Chapter Text
Being a god of time doesn't mean having all the answers or being able to predict every single possibility.
Khonshu had to learn this lesson more than once, losing not only his belongings to the unpredictable paths of eternity, but also his own self. His friends, his family, his status; all sacrificed for something bigger. He always was an outsider after all, having more than one aspect linked to his own existence. Khonshu could be the pathfinder, the protector, the vengeance of those who need it, the moon itself. All of those phases culminated on his undying love for those who traveled below the night sky – that same love leading to his ultimatum.
Sometimes he wonders if he should really fight for humanity after being cursed thanks to his empathy, becoming this new version of himself which he couldn't recognize – a skeletal monster that hungered for hearts, not being able to satisfy his own thirst for violence and simply a shadow of his former self. Burned into ashes by his own father, no longer bearing feathers or flesh. Forever doomed.
Was humanity really worth all this torment?
He always tricks himself into thinking that it is, even though he doesn't have any reason to believe so. Humanity time and time again proves its own cruelty, and despite the help of his avatars, his knights, he questions if the Ennead was right all along and those beneath him were destined to suffer, no matter what he did to try to stop it.
The lunar god feared that even if he spends a million years in his duty of protecting the travelers of the night, nothing will change – Khonshu himself and the bodies of his former avatars would be wasted on an unreachable dream.
He couldn't accept that. He had to succeed, to prove all of them wrong, or else it would all be in vain.
That protective feeling and passion for his travelers slowly began to fade, being replaced by anger and despair. He soon started to feel more joy in devouring the hearts of the sinful than in helping the innocent he sought to protect. This thirst for blood, of course, made matters worse. Hathor claimed that he was becoming more and more like Ammit and forgetting about his supposed "mission" as he grew more isolated than ever before.
The gentle goddess was the last remnant of his old life, and although Khonshu knew deep down that she was right… He decided to leave her behind as well. All to maintain this comfortable illusion, pretending that he didn't feel a thing when his knights succumbed to madness after being brought back from the dead over and over again. His avatars lost their status as equals and started to morph into nothing more than weapons, his fists.
Due to his own anguish, Khonshu was forced to replace them frequently, yet, it now seems pretty natural to him. There was some sadness and grief but it wasn't the same as losing someone; rather, it was more like losing a reliable tool. A simple object, sure, but a loyal one.
One that eventually will break.
They generally lasted for fifty years. A century or two, if they were lucky or had a stronger mind. The ones who lived longer passed through the same agony that their god once lived, losing a part of themselves each time until there was nothing left but an empty husk driven by blood thirst and instinct, being put out of its misery after it proved to be no longer useful.
Then, after some years of waiting, Khonshu will feel a connection with another poor soul, enough for him to propose a deal, knowing that the person that lies beneath him is too desperate to refuse; And the cycle begins anew.
As the years came by and the discarded pile of former avatars grew, Khonshu became more demanding, more bitter, fated to survive on the pain of those he swore to defend and losing the connection he once cherished.
The disgruntled god predicted that this miserable existence would continue for millennia, ironically, making the same mistake again.
Being a god of time doesn't mean having all the answers or being able to predict every single possibility.
Khonshu could never have predicted Marc Spector.