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Her eyes watched the flame of the lit candle dance in the light of the temple. A soft breeze seemed to make it sway, and dance. Bathin watched, knelt on the ground with her knees up to her chest and her arms around her legs. Her eyes were tired and half-lidded, blinking out of sync as she looked up from the candle.
The devotees were already filing into the grand, opulent room. Quietly taking their place around the freshly painted ground, the five most devoted followers taking their place on each point of the pentagram. Bathin moved aside, tucking her hands behind her back as she watched with a critical eye. None of these followers were truly devoted enough to be worthy of taking their lives for her lady.
She had originally wanted to be there, laying her head low as she thrust a blade into her chest, her dying breath taken to praise her as she rose to full power. And the last thing greeting her ears was the magnificent sound of her roar, though broken, her voice still commanding.
Bathin wanted to sacrifice herself for her lady. It was only the right thing to do. With the devotion granted from her death, her lady would be unstoppable. The Lamb would have no choice but to kneel, and even then in her obedience, she would be slaughtered.
But she could still remember what her bishop had told her when she asked. “It would be a waste to use you for that ritual.” Heket chided, a large, firm hand moving downward to rest atop Bathin’s head. “The Lamb will be felled with ease. I do not want to needlessly sacrifice you for the same outcome.”
She was disappointed she couldn’t serve her, but who was she to argue against Bishop Heket?
Bathin let her hands clasp together, keeping them behind her back as she treaded forward. She eyed the chosen sacrifices with a critical eye, a slight hint of envy lurking beneath the surface. Her red gaze darter from one follower to the next, her eyes narrowed as she frowned, stepping away. No. None of these would do. They weren’t suitable enough for her.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to speak a bit of her mind, she heard heavy footsteps approach from behind her. She noticed the idle followers straightening their forms, Bathin quick to follow in standing tall and proud as her goddess walked past. Her grand, silky robes fluttering behind her as she stepped forward to the center of the pentagram. Bathin stood off to the side, moving her hands to clasp in front of her chest, as she longingly stared upwards to watch her lady.
Heket gave her the briefest of glances, but hardly seemed to acknowledge her presence, quickly barking out commands to the group still setting up the ritual. Fresh blood being laid out on the floor, and small packs of wild frogs being lured over to the temple, ready to be sent out once the Lamb arrived, and the battle presumably began. Blades were sharpened and prepared, and onlookers were shooed away elsewhere.
Bathin took a few steps backward, to slink back into the shadows as she watched the temple be prepared for combat. New banners were hung from pillars, and traps were laid out. Heket herself stood tall and prideful in the center of the room, her head held high, almost in a regal manner. She couldn’t help but stare and admire her lady’s face, taking in her glory one last time before she hurried back off to the inner depths of the temple. To eagerly await news of the victory.
She let a rare, soft smile cross her features. She could already hear the telltale sign of a bell jingling in the distance. Though quiet, it seemed to echo through the temple, causing all previous commotion to cease, the room falling dead silent as the jingling grew louder. A few groups of followers soon took their leave, the remaining few surrounding the ritual circle in a neat formation. Heket opened her eyes, staring ahead as she watched the entrance.
Bathin herself decided to turn tail, and run off into the inner temple. As much as she would have wanted to stay and watch, she was needed elsewhere. She took one last glance at her lady, yet she didn’t return the gesture, completely ignoring Bathin.
But she didn’t mind. She turned around again, and stalked off, just as Heket cleared her throat with a broken, hoarse croak. Bathin could hear her lady’s voice thundering through the temple walls, addressing the lamb before the fight. Even as she walked farther and farther away from the main room.
She didn’t hear the weak, furious roar until it was too late. By the time she sprinted back to the temple, her lady’s rotting corpse was already laying in the center of the bloodied room. She had tears in her eyes.
.
And she had tears in her eyes again, as she felt her limbless form grow heavier. She let a muffled roar escape her, not even knowing how she managed to make such a noise without a mouth in her eldritch form. She collapsed to the floor, voiceless screams leaving her as she felt the smaller, wooly form of her opponent leap on top of her.
The cold corpses of the wild frogs she had summoned were laying on the stone ground around her. The scent of blood and smoke heavy in the air, filling her lungs as she screamed.
She could feel the sharp blade of the Lamb’s sword cut into her upper cheek, the metal piercing through flesh and bone into her eye socket. The pointed end cut nerves as it gouged out her right eye. Another mouthless scream escaped her. She could feel the indescribable pain rush through her, blood pouring down her empty socket and the warmth staining her purple cheek.
Her body convulsed, bile rising from her throat, remaining in her mouth as there was no way to get it out. The taste made her gag and spasm, broken noises escaping her nose, as the scent of blood only intensified the feeling. She could feel a heavy weight sitting atop her chest, even as her blurred vision from her remaining eye caught the Lamb walking away.
Her remaining eye seemed to practically bulge out with her pain, her body wracked with uncontrollable spasms and shaking. She could feel her veins popping out, before seeming to burst entirely. Like little bombs planted underneath her skin, finally blowing as her skin tore open and blood gushed outward in endless streams. She could only shake and cry with no mouth to use. She choked and swallowed down her own vomit and bile.
She could feel the seams of her face rip open, exposing raw flesh and nerves as the sting of Anura air hit the meat of her skinless face. Finally, some semblance of a mouth was granted to her, her cries of pain almost sounded unnatural, animalistic as her hoarse and unrecognizable voice screamed out in terror. She could feel her torso begin to rip open as well, splitting open as ribs stuck out, her eye catching a brief glimpse of the gore of her rib cage, and beating heart.
Flesh was torn off of her, as the overwhelming, all-consuming nauseating pain seemed to just.. Stop. All at once, it completely stopped, as she felt her arms and legs stir back to life, ripping away from the carcass that used to be her body. Her head fell to the stone ground, hitting it with a loud thunk. Her head spun, blood still pouring out from the stinging pain of her open eyesocket. But she had her body back.
Breathless, hoarse panting left her open mouth, a filthy mix of blood, saliva, and vomit drooling down her chin. Bathin kept her eye open. She could spot the torn, mutilated carcass of her eldritch corpse laying off to the side of her. The Lamb standing a few feet away, most likely observing the spectacle.
The sound of her hooves hitting the ground, and the jingling of her bell rung in Bathin’s ears. Her mind was too scrambled to process it, before she suddenly found herself lifted into the air, before violently thrown into the gaping hole of a portal beneath her.
She felt suspended upon nothing. That numb feeling only lasting for a brief moment, before she found herself collapsed onto the indoctrination stone, her vision blurred as she faintly registered someone speaking to her.
The Lamb hoisted her up, linking an arm under her shoulders, as they hobbled to the healing bay together.
.
Bathin stared at her own reflection. Her eye meeting her own, holding up the mirror close to her face.
Though she had spent years indoctrinated into the Lamb’s cult, the markings and tattoos left on her face from her previous life never faded. Sometimes she would trace the marks and remember the grand magnificence of her lady.
The Lamb would never become her lady. That title belonged to Heket and Heket alone. To that breathtaking face, and rich voice that used to call out to her, and even when scarred and torn it sounded beautiful. To that proud, bold woman she called her bishop. Bathin made a pledge to her, and even reduced to a mortal form she intended to keep it.
She thought she was better than those traitors. Gusion, Eligos, Zepar… She was always more devoted, she had a feeling those blind fools would turn their backs on her lady soon enough. Bathin had suffered through so much to get here, endured through hell, but no matter what happened, she remained fiercely loyal to her lady. Even as her eye was torn from the socket and sold off to some merchant, unfairly taken by the Lamb and dragged back to her cult.
Her hands ran across the markings on her face, before she found the mirror suddenly disappearing from her grasp, as a hand shot out to pry it away from her.
Bathin sharply turned to face them, with a slightly irritated expression. “I was using that.” She bitterly complained, yet Astaroth didn’t seem to care.
“You have better things to do rather than stare at your own reflection all day.” They replied, setting the hand mirror aside on the desk, slipping on their medical gloves, and mask. “We have work to do. There’s been another flea outbreak, and now it’s our problem.” Astaroth gestured for her to put on her own gloves and face mask, eager to get to work.
Bathin only withered at the mention. She dejectedly sighed, stalking over to slip on her gloves. “Isn’t this supposed to be a janitorial problem? Why are we expected to deal with this issue?”
They rolled their eyes in response. “You’d assume so. But alas.”
“Go fetch me the new supplies from the missionary. The Lamb wouldn’t do the courtesy of delivering them herself.”
Bathin nodded, brushing aside the curtains of the healing bay entrance, and stepping out into the harsh afternoon sun. She treaded down the path, her hands kept to herself and her eyes remaining on the dirt beneath her. She could hear the idle chatter of the followers surrounding here, and the occasional jingling of a bell as the Lamb presumably walked past. She didn’t dare to look up.
Whenever she saw the Lamb about, her lady was never far behind. Though Lamb remained courteous, and never seemed too overly affectionate with her, Heket seemed smitten with her. Bathin could tell from the way she looked at her as she walked past. The way her calloused hands placed themselves on her wooly form.
Every time she saw that look in her beloved’s eyes, she could feel her heart break and shatter. A pain worse than the one of feeling her flesh and bone split apart to spit out the mortal form of her body. Or the gouging of her eye.
She had always dreamed of living king enough to see the day Heket looked at her like that. To have her hand atop her head, her deep voice murmuring praises to her. Maybe even picking her up and gently holding her in her hands. Or sometimes, when she was feeling kinky enough, she’d imagine Heket would let her long, bulbous tongue run across her cheek, her saliva sticking to her skin, and causing her to shudder.
She gave up everything just to follow her, devout in the hopes that one day she’d look at her as if she were more than just another follower. That she’d recognize her devotion and eternal loyalty to her and her alone, and all of her sacrifices would be worth it.
Bathin gave up her life for her lady. HER lady. Her eye, her body, herself. She couldn’t even care less if it was real love, one look and it would have been enough to sate her.
But it wasn’t fair. Those loving eyes were always directed towards her, those brief smiles, and the warm tone of voice. When she would pass by, Heket’s eyes would follow her and stare, just like Bathin did to her. Her calloused hands would be on her body, and her voice for her ears to listen to. Hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if the Lamb got her tongue too.
Every time she looked in the mirror and saw herself, that missing eye and permanent markings left on her face, an eternal trophy, she would think of her. Back before any of this happened. When she would see her reflection, and give herself a cheery smile and continue on with the day. That sight warming her heart and giving her hope that one day, just one day all of that would be worth it. That her goddess would grant mercy on her tormented, lovesick soul and entertain her.
That maybe it could be her on the receiving end of all of that love. For one single day.
Bathin stopped at the missionary, her eyes landing on two small boxes left near the front. She approached, scanning the label, picking them up with a single arm. She held the cargo underneath her shoulder, turning around to begin heading back to the healing bay. Astaroth would scold her if she lingered for too long. They’ve done so twice already today.
As she was passing by, her eyes briefly landed on her lady, who seemed to be standing off behind a building. The Lamb was with her. Their arms were wrapped around eachother again. That same smile was on her lady’s face again.
Her heart sank again. Bathin looked away. Why couldn’t she make Heket smile like that?