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Katana sat still on the edge of his bed, he had been fumbling with the lining of his ceremonial robe. He used his claws to tear at the seams, pulling out the teal string that clashed with his horns. He had been meaning to dye them but he was feeling rather displeased as of late. Katana knew he was going to receive an earful later on this evening. He was supposed to attend a ceremony of 2 young demons, needing to gauge out one of their eyes as initiation.
He slapped a hand over his mouth as he felt vomit rise up his throat. It bothered him everytime he was ordered to do an initiation, he couldn’t bear to hear the screams of pain from the victims. In the middle of the night he would jolt awake, remembering their cries vividly. Even after it, he couldn’t look them in the eye, knowing his hands were forever stained with their blood.
There was a knock at his door that had startled him, snapping him back into reality. Katana closed his eye shut, knowing he was about to be lectured for skipping the ceremony he was in charge of. Before saying anything, he took a short breath.
"Come in."
He turned to face the door, not surprised to find that it had been Rifle that knocked. There were traces of blood on her hands, indicating that she had taken care of the ritual during his absence.
She didn’t say anything as she sat down right next to him. Rifle hadn’t been much younger than him, there was only a two or three year difference. Yet, she handled the ceremonies way better than he ever did.
“Why weren't ya at the ceremony? It was yer turn ya know.” She said, staring at him closely.
"I'm…" He stopped; she was the closest person to him within the cult; certainly she would understand him. "Not feeling well."
“Ya could say that again, yer skinnier than a poor man’s wallet.”
Katana hadn't been eating well since he started those excruciating ceremonies. The idea of stomaching food made him lose his appetite. Every time he saw the eye-like dish that the cult served, his stomach sank. He has been avoiding the church dining room ever since; he would sooner starve than enter it again.
“Rifle, may I talk to you about something that has been troubling me?” He asked, glancing back to where he tore the seams of his robe.
“Hey, why haven’t ya dyed yer horns back to teal? Y’know Father isn’t gonna like that.” Was all she said, tapping his horn with her claw.
“Rifle.” His voice laced with exhaustion seemed to get her attention.
“Well? Go on then.”
He took a deep breath and allowed himself to collect everything that had plagued him since joining the cult. He was uncomfortable with what it did. Tearing out an eye to show your devotion to Overseer. Regardless of age, whether you were an adult or a child born into it. He himself was not born into it; he simply had the misfortune to come upon the church during a difficult period in his life.
It bothered him; there were other ways to pledge loyalty, but this was their way. Katana remembers the day he received the honor to continue the rites. Before he did them, he felt important and wanted. Everything changed after his first ceremony; that previously blinded eye was opened to reveal the actual horrors of the cult he had called home. Perhaps it was never home, but a place he made himself believe it was.
"I don't believe I can perform any more ceremonies. I find the idea of it unbearable.” Katana said softly, caressing the edge of his robe between his fingers.
“Why the sudden cold feet? Ya never showed any remorse for it.” Rifle asked, her face quickly turning into a stern one once she realized he wasn’t joking around. “It’s yer job.”
“I was never comfortable with it, it sickens me to the point where I fall ill. It’s not right, all of this wrong for a god? Overseer hasn’t done anything for us.”
Katana stood up quietly, removing his robe, he found himself staring at it. He neatly folded it and set it on the dresser of his room. He wasn’t aware of it, but when the pending words came out from his mouth, would his life change.
“I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
Something compelled him to stay a bit longer than he had planned to before the ceremony. He didn't want Rifle or Broker, wherever he was, to remain lost in this cult any longer. He wanted better for them, and they didn't deserve to be corrupted. If he spoke to them, perhaps they would join him and together they might be free.
“Come with me, I want us to be free from this corrupted cult. We can look for Broker and we can leave for the better.”
When he turned back, Rifle glared daggers at him, causing his heart to sink. She had her weapon pointed at him, the safety lock turned off. As Katana carefully lifted his hands, his breath got caught in his throat.
“I’ll be damned if I let ya leave, Y’know better than to badmouth Overseer.” Rifle gritted through her teeth, her finger found its way to the trigger of the gun. “What’s goin to happen, is yer walk through that door, pretend this conversation never happened, an carry on ‘bout life.”
He felt his heart break, he was so sure that Rifle would’ve understood. Katana cursed himself for not paying close attention to her behavior. She questioned his absence rather than his well-being, dismissing his query. How she stated that it was his duty. He disregarded her acts because he believed she would understand.
"I'm going to leave, whether you want me to or not." He spoke strongly, gripping his fists, enraged at how corrupted Rifle had become, but he also blamed himself for not talking to her sooner. "Whether you are coming or not."
Katana wasn’t ignorant, he knew Rifle wasn’t going to let him leave so easily. With his right hand he raised it in air, within the snap of a finger his gear appeared out of thin air. Katana wielded his sword close to himself, bracing for any sudden impact.
“This is yer last chance, Katana. Forget it ever happened.” She said, raising the butt of her rifle to her shoulder, knitting her eyebrows together.
“I would rather die, then worship a false god.”
In an instant, a bullet was fired his way, if he hadn’t acted quickly he would’ve received a bullet to the head, completely killing him. Within that short time frame he managed to block the bullet, watching as it ricocheted around the room.
Rifle shot another bullet towards him, firing another after another. Her shoulder jerked back as she fired, holding the handguard of the gun with a steady hand. The loud bangs of her gun made her ears ring. She felt herself grow angrier the more Katana avoided her attacks. He showed no signs of wanting to fight back.
Katana felt himself shake, the adrenaline rush that was coursing through his veins made him shake, yet he still managed to keep a tight grip on his gear. He took notice of Rifle yanking out a cartridge and he took that as an opportunity to escape while she was reloading her gun.
He dashed for the door, just managing to open it before Rifle caught up with him. She dropped the fresh cartridge and swung her rifle at Katana's back, knocking him to the ground. Rifle swiftly sprang on top of him, using her gear to suffocate him. Katana coughed out, unable to breathe.
His hands lost sensation due to the adrenaline from earlier, so he tried to shove her rifle away from his throat by slipping them underneath it, but he failed. Katana used his leg to kick her in the stomach, watching as she wrapped an arm around her waist. It was at this time that he realized if he wanted to survive, he needed to fight for it rather than merely guard himself.
Katana's fingertips hardly touched the handle of his blade as he reached for it. He strengthened his grip on it and swung it at Rifle, knocking her gear from her grasp. As soon as he stood up, she lunged at him, knocking him into the wall before wrapping her hands around his neck.
“You traitor!” She yelled, pulling her hands forward just to slam his head against the cold stone wall. “You had everything!”
When she repeated her movements, he clenched his eye firmly and felt a sting in the back of his skull. Katana knew Rifle was powerful, but he'd never fought with her, so he underestimated her. Her accent faded as she talked, but Katana noted that she had been growing it the longer she was a member of the cult.
When Rifle began to claw one of her hands into his face, he'd had enough. She sank her claws deep into his face, feeling the sharp needle-like tip puncture deep into his flesh. Katana winced and sliced his blade forward. Rifle had sunk her fingers so deep that as she fell back, she ripped the side of his cheek open.
Katana was horrified when he saw the little chunk of his face hit the ground, but what terrified him even more were the gut-wrenching cries that followed from Rifle. He gasped, then clapped his palm over his lips as he felt the tear open more.
Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw: Rifle on the ground, her arm next to her. Rifle gazed at her severed arm beside her, frantically feeling for it with her other hand; all she could feel was pure flesh, blood, and whatever bone remained.
He had never intended to cut her arm off, therefore he hadn't anticipated it happening. Katana stared as she grasped the lifeless body part, her hand trembling. He realized he had to get out while she was still vulnerable.
The only thing that came out of Katana's lips was the blood that leaked out, yet he wanted to say goodbye. He didn't give her a second glance as he made his way to the main door. He needed to act quickly since more members would soon be chasing him.
“You won’t be able to run forever, Katana!” She yelled, standing up, tightly holding her wound. “By all means, you will reap what you sow.”
Rifle watched as he disappeared, unaware of the tears that fell from his eye, she stared at the flesh she tore from his face, then back at her arm. She scrunched her face in anger, her snagtooth caught her bottom lip as she tightly bit it. She raised her leg and kicked her arm, finding it completely useless to her.
She felt more betrayed than ever before and stormed around the hallway. The cult was nothing but good to him, yet he left. He promised to stay devoted to the True Eye for the rest of his life, as shown by his lost eye, whether he liked that or not.
She looked up at the artwork in front of her; it was him. It seemed as if the artwork was mocking her for allowing him to escape, as well as for believing he was her family. Hot tears filled her eye, she was enraged with him. Rifle lifted her arm at the canvas, her claws digging deep into the sheet like they had done with his face. Tearing his face to the point that it looked nothing more than a deformed artwork.
Scythe stared at the empty spot of where the painting used to be, then at her prosthetic. No matter how many times she walked down this hall, the phantom pain of her arm being severed still lingered. She swore she could see his figure walk down the hall but it was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
She made her way to her room, walking to the corner where an easel stood, covered with a white cloth. She glanced at it for a bit before moving on to the other paint brushes on the ground. Scythe took a mental note to tidy things up later.
She yanked on the edge of the fabric and watched it fall to the ground. It was a fresh artwork, yet it seemed far too familiar. It was Katana, and the painting was identical to the one she had torn all those years before; this time, his facial scar was evident.
“It’s time to come home.” She whispered.