Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 70: The Fearful Brother

Upon returning to the cult, Narinder noticed the sun was at its peak, flooding everything with relentless brightness—a stark contrast to the weight he felt inside. Wasting no time, he made his way to the teleportation area for cultists, expecting to see the inevitable: the mortal form of his brother, Kallamar.

The fallen god of plague appeared, now much smaller, clad in tattered old clothes—a pitiful version of what he once was. Though traces of his divine form remained, his body was fragile and trembling, and his skin bore clear signs of illness. Kallamar could barely stand, his breath labored, and his gaze filled with terror.

Narinder's expression was cold and calculating. Without hesitation, his crown transformed into a giant black hand, which extended and effortlessly seized his brother. Kallamar whimpered weakly under the hand's grip, powerless to resist.

Without a word, Narinder lifted him and carried him toward the healing chamber. Along the way, cultists murmured in amazement, whispering about the downfall of the plague god. Wide-eyed, they stared in disbelief and fear, seeing the once-dreaded Kallamar reduced to a shadow of his former self.

Narinder paid no mind to the murmurs, his steps firm as he reached the healing room. There, he placed Kallamar on one of the beds with cold precision. The fallen god shivered, his breath uneven, while Narinder watched silently, assessing the situation.

Without making a comment, Narinder began grinding camellia flowers with the practiced precision of someone used to the routine. His expression remained unreadable. Once the powder was ready, he dissolved it with a gesture and carefully placed it in Kallamar's mouth, who offered no resistance. The medicine acted quickly, easing the physical weakness tormenting the fallen god.

Kallamar slowly sat up in the bed, his eyes cast downward, still trembling despite his restored health. The silence in the room was thick and oppressive, broken only by Kallamar's ragged breathing.

"Hello... Narinder..." Kallamar whispered, his voice laced with fear, never daring to lift his gaze.

Narinder observed him in silence, his eyes filled with restrained disapproval. "You don't even have the courage to look at the brother who pulled you from purgatory?" His tone was neutral, but an unmistakable chill lurked beneath each word.

Kallamar didn't respond immediately, still staring at the floor, unable to meet his brother's gaze.

Narinder pulled out a few shards of Anchordeep crystal, sharp and gleaming, and handed them over. Kallamar took them with trembling hands, watching them sparkle under the light.

"Yes... Mine was the most beautiful temple," Kallamar muttered weakly, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the crystals as if trying to recall some fragment of his former glory. "Shamura's had an eerie feel, and Leshy's too, but Heket's... phew!" He forced a faint smile.

Narinder remained silent, his expression serious as he watched Kallamar toy with the fragments. Something about the scene stirred a painful familiarity within him, but it also felt distant, like a connection that had been irreparably severed.

Narinder took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside him. He was a god, Death itself, but in that moment, standing before Kallamar, he felt vulnerable—though he would never show it.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold. "I'll be direct. Tell me where your relic is, and I'll release you in Anchordeep."

Kallamar, still clutching the crystal, opened his eyes but avoided looking directly at his brother. Instead, he seemed lost in thought, his gaze lingering on the glittering shards. "Where are the others?" he asked in a trembling whisper.