[b]Black![/b]

Horus and Osiris are professionals. When they look into the crowd and see Blue wearing her scarab amulet and White's serene expression of expectation they wordlessly understand that these two are worthless. Absolutely garbage, no drip whatsoever, they might as well be wearing Young Skeptics Association badges on their fedoras. Black, though - Black gets their attention and they call her to judgement.

She comes warily. Her world is preparation and here she steps into the unknown. She does not have a scarab charm or memorized passages from the Book of the Dead. She is conscious of herself in a different way; all her tricks and concealed weapons, all her adaptations maladjusted to this new danger. Her dusty, black-brown suit felt heavy on her, all her secrets pulling her down. This was not what she should be wearing to meet the gods. This was not the suit she wanted to be buried in.

Anubis presses his hand to her breast. The lights flicker and go dark, and when he pulls his hand away it is wreathed in a low-burning fire. He places the flickering fire in the scales. "This is your heart," said Horus. “When I release my thumb, we will know if your heart is heavier than the feather of Maat."

"Do you think you were humble in your time? Did you treat others as worthy of your consideration? Did you face your challenges with an awareness of your own limitations and failures?" Anubis says this last like he is very aware of Blacks failures.

She's not like Pope. Her voice does not quaver, she does not draw relatable breaths, she does not stumble. The mannerisms of humanity are a snakeskin cloak that she can at last shed.

"I was," she said. "I imagined each enemy a genius, each corner an ambush, each plan destined for failure. I was never surprised when I failed, and always surprised when I succeeded too easily."

"Were you selfless in your time? Did you attend to the needs of others as much as your own? Or did you hoard?"

She does not pause or stumble, she freezes. The question is antithesis to her. "My purpose is to ensure the safety of -" she stops. "My purpose is to ensure we are not hurt again. I have allowed concessions, but not where it threatens that directive. I have not been truly tested in life. I do not know if I could overcome that purpose."

"Were you just? Did you offer comfort to those who could not protect themselves? Were you fair and honest in all your dealings?"

"Honesty, as much as circumstances allowed," said Black. "Which was not often. Fair, when I could justify it, which was not always. Protection for the powerless...?" She stared off into the distance for a moment. "As much as was within my power, which was never sufficient."

[b]Yellow![/b]

Her blades come to rest underneath Cinder's throat. They trace the line of her chin, her neck, wrapping around forming a collar of four hands as they press the collar of silk into place. They tilt her head up to look at Yellow as they pull it tight, kneeling alongside her, cheeks pressed into her cheeks, the three of them staring up at Yellow in unison.

"Burn, my sword," said Yellow. "Burn in your body. Burn in your heart. Burn when you gaze upon me. Burn when you yearn to gaze upon me. Burn, and I will burn the world with you. Burn, and I will burn the world for you."

Three leashes were wrapped in her right hand; she pulled them together to turn her blades to look at Euna.

"It's the same flaw I see in you, Mistress," said Yellow lightly, starting to prowl. "And of course you granted it to your students. The love of battle for battle's sake. The love of solving a pattern with strength and mind, exerting skill to its greatest possible manifestation. The search for perfection," she smiled, "you can see it in every sword you forge. Even in us."

She raised her hand slowly, pulling her blades to their feet. "But in Cinders' heart there were greater loves than the love of battle. See in her new allegiance the end of your tyrant's empire of war. See in my eyes the secret to your defeat. Dare you fight us still?"