Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 38: Seeing Evil

Leshy, kneeling and weakened, writhed on the ground as his hands searched in the void. The blindfold covering his eyes was soaked in blood and ichor, his desperation palpable.

"**Narinder!**" Leshy shouted, his voice filled with rage and frustration. "**Damn cat, I know you're there! I can smell you, even though I can no longer see you.**"

Narinder looked at him emotionlessly, his voice sharp and cold as steel. "**Indeed, here I am. The prophecy of the Lamb has been fulfilled, and you four bishops have been dethroned. What you once were... is no more.**"

Leshy tried to stand up, but his legs trembled, barely supporting him. "**What has become of us?**" he asked, a tone mixing disbelief and bitterness. "**How could this happen?**"

Narinder walked slowly around him, observing his brother with a mixture of disdain and pity. "**You were defeated. You, Heket, Kallamar, and Shamura... You all fell one after another, victims of your own pride. And now, I, Narinder, have freed myself from the chains that kept me imprisoned thanks to Lambert, the Lamb.**"

Leshy raised his head, and despite being unable to see, his expression was one of pure confusion. "**The Lamb... the same one who destroyed us!**" he gasped. "**And what will become of me now?**"

Narinder stopped in front of him, crossing his arms with a barely perceptible smile. "**Now... you will be useful to me. Not as a god, but as a tool. You will tell me where your relic is, and when you do, your fate will be sealed.**" Narinder leaned in slightly, his voice turning into a venomous whisper. "**But don't expect mercy.**"

Silence enveloped the place, only interrupted by Leshy's ragged breathing. There was no response from him. Narinder, satisfied, turned away. "**Prepare yourself, brother. You still have a role to play.**"

With a gesture of his hand, he summoned the cultists. Leshy's fate was now out of his hands.

Leshy, still with the bandages covering his eyes, let out a deep laugh, resonating with a malice that had been forgotten in time. Narinder, though accustomed to his brother's chaotic nature, felt a pang of nostalgia upon hearing that laugh. It was the same laughter from the past, when Leshy was confident of his victory, but this time, Narinder did not let himself be swayed by that echo from the past. He remained serious, his eyes fixed on his fallen brother.

Leshy continued laughing until his voice turned into a defiant hiss. "**Then I still have a card to play... right, brother?**" he said, with a twisted smile. "**You can't get rid of me until you know where my relic is. So, until you obtain it, I will remain a thorn in your side.**"

Narinder, despite his calm exterior, felt a wave of frustration. It was a clear check. Although he had won the battle, the war was far from over. Without Leshy's relic, he could not advance in his divinity, and Leshy knew this very well.

"**I think it's you who doesn't understand the situation...**" Narinder replied, his voice laden with gravity. He stepped toward Leshy, his shadow stretching over his brother's defeated body. "**You are no longer more than a fragment of what you were. You are blind, broken, and stripped of power. The relic is just a formality because now, Leshy, you have no future. All you have left is to comply with my requests.**"

Leshy, still smiling, tilted his head. "**And yet, here we are... still tied to each other by this relic.**" His laughter resonated once more, but this time it was softer, as if he enjoyed the dilemma in which Narinder found himself.

Narinder, not allowing himself to be swayed by the provocation, leaned slightly over him. "**Don't be mistaken, Leshy. Even though you still exist, you no longer have control over your destiny. That power is now mine.**"

Narinder didn't even use magic to change Leshy's clothes to those of the cult. He left him in his rags, feeling the punishment was appropriate, and walked away, heading to his home. He knew that physically, Leshy was no longer a threat. His former younger brother was defeated, and without the crown that had once bestowed him with power, he was just a shadow of what he had been.

Meanwhile, Leshy, noticing he was alone, tried to get up from the ground with difficulty. Without his divinity, his movements were clumsy, and the blindness that plagued him made him stumble with each step. He swayed like a child just learning to walk, and his hands fumbled through the air, searching for something to orient him.

"**Hello? Is anyone here?**" His voice trembled slightly, filled with uncertainty.

There was no response. Despite hearing footsteps and whispers around him, no one approached him. The cultists, obedient to Narinder, gave him the cold shoulder, ignoring him as if he didn't exist, for they knew that Leshy was now a heretic—a traitor to their faith.

Leshy, confused and lost, extended his hands, seeking a wall or something to lean against. "**I would like... a walking stick...**" he murmured, but his voice was lost in the wind. He knew they were ignoring him on purpose, that there was no place for him in this world.

Alone, Leshy took a few more steps, stumbling over his own feet as his new destiny enveloped him.

Leshy continued walking aimlessly, arms extended in front of him, trying to find something to lean on. With each step, he tripped over small rocks or roots but refused to stop. Despite being blind, his will was unbroken. He knew there was no one willing to help him, but still, he could not afford to give up.

"**Hoooooolaaaa... is anyone there?**" he asked, his voice growing fainter, knowing that no one would answer him. The cultists passed around him, continuing with their daily tasks, pretending not to see or hear him. It was as if Leshy did not exist for them.

With every step, he felt the cold indifference of those around him. It was like being in a void, without a single soul willing to help him. And yet, he pressed on.

He stumbled about, turning in random directions. His feet brought him near the missionaries' cabin, unaware of where he was going. He tripped over a larger stone and nearly lost his balance, but he stood firm, forcing his legs to keep moving forward.

"**A... stick... or something... I can't go on like this...**" he murmured, feeling the weight of his new state. Without sight, without the crown, he was completely at the mercy of his surroundings.

Finally, after taking another awkward step, he bumped directly into something. Something soft and warm, causing him to step back slightly, swaying. It was the yellow cat, newly arrived at the cult. She looked at him in surprise, unsure of who he was or why he seemed so disoriented.

Leshy, not knowing whom he had bumped into, stopped. "**I'm sorry, I... I can't see. Could you help me?**" he asked, his tone filled with a vulnerability he hadn't shown in a long time.

The cat, unaware of Narinder's plans or Leshy's identity, stared at him with confused eyes, not knowing what to do.