hard.. is it glued on?"

"Is now really the time?" Verando retorts, flinching as she pulls him to his feet. Hurriedly moving his hands away from her, he could feel the tremble in his body building. The urge to hunt and the building hunger disturbed him more than the ability to destroy with a simple touch. 

 "Oh, don't forget, Seth controls the sand, and... well... we are standing in sand." She tells him, kicking at the forming mounds. 

Fingers rise from the mounds of yellow sand as Verando leaps out of the way, bringing her with him. He holds her close to his side while keeping his hand firmly grasped around the karambit, slashing at one of the digits, causing it to disintegrate. 

"We can't keep this up," he tells her lowly. If you know a way out of here, now's the time."

Hathor shoves him backward, guiding him as he fends off the approaching hand. "There's no way out. This is a tomb; I merely followed the humans in. Leaving means landing in the desert, which is Seth's domain."

 Cursing under his breath, he pulls out his phone, making the woman gawk at him as he turns. "Lead me toward the exit; anything to get us outside."

There was nothing to smell in here with the heavy scent of oil. 

"Do you want a damned selfie? No reception?" She spits, bolting down the hallway, slashing at a follower, and grimacing at the blood splatter. "I hate this. It's disgusting, it's not our job.. this isn't right to kill people."

This wasn't the part that bothered him so much as the means he would use to escape. He pulled up my name and typed it in quickly. 

"Call me."

______________________________________________________________

I smile as kindly as I can manage as I stand under the lights of the finely decorated patio. 

"We are so excited for your school's opening, Mr.Mercer. I've read all about you; our town really should be more excited for you and your family settin' down roots here."

How many more times would I have to hear that? 

More confirmation that we weren't welcome, though I couldn't say I blamed them. 

"Oh, it really doesn't bother us; we're used to being perceived as a bit... much, what with my husband's job and, you know, my involvement in saving the world." I laid it on as thick as I could without glowering, putting on my best politician's face. 

The man coughs, dismissing his wife and summoning one of his friends, who promptly shakes my hand. "Women and their commentary. Here, tell my friend about your proposal."

 "Mr.Mercer... the... er, other Mercer." 

"Right." I sigh, running a hand through my hair before squaring off my shoulders. "I'm pursuing other interests, branching out in the automotive industry. Much as I'm sure you've both seen my husband's car, it's been featured on a few television shows-"

"The Salene," the man insists. How he sounded surprised made my blood boil. As if shocked, I'd have anything interesting to say; little did he know it was my murderous husband who was the neat freak and the one who watched his figure. 

"Yes. As I'm sure you've seen, it's been destroyed."

This catches one off guard while the other nods in obvious disappointment. "Yes, yes, damn shame. If I'm not mistaken, it was the only one brought over from a collector in New York. No one thought he'd get the damn thing runnin'."

"Runnin?" the second man asks, raising his eyebrows. I thought it was just a track car?"

"No, it was fully functional," I insist. "It was fast as hell and turned like a bloody jungle cat. Gentlemen, I am proposing producing a select number of these cars, bringing back the muscle car—in a sports luxury vehicle—and getting away from these clunkers we see on the streets." Even talking about it got my heart pumping, my mind racing with ideas of how to make it better, faster, and perhaps even safer. 

 They exchange glances, two children in a candy shop, as if talking to me might get them in trouble. "Shooot..." one of them whistles, rubbing his arm, scratching an invisible itch. "I'd say you're talkin' about something mighty expensive."

Shrugging, I smirk back in response. "You'd be shocked. But, I go to plenty of these events, and there are more than enough bored husbands waiting on their wives to finish talking to entertain me, so if you're not interested-"

I glance down, spying that Verando had texted me to call him. Cocking my head, close the screen and figure he must be finished with his show early. "No no, we're interested.. it's just.. you know.. I'd like to stay married."

"Maybe he doesn't know?" The other man snickers, making the corner of my mouth twitch as my phone buzzes again. 

"Call me."

The first elbows me; I bristle in response and assure myself that mauling him would get me nowhere. "See? Ball and chain, am I right?"

"Right," I murmur, pursing my lips as I shut the screen off again. Maybe he was drunk? 

"Are we keeping you out past curfew?" he asks as I watch my pocket, hoping it will not go off again. 

"Something like that," I admit, stealing a glance up to see I'd touched something they were both familiar with as they glance through the crowd, checking on their own commitments. "It's hard when he's out of town, running around with his band; sometimes, he partakes a bit too much. I'm sure it's nothing."

The first man extends his hand once more. "Mullins," he reintroduces. "You know, Mercer, I do like you. If there's anything I know, it's what it's like to have an eccentric wife runnin' around with her friends, causing me stress. So these cars.. are you projecting to have any done this year?"

Clearing my throat, I push the offense to the back of my mind. Verando could be eccentric, I suppose. For the sake of the story and the sale, I'd allow it. "They'll be custom-ordered first, but we will model some after the originals and begin producing them. The machines to build these things exist; it's just getting my hands on them. I've got a few in the works; it'll be slow to start, but that means those who invest first will have their cars that much faster."

My phone buzzes again, and I quickly take it out. 

"Call me."

Mr.Mullins pats me roughly on the back. "You'll be in the dog house on that one; better answer that there phone, son. We're not goin' anywhere. Got a card?"

Deflated, I hand him my card and grumble to myself as I walk out of the backyard and into the kitchen, pressing call. Immediately the call goes to voicemail, and I curse, resisting the throw the damned device. 

"I'm doing this for you, asshole," I tell it, tempted to send it to silent or shut the damn thing off.

"Call me."

Gripping my hair, I call him again, and it goes to voice mail instantly. "Hello, Mr.Mercer. This is your darling husband telling you that I don't think this game is funny, and if you hang up on me again, I will put that whole immortality bit to the test. Got it? Good Night, Randy." I press the end button and spin around to rest my hands on the counter, only to hear the buzz of my phone vibrating. 

"S Me."

"Sext? You want me to sext you? What the actual fuck, Verando?" The hair on the back of my neck begins to stand, Rosu whimpers in the back of my mind. "S me?" I mutter, glancing around before I move out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. My hand slides up, resting over the pendant on my neck. "Summon? Do you.. miss me? Is that what this is?"

Turning to look in the mirror, I fixed my hair quickly, taking in the dress shirt and pants I'd chosen, carefully tucking in the hem a bit more to accentuate my waist—or lack thereof. It wasn't like I had hips to speak of. 

Taking a long, slow breath as I position myself against the sink, I do my best to look indifferent as I say the words. "Come."