Mutually Assured Destruction (part 1)

Written by Bagelgoose and Wolsal

CONTENT WARNING(S): Panic attacks, PTSD, catatonia

Ragged breathing came from the emperor, hunched over his desk as he twiddled with corners of papers. 

He was nervous for once, just having sent his followers to retrieve a special guest. His serpent tail flipped around the large room, tipping books over and scraping along bricks.

"Well Above... how will he react?”

 He paused, squeezing his hand into a fist. “What will he say-?" 

Menhir muttered, shuffling papers around. He wrote notes along the lines, trying to distract himself. "What if he starts to retaliate more? What if he doesn't l-"

-a knock at the door startled him out of his spiral. He cleared his throat, brushing off dust as he tried to look more presentable. 

He barked out in a commanding tone to the door. "Come in."

The door creaked open, multiple sets of footsteps could already be heard before they fully came into view. 

Menhir set eyes on Solomon shakily stepping into the room, 2 cultist escorts walking along either side of him holding him upright. One of them had his arm draped around their shoulders whilst the other kept a firm grip on the goat’s shoulder.  

It was immediately clear that he wasn’t right. 

He had a blank stare whilst simultaneously wearing a distantly fearful expression. Tear tracts from the last week or two had been etched onto his cheeks, his once well kept fur a complete mess. 

His eyes were sunken in with large bags under them- he looked notably more frail, though whether that was from the stress or lack of eating and drinking was unclear

He didn’t say a word or ask any questions, nor did he make any attempt to get out of the room or so much as break free from the person assisting him in standing- it was unlike him given he’d attempted to kill nurses for far, far less.

His gaze sluggishly shifted to the throne in front of him where Menhir sat after several moments- it didn’t seem like he wanted to look though.

Gotta look mad. Gotta be in command. Can't look sad, nervous. Apathetic, yes, that's the look I need. Menhir thought to himself before putting on a cruel expression. 

He waved off the 2 cultists, a glare following them as they left worried. Not just for themselves, but for their other leader. Even Menhir was worried for Solomon at this point.

He was barely holding himself up now- unsteady on his hooves and legs threatening to fall out from under him- it was apparent why the cultist had opted to hold him up rather than allow him to walk on his own.

"Finally, we got you out of that filthy room. I was wondering when you would act like a proper follower." He rose from his seat, spitting out his words as he slithered to Solomon. The gleam of his gemmed scales were ruined by his paranoia, nowhere near as divine looking as he once did.

"I have splendid news for you, dear friend~! As a result of your constant rebuttals and acts of defiance, we've resorted to something... drastic." Hesitation, yet he still spoke in a confident tone, reaching down and grazing a finger along Solomon's face. He missed the face of distrust, of fear. Of connection.

"Want to guess what I've done?" He chuckled as he looked at Solomon, hoping for any sign of reaction.

He made no reaction to the contact, refusing to look directly at him- more seeming to just stare into space. The anger and defiance he’d held on his face once-upon-a-time had since vanished- now replaced by… nothing.

He shook his head lightly, sucking in a sharp breath. “N-no…” He murmured, voice only just above a whisper. 

Menhir waited, just for a moment, finger lingering on Solomon’s chin. A sigh was let out as he slithered back over to his desk, looking to Solomon, noting his avoidance to look at him. He slithered back closer, inches from his face, trying to force him to look at him.

"Granted Cessation Wire. There is a Granted Cessation Wire inside of your brain, attached via surgery while you were unconscious." He spoke matter of fact before trying to smile, appearing his usual cruel self.

 "If you defy me, leave this keep for longer than I say, or anything else. Boom. You will be nothing more than a memory, and a red paint on the walls."

He stared again, refusing to blink, to look away. He was wanting a reaction, any sign of the Solomon he adored. "... Well?"

Solomon paused, looking to be almost on the verge of tears. In that moment he truly couldn’t have looked a further cry from the all powerful king he was touted as being- the spitfire Menhir had first met, even as he was chained up and dying. 

He eventually just nodded again, eyes appearing glassy- not quite teary, but not far from it. This time he said nothing, appearing to almost shrink away under Menhir’s glower like a fly under a heat lamp.

Menhir continued to wait again before groaning in irritation.

 "Nothing? Nothing? I tell you of your demise and you say nothing? Why? WHY!" 

He turned around quickly, slamming his hand onto the desk as he threw papers to the side, huffing in anger. The loud bang sent the goat scrambling back, falling to the ground in his panic and scooting back as far as he could.

Menhir hunched over the desk, anger and hate filming his figure. His wings furled outwards, blanketing the ground as his wings flexed and twitched. He continued to huff, until suddenly he turned silent. Moments passed as his posture changed, more secluded, softer, as if he struggled to hold himself together.

"... Why did I do this?" He sobbed quietly as he held his head. His wings started to contract again, twitching in almost terror. Guilt. "I didn't think it would ruin you! I thought you would still be... you.”

Odd. It was unheard of him to cry, to sob. Even show any form of regret to this degree. Never was it heard of him whimpering and pleading with himself. A quiet sob still echoing from him as he repeated his regrets.

Menhir heard a quiet sob from behind him before a shaky voice spoke up.

“I’m- I’m sorr-y- please don’t-“ He mumbled between sobs, barely able to speak coherently, not able to finish his sentence- though the ending could be inferred. He’d curled into himself, shielding his head with one hand and his stomach with the other- eyes screwed shut.

"-Don't be sorry!" He quickly turned around to face the terrified goat, crystalline tears trailing down his fleshy maw. They dripped from his face, almost freezing in contact with the air as drops of diamond set onto the ground.

"Don't apologize! Well Above, please don't apologize!" He was staring in a distraught panic, his eyes not able to focus on Solomon. "Is that all that I have made you think? To apologize? NO!"

He slithered over to him, grabbing Solomon by the shoulder with his lower arms, his proper hands gently holding Solomon's face, staring at each and every detail. Finally, he looked at the broken horn, sorrow and grief painting his expression.

He froze up as he was grabbed- eyes wide and terror stricken as his hyperventilating picked up in pace.  He stared up at Menhir’s face through tear-blurred eyes.

"Well Above, is this why you act so out of character? Why, why would I- ... I know! I can put it back! I can fix you! Return you to your beautiful self! Yes, that's it. The solution! Right? Right?"

Solomon had started to almost lean into the touch- almost allowed himself to momentarily ignore his fear and self preservation in exchange for the desire for superficial comfort. 

Blood was trickling down his forehead and out of his nose- tears still spilling down his face

He didn’t respond to Menhir’s questions. Even if he’d wanted to, wordless sobs bordering on whimpers stole any attempt at further communication before he could even think to speak. He shut his eyes tight.

Menhir chuckled for a moment, sobs in his eyes as tears started to swirl down to the ground. It was nice, a comforting sight. He gently caressed his cheek with his thumb. 

In an instant Menhir suddenly pushed away from him, shoving him to the ground and stumbling back to his desk. A sight of panic, terror, and a slight hint of regret once more. But not of the past, of now.

"No... No, no, no." He muttered to himself, looking through his own mind to try and piece together himself. Get back to how he was. Not sensitive, not empathetic. He was a God now, an apathetic one at that.

"No, you need to be scared of me. You need to not melt into my hand!" He shouted out, a slight tone of guilt in his voice. "I want a connection yet if this path continues you will lose yourself, and everything is ruined!"

Solomon visibly grimaced at the shouting- a nauseating thumping in the right side of his head momentarily dazing him before he could sit back up. He stared, tears and ichor still dripping down his face and onto the ground, dirtying the front of his shirt where they fell. 

Menhir turned, wiping the stone and leaving slight claw marks along the crystal and clay.

"I need you to leave my office, Solomon... Please..."

Several moments passed as Solomon waited for his head to stop pounding while biting back the bile threatening to crawl up his throat, drawing in a shaky breath, nodding absently. “Ok…” He murmured, voice hoarse and weak. He gingerly clambered to his hooves. 

Menhir watched as he began limping to the door, movements slow and crooked- pained. His hand was clasped on his stomach. He disappeared through the doorway, quiet and slow hoofsteps following him. 

He hunched back over the desk, trying to regain his control. His face melded back to the expression of disinterest, of a lack of care for what is occurring. The tears vanished, his panic subsided. It was calm again, looking through his room, atop of the shelves and furniture.

He spotted the horn of Solomon. Perhaps he could reattach it? No, it would be pointless. Nothing would be fixed.

Perhaps he should be more hostile to Solomon? Drag him back to truly reinstate that sense of dread again? No, he already regrets what he has done. He has practically destroyed his mind at this point. All the harm is already done. But now he was weak. Barely more than a mindless obedient follower.

"Well Above... what must be done now?" He muttered to himself. He must continue his plan, and with the device now in Solomon's skull, perhaps his paranoia will vanish? Subside like the tide? Hopefully.

He patiently waited. And waited. And waited.

Until his plan was finalized.