Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 6: **The First Sermon**

Narinder was inside the temple, alone, amidst the dimness and silence. In front of him, the great book of the lamb's doctrines lay open on the altar. His claws slid over the pages with curiosity, enjoying the knowledge contained in each word. His dark gaze lit up upon reaching one of the topics that pleased him most: sacrifice. A slow, malicious smile spread across his face. Sacrifice, a tool of power that had always been useful to him, now formed part of the cult's very faith. It was as if the lamb had prepared everything for his return.

As he read, his eyes stopped on a section that quickened his heart: the resurrection ritual. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, a list of souls he could bring back unfolded. With a growl, his face darkened in frustration. He could only resurrect those who had served the lamb faithfully, the followers who had been under his mantle. Aym and Baal, his most loyal cats, were not among them. That damned interruption at the portal of the Veil had prevented them from crossing with him. He took a deep breath, his rage contained. He would have to find another way to bring them back, and he knew that day would come.

Turning the pages with more force than necessary, Narinder focused on another goal. It didn't matter. For now, he needed to concentrate on what he had. The sermon had to be perfect. With a twisted smile, he rose from the altar and prepared to gather the cultists. After a few minutes of preparation, he rang the temple bell.

Moments later, the temple doors opened, and the cultists began to enter. They were a diverse group, made up of dogs, turtles, wolves, pigs, cows, spiders, and more, all following the teachings the lamb had left. Narinder watched them silently, his sharp eyes scrutinizing each one. To him, they were nothing more than resources, tools with a purpose he would determine. Nothing but gold coins, destined to be spent one way or another. Still, he knew he had to keep them motivated enough to remain useful.

Murmurs spread among the cultists, curious about what their new god would say. Narinder waited until silence fell like a curtain over the room. Then, with his deep, resonant voice, he began.

"Praise be to the Lamb," he said, repeating one of the lines he enjoyed most from the prophecy. "Conduit to great power, promised liberator of Him Who Awaits."

He smiled as his white teeth contrasted with his dark, shining fur. He opened his three eyes, looking at each of the attendees with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines. He continued his sermon, praising the lamb.

"The lamb was my most faithful vessel. He wielded the red crown with a skill that rivaled my own. He was the greatest follower I ever had, and he gave his life without hesitation to free me. Today, we celebrate his memory." His smile grew, but there was something dark within it. "And, to honor him, for one week, we will celebrate a blood sacrifice ritual each day." The temple fell into absolute silence. The cultists exchanged glances, some clearly frightened by the idea. But they knew their doctrines not only accepted but revered sacrifice. Slowly, murmurs of approval began to spread through the space.

Narinder observed their reactions coldly, enjoying the fear he instilled. He lied without flinching.

"You have nothing to worry about," he said softly. "The process will be random. It will be for the best for all."

But inside, Narinder already knew exactly who would be the first to fall. He had carefully planned the list: the two followers and the witness of Kallamar, the three followers and the witness of Shamura. Seven sacrifices, all vengefully chosen.

His gaze scanned the crowd before it landed on an elderly horned octopus at the back of the temple.

"Haborym," he said, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "It is your time."

Haborym, the most faithful follower of Kallamar, slowly advanced toward the center of the temple, his tentacles trembling slightly. The fear in his eyes was evident, but he dared not disobey. Narinder stared at him, his eyes shining an intense red as he channeled his power. A dark portal opened beneath Haborym's feet, and a giant tentacle emerged from the abyss, wrapping around the cultist and dragging him into the depths of the portal. Haborym's body disappeared into the void, and as the portal closed, a powerful wave of energy flooded the temple, reaching Narinder.

Narinder closed his eyes, feeling the flow of power revitalizing every part of his being. It was as if he had been reborn. He felt stronger, his body brimming with energy. As the portal finished closing, a malevolent smile spread across his face.

After the sacrifice, Narinder decided it was time to lift the spirits of the cult. He held a bonfire ritual in the main square, where the cultists gathered to dance and sing around the fire. The tall flames cast dancing shadows alongside them, and gradually the atmosphere became more relaxed, less tense. The cultists, although still nervous, felt better following the doctrines they had adhered to their entire lives.

Narinder, for his part, was in a state of quiet euphoria. He watched the fire as the flames illuminated his black fur. He felt the warmth enveloping his body, another wonder he had not experienced in the Veil. The fire, the air, the sound of life... everything felt so intense, so vivid.

When the cultists finally retreated to rest, Narinder remained alone under the stars for a moment. Despite not needing to sleep or eat, he felt the weight of mental fatigue pressing on him. He decided to head to the tent where the lamb had lived. He walked toward the large tent that had been Lambert's home, feeling strangely melancholic. He didn't understand why this place provoked a sense of sadness.

He entered firmly and sat on the lamb's bed. The bed was large, soft, filled with sheep's wool, an unusual luxury in those times due to the extinction of the species. Narinder, without understanding why, was overwhelmed by a feeling of loss. He slowly reclined, his weary body sinking into the softness of the bed. He settled his head on a pillow and, without thinking too much, grabbed another pillow and hugged it, burying his face in it.

"It smells like him..." he murmured, barely aware of what he was saying.

Fatigue finally overtook him, and Narinder let himself be pulled into sleep, for the first time since he had been freed from the Veil.