Your godhood burned to ashes / Cult of the Lamb

Flowers in Bloom

Rising with the sun, the Lamb unfolded from dreams, blossomed by the breeze of the peaceful morning. They haven't slept this well since forever, due to constantly being engaged with work. Their hand reached towards their divine crown, as an electric shock of power ran through their body. 

"A blessed sleep you must have had." A raspy whisper echoed through the room, addressing the barely awake lamb. 

"If only you knew how much." They stretched their body, ready to go about their day. They treated their crown like a part of them, they were inseparable. Words spoken by the thing were sacred, its presence was as valuable as diamonds. After all, it was what pumped them with peerless strength, and ever-growing determination. It deserved all the respect it was given. 

Their crimson eyes strayed around the room, searching for a familiar figure. It took them a few seconds to understand that Narinder was nowhere to be spotted. He vanished, like smoke in the air, leaving no trace. But so did the book.

Weird. 

They thought, without paying too much attention to it, as they departed, leaving the room wrapped only with the reverberation of their absence. The sound of the creaking door reflected itself through the dimly lit hallway, as they strolled down the stairs. 

"What are your real intentions? Which throat shall reveal the inner jewel of agony?" The crown's harsh whispers resembled static noise. "...Or perchance, have you backed off again? 

"Maybe..." Their patience wore thin, and delicate like a spider's web. With each word, its durability seemed to be carried away by the wind. 

"Despite your divine powers, your mental strength is a fragile symphony, admit it." 

"There's no reality where I would." They avoided what was inevitable. It's been months since they made a promise to execute the fallen God, yet with each passing day, their confidence about the pact faded weaker.

Perhaps it was his poetry. His little notebook sprayed with meaningful words, merging together into creepy tales from the depths of his heart. Or his tiny doodles in the corners of the pages, drawn in blue ink. 

Maybe it was his curious eyes, that from lifeless orbs seemed to transform back into a portal crafted from human emotions, and ambitions. Or maybe, it was his voice uncovering the deepest feelings inside of his spirit. 

Ever since his once immortal body lost its invincibility, he seemed to regain his once lost personality. And that intrigued the fledgling God. They wanted to peel every layer of the secrets he hid inside, piece by piece. He was their treasure, and a trophy to be proud of. 

And so, despite their initial plan, it was postponed constantly. Countless wasted chances to push him into the depths of hell were like another star lost in the sky. It vexed the crown.

Pushing the conversation aside, they barged into the kitchen, craving a sweet meal. They were a deity whose melody was a cacophony of immature notes; their whims were their necessity. Leftovers of their mortality were still buried deep within their brain. At times, they were closer to a petulant child, than to a celestial being. 

They thrust themselves into the room, adoring the countless decorations hanging on the walls. The sunrise was peeking in through the window, reflecting its shine on their soft wool. Connections of glorious spiderwebs on the ceiling made it seem covered in glitter. The hotel was like a painting drawn by an outstanding painter. It was teeming with life, with all the care and work that had been put into it. 

They expected to welcome the kitchen empty, yet to their surprise Helob had already made his way inside. 

“You are just in time!” He raised to his feet, presenting a symbolic gift in his hands. Their eyes widened, looking at the bouquet filled with ethereal flowers. The delicate petals reflected the light like sequins, shining beautifully. 

"..." The gift was heartwarming, yet unexpected. So out of the blue, that they couldn't help but be speechless. It was too sudden to think about an appropriate reaction in time.

"You like?" Helob seemed proud of himself, yet still waited for the Lamb to confirm their joy. "I picked them myself." He added. 

"How generous of you." They accepted the gift, expressing their gratitude. Modesty wasn't one of their characteristics. If anything, being worshipped was what they were fueled by. That trait was what kept saturating their godhood day by day, with each new follower. 

A singular obstacle cast a shadow on the scenario, but Helob was unaware. They have never come crystal clear to him about their celestiality, one could even say the topic was nonexistent between them. Their cleric strength was emanating from them visibly, yet an untrained eye could still omit their true power. In short, Helob was an idiot. 

But was communication worth the risk? Everything between the lamb, and arachnid seemed smooth as butter. They knew that once the truth was unravelled, there were no rewinds. They valued his presence, losing what they already achieved was not one of their desires. 

“Thanks, love.” They said, leaning in for a kiss from their spidery partner. 

Meanwhile, the twins have already woken up, marching down the stairs. They directed their steps towards the kitchen, ravenously hungry. Despite the long night, they visibly haven't slept well. Dark circles under their eyes only emphasised their excruciating exhaustion. They were thankful for being included, but despite their biggest efforts, their enjoyment was dim. Ghosts of their past lives were constantly haunting them, filling them with everlasting terror. 

"These flowers are gorgeous, Lord." Baal observed the sparkling bouquet lying on the table. The gift was so lovely, that it couldn't go unnoticed.

The constellation of remembrance twinkled a memory buried deep in the labyrinth of their minds. A small petal, guiding their spirits towards a scenery overgrown with lilies, and camellia flowers. A vision of a meagre garden they used to tender with their mother. They could recall the warmth they once felt in their heart, along with the joy beaming from their voices. The bouquet was as if picked from a paradise, they wondered where such blooms grew. 

Oh, how much they missed that lost fragment of their soul. The pain as if it was gouged from their insides with a blunt knife, leaving a gap soaked with ruby ichor. 

“Narinder has disappeared,” Aym informed, as he sat down at the table.

“I know.” The Lamb rolled their eyes. The news was dull, like watching the paint dry on a rainy day. Of course, he was gone, it was his nature. He would be back, eventually. 

"Doesn't it concern you, Lord?" Baal felt the need to ask. 

But the answer was no. Without his crown, Narinder was just a hollow shell, incapable of fulfilling his craving for independence. He had nowhere to go, the cult was his prison. Despite his hardest efforts, he would always be pushed back into the embrace of his former Vessel. 

"We may trace his steps, and chase his shadows, if you insist."