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Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #2

(((TW: TW: Uh... I don't think there's anything worth putting a warning on?? Let me know in the comments if there is, and I'll update this.)))

Guilt - Narinder

Perhaps it was naive of him to think he could tolerate the pain.

Turning over onto his back is a motion that now that he's done, he thought he knew what to expect. But instead, the pain is just as piercing as before.

Still, he's able to push through it.

The idea of using his arms to push himself up, however?

He's tried twice now, and each time, his arms have cramped up, shaking violently as he falls back into place. His wrists are the worst, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know there's scaring marring the fur around them.

He's sure it looks as awful as it feels.

No. Perhaps it feels worse. He can get over what it looks like, but this pain... He's not sure when it's going to stop. If it ever will.

What he is sure of is that he isn't letting it beat him. He tolerated the pain of his chains and being trapped in place for long enough. He will no longer let the phantoms of his torment hold him down.

Even if it means suffering with every movement he makes.

And damn, does he suffer.

He tries to use his legs, to push himself up and take some weight off his arms, but much to his dismay, his legs are in no better condition. Still, he persists.

His whole body is shaking by the time he shoves himself back up against the wall, in some semblance of a sitting position. He is damn near breathless and wants nothing more than to go back to sleep again and deal with his hunger later.

But he's worked too hard to give up now. Opening his eyes, it is dark in the room, the only light coming from the window to his right. It's just enough sunlight to make his eyes water, so he turns his head to the left.

The mixed meal is on the nightstand just next to the bed, and easily within arm's reach. He takes a long moment to relax before attempting to grab the food.

He's dizzy from his efforts.

He should try to organize his thoughts, but the task seems even more impossible than moving.

He was chained for centuries. Found a Lamb to kill the Bishops- his siblings, and free him. The Lamb kills the Bishops. The Lamb proceeds not tofree him but defeats him instead and steals his crown. They spare his life rather than kill him. Then force him to join their cult as a mere follower.

There is... A lot to unpack there.

Thinking about it all still brings forth an overwhelming surge of emotions that he's still not ready to face.

But what other option does he have? When he was chained, all he could do was boil and fester with rage. Plotting his vengeance, waiting.

Waiting.

Always. Fucking. Waiting.

For something to change. For a loyal vessel to appear. He got his vessel, but the loyal part...

He takes a sharp breath, straightening himself out more, and tragically finding that by resting, he's allowed the pain time to worsen.

Still, he pushes through, because as painful as it is, thinking about the Lamb is even worse than their piercing cramping along his spine. Twice as confusing too.

He takes the risk to grab the bowl and just narrowly misses knocking the bowl onto the ground with his shaking. He does spill some of it when he moves it into his lap, but it's the last of his concerns.

With the food right in front of him, he's suddenly contemplating how to eat. Just chew and swallow right? But how much does he have to chew? Does it need to be completely mush? That would be gross, but will he choke otherwise?

What will it taste like? He has only a vague memory of what fish tastes like, but he can't recall what other kinds of meat or beetroots taste like... He settles for starting with the fish steak, the most familiar of the foods, and ignores the uncomfortable dryness of his mouth in hopes the food will help.

It does not. The explosion of taste is nothing like he remembers. He can feel every speck of seasoning burning his tongue and a wave of nausea overtakes him. Chokes it out, spitting it back into the bowl, but the dryness of his mouth causes chunks to get stuck on his tongue and inside his cheeks.

He gags and coughs trying to get it all out of his mouth.

And like a lightning strike, because as he now knows the universe hates him, there is banging on the dresser.

"Narinder! I'm here to start working on your shelter upgrades! I also brought- Narinder!? Are you okay!?" The sentence is cut off when the Lamb realizes something is wrong.

"F-ack! I'm-" He tries to respond but is still choking on the taste of the food.

"Okay! I'm respecting your privacy by knocking but asserting my authority as your cult leader by coming in anyway!" And like that the dresser was shoved aside, teetering for a moment before falling over onto the ground with a loud crash.

The Lamb was by his side in an instant.

"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, uh, wait here, I'll grab some water!" They bound away, leaving him with tears stinging the corners of his eyes, and hacking like he has a hairball in his throat.

It doesn't take them long though, and they're back beside him with a wooden cup of water trying to hand it to him. He makes a feeble attempt to grab it but his arms cramp up when he tries to close his fists around it, and they jerk back toward him.

He can feel splashes of water as they fall onto his lap and the Lamb catches the cup before it falls and spills completely.

"Careful, Narinder... Are you- never mind, dumb question, you're not okay. Here, let me see." They hesitate only a moment before reangling the cup and bringing it up to his mouth for him.

He's not in the condition or mood to argue, and just leans forward and accepts the water. It's only slightly cool, borderline room temperature, but it tastes holy. He uses the first swig to swirl around his mouth and get rid of as much dryness as he can before swallowing and then chugs the rest.

"Slow down, you'll choke! Again!" The lamb pulls away, and Narinder follows, ignoring the spike of pain it causes.

He needs more. He knew he was thirsty, but this... He feels like he could drink dry a whole lake.

"Please..." He begs, and a part of him wants to hiss and recoil away from the word, but another part just wants more water.

A part of him wants to scream, and claw at the Lamb, and wrestle his crown off their head, but another part just wants to cry and beg for help. For water, and food, and for them, hell anyone, to take the pain away.

The Lamb is silent before he caves, and brings the water back to him, and he returns to chugging it. He can feel trickles of water dripping out of his mouth and down his chin, but he doesn't care.

"I'll have to get more..." They murmur, and he thinks it's probably more to themselves than to him.

When the cup runs dry, he's left gasping for air, falling back against the wall, and flinching when it sends waves of aching through him.

"Feel better? Do you need more? Narinder, is this why you've stayed locked up in here? Why didn't you say anything!?" The Lamb waits a long moment before speaking, but when they do the questions come in waves.

"For ten... Seconds... Can you just... Shut. It." He openly glares at them as he gasps out the words- undermining their harshness.

They slam their mouth shut and chew at their bottom lip as they look at him. They clearly want to say more, but ultimately decide against it for the moment. Opting to instead busy themselves with grabbing the food still on his lap and setting it aside, and then going to pick the dresser up.

It doesn't take him long to catch his breath, and when he does, he's left watching the lamb as they start moving around the room, placing the dresser back into its rightful spot with ease. He only has a vague memory of having pushed the dresser in front of the door to begin with but he knows it wasn't- probably still isn't light.

How strong are they? How much of it is the crown's power? His power.

Not anymore.

"Yes. I want more water. And partially, yes, this is why I've stayed in here. That's all you're getting until I get more to drink." He sighs, turning his gaze away from the lamb, closing it just before it collides with a ray of sunlight rudely glaring through the window.

But the painful sunlight is better than the Lamb's wide-eyed gaze pinpointed on him as they contemplate what they said.

"I suppose I've already gotten my 'please' for the day?" They ask, and he snorts.

Almost laughs. Almost.

"Try for the month- year even." He sighs, and as much as he hates doing it, he relaxes.

The water had helped, and he does feel better. A lot better.

"Right, well... I'll be back... We need to talk, Narinder. About everything. Maybe not today, but eventually, and hiding in here isn't going to make that fact go away... So just... Think about it." 

And they're gone before he can give some hissed insult or aggressive remark.

He's tired, but his body has been sleeping for too long, and he's restless. Mentally, and physically. So he waits.

Again. Always waiting.

He's thankful he's not left with that thought for long as the Lamb returns just as it starts to form. The cup is full once more.

"Do you still-" Need my help?

"Yes." Narinder interrupts them before they can finish the sentence, as if not hearing the end of it will somehow nullify the effect it has on his pride to say yes.

The Lamb doesn't push the subject, and just mimics their earlier motion, aiding him in drinking the second cup. He takes it slower this time, letting himself enjoy how it soothes his throat and eases his nausea.

When they pull away again, he's more confident in his ability to meet their eye, and he's haunted by the venomous amount of sympathy he finds in them. Pity.

"So, do you want to explain why your arms are no longer working? Or do you want me to speed run some guesses and you can tell me when I hit the mark?" They offer a gentle smile and he hates it.

He hates how sincere it looks, and he wants to claw it off his face.

He settles for closing his eyes again.

"I've been chained for so long... I could tolerate the pain when I was a god, but now... This mortal body is weak, and suffering the phantom aches of my imprisonment." He confesses.

And everything hurts so bad.

His mind screams.

He flinches when he feels the bed shift, and his eyes shoot open to see the Lamb sitting down on the corner of the bed. They sit a... Safe distance away.

"I... Didn't realize... I knew you'd need to rest after the whole fight, but I guess centuries in chains, unmoving probably hasn't left you feeling great either..." They recap as if that's supposed to make it better.

"Obviously not. While I'm complaining, can you close the window better? Even as a god, my eyes were light-sensitive, hence the veil." He peeks an eye open to observe them as they stand and do what he asks.

"Oh, sure. I had a hunch that was the case, but I also kind of thought it was just for aesthetics... You looked pretty cool in it." They chuckle as they fix the window, and he opens his eyes as the harsh light is subdued.

"Of course I did." He scoffs but makes no further comment on it.

He never thought much about the veil. It was a necessity, to protect his eyes. Kallamar thought it was creepy. Leshy and Heket used to tease him, calling him edgy and that he should just 'deal with the pain'. Shamura was the only one to understand that god or not, the pain was intolerable.

They had even made him a rather nice spider web veil once- that he wore for special events as it was a bit too elegant for everyday occasions. He doesn't know where it is nowadays, most likely lost to time.

"Well, I can see if I can get something like it from Berith. For now, though, I think working on fixing your movement issue takes priority. I've never seen anything like it, so I'll have to ask around. Maybe Noon will know..." He's not sure who the hell Noon is, but that's less important.

"I don't need your-"

"I don't care. I was trying to respect your boundaries, Narinder; I thought 'he needs time to work through his thoughts right now.' and if I pushed you, I'd just make it worse, but this isn't about pushing. You're in pain, and you can't move. That's too big of a problem to just leave you alone to work it out by yourself!" They interrupt and hold out an empty palm, a silent question.

Every inch of him screams not to trust this. His fur raised, and pupils dilated- they probably have been since the moment the Lamb entered the room.

Yet, every other part of him is screaming in pain.

The real answer to the Lambs question is dependent on which instinct screams louder. Distrust or pain?

The pain, the pain, the pain, the pain.

He stretches out his arm. It's shaking less than before at least.

The Lamb is slow and cautious as they reach out and with a feather-light touch, cradling his arm in their hold.

Looking at it now himself, he realizes he was right about the scarring. The embedded chain-like scaring in his bare skin, fur marred and no longer growing there- like some kind of mange. There is still dried blood surrounding the scabbed wounds- deep from what he can feel and tell.

He doesn't doubt that if he moved his wrist around too much they would re-open and start bleeding profusely once again. The same with his ankles, and around his torso.

One glance down confirms it. It's not as bad around his torso, and the wounds are not as deep or as ugly. His fur being an oily, ungroomed wreck doesn't help make it look better though.

He's a mess. A disgusting, wounded mess. It's humiliating.

He can feel his ears pressed to the back of his head in shame as the lamb carefully runs their hand over the wound. He flinches when they run over a particularly deep scab, and they jump back, pulling the offending hand away.

"Sorry! I didn't... This should have been taken care of the moment you arrived, I'm sorry I didn't see to it." They close their eyes for a moment, and when they open them again, there is a fire in them that Narinder nearly flinches again at the sight of.

"Yeah, well... I didn't exactly tell anyone so what could you have done?" He gives a dry laugh, to settle his nerves, and starts to pull his arm back to himself.

"That's no excuse. I'm a leader, and my job's most important part is ensuring my followers are safe and well. I should have known you wouldn't be perfectly fine physically after the fight, I should have... I should have checked on you sooner, even if you clawed my throat out when I tried." They leaned forward to catch his arm gently, examining it once more.

They are silent again, and Narinder watches them carefully as they follow the scarring with their eyes. Up his forearms, upper arms, shoulder, chest, and neck.

All a mess. Like a mangled stray, he both looks and feels like he's gotten into a fistfight with a thorn bush.

And lost.

Eventually, their eyes meet, and the spell of... Whatever is happening, is broken.

He yanks his arm back with a painful hiss, leaning away from the Lamb's suddenly overwhelming amount of attention.

They hold their hands up as they stand, unbothered by the sudden aggression.

"Right. Well, I need to go get a lot of supplies, and then, unless you want me to get someone else to do it, we need to get you cleaned up. You're only going to get worse if we don't." They pause as they're walking away, and turn to him, waiting for his response.

"Like I want any of those mindless mortal morons anywhere near me..." He growls, sinking further into himself.

He's enraged by the Lamb's care and wants to rip them apart.

He's still hungry, but he'd rather die than put more food in his mouth after his first experience.

He's restless, and he wants to be able to move again.

And yet he's so fucking tired at the same time. He's tired of being angry, hungry, and restless. He's tired of fighting against chains they aren't even there anymore. He's tired of waiting.

Always waiting.

But the Lamb doesn't make him wait long.

They're bounding through the curtains- he notices that it's turned gloomy outside- with an armload of bandages, rags, and wooden jars of something.

"I have to run outside again, Theo's holding the water, but I figured you wouldn't want anyone coming in." They toss all of the supplies at the end of the bed, near his feet, and he peers at them, trying to figure out what the jars are.

He hardly notices they left again they're back so quickly, with a large wooden basin of water, that they sit on the ground next to the bed as they sit down next to them.

They sit closer this time, and he bites back a hiss as their leg brushes against his.

They pause when they see the clear cringe adorning his features.

"... I know this isn't the best-case scenario for you, but you have to know that I'm just trying to make things easier for you, so please, just let me help..." They sigh and lean away to give him space to adjust.

Easier for him?

How is their help meant to make anything easier? Even if they could snap their fingers and erase all the pain in his body, there is nothing they can do to rid him of... Of this.

This embarrassment and humiliation of needing the very person who put him in this position to help him out of it.

To put bandages on his wounds, a roof over his head, and act like everything is perfectly fine now.

Like he can just move on, and forgive and forget? Become another happy, brainless little follower in their cult, doing whatever they ask and worshipping the ground they walk on?

No. He can never do that. Not when he knows what the Lamb truly is.

Just a pathetic mortal made god via deceit and betrayal. The last of their kind, and a heretic no better than the ones they go about massacring on their crusades.

And this guilt, and pity that he sees in their eyes as they watch him think?

A confirmation. They're doing this to make themselves feel better. Not to help. But to ease their guilt, to try and absolve themselves of their crimes.

He hates them.

He does not doubt it, and no amount of their help will ever change that fact. None of their help will ever make this burning anger in his chest cool, or the venom lacing his tongue evaporate.

None of it will take away the heavy grief that presses on his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Grief that everything he did, everything that he had the Lamb do, was for nothing.

He's still trapped. This time with the very being meant to have freed him.

"I will let you help me. I will let you treat my wounds, bring me food, and upgrade my home all you want, but make no mistake, Lamb. I hate you. I will always hate you. No matter how desperately you try to prove yourself to me, I have nothing left in my heart but resentment, and anger when I see you. You, from this moment on, will be nothing but the bane of my fucking immortal existence." He hisses, with so much poison in his voice, he's sure even Heket would be impressed if she could hear him now.

He watches as the Lamb's eyes widen, and his face contorts with a mix of emotion. Confusion. Anger. Hurt.

He watches as they open and close their mouth, clearly too shocked to string a proper sentence together.

He watches as water begins to well in their eyes, tears prickling the corners.

He watches as they swiftly stand and move away towards the door and out of the shelter.

And in the end, his fists clench. The pain shooting through his arms is ignored as another, overwhelming emotion, that simply must be this mortal body's fault clouds his mind and weighs heavy on his shoulders, sinking him further into himself.

Guilt.

~~~

Brownie points to anyone who caught the Fairly Odd Parents joke.

Anyway, I feel like I should preface things for the next chapter by saying Narilamb is currently VERY one-sided. The Lamb has feelings for Narinder that you'll see in the future, but Narinder truly never picked up on them, and his anger and hate are very much the only things he feels toward the Lamb. FOR NOW. Eventually, he'll have some more existential crisis about it. But not now Kitten Whiskers, Daddy will discuss it later. (Ya'll better get that. If you don't, I can't help you.)

Chapter #2 of my fanfiction, Cult of the Lamb: Redemption is out now on Ao3! Half an hour early too! It's Rooney_2108, and the full chapter will be out here on Tumblr tonight around 8:30ish pm. Narinder is still in pain and says some mean things. Lamb is also, no longer having a good time. Hope you all enjoy reading!

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption - Chapter #2 Preview

(Thoughts and opinions are welcome - be nice!)

Guilt - Narinder

Perhaps it was naive of him to think he could tolerate the pain.

Turning over onto his back is a motion that now that he's done, he thought he knew what to expect. But instead, the pain is just as piercing as before.

Still, he's able to push through it.

The idea of using his arms to push himself up, however?

He's tried twice now, and each time, his arms have cramped up, shaking violently as he falls back into place. His wrists are the worst, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know there's scaring marring the fur around them.

He's sure it looks as awful as it feels.

No. Perhaps it feels worse. He can get over what it looks like, but this pain... He's not sure when it's going to stop. If it ever will.

What he is sure of is that he isn't letting it beat him. He tolerated the pain of his chains and being trapped in place for long enough. He will no longer let the phantoms of his torment hold him down.

Even if it means suffering with every movement he makes.

And damn, does he suffer.

He tries to use his legs, to push himself up and take some weight off his arms, but much to his dismay, his legs are in no better condition. Still, he persists.

His whole body is shaking by the time he shoves himself back up against the wall, in some semblance of a sitting position. He is damn near breathless and wants nothing more than to go back to sleep again and deal with his hunger later.

But he's worked too hard to give up now. Opening his eyes, it is dark in the room, the only light coming from the window to his right. It's just enough sunlight to make his eyes water, so he turns his head to the left.

The mixed meal is on the nightstand just next to the bed, and easily within arm's reach. He takes a long moment to relax before attempting to grab the food.

He's dizzy from his efforts.

He should try to organize his thoughts, but the task seems even more impossible than moving.

He was chained for centuries. Found a Lamb to kill the Bishops- his siblings, and free him. The Lamb kills the Bishops. The Lamb proceeds not tofree him but defeats him instead and steals his crown. They spare his life rather than kill him. Then force him to join their cult as a mere follower.

There is... A lot to unpack there.

Thinking about it all still brings forth an overwhelming surge of emotions that he's still not ready to face.

But what other option does he have? When he was chained, all he could do was boil and fester with rage. Plotting his vengeance, waiting.

Waiting.

Always. Fucking. Waiting.

~~~

Enjoy this preview of chapter #2, it will be out tomorrow on Ao3 at noon, and on Tumblr around 8:30. (I even set an alarm so I won't forget this time!)

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #1

(((TW: Mildly graphicly written suicidal thoughts and ideations - DON'T READ IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE)))

Pain - Narinder

Narinder didn't realize how much it would... Hurt.

To be free.

His arms hurt, his body hurt, and his head hurt.

As a god, he had never felt pain like this, which was the first of many signs that he was no longer divine.

And that terrified him. His arms hurt so badly he couldn't move them, and for a moment it felt like the ghosts of his chains still held him in place. His head ached from the light of the sun stabbing through the window of his home, into his light-sensitive eyes.

He can't move. His whole body feels like lead against the soft bed below him. Blankets weigh even heavier on top of him, adding to the feeling of being restrained. He wants to thrash around and escape from under them, but his limbs cramp up with every attempt he makes to move them.

And the jolt of fear that surges through him at that realization makes him want to scream out in agony and terror.

But centuries of captivity have taught him the uselessness of struggling. Have taught him patience. So he clamps his jaw shut and keeps his eyes sealed closed. Trying to listen.

He only just joined his usurpers cult as a follower yesterday, the adrenaline from their fight hadn't even left his system and suddenly the damn Lamb was showing him to his own private grand shelter, set up farther away from the other followers for 'safety purposes.' Whether the Lamb meant for him or the rest of the cult he still isn't sure.

He didn't know how to respond, he was tired. So very tired. He had never felt tired before, but this mortal body... He secured the shelter as soon as the Lamb was gone. Barricading the entrance, and windows, sealing himself inside before allowing himself to collapse into the bed and rest.

Now he's not sure how much time has passed, just that it is daylight, and that the adrenaline of everything that's happened has now left this newly mortal body of his in shambles.

Freedom. He had wanted it so bad, and now he has it, but it's nothing like he had hoped.

He is angry and miserable, he wants to scream and cry, and he wants to go back in time and wring that lamb's neck when he has the chance instead of handing over the crown to the filthy traitor. He feels like a fool, powerless, and afraid.

Trapped by something even worse than the chains his siblings had used on him. Pain.

Speaking of the Red Crown's new wearer, as if summoned like a bat out of hell, a banging on the dresser Narinder had shoved in front of the curtain door to prevent any other pathetic followers from wandering in, or worse the said lamb.

"Narinder! It's breakfast! Well- lunch, you missed breakfast, I tried to have Noon bring you some food, but they said you did... Well, this." Narinder can only assume they're referring to the barricade.

"Leave me be, wretched traitor, I have better things to do than mingle with your pathetic following over subpar mortal slop." His voice almost cracks when he tries to shift his weight to lay on his back mid-sentence.

Thus he remains on his side facing away from the entrance, his back to the sound of the lamb's voice. Something that causes a trickling of unease to build in his mind, which he tries his best to ignore for now.

"No-can-do! At least, not right now, you need to eat! You're mostly mortal now, and even if age can't kill you, starving sure can!" There's a nervous laughter in their voice as they continue to stand outside.

The Lamb could easily get through the barricade, with his fucking powers that they stole. So why they aren't just barging in with no respect for their former god and master's privacy or personal space, he has no clue.

"Starving? How pitiful do you think I am? 'Mostly mortal' or not, I will survive without food for a day. Now leave me alone." He's not sure that even if he wanted to, he could claw his way out to get food. Or that his violently churning stomach could hold it down.

His whole body feels like it's slowly spinning from the splinting pain of his head and he's certain that if his stomach wasn't empty he'd have puked by now.

"Okay, listen, I get that after everything that's happened, you want to be alone, and I'll leave you alone! After you eat something, because, sure, a day won't kill you, but when was the last time you ate during your godlyhood? I'm willing to bet never, at least not during your time chained up, and that can't have translated well to your new form." Nothing has translated well to this new damn form, and it makes him snap.

"What part of leave me alone don't you understand!? I'm not eating even if you shove it down my throat!- Ack!" He hisses and tries to, in a burst of anger-fueled energy, shove himself around onto his back.

Instead, the effort sends a cascade of cramping through his back and down his arms.

His body spasms and curls in on itself and he grits his teeth trying to stop the whimpering from escaping his lips. He sounds pathetic. He is pathetic. Fates save him from the humiliation of the lamb having heard his pain at least...

"What was that about!? Are you okay in there!?" 

It's like the universe hates him.

That's the only real reasoning he can come up with. Fate, the universe, and everything in between literally hate him. And for what? Wanting to be more than what everyone told him he was?

He calls bullshit. Fate is bullshit, and the universe is bullshit, and everything in between is bullshit.

He wants to bury his head under his pillow and stay there until time itself brings this whole world crashing to an end.

"Narinder? Do you need help? If you don't answer I'm coming in!" Once more the Lamb is banging on the dresser-made door.

"I'm fine! Go away! Don't make me tell you again!" The threat comes out strangled and weak.

Still, there is a long moment of silence. For a moment he lets himself hope that the usurper has done as he's asked, and left, but with no footsteps away to confirm this, he knows they are still out there. Perhaps carefully debating their next sentence.

"... I know I'm the last person you want to see, let alone accept help from, and trust me when I say right now the feeling is mutual, but Narinder... If you are in pain... Or you're sick and that's why you're not eating, please, just tell me... I'm only trying to help." Help?

Help?

"I think I'd rather lie down and let you kill me before I let you help me." The words are barely a hissed whisper, but he knows they hear him.

There's a sharp inhale and a frustrated groan. Along with footsteps pacing back and forth before they suddenly stop and respond again.

"Fine! But news flash One Who Waits! This is going to be a hard adjustment for you! And if you want to go through it alone and make it all the harder, then fine! Be alone! Stay in your shelter all day, every day, and starve! See if I care!" They shout at the door.

Sounding angry, and fed up.

"That's what I'm planning on doing!" It wasn't, but with the pain making it hard to move, it is now.

"Fine!" And he can hear them storming off, hooved feet kicking at the ground at random intervals as they do.

...

It's true. He'd rather suffer here alone than accept that traitors help.

You betrayed them first.

He saved their life! His pathetic Bishop kin would have executed them if he hadn't given them a new lease on life.

And all he asked was for a cult in his name, for them to free him from his chains, and return the crown to him.

And kneel and accept being sacrificed to you.

All of this... This pain, this headache, the dampness in the corners of his eyes that he's trying so hard to not let spread down his cheeks... It's all their fault.

They should have at least killed him. Why couldn't they at least finish the damn job? That pathetic, traitorous, coward. Keeping him alive just to suffer.

Surely they've done this on purpose? This was some twisted way to prolong his agony as if being imprisoned for thousands of years by his own family wasn't enough torture.

Damn them. Damn them and every last one of their dead kin.

He would rather starve. Starve to death and at least go on his own terms. Hell if he had the physical strength and a sharp enough tool he'd turn it on his wrist right now. The Lamb probably won't even come by to check on him for a long while after that spat.

So at least they would have a small respite before the cursed creature maybe resurrected them.

But no, his whole disgusting body was failing him. He would have to die the slow way.

In a sick way, he's curious about it. What does hunger feel like? Heket complained of it often, even while she was eating she would be complaining about needing another meal prepared. The Goddess of Famine knew hunger like no other.

But the concept was foreign to Narinder. He ate sometimes when he was a god. The feeling was strange. Things tasted good, like fish, but they served no other purpose than to satisfy his tastebuds.

His stomach never longed for anything. Never ached in hunger pangs, never churned with nausea from eating something bad...

His mortal body... It will wither without food. His stomach will concave as he loses weight, and he'll become weaker, sicker, and lethargic. His skin will stretch over his ribs and bones making him look like a skeleton with fur... A horrific sight, befitting of the former and rightful God of Death.

A true testament to his fall from power, into a form as tragic as this, that decays at the mere lack of sustenance for a few days.

Or more. How long will it take? He wonders.

For his organs to start failing. His heart will go first, and the rest will quickly follow, having strained for so long to keep him alive... What will be the last thing he sees? Probably darkness. The light is too bright in the daytime for him to bear keeping his eyes open.

That's okay. He's never been afraid of the dark.

Kallamar was. He was scared of a lot of things though. Including him.

Heket wasn't. Nor Leshy. The two slept like logs at night, while Narinder would wander awake with Shamura- being nocturnal beings by nature.

Sometimes...

Sometimes when they were both still little, and Kallamar had a bad day and was scared to go to bed, Narinder would sneak into his room, and distract him. Annoy him really, but deep down, he thinks his older brother appreciated it. Not being alone.

It only lasted a few years though, just before the squid reached his teen years and became completely insufferable.

...

What would they all think of him now? Preparing himself to rot from starvation... Would they think him weak for accepting such a defeat? For giving in to this mortal body's suffering and allowing himself to perish in such a pitiful way...

Would they want him to live? No. No, they wouldn't...

They'd enjoy this... Seeing him turn to skin and bone. Watching him suffer in too much pain to even move, much like when he was chained.

It isn't until the light starts to fade and he can open his eyes finally that he realizes he failed.

And now the entire spot where his head rests on his pillow is wet with tears.

In the darkness, he can only really see what's in front of him. His head refuses to lift itself up or move without pain.

He is staring right at a window, the red curtains are closed, and it's blocked off with a turned sideways dark wooden table, but moonlight peaks in from the sides and top.

There is a side table. With a vase of Camellias in the corner. Just like the one Baal used to wear on his robes.

...

In the end, they all died for nothing, didn't they? The lambs, the Bishops, Aym, and Baal...

Everything he was trying to do... All of his elaborate plans...

They've all amounted to nothing.

It's then that another knock, soft and gentle rings through the room.

"Narinder? I want to... Apologize. I lost my temper earlier. It's just... Difficult to be nice to you. I mean, you... You know what? It doesn't matter right now. I've decided, that if you don't want to accept my help, I can't force you to. But, I still don't want you to starve, and I don't think you want to either so... I'll just leave some food out here for you. I don't really know what you like, but it's a fish bowl... Will that do?" The Lamb.

Narinder is thirsty he realizes, because when he goes to speak his mouth is dry, and he has to choke the words out.

"Fine... It's fine..." He calls, and he can hear them hesitating.

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

"No." He responds much more firmly this time, his voice still gravelly.

"Right... Well, I'll bring breakfast tomorrow."

And they're gone. Footsteps softly fade away like a ghost in the night floating off to find a new victim to haunt.

...

Why couldn't they have just killed him?

~~~

The pain is still there when he wakes up again, and his mouth is disgustingly dry. It is early morning, and the light is not yet intolerable though, and he will take that victory for what little it is.

It smells like it rained last night.

Something about that makes him feel better.

Despite the oily feeling of his filthy fur, matted with blood and dirt. Despite his body still cramping with the phantom chains tightening around them like a serpent choking the life out of its prey.

Despite everything the smell of fresh, chilly damp air... Refreshes him.

He feels lighter. Cleaner. Content.

He takes a deep breath and for a moment... Everything is... Okay.

He opens his mouth, trying to breathe in the humidity of the air, hoping it will help with the soreness in his throat.

"I thought you hated the rain?"

"I don't hate the rain, I hate getting wet. My fur gets all heavy and takes forever to dry, and if I use a towel, it makes it all poofy, and the others tease me."

"I see."

"But I like watching the rain. And the smell of rain... It smells... Like the sky's cleaning the earth. Making everything as good as new again."

And then... Everything comes rushing back to him.

Like an anvil falling onto his chest, and it's hard to breathe as he chokes on a loud, surprised sob. Tears invade his eyes, flowing down his face onto the pillow.

Nothing is okay. That peace he felt... Just a cruel trick of his mind, making him forget.

A momentary respite before the world came crashing back down on him. He can never be content again. Never be okay or at peace.

He is angry. Frustrated. Grieving. Confused about what he's grieving. Their deaths? Their souls are trapped eternally in a hellish limbo, re-living their deaths so that they can feel the same pain he had felt for thousands of years... That's what he'd wanted.

For them to suffer.

And yet still his chest hurts and his lungs are heaving, and his cries are so loud he has to turn his face into the pillow to muffle them. Why does this anguish for his family that turned against him haunt him now?

It must be this body. This pathetic mortal body with its hyper-sensitive emotions, and non-existent pain tolerance. It's done nothing but weigh him down, dragging him below the waves.

Drowning him in sensations, feelings, and emotions he doesn't understand. Suffocating him in pain, and grief that he can see no end to. This form betrays him at every turn and it's not even been 42 hours.

At least he thinks it hasn't been.

Most of his first day is a haze, he remembers sleeping through the pain for the most part. Then arguing with the Lamb through the barricade. Then sleeping again.

After of course, contemplating his inevitable starvation. And after speaking to the lamb again...

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

They're going to bring him breakfast soon. He doesn't know if they'll come inside and set it down or just leave it on the ground outside for him.

Would he even be able to go get it?

It's now that he starts to realize some of the pain has subsided. Everything is still cramping, and his head still throbbing, but with the smell of the rain and the growling of his stomach...

He's able to turn onto his back and only has to stop for a minute to grit his teeth and breathe for a moment. The fur around his eyes and cheeks is still wet with tears, and his chest is still heavy. He tries to focus on the smell of rain, but it does little to ease his thoughts.

All it does is remind him of simpler times.

Before the pain, and the headache, and the nausea, and the humiliation of defeat still burning through his veins.

It's getting brighter in the room, and he's able to take a deep stuttered breath as his eyes close to block out the painful light of morning. He should get the sniffling under control before the lamb gets here.

The last thing he needs is for that malicious sheep to know he's been crying- because Narinder knows that the damned creature is too old to still be considered a lamb. Has been since before the bishops ever went to execute them, but he knows his siblings never cared for technicalities.

Hell at some point they probably even started enjoying committing mass genocide of all sheep to prevent his freedom. Rams, ewes, and lambs, none were spared. All precautions taken to keep him locked away... They must have hated him so much to turn so ruthless. To become feared monsters, rather than beloved gods.

All to keep him caged.

By the time the sun has risen and the room is painfully bright, like clockwork, the lamb is knocking on the 'door' of the shelter.

"Narinder? Are you awake? I still don't know exactly what you like to eat, so I brought you a mixed meal. I see you didn't eat the fish, so I'll throw that out I guess..." They call, and he struggles not to groan.

He had kind of wanted that fish. He liked fish and it's been a long... Long time since he's had the chance to eat any. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't fucking move.

And he was still standing strong on not asking for help from his usurper.

He could move a bit more today though. He could at least try and sit up and eat... Then again, he doubts he'll be able to move the dresser out of the way to grab the food.

He could ask the lamb to bring it inside as a plan B. That doesn't count as helping him. Right? But does he want the lamb to see him in this state?

Absolutely not.

So he's back to plan A. Starve.

Sounds good enough for him. Or at least it does until his stomach decided to growl obnoxiously loud.

"See! I knew you were hungry! Please, just come take the damn bowl, I don't want to leave it on the ground, the bugs or birds might get it! Or Theeno. He steals food a lot. I'm working on that." So they are going to make another fight out of this.

"I'll come and get it when I'm ready! And if your damn follower tries to nab it then he can expect my claws across his face!" He hisses, and the Lamb lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"You're getting on my nerves, Narinder, can I at least just come in and set it down?" Hm. An opening for plan B... He still doesn't want the Lamb to see him...

He's buried mostly in blankets and pillows, so if he tosses his aching body back towards the window, he doubts the Lamb would truly get a good look at him...

And then your back will be exposed, clear as day for a second knife to find purchase.

He tries to shake away the insecurity, and it's not hard when his stomach growls once more. What's the worst the sheep could do? Kill him? It's what he wants anyway.

Is it?

He just barely holds in a painful groan as he turns back onto his side, curling even further into himself as he does.

"Fine. But I'm not getting up, move the dresser yourself." He calls, only mildly breathless, as he tries to steady his breathing again.

"Great! I was kinda gonna come in anyway if you didn't respond." Oh, if he could move...

He might take his chances trying to wring their neck.

Instead, he clenches his teeth to keep the anger from seething out and keeps his ears tuned into the sound of the dresser being easily shoved aside, the sound of wood grating against wood.

"Okie-Doki, I'll just put this right here. That okay?" He can feel their black beady eyes on him, with their burning red pupils.

"Whatever, it's fine. Make sure you put that dresser back on your way out." He grumbles, flinching only slightly when hears the lamb step closer to him.

At the clear sight of said flinch they stop moving.

"Of course. Anything else you need? Are you okay? I was thinking about building a few upgrades onto your shelter since you clearly don't plan on leaving, and I can see having to use the bathroom becoming a problem in the near future. And bathing."

Right. Of course, this body is going to need to use the bathroom. And even when he was a little godling, he needed to bathe regularly. He hasn't had a bath since before he was imprisoned.

Poor Aym and Baal. standing beside a god that reeked of blood and death for all that time. He had grown jaded to the stench of death, but he was still aware that it must not be pleasant.

"Do whatever you want, so long as you don't disturb me." It would make it more convenient for his solitude, and prevent him from having to bite the bullet and ask for help to be carried to the outhouses- because he was not going to shit himself anytime soon.

God or not, he had to keep some of his dignity intact.

"Right, no disturbing your wallowing, got it. I'll set to those renovations ASAP, I'll even do them myself so none of the followers accidentally annoy you and get killed." He snorts at that. Almost laughs.

"Wise decision."

And like that, his dresser is being pulled back into place, with what sounds like little to no effort.

...

His stomach growls again.

Now to get this body to sit up and eat...

... This is going to take a while.

Chapter #1 of my fanfiction, Cult of the Lamb: Redemption is out now on my Ao3 account! It's Rooney_2108, and the full chapter will be out here on Tumblr tonight around 8:30pm. Narinder is not having a great time, guys, but it gets better. Slowly and painfully, it gets better. Enjoy dinner pookies.

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption - Chapter #1 Preview

Thoughts and opinions are welcome - be nice! (It will be posted in full on my Ao3 account Rooney_2108 first, then fully on Tumblr after.)

Pain - Narinder

Narinder didn't realize how much it would... Hurt.

To be free.

His arms hurt, his body hurt, and his head hurt.

As a god, he had never felt pain like this, which was the first of many signs that he was no longer divine.

And that terrified him. His arms hurt so badly he couldn't move them, and for a moment it felt like the ghosts of his chains still held him in place. His head ached from the light of the sun stabbing through the window of his home, into his light-sensitive eyes.

He can't move. His whole body feels like lead against the soft bed below him. Blankets weigh even heavier on top of him, adding to the feeling of being restrained. He wants to thrash around and escape from under them, but his limbs cramp up with every attempt he makes to move them.

And the jolt of fear that surges through him at that realization makes him want to scream out in agony and terror.

But centuries of captivity have taught him the uselessness of struggling. Have taught him patience. So he clamps his jaw shut and keeps his eyes sealed closed. Trying to listen.

He only just joined his usurpers cult as a follower yesterday, the adrenaline from their fight hadn't even left his system and suddenly he the damn Lamb was showing him to his own private grand shelter, set up farther away from the other followers for 'safety purposes.' Whether the Lamb meant for him or the rest of the cult he still isn't sure.

He didn't know how to respond, he was tired. So very tired. He had never felt tired before, but this mortal body... He secured the shelter as soon as the Lamb was gone. Barricading the entrance, and windows, sealing himself inside before allowing himself to collapse into the bed and rest.

Now he's not sure how much time has passed, just that it is daylight, and that the adrenaline of everything that's happened has now left this newly mortal body of his in shambles.

Freedom. He had wanted it so bad, and now he has it, but it's nothing like he had hoped.

He is angry and miserable, he wants to scream and cry, and he wants to go back in time and wring that lamb's neck when he has the chance instead of handing over the crown to the filthy traitor. He feels like a fool, powerless, and afraid.

Trapped by something even worse than the chains his siblings had used on him. Pain.

~~~

Sooo, that's a short preview of what's to come Pookies. I hope you enjoy the angst, and I will see you again when the chapter is released (drum roll please) tomorrow! On Ao3 at noon, and then on here around 8 or 9 pm.

Notes and helpful criticisms are welcome. But be polite. I'll cry if you're not. That's a threat.

Cotl Fanfic - Thoughts & Opinions?

So, this is the first post on this new account and it's a question for my Cult of the Lamb fandom pookies. I just recently got the game and I'm obsessed with it and have been thinking about writing a BUNCH of fanfiction.

So I wanted notes and suggestions on some things, and I might even make polls on some of them, starting most importantly with the topic below:

Gender, Pronouns, and Sexuality that are so far, are solely based on vibes and what I've seen the rest of the fandom agreeing on (And canon of course):

- The Lamb's identity will probs change depending on the fic type, but for most of them they will be assigned male at birth, He/They & Pansexual. Simple and sweet because our lamb boi is just tryna SURVIVE out here in a cult of idiots that can't even cook their own food or clean up their own shit. (Is this just me wanting to write more he/they characters in my stories because I'm he/they? Yes. Yes, it is folks.)

- Narinder is transgender male He/Him. I'm making him transgender male because I said so. I want more trans rep guys, leave me alone. & Homosexual because if his whole vibe and personality doesn't scream gay angsty emo cat I don't know what else in this world does.

- Leshy is cisgender He/Him. I can imagine him experimenting with they/them though. I may include something on that... If anyone has any notes on that I'm all ears. Best Bi. His level of chaos just radiates ADHD bisexual with way too much energy and free time.

- Heket is cis-gender She/Her. The only girlie in the family, fates have mercy on her and her patience. A lesbian for sure. I think the whole fandom just sort of agrees on this, right? With like, lots of wives because she is a highkey baddie? At least that's the impression I've been given based on all of her fanart and simps.

- Calamari- Sorry, I mean Kallamar, is cis-gendered He/Him. I was thinking of making him a transgender man too? Idk, I've just been told the cis's need rep too, and it made me gag and now I want to wave my magic writer wand and make all the characters trans and nonbinary. Opinions on that are welcome. Anyway. A pansexual, and I hear he canonically had multiple spouses? Despite looking like he has zero rizz. I mean, damn. Good for him I guess. Go squid boy, go.

In this, he's gonna be single though, because I like the idea of him struggling to find new spouses and Heket laughing at his struggle.

- Shamura is absolutely nonbinary they/them. A friend has told me this is canon, and that people may gun for my fucking throat if I change it. Not that I really want to, it fits. Shamura is lowkey one of my favorites. I just like spiders. I'm also deeply afraid of them and cry if I see them irl. I also think they're bisexual in the exact opposite way as Leshy, in that they are a calm, mildly tired wine aunt of the family, mixed with the senile grandparent that snores loudly then stops and everyone pauses and looks at each other like 'Are... Are they fucking dead?'

Anyway, this is a long post, but I needed to get this out there before I started writing stuff for this fandom. Any opinions are welcome, but no bullying other people's thoughts, and be chill guys.

Fr. I'm like a skittish cat, you'll scare me away, and then no one gets fanfiction.