Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 9: The Path to Power

The crowing of a rooster (a cultist in rooster form) echoed at dawn, and Narinder opened his three eyes, rubbing them one by one. He stretched with the grace of a feline, every muscle in his body tensing and relaxing. He was content, having slept like he hadn't in centuries, savoring each second of rest as if it were a luxury long denied.

He rose slowly, taking a brush that belonged to the Lamb and began grooming his fine black fur in front of the mirror. The brush, made for wool, glided smoothly through his sleek coat.

"Well, time to continue regaining my power," he said with a sharp smile, licking his lips in anticipation. The memory of the previous day's ritual made him shiver with excitement. The power he had gained from that sacrifice was more intense than thirty sermons combined.

Once satisfied with his appearance, Narinder left the house that once belonged to the Lamb. Now, it was his by divine right. He headed to the center of the cult, watching as the followers diligently worked to tear down the statue of the Lamb.

The same pig from the previous day, whose name Narinder didn't care to remember, one of the oldest followers, respectfully approached.

"My lord, we are working on your requests from yesterday, but a list of tasks has accumulated," he said as he handed Narinder a scroll.

Narinder frowned, irritated. He didn't like the idea of running errands, but he knew how much effort the Lamb had put into keeping the cult functional. A sigh escaped his lips before he snatched the list from the pig.

He read quickly:

- Collect farm yields.
- Assign recipes for cooking.
- Check on the infant nursery.
- Send missionaries to gather materials from outside.
- Perform the daily sermon.
- Hear confessions in the confessional.
- Get more camellia flowers.

Narinder found it almost insulting to have to deal with such mundane tasks, but the memory of 1,000 years of boredom in the Veil reminded him that anything was better than immobility.

He began with the task of visiting the farms, dragging his feet with a mixture of boredom and resignation. However, upon arrival, he was met with an unexpected sight: several decomposing bodies were being used as compost. This brought a smile to his face. There was something deliciously cruel about seeing those corpses, which perhaps once aspired to a dignified funeral or to be remembered, now serving as mere fertilizer for the crops that would feed the living.

Next, he went to the farm chests, collecting fruits and vegetables and storing them in the red crown's infinite pocket. The farmers—a starfish, a crab, and a shrimp—greeted him excitedly. Narinder, raising an eyebrow, thought, "Why did the Lamb put sea creatures in charge of the farms?"

He then proceeded to the kitchens. Though Narinder felt like cooking himself, he decided to leave the food and assign the recipes to the followers. While doing so, he considered making something for himself later, even though he didn't need to eat.

Next, he visited the nursery, where the young ones were raised under the cult's strict supervision. Though he found it dull, Narinder knew that shaping young minds was crucial. If they understood from a young age that their devotion to him was paramount, they would grow up with unwavering faith. So, with patience and calm, he attended to the infants, falsely smiling while inwardly feeling nothing but disdain for how weak and dependent they were.

Satisfied that at least that task was done, he went to the missionary lodge. He checked the followers who volunteered to go out and gather materials. Not wanting to lose any unnecessarily, he chose the three with the highest chances of survival: Manu, the ox, Peter, the fox, and Unu, the seal. He assigned them a simple but crucial mission: to search for bones. While most cultists didn't think much of these bones, for Narinder, they were a vital resource for rituals. He dismissed them with a clear and concise order: don't return empty-handed.

Finally, it was time for the daily sermon. Narinder entered the temple and rang the bell. The followers entered in order, and Narinder began his sermon.

"Children of the cult," he began in a deep, resonant voice, "do you remember what truly matters in this world? Power... power is everything."

The followers listened intently, hypnotized by his presence. Narinder slowly paced the altar, enjoying the tension in the air.

"In ancient times, before the Bishops reigned, there were greater gods, more numerous." He paused, observing the crowd's reaction. "But over time, the weaker ones disappeared. Only the most powerful, like my brothers and me, remained. And yet, my brothers, fearful of my strength, betrayed me."

A murmur spread through the crowd, but Narinder raised a hand, commanding silence.

"They attacked me from behind, sealing me in the Veil, hoping my name would be forgotten. But thanks to the loyalty of my greatest follower..." he smiled with a hint of malice, "my faithful Lamb, I escaped that fate."

The eyes of the followers sparkled with fascination and fear. They knew what was coming next. Narinder let his smile widen, his teeth gleaming under the temple's dim light.

"And in honor of his sacrifice, his bravery, we shall continue with our celebration... the Week of Sacrifices."

The air in the temple grew heavier, laden with tension. With a slow, deliberate gesture, Narinder pointed to his next victim.

"Baalzebub," he said softly but undeniably, "it is your time."

The orange cuttlefish, with tree branches sprouting from its head, trembled with fear. Though the cult's doctrines supported sacrifice, the fear of being chosen was always present. Baalzebub slowly walked to the temple's center, eyes filled with tears, knowing the end was near.

Narinder watched with delight as the portal opened beneath the creature. A green tentacle emerged from the depths, wrapping around Baalzebub and dragging him into the underworld. As the sacrifice was completed, a wave of energy surged from the portal in the form of white orbs that flew towards Narinder, filling him with renewed power.

The other cultists, obedient to the doctrines, prayed as Narinder absorbed the energy. The pleasure of the power flowing through his body was almost overwhelming, a sensation he hadn't experienced in millennia.

When the ritual was over, Narinder gave one final look at the followers.

"Do your work and continue serving the cult," he said in a calm but authoritative voice. "Your devotion will be rewarded."

The followers dispersed to continue their daily tasks, while Narinder remained in the temple for a few more moments, savoring the power he had just gained. He could perform more rituals that day, but he knew that too many sacrifices in a short period would undermine the cult's morale. Sometimes, it was better to hold back and let the fervor grow slowly.

Finally, he decided he'd had enough for now. The confessional was the next task on his list, but at that moment, he had no desire to hear the complaints and sins of his followers. He saw a panda timidly approaching the confessional, hoping Narinder would receive her. However, without a word, he ignored her and headed toward the temple exit.

He climbed the stairs slowly, breathing in the fresh air outside. The day was warm, but in his mind, there was only the desire to explore. He decided to head to Darkwood, the lands that once belonged to his late brother Leshy. Standing before the portal that would take him to that territory, he paused for a moment, watching the shadows of the trees that once grew under Leshy's chaos.

Before stepping through the portal to Darkwood, Narinder murmured to himself:

"So, Leshy is no more. He was a being of chaos. The disordered beauty of his realm... I wonder if the flowers still grow, now that he is gone."

Without further words, he crossed the portal, leaving the cult behind for a while.