Behold the Lamb of God, Chapter 9: Deliver Us From Evil
Shamura's purple, crescent-shaped eye began to glow on his own crown. The tapestries around the chamber rippled like water disturbed by a stone, and suddenly the floor between them cracked open. A perfect circle, ten paces wide, sank several feet to create an arena.
"So be it." Lambert whispered, twirling the Zealous Axe. The weapon felt so light in his hoof, crimson energy crackling along its edge.
Shamura moved with unexpected grace, his eight legs carrying him in a spiraling pattern that made him difficult to track. From the tips of his front legs, purple energy coalesced into long, thin blades that whistled through the air.
"For my fallen siblings!" Shamura cried, launching himself toward Lambert with frightening speed. THWOOSH-THWOOSH-THWOOSH! The blades sailed through the air and Lambert leapt aside, barely avoiding the deadly shots Shamura had launched. He countered with a swing of his axe that caught only air as Shamura skittered away.
"For my slaughtered kin!" Lambert responded, charging forward.
The battle joined in earnest then...a deadly dance of red and purple energy, of slashing blades and flying limbs. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! His axe met the hardened edge of Shamura's shrp limbs again and again as their deadly danced continued. Lambert quickly discovered that Shamura fought unlike any opponent he had faced before. The Bishop didn't rely on brute strength like Leshy or trickery like Heket. Shamura fought with calculated precision, each movement flowing into the next like water finding its natural path.
"You fight well for one so young." Shamura commented as they circled each other. "But I have had over 1000 years to perfect my art."
To demonstrate, the Bishop suddenly split into eight identical copies, each attacking from a different direction. Lambert slashed through two...they vanished like smoke...before a third caught him across the flank with a glancing blow that singed his wool.
"Illusions?" Lambert gasped.
"Perceptions." Shamura corrected, his copies dissolving. "Reality is more flexible than most understand!"
The crown on Lambert's head grew hotter, almost painfully so. It seemed eager to counter this new threat. Lambert felt power surging through him, and suddenly his vision shifted. He could see trails of probability following Shamura's movements...ghostly after-images showing where the Bishop would be moments before he arrived there.
"Two can play at that game..." Lambert murmured, and now when Shamura attacked, Lambert was already moving to the spot where the Bishop would be vulnerable.
The axe connected with one of Shamura's legs, severing it cleanly. SCHAA-THRULLK!
"Wh-what have you d-done? My…my leg, I…I…" Shamura stammered, looking mortified, reeling back slightly before he seemed to find his senses again. "So. First blood to you." Shamura acknowledged, flinching from the loss. "But a spider can lose many legs and still fight."
The battle intensified as Lambert shot towards Shamura, who skittered away again, shooting MORE magical blades through the air at him. SCHWOOOSH! As Lambert dodged and rolled away, the walls of the chamber trembled with the force of their clashing! Webs snapped. Stone cracked. The glowing mushrooms in the walls flickered wildly, casting chaotic shadows across the combatants.
Lambert found himself pushed to limits he hadn't known existed. Each time Shamura seemed on the verge of overwhelming him, the crown would offer some new insight, yet another second wind again and again. And each time Lambert nearly gained the upper hand, Shamura would unveil some ancient trick that forced Lambert back on the defensive.
"You cannot win." Shamura panted after a particularly intense exchange left them both at opposite sides of the arena. "As I said, Lambert of Woolhaven…war is my domain!"
"You're SCARED." Lambert shot back.
"Scared? I'm not Kallamar, you CUR." The spider roared as he opened his mouth as glowing energy formed, bluish yellow balls of flaming magic shooting forth! The lamb barely had time to avoid it, one of the shots knocked him through the air, slamming hard into the wall with a KRAKKA-THRA-KOOOOM!
Blood filled Lambert's mouth. He had been caught off guard and he was getting hazy and dizzy. He tried to launch himself at Shamura once again, but Shamura twisted around, and a horrific spiked tail stabbed at Lambert! Horrible, foul red warmth flooded through him as Shamura watched the lamb shuddering-
Oh no. Not again. Not another death. Not more loss of memories, not more loss of SELF-
Why can't I remember their names? Why can't I remember their faces?
I'm losing their voices. I'm losing how good it felt to hold my grandpa. The soft smell of his wool.
I can't remember how cold I was drifting down the river. I can't remember who was with me. I can't even remember what my home looked like.
I can't remember ME.
All that's left is nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing nothing NOTHING NOTHING NOTHING!
"Get up." Shamura murmured quietly as he gazed down at the still form of Lambert, who laid there on the temple floor, blood pooling around him, his frame softly twitching. "I know…that the Red Crown will never allow you to walk away from your duty."
As if to prove Shamura's point, the Red Crown surged with sudden ferocity. Lambert gasped as new power flooded through him...dark and hungry, eager for completion. His vision tinged crimson around the edges, and he felt his control slipping.
"No." Lambert whispered, fighting the crown's influence. "This is my battle." He angrily hissed. He could only remember one tiny thing now. Someone giving him the bell collar he now wore, showing off the soft gold of it, with a cute little snowflake insignia in the middle of a diamond at the back. "NO. I'M…IN…CONTROL!"
And with that, he shot forward, and ducked under Shamura's sweeping leg. Another horrific, foul SCHAA-SCHLUKKK, and that limb went soaring through the air, carved fresh from the spider's enormous purple body.
"I can see him in your eyes now." Shamura said quietly. "My brother. Narinder. That same dark edge. You wield his power so easily." He remarked as the lamb panted and heaved, his eyes blazing, his teeth gritted, showing…fangs. "Tell me…does he still have the two kittens for comfort?"
Lambert had been about to do a swirling, twirling strike with his axe but he stopped, staring in stunned silence. "Aym and Baal?! How do you know about…"
Shamura's focus seemed to be lost. He tilted his head to the side, and he slightly drooled as he swayed slightly back and forth. It appeared as though all of the blood loss was finally getting to him. The fight, combined with the damage his mind had already taken eons ago, was having a clear, obvious impact on the spidery bishop.
"Brother…I missed you…" Shamura finally seemed to say, and Lambert felt hesitation swell up in him as he saw tears beginning to well in Shamura's eyes. The spider tried to wipe them away. "So many eyes for weeping…I do not care for it…"
"You MISSED me, did you?"
Suddenly it wasn't Lambert speaking as the Red Crown stiffened up, and Lambert with it…as Narinder, the One Who Wait's voice, rang from his mouth.
"Well…missing doesn't change what you did…or what MUST be done." Narinder snapped as he shot forward.
Shamura didn't even try to dodge as Lambert found himself swinging hard, and head separated from body. Shamura's body collapsed as he let loose an agonized SKREEE of pain, his legs that weren't carved off jittering and twitching, his head looking at Lambert's, who quietly gazed at his bloodied axe, at the ichor that coated it, then at Shamura. He felt a mixture of both pity…fury…and repulsion.
He thought he would be happy. Shamura was dead and gone. He'd finally avenged all his kin, gotten even with the Bishops for killing him.
But…no. He wasn't happy. He felt more empty than ever. Less than himself than he'd EVER felt before. Narinder's presence left him as the Red Crown softly whispered in his mind.
"It is done." It murmured. "You should return home."
"Yeah…I suppose I should, I…I…ohhh…" Lambert felt his exhausted body's tiredness finally catch up to him. He swayed alarmingly back and forth, and then the ground rushed up to meet him, and he remembered…nothing more.
…
…
…
…"So much to write, so much to SEE…"
Jourmungandr began to carve quickly into the magical tablet he held in his grip as he now stood in the dark depths of an enormous cavern. The interior was positively coated with all variety of mushrooms amidst a land filled with orange-leafed trees. The ground was rocky and purplish in tone and a soft humidity filled the air. Every once in a while, a breeze from a vein that led outside fluttered in, as the Fanatic gazed upon what laid ahead.
There, without a doubt…was a gigantic skull. A skull of, clearly, one of the First Gods. It had been some kind of mandibled thing, with a crest in the center of its head that had two horns, and humanoid hands. He could see the remnants of a right hand, a pair of knees, a left shoulder, rest was long-buried in the ground, but what was truly strange was…
The mushrooms. Such…strange mushrooms.
"My pilgrimage has lead me thus, to the caverns of a Godly skull, remnants of a Great One now decaying into earth. The air here smells sweet, the soil rich and dark…" Jourmungandr wrote, speaking aloud. "I hear whispers, I feel watched, yet there is naught around, just these strange, small mushrooms, their spots almost like eyes…but that's impossible…?" He mumbled as he finished his work on the tablet before gazing at the red mushroom that sat on top of the Great One's skull. He tilted his hooded head slightly before setting down a Commandmant Stone, and rapping it on the top.
It softly glowed when his Zealous Sword touched it, and he spoke into it, a very familiar voice calling back.
"Ahhh! Hoh-hoh-hoh! My dear Jourmungandr, I've not heard from you in a month! What ARE you seeing out there?" Chemach chuckled.
"Amazing wonders." The cobra entity confessed as he put his blade away and looked about the enormous cavern he found himself in. "I've been documenting everything I can find in my travels around the Lands of Oniero." He admitted cheerily. "And oh, I have SUCH sights to show you when I return. And to Yngna too, she's going to love hearing about all the things that I have seen. I'm already working on a song for my lil' lamb."
"She'll like that a lot. I'll be waiting by the iron gate, my dear boy." Chemach offered warmly. "With the freshest of wine for us to drink together, and of course, my muffins."
"I DO love your muffins." Jourmungandr wistfully intoned with a sigh. "Soft and light, yet so sweet…juuuust the right amount of chocolate chips in them, with a light roast to them to really bring out the flavor…" He added as he tilted his head to the side, picturing those beautiful baked goods in his minds eye before he noticed, out of the corner of his NORMAL eye, that…the mushroom atop the First God's skull was DROOLING!
There was no doubt about it. The mushroom was apparently alive, and drooling, a dull, soft moan coming from what was clearly not black markings in the center of a big white spot, but a face with eyes and lips and wrinkles, and…and an "X". An "X" marking above that face. Something about that seemed so…familiar. But how?
"Mushroooooooomoooo…" It murmured. "Mushroooooooomoooo…" It said as, sure enough, what appeared to be…living mushroom people were now emerging from behind the remnants of the First God, and even from the grotto that laid within it's giant skull. They were small, greyish-skinned and very small. Almost cute in an ugly sense, Jourmungandr inwardly mused as he gazed at them all and felt a shudder go through him.
Of course. The giant mushroom thing must be, somehow, producing life. It had remnants from the First Ones seeping into it and was, thus, creating that spark of life, a spark blessed by tiny remnants of the First Ones! That X marking was like a crown!
"Do you talk?" Jourmungandr asked.
"...are you…one of the Great Ones?" One of the "Mushroomos" asked, looking expectantly at Jourmungandr as their red eyes looked upon his own yellow ones.
"We have been here worshipping the remnants of this Great One. It birthed us." Another added, as they all turned and bowed, Jourmungandr slightly cringing as he realized they were all as butt naked as could be.
"I'm VERY flattered to see you're devoted to the First Ones, even if the devotion is to one of their corpses." He confessed as he looked around. "You could probably use some…clothing." He added as he began to rifle through his bag and began to bring out some cloth, handing out what he had to the nearest Mushroomos. "Here." he offered. "To help provide some cover for you, so you'll feel warmer." He added gently, the cobra entity giving a bow.
"First Ones, sir?" The Mushroomo whom he'd given the cloth to asked, the others crowding around, looking intrigued. "You know about them?"
"Yes. I was given one of their crowns by their first children, Chemach, wisest and truly most blessed of them all." Jourmungandr said with a deep bow of his head. "I am Jourmungandr, who Stands for Faith and its tenets." He told the assembled mushroom people as he held his arms out. "I will be honored to speak to you of the glory of the First Ones, and tell you all that was told to me."
"We only have mere glimpses of what they were, sir. The remnants that gave us life in turn provided faint flashes of their memories." The cloth-holding Mushroomo confessed as Jourmungandr's eyes widened and he quickly got out yet another magical tablet from his bag, the others noticing as he took out his blade to begin writing. "We'll be happy to tell you what was passed to us through our very roots-wait. Sir, uh…that sword, it's…BLINKING!"
Indeed it was! The Zealous Blade had, sure enough, an eye in the center. Yellow with a black pupil, just like his own, as Jourmungandr chuckled.
"Oh, that's nothing to fear." he said as he bowed his head slightly. "I make all my weapons, and my offerings to the First Ones, from my own flesh and bone. I usually use my tail, it grows back the quickest." He added, gesturing at his coiled-up tail beneath him with a thick black claw. "That, and a quick plucking of an eye…" He raised his head up and pointed at the center of his forehead.
The mushroomos gasped. A wet, meaty SCHLOOORGGGGH-POP noise rang out! Another eyeball manifested in the center of his skull as he winked at them with that "middle eye". "It also regrows back quickly. Doing this to my weaponry builds a connection to me. I give extra to my followers. Their faith and zeal and fervor pour into it when they fight and this in turn, gives me further power. I, in turn, also pour MY power into the weapons. It's a…symbiosis. As I gain strength, so do they."
"Ohhhhhhh!" The mushroom people all looked in awe as Jourmungandr held out his hands and warmly smiled.
"Little ones…do you wish to be fully inducted into the First Faith? Shall I give you some weapons for defense in addition to the clothing on your back? A trade for your stories about my beloved gods?"
"What's THIS, sir?"
One of them held up something that had been in the bag and Jourmungandr looked down at it. It was a very nice guitar, with a cute bell-shaped soundhole in the middle. It also had, at the top of the neck near the tuning pegs, a distinct snowflake insignia in the middle of a diamond.
"Oh, this is a very precious gift to me. The commandment stones were from my dearest Chemach, and this guitar was from my beloved Yngna, the God of Winter, Mother of the Flock, wielder of the Frost Crown." Jourmungandr wistfully murred as he took the guitar up, and softly strummed on it. His eyes were filled with warm memories, and his face showed that in that moment, he was a thousand miles away, and years away in his mind. "Yngya's VERY special…" He murmured. "My "lil lamb" made this for me in Ewefall, in the realm of Woolhaven, in the mountains, one very special night. A…very…VERY special night…"
He softly strummed on it, his head lightly bouncing as the Mushroomos all sat about, listening eagerly.
First warm day in all these months! All the sunlight made me drunk!
Made me feel like I could run…Made me feel…like I was young!
So I went out all on my own…I told no one where'd I'd go!
Anyway I did not know! I only knew…I had to go!
Out beyond the iron gaaaaate! Out there where you…saaaaaaid you'd wait!
…
…
…
…it couldn't be.
COULD it?
Lambert awoke with a start, gasping, clutching at his head. That prophetic dream…the old memory. That guitar's symbol.
Now it all made sense. ALL of it. The Entity of Love's interest in him, why he'd been helping Lambert. Of course! Of COURSE. The way he'd talked about Yngna, the way he'd ACTED around her, that special gift with the symbol on it, that pet name!
Lambert quickly took off his bell collar, turning the golden sphere around, looking at the back and, sure enough…there it was. That snowflake symbol in the middle of a diamond.
As he began the long trek home, every leaf seemed to turn its back to him. Every gust of wind sighed with Shamura's mournful prophecies, whispering tales of blinding, terrible light. Lambert's hooves moved mechanically over familiar forest paths, yet a thousand miles separated him from home. He felt it: not on his shoulders, but as a hollowness inside where something essential...memories, a name, a mother's scent...had once been.
Ancestors...?
The words echoed not in the forest's hush, but within him. The thought of having family, a lineage extending beyond the blood-stained altar where this entire nightmare began, felt both like a sunbeam piercing storm clouds and like standing at the edge of a cliff made of glass. It was a beautiful, terrifying vertigo.
Jourmungandr and Yngna...
The cobra's song lilting through the grotto, that snowflake and diamond on the back of his collar...it was a thread. Not of crimson prophecy or power, but of simple, fragile humanity. A history.
And what had he become, this descendant of a forgotten god and a love-stricken god of seasons?
A vessel. An executioner. He began to wonder what his life SHOULD have been like.
What would he have been had the Bishops not done what they did? If Yngna was still around, if Sheep Kind hadn't been slaughtered?
It gave him a newfound purpose in his mind, a new hope. The dream of the past had opened a path to the future! Perhaps he wasn't a god of death or war or pestilence. He could be something else. He didn't have to be Narinder's echo! Perhaps he could…
Wait.
It was too quiet. The gentle burble of the stream that marked the perimeter path not far from his village should have been audible from here. But there was only a profound, unnerving stillness. And then, the silence sharpened, gained texture...a wrongness, vast and chilling, that emanated from ahead.
He broke into a run.
And he stopped dead.
His community...his HOME...was gone.
The huts, lovingly built from the finest wood and stone they could find, were still there. The cooking fire pit was now a nest of cold ash. Ratau's whittling knife lay on a stump, a half-finished spoon still gripped in the imaginary hand of its creator. But the life, the noise, the heart of the place... extinguished. No voices. No laughter. No Ratau cheerfully trying to remember things he didn't even know he'd lost. No...NANA.
This didn't make sense. There was NO WAY Nana or Ratau would leave. And where was Jourmungandr, who'd stayed behind to-
Oh no. The gigantic cobra entity was there, and he was curled on the ground, very, VERY badly hurt. Lambert approached, cringing in disgust at what he saw. Jourmungandr's hands had been horribly burned...in fact, his arms had been burned. The cobra had already had damaged skin, Lambert had realized this earlier, that apparently being skinned alive by the Bishops had peeled off so much that what was left had looked like raw meat beneath, pink and rare, but now...now the flesh of his arms was so horribly blackened.
"I...tried to...hold onto the cage as long as I could. Tried to...pull it...out of..." Jourmungandr groaned aloud. "But I used up so much strength earlier, trying to keep them safe from Shamura's forces. I couldn't hold on." He shamefully confessed. "He's t-taken them, Lambert. The cage went in and…and I c-couldn't stop it…"
"T-taken who? WHERE?! Who's taken-" Lambert began, then saw it. There…a portal that swirled in the far edge of his makeshift home, their lovely little village. A dark, horrible, reddish thing like a swirling red eye.
"All of them were f-forced into a...a cage." Jourmungandr hissed out, panting heavily, ichor oozing from the side of his mouth. "Ratau and Nana were the last..."
And Lambert's world narrowed to one, horrific conclusion. He saw it all, playing out: Nana, her face frozen in terror but still defiant. Ratau, confused and blinking in amazement at what was going on. He thought he'd left them somewhere safe. Instead…
Narinder.
It wasn't a portal to another land, another lair, per se. The sickly, draining colors, the taste of decay and stillness hanging in the still air... Lambert recognized it instantly. It was a doorway to the Grey.
The God of Death's prison was now empty.
This wasn't an attack. This wasn't another crusade. This was... something final. A homecoming. He thought he'd been coming home, but Narinder... was just coming for what he'd considered HIS home.
"Lambert…this path has become very wrong..." Jourmungandr rasped, pushing himself up, groaning as blackened flakes peeled from his arms. "Whatever the Red Crown whispers to you…resist it. D-Do not…fall entirely."
But a chilling new certainty had already hardened around Lambert's heart. "I have no choice." he said quietly. He looked up towards the portal to the land of death and steeled himself. But before he stepped through, he turned back to Jourmungandr. "...I want to know though." he added quietly, picking up the bell that hung from his collar. "Are you...are you my ancestor?" he asked of the God of Love.
Jourmungandr looked back and tears formed in his eyes. "I think I am. Yes." He murmured. "Yngna and I had...quite a lot of children. All s-sheep, of course. Except for a couple goats." He added with a harsh chuckle as more ichor oozed from his mouth, and those horrible burned arms singed and hissed. "When I s-saw that symbol on the back of your bell collar, I was sure...you must be d-descended from one of our little lambs...we put that sy-symbol on all the bell collars of our progeny..."
He began to weep now. "I never thought...I thought you all w-were g-gone, b-b-b-but to find out you lived...that Yngya...that one of her...o-one of OUR little lambs made it through...gave me one last spark, Lambert. A reason to not just let him destroy us all."
Lambert stood dumbfounded. He felt the weight of that truth settle upon him. Family. Not just the idea of it, but someone who was here, NOW, looking upon him and acknowledging what they shared. A godly figure, someone important.
It only made everything burn like a raging flame now that he realized all of them...and now even HIS newfound connection to this god, his new, long lost FAMILY...were in danger because of him.
"...I promise...I won't let him keep them." the Lamb whispered, and then the world dissolved into greyscale nothingness.
…
…
…
…in truth, to step into the Grey was to have existence scraped away. Not darkness, not emptiness, but the profound absence of...everything. The warmth of the sun on wool, the sharp scent of evergreen, the reassuring weight of the ground under hoof...it all vanished. Here, in this realm of drained-out monochrome, reality itself felt stretched thin, like the skin of a starving creature.
The Grey looked just as it had during his first visit…a bleak landscape of greyish white and swirling fog. But something had changed. The mists seemed thinner, the endless void less absolute.
And there…there HE was. Narinder. That big, tall, three-eyed cat, with dark grey fur, body RADIATING raw power the likes of which Lambert hadn't felt previously now that he was unchained. Aym and Baal stood nearby, the two larger-than-Lambert cats holding their weapons, looking quietly at Lambert, then over to their god whom they attended.
But what made Lambert's blood run cold was what he saw to the right of the throne...an enormous cage crafted of red energy, pulsating like a living heart. Inside, crowded together in terrified huddles, were all his followers. Ratau pressed against the bars, his one eye wide with fear. Amdusias had curled into a tiny ball, trembling by his brother. Gusion was trying to comfort Focalor and Saleos and there, at the front, her pink fur unmistakable even in this dim light, was Nana.
"Lambert!" she cried, reaching a paw through the bars. "Run! You have to run!"
"Silence!" Narinder's voice boomed throughout the air, the force of it nearly knocking Lambert off his hooves. The God of Death advanced, and his form seeming to grow larger with each step he took toward Lambert.
"Your appetite for death is something I can admire, Vessel." Narinder said, his voice like velvet over broken glass. "You wield the Red Crown almost as excellently as I do. But the Crown is mine, and in the end none...NONE...are worthy. None other than I. You shall lay down your life and return to me what is mine. After millennia, all may bask in my glory once more."
Lambert found himself backing away involuntarily, the crown on his head suddenly ice-cold against his wool.
"Vessel." Narinder continued, extending one massive paw toward Lambert, claws gleaming. "I relinquish you from your service to the Red Crown. Return it to me, and embrace the end that awaits. With this last sacrifice of my most devoted Follower, I will be freed. Finally... I will be FREE! Approach, vessel, and lay your life down at my feet."
The crown whispered urgently in Lambert's mind. And instead of telling him to submit…
It sounded…
DESPERATE.
"Don't listen! He'll destroy you! Fight him!"
And for perhaps the first time, Lambert found himself agreeing with the crown. This was wrong. All of it...the kidnapping of his friends, the demand for sacrifice, the grandiose proclamations. This wasn't a misunderstood deity seeking justice. This was something else entirely.
Still, what chance did he have against his god? Lambert took one hesitant step forward, then another, his head bowed in apparent submission.
"Yes." Narinder purred. "You understand. It is the natural order of things."
But then Lambert raised his eyes up and said a single word, quiet…but firmly.
"No."
Narinder's massive head tilted, as if he hadn't quite heard correctly. "What did you say, Vessel?"
"I said no." Lambert planted his hooves firmly on the obsidian floor, raising his head to meet Narinder's gaze directly. "I won't be your sacrifice. And I won't give you the crown."
The God of Death's fur bristled, his three eyes narrowing to slits. "You dare defy me? In my own realm?"
"I do." Lambert replied, surprised at the steadiness in his voice. "Because I finally see you for what you TRULY are now. Not a god of mercy or second chances. Not a misunderstood victim. "You demand fealty and dominion, no different than the siblings you claim to hate. Anything good about you died ages ago. "
Narinder's face contorted with rage. "Insolent lamb! I gave you life!"
"And I'm grateful for that." Lambert admitted. "But that doesn't mean I owe you my death. Or the lives of my friends."
"So you betray me, ignoble lamb?!" Narinder hissed out coldly.
"The lands will never be free while you draw breath." Lambert snapped back.
"VERMIN." Narinder darkly glowered. "I've not "drawn breath" in a very...very long time. But so be it. You've shunned my gospel and claimed yourself a false idol. You shall be punished. Aym! Baal!"
Narinder turned to his attendants as they advanced.
"Deal with him."
They clanged their weapons together, Baal with his multi-pronged, circular spear, the one-eyed Baal with his curved-moon-shaped scythe. "I will take care of this beast, master. I will cut that crown from its HEAD!" Aym proclaimed.
"Yes, master. Allow us. I will give this wretch a taste of your wrath!" Baal roared out.
"I'm willing to spare you two." Lambert said quietly as he held up his hooved paw and focused, and manifested a twirling, spiked mace, spinning it around and around rapidly. "Just as I did with the Bishop's lieutenants. I have mercy."
"You'll be the one begging for THAT, boyo." Aym whispered as he and Baal launched forth.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE!
For those wondering what song I used, it's Beyond the Iron Gate, by Richard Shindell. Specifically, THIS version.
What's this song about, you may ask? Well...if you can't figure it out from the lyrics, then I'll tell you next chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, though. For those wondering, I've actually gotten a BUTTLOAD of inspiration from folk singers and their songs like him. His work's kind of been a fixture in my own for a long, long time.
