𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 ☽ 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩

21

In the hallowed chamber of the gods, an unsettling stillness prevailed as he observed the last living Avatar of the Ennead exhale their final breath. Harrow gazed upon their lifeless forms strewn across the floor, his heart swelling with a profound sense of victory. Marc Spector, Elizabeth Foster, and the Ennead itself were no more.

Pivoting swiftly on his heel, he confronted the remaining devotees of Ammit, discovering that they all shared the same sentiment. However, there was one exception-Arabella. She remained in a state of shock, grappling with the harsh reality that her sister, one of the very people she had embarked on this journey for in the first place, had met her demise, and the weight of her sister's fate rested heavily upon her shoulders.

Arabella's breaths came in ragged bursts as she stared at her sister's lifeless form, the vacant eyes haunting her. Her heart began to race erratically within her chest, and the thought of facing her father after all was said and done sent shivers down her spine.

"Arabella."

Startled, Arabella gasped, her gaze torn from Elizabeth to Harrow. His outstretched arm sought the ushabti she held, and he waited patiently, sensing her inner turmoil. Harrow couldn't fault her; he knew the weight of sacrifices all too well. He too had given up much to reach his current position.

With a gentle touch, Harrow approached Arabella, his hand offering comfort on her trembling shoulder as the other relieved her of the ushabti. He wiped away a solitary tear that rolled down her left cheek before turning his back to her, facing the chamber's front.

It all begins here.

Harrow threw the ushabti onto the ground with full force, shattering the stone. From its broken remains, a purple mist erupted, nearly knocking Harrow back had he not moved back from it in time. The rest of the followers cast their gaze upwards, following the purple mist dance around the chamber of the gods before crashing onto one of the chamber's statues, breaking it. As the mist dissipated, a figure emerged from it, it had the body of a woman with a tall stature and the head and skin of a crocodile.

Ammit had finally been released.

Relief was evident in her golden eyes, relishing the feeling of freedom for the first time in perhaps a millennia. She cast her golden eyes on the large group of people in front of her, which she presumed to be her followers. Her assumption was swiftly confirmed when every one of them knelt in unison, heads bowed in a show of unwavering reverence.

"To whom do I owe my gratitude?" the goddess inquired as she started to walk towards her followers. Her voice resounded throughout the whole chamber causing goosebumps to appear on Arabella's skin.

"Your humble disciple, my goddess," Harrow answered, who, despite his apparent agitation, managed to lift his head to meet his goddess' golden eyes. "To whom you owe nothing."

Her eyes scrutinized his figure in judgment. "Your scales lack balance."

"I understand." A look of apprehension washed over his face as he watched Ammit walk down the stone stairs, past the ruin and the dead avatars that littered the ground. "I had hoped my penance might correct my imbalance, but I see now that impossible. I accept the scales regardless of the outcome."