Black veins spiderwebbed across Marcus’s throat, pulsing with a sick, oily energy. His eyes, usually a warm hazel, had dissolved into bottomless pits of obsidian. A cold dread settled in Anna's stomach, but she refused to let her hands shake. "He is mine, Ahmanet," a voice grated from his throat, layered with the ancient, dusty gravel of a forgotten tomb. "You cannot run from your true master." Shivers ran down Anna’s spine, but she tightened her grip on her tactical katana. She stepped back, her boots scraping against the gritty concrete of the Queens warehouse. Shadows lengthened around them, stretched thin by the flickering overhead bulb. Hum of the shielding generator in the corner felt like a useless mockery now. It was supposed to keep them safe, to block the cult's tracking signals, but the threat wasn't outside. It was standing right in front of her, wearing the face of her only friend. "Marcus, fight it!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "Don't let him in! You are stronger than this!" Laughter boomed from the possessed man, a sound that rattled the loose steel beams overhead. He took a heavy step forward, his posture unnatural, jerky, like a puppet yanked by invisible strings. Each movement of his joints produced a sickening pop. "Your little mortal friend cannot hear you," Set sneered through his lips, his head tilting at a grotesque angle. "Only a hollow vessel remains, waiting to receive the blade. You wasted your energy trying to hide him." Breathing heavily, Anna evaluated her options. She couldn't use the katana. Cutting him risked killing the only person who had treated her like a human being in this chaotic modern world, the only one who didn't look at her like a monster. "Why do you struggle so?" Set mocked, his voice echoing with dual tones. "You were my chosen priestess. We were meant to rule this mortal realm together, yet you choose to grovel in the mud with these insects." "I chose to change," Anna replied, her voice steady despite the hammer of her heart against her ribs. "I chose to protect them from things like you." Suddenly, Marcus lunged. He moved with a speed that defied human anatomy, crossing the ten-foot gap in a blink. His outstretched hands clawed toward her neck. Ducking under his wild swing, Anna felt the wind of his fist brush her cheek. She stepped to the side, trying to keep her distance. The sheer force of the blow would have shattered her jaw if it had connected. "Come now, princess," Set mocked, spinning around with a backhand that caught Anna squarely in the shoulder. Pain flared through her collarbone, throwing her off balance. She rolled across the dusty floor, kicking up clouds of gray grime before springing back to her feet. Her shoulder throbbed, but she forced herself to ignore it. Dust swirled around them as they circled each other. Marcus stood there, his head still tilted at that impossible, broken angle, yet he showed no sign of discomfort or fatigue. The dark veins on his face pulsed faster. "Is this the great Ahmanet?" Set asked, his tone dripping with ancient contempt. "Reduced to a weak mortal boxer who hides in the outer boroughs of this pathetic city? You have grown soft in your search for redemption." Angrily, Anna wiped a smudge of blood from her lower lip. She spat to the side, her jaw tightening as she found her center, sliding into a defensive MMA stance. Her feet were light, despite the heavy combat boots. "I am Anna," she growled, her voice steadying. "And you are nothing but a parasite clinging to a better man." Charging forward, she initiated a flurry of strikes. She targeted his pressure points, attempting to disable his limbs without causing permanent damage. It was a strategy born of desperation. Left hook, right jab, followed by a sweeping low kick. Each hit landed with a dull thud, but Marcus barely flinched. He felt like solid concrete under her fists. Sweat stung her eyes as she danced on the balls of her feet. She recalled her training in the dark, smoky gyms of Brooklyn, learning how to channel her aggression into controlled, lethal movements. But those techniques were meant for mortals, not ancient gods. Set watched her with a cruel amusement, easily tracking her movements. He didn't even bother to raise his hands to block her strikes, letting her fists batter against his possessed host. His muscles were reinforced by the malevolent deity crushing his soul. He grabbed her ankle mid-kick, his grip tightening like a steel vice. Anna gasped as the pressure threatened to crush her bones. Bones groaned under the force. Anna twisted her body, using her momentum to swing her other leg up, striking him hard in the side of the head. It was a high-risk move that barely loosened his grip. Screaming in frustration, she twisted out of his hold, but she wasn't fast enough. He caught her by the collar of her tactical vest, his strength terrifyingly absolute. With a brutal grunt, he threw her across the room. She crashed into a stack of wooden pallets, splintering the dry pine into a hundred jagged pieces. Dust and splinters rained down on her. Crashing into the concrete wall behind the pallets, she felt the breath leave her lungs. Her ribs screamed in protest, and her left ankle throbbed with a white-hot agony. She struggled to draw breath, her lungs burning. "You cannot save him," Set whispered, his voice suddenly sounding right beside her ear, though Marcus was still twenty feet away. "Dagger of Set draws near. When it arrives, my rebirth will be complete, and this world will burn." Struggling to her feet, Anna used a rusted iron pillar for support. She couldn't let him win. She wouldn't lose another person to the darkness that had haunted her for millennia, not Marcus. "Marcus!" she screamed, pouring every ounce of her remaining strength into the shout. "Look at me! Remember who you are! Remember the promise we made!" For a fleeting second, the blackness in his eyes flickered, turning back to hazel. A desperate, choked sob escaped his throat, a sound that was pure Marcus. "Anna... run..." he gasped out, his fingers clawing at his own neck as if trying to tear the dark veins out of his skin. "I can't... hold him... he's too strong..." Tears mingled with the black grime on his cheeks. He was fighting with every shred of his human soul, but the ancient god was a crushing tidal wave, slowly drowning his consciousness. "Silence, weakling!" Set’s voice roared back, reclaiming dominance with a terrifying surge of energy. Marcus’s hands dropped, and his expression hardened into a cruel mask once more. Moving with terrifying purpose, the possessed man walked toward her, picking up a heavy iron crowbar from a nearby workbench. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, and heavy. "I will break your legs first," Set promised, raising the iron bar. "Then I will force you to watch as I carve the vessel open to receive my true essence." Fear tried to claw its way into Anna's chest, but she pushed it down. She closed her eyes, searching deep within her soul for the spark she had guarded so fiercely since her redemption. Deep inside her, buried under centuries of guilt and blood, lay the Light of Ma'at. It was a fragment of pure balance, a gift of cosmic justice she had fought so hard to earn. Summoning it was never easy. It required her to touch the memories of every life she had taken in her past incarnation, to feel the weight of their stolen futures and offer her own soul as a bridge of atonement. Pain ripped through her spirit, a sharp, searing ache that made her gasp. But she welcomed it, using the sorrow to spark the light of redemption. "Not today," she whispered. Opening her eyes, she let go of her physical pain. She let go of her anger, her fear, and her regrets, allowing her spirit to align with the ancient concept of cosmic order. White light erupted from her skin. It wasn't a violent explosion, but a serene, luminous glow that washed over the dirty warehouse like a silent dawn. Set recoiled, raising his hands to shield Marcus’s blackened eyes. "What is this? This power... it should have died with the old world!" "Ma'at never dies," Anna said, her voice carrying a resonant, angelic clarity that seemed to vibrate in the very air, silencing the howling winds of the spirit. Step by step, she walked toward him. The light radiating from her body grew brighter, casting away the gloom of the warehouse and bathing the rusted metal in a warm, pearlescent glow. Marcus screamed, but it was a dual sound. One was the agonizing screech of a parasite being burned, and the other was Marcus’s own voice, crying out for release. "Leave him!" Anna commanded. She reached out, her hand enveloped in the brilliant white light. Set swung the crowbar with all his might, but the moment the iron touched the aura of light surrounding Anna, it disintegrated into harmless rust and blew away like ash. Shock froze the entity. Before he could react, Anna pressed her glowing palm directly against Marcus’s chest, right over his beating heart. Pure, angelic energy surged from her hand into his body. It flowed through his veins, chasing away the black poison that had infected his blood. Roaring in pure agony, the shadow of Set began to tear away from Marcus's physical form. A colossal, jackal-headed silhouette rose from his back, thrashing violently against the binding light. "You will burn for this, Ahmanet!" the shadow hissed, its voice fading as the white light wrapped around it like silken cords, dissolving its dark mass. Anna held her ground, pouring every remaining drop of her spiritual energy into the cleansing. Her vision wavered, her knees buckling, but she refused to break the contact. With a final, blinding flash, the dark shadow shattered into nothingness. The oppressive weight in the air lifted instantly, leaving only the quiet hum of the city outside. Marcus collapsed forward. Anna caught him, her own strength nearly depleted, and they both slid to the dusty concrete floor. Gasping for air, Marcus blinked rapidly. His eyes were hazel again, clear and filled with tears of relief. "Anna..." he croaked, his voice raw. "You... you did it." "I told you," she whispered, offering a tired smile. "Not today." Resting her head against the brick pillar, she closed her eyes for a brief second to catch her breath. The serene light had receded, leaving her feeling hollow and incredibly exhausted. Suddenly, a loud, metallic clatter echoed from the front of the warehouse. The heavy rolling shutter door groaned as it began to rise. Marcus tensed, trying to push himself up, but his muscles failed him. "Someone's here." Grabbing her tactical katana, Anna forced herself to stand, her sprained ankle screaming in protest. She limped toward the entrance, keeping to the shadows. Outside, the rain had stopped, but a thick fog rolled in from the East River, spilling under the rising metal door. Footsteps echoed on the concrete, slow and deliberate. A figure emerged from the mist, wearing a dark, tailored suit that looked entirely out of place in the derelict warehouse. In his hand, he held an ancient, ornate dagger. Its blade curved like a crescent moon, and a large, ruby-red gem glowed at the pommel with a sickening, pulsing light. "Dagger of Set," Anna whispered, her blood running cold as she recognized the curved, ancient blade. Looking up from the weapon, the man smiled, his eyes reflecting the dark crimson glow of the gem. "Ahmanet," he said, his voice smooth and dripping with malice. "You saved him from the spirit, but you only made it easier for us to take his blood." Cold terror gripped Anna's heart as she realized the man wasn't alone. Behind him, three more cultists stepped out of the fog, their eyes entirely black, and their hands holding weapons of their own. "We don't need him possessed," the suited man continued, his smile widening. "We only need his heart."

Chapter 6: Not Today