Idontknowwhatim-gloopin-here

"Have you finished your aneurysm-inducing bleating?" Narinder slides their scythe up a heretic's torso and grabs their face to slam them into the closest tree. Their corpse wilts and decays into ash with only their cloak and weapon marking that they ever existed.

"I wanna hear what you think, it's good to have a second opinion," Lamb said, slicing a giant bush-worm by its segments. The gore falls onto Lamb and they get soaked in blood, they let out a small "..ew".

"I do not care for this... And even then, not punishing someone for betraying a technical union is uncharacteristic of you," He sneered. "Punish him even if their relationship was comparatively 'nothing'. And I don't have to tell you to do simple decisions such as this." Narinder tried to hold back any sort of interest, but hearing such blasphemy and hypocrisy for an hour, it was harder not to. He bites his tongue in regret.

"I guess you have a point," Lamb slays the last enemy of the room. "You know what, I'm glad I bring you on crusades. I think it helps me clear out my brain when I relay my thoughts on you. Even though its all back-handed, I'm glad you're here."

Really?

"You've been quiet." Narinder can only be seen by the red of his eyes, staring straight at Lamb.

"... really?" Lamb looked up from their lap. "I guess these changes in your siblings domains has been setting me off. It doesn't make sense that they can still affect their domains while not even being on the same plane of existence... maybe its the power of their crowns? I mean its not exactly like when they first died because that was their domains adapting to their loss... but also..." Lamb continues off into mindless talking and Narinder starts to tune them out, yet their attention gets piqued when Lamb asks,

"Do you think its possible for someone to exist while not existing?"

Narinder lies on his back, replaying Lamb's words over, and over, and over. It never stood right or felt right. Ever since that sheep discovered these changes in his siblings former domains, they've been acting odd. Usually if Lamb was hiding something they would get skittish or derail the topic away from what they're hiding, and Narinder knows they're doing that. Or at least he thinks he does. He lets out a sigh and rolls to face the wall.

More words like "It actually just turns out their domains are kind-of adjusting themselves now that I'm the only god--hehe!" or "I think the voices I heard could've been of my imagination, or who knows, maybe they were screaming at me from purgatory." replay.

"Your siblings aren't here Narinder--remember when you got into those moments where you imagined the voices of your siblings and I had to help you out of that?" They said, "I don't know why you're so bent on something that isn't possible, I could up your medication if you want, its seems like your visions are getting worse."

It boiled his blood.

"Huh... Well, I think it's because of some kind of hidden grief that you're dreaming of that,"

Excuses.

"Sometimes when I really regret something or somethings heavy on my mind it appears in my dreams, like when I-"

A door slams open.

The cold night air whistles through the gaps in between the trees and Narinder stands with his cloak idly swaying. He takes a slow breath.

What if he's doing something he'll regret? It was never fun when he made Lamb really upset. Well it was. But something like this would make Lamb all fussy, spouting about 'trust' and 'invasiveness'. He's too tired to even have a crumb of that, and regardless, he knows he's right.

The Cult was quiet. The statue of the Lamb basked in the moon's gentle cradle with it's arms spread wide and head lifted to receive it's glow. It was one of the first things Narinder saw when he was usurped. His teeth always bared with his claws digging into his skin whenever he looked at it. Yet now whenever Narinder looked at it he felt patronized, as if he was another follower to their wretched flock. They have been treating him as if he was a fresh follower in their wretched flock, trying to use their 'cult leader' personality when Narinder has cut deeper into their guard than that.

He treads past the bare earth of the devotion grounds, aiming straight for the forever illuminated temple. It feels like his body is unraveling as his nerves fall through his fingertips which every step he takes. But not exactly, this feeling is more akin to a tumor, or rot that grows and weighs down on his legs to the point where he starts sliding his feet. Yet he still reaches its doors.

He flinches when he catches himself reaching to open the large wooden doors. He can't enter like this.

Too loud, too direct.

Pulling a piece of wood to wriggle inside would be silly, and divine structures probably wont act well with a big fuzzy ringworm going about inside their architecture. Narinder glances up.

Lamb's living space is quaint, messy, and serene. Yarn strewn across the floor, shelves of trinkets and objects that they've collected across the centuries of their crusades, and a knocked out lamb. Their crown sits on the suspended pet bed that they made for it and it's eye is closed, but there's nothing explicitly showing that it is actually asleep as there's no way of telling something as primordial as a crown even has a need to sleep.

Narinder looks at them in the shadows of Lamb's room. The window was his safest bet. Lamb's wool has been growing thick recently, so a sudden breeze of night air wouldn't disturb them let alone penetrate through their wool. But it's still that crown that poses a threat. The times Narinder would've hid in the shadows only to be foiled by the crown nudging Lambs intuition has been far too many than what Narinder would like. To make sure that neither threats wakes up and spots him, he crawls down into the passage way into the narrow viscera of the temple making sure he doesn't waste any more time in boiling water. Lamb used to use the cramped insides as a means of storage when the cult was in its infancy. Now there are several locations where resources are held so there's easier accessibility and Lamb doesn't have to be the one going in and out of the supposed-to-be private part of the temple. The cubbies and shelves are still there, yet littered with cobwebs and dust.

Narinder's feet don't fall to the floor, instead he stays off of the stairway so there's a net zero chance that a step would creak and alert anyone, crawling on the wall and maneuver using the rail. Now that Narinder is inside the temple's backrooms he can inspect closer into where Lamb's secret could be.

He closes his eyes.

Cold, frail, yet powerful hands start to clench on Narinder's ankles, digging their nails deep into his skin. The cold seeping into his flesh with the sharp stabbing pain paralyzing his body. The hands move higher, and breath starts to leave his lungs, yet he snaps back into reality.

they are below

Narinder moves down the stairway until there's an empty shelf with a chest below it. It's by far the most neglected part of Lamb's former storage space with how hard it is to not slip off of the banister. He gets off of the wall and makes sure that he doesn't just throw his entire weight onto such old wood and the only thing that comes out is a low and quiet creak. He stares down at the forgotten chest, then leans down to inspect it.

Yet as his hand touches the ground, there's a cut in the floor thats too specific to just be normal plank-work. Narinder touches around further to check if there's any latches or metal that would imply a trap door, but there is nothing.

But there is nothing? No. He doesn't accepts this and shoves the chest out of this spot of interest. He lifts the disguised trapdoor to reveal an abyss.

He sits there taking in shallow breaths. This feeling grows stronger, like he's carrying a corpse of himself on his back, or that hes dying himself. Or just that

He sits with no shift to his face, but shallower breath, with a feeling that's growing stronger. It's as if he's carrying a corpse of himself on his back, or that he is the corpse, or simply

He's scared.

He puts a leg into the darkness and feels a wooden board stuck onto the wall, a ladder, and he climbs down until he feels the coldness of stone. He turns to see rooms.

Theres only one candle in the center of these four rooms, and it's still alit, slowly burning away. The entire room smells of rot, burned sinew and flesh, and family.

This doesn't bring bittersweet nostalgia, or bubbling rage or excitement but just. Fear.

His body doesn't want to move, he feels like a crying horrified child clawing at the wall wailing out into a deaf world as an entity stalks towards him. But there is only a tall candle slowly burning away. And he can't leave. Not now. He moves slowly towards one of the doors, feeling the coldness fade by the feint heat from his hand. Then he slides it open.

They wake up. Lamb was getting an unnerving feeling, either by an extremely abstract dream or the fact that they were getting hot with all of the layers they have. But its all pushed aside by this loud and poignant reverberating in their mind of things like "Get Up." Its really demanding, "Get up." They don't want to, who even knows how late it is. "Get. up." They feel that stomach dropping dread of when a parent is scolding you or some sort. Autonomously they follow its command and pushes themself off of the bed. Yet as they get on from the bed they tremble onto their bedframe. Their body feels raw, heavy, and a bit tingly. They don't know what they should be looking for so they walk over to their box of textiles and yarn, sliding the crates around and checking what's in the nooks and dark crannies. The only thing they find is black fur.

Narinder...

Lamb wonders if they could nap entangled with his long fur like the one time they did it on accident during a crusade. He's been coming around to physical touch, though his reaction still has the sharpness of a cactus, it's not the sting as it once was before. In lamb's book that's tremendous improvement. They nod off thinking about such a comfy idea but they snap themselves back in. As if they were awaken with such a strong message in their head that they must find him.

-

There's a burned corpse lying on the ground, Narinder doesn't want to accept what he's seeing, he didn't want to be right. But he stares at the deepened hues of cyan mixed with fleshy reds and blacks this corpse is obviously Kallamar. Each and every one of his tentacles has been severed and surprisingly, he's still breathing.

Shallowly. Each breath is so audible and weak its almost if he chokes even slightly on split or phlegm or blood he could die.

Narinder hadn't even notice how he made it onto his knees shaking. This pseudo-rigor mortis is the only reason why he hasn't fully collapsed.

Kallamar reaches out. It hurts. It hurts so badly to use such a destroyed body. But he still tries to throw his decrepit hand onto Narinder, and after what has been centuries of pain,

He's at peace.

Narinder rolls his eyes up to see Kallamar decay away, it was like seeing paint get blended. dark turquoises getting consumed into the all encompassing black. But it's all too loud. The hallucinations in Narinder's mind are too loud and he cant think. All he hears are lamenting cries of betrayal, pleads for this not to be real, and things he can't even digest. What--Who else is here?

He slides the door shut, and is presented again with the three rooms.

Narinder enters the room beside, first hearing the constant wheezing--a labored "hhhngg... hhhnnnn... hhhhnnnggg" over and over. Then Heket's flayed skin stretched out as if she was drying hide, but she was well moist, made sure that she survived for as long as she can. And for further measure there was a golden necklace laying on her raw muscle, bloodied, and working it's damn-ness to keep her alive.

She was so starved Narinder could see the raw, bloody, muscle eat itself live in front of him. He moves over, barely remembering walking at all, then snapping the string with his claw. And she just fades away as well. There's only a rusted butchers hook swinging in the stale air.

Lamb walks down their stairs, glancing around at the disrepair they've let their old storage room get into. Maybe they should turn it into something useful, like an extension to their room or maybe they could seal it off and give more insulation to the temple (Followers has always associate the temple with the cold, Lamb doesn't even have enough hooves to count the amount of times followers slept on the temple floors on hot days). Lamb walks down the narrow hallway, recalling which cubby carried what. Lamb ends up on the end of the narrow passageway where they held the most valuable resources originally, though it was things like crystals or camellias or something that now is as common as grass.

But their mind stretches out from its physical form, screaming and pulling Lamb towards what should be focused. It feels like they're being controlled by a different part of themself, or that they're their own puppet master.

Lamb goes deeper in their stairway, each step growing quieter, and quieter, then they hop over the last few steps so it doesn't creak and alerts this supposed 'intruder'. If there was someone here Lamb would know, for crying out loud they know where their followers are twenty four seven even without the crown.

Their eyes don't flutter around lazily looking for clues, but they bore into one specific spot.

Someone got in.

Lamb drops into the dungeon with a loud thud, not even being phased by gravity. They stare into the light before their eyes lol from side to side, prowling for the intrusionists' location.

Narinder heaves, he can't calm down, he won't calm down. After all of this he just cant. He holds his mouth with his hands but they spill over his entire face. It feels like his head is melting onto the floor and he doesn't even want to process what is eyes are looking at.

The Lamb slides a metal door with the grating of metal against stone screaming throughout the room. Their eyes stare in pure disappointment of what they see.

They look up at a skinned sack of unused flesh, hanging from its restraints. Leshy has given up on reacting, instead he accepts any lashings, or cuts or even more skinning or harvesting set for today. Maybe one day he could bleed out and be free.

Lamb could just be making a fuss, maybe they forgot to move the chest back, they have been getting more scatter brained recently. They close the door back.

...

"Hello?"

"Is anyone there?"

They asked politely, in their regular tone. "I mean you really shouldn't be. You aren't safe." Their sword morphs back into their crown and before returning to Lamb's head it passively floats around the dungeon before coming at rest.

But just to be sure they open another door, sinking their hooves into the grip of their sword. But there is nothing. Not the charred disposable filth. Nothing.

"..."

"You aren't safe."

They turned to the elusive pest in their midst. Lamb exits the room and does one more turn before leaving. The last thing that's heard is the scraping of wood against the ceiling.

"Please..." "Please Narinder" Shamura sobs in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't look up. After all of what he has seen ever in his life, he simply cannot mentally bear at what Lamb has done to them. For what Narinder has done to Shamura in comparison was an act of mercy. This is beyond anything he could do. But, Narinder? what do they mean Narinder? They cry out that name as if they'd call it often.

He scrambles off of the floor. He inches slowly towards Shamura. How weak they are. How he remembers running towards Shamura as a child, only for him to be told off and told 'Not to spook a warrior unless you desire harm'. How glorious of a warrior they are now.

He now is looming over them, silently, just staring. Not at Shamura, but staring. He cups their face and tears seep from all three of his eyes.

"Rest, for I am Death, not who you call" the voice shakes.

Soon there was nobody left.

Lamb wakes up to their cult in disarray, the farm has been decayed into wilt and dust and was salted, the cult's storage and equipment shed has been looted, camelias and small statues burned, as well as some followers reported missing including Disciple Marigold and the suicide of "Recluse" Narinder.

Lamb hold's their head jotting away in their Cult Management book, detailing their loss. "How could someone do this..." They muttered to themself "Only a group could do something like this--I mean the night is only so long." They reflect back on the sight of the corpse swaying idly inside Narinder's hut. The more they subtract from their resources the more they get frustrated.

how could someone do this?? Only a detestable heretic that lacked anything moral can do something like this. Seven people, Four children, an entire Disciple for crying out loud? Lamb starts picking at themself and cursing out in frustration, they felt the population drop in the night, they felt it and they did nothing. If only if Narinder hadn't absorbed some of their power they could pinpoint who did what.

But in their frustration their stomach drops, they get up from their desk and out their room.

They run down the stairs, and then deeper down the stairs to throw the chest aside and see their trap door torn inward off of its hinges. Lamb jumps down in a crouch, feeling the coldness of the cobblestone rush through their body and getting a sudden whiff. They know what this smell is but they pray that it isn't what it is, but its only confirmed once they lift up their head.

The followers are everywhere. Torn apart, mutilated, with entrails strung across the dungeon walls still attached to their corpse. The children's decapitated heads were stuck onto the cell doors with their small, now eternally young bodies just below it. The other corpse are thrown about yet all of their eyes stare at Lamb perfectly.

And then Marigold, sitting in where the candle once stood. Her corpse was torn apart just as the rest of the followers scattered around her but she was completely mutilated. Her face was like a rose of gore, skin and muscle pulled apart until her skull was visible, and her jaw was pulled off from its hinge with the force making tears in her cheeks. Her torso was shredded to bone with her organs pulled out, resting on her lap. The only organ that is where it's supposed to be is her heart. Sitting lonely in ribs that were forced to look like wings.

Lamb has seen every organ outside from where it should be, raw meat exposed, and living bodies turned into puddles of gore. They have experience deaths of their followers before and even deaths they've personally experienced that were more gruesome than this.