Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 18: The Feast

Narinder rang the golden bell of the temple, its sound echoing like a call that seemed to summon even the heavens. The cultists quickly gathered, aligning themselves in an orderly fashion, with reverence in every gesture. Narinder, from his elevated position, observed the devotion in their eyes. It was a reflection of his power and influence, something that fueled his desire for control.

Once the last creature crossed the entrance, Narinder stepped forward, his presence as imposing as ever. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as his mind replayed the experience of the previous day in Anura.

"Today, brothers and sisters of the new faith," he began, his deep voice resonating in every corner of the temple, "I want to speak to you about the land of hunger, Anura. A kingdom covered in mushrooms and withered leaves, a place where life twists and survives under the shadow of scarcity. What can such a desperate realm, filled with adversity, teach us?"

The cultists listened in silence, fascinated by their leader's words.

"There grow the mushrooms I collected yesterday," he continued, holding up one of the menticide mushrooms he had brought with him. "These fungi are a paradox of nature. They feed on life, yet they have learned not to be eaten. In a place governed by scarcity and hunger, they thrive."

Narinder paused, observing how the cultists absorbed the comparison.

"Just like this cult," he continued with a wicked smile on his lips. "We too can thrive in adversity, grow even when everything around us seems to want to devour us. You, followers of the new faith, have within you the capacity to overcome any obstacle, to flourish in the most inhospitable environments. We are stronger than hunger, more resilient than death."

The power Narinder felt as he spoke flowed in every word, like an electric current coursing through the temple. The cultists, with shining eyes, leaned forward, attentive to every syllable.

When the sermon ended, Narinder lifted his head and felt the energy of the cult flowing toward him, a vital torrent that reinforced his power with each devoted soul. He smiled with a satisfaction he didn't bother to hide.

"Now," he said, in a soft but authoritative voice, "it is time for the daily sacrifice."

A slight commotion swept through the crowd when the name "Focalor" was pronounced. A former follower of his brother Shamura, a spider-like creature that blended the deep blue of the night sky with the vibrant red of fire, slowly advanced toward the altar. Its silk-wrapped body shone under the candlelight, and its venomous stinger gleamed like a warning. But Focalor showed no resistance; it seemed to have accepted its fate with an unsettling calm.

Narinder watched the cultist's surrender with sharp eyes, knowing that each sacrifice was necessary to strengthen the faith and his power.

"Your devotion will not be in vain, Focalor," he said as he raised his hand, beginning the ritual.

With a gesture, the sacrifice was completed, and Narinder felt Focalor's vitality flowing toward him, a surge of energy that fueled his own power. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, each fragment of life adding to his being, like a river swelling its waters.

"This is how the new faith is strengthened," he whispered, more to himself than to the others.

But he noticed something. There was a heavy air in the atmosphere, a small seed of exhaustion in the faces of his followers. The continuous sacrifices seemed to have weakened their enthusiasm. Narinder recognized it immediately, and as a leader who understood the importance of keeping morale high, he decided to take swift action.

"Brothers," he said in a firm voice, "it is time to celebrate. Not everything is sacrifice; we must also honor what we have. Today, I will celebrate a feast in the name of the new faith."

With a wave of his hand, using the power granted by the crown, he summoned a long, majestic table in the center of the temple. Plates filled with delicacies appeared: roasted meats, exotic fruits, golden breads, and bubbling drinks of vibrant colors.

"Let us celebrate the new faith!" he exclaimed, taking a large piece of finely cooked meat and biting into it with satisfaction. The cultists, seeing the gesture, began to cheer up, approaching the table with a mix of hunger and reverence.

The feast extended for hours, the food devoured with gusto as Narinder observed with a satisfied smile. He had fulfilled his purpose: to strengthen the faith of his followers, both through sacrifice and through the feast.

And when the lights of day began to decline, Narinder, still savoring the remnants of the banquet, felt that the day had been a resounding success.

When the feast ended, Narinder snapped his fingers, and in an instant, the table and all the waste vanished without a trace. The cultists withdrew, full and satisfied, as the sunset painted the sky a soft orange hue. Narinder, the last to leave the temple, walked with an expression of contentment. His destination was clear: the most secluded corner of the cult, where the prison was located.

However, halfway there, he was interrupted by a pig. It ran nervously toward him, its hooves kicking up dust.

"Oh, my lord!" it exclaimed, breathing heavily. "It was an excellent banquet, but I wanted to ask you about..."

Before it could finish, Narinder interrupted, his tone impatient.

"What was your name?"

The pig blinked, surprised and a bit embarrassed to have to repeat its name.

"I am Mapur, my lord," it replied with a slight bow. "I wanted to inform you that there are those who suspect you are choosing sacrifices for... past actions, as well as dishonoring certain graves. All of them have been former followers of your brothers."

Narinder smiled, a grin that radiated malice and surrounded his body with a terrifying aura. His voice turned almost mocking.

"Oh? Really? What a coincidence, isn't it?"

Mapur, trembling but determined to continue, gathered courage.

"I-I know they were heretics before, but the Lamb welcomed and forgave them..."

Before it could continue, Narinder cut it off sharply with a shout that resonated throughout the place.

"I AM NOT THE LAMB!"

The silence that followed the shout was heavy and oppressive. Narinder took a deep breath, regaining his composure. His tone returned to cold, almost cruel.

"But if my choices bother them, you are free to swap places with any of them," he said with a chilling smile. "I need sacrifices to increase my power, so I'll make it simple. It's either them or you. I think the answer is quite obvious."

Narinder stopped walking to face him directly, his eyes glowing with a threatening intensity. The pig, intimidated and completely submissive, could barely maintain eye contact. Finally, with a trembling bow, it stepped back.

"Y-yes, my lord... I understand..."

Narinder smiled with satisfaction, his mood noticeably lifting at the sight of the genuine fear he had instilled in Mapur. He had not only reaffirmed his power but also increased the pig's faith, albeit through fear.

"Seeing genuine terror certainly lifts my spirits," he murmured to himself as the pig walked away, still trembling.

He continued on his way to the prison, his step lighter, almost relaxed. Upon arrival, he stopped in front of the imprisoned panda, his red eyes shining with fury. Tomato stains still adorned its fur, a testament to its resilience and defiance.

"Do you still wish to dissent?" Narinder asked, his voice laced with boredom.

The panda, unable to contain its rage, shouted furiously, words that made no sense to Narinder. He simply looked at her, completely disinterested, as if her anger were nothing more than the annoying buzz of a fly. After a moment, dismissing her entirely, he turned to leave.

Without paying much attention, and without even being aware of his own gesture, he tossed a bit of dirt at the panda's face as he walked away, a final gesture of disdain. With that small act, Narinder felt more than satisfied. Now, he had only one goal left: to rest in his bed after such a good meal.