Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 5: **The First Day of the Liberated God**

Narinder walked slowly through the cult's grounds, his steps light like the whisper of the wind, savoring every little sensation his feet experienced. Each step on the grass was a reminder of what he had lost during his imprisonment in the Veil. He felt the texture of the grass under his bare feet, the chill of the damp earth offering a strange but comforting sense of freedom. The world of the living was filled with simple pleasures he once considered trivial, but after a thousand years of confinement, even the smallest detail felt like a luxury. However, his expression remained serious, malicious, radiating an authority that commanded respect from every being that watched him pass.

In the distance, the cult's workers moved diligently about their tasks. Narinder watched with interest as the cultists of different species worked the land, harvested crops, and fed the animals. Their hands, dirty with soil, and their humble clothing showed their devotion to the cult and their willingness to toil tirelessly, even without knowing who was watching them. Narinder simply observed them in silence, like a predator contemplating its prey before deciding what to do with them.

He continued walking, his three-pupil eyes scanning every corner of the cult. Eventually, he arrived at the cemetery area. It was a tranquil place, filled with a solemn air. The graves were meticulously cared for, decorated with fresh flowers and small offerings symbolizing the respectful funerals each soul buried there had received. Narinder frowned as he read the names engraved on the tombstones. Although many of these graves belonged to loyal followers, others made his stomach churn with disgust.

Amducias, Valefar, Barbatos... those names sounded all too familiar. They were followers of his brother Leshy, the former god of chaos, who had been formidable enemies in the lamb's path to liberate Narinder. And there, among their graves, was a more imposing one dedicated to Agares, Leshy's religious witness. Narinder felt a pang of contempt. Those servants of chaos, buried with such respect, despite the troubles they had caused the lamb and, therefore, his liberation.

He turned away and saw four more graves, carefully aligned. Gusion, Eligos, Zepar... and in the center, the grave of the witness Bathin, all devoted to Heket, the former goddess of hunger. His stomach twisted even further. Not only had Leshy had followers, but Heket had also had devotees who fiercely fought against the lamb. And finally, a solitary grave marked the place of Saleos, a servant of Kallamar, the former god of plague. Three empty holes around it awaited the remains of other fallen followers. Too much respect for those who had been his enemies.

Narinder's expression darkened, his disgust evident. He remembered well how these individuals had caused great problems for Lambert, delaying his release. And although the lamb, in his mercy, had forgiven them, Narinder did not share that same compassion.

No. Narinder was not like Lambert.

With a snap of his fingers, he called one of the cultists. The adult pig, Mapur, who had already spoken to Narinder before, approached cautiously, his eyes filled with respect and fear. Narinder's voice was calm, but it held a dark edge.

—Dig up those graves—he ordered, pointing at the names of Leshy, Heket, and Kallamar's followers. —Those bodies do not deserve to rest here. I want you to use them for fertilizer.

Mapur blinked, his face filled with doubt and fear. He knew well that those bodies had been buried with respect, but he dared not defy the order of the god who now wore the red crown. With a trembling but obedient voice, he nodded.

—Yes, my lord. There will be no delay...—he murmured, bowing before calling two other cultists to assist him with the macabre task.

Narinder watched as the cultists began their work before walking away, satisfied with the course of events. In his mind, a dark idea began to form.

—If I remember correctly...—he murmured to himself, recalling the other servants who had once been his brothers' "toys." —I believe they are still around.

A wicked smile lit up his face. He knew exactly who would be his first sacrifices to regain his power.

Finally, Narinder arrived at the center of the cult. There, in the middle of the main square, stood the statue of Lambert, the lamb, surrounded by flowers and small tributes from the cultists. The figure of the lamb, his former vessel, radiated devotion. Narinder approached and extended his hand toward the statue, feeling a wave of energy. Small, bright white orbs, representations of the cultists' devotion, began to float toward him, entering his body and granting him a fraction of power. It wasn't much, but Narinder relished it.

When it was over, he snapped his fingers again and called Mapur.

—Hey, whatever your name is—he said casually. —I want you to tear down this statue and start building one in my name.

Mapur looked at him, incredulous. The pig's face reflected the surprise and confusion of everyone present. The lamb had been revered for so long that the idea of tearing down his statue hit the cult's morale like a hammer. However, they knew they could not oppose the new god wearing the red crown. Slowly, they began to obey.

With a satisfied smile, Narinder walked away from the square, heading toward the temple. He had much to plan, and his first sermon was already taking shape in his mind. He knew that true devotion required sacrifices... and he already had in mind who the first would be.

Narinder entered the temple, his thoughts echoing in his mind. Without saying another word, he closed the door behind him, leaving behind the cult that was already beginning to transform under his shadow.