Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 28: The Mystic Merchant

The dawn of a new day was arriving, and Narinder stretched lazily as the sound of the rooster, a cultist of that kind, echoed throughout the premises.

"The day I get bored with it, I'll sacrifice it," murmured Narinder to himself, with a slight smile. I knew that, although he said it jokingly, the ritual could be a possibility. Even so, he didn't mind having such a punctual and reliable alarm clock.

With an almost childlike skill, he began to play with the brush, spinning it in his hand with grace before starting to brush his impeccable black fur. Each movement was meticulous, a reflection of the pride he had in his appearance and his presence as the leader of the sect.

As I did so, I thought about how strange it was to feel so comfortable with something so mundane. Living his life, even in this semi-mortal form, was still the greatest gift Narinder had ever received. The simple act of existing outside the Veil brought him a joy that only a god who had been imprisoned for millennia could understand. He was immortal, and yet he found satisfaction in the experience of each day, as if each breath were a small victory over his imprisoned past. He knew that eventually he would return to his divine form, but he wasn't worried, as he enjoyed the journey towards that goal step by step.

Leaving his house, he took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. He felt the sun gently warming his fur, energizing him for the day ahead. The brightness of the first rays of the day calmed him, but it also brought a reminder. Today would be the last sacrifice for a while, and although his hunger for power never waned, he knew he had to be patient. Moderation, although it was not their preference, was necessary for the cult to keep their faith intact.

With that thought, Narinder began his routine, heading to the farm to gather food and check on the progress of the giant mushroom he had taken from Sozo's corpse. It was curious how that small act of planting what had once been part of such a peculiar being kept him connected to the world. I knew it was nothing more than a whim, but I still found a certain fascination in the growth of that strange plant.

"I hope it at least serves some useful purpose," he thought as he took the food for another day in his peculiar reign.

Narinder, with calm and satisfaction, headed to the kitchen. I had prepared the recipes for the day, organizing the cooks to ensure everything was in order. This time, without any rush, he decided to cook himself a well-balanced meal. Fresh vegetables, tender meat, and a touch of fish, something that seemed so insignificant for a being that didn't need to eat, but at that moment felt like a whim worth indulging in.

He took his time to savor it, each bite was an experience he didn't need, but in his immortal condition, it gave him a sense of control, a mundane pleasure that made his existence more complete. When he finished, he cleaned himself delicately, satisfied not only with the taste but with the feeling of having had an ordinary experience.

With a full stomach and a clear mind, Narinder headed to the temple. Upon arriving, he rang the bell firmly, calling his followers. One by one, the followers gathered in the temple, all expectant. There was an aura of anticipation in the air, a silence that vibrated with the energy of the imminent sacrifice.

Narinder positioned himself in front of them, raising his head with majesty, and began his sermon.

"The beauty of the jewels and crystals of Anchordeep," he began with a firm voice, "is a testament to how purity can prevail even in a kingdom marked by plague." These crystals, formed in the heart of the sick earth, do not corrupt or destroy, they do not fall before the adversities that surround them. They remain pure, precious, immutable in their splendor. Thus, you, my faithful, must be like those crystals: pure in the face of adversity, shining in the midst of darkness.

He paused, letting his words sink deep into the minds of his followers. Then, he changed his tone, referring to another kingdom.

"The spider silk," he continued, "from the lands of war, from the Silk Cradle, seems at first glance fragile, insignificant." And yet, it is one of the most durable materials that exist. No matter how many wars are fought in those lands, how many battles destroy what once stood, the silk endures. It's flexible, but firm. Thin, but tough. This is how you should be, my followers, tough against problems, unyielding in the face of obstacles.

His eyes shone with intensity as he spoke, his words resonating in the temple, filling his followers with fervor. There was a force in every word he spoke, a conviction that spread among the crowd.

"The worship must be like these materials," he declared, "pure and brilliant like crystals, and strong and resilient like silk." Only in this way will we prevail. Only in this way will we achieve our goals.

The followers nodded, inspired and committed to the vision that Narinder was giving them. They were ready, strengthened by doctrine.

Then, Narinder flashed his mischievous smile, the one that promised power and sacrifice. "And the moment everyone has been waiting for has arrived," he announced in a grave voice. "The final sacrifice of this religious week."

The air in the temple became dense, and the anticipation turned into tension when Narinder pronounced the name of the sacrificed.

"Hauras!" he said forcefully.

Hauras, the great orange scorpion, presented himself before the altar. His thorns and spikes protruded from his body, wrapped in a black tunic that barely covered the remnants of his being. But, in an unexpected turn, Hauras resisted.

"No... I refuse!" he shouted with fury and desperation. "I have responded to my faith since the Lamb forgave me, and now, just for having served the old faith, am I being condemned?" I don't deserve this! I know you desecrated the graves of my comrades and sacrificed others, but I...!"

Before he could finish his protest, a green and monstrous tentacle, emerged from the ritual, quickly enveloped him. Hauras barely had time to fight, and he was dragged to the realm of the dead without his voice ever being heard again.

Narinder, however, was no longer listening to him. The words of Hauras faded from his mind as the wave of divine energy coursed through him. A feeling of indescribable power took hold of him, feeding him, making him feel stronger, a little closer to the divinity he longed to reclaim.

With a satisfied smile, Narinder observed the cultists and felt the energy fill every fiber of his being.

The cultists, visibly relieved, dispersed from the temple with smiles of joy. The weight of uncertainty and the fear that came with the possibility of being chosen for the sacrifice had faded away. It was the last of the religious week, and they had survived. Their hearts, once filled with fear, now beat with renewed enthusiasm.

Narinder watched them as they walked away, feeling in them the fervor of devotion. Even with the emotion vibrating inside him from the energy acquired from the sacrifice, he decided to visit the minors of the cult. I wanted to share with them the wisdom I had preached in the temple. He spoke to them about the jewels of Anchordeep, their purity and durability, comparing them to what they themselves could become if they remained loyal and strong in the face of adversity.

After the talk, Narinder felt the need to relax. It had been a powerful day, but also boring. He thought that a walk in the lands of Anura would be perfect to clear his mind. So, with a steady stride, he headed towards the portals that connected his domain with the neighboring kingdoms.

However, just as he was about to cross, a chill ran through his entire body. Something powerful was about to manifest. He stopped dead in his tracks, his black fur bristling at the sudden energy he felt flowing in the air.

Suddenly, a blinding flash, brighter than the sun, emerged in the space between the portals of Anura and Darkwood. Narinder squinted, momentarily covering the three that adorned his face. The light was so intense that it seemed to burn the air around it.

When the brightness finally faded, Narinder focused his gaze, adjusting his eyes to discover who or what had caused such an appearance. In front of him, a familiar figure, radiating overwhelming energy, watched him calmly. The air around him vibrated with ancient power.

The god before him, with a deep and resonant voice, uttered a simple yet powerful phrase.

Hello, old chained one.

Narinder, still stunned by the sudden appearance, immediately recognized the presence of that being.