Destined Prelude #4 - 'Origins'

Prehistory:
The act of creation was never subtle. The powers of heaven and earth parted and the light that shown wasn't as seen as it was felt - Gods in their final moments prior to birth. The twins, conceived in the ether of starlight skies and the eternity of Amenti were the strongest, none doubted this. One would be destined to rule - the most beloved - the bringing of rains and strong crops, while the other would subsist in the desert, a warrior to end all wars and to dwell in the eternal bliss of night.

Nut cried as the birthing pains began in earnest. Above as below, Ra watched with greater interest: Had not Ra decided upon the fate of the twins? Had not the will of Ra been determined? Had not the future been told? The firstborn would be mighty Osiris - The chosen...the blessed. The second born would be Set, born of darkness and destined to use Apep's wrath against those enemies who rose up in defiance of Ra's divine will. The order would be as it was foretold.

Nut cried out again, this time of agony. Ra's all-seeing eye could not perceive what was happening. The goddess again screamed. The birth was not going well. Even mighty Geb, towering like the mountains which stood against the walls of time could do nothing. Nut cried out a final time, before a greater blinding light emerged. It was not Osiris, but Set who emerged...against the will of Ra...breaking the destiny which had been placed upon him.

Prehistory:
 The Ennead always met to discuss. Watchful always to their goals, Set's eyes often drifted to the promised of Osiris, the mysterious goddess whose skill had wrestled Ra's secret name. Although her twin Nephetys was identical physically to her, Nephetys was not the one Set desired. Set watched and quietly seethed as Ra proclaimed the union of Osiris and his wife, the union which would cement Osiris as the leader of the Ennead under Ra. As consolation, Set was given Nephetys.

The deserts burned in a reflection of their master's ire. Set watched in silence as promises were made and pacts forged. Although anger flowed into his heart, it was not anger that he felt for Osiris...Set knew that it was hate...a hate born from destiny.

Time passed and Osiris, ever-trusting Osiris made the mistake everyone had before him: They assumed Set was not as clever...not as willful....or as willing....to do what was unthinkable. The Ennead had forgotten Set's bid for freedom, Set's desire for that they thought was rulership....the Ennead and especially Ra had forgotten what Set truly desired. It was Osiris that paid the price....duped easily, cast asunder by angry hands which knew only hate now. Ra stared blindly down upon the scene, and yet, it wasn't Ra who sought judgment, it was the only being who Set truly cared for...preferring her dead husband to his own company.

If he was to be the villain, so be it.

Prehistory: 
 The deserts and kingdom knew nothing but war. War between gods as Horus and Set battled. A stalemate beyond stalemates. Righteous Vengeance between Great Darkness....but then, had it not always been such? Horus had sacrificed willingly his soldiers for some greater advantage...while Set did not need to sacrifice. Both battled until Ra finally had intervened. Restoring Osiris and creating the great prison, it was Set who had to be punished...but not killed. Ra knew Set was the only one to stop Aphosis...knew that Set would have a purpose...that was his chosen destiny.

Set meanwhile never stopped looking at the queen. Even as parents, siblings, enemies, and allies were brought before him, it was not Set's desire to hear their words. It was the queen's face, the contours he knew by his heart that kept his attention. The queen's eyes never looked up, never met his save for the pronouncement of judgment. Set understood at once that his punishment was a matter of convenience...the villain had to be punished in the eyes of so-called 'fairness' of Ra.

Millennium Ago:
 Imprisoned in darkness, the wounds that rested upon Set's Ka festered. Alone and drawn out only when needed, Set's anger grew until it could no longer simply be contained. There was no peace in the deep shadow - instead there were constant reminders of his role. There would be need and then he would be returned....always to be banished when his services were no longer necessary. Destiny was what Ra said...it was Set's destiny.


1986:
Free from imprisonment, Set was uncertain as to the nature of the world he had emerged. The weakness of humanity seemed to wash over him. The nature of humanity made them little more than pets upon the banks of the mother river....Osiris's chosen. One prison had been exchanged for another...only this time, Set could feel the eyes of the Ennead upon him. It was expected he would be the villain, and villains were conquerors. Whispers from ill-informed worship and ignorant prayers reached his ears, and Set found willingness to become the darkness.

1991:
Facing the new gods upon their own fields, Set saw the same darkness and rage in their eyes....burning white-hot amid the calls for heroism. There was nothing different...no difference than the roles they were expected to play....except....some were different. Some resisted their roles...their...destinies. It was that distraction which gave him pause - It wasn't from the powers of darkness Set learned of resistance to destiny - it was the heroes who actively resisted Set's own will.

2009:
Set watched as they needed him. The heroes, different faces and different bodies but the same souls reached forward to grasp what they could not begin to understand. Did they understand the contempt Ra had for them? They were nothing short of ants amid the fields of giants. Did they not see that to stop the one would bring the other? It mattered not. Something had taken hold inside of him, reawakening him to the ancient fires that had long since been cooled by the passages of time. Inside of Set burned something new...greater hate...greater need. The queen looked at him with promise and then darted away, returning to her king of the dead...again chosen despite the sacrifices Set had made.

2014:
From the prison Set watched the events play out. The upstart sought to remake everything using the ancient forms of the Celestial Mechanics. Set's hand trembled with rage. Ra was blind to such things once again, allowing the chosen few to understand such basic principles. The Red Shift covered the multiverse for a moment, almost telling him not to intervene 'or else'. It was the 'or else' which made Set angry enough to destroy the prison. The rage filled him like nothing else in his entire existence. Destiny was not something that would be denied him....he would change everything.

2015:
Had Ra known, certainly something would have been done. It was such a brutal moment between the two that no one among the Ennead could foresee. Shock turned to fear among their faces...none believed Set capable of such a fact...but Set had watched...waited....biding his time and learning the secrets Lord Eclipse failed to discover. Ra's true name revealed brought the being into focus, and from there, once defined by the will of Set, destroyed. The rage was too much now...it could not be simply consumed by the death of the instigator....reality itself was the razor-edged knife which cut every inch of him, and Set would no longer be denied his revenge upon it. Even the endlessly eternal feared what would happen: None saw the darkness in Set's Ka clearly - Set had time enough to conceal his Ka from all concerned - He would bathe existence in oblivion.

This was not due to a need to conquer.

Set wanted to see all things perish and feel the pain he had felt.

Set wanted his destiny. Set wanted revenge. Set wanted no crown or empire. Set would simply end everything.

Set would be Destined. 

______

Destined
Marscon 2016

Destined Prelude #3 - Rituals

Each breath was an exercise in pain.

No, it was not the physical pain. His youth nearly restored, Michael Deckard felt nearly in the top shape a man in his late thirties *should* feel like. The pain was more emotional...more spiritual...a personal sort of pain that seemingly blinded him at times.

It had been nearly ten months since Deckard had become a widower.

In the line of work that he had chosen, the real possibility of loss was a constant. Despite the danger, The Deckards had enjoyed thirty years together, raised a family, and had contemplated a time finally away from "The life". Privately, the Deckards had planned it would be Michael who passed first....it had been the logical conclusion.

Then Siberia. The mission. The old enemies. The fatalistic moment when the trap was sprung. They had argued the morning that Elizabeth had taken the team to Russia. It was about the seeming obsession Michael had developed. They parted angry...they did not say goodbye....they didn't look at one another. It was a moment of anger which felt like all the other times - would be resolved when the day ended and they sought comfort in each other.

Instead, Elizabeth had died, leaving Michael unprepared for what was to come next. It took weeks to recover enough of their 'home' to sort belongings. Although to all parties concerned, he had resumed his activities and role albeit low-keyed, there was something different. Those who really knew him, the five or so people within his inner circle knew something was wrong...the signs were ever-present. To those who worked for him, there was no change - obsessive behavior which seemingly was blinded by the inability to see the damage done.

Every morning he rose at the same time. Michael was getting used to sleeping alone, the coldness which took up the place where Elizabeth slept. Her scents were still on the pillows, hanging languidly in the air amid their room. It was the worst, waking up  and moving through the remnants of a shared life. Michael would spend moments trying to recall the daily rituals each would do, but found that with Elizabeth gone, the memories were like the scents - fading into the background of the waking world.

Things were far harder now. Michael had fallen into the repetition of work, and the old familiar temptations seemed to creep more into his active mind. While his will was strong, the source of his strength had been crippled - although he had masterfully kept it hidden, the pain was always present, draining his resolve.

The days seemed shorter, and the nights, often sleepless, lingered longer. If Amadeus Van Brandt had hoped to kill Michael Deckard he had succeeded, for the waking death was far worse than the actual event. Perhaps that was what Van Brandt really wanted - a sort of endless suffering that Deckard could never escape from. Now all Deckard had left was his job, and in that, he could feel himself disengaging despite evidence otherwise. The real problem was that no one could see it. Was it redemption now? Was that the mission Deckard threw himself into? It mattered little - Without her, nothing really mattered.

Running across the beach and along the paths in the jungle, it was simple mechanics of motion and effort. It was as if he were dead, and for a long time Michael Deckard quietly prayed it would be so...maybe then, if he had balanced his books right with a lifetime of service, he'd see his wife again.

If it were only that simple.....