Warning: Mention of suicide attempt, viewer discretion advised. (I know I put a warning at the beginning but still. Better safe than sorry.)
Note: Before you ask, yes the people in the second scene of this one are Carter and Kendra in a past life. I thought it would be easier to give them personality if I gave them their own thing. So, I'll occasionally put interlude scenes with them in past lives or even this one before they met.
{~}
Ralph and Julian had given Anita and Oculus a brief crash course before all but shoving them out of the Flash Museum. (Apparently their mere presence in the place could somehow devastate the future. Anita didn't really see how, but she didn't bother to question it either.) Evidently Cisco Ramon and someone called Barry Allen had been working on a project together, something neither Ralph or Julian had managed to get details on. According to the two older men, the project had gone south rather quickly and someone had attacked Allen and Ramon for whatever they'd been doing. Their attackers had managed to ransack everything in Star Labs, taking everything from Ramon and Allen's project except for Doc, who somehow fit into it all. (Ralph and Julian wouldn't say any specifics, claiming it was dangerous knowledge, but Anita figured they just didn't know themselves.)
Ramon had disappeared after hiding Doc away in that little room they'd found her in (the Time Vault, apparently), running off to another universe entirely. (Anita had taken several minutes to register that news. She had only just come to realize that time travel was real, after all.) Allen had skipped town for awhile, too, but had since returned, as the threat was all over. Ramon, however, appeared to be stuck wherever he had ended up. Julian, Ralph, and their friends had been searching for him for some time, but evidently most of them had given up.
When Anita had inquired about how to old duo knew her mother, all she got in return was some vague story about a 'yearly crossover' whatever that meant. Ralph and Julian sent Doc with Oculus and Anita, thinking that would be safer for the little robo girl somehow. (Anita didn't quite understand their logic behind that one.)
So Oculus brought the two girls back to the Lodge, setting up a room for Doc and Anita, even though Doc probably wouldn't need sleep, being an artificial intelligence and all. Doc wasn't much of a talker, which was pretty weird for a kid, but she and Patch seemed to hit it off great. (Anita suspected it had something to do with the fact that they both had mechanical brains. Or maybe it was just that they shared the same zero-zero, thus making them something like siblings to each other.)
The little group had stayed in the Lodge together for several weeks, finding new and crazy schemes to partake in between their search for Ramon, which was pretty much going no where. Julian and Ralph had stayed at Star Labs, promising to contact them if they found any leads in their own search, though Anita wasn't sure how they'd manage to call, since they hadn't exchanged phone numbers or anything. She got the feeling they were keeping a lot of nitty gritty details to themselves, but Oculus didn't push them for answers so neither did she.
Eventual, after about the third week or so of staying at the Lodge, Oculus decided it was time to take Anita home, despite her protests. He brought her back to 2016, landing in the exact same spot they'd left, right next to the dumpster in that ally. It didn't look any different from how the left it, as if life in Anita's native time period was put on pause until she'd gotten back. She grinned at the thought, wishing things could be like that all the time. There really weren't any repercussions were there? If you were late somewhere, you could just travel back in time and give it another go. If you needed a break, you could run off for as long as you needed, and when you got back nothing will have changed. It seemed perfect to Anita.
She looked around, watching a lady across the street as she walked her dog down the side walk. They hadn't been gone long, maybe a few hours at most. Anita's brother would just be getting out of school, probably riding on that tedious bus they both hated so much because it was far too noisy. She couldn't help snickering at that. Daren would be so annoyed at her for leaving him alone. But when she told him that she had actually been gone three weeks and had been traveling with a man who was almost exactly like the Doctor... No, never mind.
Daren would just ruin it for her. He'd want to come along, too, and he'd just bug her the whole time. (He'd been very annoying since their parents had split up, always begging for attention like some lost puppy.) Besides, that was more than likely the first and last trip she'd ever take through time. Anita didn't need her brother messing it up with a bunch of stupid, annoying questions. It would be best if she just didn't tell him, Anita decided.
Her father would have gotten home from work an hour ago. He wouldn't think anything of Anita not getting off the bus with Daren. They'd both probably just assume that she had stayed after school to work on some student council project or band practice or something. (Anita had signed up for a lot of extra curricular activates, so it wouldn't be too much of a stretch.)
Other than that, there was really only one thing to be concerned about. Anita frowned, squinting at Oculus, as she adjusted her glasses. (They'd gotten a bit crooked as they'd landed.) "What about that meta human that was chasing you? You said you were going to stop him, but you never did."
Oculus flinched, letting out a long, drawn out hiss, as if those word physically pained him somehow. "You're right. I forgot..."
Anita snorted. "You forgot about the dangerous meta human trying to kill you?"
"Well, in my defense it's been several weeks since we've been in this exact time and place," Oculus said. He glanced at his watch, trying to hold back his own laughter. "And it's been a whole three hours, since we were last here. He's probably forgotten all about me, too."
Anita nodded, feeling a few giggles rising up in her belly. "Yeah, or maybe the Flash caught him."
Oculus made a face. "I still don't know who that is."
She stared at him, sure that he was just messing with her at this point. "We were just in a museum dedicated to him and his heroics a few weeks ago." When he shrugged, apparently sticking by his act of ignorance, Anita rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I guess, I'm going home now. Thanks for the time traveling and junk."
He nodded slowly. For a moment, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, frowning as if deep in thought. Then, he broke out into one of those huge, dorky grins. "Well, maybe we'll do it again sometime. Go on a trip, I mean. When I figure out who I am."
Anita blinked, sort of shocked that he would even ask. She'd been sure that this would be the end of their traveling together. "Wait. Really?"
"Yeah, why not?" Oculus said. "It was fun." He made a face. "Oh, but of course next time we'll have to ask your parents. You can't just going running off with strangers, you know."
Anita rolled her eyes. She had already gotten that speech from her parents years ago, so she really didn't need to hear it again now. "Whatever, dude. I'm going home, now. Bye."
"Goodbye, Anita."
{~}
B
eing a sixteen year old black boy in a vastly white school was a bit of a hazard to say the least, especially in 1945, Landon found. It basically made him stick out like a sore thumb, making him an easy target for prying eyes and gossipers. (Usually racist things he tried not too pay much attention too.) The second world war had just ended, and millions of families, including his own had migrated west, hoping for a new start in the land of opportunity. (Instead, they'd all ended up in the United States.) That would have been bad enough, except whenever he closed his eyes to sleep he had really strange dreams.
Sometimes he'd see himself, albeit much older, dressed like an Egyptian Pharaoh, other times Landon was in the nineteenth century get up or wearing some cheesy fairytale sort of costume. (He was usually always wearing some old fashioned trend, making it look as if he belonged to another time all together. He'd even been a cow boy once.) Sometimes Landon was alone, traveling the world like he had always wanted to do. Other times he was with a woman. But it didn't matter if he was alone or with the girl, he was always on the move. He'd be running frantically, trying to hide from something...or someone. Landon could never remember which it was when he woke up.
The dreams were subliminal messages, he thought, like his subconscious was trying to warn him about something. An impending danger lurking in the shadows, disaster waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Naturally, that disaster came in the shape of a beautiful girl.
Landon spotted her for the first time when he was on his rounds delivering news papers to the neighborhood. (People would rarely hire blacks, feeling weary of them. Landon had been lucky to find even that.) She was the new girl in town, as he figured from the moving truck just outside her house.
The girl was sitting on her front porch, reading a book, as the movers relocated everything from the truck and into the house and her parents instructed them where to put everything. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, curling at the ends. Big, chestnut eyes scanned the book rapidly, her small lips curving into a smirk as she got into whatever she was reading, which, Landon found, made the girl all the more enticing. She had dark skin, too. Really dark. Almost the same color as the bark on the tree outside her house, except a lot smoother and a lot prettier. The girl looked like an angel to Landon, and it was all too easy to imagine a set of brown, feathery wings spring from her back. Even in that less than flattering polka dot dress she was wearing she looked absolutely stunning.
He nervously approached her. For some reason it felt like he wasn't allowed to go anywhere near her, like maybe if he did something bad would happen... Landon eyed the girl cautiously, holding the news paper in his hand. He debated turning and running, but before he could she looked up from her book and smiled at him. "Oh, hello."
Landon stuttered. "Uh, um, hi. I, uh..." He held up the paper, unable to think of the proper word. Her voice...he hadn't really been expecting it to sound so sweet, like honey straight out of the bee hive. Her smile was breath taking, and now that she had those perfect eyes trained on him, Landon felt a bit weak.
It wasn't just her beauty, though that had a great deal to do with it. But it was also the fact that, now that he was seeing her up close, Landon had the strangest sense that he'd seen her somewhere before...
The girl laughed, taking the paper from him and setting it next to her on the porch. "Thanks." Landon nodded, his gut doing flips. It was suddenly very hot, but he thought it would have been improper to take his sweater vest off in front of a lady. The girl tilted her head at him, making a face. "You don't talk much do you?"
"Uh..." Landon said dumbly. She laughed, and he blushed. After a moment, his impulses got the better of him, and he asked, "Sorry, have we met before?"
The girl stared at him like she thought he was an idiot. (He probably was.) "Well," she said. "I just moved here three seconds ago, so probably not. No."
"Right," Landon nodded, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah. Er...I guess, I should introduce myself, then. I'm Landon. Landon Fox."
She jumped up, viciously shaking his hand in a very un-lady like manner. "Nice to meet you, Landon. Name's Sheila Carr." When the girl let his hand go, Landon took a slight step back. Apparently the girl, Sheila had noticed the action, because she frowned. Evidently she got that reaction from people a lot. He glanced down to where she had gently bent the edge of the page she'd been reading to mark her place in her book. In an effort to lift her spirits, he asked, "What are you reading?" Because he just really couldn't stand to see her sad.
Fortunately, Sheila's eyes lit right up at the question. She looked back at him, her eyes sparkling against the afternoon sunlight. The grin on her face was huge. "It's about Ancient Egypt. It's really neat." She tilted her head to the side, her grin growing even wider. "Did you know they use to suck the mummies' brains out through their noses?"
Landon frowned. "That's...disturbing..."
Sheila nodded, obviously not sharing Landon's unease about the subject. "That's why it's cool." Landon eyed her for a moment, before allowing himself a small grin of his own. This girl wasn't like anyone else he had met in this stupid town. She didn't have good manners, despite wearing the dress. He could already tell she was the kind of person who would rather spend her time climbing mountains or charging through god awful terrain just for the thrill of it. Landon liked that. A lot.
"Can I show you around?" he asked.
Sheila folded her arms over her chest, somehow looking offended by the question. "I don't need an escort."
"Never said you did," Landon shrugged, feeling a bit dumb. "Just thought you'd like a tour, is all. I have a paper route, so I know the neighborhood pretty well, and --"
Sheila snorted. "I'm kidding."
"...Oh."
"Let's go!" She laughed, grabbing his hand and charging down the road like she even knew where she was going.
{~}
He'd tried everything. He really had. But it was useless. They were gone forever. It didn't matter how many times he went back in time, the out come was always the same. Because he couldn't alter history, not really, not without massive repercussions. Rip knew that. He'd always known that. Yet, it didn't stop the truth from stinging him, when he had inevitably failed to save Miranda and Jonas's lives.
He had even gone back further than he had ever dared before, to before that monster had risen to power, before he even had his immortality. Rip had thought killing him would fix everything, and it might have...except he couldn't do it. He'd choked. He'd held a dagger to the monster's throat, but he couldn't bring himself to finish the job. So, instead Rip had spent the next three weeks locked in a cell in Ancient Egypt, until he had managed to escape by seducing the guard with a pen.
And that was it. That was the one and only chance he had to save his wife and son...But he'd been too weak to take it. He'd failed them. And unless the Time Council granted him permission to alter history...No, they'd never do that. Time Masters were meant to protect the time line, not change it to whatever suited their needs.
So, there was only thing left to do. Rip couldn't live without them. He couldn't bare to spend every day of the rest of his life with this emptiness that had settled into his heart, eating away at him like a black hole. And if he couldn't save his family, then at least he could join them.
Rip stood on the ledge of a roof top of some random building he'd selected. The Waverider was parked just a few feet away. (He'd ordered Gideon to fly the ship back to the Vanishing Point so some other Time Master could use it. It wasn't like he'd need it anymore. But Rip reckoned Gideon always was a stubborn AI. Closest thing he'd had to a best friend in years, really.) Below him, the rest of the world was in battle. Vandal Savage and his men were terrorizing the streets, explosions and lasers flying every which way.
Rip hardly registered any of that. His mind was too numb, as if the world were lightyears away and his body was acting on its own accord. His mind had dissipated a long while ago. Rip Hunter was already gone, now it was just time to get rid of the remains.
He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, as he slowly moved his foot closer to the edge. His heart hammered in his chest, anticipation and doubts rising. Rip couldn't help wondering if it would hurt when he fell. Then again, it couldn't hurt any worse than this...
A sudden explosion in the distance startled him, forcing him to open his eyes. Rip took a couple labored breaths, watching as one of Savage's cronies shot an innocent woman down. His heart sank at the sight, his eyes beginning to water. How many other families were torn apart that night? How many husbands had lost their wives? How many fathers had lost their sons?
Guilt pierced his skin like a needle. This was all Rip's fault. He could have stopped it all, if only he had been stronger, better. If only he could have killed him... But no. He'd been weak. And now...
Rip shook the thought away. Maybe he deserved to die. He'd always been a little bastard anyway. He moved his feet closer to the edge, his toes hanging over the ledge now. Rip was ready to lean forward, to allow himself to fall, hoping that if there was anything waiting after death than his wife and child would be there. (And if there wasn't anything...Well, then it would still be better than this hell.) But before he could move another inch, someone shouted, "Stop!"
The voice was distinctly American, female by the sound of it. Rip frowned. He started to move, wanting to see whoever was trying to stop him, but they said, "Don't turn around. It's better for the time line if you don't know who I am." So, he stayed where he was.
Rip heard the person take a few steps closer, even over all the explosions from the ground below shaking and rumbling the building. When the woman, he supposed, spoke next, she sounded as though she were standing right behind him. "Come on. Get down from there..." He felt her wrap her hand around his forearm, tugging gently, until he was forced jump down from the ledge.
His hands were shaking, knees buckling under him. Rip's legs caved under him, his knees slamming into the concrete of the roof top. The war (because that's what it was wasn't it?) below was still raging on, but Rip hardly heard any of it now. It was as if he were underwater, drowning, everything else laying above surface, miles away. "I can't..." The words came out as something more similar to a strangled gasp than a coherent sentence, but somehow the woman understood.
Rip could feel her behind him. Her heard her feet scuffling against the concrete, as she moved to sit as well. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he tensed slightly, but he didn't have the energy to shake it off. She spoke gently, like she was worried she might scare him away. "I know. I know. Oh, god, I know..."
In the moment, he didn't think to ask how she knew, or even what she knew. He figured she had probably just been through something similar and recognized his grief. (Though the fact that she had said that it would be 'better for the time line' if he didn't know who she was completely slipped his mind, until several hours later.) That theory had been proven incorrect rather quickly. "You can still save them, you know."
Rip frowned. "What?"
"Your family," she said. "It's not too late."
Maybe he should have been more cautious. He should have assumed it was a trap meant to damn him into the darkest pits of Hell... But he didn't care. If there was a chance, even a slim one, that he could bring them back, that he could stop any of this from ever happening... Well, he just had to take it didn't he? History be damned. "How?"
The woman slipped her hand away from him, leaving his shoulder feeling rather cold at the sudden lack of contact, as another explosion boomed in the distance, rattling Rip's ear drums. When she spoke next, her voice was a bit muffled, so Rip got the feeling she must have been looking down. "You can't do it alone. Not this time. You'll need help."
Rip inwardly groaned. Working with others had never been his strong point. Everyone nearly always got irritated with him, claiming he was a dick or a liar. (He was, but that was besides the point.) He usually preferred to work alone. No messy ties or responsibilities that way. But...if that's what it took to get his family back, he would make an exception. He'd do anything to save them. "From who?"
The woman was silent for a brief moment, and Rip could imagine her shrugging. Another explosion, much closer this time, filled the rooftop with a blinding light, and for a moment Rip could see her shadow with his on the concrete. She waited until the booming of the bomb was over and the ringing in their ears settled down. It was odd, feeling so calm about so much destruction around him, but honestly Rip didn't have it in him to react emotionally. Besides, if what this woman was saying was true, then this would never have to happen.
"Someone intuitive, who can make a plan in a matter of seconds. Someone bad ass, who can make tough calls. People who can actually kill Savage. Legends. A team," the woman said, and Rip heard a hint of a smirk. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."
Rip hesitated. He wanted desperately to be able to turn and see who this woman was. Why would her identity jeopardize the time line? It wasn't as though they knew each other, was it? At least, her voice didn't sound familiar. "Why would you tell me any of this?"
She was quite for several minutes, and for a moment Rip worried that she had gone without any sort of explanation. He was about to turn around to check, when she spoke up again. "You saved me first," she said softly. "Just thought I'd return the favor."
"I don't understand," Rip said. His legs were getting tingly, losing circulation after sitting on them for so long. Another blast from an explosion lit up the roof again, casting their shadows across the concrete once more. The woman ignored this, even as it let out an ear piercing crack. When the noise settled he could hear her laughing.
"I guess you never did find out, did you?" she said, like he would know what she meant. "Maybe I'll tell you someday..."
Rip sighed, not really in the mood for any of this. He started to say, "What are you --"
The woman cut him off, probably shaking her head or waving her hand to dismiss his question before he had even asked it. "Never mind. Not important." Rip heard scuffling as the woman shifted her position. "Look, all of this will make sense soon. Just...don't jump, okay? Don't give up. Not yet. There's still a chance. With your team. The Legends."
"Legends?" Rip asked. But before she could respond, he shook his head, deciding on another, more important issue. "If this doesn't work --"
"It will," the woman said.
"But if it doesn't..." Rip shoved the thought away. He didn't want to think about that outcome. He let out another heavy sigh, another explosion drowning the smaller sound out, as it cast yet another light upon the roof. "What about the Time Council? They'll never authorize me to --"
"Guess you'll have to decide what's more important." Rip heard the woman scuffling around once more, as she rose to her feet. "Your family or your crummy job." Rip didn't even have to think about that one. The answer was obvious. "I have to go now. My friends are waiting for me," the woman said. "Good luck."
Rip waited until he heard her footsteps retreat, fading away, as she opened the roof's door and slipped away. Then, he rose to his feet, rubbing his hands over his face and blinking rapidly. He let out another heavy sigh, adjusting his coat. "Well, then, let's give this another go, shall we?" he muttered to himself. The dread was still there, but now he at least had a bit of hope back.
He found his way onto the Waverider, walking to the bridge. Gideon piped up the moment he stepped foot in the room. "Rip. I see you've had a change of heart." She sounded as if she knew he wouldn't have gone through with offing himself. Or maybe it was just that she had been watching as that woman talked him out of it.
Either way, Rip let out a soft chuckle. "Let's just say I've been inspired." He crossed the room, placing himself in the chair at the front of the room. "Take us to the Vanishing Point, Gideon. I'm going to ask the Time Council's permission to alter history, just this once."
The ship didn't immediately move. When Gideon spoke, she sounded rather apprehensive. "The chances of the Council granting you permission are --"
"Slim. I know," Rip sighed. "But I've got to at least try before we go gallivanting off to change history."
"I suppose," Gideon said. "But what will we do if -- and by if I mean when -- they decline?"
"Well," Rip said, fiddling with the controls on the arm rest of his chair. "We'll do it anyway." Gideon didn't say any more on the matter, as the ship lifted off the roof and into the sky, jumping through the temporal zone, heading for the Vanishing Point.
{~}
Hath-Set, now Dr. Nox, sat in the center of his study, books and relics surrounding him. The room was dark, only being dimly lit by the lamp sitting on the desk. In this era (the year was 1950 something, if he remembered correctly) there was little flare. The furniture was very bland, usually a dull dark leather or a boring floral pattern. Even the people had some how gotten more primitive over the decades, though somehow they mistook all their technological advancements as success, progress.
It was mildly amusing at best. Hath-Set had already lived for thousands of years, watching humanity "grow." He had learned skills that only the privileged got to know, ancient techniques and practices, primarily in the art of combat, lost to the ages. By this time Hath-Set had mastered millions of languages and carried the knowledge of an entire army of men.
Meanwhile, the mortals mocked him with their ignorance. He was disgusted to know that he had ever been one of them. Over the years their societies rose and fell, Hath-Set discretely taking inventory of each one, determining just what had caused them to do so, making notes of all the changes he would make should he ever get the chance to do it better. In recent times, it was easy to figure what would be the fall of this particular civilization.
Their little inventions, cars, telephones, they made the mortals' lives easier, and Hath-Set reckoned that this would only be the begging of the mortals' technological advancements. Still, while the inventions did have their uses, the machines made the mortals lazy, and they would grow lazier and lazier, the more they invented, the easier they made life for themselves. That laziness, along with the pride and arrogance that came with their false sense of accomplishment, would be this society's downfall.
Despicable, really. All the mortals were just that. Despicable, disgusting, meager creatures that were ultimately meaningless in the vast cosmos of the universe. The gods should be ashamed of having ever created them, he thought. Occasionally, if he grew bored enough, Hath-Set took up a female companion, preforming a marital ceremony. (And somehow the mortals had ruined even that. They had started, at some point, calling it 'getting hitched' thoroughly diminishing the ancient ritual.) Hath-Set had one such companion this year, but she, like all the others before her, did not kindle joy. Occasionally, he even thought about killing her, but he had decided not to waste his time with the pathetic woman, to allow fate to take care of her instead.
Only a woman with abilities akin to his own would know how to satisfy his needs, and there was only one of those... Or so he had thought. Earlier that night, he had met Chay-Ara as she and Khufu were moving into the house just down the road from Hath-Set and his mortal prize, as luck would have it. Except, he remembered that he had already killed them both in this life time and absorbed their energy to preserve his own immortality. It was the most curious thing. That was why he was in his study that night, researching, looking for any possible ways that there might have been two Chay-Aras.
And that's when he got a visit from an old friend that he had not seen in centuries. Hath-Set was just beginning to examine an old, Egyptian relic, funnily enough, when he heard his less than ecstatic voice behind him. "So, this is what you choose to do with my gift, is it?"
Hath-Set smirked to himself, setting the relic down on his desk gently before standing and facing the owner of the voice. It was a man. He appeared to be nearing his early thirties, though Hath-Set knew he was much, much older than that. The man wore a thin lion cloth around his waist, kohl lining the outer edges of his eyes. Around his arms, the man wore golden bands, and his chest was bare, as were his feet. In his fist, he clenched a long, silver staff. Hath-Set eyed him, amusement sparking in his eyes. "Horus. I was beginning to think that the Egyptian gods had faded away with those filthy Greeks."
Horus ignored his comment. Instead, he leaned lazily on his staff, glancing around the little hovel of a room with disinterest. He shook his head with disapproval. "I gave you the gift of immortality and what are you doing with it? You repeatedly chase after the same woman time and time again, only to kill her and her lover every time she rejects you." He let out a long, heavy sigh. "Perhaps, it was my fault. I was mistaken to gift you with eternal life. I thought you would do something more...formidable."
Hath-Set glared at the god. All amusement from moments before had vanished completely. He did not like where this conversation was headed. "It sounds as though you mean to take away my immortality." He wasn't sure if that were possible, but this man before him was a god, so he supposed if anyone held the ability to remove his never ending life it would be him.
Horus shrugged carelessly, still leaning on his staff and looking quite bored. "Would you have me let you keep it after you've abused the power so? And I don't just mean wasting it on those other two. I'm talking about all those wars you senselessly started. What do the mortals call it? The World Wars? Fitting, seeing as how it all went down..." Horus shook his head once more, finally standing up right. "Such a shame you didn't do more with it."
Hath-Set watched as the god raised his staff, making like he was going to use its magic on him. He eyed him, carefully taking a step back, acting as though he were casually examining the object that would inevitably lead to his demise with an academic interest. "And when you remove the immortality?"
Horus glared back at Hath-Set, knowing good and well that he was merely stalling. Still, he found himself responding to the question anyways. "You should have died ages ago, but your immortality and internal youth have ensured your body's structure was preserved. Once those are gone, your body will catch up with the time. You will die." At Hath-Set's uneasy look, the god added, "Oh, it's really not that bad, honestly. Immortality is boring anyways. You've seen one dynasty you've seen 'em all, really. Besides, everything must perish in the end, even gods."
Hath-Set nodded slowly, inching towards the relic on the desk. It was a small vase, Ancient Egyptian writing carved into its surface. The lid was in the shape of an atef crown, a crook and flail printed on top of it. They were three of the many symbols of Osiris, the god of death and rebirth. (Oh, the irony in that.) The vase itself held magical properties that allowed the user to entrap another inside, essentially sticking them in a death like state, leaving the rest of the world to forget all about them. "Indeed they do..." Hath-Set snatched the vase from where it was perched, as he responded to Horus's statement. "Indeed, they do..."
Too late, Horus realized what was happening. He moved to stop Hath-Set, but the god was much too slow after all these years. Hath-Set opened the vase, and a green mist emitted from inside the relic. The god screamed in rage, as the mist surrounded his form, swallowing him whole and dragging him back inside the vase. The god's body twisted and turned, cracking and snapping in a not so pleasant manner. Once the mist had dissipated, Horus was no more. His staff fell to the floor, clattering loudly. Hath-Set placed the relic back on the desk, his smirk returning. "And, perhaps you were right, old friend. I have been thinking much too small."
He walked over to the god's fallen staff, taking it in his hands and eyeing it with a certain resolution. "Perhaps, I should be thinking much bigger." Hath-Set was already beginning to form a new plan, something more than just chasing down Chay-Ara and going after Khufu. For centuries Hath-Set had stood by men and power, watching, learning. But never acting, never taking that power for himself, even though it would be very easy to do so. No more. Starting now, he would be the one in charge. People would follow him, listen to him, because to them he would be a god. (And he basically was, wasn't he?) He would reign. And with that reign, he decided, he should have a name. Perhaps that one Chay-Ara had called him? What was it? Savage? Ah, yes. That should do just nicely...
Okay, so there's a lot going on here, so this is probably gonna be a long author's note. Bare with me, please. Thanks. (I'm also tired 'cause it's almost nine in the morning and I haven't slept yet, 'cause yeah who needs it?)
First, and probably most important thing, the Dunet kids' ages. So, before in the second interlude I had said that Anita was sixteen, but recently I changed it because I realized that in order for Anita to be sixteen now, Deserey would have to have been eighteen when she was born. That would be fine, I have nothing against mother's who have kids early in life, except this won't really work for this particular story. You'll see why later, I guess. So, Anita is now twelve, and her brother Daren is eleven. So, just be aware of that to avoid any confusion in the future.
Next thing. Just to rehash, the second scene in this interlude is, in fact, Carter and Kendra from another life. They don't have all their memories yet, and so they don't know who they really are. They are also teens, because I thought that would be fun. Young love and all that jazz. Interesting trivia? The name I gave Carter, Landon, is something I got from the show Legacies. His last name is derived from one of the creators of the Hawkgirl comics: Gardner Francis Cooper Fox. The name I gave Kendra, Shelia Carr, is the name of one of her reincarnations from those same comics.
Rip's thing. We'll come back to this at a later date. Promise. This was meant as a sort of hype thing, I guess. To get you wondering about it, as well as remind everyone that in Sandstorm Rip has attempted suicide at least once. (Because it will be a bit important later so...) Kinda spoiler-ish, but...really. Remember this scene. Because we'll revisit that exact moment later, when we find out who the mysterious woman is.
And Savage's thing. I got this idea a few days ago and decided to just run with it. I think I'll come back to this Horus thing at a later date, too. (But much later. Maybe season three or four?) I just thought it would be fun to see how Savage "thought" of the name Savage and what prompted him to think, "Hey, you know what, I should totally be a dictator, yo!"
Alright. Enough commentary. You just read the chapter. You know what happened in it. (See, I told you this thing would be long. Sorry.) So, I'll end this thing with a question:
Would ya'll care if I made the last bit of the White Knight events one long chapter? (Possibly like 10k words or something...) I just really wanna hurry up and get through it, because I have a lot of things I want to get done in this story, and I feel like I'm taking a lot of time with it.
I'm not sure if I'll actually make it that long or not, but if I did I want to know what you guys would think of that. Is that too much for ya? Or does it matter? Let me know, please! Thanks.