Hippos Are Surprisingly Good Therapists.
“You think Kat’s alright?” Steven asks, a worried frown on his face.
He and Marc are walking through the halls of the mental hospital, trying to complete their hearts.
Marc glances at Steven, “Yeah, you know Kat, she's strong.”
Steven nods, but the frown doesn't move from its place, instead deepening.
“What if she's hurt? What if she's not strong enough?”
Marc sighs, shoulders tensing as he silently worries with Steven. Looking down the hall lined with doors covering the unknown ahead of them, Marc pulls Steven along as he continues walking.
“Then we should hurry up and get this over with.”
***
Layla is going to bring Marc and Steven back to life so she can kill them herself. Anger is the only thing keeping her from collapsing in grief. It's easier to curse the two men than to grieve them. The only problem is that Layla can't curse Kat. She can only grieve the woman and feel the loss of her presence, her constant quips and lilting accent.
Sand has found a nest in her curly hair as Layla covers her face and head with a scarf and crouches behind a large dusty jeep, hopping into the back and under a sheet as the jeep pulls away. She's ready to follow Harrow and stop him, no matter what it takes.
The car rumbles beneath her, rolling along the rough ground and kicking up dust that clogs Layla's throat and scratches her eyes. Harrow better count his days, because Layla is going to avenge her friends and her ex-husband, and he is going to pay.
***
Nope, definitely not. This is not better.
Kat's eyes open to the darkness of night and ropes binding her arms and legs. It's cold and damp, her arms twisted uncomfortably behind her. Kat can feel the cool ground against her skin as she feels herself laying down and staring up into the darkness.
“Take this job they said, it's easy they said.” Kat speaks to the air, scoffing and rolling her eyes at the words as she tests the tightness of her bindings.
Her eyes feel drowsy, and she can't focus her eyes on anything, just surrounded by a sea of inky darkness. Kat rolls over to her stomach and draws her knees up and skillfully rises to her shaking legs.
She's alone on the side of an empty road, Mount Olympus rising into the sky in the distance. No streetlights are around, just a dark empty road that winds through the hilly countryside of Greece.
Kat groans as her body screams in pain, her shoulder is definitely dislocated and, by the way pain laces up her leg, she has a sprained ankle too. Her body is surely covered in bruises and the soreness pairs wonderfully with the pounding headache in her skull.
Kat thinks it's unfair that she has to feel the pain when she can't even control her own body in these memories. Cursing the men who had dumped her here, Kat feels herself begin to limp down the road.
And just as the darkness is consuming her, the scene changes again.
She's in a room, a cafeteria of sorts. People sit rigidly in seats all around her, not even noticing her presence as Kat slowly walks between them. Their blank eyes stare accusatory back at her, faces pale and drained of blood, curved cuts over their bodies.
“Oh, come on! Really?” Kat shouts at the ceiling, feeling her sanity slipping as she is thrown from memory to memory and now, to her regrets. “What is this? The Christmas carol? Is the ghost of Christmas past gonna come?”
There's no response, no sound, just the blank dead stares of the people surrounding her. Walking around them, Kat notices each face, placing them in her memory.
“Tim the thief, Robby the rapist, Kyle the killer.” Kat lists as she passes each one, lips turning to a frown that deepens with each name, “Bob. Kira. Paul…”
Kat's eyes land on one figure that has their back to her. Long brown hair spills over the figures back, small and curled into theirself. Slowly Kat approaches, a spark of familiarity lighting in her chest as she watches the kids shoulders shake. Slowly, Kat circles around the kid until she is face to face.
“Okay, this is getting a little heavy handed.” Kat remarks, voice cracking as she stares into eyes that reflect her own.
Young Katalya sits there, staring back blankly, dead. Her face frozen in horror and pain. Kat stares back at the dead blue eyes, no light behind them. Suddenly her body feels too heavy to support herself. Collapsing to the ground, Kat shuffles closer until she's able to reach out and hold her younger selves hand, thumb rubbing back and forth slowly.
“Yeah.” Kat sighs defeatedly, hanging her head, “Yeah, okay. I failed you too, huh?”
Her younger self doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring into nothingness. Kat feels like an empty shell, like she has been hollowed out and laid bare. With a heavy sigh, Kat shakes her head and stands, backing away from the young figure and turning her back on her younger self once again.
***
Marc feels like he's been flayed alive and torn apart and then, just to be a dick, has been set on fire again.
His brother's screams echo in his skull, haunting and permeating. The water rises around him as he tries to get Steven out of that god forsaken cave.
“It's just a memory. It's just a memory.” Marc repeats under his breath as he pulls Steven out of the memory and towards the awaiting door. The crushing of his heart is so painful, so torturous, that Marc wonders if he can just die here and now and end the pain. But Kat is waiting for them, counting on them.
With Kat in mind, Marc tugs Steven through the door and into the next memory.
They arrive in a dining room, dark furniture around and women crying on couches. Everyone dressed in black with tearstained handkerchiefs. Marc's father stands near his wife, rubbing her back as she cries loudly into her handkerchief.
Steven stands silently beside Marc, unable to speak. His silence worries Marc, but before he can think too much on it, stairs creak as a small figure peeks over the railing. Young and grieving, younger Marc stands hesitantly on the stairs, unsure of if he's allowed to come down.
His mother takes notice of him, turning her red puffy eyes to young Marc with a scornful look on her thin face.
“What are you doing here?” She growls, her face twisted in pain and anger.
Remembering what happens next, Marc grabs Stevens arm and tries to pull him to the next door, but Steven stands firmly in place. Watching. Unmoving.
“Come on, buddy.” Marc says, close to pleading as he tries to get Steven to move, “Steven, lets go.”
“You were supposed to keep him safe!” His mother screams at young Marc, “You let him drown! This is all your fault!”
Marc watches his younger face wobble and break into pure grief as he turns and runs back up the stairs, fear motivating his steps as he wants to get away from the scene.
Before Marc can grab him, Steven starts running up the stairs after the young Marc. Cursing, Marc steels his nerves and rushes after Steven, hoping to protect him from the worst of it.
***
Kat lays stretched out on the tiled floor of the kitchen, solid ground digging into her shoulder blades. Sunlight streams through the window and caresses her skin with its soft warm touch on her cold skin, like a blanket of comfort. Glass lays around her head, sharp shards digging into her tender flesh.
Eighteen, Kat remembers, she's eighteen. She remembers that she was going to move out. She remembers announcing this before the glass was thrown.
She is alone. The house is quiet and still. Kat lays there for a moment, enjoying the peace and the touch of the sun. The quietness and stillness of a house always in chaos.
“You are in pain, young one.” A deep rumbling voice says, deep in her mind and closer than her own heartbeat.
Kats body moves upwards to stare at the large imposing cat-like figure that stands in her kitchen, tail swishing behind her and head tilted curiously to the side. Kat feels herself scramble backwards, glass pieces getting stuck into her palms with her movements.
“And yet you continue to live.” The giant cat lady continues wisely, her yellow eyes staring through Kat and into her soul, “That is admirable.”
“Who are you?” Kat hears herself ask in a trembling voice, body shaking and the peace from before flooded away by panic and fear.
“I am the goddess Bastet, young one. Do not fear me.”
“That's very reassuring.” Kat hears herself scoff, wincing as she realizes that she's forgotten to bite her tongue again and preparing for a blow.
To her surprise, the goddess actually laughs, a deep and rumbling sound akin to purring. The goddesses whiskers twitch with amusement and she leans her giant figure over Kat, examining her.
“You will make a good avatar.” Bastet finally announces, standing back to her full height with an appraising look in her eyes.
“Okay,” Kat says slowly, fully aware of how insane this whole thing is and mentally deciding that she has officially lost her mind, “And what is an avatar?”
The goddess laughs again and settles on the kitchen island, her tail hanging over the edge and swishing languidly while Kat slowly rises to her feet.
“An avatar is a mortal who works on behalf of a god or goddess.” Bastet explains patiently, watching Kats reactions carefully, “I would like you to be mine.”
Kat nods as if she understands any of this.
“Why would I work for you?” Kat questions, squaring her shoulders and trying to look strong despite the cuts bleeding on her arms and hands and the redness of her eyes.
“Because,” The goddess slides off the counter and saunters over to Kat, who stands firm as the goddess circles her, “With my help, you can protect those you love. You will never have to fear anything again.”
Kats breath leaves her in a rush. The promise is tantalizing, too good to be true. It's the perfect incentive, something she has always wanted, dreamed of. A life without fear, a life of just living without wondering when it will end. It sounds perfect.
“Why me?” Kat asks, deciding that, if this is a dream of concussed hallucination, that she might as well go along with it, “You're a goddess, you could have anyone as your ‘avatar’.”
Bastets stops circling her, coming to stand in front of Kat and tilting the young woman's head up to meet her eyes that sparkle with amusement.
“Because not all are as strong as you, young one. I have been watching you-”
“That's not creepy at all.” Kat interrupts, miming zipping her lips when Bastet sighs and gives a pointed look.
“I have been watching you,” Bastet continues, “And I have seen your strength and character. You have the resilience I need, and I have the protection you need. It is beneficial for all.”
Kat considers this. She has nothing else. If this cat lady is telling the truth, then she could protect Claire and create a life with just the two of them. The scratch of a key in the front door startles Kat as her focus pins to the door, her nerves jumping into overdrive.
“Deal.” Kat agrees, sticking out her hand for the goddess to shake.
The goddess nods, shaking her hand, and disappears right as the front door opens with its announcing groan and the scent of whisky and salt sweeps into the house.
***
Moonlight shines over a figure covered in blood that drags itself through the coarse sand and to the smooth marble steps of a temple in the vast expanse of desert. His breathing is harsh and labored as his blood pours from a bullet wound and his strength becomes farther and farther away. Like a dream you can't quite grasp. Steven watches in horror as past Marc tries to staunch his wounds, face twisted in pain.
It's a weird feeling, to watch a body that's exactly like his own, dying. Marc stands silently, watching himself make one of the worst mistakes of his life and helpless to stop it.
The voice of Konshue booms its snake-like words that wrap his pursuits in lies and false promises. The old bird's voice speaks to the dying Marc, proposing a life of vengeance, of justice and blood, but a life nonetheless. A life that past Marc is rapidly losing.
“In exchange for your life,” Konshue says, voice powerful and full of pretentiousness, “Do you swear to protect the travelers of the night and bring my vengeance to those who would do them harm?”
“That sneaky old vulture.” Steven gasps, anger and defensiveness rising in him, “He was manipulating you from the start!”
“Yeah well, he kept us alive.” Marc replies plainly, watching his past self struggling to decide, between his freedom or his life.
“Marc, he was taking advantage of you.” Steven says sadly, brows creasing as he frowns at the man beside him.
Marc scoffs and turns away, crossing his arm as he roughly responds, “Or it was just a way for me to keep being what I've always been. A killer.”
Steven stares at Marc, wondering just how deep this goes.
Konshue repeats his question, and the two men watch, one with regret and the other with plain abject horror, as Marc becomes konshues avatar and regains his life.
“Then rise.” Konshue announces, “Rise and live again. As my fist of vengeance. As my moon knight.”
***
The shriek of baboons pulls Kats attention and sends her running through the doors back out into the open air of the boat. Marc and Steven emerge just moments later, both looking worse for wear as a heavy weight hangs on each. Kat can't imagine she looks much better.
“What's going on?” Marc asks, rushing up to Kat and looking her over, worried eyes checking for any wounds and sighing a breath of relief when he finds none. No physical wounds at least.
“Those were baboons.” Steven says mystified, reaching out to hold Kat before pulling back, unsure of where he stands with her.
“The valley of the monkeys.” Kat says, swallowing around the lump clogging her throat and running a hand through her hair, glad to be back in her own body and able to move freely. At Marc's confusion, Kat explains, “Baboons were revered in ancient Egypt and tons of them were mummified. It would make sense that those baboons would be down here.”
“Does it make sense?” Marc questions, brow raised dubiously.
Kat gives a strangled laugh, strung tight and stressed, and nods. The sky crackles above them, lighting with flashes of rich plum and pink as the ground rumbles and shakes. Tarwet stands at the bow, frantically trying to keep control of the ship.
“Tarwet, what's going on?” Steven asks, panic clear on his face.
“Fear is spreading in the upper world.” Tarwet shouts back to them over her shoulder, spinning the wheel and barely missing a large sand dune as the ship veers left, “Unbalanced souls are being judged or condemned to the sands before their time.” The goddesses voice raises in pitch as she worries, “Oh this is bad. This is evil.”
The three passengers look at each other, each knowing but not wanting to say it. Marc is the one to voice what they all know.
“Harrow.” He mutters darkly, fists curling at his sides.
Kat glares at the wooden floor, the childish urge to stomp her feet and scream becoming more and more appealing. Of course Harrow didn't just stop when she and Marc and Steven were killed. Of course it just made things easier. Part of Kat had hoped that Layla would have been able to stop Harrow, but Kat knows that one person cannot stop an army of lunatics with a mission.
“Tarwet, we have to get back up there.” Kat pleads, coming to stand near the hippo goddess, “We can stop this. Marc and Steven can stop this madness, please!”
The goddess takes a second to look down at Kat pityingly, not in mockery but genuine sadness and concern, before having to focus back on steering the ship as she responds.
“Even if I could send you back up there, you would just be returning to a body with a bullet in it.” Tarwets eyes shine with helplessness, “You wouldn't be able to heal, none of you.”
Kat swallows, not liking this plan one bit but knowing she has to do it. She has to get back up there, even if it means leaving Steven and Marc down here.
“I can heal.” Kat announces, squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw, “I still have a goddess's protection. Bastet can heal me.”
Marc makes a move to go to Kat, to beg her not to leave them here and to stay by his side, but Steven's hand on his shoulder stops him.
“But what if Bastet hasn't healed herself?” Tarwet questions, “If you go back and she doesn't have the power to heal you yet, you'll just bleed out again.”
Kat thinks for a second, before raising her chin definitely and steeling her nerves, “That's a risk I'm willing to take.”
“No!” Marc shouts from behind her, ignoring Steven and coming up to spin Kat around to face him, “If you die again…Just, please don't take this risk.”
Steven stands beside Marc, but says nothing. His head hangs sadly, knowing that Kat will do what she wants and that he can only support her.
“If you die again,” Tarwet says slowly, weight in each word, “there's no guarantee you'll be able to get back again. You’d be trapped here, in the duat.”
Marc’s hand tightens on Kat's arms as Stevens head snaps up and stares at Tarwet, horrified. Kat swallows and gives a shaky smile as she nods her understanding.
“Kat…” Marc trails off, begging her to rethink this.
“Marc I need to do this.” Kat insists, hand coming up to rest on his cheek and brushing away the tear that has begun to fall, “I can't let all those people die, not when I can do something about it. I've done so much bad. Just please, let me do something good for once.”
“You don't need to do this.” Stevens' quiet voice speaks up, “We can find another way.” Steven turns to Tarwet, asking, “Can you send word to Layla? To help us free Konshue?”
Tarwet opens her mouth, but Kat quickly interrupts.
“No, you can't go back to konshue! He's a manipulative bastard.”
Marc chuckles, breathy and weak as he leans into Kats touch and savors the warmth. His chest pounding as his stomach sinks at the idea of being back in the gods' control.
“If me and Marc get back up there, we can make sure that Bastet is able to heal you and be there to do it ourselves if she can't.” Steven explains, hope fledging his voice as a plan comes to mind.
“But you two would be back in Konshues control. you'd have to be moon knight again.” Kats brows furrow with a frown, not liking this plan at all.
Marc's brown eyes hold Kats, intense and serious, “This is our only shot. It's the way it's gotta be.”
Pursing her lips, Kat makes a disagreeing sound in the back of her throat, eyes darting between Marc and Steven before sighing and agreeing to their plan. Stevens face breaks into a wide smile that beams brightly in the dark night of the duat while Marc gives a more reserved thanks.
“Please, Tarwet,” Steven begs, turning to the hippo who’s subtly wiping tears from her eyes, “You have to help us.”
A beat of silence, and then Tarwet smiles softly down at the three and nods her large head.
“Orisis is not going to like this, but his gate is the only path.” Tarwet says, grunting as she sharply spins the wheel and turns the boat around against the thick sand.
The shift sends Marc, Steven, and Kat sliding down the boat as they scrabble for purchase on the shifting floor. Kat’s sent backwards into Stevens arms as he catches her, seemingly surprised at his own ability to catch her and dorkily pumping his fist.
“Get back inside!” Tarwet shouts at them, holding the violently rocking boat steady against the shifting of the sands and the rumbling ground, “You don't have long! Get those scales balanced!”
Kat dreads going back, knowing exactly what memories await her. Her fear must show on her face as Steven suddenly pulls her into a tight hug, arms creating a cage of safety around her as her head buried in the crook on his neck, inhaling the scent of old books and mint.
“Right. Let's do this.” Kat says with a false confidence as she pulls away and presses a chaste kiss to Stevens cheek in thanks and then does the same to Marc, who jolts in surprise at her quick action, “You two get the scales balanced, and come back to me.”
“We will.” Marc promises, feeling the burn left on his cheek by Kats soft lips and resisting the urge to trail his fingers along it as Steven is currently doing.
With a final smile, Steven and Marc disappear back into the main hold of the boat. Kat has no choice but to face her own, and yet, the cold fear keeps her frozen in her place. The sky crackles above in deafening streaks of color. The storm clouds swirl angrily above and Kat knows that she must get back up to the land of the living. Yet she stays frozen.
“Katalya.” Tarwet shouts, voice soft with care that reminds her of her own goddess, “I know you're afraid, but you must go back in. You must fill your own soul.”
“But why?” Kat asks, knowing she sounds like a child but her hands are shaky and she cannot go back in there, “I already know my soul will be devoured. I've done so many bad things, Tarwet.”
Tarwet keeps her eyes ahead, steering the ship, but her whole demeanor shifts to sympathy as she sighs softly.
“The scales do not weigh on what you've done, but what's in your heart.”
“And what if what's in my heart is evil as well?” Kats voice is small and wary, her shoulders hunched as she asks the question plaguing her since she was born.
Soft purple sand parts like butter for the stern of the boat as it leaves weaving lines around the dunes. The air crackles with electricity and makes the hair on Kats arms raise like soldiers called to battle.
“Then the scales will weigh that.” Tarwet answers sadly, “But you won't know until you fill your soul.”
Kat stares at the door that leads to her past, beckoning with thin clawed hands for her to finally complete herself. The door stands firm and imposing as the entire boat around it sways with the boat. Drawing her shoulders back and raising her chin, Kat steadily walks towards the door, pausing with her hand resting on the handle. Her hands shake in time with the rapid beat of her heart, her skin crawls and tells her to flee. The handle is cool to the touch under her heated fingers, a relief but also a warning of the icy fear to come.
With Steven, Marc, and the fate of the world on her mind, Kat pushes the door open and steps into the awaiting darkness.