Dehorned

Written by Bagelgoose and Wolsal

CONTENT WARNING(S): Near-death, abuse, grotesque injury, implied PTSD

Tap… tap… tap.

The sound of his hooves slowly clicking on the cold stone floor rang dully in his ears, quiet over the sound of his nervous breathing and quickening heart. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt, hunched over slightly in a subconscious bid to protect the still healing wound across his stomach and back.

A summoning from Menhir didn’t usually mean good news nowadays, he knew that. He knew he wasn’t happy with him still- the thought of what he may have in store made him swallow back his rising fear. 

He arrived at the ornate door of Menhir’s room- though not a far ways from his own, it had taken him several minutes longer than usual to make the walk there. He paused, taking a moment to steel himself for whatever was to come.

…Perhaps it was nothing.

Maybe there was a coming meeting he'd need to attend. 

Maybe he simply had plans to discuss. 

…

Yeah- yeah, it was probably nothing.

He reached out a hand, rapping 3 quick knocks on the door.

"Come in." A spiteful voice from within the quarters. It wasn't the usual sickeningly friendly tone Menhir would speak with. Genuine anger, accompanied with the sounds of tearing and crumpling papers.

The halls were bare and empty, not a soul in sight through the path. The sounds of papers and slithering of the door was then replaced with crunching and squelching of meat and plants. Was Menhir eating? A way to calm his anger? Perhaps.

A bang on the table as he groaned. The new crackling of fire as he repeated himself. "Come in, Solomon. Be hasty."

The tone immediately made his heart sink- the bang startling him. Shit. No going back now. 

Solomon slowly opened the door, peering his head in nervously before hobbling in. He cleared his throat, glancing around nervously. 

“What’s up…? Do you need something?” He made his best attempt to sound calm- feigning nonchalance. 

Menhir was breathing heavily, hunched over the table. Papers bloodied by a large mass of flesh on the same table were crumpled beneath his hands, his teeth stained by the meal of one of his followers.

"Keith... Does that name ring a bell?" He said as he slowly looked to Solomon, watching the colour drain from the goat’s face. His single eye was seemingly bloodshot- despite his power, he looked exhausted, sleepless, depraved. Like a real monster.

"Remember what your last encounter with him ended with?" His hand flexed, as if ready to recreate the wound again. Solomon shuffled uncomfortably, covering his stomach with his hand, right over where Menhir knew the scar was.

 He dug his hand into the corpse, shoveling another lump into his mouth. Every time he ate it was uncomfortable, but with how strange he was acting it seemed almost feral.

Solomon nodded reluctantly. “Yes, I remember.” He spoke meekly, unable to muster a louder response.

“Why do you ask…?” He forced the words out from his increasingly dry throat, forcing himself to look at Menhir.

"Because you are going to fix your mistake!" He shouted out before sighing, trying to calm himself down for just a moment. "You’ve cost me so many resources by taking the blow- so many useful servants wasted!" 

He slithered towards Solomon, purposefully raising his torso up to seem larger. "You are going to kill him. And you know what happens if you pull another little stunt like last time-” He practically hissed the last part out- watching Solomon shrink away, a pathetic mockery of the domineering man he once was.

He stood just a meter away, the blood from his teeth dripping down onto the ground between, the scales of his snake-like body grinding against the stone. Mist spilled out, a source of infection, a simple threat of his power.

Taking a deep shaky breath in, Solomon finally spoke. “We- we don’t have to extend these resources for just one person do we-?” He paused for a moment, taking in another shaky breath.

“One mortal can’t pose that much of a risk- I-“ 

He steeled himself, looking more like a cornered animal about to be killed than the tyrannical ruler he supposedly was. 

“-I won’t-“ His voice was so quiet it almost came out as a whisper, taking a small step backwards.

Silence.

Menhir froze. Perfectly still. Not a breath to shift the suddenly stale air around. The drop of a pin would sound like thunder within the heavy quiet. 

His eye stared directly at Solomon, a sudden intense confusion and hatred in Menhir.

"... What." He said quietly, barely moving his mouth. The flesh of his lower jaw pulsated in anger, the blood finally soaking into the stone of his body. The pink light grew lighter as he leaned in further, the four closed eyes along his wheel opening as well- all honed in on Solomon.

"Speak. Up. Solomon." He said, practically growling in anger. The red of the bloodied stones with the magenta light of his eyes mixed into a haunting red light, the sound of fire crackling appearing again within Menhir's head.

Solomon flinched away, taking another clumsy step backwards. He did his best to maintain eye contact even as his brain screamed at him to look away. He swallowed hard- wishing he could disappear and be anywhere else in that moment. 

“I… won’t do it.“ He eked out, voice strained as his throat tightened in fear.

Menhir stood still, longer, silent, Solomon not daring to move a muscle-

In an instant, Menhir’s hand burst forward, grabbing him by the side of his head.

“Wait- WAIT-” Solomon yelled out, desperate shouts ignored as he was abruptly cut off by his head being slammed against the wall. A sickening crack could be heard, one of his horns giving out and clattering down before he was tossed down to where the wall met the floor, crumpling to the ground without a fight.

Dark crimson liquid covered the stone interior, continuing to spill from his head with no signs of stopping.

"You dare to defy me? All for some seal!" He slithered over, slamming his tail around the room, toppling papers and the half-eaten corpse about. "You dare to fight perfection all for some meaningless seal? Out of everything, a seal! Moronic you are!"

He growled again, turning back to the goat as he reached down and roughly grabbed his arm- preparing to deliver another blow. 

Saliva from his anger sprayed out with each venomous word he spoke. "Insignificant pest! To think you could have been greater, but you run to that mortal! I should just kill-"

He suddenly froze, releasing his hold on him. His anger vanished, replaced by a sense of uncertainty. Was... he dead?

"... Solomon... You're... You're alright, right?" He sounded scared, for once, a strange feeling overwhelming him again. Guilt…? Was the tyrant... Guilty? 

"Please... You're okay! You would obviously be okay... right?" Menhir watched, waiting for a response-...

…none came though. And the longer he watched, the more it dawned on him. He wasn't breathing.

He shivered. He was mortified, staring at the bloodied hole where his horn was. Tears started to come out no matter how hard he tried to hold it back.

"Solomon! Damn it, damn it! Get up!" Desperation as he crawled down to his level, lifting him closer. 

"You're fine! You have to be! I command it!" He yelled, panic setting its claws into him.

He tried to use his hands to stop the bleeding, clasping tightly against the open wound whilst trying to figure out how to bring him back in his eyes. It only made it worse as he dug into the horn more, now trying to place it back together.

His hands shook as he removed them from his head, placing them on either side of his face to gently hold it, skin far colder than any living person should be. 

"Please Solomon... You're all I have..."

Menhir’s breathing was ragged between his anguished sobs and mumbled pleas. His mind reeled- clutching at whatever straws he could to fix the broken mess that lay before him. He wasn’t responding. He wasn’t waking up. He wasn’t breathing. 

He’d killed him.

What the hell had he just done. 

He took a deep breath- he carefully tilted his head back, exposing his neck. He had to know for sure. He lifted his other hand away from his face- pressing 2 fingers against where he knew the main artery would be. 

He waited with baited breath for something- anything?...

After several moments of waiting, he felt it- though incredibly light, barely noticeable, there it was. A pulse. 

"You're... alive. Did… you hear-." A hopeful tone suddenly went frozen cold. No he- he couldn’t have- had he heard him?

He stood up, shouting in a commanding tone as if nothing happened. "Medics! Medics! Come to my quarters at once!"

He lifted Solomon up with him, his claws twitching in defeat yet still warmly keeping him sturdy as he started to reach for the doors. Footsteps of medics approached, soon to arrive. He could only pray he was able to hold on long enough to make it- but unfortunately, there were only 2 gods left to pray to. Himself, and the other who he held in his arms.

* * *

There were several fraught minutes as the medics attempted to resuscitate him- requiring several doctors and nurses to assist him in expelling the mass amounts of ichor stuck in his lungs and throat. Several more fraught minutes followed as medical staff rushed to keep his heart beating and replenish the mass amounts of blood lost, frantic efforts made to ensure he didn’t stop breathing again whilst others held balled up cloths over the hole in his head to stop the flow of blood.

Hours passed as the medics worked, cauterising and closing the wound to the best of their abilities. Once they were certain he was stable enough, the nurses and doctors filtered out and left the room in a timely manner- leaving only 1 other person in the room to continue monitoring him. All Solomon needed to do was rest. 

Menhir, however, remained in the room the entire time. He wanted to know that his friend- his trophy would heal perfectly. The horn in his hand was cold, the blood dried. A trophy of his power. A solemn expression covered his face as he waited, and waited, and waited...

It took Solomon a while to wake up- fading in and out of awareness without being able to maintain consciousness for more than a minute at a time for the first ~24 hours, blissfully unaware he was being watched like a hawk by the creature who almost killed him. 

His breathing, having since resumed, was loud. Much louder than usual- and much more laboured, only being able to breathe from his mouth. It at least made it easy to tell he was alive.

It was the mid afternoon. The sun snuck through gaps in the clouded sky and streamed in through the windows of the infirmary- bathing the room in a dull patchy light. His brows scrunched up- expression grimacing before his eyelids finally peeled open. 

Menhir's figure was shaking, anxiety consuming him, until he realized that Solomon was conscious. Well, somewhat. He relaxed as he suddenly stood up again, his intimidating glare returning.

He shivered. He was cold- far colder than he was used to. His vision was blurry, only focusing somewhat the longer he looked. He groaned quietly- the intense pain in his head greeting him the moment he began to come to. His focus settled on the fuzzy sight of Menhir- the only thing he could make out with any level of certainty.

"You're lucky that you are alive, Solomon." His voice wavered. He was shaken by 

what happened before, it was clear. He was still scared. "I recommend that you don't defy me again."

He sighed as he approached, aiming to examine Solomon's injury. The horn was still in his hand, tempting him. He noticed the shiver, exhaling out a bit of mist, a warm sensation around the room. "Appreciate my benevolence while you still can."

Solomon instinctively flinched away as he approached, claws weakly gripping at the thin blanket draped over him. He tried and failed to push himself up- opening his mouth to speak, though the moment he tried he broke out into a coughing fit. He coughed up blood onto the formerly pristine white sheets, gasping for air.

Despite his haggard and exhausted appearance he still appeared terrified- painfully aware of how vulnerable and disposable he was in that moment. 

“Ple-ase- I’m sorry- don’t kill me- please-“ He wheezed out, sounding on the verge of tears.

His expression faltered for a moment, a single snippet of the real Menhir beneath. One... worried. Scared. The facade was put back up as he leaned slightly closer, closely examining the wounds once again. He muttered to himself in a pained tone. "Well Above... you sound just like my family sometimes."

Solomon turned his head away from him as he leaned closer. He looked scared- genuinely scared, too beaten down to even attempt at masking it. It was foreign- he’d almost never shown true fear.

He slithered back again, looking back to Solomon. "It is not in my-... The empire's best interest to execute you quite yet. You are still worth something. In... many ways."

He held the horn tightly before reaching down into his rough cloak, placing it within a specially made satchel. It was much like his father's. The exact same. "You will remain alive as long as you work with me."

He nodded in response, cringing at the pain shooting through his head as he did. “Ok- I will…” He croaked out, tears welling in his eyes.

Menhir groaned in irritation. He slithered closer to the door, readjusting his cloak as he looked back. "Rest well. I will have doctors checking up on you frequently."

He continued to mutter under his breath, seeming to have been holding the old notes of his fathers. "First, I must kill him... Then that blasted seal... the monolith trio... what else?"

He left the room, coldly, solemnly, as his long serpent tail vanished.

Solomon was alone.