Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 84: A Special Guest

Once finished, Narinder looked at the two gift boxes in front of him. With a slow, nostalgic movement, he reached out his hand to the red box and gently caressed it, as if he were touching a living memory. The thought of the Lamb filled his mind. Although he had accepted the death of his faithful follower, the nostalgia of those days, of the loyalty and bravery of that little being, continued to vibrate in his chest. This box, like its symbolic content, was a way of honoring the memory of the Lamb, of remembering the light he had brought to his existence. A soft, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips; he knew that, despite his loss, it was a happy memory that now lived in his mind.

The crowing of the rooster broke the silence, and Narinder looked up, surprised. He had not noticed that time had passed so quickly; the whole night had slipped by while he worked on those boxes. Although he didn't need to sleep, the morning sound reminded him that dawn came for everyone, even the gods. With a sense of satisfaction, he took his brush and began to comb his black fur, arranging each strand calmly, enjoying those small rituals that connected him to the present.

As he left his house, something caught his attention. He saw a cultist in the shape of a green beetle wandering around the cult grounds. At another time, he probably wouldn't have given it much thought, but something about the figure's aura was different. His gaze sharpened as he noticed that the beetle did not radiate any faith towards him, something that was unusual in his cult, where even the newest followers showed him respect.

Intrigued, he began to follow it discreetly, while questions formed in his mind. "This beetle... is not a cultist of my faith," he thought, observing it cautiously. "He doesn't behave like one of my followers, nor is he a dissident like Jalala... Who is he, then?"

The green beetle continued to wander around the cult as if he were another member, enjoying a plate of food that he had taken without hesitation, and walking with total naturalness. He seemed so safe, so comfortable, that anyone would think he had been there for months. However, Narinder followed him closely, his piercing eyes observing his every move without the beetle noticing his presence.

While he concentrated on the intruder, Narinder decided to go deeper and, unlike his brothers, he allowed himself to read the beetle's mind. The revelations filled him with fury: that beetle was a spy who had sneaked into the cult, taking advantage of the quiet of the previous night to set up shop in an empty house and, cunningly, pretend to be an ordinary adept. His audacity was intolerable.

With a snap of anger, Narinder's crown transformed into a giant black hand that descended upon the beetle and caught it. The small being let out a gasp of terror, shaking uncontrollably as it was lifted off the ground. Narinder's aura turned dark and menacing, radiating an energy of terror that spread throughout the cult, causing all the cultists nearby to shudder. Yet despite their fear, they watched in wonder at their god in action.

Narinder raised the beetle to his height, and with a deep, sinister voice, full of coldness, he uttered the words that sentenced the intruder: "You are a spy." His tone echoed in the air, chilling, implacable. The beetle's eyes reflected absolute fear, and its entire being trembled, paralyzed by the intensity of the god holding it.

The cultists began to gather around their god, some trembling, others in wonder. Narinder's dark figure with the scarab trapped in his crown hand was imposing and majestic; the atmosphere was charged with awe and palpable excitement. Most had not even noticed the spy's presence, and the fact that Narinder had discovered him only strengthened their devotion to him. The terror on their faces was evident, but there was a spark of pride in their eyes, as if they were witnessing a manifestation of their god's omnipotence.

Narinder stared at the scarab trapped in his hand, gripping it with increasing contempt, as he mused aloud, letting his words echo like a cold, cutting echo. "Now the question is... what should I do with you?" His tone was merciless, each word dripping with silent threat. The pressure of his claw increased, and the spy writhed in pain and terror.