#there's a follow up to that one drabble i did a while back maaaany years later

[cursedfortune]

Fingers curled around the bars of the cage she had been confined within. Dry blood cracked across her skin with each flex of her hands, staring ahead at the stone wall within the depths of this dungeon. How quaint, to bring her here of all places.

She had vowed to never return after the Warden of the fortress exiled her for treason - to respect all the souls she served alongside of in battle, she would not come back no matter how much she wished to. This place that had become a second home, a sanctuary for her kind... and yet there was nothing she could do but respect the verdict made.

Her grip tightened around the bars as she took in a steady breath. This was a mistake, not solely for personal reasons but because this land was layered in corpses - entropy weighed heavily in the air and she breathed in the unseen energy. She added it to her reserves with a single intention in mind. These shackles that adorned her wrists may prevent Mortem from utilizing her magic but she had her will as a witch and all that came with it. What this era’s witch hunters failed to realize was that included what she did to herself, this body she forged to hunt them as they hunted her. And she still had some energy to spare.

The bars were wrenched apart almost comically, allowing her to dip past them and into the hall. Eyes blacker than the depths of this hell lifted, faintly able still to feel the souls of her enemies as they guarded above.

”MORTEM!” “How can you live with yourself?!”

A familiar voice cried out, freezing her in place in an instant. A foul taste upon her tongue as it clicked within her mouth, signaling both a problem and her growing irritation. She did not want to think about the boy’s final words to her as she left this place all those thousands of years ago. The way his voice cracked, feeling betrayed by her deception. Questioning their friendship, all the centuries spent within this very fortress together.

Her shackled hands lifted, pushing back her hair as she breathed. Blood and sweat allowing most of her thick locks to remain out of her face, leaving nothing but her bare expression of absolute disdain. An expression that could curse a soul with a single glance.

“I can’t feel anything.”

She answered the voice back as she did back then. Except this time there were no tears threatening to spill over. There was only her hands combusting, ripping themselves apart as blood and bone warped to coat her digits and form knives out of her fingers. The witch may not be able break the bonds upon her wrists but she didn’t need to - violence, death, entropy... she could do it all as mundanely as any mortal that sought to kill. If combat was a language, murder was an art.

Bare feet padded along the stone floor, once in a walk and then in a sprint. She was limited on energy, on time, but thankfully she wouldn’t need much.

“Mortem?! How-- What are you--” A younger witch hunter. Inexperienced. Clearly, given how fast she took his head off. The next, older, called for reinforcements. Seconds ticked by and all she could hear was her own breathing, the sound of her own blood rushing. Unblinking, focused entirely on the task at hand. Every hit taken, every bullet and blade that bit into her skin went ignored - nearly unfelt.

And then another. A third. A fourth. More and more. How many would she need to kill until they learned that they should be running away from her, not towards her?! But this was fine. It was FINE.

“I can’t feel anything.” The words were uttered, ashen lips made bloody as strings of it fell from her chin.

I can’t feel anything.  I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel anything.

Being in this place made her feel as though she would split apart at the seams. More and more blood she shed, the clearer she could see the past. Regret. Remorse. Guilt. It bubbled to the surface, daring to breach. The veteran’s composure faltered as she lurched forward, not even realizing another witch hunter had come towards her. Instinct was taking over as she fought to suppress all sorrows of the past. A silent scream caught in her throat. She couldn’t feel anything. Her will trembled. Her spell waned. She wanted so badly to tell him something different, to show him she cared but all she could utter was the truth... she couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t do it, lest she come undone.

There was no way he, or anyone for that matter, could have known if she had uttered an apology in that moment that she would have ceased to be. A witch like her was not allowed to feel guilt over the choices she made in acting out her purpose, for it meant going back on them. And what was that but paradox then - one that would break her will and kill her in an instant.

The problem wasn’t that she couldn’t feel, it was that she felt it too much and had to swallow it down into the depths of herself. To wait to feel it when she no longer walked this mortal realm and reached the afterlife - only when her purpose was finished could all the crimes she committed be felt in full.

And these hunters, they didn’t deserve anything more than her disdain as she brutalized their bodies and carved her way out of the fortress she once called home. To stand at its large doors and look upon the desert whose sand was tinted nearly orange from all the blood shed in the wars of the past.

The fresh air hit, the familiar scent she knew so well-- she wanted nothing more than to cry but what came out was a scream instead. A scream so loud she couldn’t hear anything, she couldn’t think of anything but the way her throat ached. But it wasn’t enough and so she screamed again and again and again until all the thoughts vacated her body. Until every emotion that had welled up became too exhausted and numb to continue. She screamed until her body was pleading for her to stop, that even when she regenerated the damage done to her vocal cords could still be felt.

But at least now she really couldn’t feel a thing. Aha. How long had she carried that for? Finally she could feel her will steady itself.

Mortem’s shoulder landed against the doorframe as she took in a shuddering breath. Her suffering hands she had weaponized ripped apart once more but she hardly did more than wince at the pain - looking down upon them as they healed back to their normal selves. With a sigh she forced herself to move down the stairs and upon the sand she hadn’t felt in... so very long. The treacherous walk to exit the country had begun, knowing well it would take her a few weeks of walking to get there.

_____________________________

“Mortem.” A voice stirred her from her march and slowly her gaze dragged over to the familiar shape of Judge. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Despite her weariness the witch slightly smiled to the masked woman who typically patrolled the border between the countries. “It was never my intention to be.”

The short figure cocked her head but it was easy to see the near constant agitation that was in the woman’s body language. Some things don’t change, it would seem. “I guessed by all that screaming. Did you at least clean up the place?”

“I did.”

“Great. Get the fuck on, then.” She patted the sled firmly once, head already turned into the direction they would need to go. “There are worse things that will befall you if you stay here. I’d take the offer. Shackles stay on, though - till we reach the canyons.”

With a careless shrug of her shoulders the witch approached and took a seat upon the sled. In an instant it began moving as easily as a boat upon water. Mortem’s shoulders slackened as she settled her hands in her lap.

“I doubt those witch hunters are what had you screaming that much.” Judge prodded but no answer came as the witch stayed focused upon the passing dunes. “...Have you talked to anyone since your exile? From here, I mean.”

At that Mortem turned to look over her shoulder to the masked woman, “Not since the second war, no. Why?”

“Leslie-”

“Died. I know.”

“Shut the fuck up. Let me finish.” The shapeshifter’s tail flicked irritably. “I get your efforts, really. I see a lot from the canyons that separate us. Don’t give me that look, shithead. I was there in both the wars. So with what little respect I still have for you I’m going to say what no one else did after the second war. The kid said your name before he died. So I hope knowing he cared still brings some solace.”

The witch’s lips curled a little as she tilted her head away to watch the sand once more. So that was Judge’s judgement of her, then. How... unexpected. “I’ve always known. That’s why I was screaming.”