Marc Spector has never quite known how many of them share his body, Steven who just wants peace, Jake who never hesitates to kill, and himself, caught between the two, indebted to an Egyptian moon god who never once let him be a single man at a time.
Khonshu asks for no worship, only debts settled by moonlight, a blood-price Marc has been paying for so long he can no longer always tell which voice is speaking when his fist closes.
The Yokudan house where he opened his eyes that night was no ordinary shelter: built according to the funerary rites of the old Redguards, every stone in it honors Tu'whacca, keeper of tombs and guide of the dead toward a rest they must first earn.
The ancestral wards carved into the lintels didn't stir at his presence like they would for an intruder, they simply went quiet, the way they might before a visitor already well acquainted with that kind of debt to the dead.
Marc has never heard of Tu'whacca, but something in those walls already seemed to know exactly who he was still fighting for.