Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 4: **The Entry of the God of Death**

Narinder stared at the statue of the red crown, his three eyes narrowed with a mix of determination and contempt. The statue, with its imposing figure, seemed to mock his current situation, reminding him of the power he once had and now needed to reclaim. He clenched the claw in his hand, feeling its dark power vibrate through his fingers.

—"Do no evil..."— he murmured, repeating the words the crown had whispered moments before. A twisted smile appeared on his face. —"Doing evil is exactly what I'm going to do. Starting by reclaiming what is rightfully mine."

The claw glimmered faintly in his hand, charged with the same energy of death he had used to mark his brothers over a thousand years ago. Narinder looked up, fixing his gaze on the red crown of the statue one last time. He knew he was not whole, not while this mortal body weighed him down. He had to become what he once was: a god, not this shadow weakened by centuries of imprisonment.

With that determination, he turned around and headed toward the cult. His steps were slow but firm, each one laden with purpose. As he entered the camp, the eyes of all the cultists fell upon him. They were creatures of different shapes and sizes: dogs, turtles, wolves, pigs, cows, bulls, spiders, frogs, worms... each with their own expression of surprise and fear upon seeing him. What bewildered them the most was not his appearance, but the red crown resting on his head.

One of the cultists, an adult pig with gray fur and tired eyes named Mapur, was the first to dare approach. With a respectful yet hesitant bow, he looked up to ask:

—"Who... who are you?"

Narinder looked at him with a wicked smile, his eyes shining with a mix of arrogance and power. He stepped forward, his voice resonating with arrogance as he addressed not just Mapur, but all who were watching.

—"I am the one once known as 'He Who Waits.' Now, I am more than that... I am the liberated god. The true god of death. I am the one you have been praying to in this cult, while my vessel, the lamb, defeated my brothers, the bishops, to free me."

Narinder's words fell like thunder on the ears of the cultists. Some recoiled, shocked, while others immediately fell to their knees, their eyes filled with worship and awe. This was the god they had served in silence, the one they had prayed to during so many nights of uncertainty, while their chosen one, the lamb, fought against the forces of the Ancient Faith.

One by one, all the animals began to kneel before Narinder, bowing their heads in an act of absolute devotion. The words of their prayers rose into the air, soft yet full of reverence, like a collective whisper spreading throughout the camp.

—"God of death... our god... finally freed."

Narinder watched the scene, his twisted smile widening. He was the god they had always served, the one they revered, and they had no doubt that he was, for the red crown upon his head was proof enough. As the cultists prayed in his name, Narinder could only think of one thing: this was his new cult.