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You don't ask questions of your god. Or you might end up questioning everything.
After all, it should be impossible. The gods are real and walk the earth, and one of them has called your name. It still seems like a fever dream sometimes. You, chosen by Khonshu, to serve him faithfully. You, nobody special, entrusted with his holy mission. You, his loyal lieutenant, his devoted disciple, his warning and his weapon.
"There is a killer on the streets of the city," Khonshu says. "Put an end to him."
"Yes, my lord," you say.
The blood pounds in your veins. It has only been a month since you took on this mantle, but already you want to do this forever and ever.
*
The killer is not easy to find. He clearly knows this city well. But you are now a hunter, and you pick up his trail, and then the chase is on. Through the alleys, into the tunnels, and then across the rooftops.
He has been murdering petty criminals: drug dealers, car thieves, and street muggers. He could be an assassin for the mob. He could be a serial killer getting his thrills. But you think, perhaps, he is an amateur vigilante targeting easy prey.
You catch up to him on a lonely rooftop at the dead of midnight.
"Stop!" you say.
The man stops. And he turns.
He is dressed all in white: a white hoodie, white sweatpants, and--spread over his shoulders--is that a white bedsheet?
You stare at him: a distorted reflection, like a funhouse mirror.
It's a grotesque mockery. It's pathetically sad.
Khonshu said to put an end to him. But this poor bastard belongs in a psych ward. You open your hands. "Come along quietly. I'll get you help."
You have underestimated him. He is already moving, and he is very fast. One knife takes you in the stomach, another knife takes you in the thigh. You stagger to your knees, pain blossoming like dark flowers.
He stalks forward, drawing a third knife.
And you are not ready.
You leap back, flying away to the next rooftop. You crouch there, taking shallow breaths, waiting for your wounds to heal. So what if he caught you by surprise? He is still an ordinary human, no match for the divine gifts you have been granted.
He walks right up to the edge of the roof. The gulf between you is the width of a city street, but deeper than the pit of hell. Behind the paper mask, his eyes are haunted.
"Why are you doing this?" you shout.
"Why are you doing this?" he echoes.
"You have to stop the killing."
"Never," he says. "If I'm good enough, he'll take me back."
"Who?"
He lifts a finger to the sky, pointing at the crescent moon.
A chill runs down your spine.
Then he leaps for you, across that impossible chasm.
You grab for him, and clutch at air.
*
Khonshu is silent for long moments, after hearing your report. His face is always a mask of bone, unreadable and implacable.
For some reason, it makes you deeply uneasy. You do not deserve any praise for completing the mission. It was nothing to do with you. The man was a lunatic. He chose his own death. Only you don't quite believe it. He was not deliberately seeking his own destruction.
It was like he was expecting to fly. And he had forgotten he could not.
"You have done well," Khonshu says at last. "My Moon Knight."
The words dry up in your throat.
Who was the man you sent me to kill?
You don't ask questions of your god. Or you might find yourself the answer.