Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 32: Tear of God

Narinder walked with a firm step towards the center of the cult, his imposing figure standing out under the glow of the moon. Upon reaching his statue, he snapped his fingers, casually summoning one of his followers.

"Pig, come here," he commanded with a mixture of authority and disdain.

A cultist, whose species was a pig, hurried over, bowing deeply before his god. His words trembled as they emerged.

"My lord, my name is M..."

Without even letting him finish, Narinder impatiently interrupted him. "Is my statue ready?" His tone was pretentious, but there was a trace of contained excitement in his voice. Though he didn't show it openly, his vanity was intertwined with his divine power.

The pig quickly nodded, trying not to show fear. "Oh, of course, my lord. It's ready."

Narinder approached his statue, inspecting every detail with a critical eye. The sculpture was majestic, just as he had imagined it. His sharp scythe rested to one side, a symbol of his strength. In the other hand, he held the book of doctrines, representing his absolute control over faith. At the top of his head, the red crown gleamed with authority, and his face, carved with great skill into the stone, reflected his beauty and divinity.

"Hmm, not bad at all," he murmured to himself, a satisfied smile barely touching his lips. For a moment, contemplating his own glory gave him a sense of peace, but like everything in his life, that satisfaction was fleeting.

Without even looking at the pig again, Narinder headed toward the temple. Not a word of gratitude left his mouth, for he was not a god who offered thanks. He was a god who took what was his by right, and the devotion of his followers was something taken for granted.

"The whole world belongs to me, if I so decide," he thought as he walked toward the temple, his mind already focused on the next step in his plan.

Narinder rang the temple bell, and slowly, his faithful began to enter, their faces filled with expectation and reverential fear. This time, Narinder didn't intend to waste time. He positioned himself before them with a fixed gaze, and without hesitation, began his sermon.

"Power is something I seek. To attain full divinity, I need more power, and to gain power, knowledge is necessary," he proclaimed firmly, scanning the room with his gaze. The tension in the air was palpable.

His eyes gleamed as he scrutinized the reactions of his cultists, letting the anticipation settle. "So I want you all to know that I will soon pull Leshy out of purgatory and bring him to the cult."

Immediately, gasps of terror spread through the crowd. Many of those present remembered with horror the terrifying tales of the religion of chaos, dark days under Leshy's ruthless rule. However, before fear could spread, Narinder raised a hand, demanding complete silence.

"You don't have to treat him well," he continued, his voice laden with authority. "It's fine if you simply give him the cold shoulder. Or take your frustrations out on him when he arrives here. Leshy is one of the bishops of the Old Faith and, therefore, an enemy of the New Faith."

The silence was broken only by the restrained breathing of his followers as Narinder paused dramatically, savoring the control he had over the situation. Then, a dark smile appeared on his face, and his voice took on an even more calculating tone.

"So we will use him to our advantage." Narinder's eyes glowed with a malice that spread to the cultists. "I'll get him to tell me where his relic is... and once in my hands, he'll be judged accordingly."

Smiles spread among some of the followers. Revenge against one of the symbols of past terror felt sweet to them. They were aligned with Narinder's plan, ready to follow his divine will, pleased with the prospect of seeing Leshy fall into the hands of their god.