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Restful sleep seems like the blessing of the past. No matter how hard little Marc tries to relax— it feels like he’s stressing more about being stressed than actually relaxing. He could do something like rewatching Tomb Buster or touch the worksheets for the Egyptian themed field trip tomorrow. But he’s meant to be in bed. Clutching the blankets for dear life but in bed nonetheless. It’s hard to close his eyes even though there’s nothing really interesting to look at. With only the sound of moving cars and groaning downstairs to accompany him. The night sky through his window has not changed one bit. Besides the moon barely peaking out of the darkness in waxing crescent. They say that conquering the moon was humanity’s greatest accomplishment, he saw it on the TV. Being an astronaut does sound cool though Marc knows he’s not smart enough with all the science stuff involved with the whole career, though he just needs to know how to fly a ship right? Flying a ship to the moon does sound fun. Marc can imagine it now, a little space rocket in the sky, piloted by Marc Spector as he adds his name to history…
Behind his bedroom door he hears footsteps going upstairs, the sound of recognizable old slippers shuffle in the hallway and a groggy voice of his… of a woman muttering nonsense that makes Marc stop breathing. She stops. She’s behind the door. She’s standing there. From what little of moonlight Marc could see, it is no mistake that it's her shadow. His heart stops. He doesn’t move. He's soundless. He's dead. The woman drags herself away out of a drunken spur, uneven footsteps and a soft clink of a glass bottle just scraping the wall. Away from his room. Her bedroom door wails in agony then a slam. She’s gone.
Marc can feel his heart beat again. Though it throbs in his head like the organ was trying to escape from his body but has nowhere else to go. He finally allows himself to move, to cradle himself in his thick sheets inhaling the funny smell. It’s like being revived like in those movies. But unlike those characters he can’t seem to power up when he needs it the most. It’s awful. He’s not sure if a ship can fly him away from all of this. Nightmares always catch him at night and mornings being fearsome with her around. Maybe if he gets himself some strong metal walls for his ship it might keep the awfulness away. Even the moon hides in the sky. As childish as it sounds, there must be a lot of space in space. Surely there’s room for him too.
…the moon is restless tonight.
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The desert winds rattle the vehicle, which by the sounds of it the jeep is well on its way to being in a scrap yard. Or become a forgotten relic in the sand. He ignores the other mercenaries that are joking between each other. The sense of rowdy that comes with only a bit of booze that makes lightweights cry in joy that there's people that are even worse with alcohol than them. Anything to make the travel more interesting he supposes.
“Oi Specter! You dead or are you a quiet type of drunk?” Bushman comments on Marc’s lack of anything this entire ride. He’s always trying to play up banter between them and while Marc doesn’t really give him any good reactions besides deadpan deliveries— apparently his co-partner always finds the materials he needs to play into the bit… somehow.
Marc only shakes his head, giving Bushman an annoying grin. “I dunno, I reckon you’re more pissed drunk than me pal. What number is this now? Three? Save your shit when the job is finished.”
Bushman raises his hand to signal that he’s on his fifth drink. The other grown children cheer as Marc rolls his eyes, glancing back to the outside. The moon only half cast in light in what Marc believes to be the first quarter. Nothing but sand glows under the surprisingly bright night.
“You know Specter the more you stare at the moon the sooner you’ll become a lunatic!” Bushman, helpfully yammers away his peace. Marc only grumbles out— “Uh huh. Great observation Bushman.” —in slight frustration of being not left alone.
“Get it? Lunatic? Luna? Tic? If you're always starin’ at the moon then you'll get hit with moon madness!” Bushman takes another swig of his should-have-been-empty flask, making airguns with his hands like the imaginings of a serial killer. Probably gunning down crazies like an insane person.
Marc barely grimaces the bad taste in his mouth as he forces himself to relax. “You're drunk Bushman. Where do you even get this information…”
Which Bushman quips, “from a lunatic.”
Right, well, that is that then. Marc in all his apparent lunacy opts to just ignore Bushman and the rest of the mercs the entire six hour drive of the way to the next checkpoint and stare at gods knows what out the window. It doesn’t matter anyway. Marc isn’t that obsessed with the moon. It’s not like it’s going to disappear and it’s there every night. What of it? He only makes a glance at the celestial body before thinking that yeah, it’s stupid, moon madness. Sounds like a fallacy waiting to be disproven of.
…the moon is mad tonight.
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If Marc wasn't a lunatic before he is now.
Moon Knight emerges in the rubble that was once a building. Stray construction beams were caving in the roof. With what walls remained, there was literally nothing left but the bodies of thugs both mutant and man. Distant in his mind, was praise from his newfound deity of… he wouldn't say worship but the sponsor of his current identity.
Khonshu spoke of high of highs for the evil he wrought against tonight, as well as more demands of criticism which of course was going one ear out the other— nowadays in most instances Moon Knight stopped listening. There's only so many times Marc could hear about how evil has been put to justice, or wishes for more blood and pain he could've delivered to these sinners. Moon Knight kicks away some of the glass shards littering the ground, abstractly watching the moonlight reflect off of the little stars like glitter. Feeling Khonshu finally satisfied having his self verbalisation disappears in the dust. Deserting Moon Knight in the ruins.
For a god who demands the hearts of evil, miraculously lets his own heart to beat. Whatever if it is out of pity or not, to be given a type of heroism is nothing short out of fiction. Given in his moment of unfortunate circumstance, where blood would've stopped flowing in his veins as the poison of betrayal claimed another victim— but through the Moon God's divine intervention— such nuisances was expelled like the plague leaving Marc's body in artificial human perfection. That in itself still feels like childhood fiction. Only without the strings attached to his newfound chains to Khonshu, who mummified his grief to fuel for pure vengeance with a will not his own. There is no room left for anything else. There couldn’t be anything else, not for Moon Knight.
Like clockwork the celestial body above him is casting its luminescence on Marc, a gentle warm hug of moonlight that its mere presence prevents him from spiraling into his broken hubris. The moon in waxing gibbous, clearly aided his strength of tonight despite the moon not even being full— like all strange powers that hinders borderline fantasy. Which itself is strange when upon finding the ruleset of his powerscale bound to the phases of the moon makes his and his magical existence more believable.
He… cannot tell if this is a mere conjuration of mania or the genuine divine touch of Khonshu. Though making sense of these oddities does not make a difference anyway— Vengeance against evil he still delivers, but it still feels substantial to have the moon as company. Even on rare nights where he mourns his own delusion that is his life. That is not what his purpose as Moon Knight is for however, as he gave normalcy away to another a long time ago. It’s his job to keep it that way.
… the moon is sombre tonight.
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“Watch the moon tonight my Son.” Khonshu's voice reverberates in Moon Knight's head, clear as a cloudless night and as soft as the breeze in his ears.
That’s certainly not what Marc wants to hear, especially as he was dusting himself off from his brutal take down from the many stray dangers of the night. Man or mutant, vampiric or devilish, neither nor matter in the face of smiting evil by the will of Khonshu’s fist. Marc allows himself to bask in the moonlight. Always glowing. Always reminiscing. Feeling the tether of his god on the edges of his conscience— a deep unfiltered version of weighted inconceivable vehemence hangs in his heart like a steel ball in his chest. Is Khonshu really watching him now?
Questions filter through Marc’s thoughts, though after moving to the rooftops did it quickly answer his sudden spur of bewilderment.
There in the sky, decorated in starry jewels and mystical wonder, was the moon being gently covered in a radiant shadow-like-blanket that overcast the celestial body. But despite the darkness it did not overshadow the brilliance of the moon. Even it— tonight— covers itself in blood. And well, Moon Knight couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty before him.
A lunar eclipse huh… He heard stories, seen photos but it's another experience to witness it himself. Moon Knight’s enamoured gaze did not waver or lose its sight. There he was on top of the city, gaining a strange string of sentimental devotion between him and the moon. Like it deeply understands him. And he— feels like he understands it too. Is it strange to consider this type of comfort haunting?
“Is…” Marc gathers his thoughts. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”
Instead of a verbal reply, a distant feeling of revitalising energy relishes in his core. A dramatic affirmation of certainty to his response— which Marc internally swears by the gods Khonshu could’ve just answered him normally instead of funneling his mind through their shared spiritual bond.
It must have been hours when the eclipse cycle finally unveils the full moon. Marc almost forgot where he was and what he was doing. Peace was rare for him nowadays and finding himself tuning out the noise of the world and his mind was… different. He couldn’t really complain about it.
Khonshu’s presence was still here, the god didn’t leave out of boredom nor spoke to complain about the lack of proactiveness of protecting the night. As if waiting for the right moment— which this, itself is strange for Khonshu’s brash nature. He couldn’t be waiting for Marc’s reaction right?
“That was… something.” Moon Knight grunts inelegantly, but nonetheless he tries to add something meaningful. “Impressive in its own right.”
A resounding sense of pride resonates in Marc. He shivers in the god’s connection as his own dawning feelings of perplexment (and bouts of embarrassment) gathers as a pit in his stomach that Khonshu was actually trying to impress him. So much for mortals being beneath his notice. Or is it Khonshu’s attempt in instilling true faith in him as his Fist of Vengeance?
Uncertainty does rise but is dispelled by the merit of Khonshu intentionally tying Marc to the present. An act of protecting the fragile peace for his Moon Knight. An act of… protecting their peace as Khonshu's chosen protector over travellers of the night. The Egyptian god leaves adieu, leaving Moon Knight in odd tension. Not of stress or worry but a more dormant sense of security. Marc’s not the type to dwell on such things, neither is he the one to actively try to understand his deity. But from what small blessings get bestowed upon him, will never go unnoticed.
…The moon is full tonight.
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