Work Text:
The Blindness of Famine
My chest heaves, my heart is pounding, my wool is drenched in blood, ichor and sweat, wounds drip down my body, my rags bloodied and ripped. My cloak laying several feet behind me ruined beyond recognition. My neck aches, my body aches, everything aches.
Before me lies the mutilated corpse of the bishop of famine. What was once the goddess I dedicated my existence to, my life, was left as nothing but an empty body. It smelled atrocious, clogging my lungs with a never ending stench of decay, rotting moldy food, dead fish, and half digested corpses.
My weapon of choice, the weapon the one who waits bestowed upon me, the weapon I used to cut open Heket’s throat. My axe sits at my side covered in the gods black blood lodged in the ground.
I felt the wool stand up on the back of my neck, my breath catching in my throat as I slowly limped towards the body. My left hoove drags on the ground, one of her last attacks had sent out a powerful shockwave which my leg was caught in breaking my ankle. As I got closer the smell only grew, the visual becoming clearer in my head.
What was once the most divine figure in my entire existence was before me, I ripped and tore her down. I killed her. Me, I did it.
With a heavy fall I found myself on my knees looking right at her still and non moving heart. Everything came crashing down, everything that had burdened me for the last several years.
The genocide of my people.
The deaths of my parents, siblings, friends.
The betrayal of my patron god.
My death.
My encounter with death itself.
My quest to usurp her.
Everything came out, my hands grip the ground carving into the paved stone of her temple, I feel the tears roll down my face dripping onto the cold stone floor. I can't control it.
I scream.
I sob.
I curse.
I cry.
I punch the ground.
I feel weak despite killing a god, a holy being, I feel pathetic despite taking her eternal life, I feel like nothing despite extinguishing her flame. All I can do is knell and cry my eyes out as the final parts of my world crumble into dust at my fingertips, by my hand.
I'm not sure how much time I spent there, staring at her heart and crying, but after however long it was, I got back to my feet. I remembered what the one who waits told me to do, get the crown. I look forward past the heart and the mound of flesh that was my former god. And I see it.
Sitting at the base of her exposed skull is the hunched over form of the yellow crown, it's odd but I think it was grieving too. I walk towards it with caution, eventually taking a seat beside it.
It was crying. I never thought the crowns could fell anything, I didn't even think they were sentient let alone able to cry and feel grief. Hesitantly I put my arm around it pulling it into my chest in a tight hug. Why was I hugging the crown of my dead god? I don't know, it just felt like the right thing to do and it made me feel better, I did murder its previous master after all…
I don't say anything and neither does it, we sat in a warm silence both of us dealing with what had happened. I noticed as it slowly began to shrink from the size of a crown fit for a god to one that would fit my small head, I watched as it lifted out of my arms and firmly planted itself on my head comfortably nestled between my horns and on my wool.
As it does so, I feel a new strength flow through me, my wounds heal over, my bones fix themselves, godly powers flow through my veins, I suppose that he was right about the crown's power. I'm filled with hunger, I guess that's what a goddess of famine is expected to experience, hunger.
I get myself back on my feet and I grip Heket's fleece, pulling it off her and throwing it over my shoulders. Considering the sorry state my old fleece was in, I thought it was time for an upgrade. It's big, way too big for me so I had to fold it up a bit to keep it from dragging, her blood had stained the thing and it smells rancid, I'll clean it in a stream later.
And with that I departed, with the thoughts of what I did still plaguing my thoughts. I head off towards my camp, the only real home I have, which would hopefully be simple enough, with Heket gone and her cultists being left confused without their god, they'd be easy foes. Hell maybe I'd get myself killed on the way away if only to see the one who waits and inform him personally on my success.
Plus I was excited to see him again, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to my connection to him, every death became something of a thing to look forward to, getting some time to speak to him, to let him know me better, he was like a new figure to look up to, someone who could relate to my feelings of betrayal, fear, longing, and one who won't leave me for dead or send me to the slaughter like… her.
As the sun climbs further into the sky and the darkness begins to creep in around the dying path, the air of the land changes and the late afternoon mist sets in. I've really grown to hate Anura, all the negative connotations I have with it for one and for two how everything here is decaying and filled with decomposers. I hate all the mushrooms, the smells, and the creatures of the domain. Hopefully when I free my master I won't have to visit this gods forsaken place again.
“Narinder… the one who waits…” I perked up pausing at the sudden voice, it sounded close to what a woman should sound like, older a bit more gruff. “...crown?” I asked for it, halting my journey for the moment I decided to take it off and hold it in my palms looking down at it, its once bright yellow eye had seemed to fade as it stared down at the ground. Feeling it in my hands was weird to say the least, it didn't feel like what I expected it to, smooth and what not, however it felt almost skin-like with an odd warmness to it like it really was alive.
“...your master, Narinder, the former god of death.” Perhaps it was a poor idea to look at it, too close to the image of heket that haunted my mind, I was still mulling over what I did to her though I kept myself at an emotionless expression, anything else would be leaving me vulnerable. “I didn't know that was his name,,,” I'd just called him the one who waits this whole time which was always a mouthful.
“What is your name lamb?” Odd question for it to ask, why did it matter, it's not like my name means anything now with the genocide and the fact no others are still alive. “... it's, it's Fang” not really my name, but it's what all the hunters, guards and executors referred to me and my biting habit as. The crown went silent for a moment as its eye seemed to investigate me.
“It is not. But if that's the name you choose I shall respect it, you are my new bearer afterall.” new bearer… right I forgot that it was mine now, I'm deathly curious about what it can do, or what I can do now. “And what should I call you?”
“Whatever you wish, Fang.”
“Well your eye is yellow and your the yellow crown so… how about yellow?”
“Good Name.”
“Yellow”
“Fang”