Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 168: Poems between a Crow and a Ram

Ramael ran at full speed through the dense fog, each step echoing in the dampness of the ground. His breathing was rapid, and the cold seeped into his soul, though he barely noticed it due to his state of confusion and fear. He had no idea where he was going; the white fog seemed to stretch endlessly around him, enveloping him in an oppressive, icy blanket.

Suddenly, he collided with something solid, a cold, carved stone surface. The impact was strong enough to leave the mark of his horns and head etched into the stone. Ramael stepped back, a little stunned, but he felt no pain. However, the sudden obstacle stopped him in his tracks.

He looked up and found himself in front of a colossal statue that stood majestically in the mist. It was an impressive representation of Narinder, at least ten times taller than an average cultist. The stone figure showed Narinder in a solemn pose, holding a sickle in one hand and a book of doctrines in the other. His eyes were sculpted closed, as if he were meditating or silently judging. Atop his head, his signature red crown was carved in detail, even into the stone.

On either side of the main statue, other monumental figures were in the process of being built. Their shapes were still vague, as if the sculptors had not yet decided on their details. Ramael took a step back, feeling a chill run up his spine. He realized, with a knot in his stomach, that he had unwittingly entered Narinder's cult.

His mind filled with intrusive thoughts and memories of the hostile realms of the bishops of his world. In his imagination, Narinder's cult must have been a place of horrors: deformed creatures, unimaginable torture, and bloody rituals, all in the image and likeness of a ruthless tyrant.

As his mind tormented him with these thoughts, a frog-shaped cultist approached. He was carrying a hammer and chisel, and upon noticing the mark on the statue, he frowned, clearly annoyed.

"Hey! Be more careful!" the frog exclaimed, pointing at the statue. "That will take me a couple of days to fix! Do you know how long it will set me back to finish the other statues and the second spouse's sauna?"

However, the frog stopped when he noticed that the intruder was a ram. He dropped his tools and rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

"Wait... you're a ram?" he asked, his tone oscillating between surprise and amazement. Seeing a member of the famous extinct species out of nowhere was something he had never expected in his life.

Ramael, too nervous to answer, turned around and started running in another direction, looking for an exit.

He hadn't gone far when he collided with something else. This time, it was a broad, muscular back. Looking up, he saw a burly octopus, holding an axe with intimidating ease. The octopus slowly turned around, staring at him curiously.

A terrified Ramael gasped and ran away before realizing the octopus was simply chopping wood, probably a woodcutter from the cult.

Determining to avoid any further encounters, the ram ducked into the first house he saw. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and dim, lit only by the soft light of a few candles. A raven with black-as-night plumage sat at a table, writing what appeared to be poems or reflections on a scroll.

The raven, usually someone given to drama and grandiloquent words, was momentarily struck dumb at the sight of the ram. His gaze filled with wonder, as if he were facing the most extraordinary creature he had ever seen.

Finally, in a soft voice, he said,

"Hello...?"

Ramael, overwhelmed by mental and physical fatigue, simply collapsed to the ground, unable to bear it any longer. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes partially closed, while the raven, still confused, watched him silently, not knowing how to react.