They make their way toward a cave, their footsteps leaving imprints on the desert sand. With each step, their determination grows, propelling them forward despite the weight of their fears.

As they approach the mouth of the cave, they enter its cool embrace, finding solace in its shadows. Marc leans against the cave wall, exhaustion tugging at his body. Cleo kneels beside him, her touch a comforting presence.

The small cave offers a respite from the scorching desert sun, casting an eerie twilight within its confines. Shadows dance across the rough, uneven walls, painting a macabre tableau of their fears. Cleo and Marc huddle together, seeking solace in the dim light that filters through the entrance.

As they attempt to rest, their minds become battlegrounds, haunted by the ghosts of their past. Visions of relentless torment swirl in the air, infiltrating their thoughts, refusing to be silenced. Memories intertwine with their waking moments, suffocating them with a suffocating grip that tightens with each passing breath.

Marc's eyes flutter closed, and the darkness only deepens. He's transported back to the cold, desolate cell where he was imprisoned, his body battered and broken. The metallic clang of chains reverberates through his mind, a symphony of agony that refuses to fade. He can almost taste the acrid stench of despair that permeated the air, suffusing his every pore.

Meanwhile, Cleo drifts into a troubled sleep, her dreams a distorted mirror of her past. She finds herself trapped in a never-ending labyrinth, the walls closing in on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. The echoes of her own screams reverberate, drowning out all reason and hope. The labyrinth twists and turns, an enigma that mocks her every attempt to escape, as if reminding her that her past is inescapable.

Even in their waking moments, the remnants of their traumas claw at their consciousness. The cave walls seem to close in, mirroring the suffocating grip of their memories. Each breath becomes a struggle, as if the air itself has turned against them. The wind outside howls with a haunting melody, whispering secrets of pain and despair.

Cleo still feels the haunting glare of the God fo Death. She feels his hot and ragged breath against her neck, just as Marc feels the weight on his shoulders placed by Khonshu.

All Marc wanted was to be free... and now even his own freedom has been taken from him. He does not know how it's possible. How he could still be under Khonshu's command, after all this time.

Cleo finds slumber once more, her skin glistening with sweat as her chest rises and falls with each breath, whilst Marc is wide away, unable to allow the depths of sleep to consume his mind. His mind is what keeps him awake, his broken and feeble mind that Khonshu found alluring.

" MARC."

The man slowly lifts his head, too tired to move any further. He looks toward the mouth of the cave and sees a figure standing right outside. He wants to cry. He wants to scream and cry and throw up.

" MARC."

He doesn't want to do it. He really doesn't want to, and yet his body moves anyway, walking to the opening of the cave, where he stands side by side with the God of the Moon.

" SURPRISED TO SEE ME?"

" Honestly... no," Marc scoffs, " That deal was too good to be true... I'll never be rid of you."

" YOUR LIFE HAS GREAT PURPOSE WHEN YOU ARE MINE. WITHOUT ME, ALL THAT WOULD BE IS PAIN AND SUFFERING."

" Right, cuz I don't have pain and suffering with you," Marc utters sarcastically.

" CLEOPATRA DOES. HER PAIN AND SUFFERING IS NEAR ETERNAL. A WICKED GAME PLAYED OUT BY A ROGUE GOD."

" Another one?" Marc asks.

" ANUBIS IS A GOD PLAGUED WITH DUTY. ALL THOSE WHO MEET THEIR DEMISE PASS THROUGH HIM. IT IS HE WHOSE JUDGMENT IS FINAL. IT IS HIS SCALES YOUR HEART WAS WEIGHED UPON, AND IT IS HE WHOM CLEOPATRA'S SOUL BELONGS TO."

" Except for one thing," Marc interjects, " She's not dead."

" ISN'T SHE?"

With his final cryptic words, Khonshu disappears, as if he were never there to begin with. He leaves Marc all alone with his thoughts, with not even the man who lives within his mind to offer him any comfort.

" Steven?" Marc asks as he stares out at the vast desert, " Steven? You in there?"

He's only met with silence, making him scoff as he shakes his head. Stuck in the desert and not a single drop of alcohol to soothe his nerves. The satellite phones are back at the dig site, and whose to say that dig site was ever real? Whose to say it wasn't just another illusion?

And deep within the shared body, Steven dwells, shocked and stunned and unable to function or process anything.

It's too much.

It's all too much.

It just doesn't feel... real.

Nothing does.

Nothing ever has.

This entire trip has felt like a fever dream.

A cruel and twisted dream.

Marc heads back into the cave, and sees Cleo in her state of slumber, wondering whatever movie her mind has conjured this time. He stands there for a while and just watches her. He doesn't move nor does he speak, though his mind is caught in a twisted web.

" We were never really free... were we?" A voice asks from deep within.

" No, Steven... no we weren't."

Cleo suddenly jolts awake, her body covered in a sheen of sweat. Her chest heaves with ragged breaths as the remnants of her nightmare cling to her like a suffocating shroud. The haunting echoes of her screams still resonate in the recesses of her mind. Disoriented and filled with a lingering sense of dread, she searches the darkness of the cave, her eyes landing on Marc's figure standing by her side.

Marc's attention snaps back to Cleo as he hears her scream, his heart pounding with worry. He rushes to her side, his hands reaching out to comfort her. Cleo's eyes dart around, trying to ground herself in the reality of the cave. She clings to Marc, her fingers gripping his arm tightly as she fights to steady her trembling body.

"It was... it was just a dream, right?" She mutters, her voice shaky and filled with a hint of desperation.

Marc nods, his own unease evident in his eyes.

"Yeah, just a dream," He assures her, though the weight of his own nightmares still lingers heavily in his thoughts.

They sit together in the darkness, the silence punctuated by the sound of their labored breaths. The cave walls seem to close in around them, suffocating and unforgiving, mirroring the grip of their traumas. Their shared journey has been filled with horrors and twisted realities, blurring the line between waking and dreaming.

"I thought we escaped all this," Cleo whispers, her voice barely above a whisper.

" So did I," Marc mumbles as he sits there with his arms wrapped around her.

Cleo's mind races, searching for answers, trying to make sense of the relentless nightmares that haunt her. And then, as if a bolt of lightning cuts through the darkness, it hits her—the revelation that sends shivers down her spine.

She cheated death.

The realization hits Cleo like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a mix of awe and fear. She is not meant to be here. She is not meant to walk among the living. The gods, the very beings who shape the fabric of existence, had laid claim to her soul. Anubis's fury and relentless pursuit now make sense. She defied the natural order, escaping his grasp and eluding his judgment.

Cleo's eyes widen as the implications sink in. The weight of her own existence presses upon her, suffocating her with its magnitude. She cheated the very system the gods created, and now she must face the consequences.

Her gaze meets Marc's, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the storm that rages within her. She finds solace in the warmth of his touch, in the shared understanding of their intertwined fates.

"We weren't meant to escape, were we?" Cleo's voice trembles with a mix of awe and resignation.

Marc's eyes reflect her own realization.

" I died," She whispers, " I'm supposed to be dead."

" Cleo--" Marc starts.

" That's the whole reason why we're in this mess," Cleo interjects, " Because I'm not supposed to be here."

Cleo's words hang heavy in the air, echoing through the confines of the cave. The weight of her revelation settles upon them, casting a shadow over their already burdened souls. The realization that Cleo cheated death, that she defied the very order of the gods, fills the space with a tangible tension.

Marc's eyes search Cleo's face, his heart aching at the vulnerability and fear etched upon her features. He reaches out, his hand trembling as it finds hers, intertwining their fingers in a silent gesture of support and solidarity.

" You are supposed to be here," He corrects.

" I created this problem," She sternly utters, " I'm the reason we're in danger and, hell, I'm probably the reason Khonshu is still in your life."

" Cleo, that's not true."

" You don't know that."

" Khonshu would've never gone away, no matter what I did. That's not on you."

" Everything is on me, Marc!"

Cleo's voice rises, filled with a mixture of frustration and self-blame. The echoes of her words reverberate off the cave walls, amplifying the intensity of their argument. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, a storm brewing within her as the weight of her actions crashes down upon her.

Marc's jaw clenches, his own emotions roiling beneath the surface. He releases a breath, struggling to maintain his composure amidst the storm that rages between them.

"No, you can't shoulder the blame for everything," He insists, his voice tinged with both determination and desperation.

She pulls her hand away from his, pacing the small space of the cave, her movements agitated and restless.

"But I can!" She cries out, her voice cracking with emotion, "I cheated death, defied the gods themselves. And now we're hunted, tormented by ancient beings who want nothing more than to reclaim what I stole from them. I've brought this upon us."

Marc steps forward, his voice filled with a fierce resolve.

"We're in this together, Cleo," He states, his gaze unwavering, "We have a chance to change the course of our lives, to fight for our freedom."

Cleo's shoulders slump, the weight of her guilt pressing down upon her. She turns away from him, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm scared, Marc," She admits, her vulnerability exposed.

Marc steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently rest on her shoulder. His touch is a grounding force, providing a brief respite from the chaos that surrounds them.

"We're both scared, baby," He murmurs, his voice filled with empathy. "But we'll find a way."

Cleo's breath hitches, her tears finally spilling over. She turns to face him, her eyes searching his for any shred of certainty.

"I don't want to lose you," She whispers, her voice filled with raw emotion.

Marc's grip tightens on her shoulder, his eyes blazing with determination.

"You won't," He vows, his voice steady and unwavering.

The tension in the cave eases, replaced by a quiet understanding between them. They stand there, the weight of their shared burden still heavy upon their shoulders, but infused with a newfound sense of hope.

" Marc?" Cleo asks, her voice soft and gentle, " Is Moon Knight an option?"

" It's an option," Marc nods as he sharply inhales, " Just not one I like."

" I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate."

And as desperate Cleo may be, it's all too much for Steven. Marc feels his entire body vibrate, his heartbeat skyrockets as his eyes roll back into his head, making him lose control of his own body as another takes over.

" I-I can't do this," Steven stutters as the body shifts to his alignment, " I can't, I can't, I just... th-that pigeon can't do this to me! To us."

" Steven..." Cleo softly mutters as she attempts to hold his hand.

" Cleo," He interjects, his eyes meeting hers as his aura bleeds with pain, " It's too much."

" I know, honey. I know," She nods, " But we don't have another choice."

He takes a deep breath. His lungs clench within the cave as his eyes quickly glaze over.

" He promised," Steven whispers, " He promised we'd be left alone for good."

" Something must have changed," Cleo gently suggests.

Her eyes lock onto his. She sees his fear and she sees his pain... but she sees something else. A twinkle in the corner of his eye. A sparkle in the dim moonlight. A gleam... a wicked gaze.

" Steven... Look at me," She says as she steps forward, her eyes examining and taking in everything she can see.

" Wh-What's goin' on, love?" He stammers.

" Is Marc awake?" Cleo ponders.

" Quiet as a mouse," Steven states.

Her brows furrow in concentration, for her mind isn't able to let this one go. She stands there, her eyes piercing the veil of the known and unknown, her prowess digging deeper and deeper into the conscious and unconscious mind... where the unhinged Latino dwells, his lips curling up into a sickening grin as his voice lets out a gentle whisper.

" Mi vida."

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[ this story brings me so much joy, y'all have no idea ]