Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 85: Scar on the Head

Narinder, with burning determination reflected in his eyes, left his house as if leaving behind any doubt or weakness. Every step he took emanated that mix of bravery and heroism that drove him towards his purpose. As he crossed the cult grounds, he barely spared a glance at his devotees, who gazed at him with admiration and reverence. They knew that their god was walking towards a crucial destiny, and the strength he radiated filled them with a strange peace and pride.

He walked without hesitation towards the area of ​​the portals, ignoring any distractions. As he crossed the portal to the Silk Cradle, his mind became a spear aimed at his elder brother's temple. His fixed gaze and impenetrable expression spoke of his unwavering resolve. Along the way, he ignored the lesser creatures and details of his surroundings. He did not stop his pace from the creatures watching him from the shadows, nor did he take an interest in the cultists lost in this realm. It was as if all of that faded into the back of his mind, leaving a single goal in his vision.

Finally, he came to a dark room, dominated by the presence of an imposing statue of Shamura. His brother seemed to be waiting for him, and a voice echoed in his mind, whispering with that heartbreaking depth that had always caused him distrust:

"A bond forged by the spilling of blood... I know you hear me, God of Death."

"Ignoble cat... finish what you have started..."

Narinder barely frowned, already accustomed to these warnings. He had learned to face the projection of his brothers without hesitation; with each relic obtained, his strength had grown, and now, having absorbed the power of Kallamar, nothing could stop him. With a simple gesture, he dispersed the dark forces that tried to block his path, vanishing them in a breath. His will was an unbreakable wall.

After leaving that room, Narinder resumed his march, his footsteps echoing on the paths of the Silk Cradle. After a while, he arrived at the temple of Shamura. The doors, silent and solemn, opened before him, as if recognizing the greatness of the one who was about to cross its threshold.

Without stopping, Narinder walked down the long corridor, feeling his own breathing match the energy that permeated the place. In front of him, the greatest and last challenge of his brothers waited in the darkness.

The vast and dark corridor finally revealed the presence of Shamura, his corrupted form enveloping him in a dark majesty that he barely recognized. The words of his elder brother reached him like a frozen echo, resonating in every corner of his being:

"I will wage your incessant war. In this way, Purgatory will take on a resemblance to life."

"I will fight in your endless war. In this way I will be punished."

Shamura's voice had a weight and gravity that pierced any barrier Narinder had built in his mind. It was as if those words, so precise and calculated, stuck to the old wounds that still throbbed deep within his soul. In that instant, the image of the purple sword tarot card faded from his mind. A shudder invaded him, and his breathing became labored; he felt the pain in his wrists, the echo of invisible chains that once held him and forced him not to move.

The guilt, buried, emerged with the intensity of a storm, dragging him to the edge of his self-control. And there, in front of Shamura, he remembered the weight of his actions, the lives he had destroyed and the ties he had broken. His gaze tried to hold on to his objective, but fear threatened to overcome him. This was not just any enemy; He was his older brother, the one who had raised him, the one who had guided him through his first years in life.

In the midst of his confusion, Shamura advanced, and in a single, lethal movement, raised one of his legs, transformed into an imposing blade that sought to cut him down. With barely a glimmer of consciousness, Narinder reacted, clumsily throwing himself to the side and managing to avoid the attack by pure luck. His chest rose and fell with labored breathing, as he tried to assimilate the terror that confronting someone so intimately linked to his past caused him.