In the mortal realm, in the tomb of Alexander the Great, the shared dead body of Steven Grant and Marc Spector gets pulled from the water, and the corpse gets searched for the treasure hidden inside a white coat.

Ammit's ushabti.

The small figurine gets handed to Arthur and presented to him like a great honor as Layla and Cleo watch in horror from the sidelines.

Cleo's eyes never blink. They remain open and dry as she watches them comb over the corpse like it's nothing more than dirt. Her mind is frozen, unable to think, and unable to comprehend the shocking truth that stands before her.

They're dead.

Marc and Steven are dead.

And no matter how long she stares, it never registers in her mind. She watches as Arthur places the scarab compass on the chest with two bullet holes, but his words never come through her ears. All she can hear is the stark ringing of trauma and panic. It clouds her mind, and she stands like a statue as the sand falls down her fingertips, as it falls down her trembling hands.

Arthur and his men soon pool out of the tomb, and while Layla thinks it's time to go, her former lover would disagree. When Layla moves, Cleo stays. Layla tries to guide her by grabbing her arm, and she tugs and tugs with all her might, but Cleo doesn't move an inch. She stands like a stone, too heavy to move and stuck in place.

While Layla feels the ping in her heart, the stinging in her eyes, and the cold breath of death on the back of her neck, she knows they can't stay. She knows there's much work to be done, and she knows that Arthur must pay for his sins.

But when Layla's head turns and her eyes meet Cleo's, the ping in her heart grows. While some may wear their heart on their sleeve, Cleo wears hers in both her eyes, and now they show the pain inside it. They show so much through the glossy stain of tears. They tell such a fascinating tale without a single word. Layla steps forward, placing a hand on Cleo's shoulder and pressing a gentle, comforting kiss to the side of her head.

" Leo... we need to go," She speaks softly, " I'm sorry."

And yet, Cleo remains silent and motionless.

" Leo..."

" Go," Cleo states with as much confidence and will as she can muster, " I need a moment."

" How will you--"

" Just go."

Layla swallows her worries and settles with the wishes of the grieving woman. Layla aims towards the exit, looking over her shoulder at the corpse of her ex-husband, serving as a reminder as to why she needs to continue this mission.

But Cleo... Cleo can't even think about the mission. It's no longer important. The only thing that matters is what's right in front of her.

Finally, after so long of standing still, Cleo's body moves. It moves down into the water, her large metal boots and hefty armor getting soaked in the process... but she doesn't care. She sinks down into the water with her gold cape circling and floating behind her as she looks down at the corpse. She kneels down beside it, finding the strength to bring her trembling hands up to their face. She brushes the drenched hair off the forehead, then brushes her thumb against the cheekbone. Her mind feels clouded, her heart feels broken... and her soul feels desolate... as if she never found the amulet. As if the curse was never broken.

But there she sits, in the pool of water with the bleeding-out body of Marc and Steven, unable to tear herself away. She can't, she just can't. She's lost the one thing she had to lose, and it's a price she never wanted to pay. She never asked for this, but she must now live with this.

" How long did you know him?"

And Cleo doesn't need to look up in order to know whose voice has just spoken.

" A while," She responds as she continues to stare at the frozen face of the dead man.

" Both of them?"

" I met Steven first," Cleo answers as her thumb continues to gently brush over the cheekbone, " Marc I met later."

" And which one has stolen the key to your heart?"

The answer is so obvious to her, and yet she remains silent for a bit too long before she gives him an answer.

" Both."

Baahir lets out a low, almost pitiful chuckle from deep within his chest as his feet thud against the stone floor. He steps behind her, all while staying dry as he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks down.

" Leave it to Cleopatra to fall in love with a broken soul," He taunts as he tilts his head, " Or maybe it was the British accent that did it for you."

Normally, Cleo would give him a sarcastic remark in return, but here and now, she doesn't have the energy nor the will, so she remains silent as the salty and sandy tears fall from her eyes and down her face.

" Don't waste your tears on him, habibati. He was merely an Avatar," Baahir states, " But you... are a Goddess."

And still, her silence remains.

" Gods don't shed tears for those beneath them. They take what they want and don't look back."

A small bubble of rage begins to form in her chest, but her grief is still overpowering.

" But maybe... maybe you don't have what it takes," Baahir continues with his torment, " Maybe you're just the same old Cleopatra. Afraid," her chest rises, " Weak," her jaw clenches, " Broken," her blood boils, " Alone."

She knows all too well that he's egging her on, but she doesn't care. The small bubble grows massive as something inside her snaps. She reaches for her sword and finally brings it out of its confinement to turn around and attempt to strike Baahir, but he moves out of the way with ease. His sinister smirk overpowers his face as he's met with Cleo's rage.

" That's it," He boasts.

Cleo stands up tall, grabbing her sword with one hand as her leg jumps forward and kicks Baahir against a wall with so much strength that the wall behind his back forms a large crack. She takes long strides toward him, pressing the cool metal of her sword against his throat, but it only makes his smile grow.

" Is that all you got?" Baahir taunts, " I've never known you to leave a project unfinished."

In her rage, Cleo draws the sword back, but by the time she swings it like a bat, Baahir has ducked out of the way, and the sword clashes against the wall. He grabs her metal boot with both hands and pulls her down to the ground. She lands with a large thud, hissing in pain as Baahir removes the sword from her grasp. He brings the sword up to plunge into her chest, but she rolls out of the way before he can, and as he goes to stand up, Cleo's fist makes contact with his jaw. The sound of bone breaking echoes throughout the tomb, and despite his obvious pain, Baahir appears enthralled.

" Oh, come on," He heaves, his smiling showing the blood pooling in his mouth, " I know you can do better than that," he licks his lips, " Or did the Avatar make you even weaker than before?"

Cleo lets out a rage-filled battle cry as she lands another punch to his jaw. Her damp fists make his head bounce from side to side, both water and blood falling down on the ground. She bends down, grabbing two handfuls of sand that form two medium-sized boulders that collide with his head. She grabs a fist full of his hair and smacks his forehead against her metal-clad knee. She removes his hair from her grasp and Spartan kicks him into a pillar. It crumbles from her strength, but she's far from done. The stone pillar turns to sand within only a few seconds, and the tough, grainy sand seeps into his open wounds and mixes with his blood. Baahir spits out sandy blood from his mouth, and not a moment later Cleo grabs him by his throat and raises him up into the air where he can finally see her eyes.

And just for a second, he drops his facade, but the smile returns to his lips as he chuckles through his cracked ribs.

" Do it," He croaks, " Finish the job."

It would be so easy for Cleo to just apply more pressure, to snap his neck with her bare hands and rid her life of his constant torment.

But now, she hesitates. Her tough and rageful exterior remains as her mind contemplates which action to take and as her hand lets go of his throat and he falls back to the floor, he almost seems disappointed. She turns around to leave him as is, but his groans soon turns into a pathetic cackle as his beaten and broken body takes its time to get up.

" I fucking knew it," He pants, " You can't do something as simple... as taking a life," his smile grows as he licks the blood from his lips once more, " I wonder if by sparing my life... you then sacrifice someone else. Maybe even... Layla's."

Cleo's body halts at his words. Her eyes soften as Baahir's all-knowing and cocky grin takes over.

" I truly wonder what she'll sound like as she pleads for her life... knowing that it's all because of you," Baahir continues, standing up on shaky legs as he holds his ribcage with his right hand, " I wonder what it'll be like for you to lose yet another lover... And if that's not enough maybe I'll go after that Irish bitch whose heart you broke."

She can't let that happen. She won't let that happen. While there may be nothing she can do about the life of Marc and Steven, there's something she can do to prevent other innocent lives from being taken.

All it takes is one fluid motion.

In one fluid motion, Cleo grabs her sword from the ground and turns around to plunge the metal deep into Baahir's chest as angry and sorrowful screams escape her lips. Her salty and sandy tears pool in her eyes, irritating the delicate material as they fall down her cheeks once more. She pulls the sword out of his chest, watching his blood drip down the blade and onto her metal boots.

Baahir falls back down to the ground, his wounds now catching up to him as Cleo watches the life leave his eyes, but once his eyes meet hers, she's met with a sickening smile filled with blood and pain.

" Hataa naltaqi mujadadan (Until we meet again)... Cleopatra."

With his final words, his final breath leaves his lungs and comes out of his mouth as his eyes go blank, with no sign of life behind them anymore.

No more is he able to manipulate Cleo's life, and she has herself to thank.

A moment that should be celebrated is anything but. Cleo knows deep down that he was a bad guy, but in ridding the world of him, she became one as well.

A life was taken by her doing, and the blood is on her hands.

The metal sword drops to the ground with a booming clang. It falls from her fingertips as Cleo catches her breath, but finding the air to be insufficient.

What has she done?

After a lifetime of dreaming about becoming a hero, she's sent herself down a path of no return.

But that's the dark reality of heroes.

By doing good, you let your enemies live, and so you must corrupt yourself just the slightest in order to vanquish them.

For the greater good.

And because of it, she is just a step closer from being able to truly call herself a hero, for even Earth's Mightiest have racked up a body count.

Alas, she still can't bring them back. No mater how much pain lays inside her body, nor how much her soul weeps, Marc and Steven are to remain in the Underworld... and Cleo is powerless.

Killing Baahir won't bring them back, but it felt damn good.

The ground beneath her feet begins to rumble as the sand vibrates. A wall beside her forms an opening out of thin air. It glows gold like the other magic portal, and the light shines on her tear stained face and broken eyes.

Her mouh is slightly agape as her breath still comes out in pants, but steps into the light regardless. The portal soon goes void of the gold ethereal light and shows a room forgein to her. She's never seen it before, she's never been here before.

Cleo stands in a navy blue room befitting of a little boy, and upon seeing the Cubs jersey, realizes she's in Chicago.

Why Chicago?

Out of all the cities in the world, why this one?

And based on the outdated decorum, she concludes that this must be a memory... but it's not hers.

Running into the room comes a little boy, who slams the door shut behind him. He knocks all his toys and pencils off of his brown wooden desk and curls up into a ball in the corner, hugging his knees into his chest.

Strange.

The boy bears such a remarkable ressembalance to the very man with two bullet holes in his chest.

The boy begins to hyperventilate, closing his eyes in an attempt to keep himself calm and to block out the fear and anxiety radiating from his small body, and when it seems like he's about to have a full blown panic attack, his ears suddenly perk up by something coming from across his yard.

The boy stands up slowly to look out his window, and across the yard in the house next to his, he's sees a little girl sitting at a grand black piano with her back facing him. All he can see is her long black hair sitting on top of a cute black dress, and her fingers dancing along the keys as she plays a song that seems to lull him into a state of calm and give him a sense of peace.

Moonlight Sonata, 1st movement by Betoven.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

How could it be?

Cleo remembers this all too well, for it's her who sits at the piano bench.

She remembers sitting upstairs in her aunt's attic, and she remembers playing the tune as her family mourned the loss of her uncle down below.

She remembers being in Chicago in 1999 for the funeral, but has no clue as to why the memory presents itself from this little boy's point of view.

And as the boy cracks just the smallest smile on his face, the jiggling of the doorknob sends fear flooding his veins once more, and only after the mother speaks does Cleo begin to realize who's memory she's in.

Marc's.

The little boy who's hugging his knees to his chest and assuring himself that his mother isn't on the other side of the door is Marc Spector, and moments later... Steven Grant is born.

His eyes roll back into his head, and he suddenly perks up, having absolutely no memory of fear.

" Bloody hell, look at the state of this place. Better sort it out before mum sees it."

And while Cleo can only see the little boy, Marc and Steven also view the memory, but they can only see the boy as well.

But they saw it all.

They saw the little girl playing the piano across the yard, and it all suddenly clicked.

It was Cleo.

She was the calm before the storm.

That's why her music in the flat effected them so much, for it had touched their souls since the age of 12.

Alas, the happy realization is short lived, for Wendy Spector eventually opens the door and stares at her son as she reaches for a belt hanging on the wall. As she approaches her son, the memory begins to fade for Cleo, but she knows all to well what took place in the room where it happened.

And as Wendy begins to beat her child, Marc pulls Steven out of the memory and back into the hallway of the asylum, where many questions are still left unanswered, aside from one very shocking truth.

Marc made Steven up.

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[ surprise 🥲]