it's not that marc has always felt as if the moon called to him — that'd been new, that'd been khonshu, though now marc feels as if it'd been all of his life. the moon here is different, yancai is not anywhere with which he has familiarity, but that doesn't mean his duty has changed. that does not mean his debt, his mission is any different. he is still moon knight, he must still protect the travellers of the night, and anyone here that is not dead (undead? the exact semantics are unclear—) is one of his.
(khonshu is quiet, silent, and marc is not sure if that's because of where he is or if it's because of where khonshu is. the difference barely matters, and marc had been trying — pointedly, deliberately — to call upon him less, speak with him less.
(attempting to take over the world hadn't been his finest moment, and yet—.)
marc has impatient, frustrated questions he'd like answered and though khonshu may not help (when had he ever helped?), marc thinks there'd be some form of answer.)
he situates himself at a house near a pier, its owners having fled some time before. the finer strokes of what's happening — 'what is wet was wronged' is otherwise ignored, ultimately perceived as less important right now, less decipherable than 'punch zombies'. marc's approach to fighting is skilled, certainly, but he fights as a man who considers the concept of 'defence' a mere suggestion than something inherently advisable.
(reckless, then. marc spector is reckless.)
movement, closer than he'd like it to be invites a short, sharp, sudden blow — a truncheon (white, stark in the moonlight) thudding into the wall (a crack) next to—
—someone not dead? it's difficult to truly say, as tar-covered as both they and marc are. )
— ill met by moonlight