#cotl faust

Based off of this post!

Continuation?

When asked to kneel, The Red Crown made the choice for them. The One Who Waits sees this as a betrayal leading to their battle and his inevitable downfall.

I haven’t drawn comics in ages. More beneath the cut!

Kind of continuation to this comic.

The first thing he opens his eyes to—

———

“Narinder?”

Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.

Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.

Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?

Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.

How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.

He chose wrong.

The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!

The one he gave life to! The one he saved!

Betrayed by one he trusted so—

Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.

“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)

Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?

Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.

There was no point in putting things off.

Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)

Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.

He felt worse.

Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.

“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.

Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.

“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.

If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.

“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.

He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.

When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.

“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”

The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.

Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.

They all would pay.

I saw the cotl bunny suit trend going around, I had to join in with Faust! Sketch beneath the cut!

There’s an… alternate (ahem) version of this.

The blorbos in my head finally taken form!

My lamb’s name is Faustitas, Faust for short. When captured for that final sacrifice, Faust was shaved of their wool. It took a while to grow it back. They have scars from the manacles that fade over time, but the neck scar from their first death, stays. Originally, the design of their fleece was the normal one you see in game, but they quickly decided it was basically a curtain that just got in the way and opted for sleeves. Dagger or claw preference in weapons.

Narinder gets to have a jumpsuit. As a treat. It’s easier to do physical work in them than the cloak that he spent the first five years of his indoctrination wearing. He has chain-rub shaped scars on his chest, wrists, and ankles. He spent the first decade or so absolutely despising Faust before he finally began tolerating them. In this time, Faust’s personality changed from bubbly (and thirsty for revenge) to withdrawn in the wake of his hatred. He was their dear friend before and Faust doesn’t quite get why he hated them so after being friends for well over a hundred years with him being The One Who Waits. So they feel hurt and betrayed. That and Narinder wanted to kill them for the Crown-

The plan is that, instead of the Lamb trying to woo babygirl, babygirl realizes he fucked up a bit and actually wants to get their friendship back.

A requested Faust suggestive

Had the idea that Faust sheared their legs... higher than normal. Many accidental teases for Narinder are abound.

Alternative from Discord friend: "Nari may have one slap. Just one."

Ch. 1.

"Well, this is convenient." -Faust Ch.1 Ao3 Link Here

Next Ch. >>

The erosion was gradual, at first. Barely noticeable. A thousand years, then two, slipped by in a haze of anger and betrayal. A constant pulling of chains and pain. Time accumulated and with each passing moment, something slipped farther and farther from him.

His thoughts were once sharp and divine. A torrent of purpose and power. They became muffled with distorted whispers that faded into the echo of a voice that used to command. 

Doubt crept in with a shift he could not name. Was he not once something more?  The question only lingered for but a spare moment. A last breath leaving a body. Was he leaving his body?

Power faded into a cold void of absence. Memories dulled; no longer sharp, no longer clear. Thought became irrelevant. There was no god left here. He was absence and yet, even this was actively slipping from him. No body to hold. No mind to guide. Was he a shadow left, lingering? Tethered only by the faintest pull of instinct? Time had stripped him of everything.

It was a hollowing. The edges of his thoughts are unravelling. Thread by thread by thread by thread by-

Each moment is slipping away like water through fingers. Wind through leaves. Fire through-

Flesh and power melted into nothingness. A vague impression of something once whole, now fragmented. He couldn't grasp-

There was something-

He hurts.