[ The rasp of metal jewelry across root heralds the unfurling of Set's body, his head rising until he's able to peer through the sheet of red hair -- wrathful, resentful. Rationally, one might find a measure of solace in the companionability of those words. They mark the pair of them as individuals who are required to seek atonement and redemption, and Set hates it with a burning, biting resistance that smolders within him.

( Pathetic, that he cannot relinquish the embers of his pride, though the Ennead had stripped even that from him. ) ]

That others committed? Speak for yourself. Let them squirm under their own evils, I don't care.

[ Bitterly, he won't even allow himself to clutch at that much -- the blame has been placed upon his head, a dark crown of damages wrought and sins committed. He just went mad, the other gods whispered behind their cupped palms, slaughtered his brother, what an envious god. Why does he even exist? ]

They keep putting barriers in my way, trying to force failure. Even this - it's just in my way.

[ does he mean archangel's offered hand??? he is glaring at it balefully.... ]