Chapter Text
He knows it’s knockout gas from the first whiff.
The sickly-sweet and chemical smell, the instant wooziness and black spots appearing in his vision? He stumbles from his chair, using the wall as support and desperately fighting to keep his eyes open. The room spins and his head whirls with it, his shoes fading in and out of view as he makes an attempt for the exit.
He nearly trips on the way, his legs feeling like jell-o and mind full of lead, begging for his eyes to close. To succumb to the overwhelming urge to sleep.
If he can just make it outside- call for help-
The door is locked when he tries it and doesn’t budge otherwise, not that he could bypass the mechanisms in his shaky, tired state. So it’s an inside job, then, or someone has snuck in and somehow gotten the access codes- though he doubts that’s possible. The Temple residents are experts at keeping their secrets.
Several thuds sound behind him, and he doesn’t even have to look to know that his assailants have entered the room. They really need to fix the gap in their security, wherever it is.
But it’s too late for that, isn’t it?
So Sethos, leader of the Temple of Silence, collapses to the ground in a heap.
-
And wakes up.
He’s surrounded by a group of masked people, all dressed in concealing black clothing. A light shines in his eyes from above, almost like the surgical lights at a medical center. Aside from that blinding spot, the rest of the room is dark. When he tries to turn his head to scan his surroundings, he becomes aware of a pressure against his throat.
Heavy manacles weigh his limbs and neck down, tethering him to the ground like a frog on a medical platter, ready for dissection. The exposed skin of his back is pressed against cold stone, arms pinned by his sides.
His back is-?
Whoever captured him knows what they’re doing, then, because the few knives concealed in his scarf would have doomed them by now.
One of them- presumably the leader by build and height- steps forward.
“Hello.”
The circle of people around him only gets tighter, drawing closer, and that’s when he realizes that he’s on a sort of raised stone platform. From what he can feel under his fingertips, there are intricate patterns carved into it, swirling lines and letters that he’s unable to make sense of.
It feels a bit like a coffin.
“Hi,” he tries, smiling. “What’s up?”
Titters rise from the crowd. Look at this fool. About to be eaten alive, and smiling to it.
He doubts that this crowd would eat him, actually. They don’t seem like the ravenous type. More curious, milling about and taking...notes, others fidgeting with the various tools in their hands.
“You were a fragment of Hermanubis,” the leader announces. “You were a vessel.”
“I wasn’t a fragment, I had a fragment,” Sethos corrects, dread collecting in the back of his skull, pooling in his body like dewdrops to a leaf. “And I don’t have it anymore, so can you please let me go-?”
“The General Mahamatra is too much of a hassle to get to,” his captor laments, ignoring him. “Too much work, too much preparation. And...” his hand comes up to cradle Sethos’ cheek, thumb digging into his cheekbones. The green-eyed male tries to jerk away to no avail. “Of course, people would notice if the General Mahamatra went missing. You, on the other hand...who’s going to miss a little errand boy? We all know you don’t actually run the Temple, after all...”
His mind spins. How does this group of people seem to know so much about the Ba Fragments? Is there a spy within the Temple? A traitor? He’ll have to weed them out later, plans, calculations...
If he survives this.
There’s the glint of silver off of the leader’s hip, the tightening of his grip before pulling away.
If he survives.
“What do you plan to do with me, then?” he questions, overlooking the jab at his leadership. His muscles strain subtly against his bonds-no use.
The crowd disperses suddenly, and, from the edges of his vision, he can see them lining up around the edges of the room- pencils out, journals in hand. They remind him oddly of students from the Akademiya, curious and sheeplike.
Willing to follow anything in the pursuit of knowledge.
Willing to do anything.
“Today,” the leader declares, taking on the role of an educator, “We will extract the very essence of Hermanubis from this vessel. And we will harness his knowledge and his power to become the wisest class in the Academiya. The best . As we are meant to be.”
Murmurs of agreement and mindless appreciation rise from the crowd. Sethos clenches his jaw.
No wonder, then. They truly are scholars. Going terrible lengths to obtain the information they crave, clawing their way up to the top.
By any means possible, right? And Sethos is their unfortunate lab rat, a stepping stone for their progress.
...
He can’t be thinking like this- he needs to get out. But, and a shift of his fingers confirms this- they’ve taken his vision.
There’s a familiar purple gleam from a nearby metal cart, though duller than usual. He can’t reach it. The connection is thin, a spidery-silk thread stretching from him to that tray. If they move it even an inch away, that string will snap.
So he has to give them reason not to, then.
So he has to stay still and let it happen, motionless yet terrified as they attach tubes to his body.
So he has to watch as the crowd flips a lever and something inside him tears open, raw and hollow. He knows there’s nothing left in him, only dust traces of the Ba fragment that had occupied its vessel. But somehow, something purple and glowing flows through the tubes, over the edges of the dias he’s on, pulsing in tune with his heartbeat.
Sethos can’t reach his vision. He can’t feel Cyno through their faint connection. But it’s alright. He’ll bide his time, wait patiently for an opportunity. He’ll observe, as he always does, picking apart weaknesses with his eyes.
And when the time is right, this branch of the Academiya will be subject to all the power they want, as it destroys them.
Hopefully whatever plan they have doesn’t precede his.
( “Have you seen the errand boy from the temple of silence?”
“I haven’t. Is there something wrong?”
“No. It would be illogical of me to be worried about such a nuisance.”
“...I see. I’ll look into it.” )