Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 36: The Calm Before the Storm

Narinder picked up the Tear of God from the ground, his trophy after the grueling battle with Barbatos, and without wasting any time, teleported back to the cult. As soon as he arrived, a wave of tranquility washed over him, and with a clearer mind, he realized how reckless he had been embarking on that nocturnal crusade. He had acted impulsively, driven by anxiety and his desire to rush his mission, when in reality, there had been no need.

He stood still for a moment, gazing at the high sun in the sky. It was past noon. He had spent the entire night and morning fighting the creatures of chaos when he could have rested and thought more clearly. Still gripping his scythe, he took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs and clear the last traces of fatigue.

"This was a waste of time," he muttered to himself. "I shouldn't have let myself be carried away like that."

With one last glance toward the horizon, Narinder forced himself to focus on his responsibilities. With firm steps, he returned to the center of the cult, ready to resume the daily tasks he had left behind and continue with his mission—but now, with more patience and control. He knew that the path to complete divinity required not just power, but also the wisdom to avoid being consumed by haste.

Narinder walked with purpose to the missionary cabin, determined to make the most of his time while regaining his strength. There, he encountered a dark-furred buffalo, a white-feathered dove, and the yellow cat, Kitty, who knelt as he approached. Without preamble, he assigned them a clear mission.

"You three will go in search of bones," Narinder said, his voice resonant and leaving no room for objections. "I need them for the upcoming rituals. Make sure you return before nightfall."

The missionaries accepted the task without question, and after a brief bow, they prepared to depart. Narinder watched as the portal illuminated and transported them to their respective destinations. As they left, he felt that he was regaining control. The cult had to stay active, and the collection of resources was vital.

Next, Narinder headed to the farm. The air was filled with the fresh scent of ripe fruits. With his hands, he carefully harvested the fruits with the same meticulous dedication he had used to bring down enemies the previous night. Camellias bloomed between the rows of crops, and without hurry, Narinder picked a few, knowing they might be useful for the upcoming rituals.

After finishing his task, he went to visit the young ones of the cult. He sat before them, watching as they gazed up at him with curious, reverent eyes.

"Today, I'll teach you something important," he said, a dark smile playing on his lips. "This, children, is Leshy. An old god of the Old Faith, a despicable being who ruled over chaos."

Narinder handed out drawings of Leshy, caricatures that exaggerated his worst features. The young ones took the drawings and, as if it were a game, began scratching them with hatred, their small hands full of resentment instilled by their leader.

"Ruin that image well," Narinder added, "because one day, he will be our prisoner. And though you may not yet understand, his fall will be the beginning of our victory."

After spending a while with the children, he made his way to the temple. Ringing the bell had become a ritual in itself, and as he did so, the metallic sound echoed throughout the place. The cultists began entering the temple, taking their seats as Narinder prepared to deliver a sermon. This time, the message would be different.

"Brothers and sisters," he began, his deep voice filling the space, "today, I don't speak only of death but of what it means for those who oppose us. Leshy, the traitor, chaos incarnate, is about to be brought to his knees! And when we achieve this, it will not be out of mercy, but because we have mastered him—because his time is over."

His words were met with a silent fervor, an absolute devotion. Narinder continued his speech, his energy growing as he absorbed the faith of his followers.

Narinder raised his hands, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made all the cultists bow even more deeply, awaiting his next words.

"Listen closely, my faithful," he continued, his voice resonating with authority. "My next crusade will take me straight to the heart of chaos, where I will face the fallen god... Leshy! That traitor, the remnant of the Old Faith, will soon be on his knees before me. I will defeat him, and his power will be ours."

Murmurs of approval and excitement rippled through the room. Narinder paced back and forth, savoring the fervor of his followers.

"But I warn you," he continued, his tone darkening, "when Leshy arrives here, when I bring him to our cult, treat him as he is! A heretic, a plague undeserving of any kindness. Show him no hospitality, for he deserves none. Let him feel the contempt his betrayal has earned!"

The crowd gazed at him, devouring every word, some nodding with barely contained fury.

"However," Narinder raised a hand to quell any excessive emotion, "his relic is essential to my plans, to our final victory. So, do the bare minimum. Just enough for him to survive... until we no longer need him."

The temple fell into reverent silence as Narinder finished his sermon. Each cultist knew Leshy's fate was sealed. For Narinder, the battle would not only be physical but also a matter of absolute control over the fallen god of chaos.

Once the last of the cultists left the temple, the energy that had filled the space began to dissipate. Narinder stood alone, his imposing figure still at the center of the altar, but something in him shifted. A fine layer of sweat began to form on his forehead.

The weight of his own words, of the challenge he was about to face, had finally caught up with him. He couldn't deny the truth: he was nervous.

"Leshy..." he muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the empty temple.

He knew everything he had said in his sermon was sincere. He wanted to defeat Leshy, to subdue him and take his power. But deep within, there was something he couldn't ignore: uncertainty. He didn't know what to expect. Would the battle be as simple as the others? Or was Leshy, despite his fall, still a worthy opponent?

His claws trembled slightly. He clenched his fists, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

"Everything is still going according to plan," he reminded himself, whispering into the temple's quiet stillness. "I just have to keep going."

Despite the doubts that gnawed at him, Narinder knew there was no turning back.