Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 78: Void

Narinder, feeling the mental exhaustion that was overwhelming him, declared that day as sacred. All cultists would have a day off as a vacation, a break in which they could relax and enjoy themselves without obligations. The excitement among the followers was palpable. The cheers rose even higher, and the party, which was already thunderous, promised to continue all night and into the next day.

While his cult continued in euphoria, Narinder simply retreated to his house, removing himself from everything. He removed his robe with slow movements and let himself fall into his bed. He buried his face in the pillow, trying to find some relief in the fresh scent of new cotton. But that smell did not offer him the peace he longed for. There was no refuge, neither in his bed nor in the softness of the sheets.

He tossed and turned in the huge bed, unable to find a comfortable position or something that would distract him from his own discomfort. His thoughts weighed on him, but he could not find a way to order them. He stared at the ceiling, his mind a storm of emotions he couldn't quite process. The headache he felt was increasing the pressure in his head.

With a sigh, he pulled the relic out of the crown, a piece that once would have inspired pride. Now, however, it was a reminder of everything he had lost, of the chains that bound him to the past. He ran his fingers along the thick chains that adorned the relic: the black chain, heavy and somber; the green and yellow chains, which connected him to memories of his brothers and their history.

But what really captured his attention was the blue chain, the latest addition after the ritual with Kallamar. There, engraved in the divine language, was the inscription: "The cure will rise over the plague."

Narinder gazed at it in silence. He thought of nothing, simply observing every detail of his relic, letting himself be absorbed by its somber beauty, by the mysteries it held. Hours passed, with him sitting in the dark, plunged into an emotional void, not knowing exactly how to move forward or what the point of it all was.

Everything he had done, everything he had accomplished, seemed distant and unreal now, as if he were observing his life through a veil, separated from any emotion that could give him any kind of comfort.

The cultist rooster's crow marked the beginning of a new day, but for Narinder, time had passed without him being able to fall asleep. He had been awake all night, staring at the ceiling, motionless in his bed. As a god, sleeping was optional, but this time it was not by choice that he had not closed his eyes. His mind gave him no respite, and the darkness of his room seemed to reflect the one he carried within.

At one point, he thought of Aym and Baal. One of the few good things he felt he had done in his immortal life. He considered the possibility of going to find them, of sharing some of his time with them, perhaps obtaining some of the company he so lacked. But he quickly dismissed the idea. He knew that going to find them would be stealing the freedom he had given them, the one thing he had granted them without asking for anything in return. He couldn't ruin that, even if the desire to have someone close to him ate away at him.

Loneliness surrounded him, despite being at the center of a cult full of followers who adored him unconditionally. But that kind of devotion didn't fill the emptiness he felt in his soul. They revered him for his power, they idolized him as a god, but none of them could understand what it was really like to be Death. He couldn't share with them his fears, his memories, his doubts. He was a distant being, even to those who loved him.

"I am Death, after all," he muttered to himself, the truth weighing in his voice like a sentence. He remained in bed, his head turned to one side, on his fluffy cotton pillow. "Wool is better..." he thought bitterly, remembering how lamb's wool brought him a feeling of warmth and security.

He shook his head. "No!" he scolded himself quietly. "He's gone, I don't need anyone and I don't deserve anyone." It was a firm statement, but deep inside he knew it wasn't that simple. The temptation to pull a piece of wool from his crown was there, but he resisted. He couldn't give in to those feelings. He had to outdo the lamb, he had to prove he could do it alone. Despite everything, that shadow of what he once was haunted him, tangling itself in his thoughts.

He looked at his hand, the same one that had taken the lamb's life to free himself from the veil. The memory hit him like a dagger. That was the action that sealed his fate, his liberation, but it also condemned him to live in an endless cycle of loneliness and guilt. Had it been worth it? That was the question that kept him awake, with no clear answer.

The first rays of morning illuminated the room, but Narinder was still there, trapped in his own torment.

Narinder began to rethink everything as he lay there, staring at the ceiling of his room with his thoughts scrambled. The tarot cards, the ones Clauneck had shown him the first time, began to make more sense in his mind. He clearly understood the image of the golden throne, the symbol of his rise, and the chains surrounding his relic were a confirmation of the second card and that power he was regaining. Two out of three, he thought, I'm almost there.

But what kept him uneasy was the third card: a purple sword that floated ominously in his memory. He knew it was a harbinger of something else. "I guess it's Shamura," he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed as his thoughts ran through the possibilities. Shamura, his older brother, was the wisest, the one he had never underestimated. But something about the image of that sword didn't leave him alone.

Even lying in his huge bed, uncertainty gnawed at him. He had been told that there would be a great test, one that he must face, but he always thought it would come after dealing with his brothers. As he defeated them, he felt the power he once had slowly return, and he knew he was closer to reclaiming his throne as the true god. However, that purple sword puzzled him.

He began to sweat, a little nervous, as his mind tried to unravel what the card represented. "That card must be my future battle against Shamura..." he mused quietly, trying to convince himself that everything was following a plan that, deep down, he barely understood. "But... the great test must be something else," he continued, feeling a knot in his stomach. He thought it was something that had not appeared in the cards, something that was coming without him being able to fully foresee it.

The emptiness of the unknown bothered Narinder deeply. Not knowing what awaited him after Shamura, not understanding the true nature of the great test, made him feel vulnerable. Insecure. He knew that for a god like him, there was no room for error, and that any misstep could cost him everything he had achieved so far. Uncertainty continued to haunt him, a shadow he could not dispel with the power he had regained so far.

Narinder took a deep breath, trying to calm the internal storm overwhelming him. "Fine," he murmured in a firm voice, as if reaffirming his plans out loud would give him the control he so longed for. "My plans remain firm. I will defeat Shamura, obtain his relic, seal him in the veil, face the great test, obtain one more crown, and then... the white crown of Haro."

Each word he spoke was like an anchor to his determination, a way to not get lost in the emotional void that was eating away at him. "And now with the two extra crowns," he continued, "I will be able to move on to my future plans. I will not let the chains of my past drag me down forever, I have a great destiny to fulfill."

Despite his confident speech, the emptiness inside him was still there, like a constant echo that he couldn't ignore. It was a feeling of disconnection from everything, even from himself. But Narinder was still mentally exhausted, but he was determined, Narinder clung to his purpose tooth and nail. It was the only thing that kept him going, the only thing that gave him meaning, although each victory seemed to sink him deeper into that feeling of loneliness and emptiness. However, that didn't matter.

"I have a great destiny to achieve," he repeated to himself, as if that statement was enough to fill the emptiness that was devouring him from within.