CHPT 74: … and at Peace

Monday September 1st, Al Jizah, Northern Egypt.

The sun had fallen with the rise of night. It was so cold Marco could see his breaths on the dark air.

The cycle was preparing to reset. He could feel the warm sun coming for him. Coming for the sky. For the highest point where it could spread yellow fire across the sanded landscape like temperate pollen from a flowering fire-star.

He stood in the sands— atop a hill. A mound that overlooked the crystalline beige world for miles.

The Pyramid of Giza began to glow as the sun rose at its back, giving it a magical warm aura that reminded him of the gods.

His mother slept in his arms. His mother slept in pain. Through their travels that one thing remained.

Her pain.

It had been there the day the Warlocks attacked. The day she fell into the state she was now. The day his people were slaughtered. And even when he came to Beacon Hills in search of the Hunters.

He kept her in such a state, probing her for answers she'd never have. Keeping her in limbo just as he kept the spirits of his people now.

No more.

"I can fix everything."

It felt good to say— to know.

Even as his skull hammered and the world in his peripheral vision changed frequently.

His time was coming.

He dropped down to his knees and laid his mother in the sand. Just below the first layer, the warmth of yesterdays sun rose with airy spirals of steam.

His mother sighed in relaxation as it soothed her old joints and skin.

She knew home.

The sun continued to climb for the sky. Its rays cut across the purple-blue hue of night with orange claws. The colors blended and cascaded like liquid paint on a canvas.

Peace was on the horizon.

Marco looked down at his hands. No blood or innards. No skin caked beneath his razor sharp claws. Just granules of sand…. The smell of his mother's skin.

He turned them over and placed his hands on her shoulders. So frail and boney.

Wracked with pain.

His Alpha's instincts told him how wrong that was now that he listened. It called for him to use the ability of all Shifters. In their intense animal communicative abilities, they could sympathize with pain in ways no human could.

They could absorb it.

He shut his eyes and searched for it. He grabbed hold of the metaphorical black mass of trauma and terror and pulled.

His veins bulged and glimmered as he absorbed his mother's pain. His bones felt like they shattered beneath his skin. He saw her memories. Each and every instance.

The dragonoid beast.

Nothing more than a Kanima on a Warlocks leash.

He saw the moon swallow the sun. He felt their power wane.

He saw liquid silver dumped from planes splashing against his brown skin.

His eyes burst open. The veins within his sclera bulged and turned black. The red Alpha's glow of his eyes died out.

He shrunk.

His muscles softened. His towering height lowered. His grotesque claws and fangs sunk into his skin. He shed his mane, it drifted in the winds and spread across the sands.

The Blue-Eyed Beast remained.

His mother's pain did as well.

And with her growing relief, his own symbols of vengeance evaporated.

The Alpha, The Blue-Eyed Beast, all of the sparks that clung to his own like a traumatic infestation of the soul, gone. All with the decade of pain he absorbed as his own.

"AGHHhhhh….." His mother's growls and screams faded into a deep and heavy sigh of relief.

Marco exhaled shakily. Sweat clinging to him like a second skin.

Now human.

Impossibly human.

Not a single spark to ignite the power he once held.

He couldn't smell a thing but his own perspiration.

Couldn't lift a thing but his hands.

Couldn't feel a thing but….

He smiled— despite the immense pain that had him seeing white with every blink.

He smiled.

The sun rose above the pyramid. Its warmth held him in a welcome embrace.

In its blinding rays he could see figures. Hear voices.

"Menes Louwe…. We aren't much different you and I. Once upon a time, I too was a young man on a journey. I traveled far. Too far. But it was all to return what must be. It is how I got my name. Anhur, he who leads back the distant one. You have done the same. What I had to bring back was the Eye of Re. But for you, Menes, you had to bring back your peace. Peace to our people. And through you, I walked the earth once again. You've done well. Accept our peace."

The words hit him like a battering ram.

He looked away from the sun and its children gods. He looked to his mother.

She watched him. Eyes intensely present. She was looking at him. Truly.

"Menes…. My son, you've grown into ….. a fine young man. You look just like him." A tear spilled from the corner of her eye.

"My father…?" Marco questioned.

"No, dear boy. Him." She pointed to the sun. To Anhur.

Marco nodded in understanding.

"Did… you get those Ghost-skinned bastards?" Her smile remained but the silver scars on her face tightened as she clenched her jaw.

Marco grinned despite his immense pain, "The…. Warlocks only exist in old books now."

His mother laughed faintly.

"You make us proud. You make me proud. We will be together again." She exhaled.

Her final breath.

A smile held her face.

When he looked up again, his people surrounded him.

Generations of Grey Lions. All smiling. No more war and strife. No more restless spirits and wayward voices.

His sisters sat beside him.

"You look tired, boy." His eldest sister's eyes glowed like twin oceans. She slapped his arm and he looked down to find the markings were gone.

He smiled.

"Yea…. I am."

"Then go to sleep."

And he did just that.

He went to sleep, sinking into the warm sands right beside his mother. Heavy winds blew, sending waves of sand washing over them in a warm eternal embarace, solidifying their wishes. What was earned.

Peace.