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Heket had never been one to let go.
She still held onto that day, kept it burned in the back of her mind whenever memories, or images of Him would appear. When her family, all she’s ever known, had been torn apart so easily underneath the tips of his claws. Like the snap and squelch of her flesh torn beneath him, her throat slit and ruined.
She knew she would never heal. None of them ever would. Her poor baby brother, his sight taken from him too early. Her beloved older brother, his ears slashed off his head. And… Shamura…
When all was over and the four of them sat alone in Anchordeep’s grand infirmary, she knew it would never heal, the moment she took one good look at herself. She never wanted to admit it, but she knew she had to. The remains of her shredded throat, bits and strings of her flesh and muscle left hanging from the gaping hole left in her, it was enough to confirm the worst.
She tried to make up for it. She didn’t want to appear weak to her following, just because she wasn’t able to recover from her wounds. After Shamura was taken out of commission, she decided to step up as the head of the Old Faith. She knew poor Kallamar would never be ready for that type of responsibility, so it wasn’t as if she really had any choice, anyways.
But no amount of power, effort, or responsibility could fix what was already broken. Her bandages always bled, ichor running down her chest and bleeding into the silk of her robes. The grand feasts she used to lavish in and enjoy, now feeling like burning venom scraping the insides of her throat. Bile already building at the back of her mouth as she inevitably puked it all up again. And it burned. Every single time when she thought she could have gotten better, toughened up, maybe even healed, it always came back.
Her crown could never fix the damage already done, the pain that she felt whenever she spoke, when she laughed, when she yelled, when she cried, when she…
Whenever she tried to enjoy her life, just in general. She supposed it was some sort of cruel karma she was receiving, for all that she had done against heretics, for all that she had done to defend the Old Faith. It was cruel, unfair, she knew it. They had deserved their punishment, she didn’t believe she deserved hers. At least, not one so cruel.
She had suffered-… No, her family had suffered enough. There was no way she would EVER let that heretic have another chance at freedom. Another chance to hurt her family, to hurt her, to maim them and never let them heal.
She felt no guilt for a single drop of blood left on her calloused hands, not an ounce of guilt for the thousands of sheep skulls she had crushed in the palm of her hand. Not a single bit of guilt for any life she took, any neck she snapped or strangled, any village she had her followers ransack, not a single soul she had condemned to a slow, painful death of starvation. They deserved it. If she wasn’t allowed rest, if she wasn’t allowed to heal or recover from her wounds… Then no one in these cursed lands would know rest. Not until she day she found herself feeling better.
And perhaps that day would never come, she supposed. The sharp blade of the axe came crashing down, a head flying off soon after, and cheers breaking out from the group of onlookers. Leshy threw his arms into the air with a hoot, carelessly tossing the corpse of the last sheep into his gaping maw, swallowing it down without a single thought afterward. Kallamar let a sigh of relief escape him, a smile beaming across his face as he celebrated with Leshy.
Shamura seemed as if their mind were elsewhere.
Heket let her shoulders fall, her tense form relaxing just a tad, as she couldn’t help but let a big, goofy smile overtake her usually stoic features. A pleased, hoarse croak left her, watching her brothers prance about, eager to run off and celebrate the occasion. She lingered for a while, raising an arm to place a hand on Shamura’s shoulder, gently encouraging them to tag along, guiding them as she muttered something in their ear under her breath.
In the distance, somewhere behind her, she could hear the crackle of bones, and shrieks from a few followers. But she disregarded it. Now was finally a moment she could let herself rest, even if it were only for a little while, and even if her wounds were still there.
She was out of earshot when it all went quiet, save for the jingling of a bell.
.
Heket could still remember running her hands along the cold surface of Kallamar’s back, gently pressing her palm into him, as she felt him shudder and weep beneath her. She was grateful his back was turned to her, as she could feel warmth gathering in her own eyes, tears beginning to stream down her face, even as she fought against them.
The mangled, hardly recognizable body of her baby brother lay in the middle of his once grand, full of life temple. Which had now become a bloodied, broken battlefield, set for a war that he was fated to lose ever since the beginning. Doomed, unchangeably so.
Heket could only stare at it for so long before she felt the overwhelming nausea overwhelm her, shaking her head and turning away, trying so desperately to focus on the sight of her weeping, mourning brother. And not the dead one that lay a mere corpse only a few feet away from her. The stench filling her nose made her gag, feeling bile rise up in her broken throat as she forced it back down.
She could remember kneeling down beside him, resting her head against his shoulder and laying her hands in his lap, like they used to do when they were younger. And she muttered into his ear, ‘it’ll be okay.’ Like she had done a million times before. She took responsibility for him and their now deceased baby brother, someone had to.
Her family was broken, cursed to never heal from their wounds, bound to always carry that eternally bleeding mark, that hole He had clawed out of all of them. In his eyes, her throat, his ears, and their skull. Heket knew that all of them were never going to heal. The best she could do was lessen the load for for the rest of her family.
When she finally left that temple, she recalled fury. What once started as a simple ends to a prophecy, turned out into a bitter, deep-rooted hatred that built in her heart. A sort of rage that seemed to wear you down the longer you let it control you. But she was used to that already.
Though her memories of that time were stained red with rage and the blood of the heretical, she could still vividly recall when she met her. On a cold, clear night alone in her temple, the tattered remains of her cultists left on the ground, her body felt tingly and numb, the adrenaline leaving her to hardly notice the gashes and tears littering her eldritch form, her eyes fixed on that one opponent cutting down every single attack that went her way, laying waste to her temple.
It had been a long time since someone had been able to outpace her. Heket was caught by surprise when she felt her legs give up on her, left limp, only able to watch as she saw that smaller figure leap into vision, catching a momentary glimpse of her before the blade of an axe was put between her eyes.
Those venomous, scarlet red eyes seemed to reflect every ounce of her own fury, the piercing, livid stare greeting her, before everything went dark.
And when she thought she’d never see the light of day again, she was proven wrong. Over and over she saw those eyes again, that haunting, furious stare sealing her coffin countless of times as she met her fate over, and over, and over…
.
It was a long time before she found herself breathing again, the crisp smell of the world greeting her as she arose, something other than the stench of ichor and ashes filling her nostrils. Violently thrown into the air, she soon found herself on her back, laying flat in the ground, her squinting, tired eyes meeting the clear blue sky of the over world.
She shuddered, just as she had processed being alive again, a cold splash of pain greeted her, weighing down on her throat like a burden. She had to fight just to get the air back in her lungs, her breathing sounding heavy, hoarse, broken.
This wasn’t purgatory.
A pair of cloven hands roughly grasped onto her shoulders, pulling her up to her shaky feet, Heket feeling the world spin as she stood up.
When she found her balance again, her vision settling into place, that’s when she saw Her again. But it wasn’t the same as she could recall. Those blood red eyes that were once filled with hatred now seemed… Tamed. Eerily calm, as she stared at them as if she were unlike any other follower in this damned compound. As if everything she had ever done, ever gone through, didn’t matter.
As if there were nothing wrong with her.
She remained seemingly oblivious, a practiced smile playing on her lips. “Hm. You’re taking this better than I expected you to. Have you fully regained your senses, yet?” She flashed her a grin, taking a step closer, her bell jingling with the motion. Heket took a step back.
Her bewildered expression soon shifted into one of bitter resentment, her eyes narrowing as she clenched her fists, balling them up at her sides. The Lamb’s red eyes seemed to flicker to them, silently observing, as she soon set her gaze back upon Heket. She didn’t back off, only extending a hand from her fleece, an offering of sorts, accompanied by a smile. Heket could only turn her nose up in disgust at the sight.
Lamb didn’t seem to react, keeping her hand in place, with the same set expression. “Are you still upset? Oh, don’t worry. I suppose we’re even. For now, at least. It took your brothers a while to warm up to me, too.”
Heket didn’t want to think of the implications of the word brother. Plural.
She let a bleat leave her, pulling her hand back to herself, to cover her mouth, as her eyes crinkled into an amused grin. “You won’t even speak to me, hm? I suppose this might take a while…” She hummed, letting her arm fall back into the depths of her fleece.
“……And…..I’ve.. got… …time.” Heket spat in reply, through the burn of the pain.
.
Heket couldn’t understand why no one else was on her side.
Pretty quickly into her indoctrination, and the added indoctrinations of her older siblings, she realized that everyone else around her seemed to be so… Willing to accept their new life.
Her little brother, once a force of chaos, wild and blatant anarchy, now letting himself be trampled on like some common weed… Thrown around carelessly like the unassuming cultist by some… Frustrating sheep. Kallamar- well, she supposed she couldn’t be too surprised with Kallamar’s fate, he was always quick to bow to save his own skin. But she still found herself disappointed nonetheless. And she didn’t even want to know what was going on with… Him.
…And she wished Shamura was fully aware of what they were doing.
She had to suck it up and continue getting by every single day. Feeling isolated in her thoughts, her plans of reattaining her former glory. Surrounded by blind fools following a false prophet, and traitors that abandoned the Old Faith.
And… Annoyingly, that same, old friend was always there. Burning away at the remains of her throat, never failing to ensnare her with a sharp, unbearable pain that would always leave her dizzy, exhausted even. Even with her bandages a bright red, instead of the black ichor that normally tainted it, her wounds never healed. How cruel it was, stuck in a mortal form, yet condemned to forever bear an immortal wound. One she would carry forever.
What a bleak, miserable life she had to live. Some days she would wonder if purgatory was truly worse than this existence.
Some days that damned sheep would swing by, and bother her. Heket had long since grew to resent those red eyes, now filled with amusement, or a slight annoyance. Once, she used to feel dread seeing her gaze, but now, she only feels anger.
Some days her brother would try to speak with her. She always appreciated time with him, but she’s been noticing that nothing seems genuine with him anymore. Laughter turned to silence, as Leshy began visiting her more often. She noticed the bandages around his head were replaced with the wrappings of woven grass, a camellia blooming from above the top. She wondered how he got it to stay so clean every time she saw him. Did his wounds never bleed, like hers did?
He would often try to nudge her into interacting with that Lamb. He tried to be subtle, but it irritated her every time he brought it up. He always claimed she could ‘help her.’ Heket never believed him. She wouldn’t budge.
…At least, that’s what she originally thought. She supposed she had always had a soft spot for Leshy, though. Hearing that desperate plead in his voice to just hear her out for once, that this could somehow help her feel better, in some odd, impossible way… As stupidly unbelievable it sounded, she eventually decided to give in, letting him coach her into speaking with the Lamb.
She begrudgingly asked her to retrieve her throat.
Shockingly, the Lamb took that seriously. Only two days after she had asked, she was approached one day, some wet stick being plopped into her hands. And before she could blink, her previously decent mood immediately dropped, her day ruined as she stared at the gore of her own torn organs left wrapped around a stick, in the palm of her hand. It was still somewhat warm.
As if the existential dread couldn’t get any worse.
Afterward, she returned to her usual routine of avoiding Lamb like some sort of disease. She tried several times to approach her, but Heket ensured to put a stop to it before she could. She wasn’t ever in the mood to put up with anything more than expected. An irritatingly chirpy sheep was more than enough to set her off, at this rate.
It didn’t last long, however. Heket could recall walking back to her hut late one night, after she spent a little longer than usual lingering at the bar. When she placed her hand on the frame of her door, that’s when she bounded ‘round the corner, her bell jingling as she skipped close. Before Heket could pull away, Lamb grabbed onto her by the wrist, glaring daggers into her. “You’re coming with me back to Anura whether you like it or not. I’m done with this.” She spat out, with fangs unnaturally sharp for a sheep. And just like that, she let go and left.
Heket supposed she couldn’t quite decline, in this scenario.
.
The rest of that evening went by in a blur, this new, uncomfortable demonic form messing with her head and and vision, though she tried to focus. Heket could only make out some bits and pieces of clarity, watching the Lamb’s blurred figure clear past whatever heretics remained in Anura, moving from this room to the very next. Heket could really only make out her surroundings, through the new form she found herself in.
When it got noticeably darker, she squinted her eyes, though she soon found that she didn’t need to, her head going dizzy as she found herself on her feet again. She caught herself, shaking her head and rising to her full height, blinking open her eyes and finally seeing it-
Her temple.
Its radiance had faded. She used to hold banquets in here, both for her own achievements, and her family’s. Music used to fill the room, with the scent of grand feasts in the air. Laughter and joy was shared.
Rotten bones were left on the ground. Blood dried over and staining the stone floors, marring and covering the patterns that adorned it. The stench of ichor remained, and she swore she could spot some disfigured remains of her own corpse sitting off to the side in the corner. Though the banners were torn and eaten out by bugs, and the decor was now broken or missing entirely, the ransacked room still held that same air of importance to it. A timeless display of radiance that once was.
It made her rotten heart ache.
“…..I… miss… I…” She murmured, her rough voice hardly above a whisper, as her fingers clawed at the air, her fists clenching and unclenching as she desperately fought to try to get the words out of her broken throat.
“……Lamb… …my…” Heket began, trying to shake off any tears that had begun to build at the corners of her eyes, attempting to get that stoic expression back onto her face, as she turned around to face her. Lamb only stood back and watched with an unreadable gaze, her hands placed behind her back. Heket kept her eyes on her. “…..My…..relic…”
With that, that stick was given back to her, though, she could feel a surge of devotion radiating from it, the energy lightly shocking her fingertips as she gently held the relic in her hands. She blinked away another tear, her expression contorting into a frown, even as she could feel the ends of the frayed flesh of her wound beginning to shift, pulling together as it stitched itself back into one piece.
It hurt. Her own skin and flesh forcefully taken from the ends and shoved back together, yanked and pulled as it stretched to fill the missing pieces over the gaping hole left in her throat. She had to fight take a sharp, forced inhale, the breath knocked of hurt of her, as her body itself forced itself back together, mended by whatever force her relic now held. And yet soon enough, the pain settled into a dull ache, at the back of her neck and hardly noticeable. Taken aback, she raised a hand to gently touch her bandages, expecting to feel the sensation of the material rubbing against the plush flesh of her open wound, stinging.
And yet there was nothing. For the first time in such a long, long time, she felt… Nothing.
Clutching a little more tightly, she tugged a bit of the bandages off, falling over her shoulders as she gently pressed the tips of her fingers against where her wound should be. The skin felt raw, and sensitive, hissing as she pulled her hand away from the fresh scar left across her throat, almost in disbelief. She touched it again, only getting the same sensation.
She wasn’t in pain anymore.
Heket opened her mouth, trying so hard to speak clearly, yet she couldn’t find the words leaving her. She didn’t know what to say, even as she turned her gaze back to the Lamb, who had now stepped forwards, a little closer to her as she herself examined the freshly mended scar left on her. She didn’t have any expression on her face, but she didn’t seem entirely displeased, either.
“…Look at you.” She simply stated, forcing a soft, hardly noticeable smile to tug at the corners of her lips. But it wasn’t entirely genuine, Heket could tell. “You’re healed. How does it feel?”
Heket closed her mouth, another hand drifting up to her neck, yet hesitating to touch, as her head spun. She wanted to ask her a million questions. Why would she ever grant her this mercy, after everything that she had endured, that-… No, that they had both endured? Everything that the universe had put her through, and everything she had put the world through. Every selfish action she had taken and every selfish action she suffered from.
After everything, why did she do it?
“…Better.” She quietly replied, though her throat no longer burned at the motion.
The Lamb remained stoic. “Good.”