#it was fun though
“No,” Evy murmured, watching the shallow rise and fall of her husband’s chest with her heart in her throat. Dropping her mask of composure, she repeated the word over and over, louder and more forcefully each time. “No, no, no, no!” Over the past decade, her experiences had forced her to accept many things she’d once thought impossible, but this simply could not be happening. She’d seen Rick cheat death time and time again since the day they met; there was no way a measly dart could kill him when hanging, gunfire, and even armies of the undead had all failed. And while the Egyptian gods could be cruel, surely they wouldn’t be so cruel as to grant her a second chance at life only to take him away from her.
On second thought, however, it seemed naive to think the gods would grant a favor to a mortal without a price. Perhaps Rick’s life was that price. Rage bubbled up inside her at the thought, causing her hand to shake as it stroked his hair. She hadn’t asked to be resurrected; if the bastards needed a life to restore their precious ma’at, she would surrender her own in an instant. She wanted to scream for them to take her, that she would do anything they wished if they would only put strength back into his limbs and air into his lungs. But if the gods heard her thoughts, they paid no heed. The movement of his chest was barely noticeable now, his skin a ghastly pale hue, save for a slight bluish tinge that had formed on his lips.
Words failing her, Evy continued to cradle his head in her lap and offer comfort in the only way she could. An eternity seemed to pass in which she sat stroking his face and hair, wondering whether each shaky breath would be his last. At one point, she was certain his breathing had ceased, but then he spoke. She didn’t need to hear the rest of his words to know what he wanted her to tell their son. Fighting the flood of emotions constricting her throat, she nodded and promised, “I’ll tell him,” before bending over to press her lips to his forehead. “I love you.” And then he was gone, and the sobs she’d been suppressing finally broke free.
Deep within the Duat, The Devourer unfurled. Torchlight glinted off of scales and rippled through a dark mane of hair. Slits of black dilated against green-gold irises. A deep, rumbling breath echoed as the scent of an offering wafted through flared nostrils. Ammit stretched her ancient bones, and began her pursuit.
Oh, it had been solong. Even at the height of her power, millennia ago, there had been so few mortals brave enough to worship her. So few mortals foolish enough to step foot in her temple.
It had been so long since she’d had a soulto feast on—not the rotten, discarded hearts that Anpu found unworthy. Those were bitter, soured by brutality and deceit and malice. This soul smelled sweet; ripe with love and longing.
As she slunk closer to the still-forming Ba, however, another smell became apparent. The stench of a jackal. It should have faded the further she had moved from the Scales—Anpu had no place here, in this temple built for her—but as she crept closer to the fresh soul, the smell only became stronger. Marked. The first soul captured for her in thousands of years, and it was that of Anpu’s champion. A low growl rumbled in her chest, and she felt the Ba flinch away from her in the dark, instinctual.
For a moment she considered feasting anyway. Anpu would find another, and this was her offering, and it smelled so good…
Before she could close her jaws around the Ba, a sound caught her attention. Sobbing. Pleading. A mortal in agony, somewhere nearby. Ammit changed direction, curious. Maybe there would be a new, unmarked soul soon. Either way, the Ba would be trapped here for her, if she decided to come back for it. And it would taste all the sweeter once it had fully taken its non-corporeal form.
Corporeal form, Ammitthought as she found the source of the sorrow—a mortal woman bent over the lifeless body of an all-too-mortal man, crying out to the gods to restore him. Ammit could restore him… in a way. Breathe life back into his lungs, even if it wasn’t his own. He was an empty vessel—a large one, and strong, and adept at removing souls from their bodies. With such a vessel she could rip Ba fresh from their husks. She could truly feast.
She grinned her crocodile grin, and took him.
Neurons sparked to life, slowly, painfully—she would have to get used to pain—opening themselves to her, allowing her glimpses of the man who had once resided here. Then she was gasping for ragged breaths, filling the once-empty lungs of this mortal, flushing out the poison that had once coursed through his veins.
“Evelyn,” the vessel croaked, the ghost of a memory that had died on his lips, and Ammit opened once-unseeing eyes to stare up at the woman crying above her.
