Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 19: The Dream of the Chained God and the Realm of Plague

Narinder entered his home, closing the door behind him. Fatigue barely affected him physically, but his mind craved the comfort of his bed—a pleasure he enjoyed as a whim, though it was unnecessary for a god. He collapsed onto the large wool bed, the only one that existed, as the extinction of sheep had made that material more valuable than gold. He rolled from side to side on the mattress, like a satisfied feline seeking the coziest corner.

He smiled with a satisfaction few would understand, taking his favorite pillow, also filled with soft wool. He rubbed his face against it, enjoying the texture and the faint scent of lamb that still lingered. A nearly feline purr escaped his lips as he embraced the pillow, slowly closing his three eyes. The weight of his own power and the comfort allowed him to easily slip into a deep sleep.

In that state, a memory emerged: the Lamb, his faithful servant, had defeated Focalor, one of Shamura's most resilient followers. It was a pleasurable moment, a milestone where the Lamb once again demonstrated his cunning and brutality.

Narinder, in the veil, smiled wickedly at the sight of the Lamb before him. Only 150 years had passed since the little being began his adventures, and three of the bishops had already fallen. The chains binding him had weakened considerably.

With a Machiavellian expression, Narinder approached the Lamb, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"So you threw Ratau to the wolves," he said, his wicked laughter echoing in the void of the veil.

The ancient god was filled with pride. He couldn't help but celebrate the Lamb's actions.

"Your treacherous opportunism exceeded my expectations. Ratau was an almost suitable servant, but he lacked the cruelty you have so eloquently demonstrated. He resigned after reaching an agreement that resulted in the sacrifice of a follower. He was weak and allowed my temple to fall into ruin. I see that is not a problem you share. I sent Ratau to help you, but this pleases me greatly. A great servant takes his master's will as his own. Well done."

Narinder's words, sincere and filled with pride, flowed easily. It was impossible to hide the satisfaction he felt seeing that his new servant was not only loyal but ruthless when it came to advancing his mission. The fact that the Lamb had sacrificed Ratau for more power filled him with deep joy.

This memory, a blend of betrayal and triumph, was one of the most pleasurable that Narinder could relive. Each time he did, the joy he felt filled his being with a sense of absolute control and success.

Hours passed, and Narinder enjoyed an unparalleled night of rest, feeling rejuvenated with every second spent in that power-filled dream. At dawn, the crowing of the rooster awakened him, not out of necessity but out of habit.

Narinder woke renewed and full of energy. Without wasting time, he decided to head straight to the cult's exit, putting his duties aside for later. His destination was one of the most dangerous realms: "Anchordeep," the territory of his brother Kallamar, the bishop of plague.

Upon reaching the portal and crossing it, Narinder felt a strange sensation of pressure in his body. The realm of Anchordeep was submerged in magical water, allowing him to breathe effortlessly, but the surroundings were overwhelming. Everything around him seemed to be underwater, with fish swimming in the air and sea creatures gliding past him. The aquatic environment, while fascinating, was rife with enemies; some exploded at the slightest contact, others released clouds of poison, and heretics hid in every corner.

Although Narinder was a powerful god, he couldn't help but feel a certain discomfort. He disliked getting his fur wet, even in this magical environment that kept him relatively dry. He huffed in annoyance, but his determination did not waver.

As he moved through the watery terrain, he murmured to himself:
"My brother, Kallamar, lived in fear of me. He trembled at the thought of death! In his temple, he believed himself safe. How I long to see those crystal walls crumble..."

Narinder's voice was filled with disdain and malice. Kallamar had always appeared weak in his eyes, a being dominated by fear, incapable of challenging true power.

Determined, Narinder focused on his primary objective: to collect at least ten crystal shards, a unique resource in these lands. He knew he would need them for future plans, and although the sensation of the realm made him uneasy, he wouldn't allow his aversion to water to distract him from his mission.

With firm steps, he began his search, each crystal shard bringing him closer to his plans. And while the weight of his history with his brother surrounded him, Narinder couldn't help but smile at the prospect of once again trampling Kallamar's legacy.

Thus, his journey in Anchordeep was just beginning, but Narinder advanced with the confidence of a god who never lost sight of his purpose.