Random Oneshots

Saviour

Cult of the Lamb

He still clung onto that little bit of hope. He felt in his heart, his mother would come soon. She always did.
The dungeon was cold and damp. The only light was a small oil lamp, but the adults said that the fuel had to be conserved, so it was only lit for a few minutes every once in a while. It was hard to tell how much time actually passed, since there was no daylight to gauge it. Eventually someone figured out that a small group was taken away once a day, so that became everyone's way of telling the time.
At first the dungeon was crowded. It was hard to sleep with all the crying and the bodies shuffling and shoving into each other, unaware of their positions in the darkness. It didn't take long for the number of sheep to dwindle though. As more and more got taken away each day, he soon found himself being one of few left. Of course the other few soon got taken too. He figured he was now the only one there, since the only sounds he could hear came from himself. Any soft noises or cries for help were only met back with silence now.
She said she would be there. She said she would save him. It was scaring him. If his mom didn't come soon then they would surely take him next, since he was the last one there. What were they going to do to him anyway? Probably kill him. They killed those sheep in the village, and the others from the dungeon haven't come back. He assumed it's because they're all dead now.
Light flooded the dank dungeon when the door opened, and the big man with the scary black sack over his head came inside, as he did every day. He grabbed the lamb by the arm and chained his wrists, as had been done with the many others before. From the light coming through the doorway, the little lamb could see that he really was the last one there.

He knelt down on the stone tablet. Fearful tears streamed down his small face. The four Bishops stood before him, far larger than any mortal. The lambent single-eyed crowns they bore on their heads stared down at the Lamb, watching his very soul.
"Before us stands the last of its kind. All others we have hunted down and put to the blade," Heket boomed.
"With this final sacrifice, the prophecy will be impossible to fulfil," stated Kallamar.
"The heretic who lies below will be condemned to eternal captivity," screeched Leshy.
"And the Old Faith shall be preserved," Shamura concluded.
The Lamb squinted his eyes as the axe was swung down on his neck.

It didn't hurt. He thought it would hurt. He opened his eyes. The Bishops and the executioner were nowhere to be seen. Instead of a blood-tinted forest, the lamb found himself in a seemingly endless white expanse. Cloud-like fog covered the ground everywhere except the path for as far as the eye could see. Massive thick chains from far in the white sky reached deep into the cloud-covered ground. Is this the place below, that the elders told us about? the Lamb wondered.
As he stepped off the stone, his feet left ripples in the snow-white path, as though he was walking on water. He followed the path, hands still bound behind his back. A greater being quickly came into view, dressed in tattered white robes and a veil over their eyes. Their long, branch-like arms ended in spindly hands, which were shackled to the floor. The chains wrapped around their body, like binding vines, which the being struggled and pulled against vehemently. Perched on top of their head was a crown, similar to the ones that each Bishop had. Two guards, who were much larger than the lamb and yet not nearly as large as the greater being, stood on either side of him. The lamb knew who this was as soon as he laid eyes upon him. The elders didn't talk about him often, but they spoke enough for him to know.
It was the One Who Waits Below.