The Armor Chooses

The armor chooses its wearer.

A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.

With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!

Sekhmet

His home had never been a sanctuary, only a prison. Locked away, never seen except when covered by bandages. His hair and skin wound tight in wraps, lest anyone see his 'deformity:' un-natural pale skin, and green hair. Snake child, his parents had called him, poison of the family. Despite it all, he was proud to be different. Now, as leaves changed color and fell slowly in tight spirals to the deadening earth, he was finally a man. Free to finally leave his cell, and roam the earth. Free to spread his poison.

A gust of wind rustled through the trees as he passed through the estates gates. A cold moon shone on his path. Tonight he would taste lasting freedom. Each step away from his family home, weight lifted and power burned in his limbs. Yes, he was headed toward something. Something called to him deep within, coiled and waiting like a snake.

He was content to walk through the night and the day, and any day or night that followed if only to attain the thing that called to him. Each kilometer only intensified the desire. Almost without thought, he ran headlong through the trees, the call directing his steps. A slow jog became a sprint as he ached to reach the centers of its siren's song. His heart beat drummed in his ear, matched by the tempo of the unknown power.

As suddenly as it began, the whispered promise of power stopped as he broke into a clearing, at its center, an abandoned shrine. Boards of wood littered the clearing as though a long ago explosion had flung them away. Where grass would have grown, nothing. Barren earth, poisoned ground encircled the shrine.

He hesitated, ears tuned to the slightest sound. Here? He had been called here, but why?

Slowly, a hiss built as red mist seeped from the dilapidated building, through cracks and doors, out the floor and ceiling. Tendrils of red reached for him, tentatively curling up his legs, twining around his waist. Yes! This had called, this power!

He strode forward, feelings numbed only be revived. Venom entered his pores, soaked his clothes. For the first time, he was alive! Within the mist, a figure materialized; a hulking mass of armor, seated, as though waiting for its true bearer. He stopped before it, yearning to touch it, but waiting for the strike it seemed poised to make.

"You desire it," a voice floated with in the fog, an unfamiliar accent.

"Yes," his voice thick with longing.

"You may take it, but," a heavy emphasis on the last word, "you must pledge to serve me as one of my warlords. Choose Sekhmet."

He fell to one knee, bowing his head as an arm swept across his chest. "I offer my humble services, my lord."

"Then drink in this poison and be welcomed as my Demon of Venom!"

"Yes, Master," he lifted his head, reached out with both hands to grasp the armor before him. His fingers grazed the forearms of the metal suit and in an instant he was surrounded by red and darkness. Venom flowed through him and he felt whole, as though he had waited his entire life to be free to pursue this destiny. Looking down at his hands, he clenched them tightly into fists and released, enjoying how his body looked in its new armor. He reached up and behind, feeling the handles of his new blades.

Within the mist, a door began to appear, but not any door he had ever seen: taller than the forest, with horns and no walls to mark a boundary. Yet it did. Beyond, he could feel another world, a true home for the 'snake child.' He stepped through its open gateway and out of the mortal realm.