Your godhood burned to ashes / Cult of the Lamb

A night to forget

“Do you still think about her?” Baal asked, as he threw himself on the bed, exhausted. He gazed at the ceiling, letting his thoughts fly by uninterrupted. The time was passing by relentlessly, yet the memories of his previous life were sewn into his brain forever.

“A lot, Baal.” Aym sighed, peering out the window, adoring the stars from afar, as his mind retreated into the old times. "It's excruciating to even exist." A soft sigh escaped his lips, as he yearned to rewind. The memory of the soft fur of his mother, or her gentle touch whenever the darkness seemed to haunt him, were fading with each day. Perhaps the remains of them, still harshly holding onto his mind, were leaving bruises on his sanity. 

A knock on the door. A chuckle in the distance. The shadows taunting him, seemed to form into a person, or more often an abomination. It was looking at him, acknowledging him. 

When the twilight would manifest, monsters could roam. Truly vile illusions, amalgamations of pure fear and paranoia. No matter where his eyes would lay, they were there.

A bone-chilling scream inside of his head attempted to hush him despite the undeniable silence. A shiver ran down his spine, as he exhaled slowly. 

"Don't say that." Baal sent him a violent stare. 

But it was true, he craved his demise. Perchance, a lullaby of the dead was what would eventually hush him to sleep. 

To say Baal didn't understand, would be a lie. The tears of his sorrow were hidden behind his calm expression. He wasn't just a little blue, he was drowning in melancholy and fear. Yet the only wish he had in mind, whenever a shooting star decorated the navy skies, was to soothe Aym's pains. Baal valued his sanity, way more than his own. It brought him comfort to take care of Aym, even if it meant neglecting himself. 

Maybe in the embrace of future sunsets, hope may weave a brighter tomorrow. 

°   °   °

Meanwhile, on the other side of the thick wall, chaos manifested. A tense atmosphere seemed to deprive Narinder of air, turning his flames of disgrace into an inferno of hate. Another meaningless argument poisoned their night, leaving behind only frustration and seething fury. 

His anger was like a melody to Lamb's ears. Sick satisfaction they gained from his pain. It was their revenge, a greatly executed one; throw the God off his throne, and keep him alive as a punishment. 

A brilliant idea it was, if not a shade of doubt crossed their mind. An abstract thought knocked onto the door of their mind, slowly creeping closer. Narinder was a pitiful fool, a pathetic one even. He was a tool for their entertainment. 

A dagger plunged into his heart was his planned destiny. Yet it was postponed to another day, every single day. 

"Keep your distance, worthless soul." He spat his words like a venomous snake. The hatred he held towards the deity was clear, but it never stopped Lamb's teasing. 

Narinder shielded himself from the truth, with an armour crafted from anger. His self esteem was crushed, he felt pathetic, but that wasn't something he wished to show off. 

"How about you put down your guard, and accept your doom?" A devious smile was painted on their face, as they cooed in a voice soft as cotton. 

"Oh, stop with your torture. I am already suffering as it is." Despite the bed sewn only from the finest cobwebs, the floor seemed like a peaceful cradle. If he had to, this would be his tranquility for the night.

"Fine." The Lamb rolled their eyes, having finally given up. His pain was their joy, yet for tonight, other plans they had. They jumped into the soft sheets, letting themselves feel the embrace of the delicate, purple coverlet. 

Their body required no sleep, all they needed to feed themselves with was power. Megalomania was their diet, strengthening their soul was their only real desire. Yet they submitted to their silly little whim of napping in a comfortable bed.

Meanwhile, Narinder cocooned in the corner of the room, as if it was his sanctuary, while judging the deity's behaviour. He stared, bearing with the hidden jealousy of their position. The floor was cold, even if he tried to convince himself otherwise. 

Suddenly, he spotted an object flying in his direction. He flinched, watching the book hit the freezing floor. It was unexpected, a wave of shock hit him for a second, before his expression reversed back into disappointment. 

"Was that an attack, foolish lamb?" Disbelief emanated in his voice, he sent them a questioning stare, as he gazed at the object. It was a hardcover book, reflecting the soft light radiating from the street lamps. Golden ornaments on the edges seemed to attract his attention. 

"You are gonna bore yourself down there, Narinder. Take it, it's one of my favourite books." 

"And since when is that your concern?" He wanted to ignore them, but his curiosity was stronger. Such an intriguing book it was, as if enchanted by the strongest mages with a spell made only for him. 

With a turn, he revealed the world displayed on the first page. He clung onto the words, analysing them, looking for a reason the book was gifted to him. He looked for secrets hidden within the paper, veiled into the narrative tapestry. 

But there seemed to be no treasure. It was a simple tale, unfolding the fates of a Lord and their devotees. How dull, he thought. 

After barely a few turns of pages, he sighed, closing the portal made of words. 

"Why did you give me the book?" He spoke, receiving only silence in return. Irritation was all he felt towards the Lamb. Countless suspicions towards their figure overwhelmed him, everything seemed to be another card in their deck of deception. At this point, he expected it to be a trap, or perchance another try at humiliating him. He needed to understand their reasoning, or his sleep would be disturbed tonight. 

"Oh, no particular purpose for my actions. You are pathetic, that's all. I can't stand looking at you boring yourself to the bone, I feel bad. " A wave of shame swallowed him. That was the response he expected, yet not the one he wanted. 

"Of course…" He looked out the window with his weary eyes. Silk Cradle was beautiful, if not the memories it kept splashing at him with. His mortal body was fragile, and needy. If he didn't get a moment of rest, he would be at the verge of insanity the other day, again. 

He peered into the glittery stars in the dark sky, letting his thoughts race. He felt like a candle, about to burn out. 

But he deserved that, at least that's what the Lamb strongly held onto. Karma found its way to slowly crawl back onto his back, like a frightening spider. The roles have been only switched, not altered. They successfully dismissed any doubt that dared to cross their mind, just by looking into the past. 

"You are the void I sank into, the darkness I was dragged into. My divinity was cut short, because of you." He lamented. There wasn't a day where his regrets wouldn't be spoken, he was drowning in melancholy, and needed to let it out. 

If only he had a time machine, or at least the strength to free himself. He wasn't giving up on himself, not yet. It was a test sent by otherworldy Gods, once he managed to get out of this pit of despair he would be rewarded. That's what he believed. 

"Are you the fire, or just another flame?" Their question was like a bullet, tearing through his heart. It felt as if sharp pieces of glass were stabbing his soul. 

"...Of course I am the fire." In his eyes, he was still the center of the universe. Death was the one kneeling in front of him, submitting to his will. Or at least until his crown was stolen, never to be held by him again. 

Was he the fire, or was he not even a flame now, but a spark?

"Even the strongest fire will eventually burn out." They murmured, before finally falling asleep, leaving Narinder with only his own echo to respond to his cries.