Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 15: Echoes of Anura

Narinder entered the temple with firm yet silent steps, the echo of his footsteps softly resonating on the polished wooden floor. As he walked through the spacious hall, he couldn't help but be enveloped by a wave of memories. Nostalgia caught him off guard, and for a moment, he allowed himself to remember the countless rituals that the Lamb, Lambert, had performed in that very place. Every corner of the temple seemed to hold a vestige of those times, and Narinder could almost see the shadow of the Lamb moving gracefully, leading his cult with unwavering devotion.

Narinder had witnessed most of those rites, observing through the eye of the red crown. Thinking of it brought an unexpected pride to his chest. Lambert had been a prodigy, a natural leader, and there was something pure, almost beautiful, in his rituals. With a slight sigh, Narinder shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He couldn't afford to digress. He moved toward the bell, gripping the cold metal structure, and with a decisive motion, he rang it.

One by one, the cultists began to enter the temple, their movements orderly and disciplined. Narinder watched them with a calm yet dominating gaze.

He stood tall, imposing, and began his sermon with a soft voice loaded with authority, which echoed against the temple walls.

"Brothers of the New Faith," he said, his eyes shining under the dim light of the candles illuminating the room, "Today we shall reflect on the nature of life. Life that, as you well know, does not always bloom where we expect it. It is in the most chaotic lands, in the most inhospitable soil, where we sometimes find the most beautiful flowers. Let us take the camellia as an example, a delicate jewel that grows in the grounds of Darkwood, a place once dominated by chaos, danger, and darkness. Yet, even amidst the reign of Leshy, where chaos rules unopposed, these pure red flowers have bloomed. This is the power of life, the power to grow in the unexpected."

Narinder paused, allowing his words to sink in among the present. "So too does faith grow within us," he continued. "We may be surrounded by desolation, danger, and enemies seeking our destruction, but our faith, our strength, flourishes amidst it. This is how we must be, like the flower that defies chaos to be a symbol of beauty and power. This is the way of the New Faith."

The cultists listened attentively, their eyes shining with devotion, some leaning slightly forward as if seeking to absorb every word. Narinder, satisfied with their reaction, smiled internally, feeling the power radiate from his connection with his followers.

He concluded the sermon with a deep and final tone: "Remember, where there is chaos, there is also opportunity. Where others see desolation, we shall see potential. We are the New Faith, and we will bloom even in the darkest places."

The cultists listened with devotion, and after a solemn pause, Narinder proceeded with the daily sacrifice. This time, the chosen one was Astaroth, the witness of Kallamar, a grotesque and powerful being. Astaroth stood before him, with its deformed body and multiple tentacles, its eyes dripping a viscous substance that fell like a dark tear. Narinder showed no emotion as the ceremony progressed, but inside, the familiar sensation of power began to swirl.

The sacrifice was quicker and smoother than on other days, almost mechanical in its execution. The chants resonated in the air, and when Astaroth's life force began to flow into Narinder, his mood shifted. The darkness that had clouded his thoughts cleared momentarily, replaced by a feeling of fullness. It was a reminder of the power he possessed, the absolute control he exerted over those around him. Astaroth's life was extinguished in a sigh, and the accumulated power reinforced his body and mind.

With the ritual complete, the cultists left the temple in an orderly manner, one by one, bowing their heads in respect toward Narinder. He watched them go, remaining alone for a few moments, enjoying the silence that followed. Finally, he too exited the temple, his steps calm yet determined. Still charged with the energy of the sacrifice, he made his way toward the young ones of the cult. It was part of his routine to educate the younger generations, instilling in them the principles of the new faith. Despite the great distance he sometimes felt between himself and others, he understood the importance of teaching. He knew these children would be the future pillars of his cult.

After imparting his lesson, Narinder decided it was time to leave the premises. He needed something more than the monotony of the cult to distract his mind from the thoughts that had been haunting him lately. He headed toward the portals that connected with the realms of his former brothers. This time, his steps led him to the portal of Anura, the ancient domain of Heket, the goddess of hunger. Without hesitation, he crossed the threshold, ready for what was to come.

Narinder crossed the portal into Anura, the realm that once belonged to his sister, Heket, the late bishop of hunger. The air changed immediately upon crossing, infused with the humidity and earthy aroma of the mushrooms that covered the landscape. The ground was carpeted with orange grass, which crunched softly under his paws, while the wind blew, laden with the unmistakable fragrance of the perpetual autumn that reigned in Anura.

"Always autumn," Narinder murmured as his gaze wandered over the landscape. The trees were replaced by enormous mushrooms of various shapes and sizes, rising over the ground like natural towers. Around them, small and large frogs jumped from side to side, creatures of numerous colors that seemed to have fully integrated with the realm. However, the most disturbing aspect was not the mushrooms themselves, but the human figures trapped inside some of them, as if the very realm had devoured them. A feeling of unease hung in the air, as if the very nature of Anura wanted to swallow everything around it.

Narinder walked slowly, his thoughts drifting. Still weighed down by the melancholy of memories, he couldn't help but smile bitterly when he thought of Heket. "Even Heket's words were more toxic and repugnant than the mushrooms that grew in her domains," he thought softly, recalling the endless arguments they used to have in ancient times. Although the rivalry between them was strong, there was a strange and bitter nostalgia in remembering those moments.

With a goal in mind, Narinder set a small objective: to find a Menticide Mushroom, one of the rarest and most dangerous fungi that grew in Anura. He knew its power and toxicity well, but he also knew it was a valuable ingredient for certain rituals of the new faith. The journey to Anura not only connected him with his past but also provided an opportunity to gather useful elements to strengthen his cult.

The terrain grew denser as he advanced, with taller mushrooms of darker colors. Ocher leaves fell continuously, forming a seemingly endless carpet, while the wind carried some of them toward the horizon. In the distance, the croaking of frogs resonated like a constant echo, a mournful melody that filled the silence.