My Mother's Keeper

The war for the sleeping hills comes to a climax, and a brother is thrust back. The Black Owl screeches in victory, blowing away the golden sands that crust on our eyelids, and a nightmare is delivered instead...
Mikhael ran his fingers along the tools at his table, individually strapped to a sheet of leather for easy travel. There were the scrapers and the piercers, the abysium knives, the melon baller, and the dental tools. He was particularly proud of his adamantine files, forged in the acid pits of Aucturn. He hovered over them for a few seconds, running his fingertips along their rough surface, before plucking up one of the blades.
A whimper sounded from the shadows in the room -- a darkened cell made of black stone, the kind commonly found on Aucturn. The Gorgon ignored it, taking his time to polish the blade, and then slowly removed his shirt. He was running out of clean ones...
???: "It's okay, $#&$^!. I forgive you."
She spoke in the old tongue, using his old name. His True Name. A title he had abandoned. It held no power of him, not anymore. Still, it grated on his bones, and set his teeth. His unnatural canines clacked as he adjusted his jaw, twirling the knife in his hands, and stepped into the darkness.
Mikhael: "You abandoned me!"
Ribbons of the elder blood danced away from the corner, shining in the low light, followed by a fluted scream.
Mikhael: "You betrayed me!"
???: "No!"
Mikhael: "You forgot me!"
???: "N-- Never."
Mikhael: "Shut up!"
???: "I--"
Mikhael: "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
Mikhael stabbed and stabbed, feeding off of the psychic pain that radiated from his victim, going silent as he dug into the work at hand. It was enough to heal his current wounds, and to store some for later. When the woman finally fell quiet, and her mind's agony vanished, the Gorgon stepped away, wiping the blood from around his eyes.
He felt reborn, necrotic energy thrumming within him. But his soul would never quiet.
???: "Still... Love... You... $#&$^!."
Mikhael turned back to slap her, but she was already out. Her white skin was matted with red blood, like a painting framed by black stone. Already the blood was disappearing. Already her flesh reknit. The power of Grimal flowed so strongly in Che, that his minor wounds never seemed to make a dent. She was a canvas that reset herself each morning...
The perfect meal.
Mikhael: "Sweet dreams, mom. I'll see you tomorrow."