Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 64: The Map

Leaving the temple, Narinder felt a mixture of determination and melancholy. He headed for the jail, his mind stirred by the need for Heket's relic, an object that could grant him unimaginable power. However, upon arriving, a feeling of sadness washed over him as he saw his sister in such a state.

Heket was thinner than he had imagined. Her face, once plump and full of vitality, now showed signs of exhaustion and suffering. "Hello, sister," Narinder said, his voice heavy with a sadness he could not hide. The atmosphere was thick, a reflection of their shared suffering.

"This can all end," he continued, with heartbreaking sincerity. "I only ask that you tell me where your relic is, please." Their eyes met, and for an instant, Narinder saw Heket's internal struggle, the dilemma of a sister trapped in her own demons.

She trembled slightly, resignation marked in her expression. With trembling hands, she began to write a map, precisely outlining the location of her temple and a large tree to the south of it. Each stroke was like a fragment of hope nestling in Narinder's heart. "This is invaluable," he thought as he took the scribbles.

Heket, visibly weakened, wrote another note: "Food," looking at Narinder with a mix of pleading and longing. It was a simple request, but loaded with meaning. Narinder nodded, feeling a pang of compassion.

With the map firmly in his hand, he turned to leave the prison. A heavy silence accompanied him as he crossed the threshold, feeling like he took with him not only the information he needed, but a piece of his sister's spirit. He did not stop to speak to anyone; his mind was focused on the task at hand.

He stepped into Anura's portal, the energy of the place vibrating around him. On the other side, the cool breeze welcomed him, and Narinder felt a renewed determination. The mission was clear: find Heket's gorge, recover the relic, and gain more power.

As he moved forward, the image of Heket in her sorry state lingered in his mind, pushing him forward with a mix of compassion and urgency.

Entering Anura, Narinder felt like a predator on the hunt, each step echoing with a mix of determination and ferocity. He moved forward with surprising speed, using his sickle masterfully, cutting down the trees that stood in his way with a single, precise slash. Leaves fell like confetti in a triumphal parade, leaving a clear path to his goal.

Finally, he reached the temple, where the corrupted form of Bathin stood before him, an abomination that represented everything that had fallen to darkness. His figure was scarred by torture, a wooden cross impaled on his head, dripping a black substance that stained his skin. Twisted horns were mixed with moss, and the eyes painted on his face had a grotesque air, reflecting the agony of his condition.

Narinder prepared for battle, feeling the vibrant energy of his being intensify. With a war cry, he lunged forward, unleashing the power of his sickle. Bathin responded by charging furiously, the movement direct indicating his impending attack.

With divine agility, Narinder dodged the charge, feeling the cold air as it passed close to his body. Wasting no time, he counterattacked, the edge of his sickle flashing in the light of the temple as he slashed at Bathin at a lethal angle. But the witness would not give up easily.

Bathin stepped back and, with a swift movement, fired a line of explosive projectiles that flew towards Narinder. The god of death was prepared, however; he performed a graceful spin, each explosion creating waves of energy that illuminated the darkness of the temple. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he moved, feeling the thrill of battle resonate in every fiber of his being.

Bathin's second offensive was a more voracious attack: explosive shells in a radius around him, a rain of destruction that seemed unstoppable. But Narinder, with his mind sharpened and his body in top form, used his surroundings to his advantage. He lunged to the side, dodging the explosions, and in a climactic move, he swung his sickle hard, slicing through the shells and driving it towards Bathin.

With a piercing scream, Bathin was struck by the attack, his form reeling under the blow. Narinder gave no respite; he lunged forward with supernatural speed, wielding his sickle with mastery. In a final, decisive move, he pierced Bathin, the corruption of the witness finally succumbing to the will of his enemy.

With victory assured, Narinder stood still, breathing heavily as he watched Bathin's corrupted body crumble, dispersing into the darkness. As he examined the place where he had been, he picked up the Divine Tear, a shining object that pulsed with pure energy, and the Eye of the Witness, a symbol of victory and of the Witness who had been defeated.

As he held the objects in his hand, Narinder felt a surge of satisfaction. With renewed determination, he set out on his next mission, knowing that each step brought him closer to fulfilling his purpose and regaining what had been lost, his divinity.

Once at the gate of the Temple of Hunger, Narinder felt a mix of anticipation and excitement. With the map in hand, he began to search for the great tree he had marked. After a few minutes of walking, his gaze stopped on a towering tree that reached up into the sky, its branches reaching out like arms that seemed to challenge the gods. The height of the tree filled him with determination, and he began to climb with agility, each movement a testament to his divine strength.

Upon reaching the top, he came upon Heket's Gorge, an object that glowed with a mysterious aura, as if it contained the echoes of his sister's memories. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he pocketed the object. It had been a fruitful quest, and he felt that somehow, recovering this artifact brought him closer to his sister and redemption.

With a graceful leap, he descended to the ground, landing gracefully like a predator who has just caught its prey. He wasted no time in returning to the Temple of Hunger. As he entered, the air was permeated with a heavy energy, a silence that only amplified the determination burning within him.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he was ready. With a wave of his hand, he channeled his magic and began to fill the walls, ceiling, and floor of the temple with black and red ichor, a mix of the corruption and despair he had represented for so long. The ichor glowed, as if a living darkness took over the place.

With a snap of his fingers, all that ichor began to burn. The flames danced, lighting up the temple in an ominous glow as the fire spread, consuming every corner. Narinder watched with a mix of satisfaction and delight, watching the place that had been a symbol of famine crumble into a spectacle of destruction.

He counted the seconds, relishing the torch of destruction he had lit. He wanted to experience the temple's last moment before it disappeared. When he felt the fire reach its peak, he snapped his fingers once more and teleported to the cult, leaving behind the roar of the fire and the crackling of the flames that devoured everything in its path.

He appeared in his cult, the air fresh and free of the heavy burden of the temple he had destroyed. However, the echo of the explosion he had left behind resonated in his mind, reminding him that although he had managed to destroy the Temple of Hunger, there was still much to do on his path to power. With Heket's throat in his possession, he knew that the time to act was near.