Narinder - Blog Posts

I like to imagine Narinder would’ve tried it at least once……

Comic strip for this fic

(full comic below)

Some doodle comp

The last time Shamura talked to Narinder.

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #4

TW: Depiction of painkilling herbs being eaten- aka one loopy-as-hell cat.

Realizations - Narinder

Narinder is not a poet. Not a writer, or a master of words.

So it is no surprise that Lamb's confession stunned him into silence.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't."

How is he supposed to care if he didn't fucking know? That's not fair of them to hold that against him. It's not fair for them to act like some heartbroken beau that he led on, and then tossed aside.

And then they had the audacity to leave before he could even find a way to respond.

He supposes a part of him is relieved they're not kneeling in front of him anymore while he's trying to sort through his thoughts.

They cared about him. What does that even mean? In the context of a god and a follower?

He thinks he knows exactly what Lamb means, but he'll be damned if he just assumes...

He tries to look back and pinpoint the moments that could give him some kind of hint, or insight into what they mean. Moments that he somehow missed the first time around.

But looking back, all of his memories feel hazy.

Like a terrible, violent fever dream of being so angry, in pain, waiting... Then the betrayal. Every time they try and think back on moments with the Lamb they are greeted by that moment.

When they refused to give the Red Crown back, and instead chose to raise their blade to him.

And every time he is reminded of that moment, he is filled with this cold, dead weight in his chest that he wants to call rage but he knows it's something different.

Hurt.

And hurt made him angry.

Why did it hurt so much? Because he let himself become fond of the wretched beast, he tells himself. He grew attached, even though he knew exactly how things were meant to end.

But they didn't end that way, did they? And now here he is. Alone.

Looking down at his bandages, he can still feel the cooling, refreshing sensation of the medical salve, easing the soreness of his wounds. It didn't help at all with the cramping in his muscles, or aching in his bones, causing the horrible shaking throughout his limbs.

But a feeling that trumps the cramping, or the cooling of the medicine are the traces... The traces of Lamb's touch linger all over his body. His arms, around his ankles, his back and torso. Everywhere he tries to focus his attention he feels them.

Such light, careful care, embedded all over him deeper than the injuries left by his chains.

It had made him forget how angry he was, and say things he shouldn't have... Feel things he shouldn't have.

Things like that horrible fondness, that make him want to hear Lamb's laughter again. That makes him want to hold them in his hand, and hope that they're bold enough to duck under his veil again so he can see them better...

They were so close to him, and when they pulled away, he grabbed them. Not wanting to lose the feeling. The momentary peace that being so close to someone after so long brings. Even if that person is them. The one who...

Who makes him so hurt and so angry every time he thinks about them. About what they did, or what they're doing now. Being so kind, and so damn sincere that he wants to believe them, but he can't.

He can't trust them, he or be fond of them, and he certainly can't care about them, because they took everything from him. His power. His divinity. His dignity.

The only thing they left him with is his life, and he's still 50/50 on whether that's worse.

His torso has yet to be bandaged. The lamb left so quickly, that he can only assume they are going to get this 'Miki' person to do the stitches and finish wrapping him up.

He doubts it will be the last time he sees Lamb while he's... 'Unwell' like this. So he needs to figure out what to say when they do come face to face again.

Does he need to say something? Does he want to say something? Should he confront them about the unfairness of this situation? Or just let it go and pretend it never happened?

Narinder has already come to terms with the fact that he's stuck accepting their help and afterward being stuck as a mere follower- he'll be damned before he has to do any pathetic chores or menial tasks though.

Now, though... He's conflicted. He had planned to ignore Lamb after he was healed and didn't need their assistance anymore... But he wants answers. He wants to know what Lamb means when they say they care, and why their admission confuses him so much.

Makes him want to clarify things.

Tell them that he might not have... Cared in the same way he thinks they mean, but that he had... Preferred them to... Past vessels?

Fates, he feels like a fool.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd throw himself back onto the bed and bury his head under the pillows to try and block out all these thoughts and feelings.

"Um... Hello? Narinder, sir? May I come in?"

He's still leaning over the bed, glaring daggers at the empty ground where Lamb had been when the clear-toned voice interrupts his inner conflict.

"Come in." He sighs, and the fennec fox's head pops through the curtains, looking around before stepping inside.

The light from outside has turned a deep orange and pinkish tone. The sun is setting.

She's holding a small wooden box of well-organized metal tools and supplies, and she strides up to him, holding her silence, and focused gaze as kneels behind him, and examines his back.

Narinder wants to whirl around and hiss at her to back the fuck up, but he doesn't have the physical energy or pain tolerance to do so.

"I'm guessing you're Miki?" He sighs, giving up on doing anything but sitting down and just dealing with whatever he's handed.

"Yes. I take care of most medical-related issues around camp. The Lamb was right, these do need stitches, a lot. I imagine it's just as bad in the front. Are these scars anything to worry about?" She points at the two identical scars running just below his pecs, and he shakes his head.

"No. I've had those since before all this. Top surgery scars, I don't think any of you followers know what that is..." He sighs, and she shrugs.

"We have top surgery, it's just not as... Safe. As it could be. I'm working on making it safer. We can talk more about it later because I do have questions regarding where your surgery was done and by whom, but for now..." She pauses to meet his gaze and holds up the curved needle in her hand.

"This is going to take a while so settle in and lay down on your stomach. I can offer you some herbs to numb the pain, but they'll make you very tired, and kind of loopy. It's up to you if you want them though." She steps back to give him space to move.

Lamb clearly didn't tell her that he can't move very well without help, and he isn't about to admit it.

So he settles for trying to force his body to move through the pain.

His back is the worst of it, digging a deep growl out of his throat as he tries to twist himself around, onto the bed on his stomach, without moving the blanket off of him and giving the poor follower an eyeful.

"Do you need assistance? I understand that you can't move very well, but I wanted to see it for myself to analyze. Can you describe the kind of pain you are experiencing?" Ah, so she does know.

"It's a cramping. So bad that I can't stop shaking, or get my limbs to do what I want. My back and legs are the worst." He explains as she places a slightly too firm grasp on his shoulders and mildly manhandles him to lay on his back.

Giving her a full view of his injuries.

"Hmm. I have dealt with a few similar cases in people who haven't moved for long periods, usually only a few months, but years... Well, I'll tell you now, it's not an easy fix. Do you want the herbs? They won't take effect immediately, but it will make everything less painful, stitches and cramping. They'll also probably put you to sleep for the rest of the night." She talks slightly faster and far more monotone than he expected for someone who follows Lamb.

Something about the lack of emotion in her voice creates a professional air in the whole shelter. An air that makes him feel far safer than he's felt in his entire time being here.

"I'll take them. How do I get rid of the cramping?" He asks as he hears her shuffling around the supplies.

She moves around and he turns his head to look at her as she holds out a small leaf-bound bundle, he swallows it quickly as the bitter taste nearly makes him gag.

"I don't want you to push yourself too much because of your outward injuries, but the only real way to help regain your strength and control over your limbs is to exercise and stretch them. Water therapy would be best, but submerging your stitches isn't an option." She explains, her hands poking and prodding at his back, pulling painfully at some of the deeper wounds.

Far less gentle than Lamb had been.

"Watch it." He hisses, in pain, and then lets his curiosity win. "And what's water therapy?"

"Swimming, essentially. A gentler alternative to normal physical therapy. Either way, you'll need someone to oversee it, myself ideally, but I can train the Lamb to aid you instead if you are not comfortable with my presence." He only hums in response.

His body doesn't hurt as much, and as she said, he's becoming drowsy. His eyelids are heavy, and the shaking in his arms is subsided. He hardly even feels the sharp piercing as it follows a horizontal path around his waist.

He's half asleep when it stops and moves up around his left shoulder blade. Then right. Then the same monotone voice asks him to turn over so she can 'evaluate the damage'.

He would think that the newfound lack of agony coursing through his bones would make it much easier. Instead, the fatigue pulls him down and makes his whole body turn to dead weight. She's talking again, and he peeks his eyes open but quickly decides that whatever it is, isn't as important as sleep.

So he closes them again.

~~~

"You've done well vessel. Soon enough, my chains will be broken, thanks to your ruthless efficiency." He's staring at them, as they sit in his hand, only a few inches from his face.

They're awfully silent this visit. Usually, they break into a ramble about the crusade they had just died during, or the way things around the cult are going. And Narinder would listen. Their voice is soothing. Easing the burning tension in his body the moment they arrive, and look up at him with that radiant smile, so overjoyed to see him again.

~~~

He opens his eyes when there are small hands- the fennec fox's hands trying to lift him to roll him over. He can't recall her name... Miku? Mimi? Something like that. She curses under her breath.

He tries to aid her in her weak attempts, even though his mind is hazy. But he must have done something right because now he's on his back, and the piercing is on his stomach now so he closes his eyes again.

 ~~~

He likes this one. This vessel. A small, innocent-looking Lamb, with all the fire and maliciousness of a thousand suns, scorching all who stand against them. Yet when they stand before him, they are soft-spoken. They laugh a lot, usually at something he does or says.

He doesn't know what's so funny, but the sound is like music, so he doesn't question it.

Others, like Ratau, were weak, but not just that, they were so... Boring. They didn't speak much, didn't respond well, and only ever bowed to him before being sent back to the overworld. 

~~~

When he opens his eyes again it's to the sound of Lamb's voice.

"Narinder, I'm just gonna help hold you up while Miki wraps the bandage around you- oof! Okay- this, uh, this works. I guess." Their laughter is nervous, hesitant, and not the carefree one he would much rather grace his ears.

He is leaning forward, his head resting against them. They don't smell like blood, or death like he expects now that they are the God of Death. No, they smell like they always have. Like wildflowers, and fresh air after rain.

They're warm, and he bunts his head against the side of their face, before burying it into their neck, shutting his eyes again.

~~~

"What troubles you, my vessel? You have not spoken, by now Aym and Baal are ready to kick you out themselves." He chuckles, as he looks down at the mentioned twins, who side-eye glance at each other and shrug in agreement to the statement.

His dear Lamb looks up with startled eyes, and he can't help but chuckle. They must not have realized how obvious they were being...

"Nothing! Really it's nothing, well, not nothing, nothing, just... I want to tell you something, but it's hard to... Word. And I don't think that right now is the best time..." They ramble now.

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything...

~~~

He opens his eyes this time because Lamb laughs again. A good laugh at something the small fox said. Soft, but sincere, and he can feel it reverberate through their chest. He wraps his arms up and around them to pull him closer and they become stiff as a board.

He doesn't care though, as his hands rest at their waist, and a deep rumbling is sounding from somewhere... Is it coming from him? Is he purring? He hasn't purred in a long time, and it's hard to recognize the sound.

He shoves his face into his Lamb's soft wool as he closes his eyes for what's hopefully the final time...

~~~

"Silence, Lamb, you need not speak of it if you wish not to. I only wish to know, so that I might ease the worries off of your face. I much prefer your smile." He raises his other hand to lift his Lamb's chin carefully with the tip of his clawed pointer finger.

They smile as they meet his eyes, but it is still nervous, and unsure. They glance away from him, their eyes darting around the afterlife, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I... Appreciate that, but I think I'll save what's on my mind for later. How about after I've gotten you out of these chains? Deal?"  They now look a bit more energetic, as they jump up, and duck down, and before he has time to process it...

There they are. Underneath his veil, peering up into his blood-soaked eyes. Smiling, without a care in the world, as if what they've just done isn't enough to get them massacred by any other God in their right mind.

They lean against his nose, and he is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they smell like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. Such a refreshing... Lively scent. As if they aren't working for the God of Death, but rather frolicking fields with a God of Life.

They rest their arms on his snout and blink up at him, tilting their head ever so slightly in curiosity when he remains still in stunned silence.

They then laugh when he laughs, and he wants them to stay right there for as long as it might take for him to grow sick of their presence. But he's not sure when that might be. A century or two? Maybe three if they don't run out of things to talk about too quickly.

But alas. There are still Bishops to defeat, a cult to maintain, and chains to be broken.

Perhaps before he has them kneel to sacrifice themselves to him, he can ask them what it is they had planned on saying.

"Deal."

~~~

He wakes one final time when he's being carefully laid back onto the mattress and a soft voice is mumbling. His Lamb's voice.

Something about changing the bed sheets in the morning, and the current ones being bloodied.

"Lamb..." His voice is so quiet, it's a miracle he can even hear himself.

He has a tight hold on their fleece.

"Yes, Narinder?" Their voice is wobbly, and he tries to force his eyes open.

He wants to see them, but he's so tired.

"You planned to confess... After I was freed... How could I not see that you..." How could he not realize that they loved him?

Was he so oblivious? He could have read their mind at any time, but he didn't... He could have seen their feelings. He could have also seen their betrayal coming, but somehow, this is less important than their feelings.

"I... You're all loopy, Nari, go to sleep, and I'll bring you breakfast in the morning." They pry his hand off of their fleece, and he lets them, with a soft hum.

"Nari? I like that..." Nari. His siblings used to call him that when he was still very small, but stopped when he got older.

When he got the Red Crown.

"Hm. I'll call you it more often than if you promise not to try and kill me when you're less high." They stand up and pull one of the blankets up over him, and then they're walking away.

No. Stay.

Please stay.

His brain screams, but his mouth can't keep up, and the fog in his mind is so heavy and his limbs are so heavy and his heart is so heavy, and everything is just so damn heavy...

His heavy thoughts fill with thoughts of Lamb. His Lamb. Who smells like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. His Lamb. Who he was once so fond of, but now can't bring himself to feel such fondness without it reside beside pain. And anger. And distrust.

And they are in pain, angry, and distrustful too.

So how do either of them fix it?

~~~

When he wakes up he is alone, and his head is still hazy, and his body is in agony.

Stiff, and sore, his torso is immovable, a dull throbbing making him groan in pain. His arms and legs hurt just the same but aren't as bad as they were.

Maybe he's just too focused on his torso to care about the tremors as they start racking his arms again. Or, maybe it's the haunting realization of his own drug-induced actions last night that really keeps him frozen in his place, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't know he could be so... Touchy. When tired. But the smell of them is still swirling around in his mind, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else he did.

He doesn't remember all of it, not clearly anyway, from having been in and out of consciousness. But he remembers the moment Lamb arrived. When they laughed. When he leaned forward onto them. When he shoved his head into the wool on their neck. When he started purring so deeply he could feel it vibrating his whole body...

The room is cleared of all medical supplies, and the nightstand is cleaned off.

He's not exactly sure what time it is, or how long he's been asleep, but he knows, from the light slowly brightening around the edges of the window and doorway curtains that it's close to morning.

And that Lamb promised to bring him breakfast. So he needs to get his thoughts in order quickly.

He still needs to confront Lamb about their sudden admission to him. Then about that day... That distinct memory replaying in his mind helped him connect the dots even in his herb-induced state.

Lamb had wanted to confess to him after they freed him, and he...

Guilt is still a foreign emotion to him. He used to feel it in small amounts when he was a child and would get into spats with Leshy, or Heket and say something he didn't mean.

The worst time was during a thunderstorm that he had gotten caught in on his way back to the temple. He doesn't remember where he was returning from or when the first strike of thunder sent him running out of his own damn skin, but he does remember hiding.

Hiding, terrified in the small hollow of an old tree trunk. The mud soaking around his feet, and the bottom of his robe. When Shamura found him he was so afraid he hadn't wanted to get out from under the trunk, and when his older sibling reached in to grab him, he'd just... Lashed out.

His claws hooked on Shamura's forearm damn good, and he knew he drew blood when they tried to pull away and his claws yanked out of the skin it was caught on.

He felt the wave of guilt hit him harder than the fear and strike as quickly as the lightning of the storm around him.

And no matter how many times he apologized, or how many times Shamura tried to assure him it was alright, he was haunted by the feeling.

The guilt. That made his heart sink like lead in water every time he saw the paper-thin scars on Shamura's arm.

But all those times happened long ago before he was even given the Red Crown. Since then, this degree of guilt has snuck up on him twice. Both because of Lamb.

When he had snapped at them the other and they rushed out of the room on the verge of tears, and then now.

Feeling this overwhelming guilt because of this horrible realization that the entire time he had been waiting for the day they would sacrifice their life to him...

They were waiting to tell him that they were in love with him.

He wonders how they felt in that moment. The second he asked them to kneel, did they feel the same sinking dread in their chest that he felt when they chose not to?

Did they feel the same horrible dread when they marched to their death earlier that year, standing before his kin as they prepared to kill the final lamb?

If so then it truly confirms the thought that's been plaguing him for the last hour.

He's no better than them. Hell, he might be worse. At least they didn't trick any of the lambs they were slaughtering into trusting them. Or become selectively blind when said lamb fell in love with them.

Speaking of the new God of Death...

The moment that they knock on his door and step through the curtain with a soft, sad smile, and a warm breakfast in their hands he realizes something that makes all of his other realizations that much more horrid...

He never would have asked them to kneel, if he had known they loved him.

Maybe I even would have...

"Morning, Nari. I brought another mixed meal, everything is bland and seasonless, but there's a bit more variety. I'm also going to get started on those upgrades for your shelter. Nothing perfect, but function for now." They sit on the bed next to him, and he's glad to find that he can sit up a little easier on his own, without as much pain as before.

At least in his arms. His torso is irritated and sore as shit. Lamb moves to grip his arm and help him, and he bites his own tongue to stop from purring at the touch.

The herbs clearly haven't worn off completely just yet...

Looking them in the eye there are a million things he wants to say but what comes out isn't exactly what he's expecting.

"I'm sorry."

A simple two words as Lamb sits beside him to help him eat, just like they've done the day before. They freeze in place, staring at him with widened eyes, and he stares back.

As stunned as he is, he's surprised to find that he doesn't regret the words.

He's not sure that his own anger has subsided. Hell, looking at them now, glancing at the Red Crown on their head that was once his... He can still feel the flickering flames of frustration, and the much stronger flame of humiliation and embarrassment.

But neither are as strong as they once were. The raging wildfire has died down, turning to something more... Tired.

He just wants all this pain to stop, and to be able to move freely again.

He wants to be free.

It's all he thinks he wants anymore. Before the desire for freedom lived closely beside his desperation for revenge.

To destroy the other Bishops. His family. Make them pay for locking him up in the first place.

At some point... Maybe after the thousand-year mark, or maybe two thousand years, freedom became his main priority.

Revenge became an... Added bonus.

And now? It's all he's been thinking about- thoughts of Lamb not counting.

Wanting so desperately for the pain to subside so that he can once again see the world outside of this shelter.

And all the anger still buried inside is just a footnote in comparison to that desire.

So when he looks into the Lamb's eyes and sees their confusion, he doesn't have it in him to take the words back or snap at them.

He can't forgive them, at least not now. Perhaps not ever. But he knows he's tired of being mad. Tired of lashing out every time they reach out to help, and then feeling guilty an instant later.

And he is Sorry.

Sorry that he didn't know. Sorry that he never gave them a chance to tell him. Sorry, that...

In the end, he really wasn't any better than his siblings. Maybe he still isn't. He's not sure anymore.

What he is sure of, is that even if he's still angry, they have a right to be angry too, and yet...

They're helping him anyway. Caring for his wounds, feeding him, helping him move, and upgrading his shelter so he doesn't have to leave if he doesn't want to, and can just spend the rest of his immortal life locked indoors...

And all he's doing is complaining, snapping at them, and making them cry.

Even his shitty siblings, if they were here, would agree that that's not fair.

"You're... Sorry?" They repeat, head tilting, unsure, and stiff as a board.

"Yeah." He wants to lean forward towards them again but resists, grabbing the blankets below him just to keep himself anchored in place.

"I'm still angry at you. So... So angry. I hate that you spared me. I hate how pathetic, weak, and humiliated I feel. I hate that you're the one that's made me feel this way... But I... I recognize that you're angry too and that what I did was not... I shouldn't have... Fuck, I don't know..." He sighs, lifting a hand to drag down his face, and pausing to think of his next words carefully.

At this point he's glaring down at his remaining hand as his claws dig into the blanket, refusing to look back up at Lamb.

"I don't know that I regret what I did, but I regret that I hurt you when I did it. I regret that I didn't know because if I did... I'm not sure things would have played out the way they did. But we can't change that now, so I'm sorry. Sorry, that I was, and that I have been, ignorant." He finishes his botched apology.

It's not elegant. Not exactly what he wants to say either, but it will have to do, because now his head hurts.

He just wants them to respond already, but glancing up, the deep frown and contemplating look on their face tells him their gonna need a minute.

A long. Long minute.

"You're wrong..." They breathe, the words a whisper in the silent room.

His eyes dart to theirs, but they carefully avoid his questioning gaze.

"Do you remember much of last night? When you were talking to me before I left?" They ask, setting the bowl on the bed beside them, and bringing their hands into their lap, twiddling their thumbs.

I remember I didn't want you to leave...

"I remembered the day you ducked under my veil. The action distracted me from the conversation, but I remembered it last night. That day... You were planning to tell me that you... Cared." He doesn't dare say the real word. Not out loud. "Weren't you?"

"I was. I had this silly idea that... That after you were freed, I would confess, and you would accept, and I would show you the camp and everything I've built for... For you. And that maybe we could... I don't know. It's stupid, thinking about it now." They stand up and move around the bed towards the window.

Still avoiding his eyes, as they follow their movements with far too much interest.

Lifting a hand, with a single finger he cracks open the curtain just slightly, letting the morning light peek inside, as they look out.

"But then... Everything happened... You were right when you called me weak. When you were defeated, and I had the choice to spare or kill you, I was weak. I couldn't bring myself to do it, because a part of me still hoped that if I spared you, you would..." They let out a shaky sigh, and finally turn to look at him.

A pleading look in their eyes, begging him to understand so they wouldn't have to say it out loud.

"Oh." A dim response. But what the hell else could he say?

"Yeah. Oh." They give a dry laugh, and move back, sitting on the edge of the bed, before sliding down onto the floor.

They rest their hands over their eyes.

"But you're wrong about me being angry at you. I'm angry at myself, and every time I look at you I'm just... Miserable. Sad that nothing happened the way I wanted it to, and now here we are. You're wounded and in pain, and I'm so conflicted and confused about this." They motion up to the Red Crown.

"I mean, I'm a god now. I never planned on that! I've been leading this cult with the expectation that you'd take over once I freed you, but instead, I'm going to be their leader for who knows how long! And I can't even get half of them to stop wanting to eat their own shit!" Their voice rises the more they rant, and he snorts at the last part.

"Yeah, well, followers aren't as smart as they used to be. Back when The Old Faith was at its best, Shamura had a strong school system in place, and Kallamar was an expert in medicine and hygiene, sharing his knowledge with his most devout so that they could spread the word of what is and isn't good for you. Such as eating shit." He comments, a small smile gracing his face.

"But that was... A long time ago. Since my imprisonment, the Bishop's wounds, and the genocide of the lambs, everything has deteriorated. Now those who remain are just trying to survive. No shepherd to guide them." Another realization, he notes as he speaks.

"You are the only god remaining now, Lamb. The only one that can create so much as a semblance of society, so that they no longer have to struggle. So that they can actually enjoy life before their bodies wither, and they have to surrender their souls to you. The new God of Death." He sits up and tosses his mildly aching legs over the side of the bed.

Moving as slow as he can for his torso's sake, and relying solely on what little arm strength he has, and a bit on gravity, he pushes himself down onto the floor. Next to Lamb. The blanket is dragged down with him.

"Well, that really makes me feel better." They grumble, looking at him and his tail involuntarily brushes against their arm, an attempt at comfort.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better-" Liar. "Just telling the truth."

"... I've been leading them long enough to know what I need to do, I just don't know how. Some of my more valued followers like Noon, and Miki are trying to help, but neither of them knows much about the divine aspect of it, like shepherding souls, maintaining the afterlife, etc..." They lift a hand up, grabbing the crown of their head and bringing it down in front of them to examine.

"I do." He blurts, not fully thinking about how much it sounds like an offer.

They too jump, head darting to look at him.

"You'll help me?" They ask, disbelief heavy in their voice.

"Maybe. If your cult doesn't fall apart before I can breathe without pain, then maybe- and that's a very strong maybe. I'll consider giving you some pointers on how to be a proper God of Death. A way to earn your forgiveness, since I doubt my words mean much to you." He subconsciously moves his tail again, brushing it along the side of their face.

When he sees it, he quickly grabs the offending part and pins it to the ground. He's grateful when Lamb chooses not to mention it, only glancing at the now pinned tail with a soft giggle.

A giggle that makes his fur stand on end in a fluttering feeling he can't even begin to identify.

Embarrassment. That's what he's going to call it. Embarrassment.

"They do mean something, Narinder... I know it took a lot for you to say them, so thank you, for apologizing..." Their smile drops, and they turn their gaze away.

"But?" He can feel it coming from a mile away.

"But I think it's going to take a lot more to fix things than an apology. I'm still not even confident that when you get better you won't just try to attack me and get the crown back then..." They're right to be paranoid about that.

He's thought about it. A lot.

Is still kind of thinking about it.

"Right. Well, I don't plan on doing that right now, we'll see about later though." He can't help but smirk at the small glare they send his way.

"I guess I can live with that. And for the record, I'm sorry too. Not for choosing not to die, but that you feel weak and humiliated because of me. But you should know, Narinder, that you are not pathetic. You're strong, and I beat you by a hair, and now, here you are, dealing with a pain that no normal mortal alive could tolerate... You're..." They pause, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

There's something there. Something akin to adoration- much like the kind they used to wear on their face when they looked up at him when he was a god.

It makes his fur stand on end again in embarrassment.

Embarrassment that's all it is.

He has to break eye contact, turning to look at the window, and flinching when light hits his eyes. The small opening Lamb made earlier still bleeding light into the room.

They notice his flinch.

"Oh, right, your eyes. Sorry." They stand up, quickly, moving a single step forward to close the curtain properly.

"It's fine." He hadn't even realized how close they'd been. It was just so natural. Being so close to them...

It felt strangely right.

Now though, with the distance between them, the spell is broken. Even they seem to realize it.

"Right well, I do have a lot to do today so... Why don't I switch your bedsheets, get you back in bed, get you fed, and then work on those shelter upgrades, hmm?" There is a newfound pep in their step.

And in a second they're bouncing across the room with an energy that does not match the conversation they've been having for the last half-an-hour.

A mask. One that they put on so easily it's almost frightening.

But he doesn't complain. He's gone through enough emotions to last him a week, and right now, he just wants to eat and go back to sleep.

Of course, Lamb isn't going to make it that easy.

"Sooo, about last night, was it the herbs that made you all cuddly or am I just that adorable?" They look back at him with a teasing smile that could light up the darkest of nights.

"Shut the fuck up-!!"

~~~

Fun fact: Miki is based on one of my favorite followers from my first-ever game, a game that my little cousin ended up deleting when I let him play on my Switch. That's the real betrayal here. I still haven't forgiven that 11-year-old punk.

I'm thinking about making an 'introduction to the featured and background OC's post.' What do y'all think?

i have a very special adoration for the lamb and Narinder being drawn more realistically. hairless cat narinder my beloved.... Currently still testing how I wanna draw them so y'know. prepare for inconsistency.

Today I was feeling a bit out of ideas, so I decided to make Narinder and Lamb "human".

I don't really know what to say about this…

It's over...

"I don't know exactly what was going through your head at that moment. But, Narinder, I accept your end…"

"An end that didn't come as he expected…" . . .

Extra:

It's called "petting aggression."

my mutual over on twitter gave me an idea of The One Who Waits having the voice of the lich from adventure time, so i found some dialogue i saw fitting for cotl and made this lol

Forgive me, lord, for I have sinned

Drew widgets for my phone

Going back to my roots w this one

Cult of the lamb romantic garbage I barfed up <3

Immortality had its gripes.

The One Who Waits thought that every day he spent in this dreaded cult. It was designed to be his. It was cultivated and shaped in his image, and now he didn’t even have the capitals of his pronouns anymore. He was stripped of his status, his power, everything but his name.

And now, he was married to the lamb who took it all away from him.

The stares of the other cult members bore into him when the lamb gleefully pointed at him for the marriage ceremony. He knew saying no would mean certain death, and death was something he had evaded for as long as he could.

So, he gave in.

He spent days in the cult farming and chopping wood, worshiping at the altar, doing anything that dreaded lamb asked. This was almost worse than being chained in the depths of wherever he was before. It had been so long, he’d forgotten.

Followers around him grew old, died, were replaced with new followers by morning. A cycle he had wished to run, to destroy, to start anew again on his own terms. Without that wretched lamb.

Over time, he guessed, the lamb grew on him.

Daily kisses went from eyerolls to reciprocation. Chats and dances with the lamb became more enthusiastic as he grew into his role. This life was simple, but god it had its perks.

He began to look forward to his daily interactions with the lamb. And hey, if there was a bloodcurdling scream or two in the night, he didn’t breathe a word of it to his fellow cult members.

It was a leader thing, he supposed. It needed to be done, and he understood that better than any of these mortals.

So, The One Who Waits settled into his new life. Almost a century passed in it, with him tending to the farms and saying hello to that god forsaken line of frogs every morning.

It wasn’t until the ninety-fourth year that he noticed something was amiss. His third eye caught a stain of something on the robe of his beloved leader.

Now, bloodstains on the lamb? That was normal. Expected, even. With the murdering of the elders in the night to the frequent outings to the lands of the old faith, red stains often adorned the lamb. But this one in particular caught his eye.

It was black.

No other follower would have noticed such an occurrence, and if they did, they wouldn’t know the significance of it. But The One Who Waits, having worn the dark crown, knew.

The one who wore the crown bled black ichor, the blood of the gods. And the lamb had stopped taking hits around forty years ago.

So either there was a new threat out there, or the lamb was growing weaker.

Sadistic joy filled his veins, and he knew all he had to do was wait until the sun went down.

~*~

As the sun disappeared over the horizon, The One Who Waits crept out of bed and wove through the houses of the other members. He spotted the lamb, out sitting near the farm. Silently, he crept closer, trying to assess the situation before deciding what move to make next.

He heard raspy breaths as he drew close. The lamb’s hands were gripping the ground, black blood staining the grass and sinking into the dirt below from where it dripped at their side. Their cloak was stained even more now, and as the liquid seeped into the fabric he caught little wisps of gold sparking out of it.

The lamb was weak. Now was his chance.

He crept closer, stance low and ready to take back his crown. This was his only shot, and by god he was going to get it.

“Narinder.”

He froze.

The lamb hardly spoke, opting for nonverbal communication with that absolutely smarmy smile of theirs. Their voice, however rare it was to hear, never betrayed how they were feeling in the past. It was always just on the edge of questioning and conceited. But now, as he heard their deep baritone voice sound more brittle than it ever had before, he knew he was caught.

“...Yes, my lamb?”

The lamb stood, turned. The unreadable expression on their face was enough to send ice through his veins. He stared into their red tinged eyes, unblinking, sideways pupils shaped into slits as they looked down at him.

He finally managed to tear his gaze away, staring at the ground in front of him as he began to bow in the grass.

“Apologies, I didn’t-”

The lamb’s hand beckoned him, and he stopped in the middle of his apology to look up at them. They gestured again, this time for him to sit next to them in the grass. He sat hesitantly.

He dared not speak.

They extended an ichor-soaked hand to him, allowing him to take it. They guided it to their injured side, staring in his eyes the entire time. He felt exposed, like they were picking his brain apart from just staring into his pupils. On instinct, he felt his third eye close.

When his hand made contact with their side, the lamb hissed, eyes going completely red as they broke eye contact. They quickly regained their composure, however, and resumed staring at him.

They kept still, waiting.

Experimentally, he lightly dug one finger in.

Their eye twitched, but they made no move to stop him.

He dug another, harder this time.

Their entire face scrunched up and they leaned forward, resting their forehead against his chest. Their hands gripped his forearms and yet they didn’t pull his hands away. They just…waited.

The One Who Waits felt a twinge in his chest. The crown was in front of him, staring at him with its piercing eye. Almost like a challenge. He had the lamb at his mercy, after all of these years. He was so close, he could just pick the crown off their fuzzy little head. He had his hand in their flesh, gripping it so hard that they crumbled under his hold. It was a power rush, so intense and overwhelming that his third eye opened back up and he reached his other hand for the crown.

But he couldn’t.

He was touching the crown, and still it stared. Still it bore its single eye into his soul, daring him to take it. Daring him to rip it away from the god that sat trembling against him.

And he couldn’t do it.

His mind kept replaying the past near-century in his head, flashing through every moment they shared together. Of his defeat, his utter humiliation and greatest shame. Of them showing him mercy, extending their hand to him and him slapping it away and trying to make a swipe at them again. Of the first month he was here, freshly wed and full of hate.

Of their renewal of vows ceremony.

Of the time many years into their relationship that they swore off all mortals, opting to make a special place in the cult for just the two of them.

Of the many nights they spent together in that place.

The handmade meals.

The daily kisses.

The way they held each other in their arms late into the night, even though the lamb had never a need for sleep.

He looked down at them, at the way they gripped his shirt, at the way their breath seemed almost silent if it weren’t for the occasional wheezing gasps.

He brought his hands away from them. He couldn’t do it.

He hated to admit it but this sight was painful for him.

He hated to admit that he actually cared about them on a level he had never cared for anything before.

And sitting here, seeing them in the most amount of pain he had ever seen them in, he felt sick.

The crown looked at him once more before it let out a sigh, closing its eye.

The One Who Waits sat there, in the dead of night, and relinquished the last of his former self.

He stripped himself of his title as he scooped up the trembling lamb, carrying them back to their shared hut.

And if in the morning any of his fellow members noticed that the sign outside their hut read “The Lamb and Narinder,” well, they didn’t say a word.

Ashes to Dust

Chapter 2: A Little Rat Left Wondering

Link

Hey people, another chapter. I know a little late but that's life for ya, had a sickness I had to deal with. Fine now though

In this chapter we get to find out more about the rat and possibly learn a bit more about what our friend was running from... Also there is a fight scene, without further ado I hope you all enjoy it (:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62838106/chapters/160888837#main

World is ash, all is gone and so is death. Awoken in a tomb Lambert will have to figure out what happened, why the world is broken and somehow mend its many wounds all the while trying to figure out who she is, to perhaps find her better half and figure out why was she awoken in her coffin. Echos of the age past and the screams of the future shall keep her going until it is all revealed whether she wants it or not.

So folk, been a while eh? Been working on this new series kind of loosely based on Dark souls. Been Playing it (a little too much) for a while and decided to bring the '''Magic''' of the series to Cotl. I hope you all enjoy it, this will be a little bit shorter I think than my other series so yeah

Oh and might post more about it later, maybe a introduction of a sort. Maybe.

Nari (The Five Traitors)

So folk, it is time. It is time for the last of this Fic to be uploaded. The last chapter of The Five Traitors, It had been rather delightful writing this for all of us. I had much fun (: Anyhow, I don't wanna take too much of you folk's time...

Sooooooo ACTION!!!!!!

Cold…

So cold… was the land above the clouds that hid his temple.

Cold are the hands that grasp the railing overlooking the mighty revered mountain that cradled his young sanctuary. One that had much warmth and flame hidden from the mist ridden outside.

Cold is the heart that cared for his lot but also the lot that would take, take what was his and his by right.

His breath, blending with the cloud and the mist as he sighed and gazed with his three eyes that saw too much. Beyond the summit towards the skirts of the ancient earth and young woods laid an army, one with terrible purpose and blade that matched their tenacity.

An army with four mighty Gods leading their procession. At a crusade to pierce the clouds and bring with them what goes as comeuppance to their misbegotten ilk.

A sneer, from so deep it brings with it bile as bitter and black as the soot of their burning torches raised to the heavens. Their steps carry them higher and higher until they threaten to burn the very heavens above. One step after the first, one step closer to their upcoming sin.

The calming cold, taking his hand as an old friend would, something he lacked these days. Yet he felt his skin burn, a true oddity one as cold as the grave along his heart.

What gave him that searing scorch in that terrible moment was the irrefutable fact that this terrible army was going to make its way here. No matter what he hoped for. They will climb and climb till they bring with them something so natural to himself.

Death.

Eternal slumber, nature of life, passing of a moment between birth and the last breath taken. 

They will bring blade not to cut crop over their garden, but to cut his lot like weed grown on a hollow field. They will bring songs not to sing together, but to drown their voices with their own. They will bring fire, not to warm their hearth, but to set aflame the world they made for themselves. The world they built away from them.

He should move, they should prepare. He should go down there to fight against them. They should lay traps, they should bring the whole mountain atop the traitors with an avalanche. Crush each of them under the rubble like bugs, until there is nothing left but the passing memory of their terrible endeavor.

He could do it, he could unleash hellfire to melt this snow and the earth to the ore beneath then to ash then to the very cold winds that shall pester another mountain with its own tale of betrayal.

He should fight, he should scream, kick and tear at the very stone till they would have to drag him down with them. Back to earth, to their once warm home.

Perhaps his siblings would put on an act after they take his lot away to his realm. They might say they forgive him, as if he had sinned. Perhaps they would tell him he misunderstood them. They would tell him he was the one in the wrong, that he had to understand them. That their way was greater than his. That the death of his lot was just as they were.

They would take him back. March him back down, each agonizing step after another. Perhaps they would take his arms and armor, perhaps watch him night and day like an unruly beast, perhaps even tarnish his name for good measure. Yet they would accept him back to the fold, the rule would be unequal as ever, yet he would have a place at the table.

Table built on terrible sin and a leg inch shorter than the rest. Yet he would have them with him, his dearest siblings. He would yet again bear the burden of their companionship.

What cosmic catastrophe allowed this to occur? Sibling against one another. Claw against blade. Taking in another cold breath he accepted that sulking would do him no good, he needed not to be alone but to make amends.

To take action. To take charge of his procession. To take his lot and assure them of his presence. To tell them he is with them. To tell them he is of them as they are of him. Yet every time he gazed upon them he felt like a stranger. A stranger greater than he. One who could find a way off this hell not too unlike the one he preceded over. One who took action as opposed to one who merely waited.

Alas he was stuck, upon this balcony watching their doom approaching, each step like drums against the barren earth they left in their wake.

Why was he stuck? Why couldn’t he just… move? Just take a step, one after the other. Away from the railing. One step closer to their end. Just take a step…

He felt the cold marble leave his paw as he felt the wind wash from his face. He found himself in the darkness of his chamber. A paw closed the door behind him without looking, his digits still freezing.

There was no fire within his chamber nor in the whole temple. They had to stay in the dark and cold. Other than candlelight that only served to make them wish for more. It was a way to hide them away. Then again, what use was it? That army would find them eventually as they marched higher and higher. Yet he couldn’t take this one inkling of comfort from his lot, a possibility of survival was better than a promised destruction.

So their home stayed barren of warmth other than the hearts of his lot. His lot, the poor and the damned. Even in his chambers he could hear them. His ears picking the wails of children, their parents pleas to join the ranks of the defenders and the harsh orders spoken by his ‘soldiers’.

A scoff heard by no one came from him. What soldier? What warrior? He had neither. Just some old rams, ewes and random assortment of others with withered steel as arms and faith as shields. They were not the lot of his Eldest, damned be the old spider. 

They were to fall, They were to be slaughtered. Even if he unleashed everything he had they would each die on this mountain, this temple their tomb. 

He would shed a tear for each as they fell… again. He felt warm escaping his paw as the sizzling stone underneath told him he punctured skin. Retracting his nails back he didn’t bother to look down and check. With any luck he would not have to worry about it soon.

He should weep for them now really, what chance did his congregation have? 

None held chaos in their heart like his youngest’s lot. Where they would fight like beasts. Claw and teeth bared when the blade failed. No their hearts were pure, as still in life as in death soon coming closer and closer to them.

None were as fit as his sister’s lot. Where each boasted muscle and bone aplenty. Their armor is as heavy as their gut. No, his lot was lean. They took only what they could and should, left the rest for all. shared what they didn’t have.

None were as skilled with the blade as his first brother. The damnable coward he was, yet he held skill unmatched in blade which he shared with his lot. His lot were simple farmers for oblivion’s sake. None ever held a blade larger than a knife. Perhaps a scythe and non wielding them like he himself had, not to take life at least.

None were warriors like the old spider’s lot. Each of them is a veteran of a dozen conflicts, countless victories under their belt with a thirst for blood that wishes to spill the crimson liquid no matter the cost. His lot had never made another join his realm.

No, it was certain. His lot would give their last breath here. Even if he surrendered, they would all die. It was as certain as the coming of the drums from the bottom of the mountain.

Not all drums were from the bottom however, as there was one here coming from behind his door.

Door creaked, the tall wood moving slightly to let in a wolf most familiar ‘’So… You still won't fight huh?’’

Silence followed his emotionless voice, who carried with it an unease he couldn’t begin to describe.

He held no sneer as he spoke, just stillness ‘’A lamb was born an hour ago to a young couple. They won’t name her, no reason to bother they said.’’ With that he left, with the memory feeling like it was nothing but a dream.

He didn’t even bother with the door, which as annoying as it was still brought him a momentary sense of normalcy. Melvin, as little time as he had left on this earth would not change even in the end. It too was a certainty after all, as certain as the coming spring after this winter.

He held no contempt for him nor any of his followers. Each of them were perfect, and even if they were to die he would make sure of the fact they knew they were worth all of his suffering.

Now he had to make sure their newest member knew this too. It was like a blur, he left his chambers. All eyes following their lord, he didn’t shrink away from their gaze. They had to see him tall.

One after the other, his legs moved. Making his way towards the infirmary he saw a thousand stories unfold in front of him. There was a family of rats, their two youngest crying for their parents as the old she rat with a rust cowered axe assured them they will see each other again. Their hollow promise made him nauseous. She was no fool nor delusional, just a liar as it seemed.

The other corner held a fox, one of his clerics who spoke of divine retribution to their enemies and their assured victory in the upcoming battle against evil. A scoff threatened to escape him, the only assurance his wretches held was one of the end. That this war and battle when it was over carried with it a promised passage to the right side.

There was the odd gathering of a crow with a turtle and a snake. Each playing a game in spite of their incoming doom. Almost funny, alas also sad. He wondered what they had to bet with at this point? What did his lot even have? What did their God offer them in this moment other than suffering and eventual end of this short lives?

Each part of his temple held a different tale, each of them with their own heroes. Heroes that would fall, to be never spoken of again. Other than by him that is. Only when he would weep for them in remembrance. 

Finally after each agonizing step he had to endure in this torment, he saw it. Two sheep that cradled a cotton wrapped bundle of life. So small, so utterly small against his near titanic size that easily dwarfed them all who were mortal. They didn’t look upon him, yet they did not weep. They simply looked at their daughter, utterly enthralled by something so meek yet meant the whole world and then some. 

His voice was raw, grating against his own ears like rust being cleaned off a blade ‘’You should name her’’ A suggestion from a lord? When was it ever?

The two now looked at him, their child fussing over their lack of attention. It was the father ‘’my L-lord…’’ He looked away in shame ‘’Sh- she…’’ sigh ‘’she won’t need it sire’’ voice so broken.

His voice like steel ‘’You must name her’’ No mere suggestion after all.

This time the mother spoke, her voice like iron ‘’We shall my lord.’’ looking back at her young one now happier that she got the attention back ‘’We will.’’

Wool as bright and white as the clouds of the coming spring. She would have loved it. Alas the only brilliant white she shall see will be the mist of his realm. Oh what ill hath this soul committed fate? What could she have done here, to deserve life so terribly short and ended so soon?

Hearing all the commotion, Melvin made his way to him. Slightly better armed attendance not noticing his absence as they poured their heart into tactic. His eyes heavy with bags underneath to match. His muzzle parted slightly into what counts as a smile for him ‘’Thou art a cruel one Lord’’ 

He nodded ‘’Cruelest of them all’’

***

Drums

Drums! Bang Bang Bang, Step Step Step

March

March

March

There were no archers to rain arrows as they marched. There was no gate to stop them. They entered as if they were invited guests. 

Their armored sabatons clanking against the stone, mud dirtying the clean marble. Ash blacking the tapestry. Their shouts drowning out the prayer spoken by the ‘guilty’ like whisper.

They were led by the four, one leaving leaves in his wake. His steps without rhythm, he looked conflicted. happy or sad, one couldn’t tell. The other one was skittish, he looked all around, his steps careful. Yet he seemed as ashamed as they were scared. There was one with anger boiling forth, her axe fitting nicely in their grasp. Yet her hands shook ever so slightly. Then there was the spider. They were but stone, or alas the executioner's blade hanging above. So still yet with a terrible promise of action.

Each army bore the symbols of their Lord and the flag of the Old Faith, bound together cloth stronger than any chain. Each still in the stale air of the temple, yet they stayed as a symbol that tied them for better or worse. They bore armor and weapons, steel glistening with the light of the candles all around them. Some looked happy to be there, their smiles like that of monsters. Some looked impassive, like they had been disappointed by the lack of battle. Then there was the rare look of shame, ones with saddened familiar eyes.

They stood in front of him. A unified front of four armies against his rabble of peasants and wretches he would die for. They stood behind him, as if he could protect them. Each grasping their blade or tool as their lives depended on it. Their prayers and whines bleed together into a quiet cacophony. He felt them, each of their eyes. Pleading, begging… They needed him.

It was their eldest ‘’Narinder, it has been awhile has it not?’’ their mandibles clicking with each careful word.

His eyes never left them even as his heart felt like a storm in his chest. He had so much to say, to curse. Yet that could wait. In all of this nightmare there was one thing he had to know before he would die in the name of his people. ‘’Answer me, oh eldest. One that saw the world before me and cleansed so many. Why seek the end of my lot, sibling?’’ There, the burning question.

Their sigh, like a whisper ‘’I seeketh no harm Narinder, only to contain and protect thee even from thee.’’

Hollow words, spoken too often with no love to back them. A charade that neither believed he thought. 

A step forward ‘’Now Narinder, I urge you to-’’

‘’I trusted you’’ His eyes stung almost as he spoke, yet steel behind his conviction forced him to continue ‘’I believed those words once before your atrocity.’’ His heart ablaze ‘’No more’’

There was silence now, not even the prayers of the pitiful behind him. 

She spoke, after being content to wait for so long ‘’What are you talking about? What atrocity?’’ Looking at their eldest ‘’What is he talking about Shamura?’’

The soothing voice of the spider was quick ‘’It is nothing you should concern yourself with-’’

There were many things that made him mad at that very moment. Things as meaningless as the fact that the army his siblings brought was actively soiling the home of his lot with earth and soot. To more significant things like the smell of fear that wafted through the air behind him and the fact that he could not ease the dread of his people.

Alas though, he didn’t feel mad at that particular moment. No. He was mad when he left the grounds of the old faith. He was mad when he heard of the preparations for extermination. He was mad when his envoys turned up at his realm. He was mad when he couldn’t find it himself to fight his siblings before they came here, to slaughter each for daring to raise armies against him. 

Now

He was enraged

‘’YOU DIDN’T TELL THEM?!’’ His grip tightened on his scythe as the words spilled forth. He felt his once cold hands flare with otherworldly smoke as he felt the call of bloodshed from deep within. Only the words that came from the youngest stopped him from trying to fit the spider’s skull on a pike.

His curious voice felt like soothing water against burn ‘’What didn’t they tell us?’’ Oh my sweet summer child brother, sinless you were weren't you? 

First brother’s voice got drowned out, alas he yet heard him ‘’Can we calm down… p-please?’’ He spoke, quiet yet daring to raise his voice for once.

Tired voice of their elder ‘’It was not something any of you had to learn about’’ clicking of mandibles ‘’There is reason for my decision not to reveal-’’

His voice cut against the eldest, voice like thunder ‘’It has been two years, seven months and twenty one days since our eldest massacred my lot on the grounds of treason’’ The feeling of catharsis melded with absolute anguish and yet he spoke. His eyes blurring as he forced the memories forward ‘’Two hundred and thirteen followers of the Old faith, their names etched into the stone of this very temple. Each more faithful than the one prior was slaughtered. Men, women, children and elderly alike. I saw each of them pass into my realm as I could only watch.’’ And here it was, words escaping him like a damn being burst.

The outrage was instant. First was Heket ‘’What?! WHAT?!’’ Her battle axe swayed slightly as he looked between them. Followed by Kallamar ‘’I… why!?’’ He chose to look at the ground instead. The last was the youngest, with a voice barely a whisper ‘’E-everyone? Even t-the children?’’ As their lords spoke in disbelief, from each of the armies came shouting, talking and mostly outrage. Only the spider’s army was quiet, they instead wore faces of shame or simply chose to watch the stone below them. 

Amidst the cacophony of noise that now permeated his temple there was only one who seemed like they had any kind of control. Not him obviously, he was still thinking of how to mount the spider’s head on a pike without breaking the skull. Also not Heket, who seemed like she had similar ideas. Which as much as it was a comfort was also rude, as he should hold the privilege instead.

No, it was yet their eldest who had at least an inkling of calm ‘’It was a necessary-’’ 

Before he could adjust the spider’s leg to head ratio, a scream of indigence came from their loudest sibling ‘’HOW!?’’ Her voice shook the foundation of the temple. They took a step away from the spider, to him ‘’How can it be necessary? A whole loyal cult being slaughtered cannot be justified!’’ The ever just, his Froglet seemed like she was more hesitant on their slaughter than he might have assumed. As she made her way closer to him, standing to his side. Her army became a palisade between the remaining army and his own lot.

Oh cruel fate, Thank thee for making him find her in that pond. To make him slaughter that eejit god that dared to raise a blade against one so young as she was.

Still the ever calm ‘’You do not understand Heket, it was not a choice I made lightly.’’

Grounding out the words ‘’You didn’t look much conflicted when you tried to usher me out of my own lot elder. Before I felt each one’s heart stop’’

Running a claw down their face ‘’I didn’t seek you seeing them, alas if you had listened-’’

Kallamar, almost like coming out of a stupor ‘’How could you, just… why?’’ He stepped away from their sibling, in fear or disgust he could not tell. He didn’t move towards him but it was yet comforting nonetheless to see the army of the spider lessen.

They lightly reached out a claw to him ‘’Kallamar, I assure you I had my reasons.’’ Their hand retracted when they realized their brother would not come closer to them ‘’Do you simply think I would order. No. Partake in such a thing myself if I had no reason?’’ A type of plea entered their voice ‘’Brother prithee, be reasonable’’

For a moment he almost seemed like his first brother might have been swayed back, herded not unlike sheep. Alas his Kallamari proved that he was not an invertebrate after all as he backed away from them fully. Standing slightly away from both of the sides. His troops followed his direction as they chose to stand with their lord, watching to see how things would play out.

Oh fate, had thee deceived me? Were you not so cruel?

Their youngest was truly a creature of brevity ‘’You monster’’ two words, and it was worth more than a thousand.

Then as if a bomb had gone off ‘’I HAD TO!’’ Spider’s calm broke in an instant ‘’None of you have a clue what would have happened if I chose to ignore the truth!’’

Truth? What nonsense was the mad butcher speaking about? Has their eldest finally lost it? The thought was sobering as well as maddening, a rush of empathy shook the rage within his very core. Yet it was but a breeze against the inferno within. Even if he had gone mad without his knowledge it would not save the spider if he got his hands on them.

Alas his brother was quick ‘’What truth? Talk to us.’’ He sounded like he was at the edge of tears ‘’Please Shamura, just make it make sense’’ His words tore at the strings of his heart, his Little leaf’s plight was of his own in that moment. Yet, he doubted their eldest could make sense of this madness. It was all but futile to look for sense where none was to be found.

With a sigh that spoke of one too many nights spent wake ‘’We die in the end.’’

Silence stretched for what felt like hours as all waited, the finality in their voice alone was enough to take his mind out of rage. 

They recounted a tale then, one they seem like they too were lost in ‘’We die at the end of this story. It begins with separation, one leaves the flock of five. I know not why, mayhap he grew in pride till it took away all his bonds, spurred by the jubilation of his lot which swelled in size their hearts full of faith.’’ Their eyes met, six against three ‘’Flock weakens and yet his lot strengthens. For a time, it stillness takes hold. However time rarely stays the same, I know not what sparked conflict and yet they descend to war and battle, bloodshed a plenty.’’

A rueful look overtakes ‘’then I saw Ichor fall free to paint marble black. It was dark, so dark it shamed the very night itself. I saw a battle of four against one, he was so strong it took everything and then some to bring him down. I felt agony unlike anything I had ever felt. I saw then white cloth draped over us all, as if we had died and wrapped in funeral cloth before our hearts truly stopped. Oh my dearest brother, the rage I saw, it was overwhelming. I promise you, if I had not had my wits. You would not have seen tomorrow.’’

A look of rage passed their eldest, one which somehow mirrored his own. Alas, his came from action, theirs came from story and devilish omen. What madness did this maniac speak of? What kind of a hellish vision did they delude themselves into believing was a portent? Cautiously still trying to swallow his rage ‘‘What happens next?’’

Their eyes met again, with a mirthless chuckle ‘’Must thee ask more? Do thou wisheth the curse of far sight? Fine then. We slaughtered the Sheep, the rams, the ewes and the lamb’’ A cry resonated from the crowd behind him, one of outrage and fear ‘’I saw all our hands red. I saw Heket devouring each of flesh, I saw Leshy play with the bones, I saw Kallamar crush their horns into powder. Yet nothing was worse than when I saw myself. Speaking with valor as we struck the last one down. I felt pride in such terrible work.’’

His gaze fell to the stone below ‘’But yet, it was not the end. I saw the one who died just a moment yore comeback, to ironically defy death. Her neck still bloodied, she had the eyes of one who saw too much and lost too many. Above her head I saw  the crown that would end us all. A mere mortal ewe with the power of Gods given to them by no doubt our maddened brother Narinder, now the one who waits.’’

Steel returned to their eyes as they took in a predatory glint ‘’I could not, would not allow that to happen. I had to take your lot away, I made it fast, I did it clean, I did not enjoy it Nari I promise you upon my birth star. I did it to protect you from what you would have become.’’ Their voice, one of madness in the end.

Pity ‘’Ye old fool, had thee lost thine wits as well as heart, oh cruel tyrant?’’

The spider looked like they were struck, Their heart sliced. Yet he didn’t doubt what happened next hurt them more.

‘’I have no Elder’’ Their youngest spoke with a heart heavy with sorrow, and the temple was quiet.

Spider’s claw clenched as their hand oozed ichor. Their eyes closed in contemplation.

He knew the spider the longest. He was there first after all. He knew how they were when they were mad, as rare as that has been. Their elders, as brash as they were, would never lose control. It was a simple fact to him almost, and it made sense really. If one was to lead an army and call themselves the God of war they had to find the balance between the push and pull, madness and sense.

Yet, as he had once thought their eldest would never harm him. He was yet again proven wrong as he saw a glint he had only seen when they had fought against the enemy.

Their voice colder than the winds outside ‘’Hear I traitors all, I will save you from yourselves even if it will have to hurt’’

There were many things he knew were unquestionable. Like the day would rise tomorrow, there would always be autumn after summer and the fact that their eldest was strong as they were deadly.

He was yet to be proven wrong on this and doubted he would ever be proven otherwise.

Their scream like the howling of the storm as they rise to their full height with their armored Talons stretched to their fullest. There were many reasons why he couldn’t help his lot back then. One was that he didn’t know what was happening. Another was that he thought their eldest could not ill against him, that there was always wisdom to their action. Then there was something he couldn’t admit to him at that time but now could.

He was afraid of them.

And he was right to be afraid of them.

They towered over the four as they rose on their back legs to swipe with their left, almost catching their youngest in his antler. Yet he had a lifetime sparring with the mad spider, he knew they favored a grand and swift opening. His scythe lighting as he hooked his brother back towards him.

Yet the spider was not done, they were persistent as they were tenacious. Their right connected with his arm as they were both sent sprawling against the marble below. He could have twisted before fall, he was a cat for oblivion sake and yet it would expose his brother for what came next.

Jumping high with their hydraulic powered legs, their sibling will skewer him. Yet he would give a chance to his little leaf at survival as it would only penetrate him from this distance. 

Yet his bones remained unbroken. His ribs were spared by his Froglet who had swatted away the spider before they could spear him through with their axe. He saw her hands shake as she took labored breaths. Such a hit had to have taken its toll on her, the Spider Lord was no easy target to deflect and yet she succeeded… for now.

Spider Lord rose, their eyes focused on each of them. They never shifted, their expression neutral as their voice ‘’Love needs sacrifice my dearest siblings, it needs action to be preserved and persevered’’

He could retort those words with memories shared with them alas at that moment he was more in favor of a more direct way of argument. One that included his scythe. 

His brother untangled himself quickly before shakily standing slightly behind him, he had no experience fighting another God. Not one this strong.

But he did. Taking the left side next to his sibling he nodded to her, which was answered in kind. They hunted before, this would not be any different… Just much harder.

Spider Lord jumped to the left. Yet again choosing the opening themselves, they went in for a swipe which was blocked, but before he could be slashed by the expertly timed right talon his sister went in for an overhead chop which although missed has forced the spider to jump back.

Their many legged body was fast, yet their size was immense as each leg falling to the marble cracked the stone below into dust. Circling around them, looking for an opening they spoke ‘’Sometimes the eldest must make decisions they do not like, that they abhor. Alas they know their duty to their family needs them to be strong’’

Him and his sister were silent, you didn’t speak while fighting. Unless you were holding advantage that is. Yet their brother never had to learn this ‘’We are no family! Family do-’’ he was punished for his ignorance with a pruning against his chin, broken branches and leaves falling to stone like in autumn.

Yet he learned fast also, or perhaps he was planning this to begin with. One couldn’t tell with the Lord of Chaos. His battle hammer struck the Spider Lord on their shoulder, their armored and ready shoulder took the glancing blow like shore stone takes the breeze in the morning.

They jumped again, before he could make sure their youngest hadn’t been hurt they spoke out, their voice devoid of emotion ‘’I chose to spare you all of detail because I knew none of you had what it takes to make a stand against oblivion when the price was your own morals’’

The words of the spider were grating against his psyche. He wondered if he could make such a decision like the spider. It almost made sense in a twisted way, make the sacrifice and save the many. Other than the fact that he would be sacrificing someone else and the sacrifice was based on delusion rather than concrete fact or inevitably. Yet, the visions of their eldest were rarely false.

Why was he thinking of this? Of course those visions were false, he would never hurt his siblings… Other than their eldest now. But what if… his siblings stood with the spider now? would he welcome them to his realm?

Another rule of engagement thought by the Spider, never think when you should be acting. His thoughts blinded him to the reality staring at him from above as their sibling had climbed to the ceiling and was now dropping on them with each of their sharpened legs ready to trim his arms off.

He was not fast, not faster than gravity at least. He could maybe roll, but that would just get his legs sliced open and leave his beloved siblings open for attack. Well, at least he wasn’t mad at them anymore and perhaps Spider might be willing to talk once he was gone, maybe he didn’t need to meet his siblings in his realm.

Yet his story didn’t end, a blinding light stopped the spider and actually threw them away. Before he could think too much on it he saw Kallamar’s outstretched arm and a bandolier full of grenades minus one. 

If they survived this, he would find the mortal who brought that baseball game to their lands and thank them personally for getting their brother interested because there was no other way that grenade could connect with their Spider that well any other way.

A frustrated sigh escaped the spider as they effortlessly rose back ‘’Do you know what you fight for? The atrocity that will follow this? One cannot change destiny, even if this ends the simple fact is that it will happen eventually. You can change ‘when will it happen’ but never ‘will it happen’. Our brother will betray you, betray me, betray us and we will all suffer for it.’’

You never talked in battle unless you held the advantage, and even with four against one, it was clear who got to talk. Yet he was a bad student, the spider could attest to that ‘’You are right’’ His voice surprised even him with its firmness.

His siblings for a moment looked at him with scrutiny, judgment passing their eyes. As for The spider lord, he seemed somewhere between sorrow and vindication. ‘’I rarely saw you wrong in vision before Shamura’’ This was fact ‘’Your vision may as well come true one day, one day perhaps I will grow angry with all of you. Perhaps I truly will grow so prideful I will betray all of you.’’ It was hard to admit to all of this, the words feeling like ash in his tongue ‘’One day perhaps I will seek the end’’

He could not see what was to be like his elder. However he knew the whims of Gods and how they changed, nothing was immortal and nor were they. What they stood for; War, Famine, Plague, Chaos and Death were eternal, but them? Not so much. No one ruled forever and one day no matter whether it be through horrid betrayal or otherwise, would see the end of their rule.

‘’Yet, you are also wrong. You may not be able to change the course of the river, yet even a fish can make a ripple in the flow of fate.’’ He had seen it time and time again, their visions were often true and yet they had flaws, things that didn’t match and things that only came to be due to happenstance rather than action ‘’I don’t know what awaits us all in the end of our story, however I know all stories have an end and I know I would much rather face it together with all of you rather than just tear at each other like beasts due to paranoia. Thinking we are powerless to change destiny when together we might have a chance or at least might stand together as a family instated of culling each other to delay the what you think is inevitable'’

He knew all eyes were on him, some in scrutiny and some in anger. He knew what he said was hard to accept, and yet he knew the nature of this world and its whims just as well as his eldest sibling.

His voice was not devoid of anger and yet it still carried with it a gentleness he thought was lost ‘’Please Shamura… I know you wanted to help us.’’ He had to force the next words out of his mouth, the admittance feeling like poison in his tongue ‘’Wanted to help me. Even if you ended up hurting the ones I loved.’’

They yet held an unconvinced stare, so he pulled on a memory he knew they would remember ‘’wasn’t it you that told me we had to fight until the bitter bitter end once where I had lost hope?’’ He took a tentative step towards the them, his arms open yet with scythe on his side ‘’I remember my sibling being there to tell me we would face it together, not alone when it was just the two of us against the heathens and their foul God’’

A chuckle, one of mirth ‘’My little naive Nari, my little hopeful Lord. Trying to face fate with dignity.’’ a small Smile ‘’I never understood how you could be so hopeful? You were so young back then and so was I. Barely shorter than Leshy now, I remember your tears flowing freely’’ Now looking at him with those honest eyes of theirs ‘’I don’t want to fight my little Nari, I never wanted to hurt my little Nari and yet… I cannot accept a future so dark so soon.’’ They closed their eyes ‘’I promise, I will return us all back to the way it used to be, one way or the other’’ When they opened their eyes there was a slight glint to them, one of determination ‘’How about thee siblings? Will I have to take you all down before I can fix this?’’

First was the youngest ‘’No, we stand together as a family. I am not just letting some stupid fate or prophecy dictate our lives. I am the God of Chaos, I refuse this order. We will find our own way’’ His voice carrying resolve heavier than his war hammer.

Second was their sister ‘’Likewise. Hear me you dogged spider, I was very tired trying to find a reason to hate the one who rejected me away from his realm when I was a tadpole. Kudos for trying though, you almost made me into an oathbreaker.’’ her hands were still now, her axe ready.

Last was Kallamar ‘’I am sick of being afraid, I am sick of the paranoia and I am sick of fearing my own brother before he even did anything wrong. I want to live, not hide away. Not from him or our future.’’ He was brave with those words, with conviction he raised his short saber.

A rueful smile ‘’I see’’ That's when Oblivion’s gates were opened fully.

Shamura showed all of them that they weren’t a God of war for nothing.

They jumped but this time the grenade of Kallamar didn’t intercept them in time, they landed in the middle of their now broken formation. They all dispersed to each side trying to avoid the attack with varying success. From each side War God was surrounded, yet it was the four of them who felt like they were surrounded by fear. 

They went for Leshy first. They were fast and this time he wasn’t there to take him out of the harm’s way. War God simply yanked the branches on his head before he could understand what happened. Marble was showered with both crimson and green, the very sight stinging his eyes. Before the War God could further harm their youngest Heket answered them with a vertical slash that actually managed to draw the deep crimson out of the spider. A real damage for the first time since the start of the battle.

Yet their short victory was bashed against the pillars alongside of Heket who didn’t see the spider jump and before kicking her with the might of all of their legs at once. The air escaped her lungs as she met the hard stone that crumbled with a part of the ceiling falling on them fast. He tried to scream to warn her, yet his throat felt like it was slashed. He knew there was no way she could get away in time.

Yet she had no need as it was Kallamar who alongside throwing a grenade at the falling debris stabbed at the leg of the War God, who still hadn’t stabilized after their attack. He tried to push in the advantage by using his scepter to bash at their legs but hadn’t realized the stinger which now pierced them in the shoulder. Their scream reverberated against the halls of his temple before they reached his ear. The echoes adding to the horror and dread.

He jumped, his legs carrying right behind them. With all the might he could summon to his side he swung the blunt side of the scythe to War God’s head. The War God saw the attack a mile away and dogged under the weapon before rising once again. His attack had failed… or so they thought before he yanked the War God Towards him with the inner side of the scythe. With his left hand, he uppercutted the spider, his slightly bony fist connecting with their jaw. Throwing them into the air slightly before their youngest swatted them at the head with a perfect serve that saw them tumbling away from them some distance.

They were barely hanging on, each of them holding each other as well as hanging onto each other as they once again took their battle stance. The spider got up, they were wounded and yet they were better off than each of them. Their carapace holding them together as they laughed. Their laughter both terrible and broken. 

There was madness in their voice as the words spilled forward ‘’YOU CANNOT CHANGE FATE!’’ wildly motioning around them, all denizens of the temple looking at the mighty with fear ‘’You cannot change what is going to happen no matter how much you stand together, I will have to watch all of you die! I will have to fight you again! I will have to accept oblivion, the end!’’ Their claws wide open, ready to strike once again as if they were not hurt at all.

Then he did the stupidest thing he could manage to do at that moment. Something so bereft of sense he would beat himself to Oblivion and back for just thinking about it any other time. 

He dropped his scythe.

The great weapon crashing against the ground. Turning the stone into dust before the echoes even reached his own ears.

Then he did something even stupider. He walked towards his eldest and he simply embraced them. Their talons sinking into his stomach, each of their fingers digging deeper than the other. As they continued to push their hands further into his organs, so did he embrace them harder…

Agony, pure agony beyond anything he felt before. Not even when Shamura had to save him from the heathen God who had stabbed into his lung had he felt pain so pure. It threatened to take away all he knew and each second their hands gripped harder he felt another bout of fresh air of oblivion. Yet he held on.

Until he felt the scalding wetness of the tears now falling against his back. It took him a moment to push away the pain before he could speak ‘’Sha Sha, you know time changes and so do we’’ His voice but a whisper ‘’I know the end hurts, I am its lord you know. Yet, I will cherish all the time I had with you and our family, good and bad until our rule ends. I will accept the end of this story alongside of you.’’

He felt the talons loosen, before feeling their arms wrap around him. Their voice like glass, so fragile ‘’Oh Nari, I hurt all of you so so much.’’ a sob and a whimper ‘’You won’t forgive me for I have sinned will thee?’’ their eyes wet, salted with desperation.

He pulled back slightly, letting them go slightly. Looking into their eyes with a smile ‘’Nay, I will forgive thee for I love thee, with sin or not’’ It would perhaps take time, yet he knew he could do it eventually. He only had one elder sibling and one family after all.

Their embrace was joined by Leshy, he wordlessly hugged them both. He was silent, yet his tears spoke for him.

Then came Kallamar, his long tentacles wrapping around the three easily ‘’I am still afraid of the future, but now I guess at least we will see what happens together s-so I guess it is better’’ He gave them a smile, their teeth glistening kindly.

Their sister grumbled as she lowered herself enough to give them all a hug  ‘’I am angry, I am going to continue to be angry. Mostly because you didn’t talk to us and decided to act on your own’’ A softness entered their voice ‘’But I will probably forgive you at some point.’’

They stayed like that for a long time, none willing to let go even as they bled. From the corner of his eye he could see their people now all looking at them with admiration, their faith seemingly restored. Some wept, some smiled and laughed. Some hugged, their weapons cast away, each sect now embracing each other as fellow brethren of the faith. Each holding their loved ones and siblings close. The past strife was forgotten in that moment. It would yet take a while before all grievances were washed away and yet, in his now warm heart he knew it would come to be eventually. As they too hoped for a better future, ready to take the first step together as family he knew they had a chance.

Sooooo Another chapter. Only a week later? Anyway, Ratau everyone! The lovable old rat man himself. Had it pretty rough last time, will see if he gets better this time.

:)

Soooooo NEW CHAPTER. Around 3k this time, didn't want to cut in before the good part... which still happened in the end so oops?

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!!! btw there is Also the return of Ratau in this one :)

Hello There! First chapter of 2024!!!!!! With many more to come... hopefully, I have more free time now that I don't have to contend with 14 classes in uni anymore, sooooo I think I will be able to write more... Hopefully! :)

Sooooo Yeah, been a while huh? I missed a lot haven't I? Still, I am back so it has to count for something ehh?

Here I present, the next chapter and perhaps a return back to what should be.

Shasha

Sooooo fourth in the saga. Where we get to see the big spider in the spotlight for the first time since the series start. I am so proud of the old Spider with reallly sharp claws who finally gets to gets to have the stage.

As you might have guessed this chapter is about Shamura and how they went about the ‘joining the traitor’ business.

As usual the link to AO3 is down below if you all wish to read it there. (:

Seen Things that are yet to happen.

Precognition, a window to the future, a look to the will be.

A gift one may call it just as they had done it before now. Long before the accursed day they had peered to a future they wish they had not.

They wanted to call it a curse after seeing the horrors that awaited them. A curse that showed them what would be without a shadow of a doubt.

But yet they couldn’t call it a curse even if they wanted to, for they did not make that future take place but have instead just peered into the ugly truth of what awaited them. So they called it a call for action instead, a call that would not go unanswered.

But yet still, even with the truth of their ability and their need to take action. A part of them still yearned for what their siblings had, the sweet ignorance. But as always even a single fragment of the terrible truth of the future wiped that simple childish wish.

They could not remember every detail of those foggy visions. There was blood, so much and so dark. Spilling against the fair stone of the mountains carved into a temple for death and the dead.

There would be they and their siblings with only them amidst in the pool of their own ichor. before them there would be their dearest. The first sibling they called their own with a blade responsible for this atrocity extended towards their throat.

This is the fate they saw many moons ago befalling them and their most loved.

In the end they knew, they knew no vision of theirs would come false. But they had to try, even if they knew it was futile.

Lost in thought as usual, it took them a moment to realize where they were again. They sighed as they grabbed the railings tightly, grounding themselves against the allure of the terrible visage.

There was a time when their ability was spoken with much splendor, where they would be happy to receive a look into the future. Alas, those days had passed just like the autumn but a month prior.

Shaking their head from side to side, they looked below to their cult and realm, trying to clear their mind. It was, as it always has been dark as far as the eye could see in the low underground tunnels of their home. With only the light of the graceful moon shining above the cracks and fissures aided with the luminescent mushrooms that littered their domain helping carve away the abyss.

It was comfortable to look upon once, to see the unjudging dark enveloping their land. But that was before they had seen their vision, that was before they had learned that the dark did indeed judge. Just in a way none could understand until one was troubled so greatly as they…

Ignoring the dark they focused on the once soothing cold of winter, dulling one’s senses just enough to ignore the pain be it physical or even mental. It gave them much respite once, but now just like the darkness it only elevated their frustration.

Even with all of that, such trivial things as dark or cold could really affect a God even with their new found strength with their frustrations. No, Shamura was not one that was to be bested. Still even with their pride still sung within their heart and a cloak most well, it could not stop the shiver that spawned from their very heart.

Bringing their cloak closer and their eyes away from the dark, they decided that this much night air was more than good enough. With a yawn that came almost naturally they took off to their chambers, they needed rest as expected.

Arriving at Their chambers was simple enough, really the balcony was right outside. Not bothering to disrobe they quickly made their way to their bed, they would not wear them tomorrow anyhow and it was not as if they had no other robes they could use.

Sliding into the sheets, comforting silk met their body, warm and unrestricting. Almost as if on the clouds themselves they wrapped it around themselves and as snug wool pillows met their head they were ensured that it would be a dreamless night.

Now to sleep… . . .

After the thousand turn and toss they quickly choose to retract their claim of a quick night’s rest. Indeed, they had a feeling it would be rather the opposite for whatever reason.

Opening their eyes they began to gaze outwards around, if they were stuck tossing and turning maybe putting that mind of theirs to some use would help them tire themselves out.

First that met their gaze was the room they were in. It was as expected, not some grand and lavish room meant for a particularly pompous king or a queen. But a spartan living quarters that could belong to anyone… that was their size of course and barring the bedding itself as it would be unrealistic of anyone to assume they should sleep upon anything but silk and wool. They were in favor of utilitarian living, not ascetic ‘living’ if it could even be called that.

Really did anyone even wish to live in such… And here they were, instead of sleeping they were just wasting their mind on something like this, there was no way this could tire them out.

They rolled their eyes as they tried to bury themselves further into their now much colder sheets that seemed to strangle their throat as opposed to their previous unrestricting nature.

Trying to loosen the fabric they try to put their back towards the wool pillow which seems to bring a strange ache to their head as they sink into the soft material in the least comfortable way. With a cry of frustration they free themselves after tearing the silk away with their claws.

Breathing in and out, as deep as it could go and out as slow as they can manage. They slowly focus back to their bedding which now stood ruined.

For a moment they couldn’t help but to regret their quick action caused by frustration but then again, surely it was better that they were free than if they had stayed and simply let themselves get buried.

After all, they did not make mistakes. This was the better option.

With a sigh they get up from the bed, it turns out they were not tired enough. Surely it should be expected that they would have much more energy than a mortal, they simply needed to stay awake further to tire themselves enough. ‘What better way than to inspect the preparations’ they thought as they tossed the ruined pieces of silk to the corner of the chamber.

 Walking out of their chambers to their temple they took in to walk back to see and confirm all was according to the plan, they needed to be perfect for tomorrow. All needed to be perfect; they had to be ready for war tomorrow against the… traitor.

They stopped momentarily at the thought. They sighed, It was still a hard idea to accept, their brother being a traitor. A heretic that had casted their teachings and has gone to his own path for whatever misbegotten reason.

They could still remember the day when one of their followers came to them with the grim news. Their brother, the traitor had esca- left their temple at the dead of night. They could still remember the sheer disbelief they had felt, the way they had searched every corner of their own temple to make sure he had left them even while knowing full well they had run off.

It was unexpected, it was rage inducing, It was… heartbreaking. To hear him leave them with not even the courage to come to them first. Their claw tightened at the sheer audacity their brother had shown with just the start of his little rebellion.

Surely however, what had made their descent into heresy worse was their next actions. The way they had taken the followers of all four of them to their rank with false promises, the way they had marched them to the tallest mountains to claim superiority above them all, the way they had forgotten them all as he had closed his temple to all, forever casting them away.

Their claw loosened, swallowing the small lump in their throat they continued their walk. ‘No matter’ they thought, no matter what slight was done against them, it would be paid back soon enough. After all, it was as expected.

In a short while they found themselves at their first stop, the armory. The forges where the war would take shape first. Where the bellows infinitely churned the tools necessary for their art, a place most holy for them and their followers.

Blades of many with axes to follow. All spears put neat and well with all arrows heads casted to perfection. A certain smile found their way to their lips as they couldn’t help but be pleased with the simple, brutal but yet effective artistry at work.

All made so well against the fires of the forges, still pulsing with heat that bellowed from within the eternal stone, beating against the venerable steel. Craftsmanship unfound in anywhere else…

Wait. Stopping their stroll through the sets they took upon a closer inspection, which showed many weaknesses once not seen. Some bent where it should be straight and vice versa, all showing wear and tear from past battles unworked in the forge. While some showed even rust where it would prove deadly only to the user of what should be venerable steel.

How were they supposed to wage war with these? They would not be going against the steel of a mere rival God, but the traitor’s army. They would be going to slaughter if they tried to. Just who gave them the orders to make these abominations?

How had this come to be? Who was responsible for all of this? Setting out to find a blacksmith was not so hard as they were already passing by even when they were doing their inspection.

At first it was nothing out of the ordinary until they had realized that The blacksmiths were not of their lot but that of Heket, if they could be called as such.

Following the blacksmith to their workshop they were even more revolted at the sight they had seen.

They saw the blacksmiths milling about instead of working to keep the forges going. Blunt swords and bent shields somehow considered fit to be used, bits of casted metal around with rust clinging to them greeted them.

All with flaws unworked on with the idea of them being ‘good enough’.

Outraged by the sheer audacity committed by these cretin they could almost feel their teeth grind against one another. Just what was their sister thinking? It was obviously their order which has set them in their current way, made them forge these monstrosities.

Then again, this is what could be expected of her wasn’t it. They felt the thought worm their way into their mind further and further as they stood in awe at sight in front of them.

Their sister was always of good enoughs and never of perfection was she? In a normal time of lackadaisical days maybe they could be looked past with only a slight show of unapproval. But here, now? In a time when they needed more than just ‘good enough’?

Unacceptable.

Laziness, the lack of drive, unwillingness to better one’s self, these were the only ways to describe her were they not?

Couldn’t she prove herself to them with more than just good enough just once?

They groaned as they bit down harder and harder. There were a lot of things she would have to prove if she were to ever take her place as their right hand. A lot of things indeed.

Yet, they could not bring themselves to be too disappointed in her. Yes she has shown her unreliability once more, but still there would be more times where she could prove herself to them.

It would be fixed alright. Fetching their own blacksmiths and letting them correct the mistakes was not hard. Before long sounds of metal beating against iron sounded across the temple.

With that taken care of they could finally feel their teeth relax as they sighed with a ghost of a smile, everything the way they were meant to be.

They could see it now even in a small vision. All steel in the hands of the warriors of theirs. Clashing against the heretic, though details were somewhat odd frankly…

Chasing away the doubt much like the warriors from their vision, they continued. There was much to attend. No reason to get stuck on things that do not matter.

Next stop was the Barracks, the path to the barracks was not a long from the armory as expected. In any invasion of any kind it was a needed feature. Though that had never come to pass, it paid to be ready.

Maybe like right now…

Shaking their head they tried to clear the absurd thought away, there was no way he could have figured out what was to be their fate. Even if they knew, they would have mounted an offensive right now.

They knew he was competent, much more than competent at times even and reached the perfection they were known for. As befitting of their once right hand, one did not reach such a position without some skill.

But it was irrelevant as he was no longer their right hand, nor did he know their plans. He was to be caught without defence and… brought to justice.

With thoughts stirring in their head they almost did not notice as they entered the barracks. It was a large part of the temple, it was spartan as furniture went as well as luxury. It was not expected from a warrior to need much other than arm and armor after all.

They saw rows after rows of neat armor meant to be worn under cloak, all straps holding the elegant and yet so effective armor, the expertise that would go unseen in battle, unnoticed almost. Much like their sister almost in their court.

At least, It was satisfying to see that here their warriors would remain unchallenged, they thought. Their warrior’s needed the gear to survive what was to come, they each needed to be protected amidst what they were to face.

But before they could be on their way back to their inspection something caught their eye. It was almost unnoticeable amidst all the others, but in a moment that had them look around the armor stands they noticed that it was all wrong

The straps were too large for even a beast and the armor, it almost looked like it was not even connected together.

On Top of all that, they all showed oddities that would prove too chaotic for any kind of planning. They were strange creations that could never fit in a battlefield, armor that bent like sheets of paper with helmets too long to make sense.

Looking at the others it told a similar tale. All different than each other in ways that made them all more strange than unique.

Their claw flew in a moment over one of the armor sets, and as expected it couldn’t take a single hit with all the unnecessary additions more or less bolted on.

Their eyes twitched as they discarded the broken piece of useless steel and leather. How could their soldiers wage war if their equipment was this strange?

All haphazard, all chaotic…

They didn’t need to guess too long after that to know who was responsible for all of this. Their youngest, Leshy.

Their brother was a being of Chaos, that much was true and expected. They would be a hypocrite if they could ask their brother to stop their ways, their very nature when they themselves were known for their ferocity at times. But yet, in such a time where they could not afford even the slightest deviation from their visions could spell doom for them?

Apathy was the only way to explain how their brother could think to take such action. It was the sheer disregard their brother could show when he found things that he showed no interest towards.

Was this just a joke for the worm? Was their fate and the fate of The Old Faith just a game for him?

Their digits groaned under the pressure as their claws clenched. There were many things they wished to get their hands on at that moment. Maybe to finally show their youngest at least the concept of respect with it.

Yet, they could not bring themselves to blame them too harshly. Indeed they had done a great wrong with their casual dismissal of their own order and instead letting his own armorers run wild, but it could be fixed.

Waking the armorers was much like waking the blacksmiths, a single order given to a passing follower and in a few short moments before the clang of steel and fastening of leather rang out from the workshops dulling out the headache they were subjected to.

Each one they would meticulously check, test if need be. If they will fail them here, then how are they supposed to not fail against their br- the traitor?

After what felt like hours examining the strap that held each armor, they were finally satisfied or as close as they could get. All armor polished and readied for use by all kinds of followers and beast alike. None could truly withstand a God surely, but this was… acceptable, for now.

As they were leaving they decided to just peek into the future of the armor and saw that it was as they predicted. Armor would not protect against a God but it would protect against his forces.

A blow from a sword of a warrior grazing against a pauldron before being met with righteous teeth… wait, teeth?

They almost stumbled before straightening themselves against the cold stone pillars. They felt their head ache at the vision. Why was their sight so murky today? They could barely gaze a moment into the future and it was all muddled to oblivion. Was their precognition fail-. No, that was not possible.

Shaking their head they carried on, there was no need to doubt themselves. Their vision was true as always, as expected.

It was true, they were sure of it.

Besides, has their vision ever failed them before? It had not failed when they were attacked by their rival Gods, it had not failed when they saw the coming of their siblings from the stars above. It had not failed when it showed them their brother’s soon treachery. Though sometimes they wish it had failed at least this once.

Without even meaning to, they stumbled upon the arena. Where one met warrior against warrior, where one found themselves in their perfect selves as they showed them what truly was beneath their simple mortal coils.

Truly a place that would bring an end to their worries, well it was not worries per say but simple concerns.

Warriors each with a sword to call their own, battling with precision and elegance. Each strike thought with reason, unlike that of a beast that only relies upon rage and instinct.

Sparks flying in all directions as the swords clash against the other with shields blocking the next. The footwork to avoid each quick jab… dodging away from hits instead of fighting back…

Taken aback for a moment, looking around some more a similar tale followed, each warrior instead of standing their ground just gave away in a cowardly display. How were these warriors supposed to hold the line and push back when they fought like cowards?

It took them no time to single out the one that found themselves on the ground, who looked unashamed at such a shameless display of failure. picking themselves up and carrying on as if they had not just brought disgrace to all. It was almost like seeing their brother again at his first sacrifice.

Still trying to surpass the awful memory, few of the six eyes she had twitched as they felt their claw squeeze against their palm. How were they this unabashed? It was so insulting. Were they just doing it on purpose? did they simply do it to annoy them?

Unclenching their palm they looked upon the warrior that failed them. He was a young one, with mandibles of blue and eyes of turquoise. Moving towards him it took him a moment to realize he was facing the eldest of The Old Faith. It took him another moment to realize his body was high on the air as they took them by their training gear.

Entering the mind of the would be follower was easy, seeing where they got these notions of cowardice was also easy, almost unneeded.

It was none other than their cowardly brother who had thought them.

It took much of them to not crush the little crab in their grasp as they begged and wept, not because of the cowardice but for the show they had put on with their tears. Each moment reminding them of the day where they knew their second youngest would bring much dishonor to them in the coming time.

Maybe against their better judgement they let go of the mewling welp.

Tossing the now terrified creature full of tears that reminded them too much of their cowardly brother. They set out to fix the wrong they saw, they would show this arena what was true battle. Even if it would take the remaining part of their night they would make sure such traitors nor weaklings would dare ruin their plans.

After what felt like eternity they left the arena. They were to say the least, tired. The training took more off of them they would like to admit, not because the warriors were able to match them but because they were unable to.

It was infuriating to unteach the notions of dodging instead of answering a strike with a riposte, or how to keep their footing when attacked instead of relenting.

Even at the end of their lecture they still couldn’t do as they wished, as they perhaps needed but it was close enough, and it would be enough.

It would be enough even if the idea of ‘good enough’ gave them much disgust.

They didn’t even need to gaze to the future to know that would be more than enough. Why would they when they knew it was going to go as expected? It was simply a waste of time.

Besides, their brother would not have raised an army to match theirs yet alone all three even if they were subpar… Then again their brother was not unlike them when it came to battle now were they?

No, perhaps not.

They felt the door to their chamber before they could see it. One claw rubbing the spot on their head and with the other throwing the door open they entered.

It was as they left it, with the blankets still torn asunder. With a sigh that came from deep within they slowly made their way to their bed.

Even without the blanket, it was still comfortable. Though the wood of the frame groaning under their weight was not really pleasant. Also the strange wetness of the pillow was… odd. coupled that with the odd sting in their eyes…

Rubbing at their eyes they looked up, staring at the ceiling of their chamber.

Just why?

Why was nothing going the way it was supposed to be going?

Nothing was as expected and all was just…

Wrong.

Nothing they did felt like it was good enough anymore. Each part of their preparations felt worse than the last, the weapons were still subpar, the armors were falling apart, their warriors couldn’t even hold a sword correctly.

How could their followers… No, their siblings fail them so badly?

As the frustration crept within once more they started to remember the better days, the days before it was so much more perfect. Their warriors were trained by them personally, their armor and arms were done to their specifications. It was all just perfect.

From their own followers to their siblings, they were all just failing them. One by one they were refusing their vision, each giving away excuses for their faults and never accepting blame.

Their follower’s at least had a semblance of competence within, but their siblings? They all just failed them. They each failed them in so many damnable ways.

They just wished Narinder was with them…

Taking a second to part their claws away from their head they looked above to the roof of their chamber. They blinked as they let the idea sink down further and further.

They wish they were with him now, instead of their brothers and sister they wished that Narinder was with them where everything would be easier. His blacksmiths would cast the greatest steel made to perfect the art of death. His armorers assemble the most impeccable armor to stop the coming of death for just a little longer in battle. His Soldiers, the ones that fight with no fear of their lord’s embrace as they march to their assured deaths.

Everything would have been easier.

It would be… perfect.

They wished for him to be back with them, things to go back the way they used to be before all this… mess.

Their mandibles quivered as a lonely drop of ichor found its way off their eye. They wished for so many things, so many things that felt so distant now. They wished for things to return to the way they used to be. Alas just as much as death couldn’t flow backwards, just as much as how they couldn’t undo their mistakes…

Another drop escaped them, It was their mistake was it not? It was surely their mistake of showing him the ideas of evolving when his domain should never have such ideals utilized.

They still could remember the conversation that led to that, could still remember how they were saddened for he could not create like the rest of them.

He had come to them as usual when this ancient sadness came again to the forefront of his mind, invading his senses. The sadness that fattened with each new sibling who could change unlike him.

It was easy back then, just to assure him of his place within the cult made of only the two of them. That they would change and he would stay the way he was, an equal balance set in a dance of two. Upset with the coming of more.

They did not wish to remember the way they looked upon them with his three eyes that shone the way they did when they first came to their world in a comet screaming through the skies. The way he looked so unsure, so unhappy as he had when he found the lacking of his domain.

They had assured him that he was just as important, assure them that creation was not any lesser than destruction, assure them that their siblings were not looking down on their second leader just because all that he was.

They wish it worked, they wish he just backed down and smiled back as he accepted his place. That he would just apologize for bothering them again, and that they could assure them that he had not bothered them at all.

However, that's not what happened.

He just stopped. He just looked within their eyes and claimed that maybe he should just… go. That he should just embrace it instead, embrace oblivion and destruction. Tell them that the Lord of Death should have no business with the living world.

As they saw the will within his eyes, they knew they were serious. He would leave them alone, he would reach his realm and forever bar the gates to stop them. He would leave them, their first brother, their first little headache that caused so much upheaval in their life.

They were weak in the end. The way their heart broke with his, as they couldn’t imagine a future without him by their side.

So they did it, they told him of change. They told him they could become different, evolve and become something he wished. So they could perhaps create in their own way.

As his smile grew with the idea of this new novelty, so did theirs fell as they saw the future that they charted for the whole of The Old Faith with just those simple words.

‘’So try brother. For my domain is knowledge and it is ever evolving, so can yours maybe.’’

The words spoken so long ago now felt like a curse that broke them down with each letter. They hated it, they hated every moment of that cursed memory and they hated themselves for all that came to be after that.

They were sure of it.

Shuffling up the mountains so far high, it was like a blur under the grayed out skies blending with the snow covered mountain.

Each begrudging and tiresome step after another taken with only vitriol to fuel it. The snow under their feet sinking down as it gets muddied more and more with each step taken behind them as untold warriors made their way up the mountain.

They had to give it to their brother, he had made sure every step of the way would be more painful than the one before. It was already hard marching an army up a mountain but one with snow on top? It would sap the strength out of their troops even before they would reach their destination.

As expected, most clever of their brother.

Still, they marched on. With all four armies combined they trudged through the mountain even as mud claimed more and more of their ranks as they sank down into it, before ever getting to taste battle breathing their last breath under the earth.

They should curse their brother for such cruelty, to steal them away to his realm before they could even test their mettle.

Alas they could only find an inkling of pride where there should be rage.

Eventually they reached the gates of the temple, manned by ram and ewe alike with odd species of all kinds amidst their ranks. All with weapons edged to perfection and armor to match, standing together as one, where theirs stood divided.

It took them much time to breach the gates, their warriors dying by the hundreds at the forefront as the lots of their siblings filled the ranks after them. Their warriors meeting their end to the onslaught just so that their sibling’s lot could stand a chance.

They should be howling in rage as the now mindless horde of fanatics led by their siblings fight against the honorable heretics of their brother. They should take apart the heretics who fought against the horde of teeth and claws with their swords and shields.

But they could only share a ghost of a smile in their lips as they stood unmoved. Yet again pride bloomed within as they marched on with only lethargy and perhaps apathy keeping them company.

Then they came to the last hurdle, perhaps the last heretic still able to hold a blade against them. With many broken bodies of their own warriors beneath his feet and the lot of Kallamar watching from far away, cowering behind their shields as they looked upon the wolf.

Melvin stood alone, his curved blade from lands so far away in their hands as they stood in front of the gate they had no chance to bar them against. There he stood, silent with only judgement within his eyes and perhaps even disgust.

They should be enraged by the sheer notion of judging them when he was but an insect where he stood. How could he even wish to criticize a god?

However yet again, they couldn’t help but be proud of their brother for having a witness with faith this strong when their end was so assured. They could even believe the old mutt felt no fear within his heart as they manned the gate of their Lord.

They almost found themselves asking him to move aside, to tell him he would be allowed to come with them once they take his brother back to the fold. To serve him once they claim back their brother away from his folly. But his gaze filled with nothing but fury told them, he would not listen.

They wish they could say he put up a fight. That he fought with valor befitting of a warrior, but no. For a moment he stood valiant and in the other he stood impaled against their youngest’s claws. Played like a toy, as they dangled uselessly in Leshy’s still apathetic grasp as he flexed his claws with boredom written in his face.

With shame plastered against his still face he uttered words that were only heard by their brother. Who looked on from his throne with only sorrow, his body almost like a statue sitting with their scythe by their side.

There was no need for words, they knew what was to happen. Their brother would fight against them when they had only wanted him back, he would wound each one of them until only they and he would stand where they would see what would follow soon enough.

Yet they still spoke, not because they knew it would change anything but because they felt almost an obligation to him to at least try.

 With a heavy heart full of sorrow ‘’Brother’’ It was hard to make up the words as they gazed upon the near empty eyes with a similar pain behind them ‘’Your folly comes to an end, resist no more and come wit-’’

They were cut by a laughter, one so empty that came from him ‘’Why?’’ Before they could ask what he meant by his question ‘’Why are you here? Why are you slaughtering my followers? When I left for there to be no more bloodshed, why have you followed me here?’’ There it was, within his eyes a spark that could not be killed so easily. One that would ignite the battle that was sure to follow.

The answer so simple, yet so hard to make him understand ‘’I… my visi-’’

They were cut once more, now with much more vitriol ‘’Oh so it was your delusions yet again’’ his words, an offense that would be punished swiftly even if he were the one to commit back on the lackadaisical days of yore.

Now only silence followed his words before they could muster the strength once more ‘’Brot- Narinder I…’’ They couldn’t finish their words. How could they? How could they even begin to explain their rightful reasoning, that their actions were just. How could they make him see?

‘’Whatever, I am done fighting.’’ He looked below to his hands as they clenched before with a sigh ‘’I am done with seeing my followers get slaughtered. I will come with you if you spare whoever is left.’’

They were stunned into silence with the end of their sentence. In a moment their sorrow was replaced with joy they thought they could never feel again. Could the fate they foresaw be avoided? Have their visions truly been falsehoods? But before they could rejoice at the fact that their vision would not come to pass, they were horrified at the idea that they were wrong.

They were… wrong. How could they be wrong? Were they wrong in all their visions, all of this preparation, all the events that led to this moment could have been changed?

Have they truly failed their brother? Could they have spared him the misery they caused, could they have averted hurting Nari so easily?

Too lost in their own mind, unable to even notice the world around themselves. They could only hear Hekets axe as it flew at their brother to be countered at the last moment with his scythe.

In a moment their world was shifted once more as their two siblings began to fight, one so full of rage the other so confused. They tried to find their tongue before Heket spoke between each of her hits.

With full of indignation ‘’Liar! you just wish to take back your spot. Well I am not letting you take back my rightful spot, where I deserve to be!’’ She swung fast and well just to be thwarted each time as he looked at her somewhere between furious and confused.

They looked at their sister as they continued their attack towards their brother. Why was she doing that? He already gave up, they could have just gone home, they could have…

Before they could finish the thought Leshy joined his sister as he swung his warhammer. Almost taking both of them down with one mighty and uncontrolled swing meant for both and neither.  

Now with a smile that reached his branches ‘’Sorry brother but this is too much fun to pass up on, hope you don’t mind’’ His words fell with laughter as he continued his onslaught of wild swings, Narinder looked at their youngest with frustration written on his face.

Few moments later, surprisingly they saw Kallamar find himself in combat alongside them. Coming from the outskirts of the battle to try their luck with an opportunistic strike, giving themselves room to dodge if need be.

‘’He is just lying! He is waiting to attack us when he gains our trust again!’’

They looked on the travesty in front of them, this dishonorable battle where three fought against one. Where chivalry and honor was tossed away by all three combatants that made a mockery of war and battle. Where the three threw away the one chance of them all going back to the days of old for their petty little reasons.

They were calm for a moment, a moment where they saw all three of their siblings. Heket who still could not land a hit where it was almost impossible not to, Leshy who still couldn’t take the battle seriously even where his life depended on it, Kallamar who was still acting like a coward where they were three against one.

That moment passed with howl of rage the likes of which had not been heard for centuries. One that shook the core of the temple they were standing in. One that stopped their fight for one moment as they looked upon a true God of War devoid of wisdom, before the beast threw themselves amidst the fight.

Claws and teeth followed them, one guided by instinct rather than true combat prowess. A cut here, a slash there with warm and cold vitae and ichor of many.

In a moment came a blur of green where their claws reached and plucked something off from, the blur fell with scream so delicious against their ears. Then a blur of red and some yellow, there they took something red and some white that too fell but now with a thud and a gurgle. There came a scream from the blue blur, that was quieted with a bite to the parts that stick away from it as they rolled away.

In the end there was only a blur of white, they couldn’t take anything from that one. No matter what they did, all they could do was a measly slash against their middle that saw the spilling of crimson, that was answered with an intense pain that radiated from their head.

Then the blur stopped, now even harder to see. All the ones they took from were on the ground now with much red all around. While the one clad in white and red stood above them, with something poking against their throat.

Had they seen this before? It felt like… Deja Vu? Was that the word… They could ask their siblings if they knew. Maybe Nari knew something about it.  

Where was he anyway? Where was their little furball? They called out as softly as they could manage, to not scare their baby brother of course ‘’Nari… where are you…?’’ For a moment the blur grew still ‘’I need you’’ Words fell slowly away from them as the odd sensation grew in their head.

Tentatively, the white and red blur lowered himself to their level, there he stood. They could almost make an image through the haze which looked like a cat with three eyes just like their little brother. They smiled as they felt arms around their body, giving them an embrace.

There it was, their brother’s voice. Though why was it so tired? ‘’Shhh it's alright Shasha’’ They felt cold fingers find the pain radiating out of their skull, soothing the pain slightly as he whispered ‘’it's… it’s all gonna be alright.’’ He gave a pause ‘’I promise’’ They were happy their brother had come to help them. As expected of their little brother, always so faithful.

They were so lucky they had a sibling.

They wish they had more siblings.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/116636956

   COME ALL, COME SEE. Another chapter of this ol fic brought to you by yours truly.

   Alright, I don't wanna give any spoilers this time, so I shall make this as vague as I can. In this chapter we finally get to go back home and see that someone has done some spring cleaning I guess you can call it, and it has led to some unfortunate consequences. Also we get to meet up with an old 'friend' we haven't seen for some time, I hope you all enjoy his company just as much as a certain cat has (:

Best way to show affection, mlem

mlem with affection

Kalamari

Alright, Hello! Welcome you all to the third episode of The Five Traitors. This time as you might have been able to guess we will be taking a look at the ol Squid boy/God Kallamar.

This chapter has taken me a while to make and I hope you all enjoy it, it is a little long but I am sure it won’t be a problem for you all. (Also the Ao3 link is down there) (:

There was a storm outside. One with great thunder that soared through the skies with a boom that reverberated across the halls and rain that can only be called a cacophony as it assaulted the walls of his temple.

With such a storm came the ocean, so fierce even the most foolhardy captains would avoid testing their luck or mettle. Once blue skies now turned grey like the murky foam that claimed the sand.

Rising above high, almost touching the clouds started the wave far away, then a moment later too soon did it come crashing against the golden beach with a force strong enough to break apart rock and stone. Just like that after such a fierce blow did it slowly recede back, with it took the pieces it claimed, to take them back with it to the unknown so far away.

In such discord, there were few who could bear it let alone enjoy it and as the Lord of these lands and the waters so ferocious he was not one of those few. Far from it in fact as he was one of many that hid from the horrid noises such storms brought, trying to cower away inside to stop the monotonous yet terrifying screams of nature.

Hiding away would perhaps be too harsh as he was only choosing to stay in his chambers. One could even say that he wasn't even really a choice and he was just getting ready for… a visit

Indeed, if one were to come to his chambers uninvited they would see him with his collection. Taking stock of his tools of war, checking his blades and scepters alongside many assortment of holy weapons.

Of course, such a thing would never happen. No one would sneak into his chambers of course, to see him not assorting his weapons and instead curled against the wall shaking. On the verge of tears over such a small thing as a storm, covering his ears in an attempt to stop the cacophony…

No, no one would ever see him like this, a God in such a pathetic form. Indeed No one ever has… other than one but he would not really be with them after they were done with their little visit.

After the visit there would be no one who could claim to have seen him cower before such a benign thing as a storm. After the visit there would never be anymore ridicule, mocking or indifference. There would only be soothing ignorance to his real pitiful self, as he would be left as the third in the line up of bishops. Forgotten as he was always meant to be.

Always spoken with dismissal if spoken at all. Always swept under the dark where none could see him and cause harm. Always be seen as invalid and protected even though he was fully able to protect himself if need be, at least in theory.

Of course, it would always stay as a theory as he was currently stuck against the wall of his chamber. No, not stuck, just preoccupied with preparations.

After another particularly loud lighting which came too close to his temple for comfort he looked up at the sudden feeling of wetness against his tentacles. Has the storm outside that had laid claim to his realm, to have come to take the last of his respite away from him? How had it breached the sanctit-

Oh… It was not rain. Black as the skies above it was ichor. wiping at his eyes he changed the ‘verge of tears’ to ‘in tears’ as now he shed few more indignant tears at his own inadequacy.

Just how much of a coward was he? Just how much of a failure? How much of a mistake?

Eyes burning with ichor he buried his head against his tentacles, trying to stop them pouring out with limited success.

What if someone saw him like this? What if one of his followers saw him weeping away in his room where he was meant to lead them in just a few hours time? What Would they think of him?

He assumed they would mostly just be disappointed but then again perhaps empathy would have been possible not too long ago. After all his apothecaries were known for their sympathy as well as their healing as one bred the other and the other complimented the first. Surely though, they were not really  apothecaries anymore were they?  not after they showed up at least…

No, he would not get empathy if they saw him like this. Not that he could blame them really.

He was not really given that by his own family, why would he get any from the ones he was supposed to lead?  No, it was just wrong to expect them to march to their doom and also pity him like the rest of everyone he had ever known… barring him. Ignoring him he pondered to the rest of his family.

There was his sister, if were to be seen by Heket there would not even be pity much less empathy. She would take one good look at his form and the wretched bile within her would rise to squash him where he stood. She would strike out in full force and in but a few short words he would be begging for what counted as a lecture to end. She would ask if he was truly the Lord of Plague, truly one of the Bishops of the old faith, truly a brother she could accept. There he would stand, almost in trial as he would mutter excuse after excuse, trying to get her to stop for a moment so he could breathe, maybe to beg her enough so she would stop assaulting his ears with her often thunderous voice.

But it wouldn’t work, it never really did. In a few minutes he would go from feeling saddened to pathetic and to miserable shortly after. Of course, she never did any of these because she hated him. No, she never really truly looked down on him. She was just giving criticism. Indeed it was him who was just too thin-skinned, she was just offering suggestions if he had just looked beneath her wording and just read between the lines… really, he was just a snowflake wasn’t he?

Then there was Leshy, there would be pity there. Lots of it in fact… After all the mocking laughter there were loads of sympathy. Each time he would howl in delight at his expense, there was always understanding hidden deep within. Each time he would whisper behind him where he couldn’t perceive just to see his reaction. Each time he would stalk him through his lands to haunt him until he couldn’t take it.

Really, it was just that He couldn’t take a joke. So what if he would lay restless each night where his ears would be worn down due to his shrieks. Where he would spend days sleepless trying to soothe them with no success, just before passing out of exhaustion into a merciful slumber. So what if, he would be looking behind him even in the sanctity of his own temple, always expecting to be followed for each step he took. Where he would station apothecaries at each of the doors just to get a semblance of safety amidst the paranoia he found himself in. So what if the only times he got to sleep without exhausting himself he kept a dagger beneath his pillow just to be safe. Really, if he could just loosen up then maybe he too would be laughing with him.

Lastly there was indifference given readily by their eldest Shamura, sweet indifference and ignorance at his sheer existence. Someone to be swept under, to be forgotten so all could ignore his inadequacy. It was perhaps the most merciful response to his being, no ridicule nor barely hidden disgust hidden with criticism and lectures. Just looking the other way and acting as if he simply didn’t exist.

If he could just be more like his other better siblings, then perhaps he could be given attention to. Then again his siblings weren’t like him, they were not failures.

Leshy never feared a single thing amidst this earth, not mortal nor beast, even their eldest up to a certain point. He simply did as he pleased even when one begged him to stop, nothing short of death would stop him. Only if he was so cruel.

Shamura was perfect, they were perfection made reality. They stood as the eldest amidst them all, one that reigned above them all as was his rightful place in their A quinte- no, their quartet. There was no being like them, as one could never reach perfection. One could only hopelessly follow it, chase it around until maybe they could catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. There was no hope for him though, he was not fast in this race nor enduring enough. He was slow as a turtle and as energetic as a sloth.

As for Heket, well she never shed a tear in her life. Not once in their uncountable years had he seen her shed a single drop of a tear. Not when she lost her first witness when she sacrificed herself for her, not when she lost villages full of her followers to starvation, not when their sibling left them…

In contrast he wept the first time he had to sacrifice one of his followers. They wanted him to do it, they practically begged him to take their life so he could be one with him. He could still remember the cold stone of his temple as he stood in front of all his siblings, all looking, judging.

He wept as expected, as soon as he felt his heart stop. In front of all his followers and siblings he wept over a simple mortal. He could still feel the disappointment from all their eyes, baring one. Heket shaking her head as Leshy snickered behind her, even Shamura paid enough attention to look away from him. All deep within carried pity for him that day, baring one. The cruelest of their siblings carried not pity, nor disgust. He carried sympathy so unwanted.

He carried that wretched feeling within himself as he walked up to him after the debacle. He walked up to him so callously and took him by the hands to guide him to his realm where he got to see his beloved follower yet again. He wept once more there, but this time it didn’t stung as bad as he told his final goodbyes to his most faithful, without the gaze of the rest of his siblings, baring him.

That misbegotten brother of his, he carried the belief of him being capable within himself. He never saw him for what he truly was, he always looked at him as if he had potential deep within instead of failure. A fool and a cruel man he was.

The same cursed brother who would have taken his hands even now, to ask him what was wrong as he did in days like this so long past. Today he wouldn’t know what to tell him but back then he told him it was the thunder and the rain that made him weep and nothing more.

He should have mocked him for standing as a god and yet being afraid of something so laughable, something that had no way of actually hurting him even back when he was much younger. He should have lectured him, told him his cowardice was a shame he brought to The Old Faith, he should have laughed at him for his weakness, he shouldn’t have even asked him what was wrong, he should have just left him to his devices and attend their court instead.

No, he just had to embrace him. He just had to look him in the eyes and tell him that no rain nor thunder could haunt him when he was with him. He had to give him the only thing he was good with, his first blade. Tell him that he didn’t need to ever be afraid as long as he was willing to fight.

He cursed him the day they sparred against one another in those halls, the day where he found something he was not a failure at. The day where he learned he hadn’t needed to be taken care of as an invalid and that he could be strong.

How he hated his brother for he took him out of his quiet dark corner and showed him the stars he came from. Promising him all that was under their grand light if he just fought for it, not realizing he was wasting his time.

Sudden anger now coursing through his veins he suddenly looked up from his corner, still on the ground with his tentacles up to his chest. Wiping at his eyes yet again, he got up slowly. He couldn’t just stay here to mop, even if it was the only other thing he was good for.

When the last of his tears dried, he looked around to take stock of his options. In his weapon rack he saw many weapons he had used in the times when even he was needed.

Scepters made for war, their gold glinting against the jewels adorning them. His hand momentarily went across one of their handles before receding. No, he needed something closer.

As his hand moved back he spotted his smaller collection. Daggers of all kinds, all lining the walls with each promising him safety allowed from such a hidden weapon. He had to admit, it was a good idea to carry one be they under a pillow or in battle. Still, he also needed some distance between him and his brother if he ever even got to fight him before he would be sidelined by his more capable siblings.

Not even looking at the holy hand grenades he moved to his most favorite part of his collection, swords of all sides in their individual cases. There were many to choose from, some straight and narrow, some curved and graceful. In the end however he chose the saber, standing taller than any mortal, Forged by blacksmiths from so far away. It would be useful.

Before he could leave his chambers to wash away the ichor, before anyone could spot him. His gaze fell on a forgotten part of his collection. In the far corner, he saw it. It was a small blade, one standing just about a mortal's height. Forged before he came to this earth from the holy lights high above, it was his first blade.

He didn’t know what possessed him to move closer to the rightfully forgotten relic, if it could even be called as such. Gingerly opening the small case, he took the weapon by the handle. It was far from easy to wield with his new size, but somehow it still felt natural within his grasp.

A high swing and a low strike, it was… unneeded. It was far too small to be used as a sword and far too big to be a dagger, it was just awkward to handle on top of that. Bringing this piece of loathed history was just a mistake…

Then again, he too was a mistake so it was only right that he would bring it to possibly his doom.

The track to the temple was unpleasant, that much was to be expected really. Between the still ongoing storm and the mountainous path, it had made everything more miserable than it had to be. Then again, maybe it had to be miserable. After all, they did come uninvited, didn't they.

Just another one of his brother’s cruelties he thought as his tentacles moved up the path. Why had he found his temple here of all places? Did he assume they would come for him one day and wanted to make it as hard as possible? or Perhaps he wanted to make it impossible for any of them to visit him, then again why would he visit his brother?

Perhaps he did it because he could. It was possible that he made his temple up on these mountains because he could do so unlike him. He was strong and independent enough to climb such high with his followers and establish such a bastion in a place so uninhabitable.

Perhaps, he just wanted to look down upon them from his castle so far high up.

Lost in thought he didn’t hear from the cacophony when one of his aphoteceri- warriors fell to her death, or at least he acted like he hadn’t heard her cries. She was no one of importance, just a mother of three with a husband lost when a prank of his brother got out of hand. Someone who worked at the cult's bakery when not in the sick bay as a nurse.

Someone who hadn’t cried for him when they fell to the stone jutting out of the side of the cliff, who didn’t ask for his mercy, who he couldn’t help because it would show him as a weakling yet again.

Forward he walked, not confident nor willing but he moved forward nonetheless.

The initial breach was bloody, as expected. His brother had raised good warriors, all who carried his name in their lips as they dove into the battle they had no chance of winning. While his soldiers fell with faces full of sorrow and anguish. Only if he was good enough to raise them as well as he.

Eventually however, even their zeal gave out. All coming back to the realm of the living from their deserved slumber to protect their master even as their bodies broke below them it wasn’t enough. In the end, they all broke away to torn limbs and broken bodies.

So they reached the gate to his throne room. Wide open with him still sitting on his throne looking at them with eyes that spoke nothing but spite.

How cruel he was, as they walked past the broken bodies of his protectors torn asunder. How his eyes didn’t twitch with indignation, as their sister stepped over a small mound made of bodies as she didn’t even bother to look down, or when his brother Leshy held a wolf within his grasp squeezing at his ribcage like a toy as he looked around bored like this was all some sightseeing.

How he hadn’t looked away as the wolf’s last words fell on the deaf ears of his master. He cried ‘F-forgive m… me-e lord for I- I… have failed-d’ as his Lord's breath hadn’t hitched for but a moment.

Now they stood, four looking at the Lord of Death as he sat still.

Then after a moment that stretched over a millenia Shamura spoke, the one that seemed least interested in this affair. ‘’Brother, Narinder. We have come to take you back’’ He looked at the Master of War at their words for a moment, surely they didn’t mean that had they? Their brother should not be allowed back, he couldn’t be allowed back… should he?

A voice rang out from the throne, one of laughter that lacked mirth that quickly fell to melancholy. ‘’His name was Melvin you know, my Witness’’ He got up from his chair slowly as he walked closer to them. He felt his grip on his sabre harden as he felt each step reverberate against the ground.

He pointed at the small mound as his voice grew colder ‘’They were the ones whom I called my priests. Lancelot the deafened’’ After a moment he added ‘’He was a grand writer. The one closer to me was Deniz, they held no title but were grand nonetheless.’’ He sighed as he gazed at the last of the ones who still could be distinguished amidst the pile ‘’Joan, youngest of them all. She was a poet an-’’

He was cut out by their sister as she spoke ‘’Quit the nonsense Narinder’’ She turned to Leshy as she held her axe closer ‘’Leshy, with me’’ Before she could take her place against him however their siblings hand stopped her.

Shamura eyed her wearily, as they sighed ‘’There is no need for such action sister, Narinder will come with us to his rightful place’’ they looked back at Narinder ‘’Won’t you brother?’’ There was almost a tinge of hope behind their seemingly uninterested voice.

He for his part looked upon his sibling for a moment, so many untold thoughts coming through his mind surely. For a moment as he looked deep into his unsure eyes, he thought that their brother would show one kindness to him and show him that he did not stand to go against their sibling’s word. Show him that all had to follow his word no matter how nonsensical and humiliating it felt, and that it was not something one could fight against. Yet again his hope was dashed across the halls broken as his eyes met the still bloodied hand of Leshy still clutching the corpse of his follower.

He shook his head before a gentle smile bloomed slowly over him, he spoke ‘’No, I don’t think I will sibling’’

At his words came a warcry from Heket, striding at their brother with full force. Swinging his warhammer Leshy joined her, barreling at him in force. He was as he looked over the battle commencing in front of him. Looking over to their eldest he looked much like a statue as they gazed at nowhere in particular.

Just then a voice rang out, coming from Heket who was deflecting a blow from their brother ‘’Come on you damn squid, be useful for once and join us!’’

Before he could apologize to her for his failure, Leshy spoke while swinging his warhammer over his head ‘’Leave the crybaby be, we don’t need that coward’’

He didn’t let their words sink deep before entering the fray, his three hearts beating down in his chest as he tried to match their brother’s style. It was easier said than done however as they were not in those halls like back in the days, his brother was not holding back.

Each strike was perfect, his ripostes were blinding as were his dodges. Each strike felt like fighting against the thunder outside as they all got reflected or turned against him with a counter. His ears rang out almost deafened by the noise of steel against steel.

What was not helping their fight was the fact that there was no cohesion between them all. Heket acted like he nor Leshy existed as she pushed further and further against their brother who brushed each of her advances. As for Leshy, he acted like it was all a free for all as he swung wildly at them all with almost a giggle emanating from him.

It all went so fast, one moment they were fighting and the next he met the stone under them, his sabre falling behind him as he heard the metal hitting the floor. Momentarily stunned it took him a while to look over to his siblings, but as soon as his eyes met them he wished he hadn’t.

Leshy was on the ground clutching his face as he shook violently, Heket on the other hand was against a pillar as she held her throat, oozing ichor slowly as she no doubt tried to curse the one that caused the injury.

Their brother paid neither any mind as he slowly made his way to him, walking slowly as he looked down on him with pity. So now he was finally kind to him, looking at him the way all should have.

Breathing deep he tried to calm down, his three hearts now feeling like they were about to tear their way out of him as he slowly realized what was to happen. He was going to die.

The primal urge to fight back was overtaken by sheer terror as he was frozen to his spot, unable to even look at his brother he instead closed his eyes. His hands to his eyes, he tried to calm himself down.

No matter what he did however, it didn’t help. Each step he took closer to him drew him closer to the inevitability. This is what he was always afraid of wasn’t it? The unstoppable constant that is death, his brother.

The thing that pushed them so far from those lackadaisical days at his temple, to now here. It was almost poetic if it wasn’t so scary.

Steps stopped close to him. A second then a minute, nothing happened. Too afraid to open his eyes he waited for his assured doom, why couldn’t his brother just finish him already? Had he have to torture him like this?

But instead of a blade striking down he heard his brother’s voice. This time it felt… odd. ‘’Why are you afraid brother?’’ He stopped shaking ever so slightly as he moved his fingers just enough to look upon his executioner. ‘’Haven’t I told you, you have nothing to fear as long as you are willing to fight?’’

He was stunned for a moment, his surprise caused by his voice just as much as his unwillingness to finish him off. ‘’I-I c-cant… I can’t fight-t I.. I’’ He tried to form words but his throat squeezed harder and harder at his attempt.

Seemingly not seeing his struggle, or perhaps because of that struggle ‘’Why so?’’

Gathering what courage he had within him he looked up, his fingers fully parted he gazed upon his brother. Now on his knee with his weapon to his side, he gave him a curious look. Breathing in deep, he let it out with a sigh ‘’I… I have no blade’’ His throat constricting further at his attempt he felt the tears finally breach as he wailed ‘’J-just end it already!’’

Just why was he still playing with him?! What was his damn game? Had he just wanted to see him in tears, did he just want to humiliate him one more time as if he wasn’t already?

Lost in thought he didn’t see his hand move to his face, gasping for a moment as he felt his paw wiping at one of the tears running down his eyes. In a voice so soft ‘’You have a blade, one so dear to me as you are’’

What blade? He thought before he remembered. His hands went to his cloak to seek his old blade to feel nothing, he felt a terrifying chill run down his body before suddenly he saw it within Narinder’s paw, offering it to him just like once before.

Hesitantly he reached out, grasping the weapon by the small hilt. His brother gave him a smile before he grabbed him by the shoulder. Slowly they got up, both upright as Narinder moved a step away from him.

He small smile crept to his lips before in a playful tone ‘’Come on Kalamari, show me what you got’’

He oddly enough returned his smile, maybe out of confusion or perhaps fear. It began, slow at first as his brother countered his attacks. His strikes were not like the ones a moment past, they weren’t softer perhaps but they didn’t carry the same intent from before.

But eventually the warm up ended as the spar or fight or really whatever this was supposed to be really started. Almost like a dance his brother struck from one side to the next, spinning a moment before jumping high. It was not really a sound idea in battle to do either but it was… Fun.

Taking his clue he started his own ‘dance’, crouching low before raising his blade high to meet his on air. Spinning on his tentacles to match his turns and weaves, to add to their play.

In the end, he couldn’t call this much of a spar, but it was something more perhaps. Something that made him forget all those years spent fearing him, something that quickly ended with the addition of another dancer who didn’t seem to care much about softening their blows.

This new dancer was not really in favor of their dance going on longer either as they struck true and quick. In a few short moments he found himself going against the newcomer alongside his brother, this time neither struck soft as they battled them.

But by sheer chance or perhaps misfortune his brother fell to his knees, a moment so wrong and horrific. Not one moment sooner he found himself on the ground also with a strange ring in his ears as they felt… odd. Something ran through his head as he looked up to meet his sibling with their claws against his brother’s throat.

Realization hit him as he understood what he had just done, he fought against his eldest. The thought terrified him to his core as his mind ran with the possibility of what was to happen to him. Would he be cast out? Would he be run through with claws? Would he…

He was taken from these portents by the gasps of his brother who struggled in the grasp of their elder. In that moment he felt horror stronger than that of the fear he felt for his own life, one for his brother’s.

So their dance ended for real this time, as his blade pierced the heart of their eldest when they seemed so intent on taking the life of his brother, overlooking his sheer existence for the last time. One moment they looked within their brother’s dimming eyes with nothing but pain and in the next they found themselves in his realm as they collapsed upon the stone.

His brother breathed hard as he looked up to him from the ground, his eyes regaining their shine as he gazed upon his blade which ran with ichor.

Offering his hand he took it in his a moment later, and they rose up from the ground just like a moment before their dance.

He felt an awkward silence settle between the two of them before the soft voice from before cut through ‘’You did good Kalamari’’ He chuckled softly ‘’Real good’’

As he felt a small chuckle rise out of him, he found himself in his embrace, He did good didn’t he?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/114866662

Heyyyyy, another chapter. we are at 18th now, it is not really a special number nor does it have some odd significance to me but I felt like pointing it out.

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy another chapter on the adventures of the camellia trio (Yes thats what I will call them) as they go into a place they really shouldn’t

Having Fluffffffffy wool is a perfectly adequate reason for being chosen as a vessel.

there are two kinds of cult of the lamb fanart, probablycanon!cotl and fluffy!cotl. there is no in-between. look at this baby, honestly take a look at fluffy!lambert and tell me that you wouldn't (platonically) plant a kiss on his forehead.

also, yes, I know, I committed the cardinal sin of sticking down text bubbles, but I was running out of time to draw yesterday and I haven't posted anything in a really long time.

also, have an extra no text version!

Frustration station

frustration area for kittens 😾😾😾