I Miss The Quiet

Written by Bagelgoose

CONTENT WARNING(S): Implied neglect, implied abuse

The quaking metal was the morning alarm for the last decade of imprisonment. Ubathi sat silently, still awake throughout everything, sitting near the door of their enclosure. She watched as her siblings slept in the less-than-desirable cots lining the wall, the scratched mattress creating an oddly comforting pattern to trace with her fingers. Scorched marks were along the bottom of each mattress, the charcoal smell always permeating the entire room. It was irritating, but better than death. Well, sometimes better.

The pale gray of the moldy plastered walls contrasted the bright colors of the sun’s light through the window, yellows mixing with reds and blues and purples. The beauty was a symbol of the past, and the blackened and damp room they laid in was a symbol of the horror in the future. The rugs were scratched and stained from food and from the god’s conflicts. Bile and blood covered the bases of the walls and the edge of the window. The only thing unstained was the lamp above, the only bronze item in the room.  The lumps in the beds that were her siblings remained quiet as they slept through the alarm. They had no tests today. It was finally a day of rest.

She wondered about her followers as she watched String Cheese more closely. Her people were innocent compared to most, loving each other despite their contrasting ideals. That was one of her principles after all. Everyone needs care and support, even the healthy and despised. She slowly wandered over to String Cheese, stirring him in his sleep. He suffered the worst of the war. The first target, no one knew how to combat the oncoming apocalypse. His people were starved, slaughtered, maimed, and infested with the unholy magic of this monster. Even his children were infested. They act as their guards some days, although she believes they have been properly killed. That monster is cruel, but some moral justification is behind those cold eyes. 

She gently remade String’s makeshift blanket and sat beside him. Can't have anyone going on tired.

Safari had an abrupt end to their rule. This sudden superpower arrived, she prepared all he could, but in the end their kingdom was torn to shreds in a single hour. From the mightiest of us to the most dependent, it's truly a shocking shift in their point of view. Ubathi did her best to help Safari with their new life in their glorified prison, but some days they lashed out. Ubathi could never get mad at them.

Nymph lasted quite a long while on his own. Of course, it was for his power and money, but he fought bravely. Unfortunately, it ended with his wings torn to shreds. A beautiful mayfly to nothing more than a maggot in the emperor’s eyes. A sorrowful story, to say the least.

Ubathi had lasted the longest out of all the gods. She would have died if not for Malheth. A majority of her people managed to flee into the underground of the kingdom, but it would be only a matter of time for the monster to infest the subterranean paradise. She worried for Malheth too. Last she saw him, he was fatally wounded, fleeing the fight with a guilty expression. The two made eye contact before he fled. He was horrified. She had never seen such a mortal expression on his face. That was the sign of defeat in her eyes. She surrendered as everyone fled, so no wounds would befall her. She needs to be fit and able to help her siblings. 

Oh, Katsu, her sweet daughter. She knew that Crucify had fled from all the conflict and was hiding out with her new siblings. But how long until they find her? How long until that monster lays his damned hand upon her neck? How long until death embraces-

No. She can't think that way. Katsu is alive. Somewhere, somehow. They will meet again in the future. Eden in their future, and victory is in the rat’s.

Another stir from String Cheese, another scared expression. Perhaps it was a nightmare plaguing the younger sibling. Ubathi sighed as she laid her hand on his head. A slight comfort, but it would never be enough to hide the panic in his mind. The four of them have lost everything but each other. They must fight for each other. To stay alive and together.

At least, that's what she hoped they would believe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sulking and slithering sound of the emperor trailing the halls. A decade since the rise of his empire, since his victory over the rat’s crusades, since his conquered land came to be. It was a day to celebrate; months had gone into the celebration in the throne hall. A feast would take place at dusk, an hour would pass and the gladiator duels would begin. Afterwards, a final toast from the council and the emperor, and then the night will go on in dancing and feasting and singing. Everyone was attending. Everyone but the emperor.

Menhir traveled the empty halls, heading to the one room he visited every year on this very day. Of course, he visited it quite often, but never for this reason. He always gloated and tormented souls in that room, but never did this. He turned the halls, the statues of the great infested, and the armors of his soldiers lining it. The beautiful library stood at his left, the doorway spanning the entire wall as the near-endless array of books and stories of old lay in the hallowed halls. Stories from Uuth and from the island rested there, waiting to be shared with the most daring of the young. The right side held the mess hall, where many were frolicking to bring the food to the throne room. Avoiding those paths, he pushed to the left.

As he turned, banners and lanterns guided his attention down to the small children before him. Siblings by the looks of them. A taller male rabbit, staring with awe, with a younger turtle behind him. The two stared with sheer excitement as they jumped up.

“Sire! Sire! Sire! What are you doing in the halls? Your celebration is about to begin!” Their blissful youth seeped through the voices. Menhir wanted to be angry, enraged for them causing a racket during his time. But they were young. They were like him so long ago.

“Oh, I am simply grabbing my things! Fret not, young spawn. The celebration will be splendid!” He barked out a chuckle as he leaned down, a slight bow to the children. They reciprocated his bow, a common tradition for the young and old, before running off, chatting about how they got to meet the emperor face to face.

Menhir thought about their encounter for the rest of the journey, banners of his battle with the gods and his construction of his keep failing to distract him. Those children don't understand his sinful nature. The lives he has ruined, the people he has killed. The loved ones he has betrayed. But in the end, they love him as a god, and that is what matters in his eyes. Love does not require a reason when it comes to a god. All that matters is that love is present, unconditional or not.

The wandering goliath continued to travel deeper and deeper down into the depths of his keep, the plated metal and stone slowly fading into the damp and cracked blackstone below the surface. The colorful purple and red banners disappear as they are replaced with the faint glow of moss between the cracks and crevices. The sounds of frantic planning and preparation faded as Menhir faded into his thoughts. The sounds of the children’s happiness were distracting. He tried to cast them aside, but they followed him down the path. His usual internal monologue was silent, a first in a long while. The last time his head was this quiet was when he first lost his mother.

Eventually, the stairwell and halls gave out into a large pathway spanning the size of the throne room, the floor gone into an endless fountain of nothing, with the ceiling shining a faint cold light. An illusion of solitude and company. A panopticon, cells lining around the room, all empty with tears eroding the grounds, creating almost den-like structures for the infested beings from long ago. In the center, a large glass room stood upon a pillar of rock, bone, and tissue. He slid over the crude bridge along the gap.

As he approached, the room was pitch black, faint movement within the misty dust. A small table that Menhir had stolen from the apocalypse cult, trinkets atop the wooden plate to remind the prisoner of home. The homely necessities, such as a toilet, sink, kitchen, and a small bed had all been supplied. The only reason this was truly a prison was because of where the prisoner was; Away from everything. 

“Knock-knock, little rat.” Menhir spoke coldly as reached the central pillar. His tail coiled around the base, long enough to fully encompass the stone below the cell. He peered in, circling the cell slowly. Patiently.

“It’s obvious you are in there. I don't know why you insist on ignoring me.” He barked out a laugh, finally spotting the prisoner. The faint navy blue of their fur blended in with the endless dark around, only being seen with the tans of their ears and eyebags and jaw. The torn cloak adorning their prisoner’s garb, paintings of magenta and red along the cuffs where chains met flesh. In all their former glory, Ratil was sitting against the glass panes of the wall, looking away from Menhir. Tears gently streamed down their cold faces as they hugged the knees of their malnourished corpse. It was pitiful. Even to Menhir. 

“Well Above… you are in quite the horrid state. Perhaps feeding you the bare minimum was not the brightest idea. But it certainly got the job done.” A low chuckle escaped his mangled jaw as he sat on the other side of the wall, his tail wrapping around the cell. “At least you’re used to this now. This is the second time you’ve been locked away, hasn’t it? I believe last was during the Rat Genocide, correct?”

A low nod from Ratil, hugging themself tighter as another tear rolled down.

“Struck a nerve? Apologies, but that answers my question.”

It was odd. He did not feel this malicious desire to torment the rat. He didn't want to see the rat cry. He didn't want to see failed screaming, blood letting. Nothing. Just to sit and listen. To speak. 

“A decade since I had taken over this world. You know this, correct?”

A nod.

“Good, good. The people are celebrating up above this forlorn sector. If I did not fear the outcome, I would bring you along. Perhaps I could disguise you, treat you as a guest simply. Then again, you never seemed one for spectacles and celebrations of this caliber.”

No movement. Their shoulders slumped slightly.

“Perhaps loneliness has consumed you? Is what you want your friends?”

A slight nod.

“Ah… I understand. I cannot supply, unfortunately. They believe you to be dead- everyone believes that! If I revealed you to be alive, I would be doomed. You understand this.”

No movement again. 

“You do. It's clear you do. Hope has already vanished from your cold hide.”

Menhir slowly looked into the cell, his head turning to see Ratil’s shaking fur. A sense of pity, empathy. It was not the first time he had felt such emotion in Ratil, the sense of sorrow for their imprisonment. But he must keep them there, for the sake of his plan.

“Do you… Do you wonder why I keep you here? Why do I bother? You must. Right?” He spoke nervously, wondering deep down how much Ratil even thought of Menhir himself. 

“That is something I wonder about quite often. Just how often do I plague your mind? How often do you suffer and love the idea of my arrival? The idea that you rot away, thinking about me. It's almost erotic, in a wicked sense.”

He chuckled as he slithered up, starting to once again circle the cell. The scales and crystals of his body scratched the cell, a wicked sound as Ratil clasped their ears. It was usually intoxicating, but never has Menhir been so sober in this cell.

“What are your theories? Why do you think I keep you here like a trophy?”
A silent shiver again. Menhir felt it once again. No longer to listen, but to speak. That was the desire.

“Because. That is what you are. A trophy. A toy. A symbol, corrupted by the very infection that has plagued your world! Yet, you serve as a jester as well. The plaything for the king of the world! You should be grateful for this role I have gifted upon you!” A cackle, a tear through his voice. He scratched against the glass, stopping before the bridge. 

Suddenly, his expression changed. Sorrow? Empathy? Is that what was upon his face? He seemed to express a slight bit of remorse. Humanity in his eyes. It was beautiful, in a sense. This monster’s skin reflects the incredibly dim lights of these depths, the faint purple of the crystals of the walls, bridge, and cells shining a calming rainbow light along his scales. He seemed like a holy symbol now. But the fading of the light was just as quick as the final spark of hope. Ratil blinked in slight shock. Mesmerized. Dreaming.

“And yet, old friend, I still miss the days I would see you smile,” Menhir admitted. A cold sigh as he readjusted his posture, the lights of his wheel-esc head turning brighter. “Perhaps, if you did not have such tenacity, we would be frolicking in the sickly fields that now replace your old home. Perhaps I could fulfill all your wishes. Perhaps you would be my beloved advisor instead of Solomon. But, perhaps, another reality shows this.”

He looked to Ratil, a pleading look in both of their eyes. One pair begged for freedom, for normalcy. The other begged for the future, for change. Never could these eyes meet. Never could these souls be truly similar. Menhir knew that. Ratil knew that. They broke eye contact, and Menhir turned to the exit, slithering and shivering down the dangling bridge.

“Perhaps, but until then, you will remain forgotten by all but me.”

The gates opened and closed, the monarch vanishing into the halls of the keep. But in the chamber, tapping was heard once again, slowly, rhythmically as always. But afterwards, another sound was heard, not foreign to these stone walls, but foreign to any ear that hears them. It was faint, quiet, somber. A silent sob from within the chamber drowned out the sounds of the churning mists below and celebrations above. In this cell, sorrow was all that could be heard. And it is all that will be heard as long as our dear prisoner resides here.