COTL: Behold the Lamb of God, Chapter 10: Where You Said You'd Wait
A spear slammed hard into Lambert's shoulder. As it carved its way through his wool, the spearhead bit deeply into flesh. But to Lambert's shock, his arm didn't fall clean off like it almost had before when Focalor attacked him. He just roared, more annoyed than hurt as he swung the mace, catching them on the spear and knocking it free!
"Very well. If you won't surrender, you'll be whetstones for my weapons, then." He quietly intoned. But instead of finishing the job he'd started...the mace dropped. Instead…
The Red Crown changed.
It shifted with purpose and grace, melting into Lambert's hoove not to reform into another weapon, but into…something else.
A shield. Big, black, the singular red eye of the Red Crown in its center, with three spikes on either side. "Conviction's Guard". Lambert didn't know how he knew this thing's name...but he knew it all the same, as clearly as if he knew his OWN name.
Baal's attempt to swing his moon-shaped scythe he had on that long stick he wielded glanced right off the shield with a loud KLA-KLANG that echoed through the Grey. Lambert felt power swelling up in him and he was launched forward, the shield slamming into Baal, knocking him across the abyssal plain they stood on. Narinder visibly frowned at this as Lambert managed to get his shield up in time to block Aym's spear.
"Damn your eyes, boyo!" Aym growled out in annoyed irritation as HE was now being rapidly forced back! His paws ground against the floor beneath them as Lambert launched forward again, cringing, his arms shaking as he barely held Lambert back.
Lambert wasn't finished though. He then twirled backwards through the air, then LAUNCHED the shield as if it was a boomerang. Aym barely blocked it as the shield ricocheted back, Lambert catching it, landing expertly back upon his feet. Baal shot at him, swiping with his scythe anew, but Lambert ducked, then delivered a harsh uppercut with the shield!
KOOF! Baal went skidding across the floor and slammed directly into NARAINDER, as the cage containing Lambert's followers trembled. The cat god didn't even budge or flinch as his attendant hit him hard enough to knock him against a cage made of pure, powerful magical might. Instead, he merely looked down and then back at Lambert, and A…smug smirk came onto the God of Death's face.
"Your resilience is... tiresome, vessel. But your shield is only metal and will. And will...can be broken. " Narinder snarled coldly. He then lifted a single paw.
The very floor trembled. An unnatural light began to gather from within the cage, a siphoning force that pulled away life, color, and warmth from those trapped inside. A faint, agonized wail echoed from within. Not just one voice, but ALL of them crying out at once.
"LEAVE THEM ALONE!" Lambert roared, rushing towards the cage, shield held ready. But Narinder made a dismissive gesture with his other paw, and from beneath the ground burst two enormous chains, glowing with runes of imprisonment. They aimed at Lambert...he was trying to cheat!
But...Lambert had gotten far more quick at dodging. He spun through the air and he launched his shield. Narinder was actually caught off guard, the shield striking at his third eye! Narinder howled and clutched at it, ALL eyes closing, reeling about. As this happened, Baal and Aym turned to gaze in shock...both caught off guard as Lambert caught his shield again, whipped around, then launched himself forward.
THRUDDA-KAA-SCHWOOOM! He slammed into both Baal and Aym, knocking them both back, sending them flying. They landed hard on the floor of the Grey beyond. Meanwhile, Nana had noticed Ratau was unconscious, the only one in the dark magic cage that had conked out, and she was shaking him madly. "Ratau! Ratau, please, PLEASE wake up!"
Ratau was, unbeknownst to her...seeing his life flashing before his eyes. His mind had been damaged heavily by the resurrection that Lamb had tried, but now at the moment of seeming death, for he'd been physically weakest out of everyone that Narinder had taken, he was remembering things...things he'd long forgotten were now being recalled, especially...his fight with Leshy, Bishop of Chaos. The one that had ended so poorly.
It hadn't started OUT that way though. He had the Red Crown with him then, HE'D been Narinder's vessel, with a nice, large group by his side, including even a former god himself. Red fur, with white eyes that had black pupils, there were distinct red slits in the center of those pupils that distinguished Lord Russel from the other compatriots Ratau had with him. He had once been the God of Nothingness, meaning he'd been considerably powerful, so much so that he'd been considered at one point (or so he'd said) to be the new God of Death until Sude himself had chosen Narinder.
Surely, Ratau had thought, they could handle Leshy with a former god at their side. Which was why they now faced down the enormous, green, fuzzy, bloodied-wrappings-over-his-face caterpillar as he stood there in his temple, towering high above them. His many-horned head "gazed" at them despite having no eyes, seeing without seeing, being...oddly quiet for the Bishop of Chaos of the Old Faith.
"Heed my words, Bishop of Chaos! My master, The One Who Waits, has decreed you be punished for what you did to help! With your death, he shall be freed!" Ratau had proclaimed, holding a very fancy black dagger with a red eye in the center, the Red Crown having turned into a weapon Ratau was more familiar with using due to his excellent herbology and potion-making skills.
Leshy clucked his tongue, and began to slightly chuckle. Then...the chuckle turned into mad cackling.
"It's...it's not THAT funny..." Ratau muttered as he glanced at his compatriots, Lord Russel getting a very nasty-looking spell ready, his paws becoming coated in what appeared to be dark, oddly translucent magic.
"REALLY? You of all people?" Leshy had turned to look at Lord Russel. "One of the cowards who took their crown off. Oh how the mighty have fallen. That stupid snake had more balls than you, he at least had the dignity to try and fight before we forced him to renounce his faith. You just dumped your crown over your shoulder and ran." Leshy kept guffawing madly. "And you think...you think you're hot stuff without it?!" He began to chortle, his whole, big, green body shaking.
"Hey! I'm right here, y'know!" Ratau angrily growled as he reached into his bag. Nitroglycerine! Made of the chemical nitroglycol, chips of wood, ammonium nitrate, which was, itself, made nitric acid and ammonia. It took a LOT of effort to produce...but once you had the right chemical compounds from the proper elements gathered from the edge of the forest and in Darkwood's caves, you had what you needed for small, homemade explosives! You simply needed a wick...and a little flame. Which was what was now being tossed right at Leshy!
Or rather...a specific type of bomb. You see, the focus wasn't on the explosive. Most everyone knew Leshy couldn't see, so his other senses had had to make up for what he lacked, especially sound...and SMELL. Hence...why an ammonia bomb was now soaring right at Leshy's face as he realized a little too late just what it was when the wick at the end of it fizzled down into the bomb and-
KRAAA-THROOOOOOSSSSH!
As one Steve Irwin would have put it, "Crikey! Da smell is 'orrific!" Leshy's nose would have twitched if he had one, but instead, he was busy choking, gagging, gasping and spazzing out, falling over onto one side as Ratau, Lord Russel, and Amedda the Antelope ran forward.
"It worked!" Lord Russel snarled triumphantly before Ratau held up a hoof.
"We aren't done yet! Let me do the honors!" He proclaimed, and pulled a long rope out. And he used an amazing little tool at the end to fire up a rope. He had a hook, a rope, and even some climbing gear. Ratau was nothing if not a planner. Now, the rope was being lassoed towards Leshy...with a perfect throw around Leshy's wrappings! Lord Russel and Amedda grabbed on and they began to heft and heave! Leshy screeched, flailed, clawed and bit…they were trying to rip off more of his wrappings! As the green Caterpillar-Bishop roared at how much pain this was causing him.
"Let GO! LET-GOOOOO!"
"Tiiiimmmbeeeerrrr!"
RRRRIIIP! That last pull at last made those bandages tear open, exposing underneath...the raw hideousness that lay within. His head...it was all...FLESH. Red, raw, scarred over flesh, like someone had used acid to blind him. His eyes were disgusting, scratched-to-shreds sockets, the visible scar marks still horribly visible.
"Good GODS." Ratau winced and cringed from the sight as Lord Russel gaped.
"So it was TRUE." Lord Russel intoned. "Narinder..."
Leshy let loose an earth-shattering bellow then, flailing his head around as his enormous tongue lashed out, smacking at them! Ratau and Lord Russel and Amedda avoided it, but quite a few other compatriots were being knocked to the side as Leshy now decided to transform. "You are going to PAY FOR THAT!" He roared out. "You...DIRTY...RAT!"
And with that, his body pulsated and throbbed, powerful red magic swelling all about him. His body grew to an even greater side, the eye sockets no longer empty, but instead...were now FILLING. In his mutated, "Eldtritch" form, Leshy was even more horrific, with his horrible, circular fanged mouth growing larger, extra horns of wood jutting up from his head. He didn't just have a couple eyes now, but a plethora now gazing at them all, inky black with slit red pupils, horrible acidic drool cascading from his jaws.
And Ratau knew it was acid cuz he SPAT it at them. Lord Russel was "lucky", it splashed across his left wrist and he howled as his hand fell off. Amedda tried to dodge behind a tree stump...but only got halfway. It was a horrific sight. Ratau gaped in shock as others were being doused in acidic spit shots, or being horribly slammed into the walls, some flat out SQUISHED by sheer force.
Then that thick tail end shot at him. He barely had time to get his dagger up, but it only scarcely deflected the blow and instead, a true indignity happened. He dropped the dagger the Red Crown had formed, it spun through the air and, looking really smug and grinning in a nasty smirk, Leshy grabbed the edge and SHAA-SCHLLUUKKK!
Ratau screamed in agony. He clutched at his eye, the Red Crown dissolving away...returning to Narinder. He'd...proven unworthy. Critically injured with his OWN weapon. The very tool The One Who Waits had given him! All hope gone. Lying there as he saw another compatriot being squeezed hard as a blood-sac sprayed her life juice all over the walls. All because…he'd been such a fool.
And now...he was a coward, as he turned and ran, Lord Russel gaping, holding his own severed paw/hand...
This...this horrible moment in his life was what Ratau found himself remembering as his eyes fluttered open and he gazed up into Nana's eyes.
"...Nana. I've a small batch of ammonia and a few other choice chemicals in my belt pouches..." He whispered out. "Help me mix them up...quick!" he said as quietly as he could, Lambert struggling as both Aym and Baal were now double-teaming him. Narinder had regained his eyesight and summoned chains again, to try and bind Lambert to the floor. The two were slicing at him peacemeal, trying to break him down slowly.
"Oh thank goodness..." Nana began to say, but she saw the seriousness in Ratau's eyes. Nodding, she dived into his belt pouch he wore, getting out the small little rocks and vials within, mixing the rocks into a few of the vials as Ratau pulled out a small little flask, opening the top. Nana popped the mixture in, capping it quickly as Ratau stuck a small, tiny bit of ripped-off clothing into the top for a wick, and then quickly struck the bomb against the magic card.
A spark. SSSSSZZT. The bomb was ignited, and Ratau launched it through the air...an ammonia bomb, aimed right at Narinder, who turned just in time to see it soar right at his feline face.
The three-eyed God of Death gaped as Baal and Aym glanced up, staring in stunned surprise, their weapons dripping with Lambert's blood. Those in the cage had seen the chemicals being mixed and they plugged their noses, Lambert realizing what was about to happen. Aym and Baal raced forward to try and get to their master, thinking their lord was about to have his face blown off, and as such all three cats got caught in the blast-
THRAAA-KOOOOOOOOOOOSH!
As the Good Book put it in John 11:39, "Lord, by now he stinketh!" What a stench indeed! As if one had been "dead four days". That pungent, piercing assault hit the divine senses of all three felines hard, especially for beings who had spent AGES locked in a sterile land with little more than decay to "sniff" at from beyond. It was a brutal chemical warfare assault that caught them off guard.
"MY LORD! WHAT WAS THAT...HACHOOOOO!...OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE-" Aym sneezed as Narinder clamped paws over noses, all three of them flailing, sneezing, their bodies shaking with convulsions and their three-eyed sight blurred even within the darkened realm. The overwhelming olfactory attack made their senses reel...unpleasant smells were not something they often had to deal, Lambert also covering his nose, realizing what Ratau had been up to.
"NOW, RATAU!" Nana barked out.
With renewed vigor, Ratau, still on the floor of the cage with some followers watching him, began yanking a vial, a vial...of what looked like pure water, out...tossing it at Lambert with all his remaining strength. The little potion sailed across the open void...and landed in Lambert's outstretched hand. Rattau gave a nod to Lambert, a quiet understanding between them, though neither could quite grasp the strange memories they each seemed to have regained from that near-death experience...
GHAA-GLUGG. Lambert downed it in one gulp! His strength returning, he twisted his arm back, focusing all his strength as he launched "Conviction's Guard" through the air and SCHAA-SCHWUUUUKKKK!
It sailed forth like a spinning top, the spikes on the end of the shield slicing in a curved arc. Aym and Baal's throats were carved open, and they fell down, gasping, gurgling, Narinder staring with pure, absolute shock. His eyes bulged wide, he looked genuinely horrified, perhaps even saddened for a few moments as he reeled back.
Lambert felt slightly sickened by the sight. What a waste. He'd wanted to spare them if he could. It was only supposed to be the Bishops who died...but now...now all that was left was Narinder as Aym and Baal finally stilled and Lambert caught the shield in one hand. TWHUNK. He focused as it manifested into a familiar eyeball-having orange sword...the Zealous Sword, with its wrapped hilt, and the multiple blinking yellow eyes upon it, with piercing black pupils.
His followers gazed expectantly upon him and he felt it...felt their devotion flowing into him so clearly, so powerfully, as he spun the blade around in one hand.
"You shall not survive this, Narinder."
"You think yourself victorious?" Narinder's deep, dark voice growled. "You think yourself safe? Do not forget you bElOnG tO mE." Narinder angrily hissed. "The Crown is mine by divine right! You think to stand in the very face of DEATH!?" Narinder roared as he began to change. His eyes became pure red, a horrible, nasty smirk coming to his face as black ichor was oozing from out of his mouth like drool. The pupils faded as his teeth somehow got sharper, and more numerous, his eyes turning into black, soulless things with cross-shaped red symbols for pupils. The middle eye in the center of his forehead closed as his face split open into four fleshy segments, multiple eyes bursting out on all the parts! His robe ripped and tore, turning into shreds as his skin became reddish and raw save for that single patch that covered his third eye on his forehead, and his ears atop hsihead turned into spiky horns.
It reminded Lambert briefly of Jourmungandr. His own scales had been pink and raw too, but...in comparison, the damage had been done ages ago, and the rawness of his scales had meant wounds beginning to properly heal. The red, foul skin Narinder now was more of fresh-peeled flesh. Had this been what Jourmungandr had looked like when he'd failed to win against the Bishops?
Lambert however...was not afraid. He twirled the blade in one hand and a dark grin came over his face. "Well...well...well. You finally look as disgusting as you really are."
"Even after I have slaughtered you, your pain will not end. YoU cAnNoT eScApE mE. EvEn! iN! DEATH!" Narinder let loose a horrific roar, as the whole Grey around him began to shift and mold. It turned into a reddish, hellish landscape, as spiky chains began to rise and twist up from the ground like snakes.
Narinder blinked and his eyeballs popped from his head! They began floating around, suspended on pulsating flesh, aimed at Lambert as Narinder clenched his blackened claws. SCHWOOOP! They sank into the floor of the dark reddened abyss all around. Meanwhile, worst of all, the magical cage was gone...but now with a SHUDDA-SHUDDA-THRUNK, all of Lambert's followers were forcibyl tried to crosses! They had been crucified to them, stakes embedded in their wrists and knees to keep them from escaping! It was horrifying, they were screaming, wailing, crying.
"You truly are a heartless thing." Lambert said, his eyes becoming dark slits. "I was right. Any bit of goodness in you died a long time ago. You deserve to die."
"You can't kill DEATH." Narinder laughed as several of his eyes popped up from the bloody ground around, firing off pulsating fiery balls at Lambert! SCHOO-SCHUUUUM! The zealous sword was brought up as he reflected one of the shots, then began to spin his blade, knocking several away...and then a nasty, cruel trick played.
As a fireball shot for Nana. He panicked a bit, leaping towards her to intercept-
BANG! It was too late. The fiery eyeball-blast had seared Nana's right cheek. She screamed in agony, fur burned away, revealing red scorched tissue. The scent was putrid, of burning hair and blistered skin.
The red rage he'd been so used to now was replaced with ice.
"...No. Nononononono..." Lambert gaped in horror at what had befallen Nana, the crown getting so hot on him now it was melting into his scalp it felt like. He gaped up, saw the smirking, sneering, absolutely monstrous face of the feline God of Death, now fully revealed. He was not simply a god...he was an absolute MONSTER now. He saw Ratau, Focalor, Saleos,Gusion, Barbatos, Amdusias…all were on crosses too. And now, thanks to this horrid, feline fiend's power, he had HARMED Nana for trying to do the RIGHT thing.
"If you want him punished, FOCUS." he heard the Red Crown speak in his mind as the Red Crown shot right back at him, the Zealous Sword manifesting anew in his hand. The eyeballs all popped up at once to fire a wave of flame at Lambert! THWOOOSH!
Lambert, however, was ready now. With a powerful swing, and a loud "HRAAAAH!" he launched himself up, through the air.
WHOOOOOOSH!
The fiery energy was avoided now as Lambert shot himself down from on high, the Zealous Sword aimed right for the monstrous feline entity. But Narinder simply held up a paw, and the ground shot up into a monstrous, fleshy cage around the god of death! It blocked the sword.
The ground quaked as several monstrous claws made of flesh and bone shot up to grasp and grab at Lambert, and he was forced to duck and weave, to slice and to slash with sword in paw. One grabbed him and tightened...tight...
But then SHAA-CLONKKKK! Lambert kicked out with both powerful legs into the bone claw. SNIP! A bit snapped off. The remaining part, which had been holding him tight, loosened, releasing him. He now ran across the floor as more fiery blasts erupted from the god of death, but this time…he just weaved, he twisted, he spun.
His blade sliced cleanly through another claw, this one falling off entirely. He continued on, twisting past yet another swipe. Narinder began summoning more eyeballs, firing shots more rapidly, but Lambert continued to dodge, now more swiftly, the Zealous Sword becoming a red blur in his grasp, as bone-flesh-claws were being sliced and diced, eyeballs cut to ribbons! He was carving Narinder into chunks, piece by piece!
Narinder was becoming more desperate. The god roared, the ground around him shaking as the eyeballs he still had now began firing faster and more rapidly. The god was not going to lose! He was death itself! He tried to focus all of his power, having his eyeballs converge into one big GIGANTIC eye! It centered in on Lambert and TSSSEWWWWW!
What soared forth was a pulsating, dark, burning beam of pure power, but Lambert began to spin his blade around and around and around, that throbbing beam being held back...and slowly but surely, Lambert was advancing. He kept spinning the blade with both hands, like it was a shredder carving through meat, advancing on Narinder's enormous form! Closer and closer he came!
It seemed, for one horrifying, glorious second, that the vessel's pure, unyielding might would cleave The One Who Waits in two from chin to crown. With each impact, the Followers stuck crucified on the crosses saw the moment coming closer. Lambert was wrapped in a true unstoppable aura of death, a pure, primal force about to utterly shatter Death itself. Ratau saw Narinder's pupils, those red crosses, suddenly widen. Not fear, not defeat, but… a cold realization.
Just like in the temple of Leshy, just before everything went completely chaotic, a similarly insane thought flashed through the rat's mind. "Don't do it, little bleater."
But he was trapped there, writhing helplessly on the bloodied cross, without even a chance to utter that thought.
Then, Lamb's blade sliced HARD, right...across...Narinder's third eye socket, down the nose, down the mouth. SCHAA-THRAA-SCHUUULLKKKK! Narinder's large body split open and now the Lamb stepped back and gazed on as that gigantic feline frame SPLATTERED apart into blood and guts and gore as if he'd been violently dropped from the heavens above, and what now limply crawled out was...
"...you have got to be fucking kidding me." Lambert remarked as the crosses holding his followers faded, and they flopped to the ground. Moaning and groaning, they staggered up, and gazed upon...a now-slightly-taller-than-the-lamb feline with grey fur, and white eyes with black pupils, yes, with a third eye that was closed, wearing a pathetic ragged cloth covering over his top and barely-on, equally-ragged pants.
"Ohhh!" Narinder moaned, now sounding...pathetic. Lighter in vocal tone, looking mortified and embarrassed, clutching at his knees as he curled up. "You have...supplanted me. A vessel no more. Instead, a crown-bearing deity. Damned lamb!" he moaned.
Lambert approached, looking absolutely astounded at what he was seeing. Good heavens. Narinder was almost CUTE like this. "I am at your mercy. Are you to be a vengeful false idol or a merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me." Narinder whimpered, rocking slightly back and forth as he sat on the reddish ground before them all, the Followers glancing around at one another.
"Let's crush him!"
"Kill the cat!"
"He wanted us dead!"
"He was just like any of the others!"
"He deserves death after what happened!"
Nana, meanwhile, had hobbled over and quickly gotten a cloth, and had been tending to her own injury after it had been horribly burned, looking very, very angry herself. "That smug, ugly creature!" she winced.
"I have to confess." The Red Crown whispered in Lambert's mind. "You handled that with far more skill than I thought you would..."
"What do you think? Should I kill him?!" The Lamb growled. He glared down at the pathetic looking cat-god before him.
"What do YOU want, Lambert of Woolhaven? Last of the Lambs?"
Lambert thought about it. He thought long and he thought hard. He thought of everything that had happened before, with this little god now so pathetic. He wanted to kill him so badly. To get justice for everyone who'd been killed by him and The Bishops.
But what did that even mean when Lambert had killed them all. Technically it was over. He'd avenged his kin. Shamura was gone, killed while he still had love left in him for his brother, Narinder. Heket, Kalamar, Leshy, who'd helped genocide his kind were all dead. Narinder was it. He was the last one.
"What would the First Gods have done?" Lambert quietly asked the Red Crown inside his head.
"It would have been...complicated. As you now are." The Crown quietly answered him.
"Complicated...how so?"
"Jourmungandr wasn't wrong when he said the First Gods valued a world that was just and good. My very first owner, Sude, God of Life AND Death, valued this sort of world too. But that world…doesn't exist right now. It may, perhaps, never exist. So you must decide whether you want to follow any kind of trail they left behind, or build your own completely new world." The Red Crown whispered.
"…the way they wanted things doesn't sound like it was that bad at all." Lambert quietly asked. "Why didn't it stay that way?"
"When people want more than they should…when their nature is lost, that is what causes decimation. It began with she who gave the crowns, Chemach, one of the 3 Sacred Birds, sister of Clauneck and Kudaai. When she was lost to madness, nobody was being chosen for the crowns anymore. Anyone could be a God. And the lands chose…well…poorly." The Red Crown sighed. "Five remained of hundreds blessed. Now five became four became three became two became one, became…nothing. The Bishops will pass into legend. They will just become stories to scare children. Cautionary tales."
Lambert gazed at Narinder…hesitating. Then he chose.
"If I did kill you, you would be getting off…easy." He decided as he began to focus all his power, and the Red Crown atop his head's singular red eye glowed. "And it's true…you did give me new life. Now I return the favor. You, Narinder…will be a follower like the others. For I am more than you. I am Lambert, God of Life AND Death. So….see you back at the home you RUINED. You've got a lot of cleaning up to do."
"Oh no, no no. You ignoble lamb!" Narinder gasped out as a red, circular portal began to open up beneath him. "Wait! Waaaaaiit-" He cried in shock as he tumbled in head over heels, paws flailing, his pitiful cry echoing as the portal snapped shut, taking him the Lamb's ruined little hamlet in Darkwoods in the center of the Lands of the Old Faith, leaving Lambert and the followers alone in the blood-red depths of the Gray.
For a moment, silence blanketed the battlefield. Then came an exhausted cheer that grew as followers helped each other up, testing bruised limbs, touching chests in disbelief. Baal and Aym's corpses lay at their feet like discarded marionettes, the last lieutenants of a fallen tyrant.
Nana pressed her paw gently to her scarred cheek, wincing but alive. She caught Lambert's eye and tried to smile. "My...god..." She began to say.
"Nah. " Lambert corrected, stepping toward her. The Zealous Sword dissolved into motes of crimson light that danced around his fleece. "Our hope." He insisted.
…
…
…
…something was off.
Jourmungandr had noticed it as the years went on. He'd been heavily documenting everything he could find in the lands during his enormous journey, marking down upon his many maps every curve of the land, every river, every mountaintop, every little pond and lake. But of course, naturally, he tried to keep in contact with his fellow gods and especially with dear Chemach.
But something wasn't right. He knew this when Kudaai responded to his call instead when he tried to raise Chemach on his commandmant stone he'd set up on his return journey. He was still at least a year away from home, having been out roaming the lands for so, SO very long…and instead of seeing her face-
"Kudaai? What's going on? Pray, where is Chemach?"
Kudaai's face seemed inscrutable. His usually almost stern, powerful face looked…pained. He was struggling to speak as he stammered. "My…my sister is too ill to come. I am most sorry." He insisted as Jourmungandr took notice of Clauneck behind him. The card-reader was quietly examining a card, looking very peaceful.
"Is…will she be alright, Kudaai of the Forge?"
"My sister is…I'm sure she'll be fine. She simply requires rest right now." Kudaai insisted. Jourmungandr was about to call him out, sure that the yellow-clothed duck was lying, but he wanted to be considerate. If Chemach WAS sick, he should try to be understanding towards her brother.
"Very well, dear smith. Thank you for letting me know. I will check in again when I can. Please give dear Chemach all my love."
"I shall do that, I'm sure she'd love it." Kudaai commented quietly before he ended the call, and his visage faded from the Commandment Stone.
But another month later, Kudaai just made another excuse. Chemach couldn't come, she was with Clauneck, who was trying to read her fortune. Then another month later, Chemach was supposedly asleep in bed. And when Jourmungandr tried to suggest that Kudaai wasn't being fully truthful with him, Kudaai had angrily ended the call.
Then…then he finally arrived at her home. And Chemach was worse off than he could have imagined.
Chemach had been CUT IN HALF. She was hanging from chains, her eyes red, with her black pupils staring in opposite directions. In fact, ONE pupil had…mutated, it was a round, empty circle and it was twitching like a panicking bug. Her expression was filled with pure madness, her eyes flitting somewhat from left to right, a slightly goofy tone to her voice as Jourmungandr gazed at her in sheer shock and horror. The top half of her body was all that remained, her body endlessly dripping ichor below and-
…her…head.
Her head had a crown. Pitch black, unnaturally so, with not one but THREE eyes of white, with slit black pupils that were shifting left and right, up and down and all around. Her large hands were clasped together as the crown's veins pulsated, digging into her skull as she hooted a bit. "Ahhhh! Ah, ah ah! Godly snake! Come, please! Come in!" She insisted as Jourmungandr's clawed hands flew to his mouth. He was shaking slightly as he made his way further into the room she now hung in.
"…Chemach…?" He softly whispered.
"My brothers have pretty things to give. I have POWERFUL things! Godly scraps infused with Faith…DEEEEEELICCCIOOOOUUUSSS!" She whispered as she held up…something…from the depths of her feathery black robe. "Things get lost and almost forgot, but Chemach knows that power lies somewhere deep within! Chemach found it, pulled it out! Why not? Chemach only wanted a little! Why not?"
An…eye. A gigantic, enormous eyeball that faintly pulsated and throbbed, it's red pupil gazing outward. Soft, supple bits of flesh lingered on its edge as Jourmungandr stared at the sight before him, as Kudaai and Clauneck looked into his face.
"…I had not seen her in some dozen years, perhaps a score, perhaps a hundred. And…and she is CHANGED. Alarmingly so! This…this MUTILATION of her body NAUGHT compared to the MADNESS that's taken root in her mind!" Jourmungandr gasped as he turned to Kudaai and Clauneck. Clauneck sighed slightly and shuffled through the deck of cards he had, Kudaai glancing off to the side.
"Why are you so…INDIFFERENT?!" Jourmungandr demanded to know. "You…wait. You KNEW. Damn you both, you KNEW!" he angrily roared out, pointing accusingly at them both, his yellow eyes wide, pupils turned into furious slits. He felt raw, pure rage bubbling up inside him. He wanted to throttle them, to crack their throats for their dishonesty, their lying. "Months! YEARS! All this time you knew he was more than sickened, she was diseased beyond anything normal and you said absolutely nothing to me!" He roared out, grabbing Clauneck by the shoulders, angrily shaking them. "How could you not tell me?! Either of you!"
"Her fate? Twas foreseen." Clauneck intoned with a soft sigh as he held up a single card. Pure red, with a black symbol on the front, faintly resembling a horned skull with unnatural, almost goat-like eyes. "My very first draw. Wayward Dreams. Screams by night may whisper by day, as insanity slowly finds its way. Sinking into the skull, the cacophony of chaos accompanied a desire for more than her nature allowed."
"Why don't you CARE?!" Jourmungandr screamed in his face, spittle flying, his five eyes wide, furious and wrathful, practically hissing. He wanted to crush this duck then and there when Kudaai spoke, his voice softly breaking…a tone Jourmungandr had never, EVER heard before.
"…what was I supposed to say? "Hello, Jor. My sister's lost her mind. How are you? How is the weather?" He quietly murmured as Jourmungandr turned to look at him. "Clauneck knew this would happen decades ago. It was literally the first card he drew. I…I had a year to come to grips with it." He whispered out as he sighed and clasped his hands together. "Of course I care. But we can do naught."
"But…what of her duty? What of the Crowns? What…what of her very nature!?" Jourmungandr found himself saying, as he looked from to Chemach, who was absentmindedly giggling, fiddling with what appeared to be a centipede, trying to stick it into some kind of odd, gigantic, diamond-shaped gourd thing.
"…it is lost." Kudaai whispered as he hung his head, and slightly shook it back and forth.
It was too much. Jourmungandr fell to the ground, black claws gripping the floor, cracking the tile below. He had not cried like this in…ever. But now, changed into a god, now he could. And he wept openly, sobbing, weeping uncontrollably. Clauneck quietly approached along with Kudaai, as they both ever-so-gently laid a hand upon his shoulders. His body was wracked with sobs again and again as he screamed in an agony beyond any physical pain.
By the time his wailing and sobbing ceased, a small puddle had formed beneath his head as the hoarse words finally came out of his near-ripped throat. What he really, truly wanted to say.
"…you said you'd wait." Jourmungandr whispered as he looked up into Chemach's open, and yet unseeing eyes. "…you said you'd wait…"
Clauneck patted his back as Kudaai quietly nodded.
"Our nature is neutrality. No matter how we…truly feel."
Jourmungandr rose up, curling slightly into himself, covering his face with his hands.
"I never had a MOM before…"
…to return from the Grey was to feel the breath of the world rush back into your lungs, a violent, glorious renaissance of sensation after the suffocating sterility of Death's kingdom. The familiar greens of Darkwood seemed outrageously vibrant, the scent of damp earth and pine impossibly sharp. Every leaf on every tree, every blade of grass seemed to shout with life, a chaotic symphony after the Grey's muffled silence.
And then, they saw their home. The quiet melancholy that had gripped Lambert on his first arrival now blossomed into something more profound, more desolate. Narinder's prison had shattered their sanctuary not with fire, but with an abrupt, hollow violation. Poles from tents stood starkly at crazy angles, the canvases gone. A single overturned clay mug lay by the dead fire pit, a tiny tragedy that spoke volumes. The air carried not the scent of cooking smoke but the sterile tang of the void Narinder had torn open.
A profound weariness settled upon the returning flock like a heavy shroud. They had triumphed, but their faces bore the gaunt imprint of the void. For moments that stretched into an eternity, there was only silence...a collective, breathless intake of shock and loss. Then Nana, gently nursing her bandaged cheek, broke the spell. "Well?" her voice was thin but firm, cutting through the stillness. "Staring won't put the roof back on. He made a mess, so we clean it up."
Simple, practical words, yet they broke something open inside the followers. A surge not of joy, but of defiant purpose washed through them. They looked at one another...at the fresh scars and haunted eyes...and found not strangers, but kin. There was work to be done. And in that work, they found their foothold again against the abyss.
With hands and paws and hoofs and claws, they set to the grim but necessary task of mending. Posts were righted. Torn canvases were gathered, assessed for salvage. Ratau, blinking dazedly, found himself surprisingly methodical, his clever claws remembering knots and ties his mind struggled to grasp, yet there was a flicker there...of pride in his craft, even through the fog of his reborn mind.
Lambert walked among them like a ghost. Every canvas patched back into place was a small act of defiance against the god who had torn them down. But with each task completed, the hollowness inside him only deepened. He was victorious. His flock was safe. Yet all he could feel was the weight of a future unwritten. A god without a temple. A leader who had led them straight into damnation, and only barely pulled them out.
And Jourmungandr...the cobra who had stood guard. Their final image of him burned in Lambert's mind: curled on the ground, arms horrifically blackened, raw patches flaking away like burned paper, face etched with failure. It was a debt he desperately needed to repay. Lambert searched through their ruined little village and after about six minutes of searching, he found him behind where their first temple had been, behind the remnants of the stone podium the Lamb would give sermons at. All that remained now was chunks, and a shallow depression shielded from view by weeping ferns.
When he saw what he saw, Lambert's relieved sigh caught in his throat.
He wasn't dead. But where the enormous Fanatic lay, reality was... thinning. At Jourmungandr's back coiled a shimmering curtain, a gateway woven not of thread but of impossible geometry: a silent, shifting spiral of red and black, a mixture of darkened starlight and the memory of color. And Jourmungandr, the great god that stood for what Faith meant, was dissolving into it. His magnificent serpentine form, from the base of his great coils to the base of his proud neck, had already become semi-translucent. Light from this unseen beyond bled through him, dimming the fierce yellow of his remaining good eye.
"Lam…bert." he rasped. His voice was a papery whisper, stripped of its resonant depth. "It is done, then?"
He tried to push himself up, a gesture that made Lambert's throat ache with pity and love. His ruined arms scraped weakly against the soil.
"Don't!" Lambert cried out, rushing to him. The urge to help, to heal, to give back some of the strength this being had lavished upon them, was a physical ache. He pressed his hooves against the shimmering form, but felt no solid purchase. It was like he was trying to hold smoke. Jourmungandr managed a small, weary smile, a ghost expression on a ghost face.
"It will take no refusal. When I shed this skin, I am not shedding a life. I am returning to where I should be."
"What are you talking about? Fight it!" Lambert insisted. "I'm stronger now! Maybe...maybe a part of me can heal you! The way the crowns can!"
"I'm sorry…but no. Honestly, it took all I had just to come here. I was far, far more badly hurt by the Bishops than you can imagine back in the day." The cobra-like God of Faith, Hope and Love chuckled. "I mean…they peeled me like a grape."
The truth crushed the air from Lambert's wool. This wasn't something he could fix. This wasn't an opponent he could defeat. He felt the familiar sting of tears in his eyes.
"My little lamb." Jourmungandr breathed, a deep, affectionate sadness filling the space between them. His translucent tail swished weakly, and as it did, Lambert's eyes fell upon the guitar not far away…an instrument which laid resting at the base of a tree, with that familiar snowflake-and-diamond gleaming from the top of its neck. It felt like a final anchor point to this world.
Yngna.
He could almost feel her cool touch from another dream, a shared dream he now realized she must have given them all...a tiny gift of her presence. A final memory.
"You have...no idea how proud my dearly beloved...would have been." Jourmungandr's breath hitched, his gaze becoming distant, loving. "To see what you became to...to survive. How strong you are."
"My ancestor...?" the single word was a choked question, the name a fragile hope he dared not fully grasp.
"My only true regret is I never found her again...sometimes I think I feel her spirit, but then that flicker fades." Jourmungandr struggled a bit to tell this. "But my own candle is going out. I have to return from whence I came." he stated, trying so hard to remain optimistic. "Don't weep, lamb."
A wet, choking sob broke free, tearing through Lambert's chest. There was so much to say. So much wasted between them. "Thank you. I'm sorry. What do I do? Who am I, really?" He could find no words.
"No more tears, my little lamb. It's alright. I had MONTHS with you. More time than I deserved."
Jourmungandr's body was now little more than a shimmering outline, dissolving strand by luminous strand back into impossible colors. Before it vanished entirely, one clawed hand reached up, and slid into that portal behind him.
"Here…I give you a last gift." As he pulled the clawed appendage into the dimensional portal...a small object dropped into the empty space, landing upon his grass with a delicate little CHINK! The light was not gold but of pale, shimmering frost…
A crown, delicate and elegantly wrought, it seemed to glitter as if dusted with real, frozen snowflakes that never melt. At its center, instead of a red crown's single, hungry eye, there rested an intricate snowflake. A small, delicate snowflake, inside of which lay a tiny little diamond nestled at the center.
"It's not a real crown but…it was my last memento of her." Jourmungandr offered. "I hope you'll think fondly of us when you see it."
"But I can't do this without you! You're the first nice god I've ever met!" Lambert insisted.
"Lambert…I wish I could be selfish and stay forever, but…the thing is…" The Fanatic softly murmured as he reached out and gave Lambert one final pat on the head. "What I've come to realize people like me are for…is to lay the path down. A parent…can't do everything for their child. And if a parent does it's duty right, in the end…you won't need them anymore. Because…you've got you. But if nothing else, I can promise this…my love WILL follow you."
With that, Jourmungandr's shimmering head met Lambert's wet cheek, one last, spectral touch. And the portal pulsed once, contracting back in on itself. For one final moment, eyes met…the cobra's vast remaining one, and the lamb's smaller tear-wet pair...mirrored each other across worlds.
Then…there was only the quiet Darkwood. The lingering scent of cool earth and distant places. And a little lamb standing on two cloven hooves. With his own crown, the Red Crown…plus a newly-formed second crown. Lambert felt the Red Crown atop him hum, its presence now a quiet, heavy weight. It wasn't its usual hungry thrum of power, but of something else...a cold, profound loneliness.
"His road was over." a thought echoed in the silence. "He could finally put the crown down."
Lambert now, at last, could tend to those who needed him. He could learn what the word "sheep" really meant again, not as sacrifice or weapon. He could become the gentle thing he'd once been, the small lamb who was carried away on a river by one last selfless person.
Meanwhile the Red Crown, in that instant of quiet possibility, seemed to shrink, its power receding into a quiet hum.
"…I don't even remember my own family anymore. Having him here was like…father and brother in one." Lambert admitted to the Red Crown as he was struggling, desperately not to cry. "And now that's gone." he looked down to the Snowflake Crown, then back to where Jourmungandr had last been seen. "…just like all of them."
He remembered that guitar then. He turned, and went over to Yngna's last remnant of the physical world, and gently reached out, taking it into his hands.
He cradled it. It was solid. Real. An anchor. For a moment, the urge to play was overwhelming...pulling it close, feeling the familiar press of cool wood and string-wound-steel against his wool, that sweet little musical instrument his dear goddess had made for her lover with all the care and tenderness that defined a god. Yngya, Mother of Winter itself who had been so full of love…
Playing felt like coming home after a long, long journey. His followers began to crowd around as he strummed away. He wasn't even quite sure where the words came from at first…
Gotten used to living here!
Call it habit, call it fear!
Though I had glanced your way for years…
Til today, I'd never dared!
But it was easy slipping through!
Easy as the morning dew!
That lingers til the afternoon…
And rises back into the blue!
Out beyond the Iron Gaaaate! Out there where you…saaaaaid…you'd wait…
Soft strumming. He held the guitar in his clawed hands as he stood by where she should have been, gazing out at the sea beyond. The waves lapped gently at the shore, providing further rhyhm to what he now played. The birds were there now, all quietly sitting there, and listening. Chemach, less so…her eyes gazing out at the endless expanse. She slightly bobbed her head to the tune, and yet…even this realization that she could "hear" wasn't a comfort. Because sure, she could hear, but…
Was she listening?
There you were, right by my side!
Reaching down to lift me high!
And I held on with all my might…
Held on…to a world made right!
Soft, gentle, sad strokes upon the guitar. But the tears were gone now, at least…
Out beyond the iron gate!
Out there…where yooooou…
Or perhaps not. Because now soft, wet warmth trickled slid down his cheeks. He that stood for Faith…for Hope…For Love…quietly wept for a promise that would be forever unfulfilled. For a hope that had died. For Faith that would be unrewarded. For a love…he had lost.
…said you'd wait!
Nana was there, holding Lambert tight. The other followers approached, Ratau gently putting a hand on Lambert's shoulder as he realized he was now openly crying. He was crying now, openly weeping for his own loss. Two families lost, now. A past faded away. The farewell to a brother, father and friend all in one, a realization that he didn't know where to go from here. All he knew was he wanted to cry.
So they let him, and just gently patted and hugged him, the soft, gentle floral scent of Nana gently lilting into his nostrils, Ratau's gentle stroking of his back a tender rhythm. Narinder stayed at the far, far back, his back turned, arms folded over his chest. He couldn't believe he'd lost to someone so…soft.
Yet he found his own eyes briefly stinging with tears for a faint moment as the sheer, raw sadness of the song had struck something deep in him too.
After all, he and the Lamb had both lost everyone THEY'D loved.
"Really?"
Narinder stared at the dragon as the beautiful creature gently laid it in his clawed paws. "Sir, I mean…me? REALLY?" He wanted to know of Sude, as the God of Life and Death warmly smiled down at him. "You think I'm worthy?"
Sude reached down and stroked over his head, ruffling his fuzzy head. "Narinder, you love them. That's the greatest gift a God can give. To be loved, and to love in return. You're from an enormous family, aren't you?"
"A dozen brothers and sisters! Three dozen cousins! Six nephews and nieces, aunts, uncles, and two sets of grandparents!" Narinder cheerily bragged as he held that soft, warm black crown in his paws. "But…really? Me? I'm just…I'm so flattered you would choose me, my lord."
"I noticed you mentioned many members of your kin. You've no mother and father, though?"
"…no. Not anymore." Narinder said, almost too quickly as he felt his breath catch in his throat. "It was…difficult being the oldest. I had much to contend with. Many responsibilities."
"That's why I know you'll be wonderful. You understand what it's like to be touched by death yet surrounded by life." Sude warmly offered as he then took Narinder into a hug, Narinder staring ahead in stunned shock, feeling that immense, thick white warmth on his dark grey furry flesh. "You value their worth…so be a good god, Narinder. I'm putting my faith in you."
Narinder almost wanted to cry. He had no memory of this, of…of being held as if by a father. Not for decades. He struggled to contain himself as he managed to finally speak.
"I hope I'll prove myself worthy, my lord."
"I'll wait for you, Narinder." Sude tenderly remarked in return, rising up, breaking the hug as he began to slowly step back, his form softly fading into the portal beyond, into a world of soft starlight. "I'm sure when we meet again in what lies beyond death, you'll have a lifetime of life and love to tell me about…"
Lambert of Woolhaven.
Narinder of Pilgrim's Passage.
…both orphans.
(AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I get a ton of inspiration from songs. Richard Shindell has proven invaluable to me in my writing, so here's one song in particular that heavily inspired me for THIS story. Hope you enjoy it, folks. Happy Anniversary to the Cult of the Lamb!)
