Owner Pose
Marc Spector     The package that arrives for Jonathan Sim in the dark yellow envelope is unexpected. But the handwritten address (no return address of course) and contents that shifted slightly within were enough to mark it as something more legitemate than some advertisement for a company or the latest credit card. Inside are five objects.

    Four of the objects are glossy high resolution pictures. One is of Agnes and Cael's faces on a jumbo tron. Another is Agnes and Cael at a henna parlor. Another is the entrance to Jon and Cael's apartment. And another is the Archivist leaving a building where he had just killed two men and harmed more. The fifth is a letter made up in the same fashion as those ransom notes, all individual letters from magazine clippings. It reads:

ArCHIViSt,

cOmE TO neW YoRK HARbor, wAReHOusE 31 at sunDOwN tO ANSWER fOr yoUr CRImeS aGAinsT thE LorD. COme AlOnE. teLL NOonE WHERE yOU arE gOinG. heEd tHesE InstRUcTiOnS OR We wiLL pAy yOuR PRIce with ThE BLOod Of those CloSesT tO YOU.
Jonathan Sims     It is, perhaps, a lucky thing that Jon's checking the mail at the apartment even while everyone who lives in the place is staying at the Midnight Mission. Otherwise he might have missed the package entirely, and even if they're in Queens right now, who knows what might have happened? Still, he isn't exactly in the apartment when he opens the thing; he's in the kitchen area in the basement of the Mission, half-distracted listening to the morning news on his phone.

    As he looks over the pictures and reads the letter, distraction fades away. He pulls his earbuds out of his ears, eyes slowly widening. For a moment, he just stands there staring at the letter, entire body frozen in fear while gears turn in his head. How to handle this? It's a big enough threat to warrant responding to, and he can't just disappear with telling anyone where he's gone, but he has to make sure he can tell the truth about not having told anyone directly...

    He puts his phone down and pulls out a pad of paper, making a quick sketch and some notations, then labeling the top of the paper 'Agnes - Homework!' He puts this piece of paper down next to the pictures on the counter, then sets his phone down next to those. Then he yanks out a chunk of hair, sticks it in a Ziploc bag, and sets /that/ next to the phone.

    The sketch on the paper? A divination spell, and instructions to use the piece of hair to find him.

    Then he goes to change into his super suit, grabs his ICER, staff, and khopesh, and heads through a portal to the docks at New York Harbor.
Marc Spector     The warhouse in question is clearly one of the older ones not yet refurbished. Rust and signs of disuse mark its walls and roof in abundance. There are lights inside though, big flourescent numbers from the shine. One of the loading doors is rolled up to reveal boxes and crates lining rusted shelves There's plenty of shadow to hide and do some recon, but it's just as likely that those patches of shadow could be hiding threats as beds of safety.

    A man in a dark robe looks out from the loading door, there is a chain in his hands and he shakes his head before walking back to the interior. "Nothing yet... you're sure you sent it to the right address?" he says sharply. "We cannot afford another mess up in this. If you've failed, there will be consequesnces." His tone marks him as the leader of whoever this threat happens to be.
Jonathan Sims     Jon's not great at sneaking, but he does /try/. As soon as he's out of the portal he imagines the idea of invisibility and summons it around himself, allowing him to at least hide from sight as he approaches the warehouse. It's not quite sundown yet, so he has time, at least, to check the place out.

    He stays back, however, peering at the place from behind shipping containers. He counts numbers--nearly two dozen men that he can see--and frowns, thoughtfully. Then he pulls back and heads for the side of the building, manifesting his wings long enough to fly up to a window. He cracks it open and drops in, crouching atop a shelf while get tries to see what's inside the place.
Marc Spector     The interior of the warehouse is much like its older brethren. A wide open space for the main floor with 25 foot shelves that reach close to the ceiling. There are crates and boxes of various sizes on the shelves close to the front of the store. Towards the rear of the building is a walled off area that might house the offices of this particular warehouse. One thing that is not normal are the standing construction lamps in the middle bathing a clearing in the center of the room in bright white light.

    The robed man walks into the lit area and says, "It's almost time. Positions. Remeber, he's to stay alive... if he falls then all of this is pointless and I will personally ensure that whoever is responsible is dealt with acordingly." As he speaks, whisps of smoke curl up from his hands where they grip his wicked looking chain.
Jonathan Sims     Well, at least they're not planning to kill him. That's good news. Jon peers at the man in the robe, at the glow he's emitting to magical sight, and frowns deeply as he realizes he recognizes that aura. It's not anyone connected to the angel business, as he'd thought--it's the man who'd called himself Amon-Ra. Hmm.

    A moment's thought, and then he summons up a couple of ideas, leaving them in the Astral to be pulled into the real world at a moment's notice. He files that technique away for later--presuming it works--and then speaks, using magic to make his voice bounce off the walls to make it hard to tell where he is.

    "Clever, getting me to think you were connected to one of those cults that hates me so much. Good to see you're finally thinking things through instead of working with vampires. Finally ready to admit you're not worthy of the title you're claiming?"
Marc Spector     The man looks up at the voice. "I am more worthy of it than you may believe" he says more smoke rising from where he holds the chain. "It's just a matter of you recognizing it Speaker of Truth" he says. "Bushman and his Uraeans had their uses but they were pawns. Once they served their purpose they were going to be disposed of anyway."

    He steps to the center of the lit area. "Why don't you show yourself and I can show you just how worthy of the title of the Sun King I am." He removes one hand from the chainand it ignites. "You will find that since our last encounter my power has grown significantly. So come down and allow me to prove my worth to the one who must give their consent to my ascension."
Jonathan Sims     Jon snorts. "Give consent to your ascension? Aren't you the one telling me I'm a /pretender/? I /earned/ my spot in Amduat. I led troops into battle, I was recognized by the authorities as a leader--not to mention I am the father of the future avatar of Sekhmet. What have /you/ done, besides traffic with vampires and steal the power of Khonshu?" A beat. "No, really, I'd love to know what you think makes you qualified to rule /anything/, let alone Kemet."

    Then, after a moment, "But I suppose if you insist..."

    He summons up one of the things he was holding in reserve, and the warehouse is plunged into magical darkness so deep it even keeps the flame in the man's hand from emitting much light. At the same moment, remembering /precisely/ where the Sun King was, Jon launches himself off the top of the shelf, khopesh bared, trying to quite literally get the drop on the man. He's aiming for the man's arm, to hopefully wound him enough that he'll drop the chain.
Marc Spector     The blade connects but it doesn't dig as deeply into the flesh as it should. Jon can tell. Then a bright, brilliant light pours from the man's body. The light of the noonday sun flaring off of him like a beacon through the dark. "Cute..." he says, looking at the blade still in his flesh. "But ultimately, useless."

    He raises a hand and a burst of intense heat pulses from it right into Jon's chest.

    If there was any question about just how much stronger the man has become it's clear now. The magical force of that exertion of will is incredibly strong. Having held Ra's power himself, it is clearly a match even if gained through alternative means.
Jonathan Sims     The light that pushes at Jon's chest meets the barrier he'd pulled up over himself before he even entered the warehouse, which shimmers and flickers out, the whole of its defensive ability used at once. There's enough left over to throw Jon back away from the man, though he manages to keep hold of the khopesh.

    He climbs to his feet, a wary eye kept out for the other men he saw in the place. He twists a hand to summon up another barrier, holds the khopesh up defensively. "What's this about, anyhow? Do you think defeating me will make you worthy? What's the /point/?"
Marc Spector     The man lets out the chain and it too smolders for a bit before catching on fire. "Haven't figured it out yet, have you?" he says with a grin and lashes out with the flaming chain. If his arm bothers him he isn't showing it and it's not bleeding anymore either. The vague scent of burned flesh lingers on the air; he cauterized it at will. "This isn't about your friend the Lunatic" he explains the burning chainwhip not stopping in its offensive onslaught.

    "It's not even entirely about you" he says. "Only about what you carry and how it is necessary for me to reach the full potential of what I have become." The other men are there but they seem to be staying out of the way of the two magical powerhouses. After all, their weapons are guns and while Jon has defenses, a well placed bullet could kill him and then they'd be at the Sun King's mercy... something they clearly fear.
Jonathan Sims     Jon has never really trained against this kind of weapon; he files it away as something to work on later, chains and whips. He's hard-pressed, at first, while he tries to get a feel for the way the man moves. He keeps his distance, managing to dodge the flaming chain, but it's a near thing, and there's no way he can attack.

    "What is it about, then? Why did you go after Moon Knight? Just to get him out of the way?" Jon's breathing heavily from the exertion of holding the man off while also trying to read him. He glowers. "Are you after the /Archive/? Is that why you threatened Agnes?"
Marc Spector     The Sun King continues to flail at Jon pushing him further and further back away from the dim light of the suppressed spotlamps. He laughs. "No. Your child was merely a step in what was fated to happen." The darkness of Jon's magic pushes at the light pouring from the man. "Her part in this is over so far as our plan is concerned. No."

    He stops the chain assault to level a beam of superheated plasma, a sunray at Jon. "This is to give Khonshu a new avatar, but to do that we need to dispose of his currently selected vessel and then... I will give him the order to choose the man I place before him."

    "A god he may be, but none is above the might of the Eternal Pharaoh, Ra" he says, resuming his press with the chain.
Jonathan Sims     Jon dives /forward/ under the plasma beam, having decided that the easiest way to get at his opponent is to get inside his reach. He comes up on his feet, close enough to catch the chain as it whips out, letting it wrap around his khopesh. He pulls at the sword with all his strength, forcing the Sun King to let go of the chain or be pulled forward, off his feet.

    With his opponent disarmed, Jon tosses the chain aside and then tosses a blast of pure ice at the man. "You'll have to do a lot more than this to prove yourself worthy of the title. /What have you done/, besides be imbued with the blood of Sekhmet? Tell me that. Are you a leader? A warrior? Who are you, to claim the mantle of the Pharoah?" He shakes his head. "If you want me to acknowledge you as the avatar of Ra you're going to have to do more than work with vampires and street gangs."
Marc Spector     The man crosses his arms and the blast of ice strikes a defensive barrier in front of him. The ice meets intense heat and turns to steam. "I was born to this power, Archivist" he says through gritted teeth, straining against the power of a superior mage. "I am the descendent of the last true Pharaoh of Egypt. Before Alexander. Before Ptolemey. There was my progenitor."

    He can do nothing to push Jon further as long as that ice pours on. "I admit error in my previous assessment. Your potential was there, true. And the power granted to you was given honorably, but it was taken from -me- when you rode that path of -amduat-."

    His barrier starts to crack under the strain of ice. "All of this... is an attempt to regain that which was lost to me. Every king needs an army." The barrier shatters and the spray of ice hits him flinging him back with a grunt and a hiss as it contacts his skin.
Jonathan Sims     Jon scoffs as he presses his advantage. "The descendant of Nectanebo II? That's an /old/ one. They claimed that for Alexander, too, but at least they did it after he'd proven his worthiness to rule." He keeps on pouring on that ice. "Even if you /are/ what you claim, what of it? Blood alone doesn't give you the right to be king. Deeds and character are more--"

    He stops, suddenly, eyes wide. A memory comes to him, one not his own. A woman holding a young boy, standing in a house in Nubia, begging a former Archivist for their aid.

---

    "If you petitioned these Macedonians, we could restore my son to his proper place! He is the son of the true king!"

    The Archivist shakes their head. "Blood alone does not make a king. Alexander is as yet undefeated. He will be a good king."

    The woman draws herself up regally. "You swore to my husband! You swore to /me/! You have a /duty/, Archivist!"

    "The gods themselves have chosen Alexander of Macedonia to be king of all the world. We Archivists serve the gods, not men." A glance to the young boy. "Keep him safe, against the day Kemet may need him again. But I cannot grant your request."

---

    Jon stumbles back, shaking his head. "There was a child. A boy. In Nubia. The Archivist had helped Nectanebo gain asylum, made sure he produced an heir. But Alexander was the chosen of the gods, and we... we betrayed him. We left him there, and welcomed the Greeks." He draws in a shuddering breath, hesitating. Could this man be right? Could he be a long-lost descendant of Nectanebo II, last native ruler of Egypt?
Marc Spector     "Yes..." the Sun King says rising to his feet. "You did!" he growls and fires another sun beam at Jon. Then another and another. "My family. Left to grovel and beg for forgiveness the lands of Nubia, then across the sea into Persia. Always hiding, always poor. Always abandoned. By your people." He stalks forward, the air around him wavering with the power of his anger. "They continued North until they found some solace among the wandering people of the Ottoman lands."

    There they stayed for some time. Always wandering and moving around the countries of Eastern Europe and Turkey until the wars. Then they fled. Because they had to survive. The Sun King was destined to be born to their line and all they could do was wait and -surivive- until my birth." He stares down at Jon. "My mother died when I was born and I was put into a shelter and then when I started hearing the voice of the Eternal Pharaoh... I was shoved into a cell and lost -everything-!" Another final sunbeam lashes out and sends Jon back another few feet to a darkened corner of the warehouse.

    There is a strange feeling to tha air in this part of the building. A tightness like being enclonsed in heavy blankets that only get heavier and heavier.
Jonathan Sims     "We were serving the gods. Your ancestor wasn't strong enough to hold the land against the Persians." Jon shakes his head. "It wasn't... that Archivist should never have made a promise to the last Pharaoh, to ensure his son wound up on the throne. /That/ is where they erred. If blood alone does not make a king, then do not promise to make a child a king just because of his blood."

    It's not so much the Sun King's efforts that push Jon back as his own internal argument with Ma'at.

    (If this /is/ the descendant of the last native king of Egypt, then he may well deserve the mantle of Ra.)

    (No! It's not that simple! And if he is, then why did they need Agnes' blood?)

    (To gain Ra's attention. To infuse him with power. To connect him to the line of Sekhmet. Many reasons. But he may well truly be the Sun King. Like it or not, we /must/ acknowledge him.)

    (No. No!)

    And then, aloud, as he stumbles back into the darkened corner: "No! No, I will not... the world has /changed/! Kemet never blindly followed bloodlines, and I'll be damned if I start that now! I will /not/ declare some... arrogant fool king without him doing a damn thing to deserve the title!"

    Then he blinks and presses a hand to his chest, at the tightness. "Wha--?"
Marc Spector     The Sun King steps forward and slams a glowing orange fist the the ground.

    The circle around Jon springs up immediately. Sigils of power infused with Jon's Name bound within and heiroglyphs of Ma'at reversed outside of the containment field. The power surges out of Jon immediately, the blessings of Ma'at severed much like Khonshu was severed from Marc Spector.

    But this is a bit different. Where Marc and Khonshu were cut free of each other, a small tether still links Jon to Ma'at. Not enough to infuse Jon with her power but enough to keep the tie of her to her avatar. Jon still retains her mantle.

    The darkness of the room lessens considerably as Jon's own magics are cut off from affecting anything outside of the circle. The Sun King's glow brings warmth and brightness enough to compensate. "I was hoping your arrogance would be your fall. It would not do to throw hatred in the face of my family's betrayer only to find that he is sympathetic to our cause." He smiles, rubbing absently at a scorch of black frost bitten skin at his shoulder.
Jonathan Sims     Jon's eyes widen as the circle goes up, and his first reaction is to throw a blast of pure energy at the shield. When that naturally doesn't work, he throws himself at the shield, shoulder-first, once, twice, three times.

    "Shit!" He pants heavily, staring at the Sun King, eyes wide. "This was a trap, all along. /Shit/. What's your real goal? Who are you working with?"

    There's a terrible fear coiling in his gut, that he knows /exactly/ who the man is working with. He starts to shake, breath coing in shuddering gasps.
Marc Spector     A line breaks in the dim light and turns to reveal a portal and a man steps through. Just shy of Jon's height with slightly curly blonde hair. His pinched features are a little older, and it only heightens his weasel-like appearance. He is wearing a simple suit and walks with a cane that clicks a third rhythm out with his steps.

    Elias smiles at his old student. "Apologies for the deception, Jon, but I wanted to make sure you understood the situation you were in before I announced myself." He snaps his fingers and a weight crashes down on Jon in the circle. "You and I are going to have a nice chat and perhaps after you will start to see things our way. It truly is for the best. But for now..." the weight increases in volume and strength crushing Jon to the concrete ground of the circle. "You've had a rough few weeks. I think it best for you to sleep. I want you well rested for our little chat." The chrushing weight threatens to flatten Jon as it pushes more and more, driving him toward unconsciousness.