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Chapter 1 : How it Ends

The Plague Doctor's Mask

As his siblings before him, Kallamar suddenly found himself out of Purgatory and back into the world at the mercy of the one who killed him. Completely deaf, fragile and mortal, he has to decide how this new story will play out. To live in fear, cowering behind the heavy shadows of his siblings or to dare being the pillar that holds their fragile bonds together. Whatever his moves might be, there are many pieces on this chessboard he must watch out for.

GUYS it's finally here! I hope it's good I am shitting myself 🤣💙

I thought the Ides of March would be an amazing day to post this. Happy Reading! I'll go.... keep hydrated.

Wait, what? AH SI Narinder has different layers of clothes like Lambert

Praise be, the cat of the night, death's divine, the executioner sent by the lamb, slayer of the old faith

Just to be clear, Irem the girl and Narinder the night cat are two different characters. Irem is actually dead jsjsjajdjs de nada

Estoy orgulloso, por favor, valoren mi trabajo de 5 días JSDAJDISJD AIUDA

I hope it's not obvious, but who's my favorite Lambert? SJADAJSIDA, help, I don't feel good

Irem, Papa's purple petaled dream, is gone

I'm still struggling with the coloring. Little Irem, Abel's adopted daughter (the lamb that's always waiting), if I got a penny for every tragic scene I put my characters through, I'd be a millionaire

OJO, she's not Narinder's daughter. She existed long before his parents were even born. That's enough lore for now

The strong one in this relationship is the one who wears the crown

Those two Narinders have some defined, beautiful, strong, bold, bipolar, and complex tastes, and they managed to have them at their feet

The night cat almost never wears tight clothes

Sorry sigo sin saber pintar y dejar de dar cringe

WARNING: Suggestive content

The lambs won't miss the opportunity

more mafia au stuff cause the brainrot's getting me(spoilers for chapter 2)

stumbled upon a cotl mafia au fic and just had to draw. Awesome stuff

White Collar, Black Chains by Astral_Insanity (edit: @bleeding-seraphic on tumblr)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55497721/chapters/140837821

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #5

Y'all, it's been a hot minute, and I've had this chapter done for MONTHS but I completely forgot about it. But uuuuh, happy spooky season, and have some more cotl content!

Also, don't ask me when the next chapters coming out- I've started it, but I'm so busy with college, I have no idea.

Sooo, I know I haven't posted in a while, but I've been pretty busy with life and writing for other fic's that I'm working on, but worry not! The next chapter of Cult of the Lamb: Redemption will be out eventually, I have not abandoned it. I've just been sidetracked. Expect the chapter sometime this weekend hopefully!

Casually getting side-tracked and writing scenes that don't even happen for another two fucking chapters.

Sometimes I just write a sentence or piece of dialogue that I'm like 'no, no, this will work better for a future scene' and instead of just cutting and pasting it somewhere for later, I write the whole scene!?!? And then put that aside for the future.

I mean, it'll be a nice surprise when I get to chapter 6 and already have a whole scene out of the way, but damn. It's delaying the current chapter, and making it hard to stay on task. Cool scenes though... Anyway, the moral of the story, Chapter #5 of Cult of the Lamb Redemption is almost done! So expect it on Ao3 and here soon, homies!

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #4

TW: Depiction of painkilling herbs being eaten- aka one loopy-as-hell cat.

Realizations - Narinder

Narinder is not a poet. Not a writer, or a master of words.

So it is no surprise that Lamb's confession stunned him into silence.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't."

How is he supposed to care if he didn't fucking know? That's not fair of them to hold that against him. It's not fair for them to act like some heartbroken beau that he led on, and then tossed aside.

And then they had the audacity to leave before he could even find a way to respond.

He supposes a part of him is relieved they're not kneeling in front of him anymore while he's trying to sort through his thoughts.

They cared about him. What does that even mean? In the context of a god and a follower?

He thinks he knows exactly what Lamb means, but he'll be damned if he just assumes...

He tries to look back and pinpoint the moments that could give him some kind of hint, or insight into what they mean. Moments that he somehow missed the first time around.

But looking back, all of his memories feel hazy.

Like a terrible, violent fever dream of being so angry, in pain, waiting... Then the betrayal. Every time they try and think back on moments with the Lamb they are greeted by that moment.

When they refused to give the Red Crown back, and instead chose to raise their blade to him.

And every time he is reminded of that moment, he is filled with this cold, dead weight in his chest that he wants to call rage but he knows it's something different.

Hurt.

And hurt made him angry.

Why did it hurt so much? Because he let himself become fond of the wretched beast, he tells himself. He grew attached, even though he knew exactly how things were meant to end.

But they didn't end that way, did they? And now here he is. Alone.

Looking down at his bandages, he can still feel the cooling, refreshing sensation of the medical salve, easing the soreness of his wounds. It didn't help at all with the cramping in his muscles, or aching in his bones, causing the horrible shaking throughout his limbs.

But a feeling that trumps the cramping, or the cooling of the medicine are the traces... The traces of Lamb's touch linger all over his body. His arms, around his ankles, his back and torso. Everywhere he tries to focus his attention he feels them.

Such light, careful care, embedded all over him deeper than the injuries left by his chains.

It had made him forget how angry he was, and say things he shouldn't have... Feel things he shouldn't have.

Things like that horrible fondness, that make him want to hear Lamb's laughter again. That makes him want to hold them in his hand, and hope that they're bold enough to duck under his veil again so he can see them better...

They were so close to him, and when they pulled away, he grabbed them. Not wanting to lose the feeling. The momentary peace that being so close to someone after so long brings. Even if that person is them. The one who...

Who makes him so hurt and so angry every time he thinks about them. About what they did, or what they're doing now. Being so kind, and so damn sincere that he wants to believe them, but he can't.

He can't trust them, he or be fond of them, and he certainly can't care about them, because they took everything from him. His power. His divinity. His dignity.

The only thing they left him with is his life, and he's still 50/50 on whether that's worse.

His torso has yet to be bandaged. The lamb left so quickly, that he can only assume they are going to get this 'Miki' person to do the stitches and finish wrapping him up.

He doubts it will be the last time he sees Lamb while he's... 'Unwell' like this. So he needs to figure out what to say when they do come face to face again.

Does he need to say something? Does he want to say something? Should he confront them about the unfairness of this situation? Or just let it go and pretend it never happened?

Narinder has already come to terms with the fact that he's stuck accepting their help and afterward being stuck as a mere follower- he'll be damned before he has to do any pathetic chores or menial tasks though.

Now, though... He's conflicted. He had planned to ignore Lamb after he was healed and didn't need their assistance anymore... But he wants answers. He wants to know what Lamb means when they say they care, and why their admission confuses him so much.

Makes him want to clarify things.

Tell them that he might not have... Cared in the same way he thinks they mean, but that he had... Preferred them to... Past vessels?

Fates, he feels like a fool.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd throw himself back onto the bed and bury his head under the pillows to try and block out all these thoughts and feelings.

"Um... Hello? Narinder, sir? May I come in?"

He's still leaning over the bed, glaring daggers at the empty ground where Lamb had been when the clear-toned voice interrupts his inner conflict.

"Come in." He sighs, and the fennec fox's head pops through the curtains, looking around before stepping inside.

The light from outside has turned a deep orange and pinkish tone. The sun is setting.

She's holding a small wooden box of well-organized metal tools and supplies, and she strides up to him, holding her silence, and focused gaze as kneels behind him, and examines his back.

Narinder wants to whirl around and hiss at her to back the fuck up, but he doesn't have the physical energy or pain tolerance to do so.

"I'm guessing you're Miki?" He sighs, giving up on doing anything but sitting down and just dealing with whatever he's handed.

"Yes. I take care of most medical-related issues around camp. The Lamb was right, these do need stitches, a lot. I imagine it's just as bad in the front. Are these scars anything to worry about?" She points at the two identical scars running just below his pecs, and he shakes his head.

"No. I've had those since before all this. Top surgery scars, I don't think any of you followers know what that is..." He sighs, and she shrugs.

"We have top surgery, it's just not as... Safe. As it could be. I'm working on making it safer. We can talk more about it later because I do have questions regarding where your surgery was done and by whom, but for now..." She pauses to meet his gaze and holds up the curved needle in her hand.

"This is going to take a while so settle in and lay down on your stomach. I can offer you some herbs to numb the pain, but they'll make you very tired, and kind of loopy. It's up to you if you want them though." She steps back to give him space to move.

Lamb clearly didn't tell her that he can't move very well without help, and he isn't about to admit it.

So he settles for trying to force his body to move through the pain.

His back is the worst of it, digging a deep growl out of his throat as he tries to twist himself around, onto the bed on his stomach, without moving the blanket off of him and giving the poor follower an eyeful.

"Do you need assistance? I understand that you can't move very well, but I wanted to see it for myself to analyze. Can you describe the kind of pain you are experiencing?" Ah, so she does know.

"It's a cramping. So bad that I can't stop shaking, or get my limbs to do what I want. My back and legs are the worst." He explains as she places a slightly too firm grasp on his shoulders and mildly manhandles him to lay on his back.

Giving her a full view of his injuries.

"Hmm. I have dealt with a few similar cases in people who haven't moved for long periods, usually only a few months, but years... Well, I'll tell you now, it's not an easy fix. Do you want the herbs? They won't take effect immediately, but it will make everything less painful, stitches and cramping. They'll also probably put you to sleep for the rest of the night." She talks slightly faster and far more monotone than he expected for someone who follows Lamb.

Something about the lack of emotion in her voice creates a professional air in the whole shelter. An air that makes him feel far safer than he's felt in his entire time being here.

"I'll take them. How do I get rid of the cramping?" He asks as he hears her shuffling around the supplies.

She moves around and he turns his head to look at her as she holds out a small leaf-bound bundle, he swallows it quickly as the bitter taste nearly makes him gag.

"I don't want you to push yourself too much because of your outward injuries, but the only real way to help regain your strength and control over your limbs is to exercise and stretch them. Water therapy would be best, but submerging your stitches isn't an option." She explains, her hands poking and prodding at his back, pulling painfully at some of the deeper wounds.

Far less gentle than Lamb had been.

"Watch it." He hisses, in pain, and then lets his curiosity win. "And what's water therapy?"

"Swimming, essentially. A gentler alternative to normal physical therapy. Either way, you'll need someone to oversee it, myself ideally, but I can train the Lamb to aid you instead if you are not comfortable with my presence." He only hums in response.

His body doesn't hurt as much, and as she said, he's becoming drowsy. His eyelids are heavy, and the shaking in his arms is subsided. He hardly even feels the sharp piercing as it follows a horizontal path around his waist.

He's half asleep when it stops and moves up around his left shoulder blade. Then right. Then the same monotone voice asks him to turn over so she can 'evaluate the damage'.

He would think that the newfound lack of agony coursing through his bones would make it much easier. Instead, the fatigue pulls him down and makes his whole body turn to dead weight. She's talking again, and he peeks his eyes open but quickly decides that whatever it is, isn't as important as sleep.

So he closes them again.

~~~

"You've done well vessel. Soon enough, my chains will be broken, thanks to your ruthless efficiency." He's staring at them, as they sit in his hand, only a few inches from his face.

They're awfully silent this visit. Usually, they break into a ramble about the crusade they had just died during, or the way things around the cult are going. And Narinder would listen. Their voice is soothing. Easing the burning tension in his body the moment they arrive, and look up at him with that radiant smile, so overjoyed to see him again.

~~~

He opens his eyes when there are small hands- the fennec fox's hands trying to lift him to roll him over. He can't recall her name... Miku? Mimi? Something like that. She curses under her breath.

He tries to aid her in her weak attempts, even though his mind is hazy. But he must have done something right because now he's on his back, and the piercing is on his stomach now so he closes his eyes again.

 ~~~

He likes this one. This vessel. A small, innocent-looking Lamb, with all the fire and maliciousness of a thousand suns, scorching all who stand against them. Yet when they stand before him, they are soft-spoken. They laugh a lot, usually at something he does or says.

He doesn't know what's so funny, but the sound is like music, so he doesn't question it.

Others, like Ratau, were weak, but not just that, they were so... Boring. They didn't speak much, didn't respond well, and only ever bowed to him before being sent back to the overworld. 

~~~

When he opens his eyes again it's to the sound of Lamb's voice.

"Narinder, I'm just gonna help hold you up while Miki wraps the bandage around you- oof! Okay- this, uh, this works. I guess." Their laughter is nervous, hesitant, and not the carefree one he would much rather grace his ears.

He is leaning forward, his head resting against them. They don't smell like blood, or death like he expects now that they are the God of Death. No, they smell like they always have. Like wildflowers, and fresh air after rain.

They're warm, and he bunts his head against the side of their face, before burying it into their neck, shutting his eyes again.

~~~

"What troubles you, my vessel? You have not spoken, by now Aym and Baal are ready to kick you out themselves." He chuckles, as he looks down at the mentioned twins, who side-eye glance at each other and shrug in agreement to the statement.

His dear Lamb looks up with startled eyes, and he can't help but chuckle. They must not have realized how obvious they were being...

"Nothing! Really it's nothing, well, not nothing, nothing, just... I want to tell you something, but it's hard to... Word. And I don't think that right now is the best time..." They ramble now.

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything...

~~~

He opens his eyes this time because Lamb laughs again. A good laugh at something the small fox said. Soft, but sincere, and he can feel it reverberate through their chest. He wraps his arms up and around them to pull him closer and they become stiff as a board.

He doesn't care though, as his hands rest at their waist, and a deep rumbling is sounding from somewhere... Is it coming from him? Is he purring? He hasn't purred in a long time, and it's hard to recognize the sound.

He shoves his face into his Lamb's soft wool as he closes his eyes for what's hopefully the final time...

~~~

"Silence, Lamb, you need not speak of it if you wish not to. I only wish to know, so that I might ease the worries off of your face. I much prefer your smile." He raises his other hand to lift his Lamb's chin carefully with the tip of his clawed pointer finger.

They smile as they meet his eyes, but it is still nervous, and unsure. They glance away from him, their eyes darting around the afterlife, refusing to meet his gaze.

"I... Appreciate that, but I think I'll save what's on my mind for later. How about after I've gotten you out of these chains? Deal?"  They now look a bit more energetic, as they jump up, and duck down, and before he has time to process it...

There they are. Underneath his veil, peering up into his blood-soaked eyes. Smiling, without a care in the world, as if what they've just done isn't enough to get them massacred by any other God in their right mind.

They lean against his nose, and he is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that they smell like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. Such a refreshing... Lively scent. As if they aren't working for the God of Death, but rather frolicking fields with a God of Life.

They rest their arms on his snout and blink up at him, tilting their head ever so slightly in curiosity when he remains still in stunned silence.

They then laugh when he laughs, and he wants them to stay right there for as long as it might take for him to grow sick of their presence. But he's not sure when that might be. A century or two? Maybe three if they don't run out of things to talk about too quickly.

But alas. There are still Bishops to defeat, a cult to maintain, and chains to be broken.

Perhaps before he has them kneel to sacrifice themselves to him, he can ask them what it is they had planned on saying.

"Deal."

~~~

He wakes one final time when he's being carefully laid back onto the mattress and a soft voice is mumbling. His Lamb's voice.

Something about changing the bed sheets in the morning, and the current ones being bloodied.

"Lamb..." His voice is so quiet, it's a miracle he can even hear himself.

He has a tight hold on their fleece.

"Yes, Narinder?" Their voice is wobbly, and he tries to force his eyes open.

He wants to see them, but he's so tired.

"You planned to confess... After I was freed... How could I not see that you..." How could he not realize that they loved him?

Was he so oblivious? He could have read their mind at any time, but he didn't... He could have seen their feelings. He could have also seen their betrayal coming, but somehow, this is less important than their feelings.

"I... You're all loopy, Nari, go to sleep, and I'll bring you breakfast in the morning." They pry his hand off of their fleece, and he lets them, with a soft hum.

"Nari? I like that..." Nari. His siblings used to call him that when he was still very small, but stopped when he got older.

When he got the Red Crown.

"Hm. I'll call you it more often than if you promise not to try and kill me when you're less high." They stand up and pull one of the blankets up over him, and then they're walking away.

No. Stay.

Please stay.

His brain screams, but his mouth can't keep up, and the fog in his mind is so heavy and his limbs are so heavy and his heart is so heavy, and everything is just so damn heavy...

His heavy thoughts fill with thoughts of Lamb. His Lamb. Who smells like wildflowers and fresh air after rain. His Lamb. Who he was once so fond of, but now can't bring himself to feel such fondness without it reside beside pain. And anger. And distrust.

And they are in pain, angry, and distrustful too.

So how do either of them fix it?

~~~

When he wakes up he is alone, and his head is still hazy, and his body is in agony.

Stiff, and sore, his torso is immovable, a dull throbbing making him groan in pain. His arms and legs hurt just the same but aren't as bad as they were.

Maybe he's just too focused on his torso to care about the tremors as they start racking his arms again. Or, maybe it's the haunting realization of his own drug-induced actions last night that really keeps him frozen in his place, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling.

He didn't know he could be so... Touchy. When tired. But the smell of them is still swirling around in his mind, and it makes it hard to focus on anything else he did.

He doesn't remember all of it, not clearly anyway, from having been in and out of consciousness. But he remembers the moment Lamb arrived. When they laughed. When he leaned forward onto them. When he shoved his head into the wool on their neck. When he started purring so deeply he could feel it vibrating his whole body...

The room is cleared of all medical supplies, and the nightstand is cleaned off.

He's not exactly sure what time it is, or how long he's been asleep, but he knows, from the light slowly brightening around the edges of the window and doorway curtains that it's close to morning.

And that Lamb promised to bring him breakfast. So he needs to get his thoughts in order quickly.

He still needs to confront Lamb about their sudden admission to him. Then about that day... That distinct memory replaying in his mind helped him connect the dots even in his herb-induced state.

Lamb had wanted to confess to him after they freed him, and he...

Guilt is still a foreign emotion to him. He used to feel it in small amounts when he was a child and would get into spats with Leshy, or Heket and say something he didn't mean.

The worst time was during a thunderstorm that he had gotten caught in on his way back to the temple. He doesn't remember where he was returning from or when the first strike of thunder sent him running out of his own damn skin, but he does remember hiding.

Hiding, terrified in the small hollow of an old tree trunk. The mud soaking around his feet, and the bottom of his robe. When Shamura found him he was so afraid he hadn't wanted to get out from under the trunk, and when his older sibling reached in to grab him, he'd just... Lashed out.

His claws hooked on Shamura's forearm damn good, and he knew he drew blood when they tried to pull away and his claws yanked out of the skin it was caught on.

He felt the wave of guilt hit him harder than the fear and strike as quickly as the lightning of the storm around him.

And no matter how many times he apologized, or how many times Shamura tried to assure him it was alright, he was haunted by the feeling.

The guilt. That made his heart sink like lead in water every time he saw the paper-thin scars on Shamura's arm.

But all those times happened long ago before he was even given the Red Crown. Since then, this degree of guilt has snuck up on him twice. Both because of Lamb.

When he had snapped at them the other and they rushed out of the room on the verge of tears, and then now.

Feeling this overwhelming guilt because of this horrible realization that the entire time he had been waiting for the day they would sacrifice their life to him...

They were waiting to tell him that they were in love with him.

He wonders how they felt in that moment. The second he asked them to kneel, did they feel the same sinking dread in their chest that he felt when they chose not to?

Did they feel the same horrible dread when they marched to their death earlier that year, standing before his kin as they prepared to kill the final lamb?

If so then it truly confirms the thought that's been plaguing him for the last hour.

He's no better than them. Hell, he might be worse. At least they didn't trick any of the lambs they were slaughtering into trusting them. Or become selectively blind when said lamb fell in love with them.

Speaking of the new God of Death...

The moment that they knock on his door and step through the curtain with a soft, sad smile, and a warm breakfast in their hands he realizes something that makes all of his other realizations that much more horrid...

He never would have asked them to kneel, if he had known they loved him.

Maybe I even would have...

"Morning, Nari. I brought another mixed meal, everything is bland and seasonless, but there's a bit more variety. I'm also going to get started on those upgrades for your shelter. Nothing perfect, but function for now." They sit on the bed next to him, and he's glad to find that he can sit up a little easier on his own, without as much pain as before.

At least in his arms. His torso is irritated and sore as shit. Lamb moves to grip his arm and help him, and he bites his own tongue to stop from purring at the touch.

The herbs clearly haven't worn off completely just yet...

Looking them in the eye there are a million things he wants to say but what comes out isn't exactly what he's expecting.

"I'm sorry."

A simple two words as Lamb sits beside him to help him eat, just like they've done the day before. They freeze in place, staring at him with widened eyes, and he stares back.

As stunned as he is, he's surprised to find that he doesn't regret the words.

He's not sure that his own anger has subsided. Hell, looking at them now, glancing at the Red Crown on their head that was once his... He can still feel the flickering flames of frustration, and the much stronger flame of humiliation and embarrassment.

But neither are as strong as they once were. The raging wildfire has died down, turning to something more... Tired.

He just wants all this pain to stop, and to be able to move freely again.

He wants to be free.

It's all he thinks he wants anymore. Before the desire for freedom lived closely beside his desperation for revenge.

To destroy the other Bishops. His family. Make them pay for locking him up in the first place.

At some point... Maybe after the thousand-year mark, or maybe two thousand years, freedom became his main priority.

Revenge became an... Added bonus.

And now? It's all he's been thinking about- thoughts of Lamb not counting.

Wanting so desperately for the pain to subside so that he can once again see the world outside of this shelter.

And all the anger still buried inside is just a footnote in comparison to that desire.

So when he looks into the Lamb's eyes and sees their confusion, he doesn't have it in him to take the words back or snap at them.

He can't forgive them, at least not now. Perhaps not ever. But he knows he's tired of being mad. Tired of lashing out every time they reach out to help, and then feeling guilty an instant later.

And he is Sorry.

Sorry that he didn't know. Sorry that he never gave them a chance to tell him. Sorry, that...

In the end, he really wasn't any better than his siblings. Maybe he still isn't. He's not sure anymore.

What he is sure of, is that even if he's still angry, they have a right to be angry too, and yet...

They're helping him anyway. Caring for his wounds, feeding him, helping him move, and upgrading his shelter so he doesn't have to leave if he doesn't want to, and can just spend the rest of his immortal life locked indoors...

And all he's doing is complaining, snapping at them, and making them cry.

Even his shitty siblings, if they were here, would agree that that's not fair.

"You're... Sorry?" They repeat, head tilting, unsure, and stiff as a board.

"Yeah." He wants to lean forward towards them again but resists, grabbing the blankets below him just to keep himself anchored in place.

"I'm still angry at you. So... So angry. I hate that you spared me. I hate how pathetic, weak, and humiliated I feel. I hate that you're the one that's made me feel this way... But I... I recognize that you're angry too and that what I did was not... I shouldn't have... Fuck, I don't know..." He sighs, lifting a hand to drag down his face, and pausing to think of his next words carefully.

At this point he's glaring down at his remaining hand as his claws dig into the blanket, refusing to look back up at Lamb.

"I don't know that I regret what I did, but I regret that I hurt you when I did it. I regret that I didn't know because if I did... I'm not sure things would have played out the way they did. But we can't change that now, so I'm sorry. Sorry, that I was, and that I have been, ignorant." He finishes his botched apology.

It's not elegant. Not exactly what he wants to say either, but it will have to do, because now his head hurts.

He just wants them to respond already, but glancing up, the deep frown and contemplating look on their face tells him their gonna need a minute.

A long. Long minute.

"You're wrong..." They breathe, the words a whisper in the silent room.

His eyes dart to theirs, but they carefully avoid his questioning gaze.

"Do you remember much of last night? When you were talking to me before I left?" They ask, setting the bowl on the bed beside them, and bringing their hands into their lap, twiddling their thumbs.

I remember I didn't want you to leave...

"I remembered the day you ducked under my veil. The action distracted me from the conversation, but I remembered it last night. That day... You were planning to tell me that you... Cared." He doesn't dare say the real word. Not out loud. "Weren't you?"

"I was. I had this silly idea that... That after you were freed, I would confess, and you would accept, and I would show you the camp and everything I've built for... For you. And that maybe we could... I don't know. It's stupid, thinking about it now." They stand up and move around the bed towards the window.

Still avoiding his eyes, as they follow their movements with far too much interest.

Lifting a hand, with a single finger he cracks open the curtain just slightly, letting the morning light peek inside, as they look out.

"But then... Everything happened... You were right when you called me weak. When you were defeated, and I had the choice to spare or kill you, I was weak. I couldn't bring myself to do it, because a part of me still hoped that if I spared you, you would..." They let out a shaky sigh, and finally turn to look at him.

A pleading look in their eyes, begging him to understand so they wouldn't have to say it out loud.

"Oh." A dim response. But what the hell else could he say?

"Yeah. Oh." They give a dry laugh, and move back, sitting on the edge of the bed, before sliding down onto the floor.

They rest their hands over their eyes.

"But you're wrong about me being angry at you. I'm angry at myself, and every time I look at you I'm just... Miserable. Sad that nothing happened the way I wanted it to, and now here we are. You're wounded and in pain, and I'm so conflicted and confused about this." They motion up to the Red Crown.

"I mean, I'm a god now. I never planned on that! I've been leading this cult with the expectation that you'd take over once I freed you, but instead, I'm going to be their leader for who knows how long! And I can't even get half of them to stop wanting to eat their own shit!" Their voice rises the more they rant, and he snorts at the last part.

"Yeah, well, followers aren't as smart as they used to be. Back when The Old Faith was at its best, Shamura had a strong school system in place, and Kallamar was an expert in medicine and hygiene, sharing his knowledge with his most devout so that they could spread the word of what is and isn't good for you. Such as eating shit." He comments, a small smile gracing his face.

"But that was... A long time ago. Since my imprisonment, the Bishop's wounds, and the genocide of the lambs, everything has deteriorated. Now those who remain are just trying to survive. No shepherd to guide them." Another realization, he notes as he speaks.

"You are the only god remaining now, Lamb. The only one that can create so much as a semblance of society, so that they no longer have to struggle. So that they can actually enjoy life before their bodies wither, and they have to surrender their souls to you. The new God of Death." He sits up and tosses his mildly aching legs over the side of the bed.

Moving as slow as he can for his torso's sake, and relying solely on what little arm strength he has, and a bit on gravity, he pushes himself down onto the floor. Next to Lamb. The blanket is dragged down with him.

"Well, that really makes me feel better." They grumble, looking at him and his tail involuntarily brushes against their arm, an attempt at comfort.

"I'm not trying to make you feel better-" Liar. "Just telling the truth."

"... I've been leading them long enough to know what I need to do, I just don't know how. Some of my more valued followers like Noon, and Miki are trying to help, but neither of them knows much about the divine aspect of it, like shepherding souls, maintaining the afterlife, etc..." They lift a hand up, grabbing the crown of their head and bringing it down in front of them to examine.

"I do." He blurts, not fully thinking about how much it sounds like an offer.

They too jump, head darting to look at him.

"You'll help me?" They ask, disbelief heavy in their voice.

"Maybe. If your cult doesn't fall apart before I can breathe without pain, then maybe- and that's a very strong maybe. I'll consider giving you some pointers on how to be a proper God of Death. A way to earn your forgiveness, since I doubt my words mean much to you." He subconsciously moves his tail again, brushing it along the side of their face.

When he sees it, he quickly grabs the offending part and pins it to the ground. He's grateful when Lamb chooses not to mention it, only glancing at the now pinned tail with a soft giggle.

A giggle that makes his fur stand on end in a fluttering feeling he can't even begin to identify.

Embarrassment. That's what he's going to call it. Embarrassment.

"They do mean something, Narinder... I know it took a lot for you to say them, so thank you, for apologizing..." Their smile drops, and they turn their gaze away.

"But?" He can feel it coming from a mile away.

"But I think it's going to take a lot more to fix things than an apology. I'm still not even confident that when you get better you won't just try to attack me and get the crown back then..." They're right to be paranoid about that.

He's thought about it. A lot.

Is still kind of thinking about it.

"Right. Well, I don't plan on doing that right now, we'll see about later though." He can't help but smirk at the small glare they send his way.

"I guess I can live with that. And for the record, I'm sorry too. Not for choosing not to die, but that you feel weak and humiliated because of me. But you should know, Narinder, that you are not pathetic. You're strong, and I beat you by a hair, and now, here you are, dealing with a pain that no normal mortal alive could tolerate... You're..." They pause, meeting his eyes for a long moment.

There's something there. Something akin to adoration- much like the kind they used to wear on their face when they looked up at him when he was a god.

It makes his fur stand on end again in embarrassment.

Embarrassment that's all it is.

He has to break eye contact, turning to look at the window, and flinching when light hits his eyes. The small opening Lamb made earlier still bleeding light into the room.

They notice his flinch.

"Oh, right, your eyes. Sorry." They stand up, quickly, moving a single step forward to close the curtain properly.

"It's fine." He hadn't even realized how close they'd been. It was just so natural. Being so close to them...

It felt strangely right.

Now though, with the distance between them, the spell is broken. Even they seem to realize it.

"Right well, I do have a lot to do today so... Why don't I switch your bedsheets, get you back in bed, get you fed, and then work on those shelter upgrades, hmm?" There is a newfound pep in their step.

And in a second they're bouncing across the room with an energy that does not match the conversation they've been having for the last half-an-hour.

A mask. One that they put on so easily it's almost frightening.

But he doesn't complain. He's gone through enough emotions to last him a week, and right now, he just wants to eat and go back to sleep.

Of course, Lamb isn't going to make it that easy.

"Sooo, about last night, was it the herbs that made you all cuddly or am I just that adorable?" They look back at him with a teasing smile that could light up the darkest of nights.

"Shut the fuck up-!!"

~~~

Fun fact: Miki is based on one of my favorite followers from my first-ever game, a game that my little cousin ended up deleting when I let him play on my Switch. That's the real betrayal here. I still haven't forgiven that 11-year-old punk.

I'm thinking about making an 'introduction to the featured and background OC's post.' What do y'all think?

The new chapter for Cult of the Lamb: Redemption is out now guys on Ao3!

There's a part near the beginning where I tried to casually pepper in that Narinder is trans in this story. I didn't want to have a super cliche, 'omg he's trans!' moment because ew. We exist irl guys, we're not exotic animals to be gawked at when you see us in public.

I also mildly gave a slight insight into the state of medical practices in the cult regarding things like top surgery and such. Which I imagine wouldn't be super safe given the lack of tools, and knowledge, and that half the followers (at least on my game) have the messed up desire to eat literal shit and keep getting sick from it, and that kind of takes the focus away from trying to make more important medical discoveries and advancements.

Homies, Miki is holding this place together with nothing but her vague knowledge of medicine from reading like, four books about it and several years of seeing what works and what kills people, lol.

Anyway! Enjoy the new chapter guys, see you at 8:30 when I post again!

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption: Chapter #4 Preview

(Thoughts & opinions are welcome as always! Be nice, and enjoy.)

Realizations - Narinder

Narinder is not a poet. Not a writer, or a master of words.

So it is no surprise that Lamb's confession stunned him into silence.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't."

How is he supposed to care if he didn't fucking know? That's not fair of them to hold that against him. It's not fair for them to act like some heartbroken beau that he led on, and then tossed aside.

And then they had the audacity to leave before he could even find a way to respond.

He supposes a part of him is relieved they're not kneeling in front of him anymore while he's trying to sort through his thoughts.

They cared about him. What does that even mean? In the context of a god and a follower?

He thinks he knows exactly what Lamb means, but he'll be damned if he just assumes...

He tries to look back and pinpoint the moments that could give him some kind of hint, or insight into what they mean. Moments that he somehow missed the first time around.

But looking back, all of his memories feel hazy.

Like a terrible, violent fever dream of being so angry, in pain, waiting... Then the betrayal. Every time they try and think back on moments with the Lamb they are greeted by that moment.

When they refused to give the Red Crown back, and instead chose to raise their blade to him.

And every time he is reminded of that moment, he is filled with this cold, dead weight in his chest that he wants to call rage but he knows it's something different.

Hurt.

And hurt made him angry.

Why did it hurt so much? Because he let himself become fond of the wretched beast, he tells himself. He grew attached, even though he knew exactly how things were meant to end.

But they didn't end that way, did they? And now here he is. Alone.

Looking down at his bandages, he can still feel the cooling, refreshing sensation of the medical salve, easing the soreness of his wounds. It didn't help at all with the cramping in his muscles, or aching in his bones, causing the horrible shaking throughout his limbs.

But a feeling that trumps the cramping, or the cooling of the medicine are the traces... The traces of Lamb's touch linger all over his body. His arms, around his ankles, his back and torso. Everywhere he tries to focus his attention he feels them.

Such light, careful care, embedded all over him deeper than the injuries left by his chains.

It had made him forget how angry he was, and say things he shouldn't have... Feel things he shouldn't have.

~~~

Well, guys, this chapter is going to be a doozy. I've decided to attempt to speed things up a slight bit, so there are some cute moments that I hope y'all will enjoy.

The full chapter will be posted tomorrow at 4:00 pm on Ao3 and at 8:30 pm to 9:00 pm, here on Tumblr.

Homies, I've been listening to Conan Gray's 'The Cut That Always Bleeds' on repeat for hours while finishing up the writing for chapter #4 of Cult of the Lamb: Redemption. And can I just say, that even though not all the lyrics fit perfectly with my story, this song radiates angsty Narilamb vibes.

It's also one of my favorite Conan Gray songs, so 10 out of 10, would highly recommend it.

The Yellow Cat's Name??

I've seen a few different writers and fanart makers call the yellow cat by different names: Theron, Theo, Thistle, Joon, Lemmy, etc. I was thinking about using Theo or Joon, or maybe something original with this cool Cotl name generator I found?

Idk, what do you guys think? Any names you guys like better? Any you hate? Yada yada. Opinions and suggestions are wanted homies, and I'll see ya when I post tomorrow.

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #3

TW: Graphic depictions of injuries and wounds.

Patience - Lamb

Words hurt.

The Lamb knew this. They've seen the way words cut.

The way they stun people, leave them speechless, and then send the world crashing down on them in one swift, and lethal blow.

But they've never felt it themselves until now.

They never wanted things to turn out like this. They never asked for this... They just wanted to live. To be happy. To be free.

But now?

They have the weight of everything they've built on their shoulders. They want to keep their cult safe. Their followers, and friends- dare they say, family.

They want to keep them happy, and well.

So when The One Who- Narinder... When he demanded they...

After everything they've been through, with the scar on their neck proof of their first execution, he demanded that they go through it again? And Lamb so foolishly...

Perhaps they were naive from the start to have trusted him. To have thought that in comparison to the other gods of the land that had ordered the genocide of his kind... He was... Better.

Naive to think that Narinder was different. A good god, locked away by the evil ones, and that they were some kind of shining lamb knight, meant to free him, and restore peace... It was such a childish idea.

Narinder had been no better than the Bishops. Just desperate for power, no matter how much blood was spilled to get it.

They had thought that maybe in the end, if they had spared him, he would...

They feel so stupid.

Standing outside of Narinder's shelter, back against the wall, and hand over their slammed-shut eyes, trying to stop the tears.

The former god of death would never change. He is still just so angry.

~~~

"Be patient, Lamb. He's spent so long festering in his rage, and it is going to take a long time for him to learn how to live a life without it." Ratau pat their shoulder after a long game of knucklebones that they ultimately lost.

They have spent more than half of it complaining about the feline ex-god and the hell he had given them over simply eating.

"I'm trying, but it's me! He hates me! He's never going to understand why I did what I did or that I... That I actually do care about..." Him.

That they care about him.

He had been their savior. Giving them a second chance, and a third, and fourth, and fifth. Every time they died during a crusade, he was there. To greet them, and bring them back.

Sometimes they would talk. Narinder would listen to them, give advice, laugh at their jokes...

They thought he cared... They had certainly cared. They cared so, so much.

The One Who Waits was one of the only beings who truly understood what they were going through. He had been kind to them...

~~~

It was all a facade though. They see that now. Or, hell, perhaps they had just been delusional. Perhaps it was always just a one-sided illusion, them thinking the world of someone who truly hadn't cared at all.

Perhaps they shouldn't have spared him.

Saved them both the agony they're in now...

"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."

Narinder's words repeat in their head like a mantra.

Hate. He hates them.

~~~

"Empathize with him." Noon remarked, turning the page of his lavender leather-covered book that Lamb had found in Silk Cradle for them.

"What?" Their head jolted to him, staring like the white rabbit had grown a second head.

"Empathize, Lamb. I know he's being difficult, Theyra and Una were talking earlier about how you snapped at him through the door, but he's... Adjusting. Just try thinking about things from his point of view. He's lost everything, and now you have it. I can't imagine that would be easy for anyone, no matter what kind of person they are, good or evil." He looks up at them, and they turn their gaze to the ground, mulling over the words.

"I can do that easily enough... How do I get him to see things my way though? How do I get him to..."

Forgive me...

"Patience. I know it's not your strong suit, but I have faith in you. I'd be a pretty shitty follower if I didn't."

~~~

Empathize. Just. Empathize.

He's angry. So be patient. He's in pain, and from what they can tell from his physical wounds, a lot of it, so emotionally? They can only guess.

Not to mention he still hasn't eaten in a while, so he's probably hangry too.

They take deep, steadying breaths, and let a cool breeze dry their eyes as they do. They still wipe their face as they walk back inside, and see Narinder sunken in on himself in the bed.

He looks so... Small like this. His former white and red robes were abandoned near the bottom of the bed on the floor. Dirty and unpleasant smelling, he had probably thrown them off when he first went to bed.

His wounds aren't bleeding. They can only guess that they had partially healed when he had been spared, and they had indoctrinated them, hence why they weren't obvious when he first arrived.

Then again, they were still too hazy and flooded with adrenaline and mixed emotions to even want to look at Narinder when they were showing him to his shelter.

A part of them wants to leave this whole ordeal for tomorrow after all the feline had dealt with it for this long...

But with how gruesome the injuries look, even with the way he's protectively hunched over trying to hide them, Lamb knows they have to treat them today. No matter how painfully Narinder's words had lashed him.

They're sure the cat has much harsher ones in store for the future, so they need to start growing thick skin now. Those ones had just...

"I have nothing left in my heart but resentment..."

Taken them by surprise.

Narinder is staring down at his wrists, and though his ears flick towards their footsteps, they don't look at them.

"That food was awful." He growls instead, but his voice has lost its venom.

And from the way his head falls back as Lamb sits, and moves to take his arm, it's apparent that the fight is gone from him for now. Now he just looks tired, and bitter.

As if the toxin on his tongue from earlier left a bad taste in even his own mouth.

Or perhaps he was just coming to terms with this whole situation. Whatever the case, they don't feel like speculating what's going on in their head right now. They just want to throw the bandages on and call it a day.

"I figured you didn't care for it. I'll see about finding something else for you once this is taken care of." They reply numbly.

They cradle his arm in their hand, looking over the damage. They'll start with his arms, and then worry about asking to fix up his chest and neck. They doubt he'll let them anywhere near his throat though.

"Something with less flavor. I haven't eaten in a long time, never needed to, and now everything tastes insultingly overwhelming." He adds as they grab a dry rag and lean down to dip it into the water.

"Well, I won't add any seasoning, just cook it, and we'll see if that'll help..." They dab the cloth on the worst of the wounds, his wrist.

They're slow and careful in their movements, rubbing away the dryer blood around the scabbed wound, trying not to agitate it.

But when they see traces of dirt within the scabs and deeper parts of the injury...

"This might hurt a bit, just hold still, okay?" They carefully soak the rag, wring out some of the water in the injury, trying to flush out the dirt first.

Anything that doesn't get out, they cringe as they have to dig deeper with the rag to clear it. They can feel Narinder's arm shaking in their hold, and try to tune out the small hisses as they work.

"What food do you prefer? Or well, what kind did you like before you were chained up?" They try to continue the conversation to distract him.

After a moment of silence, they're not sure that he's going to answer...

"Fish. I don't mind most meat, but fish was always my first choice." He sighs, right as they pull away, finished with his wrist.

They move up his arm, following the pattern left there by the chains. Their arms flinch and jerk every so often as they do. Still, as careful as they are, some of the harder-to-clean, deeper areas start bleeding again.

"I should have guessed, you are a cat, god or not. Many cat followers prefer meat, and love it when I return from a fishing trip with enough fish for a whole feast." That was the wrong thing to say.

"Do not compare me to one of your peasant followers." They feel that correcting him and reminding him that technically he is a follower now would just be petty.

...

"Technically-"

"Don't." As if sensing it from a mile away, the former death god shuts it down, and Lamb can't help but crack a smile.

They continue to wash, now having to go back every so often to wipe away the fresh blood as well.

"I'm almost done with your lower arm, can I move closer for your upper arm?" They're already slowly shuffling forward, but pause to await his approval.

Looking up at him, they notice he's closed his eyes, his head resting back against the wall behind him. They make a mental note to get him a proper headboard.

Maybe something wooden, with a nice carving on it.

His brows are still furrowed, and even though he looks far more relaxed than earlier, there is still anger... Like it's embedded itself in his face deeper than his wounds.

"Narinder?" Their voice is a whisper, and he peeks open his left eye, humming a soft acknowledgment.

"Can I move closer?" They repeat, suddenly frozen by his gaze.

As if he was still towering over them.

"Do what you must, just hurry up already. I'm still hungry." He closes his eyes again, and the lamb quickly shuffles closer and sets back to work.

The rest of the next fifteen or so minutes is spent in silence. Lamb finishes with their left arm and moves to grab one of the jars of salve.

"What is that?" Narinder perks up, ears and eyes darting to the sound of them unscrewing the jar.

"This? Just some medicinal salve, made from camellias and some other herbs that Miki says help stop any infection and speed up the healing process." It's a smooth, transparent green salve with flecks of red.

"Will it hurt?" His ears flatten as he leans forward, sniffing the air.

The lamb breathes in the scent as well, it smells like camellias and mint. Not unpleasant, but something about the mint part gives them the distinct feeling that it will either feel cooling and nice or sting like a bitch.

"I'm not sure... Maybe? I do know that infection will hurt a lot worse so, we're using it." If they were careful before, they're holding fragile glass now as they rub the salve on Narinder's wrist.

They relax to hear the relieved sigh he lets out and feel the way he slumps in their hold.

"Doesn't hurt?" They chuckle as they look up and see him with the smallest of smiles on his face.

It is hardly noticeable if it weren't for the fact that Lamb has spent far too much time staring at that face to miss it.

"No. It's fine..." In grumpy death cat language that translates to 'it's delightful'.

Or at least that's how they choose to hear it. They use it as an encouragement to be a bit firmer, making sure to get the salve in every part of the wounds. It doesn't take half as long to apply as it did to clean, and in no time, they're wrapping the arm with a large roll of bandages.

The next arm goes just as smoothly, and both are wrapped fully by the time Lamb decides to take a break.

"Right, well, I'll go grab you some food so you can eat, and freshwater before we move onto your chest?" They hesitate, looking at Narinder expectantly, waiting for the cat to lash out again.

"Just hurry up..." He mumbles, not even opening his eyes when they stand to leave.

It's so dim in the shelter, they nearly forgot that it is still late noon, bleeding into early evening. They flinch when they step out, the water basin in their arms, and they take a moment to let their eyes adjust before walking toward the kitchen.

It's a sunny spring day, with a cool breeze that helps them finally ease the tension in their shoulders they didn't even realize was there. The flowers growing along the pathway sway in the breeze, and they take a moment to watch them. Simple wildflowers.

Yellow, red, blue, pink, white...

They remember counting them on their way to Narinders shelter hours ago before all this started. They had been so afraid when they heard him coughing and barged in to see the state he was in...

They had frozen.

For the past few years as a leader, they've done nothing but make quick decisions in times of crisis, and plan for the worse. Yet right then, they froze.

They had to stop and do what they do best at this point, and dissociate. Run to get him water, pull away when he started to run short on air, and then-

"Please..." He looks at them, eyes watering to the point of tears, and a plea so desperately leaving his throat...

They had never seen him like that before, and Lamb knew that he had to be completely out of it from the pain.

With a deep sigh, they continue away from the shelter, their hooves clicking against the cobblestone path as they walk.

"Lamb. How is he?" Miki is the first of their flock that they run into, as she's walking out of the Healing Bay, one of the closest buildings to Narinders Shelter- which they wisely placed on the opposite side of the camp, away from the other shelters.

It was near their own home, and when asked by Ratau why they placed their former master that just tried to kill them, so near... They simply said they didn't realize it.

To be honest, they aren't sure why they did it, just that they wanted him near them.

For safety purposes. To keep an eye on him. Yeah. That's why.

A small desert sand-colored fennec fox with pale green eyes stands in front of them now, head tilted in curiosity. They know for a fact that they're short-statured, with most of their flock being at least an inch or so taller than him, but Miki?

She's a few inches smaller, but she packs a punch and is one hell of a medic.

"Oh! He's better than he was, I finished with his arms, I think I wrapped them pretty well, not too tight like you showed me. I'm not sure how to go about wrapping his chest and stuff though..." They continue walking, and Miki joins them.

They pass more buildings, the lumber yard, the stone mine, and the refinery. A few followers milled about, too busy chopping logs and breaking down larger stones to notice their leader passing by.

"I see. I can come and instruct you if you think he's amendable to me being in his shelter. If not, I'm sure I can find a willing volunteer to show you how." She folds her arms behind her, keeping her gaze straight ahead as her eyes glaze over in thought.

"Finding a volunteer and giving me a tutorial will be easier, I think. He's calmed down since earlier, but introducing a stranger might send him over the edge again." They chuckle nervously, thankful that Miki doesn't mention it.

"Of course. I'll ask around, I'll meet you back at the Healing Bay when you're ready." And she's rushing off, leaving Lamb standing there blinking at her quick departure.

They chose to shrug it off for now given how helpful she's been lately. They do duly note that they should maybe start commanding a bit more respect from some of the flock that don't fully seem to comprehend them as their leader.

By the time they make it to the kitchen, they're on autopilot. Dumping the dirty water into the empty sink and filling it up with fresh, clean water from the tap. Quickly they cook a simple fish bowl with no seasoning.

It takes a moment for them to balance the basin between their arm and side, with the food in their other arm before they start walking back to the Healing Bay.

When they get to the Bay they set the bowls aside and try hard to focus on everything that Miki tells them...

Still, nagging thoughts about Narinder continue to plague their mind. They've been thinking a lot about how he feels about everything.

Empathizing. Like Noon suggested.

Being patient. Like Ratau said.

But what about them? There's a whirlwind going on in their head that they don't think even the power of the Red Crown can slow down or stop.

They're angry at him. They know they are. During the fight, a part of them wanted so badly to just end him, and erase him from existence forever. Erase him from their mind. Their heart. Everything. As if he had never even existed in the first place.

But they knew they couldn't. Even if he helped them shove a dagger into his heart, they would tear their fleece to stop the bleeding and save him.

Weakness. A horrible crippling weakness it is. This swirling longing in their chest makes them sick to their stomach, and weak in the knees.

They're angry at themselves. For worrying about him so much. For seeing his wounds and wanting to cry, and go back in time and just fucking kneel, so that he could have kept his godhood and never have to suffer like he is now.

They're angry that they still care so much. They're angry that he cared so little. They're angry that he hates them so much, but they can't seem to hate him in return.

They want to hate him. But all they feel when they look at him is worry, concern, and this terrible lump in their throat that they can't seem to choke down without crying.

They want to hit him and yell at him, and kick him out of camp into Darkwood or Anura so they never have to see him again.

They also want to hug him, apologize, and continue to treat his wounds with all the care and patience they can muster, and spend every day talking to him like they used to do every time they died.

But they can never have what they want.

"Do you think you can do it by yourself?" Miki asks, looking back at them, blissfully unaware of her leader's internal struggle.

"Yeah. I think I can handle it. Thanks, Miki for showing me- and Jovi, for being such a great patient!" They plaster on a smile, bandstand from the chair they'd been sitting in while watching the Fennec fox work.

The grey stag just smiles and gives a thumbs up as they start to unravel himself from the temporary bandages Miki had tangled him in.

They take a moment longer of standing there, looking around the clean, well-organized entrance area of the Healing Bay, multiple beds in the background with curtain dividers, and cabinets of medicine, mostly camellia-based.

Though Miki likes to use other herbs, claiming they're just as medicinally valuable. Lamb doesn't argue, because, so long as they don't make anyone worse, what's the harm in letting her have control over this aspect of the camp?

They wave goodbye to the two, grabbing the still-warm food and water and retracing their steps back to Narinder's shelter.

There aren't a lot of people who could understand the position they're in or the things they feel right now, not even Ratau. But keeping it all inside...

Patience.

Just be patient. Maybe Narinder will be more amendable to talk about everything that's happened when they finally get him some food?

With a deep sigh, they find themselves pushing back the curtains to the ex-god's home with a slightly less foggy head. Hopefully, Narinder is still tired enough to accept their help less aggressively than usual.

"Didn't I say to hurry up? What did you get sidetracked cleaning up your follower's shit while I'm in here crippled and starving?" ...

 Well, at least he's feeling better enough to be at his usual level of anger again...

"For your information, I was talking with Miki about how to wrap your chest best, because in case you haven't noticed I've never had to do this before. The Red Crown always takes care of my injuries, and Miki fixes up anyone in the flock who gets hurt." They explain, and Narinder just raises a brow as they move to set the water down and place the food in his lap.

"Am I supposed to know who the hell 'Miki' is?" He sighs and they return to their earlier spot next to him with a small laugh.

"No, I guess not. Then again, you probably won't know who anyone in the flock is, given that you haven't met them. Maybe when you're better I'll dedicate a proper sermon to introducing you!" They don't mean that, knowing full well that they'd have better luck dragging him into a river, but they can't resist the urge to tease.

And the cringe that distorts his face is very much worth it.

"I'd sooner drown myself in a lake." Damn. They were nearly spot on.

It makes them burst into laughter, leaning back as they realize just how horribly well they predicted the cat's response.

"Then I guess I'll leave introductions up to you. So, do your arms feel better enough to eat? Or do you need help with that too?" They notice him trying to lift his arms as they speak, but they are shaking still, and his face contorts in pain with every jerky, forceful movement he tries to get out of them.

In the end, he gives a defeated sigh, turning his frustrated glare to them.

"I'll take that as a yes. I just grilled the fish, with no seasoning or anything, so it should be pretty bland. Here." They lift a piece to him, far enough for him to lean forward and take it on his terms.

He does so rather aggressively, snapping forwards and snatching it out of their hand, making them jump back a bit in surprise as they growl while eating.

"Ooookay..." They chuckle, trying to ease the sudden spike of adrenaline now setting his nerves alight.

They let him eat and are relieved to see he doesn't choke this time, though he still sticks his tongue out in mock disgust.

"It's still powerful, but better than before." He comments before taking the next bit they offer.

They repeat the motion until the bowl is empty, and they set it aside, wiping their hands with one of the rags they haven't used. Thankful now that they had brought extra. Probably too many, but better safe than sorry.

"So, I'm thinking I'll have you sit on the side of the bed so I can get your back and chest, sound good? And how are your legs? Were they chained too?" They ask, moving some of the supplies off the bed, and onto the side table, which was starting to get cluttered.

They'll clean it later.

"Just my ankles." He shifts on the bed, already looking to be in a much better mood.

So they start there, with the smallest, most hesitant nod of approval from Narinder they move to the bottom of the bed. Lifting the blanket just past his ankles, they see that yes, much like his wrist there are similar embedded chain link-shaped wounds.

It takes less time to clean, rub salve, and wrap them than it did with his arms now that they've gotten the hang of it. Narinder seems to have gotten used to it too, hissing half as much with each dab of the cloth over the blunt lacerations.

"Can you-"

"No. Just help me." He snaps, clearly having his fair share of Lamb's questions for today.

So they just continue on in silence, wrapping their arm around his already-wrapped shoulders, and pulling him forward, using their other arm to move his legs over the side of the bed, toward the window.

They make mental note of how his fur sticks up wildly from where he is lying, and his stomach drops to see the sheets below him damp with splatters of blood, and the wall he had been leaning against for the last few hours looking no better. Some of the blood is already dried on the wall, but fresher drips are bleeding down.

It wasn't a lot, not enough to be worried about blood loss, but enough to let them know that the wounds have been bleeding for a while now- and looking at his back, the cans see why.

The chain marks along his shoulder blades were not just embedded but torn and layered as if from...

Struggling...

"Are you just going to stare? Or actually do something?" From his tone of voice, they know that he knows exactly what they are seeing.

Years of suffering. Struggling. Fighting against his binds.

There is water in their eyes as they follow the tangle of matted, bloody fur, much of it torn and un-growing around the worst of it... Around his waist, there is a violent mess of lacerations from the layers of chains that had been wrapped around there. Many of the deeper ones are still bleeding, some freshly opened and bloody again just from having moved him.

"Um, yeah, yeah, just give me a moment to... Assess..." Their voice shakes, and they have to turn away from the horrific sight to collect their thoughts.

They are no stranger to gore. To the gruesome tearing of flesh by a blade, or the brutal decapitation brought by a razor-sharp axe...

But chains are not sharp. They are blunt but strong. Unyielding. How tight must they have been to dig into flesh as easily as a dagger stabs into fruit? How hard does one have to pull against them for them to slice through skin and muscle like a knife through butter?

Looking back at the injuries now, it still renders them speechless.

How many bones did he break in his thrashing and pulling against them? How many days did he spend exhausted from the fight, his body healing itself over and over again each time? He's not a god anymore though, and simply laying here waiting for these injures to stitch themselves back together isn't going to work anymore.

"These... A lot of these are going to need stitches, Narinder, and I can't do that on my own... I can clean them, but I'm going to need to bring Miki in here to do the rest..." They try to be gentle about it, as they shake themselves out of their stunned silence.

"Stitches are going to hurt, aren't they?" He growls, but there is no real resistance in it, just a frustrated acceptance of the idea.

"Like a bitch, yeah. But it's probably the only way half of these will heal properly..." They force themselves back into motion, grabbing a fresh rag and repeating the actions that they've memorized at this point.

Clean the wounds, rub the salve, and wrap them. It's a little harder when they have to move around the bed and face Narinder directly though.

They're close. Way too close. 

They can feel him staring at their every move as they kneel in front of him, wiping along his stomach, which is just as bad as his back. They're more sparse on his chest, but just as deep, crisscrossing along his fur.

Looking up at him now, they can't help but have flashbacks to standing feet below him, gazing up at his sharp-toothed grin as it shines maliciously even through the darkness of his veil.

Hearing his thunderous chuckle as they tell him of their crusades, feel his breath as he leans down to speak to them at eye level...

Meeting his gaze now, there is no fondness, looking down at them like a favored pet...

Just... Well, contemplation. As if he's debating something to say. They wait, pausing their movements, and he grabs their hand. They flinch at the sudden contact and take a sharp intake of breath.

He's still shaking, they note, and his grip is weak. They could easily pull away if they wanted to.

Do they want to?

"I... It's different. Not being as tall. You don't fit in my hand anymore." He speaks softly, his brows furrowed.

Even as he says it, confusion clouds his eyes, as if wondering what the hell he was even thinking, saying such a thought out loud. They don't know how to respond to that.

But they understand what he means. They liked when the first response to them dying and arriving before Narinder, was for him to lower his and for them to hop into it. To raise them to his eye level.

They always liked being at eye level with the giant god, and Narinder at the time seemed to prefer it too. They remember once having been drawn so close to him that they made the bold move of ducking underneath his veil and seeing those blood-red eyes directly.

Any sane mortal would be terrified of the black-slitted pupils looking down at them like a predator debating how to massacre its prey. But them? They were enchanted by the genuine surprise in them. The way he chuckled and purred at their actions, a rumble of rolling thunder in the white void of the in-between sounded like music to their ears.

"Yeah... I didn't mind it, being at eye level with you made me feel... Equal. Instead of just some-" Pawn.

They choke on the sentence as they realize where it is going. This feels like an opening to talk more about the elephant that's made itself comfortable in the room for the last several hours.

Narinder's ears flatten as they seem to put together the missing word in his own mind, turning their head away in anger maybe, shame? They don't know.

They bit their lip, mulling over their next words carefully.

So, about the whole usurping thing? - Haha, oops, didn't want it to go like that, but also, it was kind of your fault? - Nope.

I know things are tense right now, but I still have deeply conflicting emotions toward you that might be mildly romantic, which isn't relevant, but hey! While we're on the topic, did you care about me at all? - Absolutely not.

How do they just... Start a fucking conversation like this?

"Narinder, I... We should talk but I don't know... I don't know where to start." They sound so ridiculous they have to laugh.

To ease their nerves, to try and bid time, and because something about this whole situation is downright hilarious. Why are they so nervous around him? Like he still has the power to crush them with his thumb alone...

They beat him. They won that fight and claimed the Red Crown for themselves. Yet here they are, still kneeling before him, their eyes begging for him to respond. To offer them some sort of clarity...

"What is there to talk about, Lamb? How you turned heretic and betrayed me? Or how about how in the end you couldn't at least finish the job? Yes, let's talk about that. That's what I'm most curious about. Why did you spare me, Lamb? Why keep me alive? Just to suffer this pathetic mortal body, and the humiliation of needing to rely on you of all people!" He bursts, turning back to them, teeth bared and a fresh growl leaving his throat.

They flinch and lean back to offer Narinder immediate space to cool down.

"No! No, I didn't- I didn't even know that this would happen to you when you became mortal! I just- I didn't want you to die! I didn't want to kill you!" They try to find the words.

Stumbling haplessly through their thoughts trying to find something they can tell him that will make him see that they're sincere.

"Why not!? You've had no problem striking down all others who stood against you!" He leans forward, chasing after them as they lean away, trying to escape the very conversation they sparked.

They know the answer to that, they know it and they would rather lie and declare that the only reason they spared him was to mock him. Hold their victory over his head for centuries, force him to be a mere follower, and worship the ground they walked on.

But how? Looking into his furious, and confused glare, red eyes burning into them like hot coals, what option is there but the truth? They have no doubt that he'll be able to see past all else.

"Because I..." They can't turn away from him. They want to, to look away, but it's like he's got them pinned, and it's then that they realize that he's...

He's still holding their hand. Close to his chest, the rag having dropped to the floor, and despite the anger still radiating off of him, he is gentle. His grip is soft, cradling their fingers, and the logical part of their brain reminds them that it's just because he's weak, and in pain.

But their heart is screaming so loud in their chest that they think they're going to go deaf. And their stomach has started swirling so violently that they think they're going to be sick.

"Because I care..." And the words fall from their lips in a whispered plea, begging him to just... Know what they mean.

About you. I care about you, so fucking much and I don't want to. I want to hate you, I want to hate you for who you are and what you did, why can't I hate you? You tried to kill me, all for power. You were as hateful, and power-hungry as your siblings, and you tricked me, and I fell for it, like a love-struck idiot I fell for it because I thought you cared too, and you didn't.

You didn't care at all.

"And I wanted you to care so much, but you didn't." They stand, there are tears in their eyes and they realize, that as much as they were pushing to have this conversation with him...

Maybe they are the one that isn't ready for it.

But Narinder still has their hand, and looking at him, he looks like he's been slapped across the face. His grip on their hand tightens for the slightest moment, and it feels like he's squeezing their heart, and it hurts.

It hurts so damn bad.

And then he let's go.

"I-... How, Lamb?... How am I supposed to respond to that? How do you want me to respond to emotions I didn't know were there?" He's asking.

Looking up at them in a pure mix of confusion and what was formerly anger, now overridden by doubt... He looks so different. Nothing like the God of Death that they have come to know...

Lamb prides themselves on being able to read others, and Narinder is an open book if they've ever seen one. They could look in his mind. Read his thoughts.

But no. They know what they'll see. They know that it will just drive the knife even deeper.

"I don't know, Narinder. I don't know." 

~~~

Sooo, I posted late on Ao3, so I'm posting early here to make up for it. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this angsty chapter, and I have a little question...

How slow-burn should I make this? I'm not great at super long slow-burns, and honestly, I didn't really plan to make this one. Still, there are a lot of complicated emotions between Narinder and Lamb, so... It might take a while for them to be on better terms, but I'm just worried about going too fast and making it less realistic or too cliche. I'm also super impatient though, and I want romance, fluff, and happy bullcrap because it's been a tough week, and writing all this angst is gonna push me over the edge homies. Listening to ppcocaine can only do so much to prevent me from crying, my guys.

What do any of you think? Should I speed it up more in this next chapter or continue with my current game plan of at least two, three, or maybe four more chapters before forgiveness and touchy-feely stuff?

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption - Chapter #3 Preview

(Thoughts, opinions, & critiques are welcomed! Be nice!)

Patience - Lamb

Words hurt.

The Lamb knew this. They've seen the way words cut.

The way they stun people, leave them speechless, and then send the world crashing down on them in one swift, and lethal blow.

But they've never felt it themselves until now.

They never wanted things to turn out like this. They never asked for this... They just wanted to live. To be happy. To be free.

But now?

They have the weight of everything they've built on their shoulders. They want to keep their cult safe. Their followers, and friends- dare they say, family.

They want to keep them happy, and well.

So when The One Who- Narinder... When he demanded they...

After everything they've been through, with the scar on their neck proof of their first execution, he demanded that they go through it again? And Lamb so foolishly...

Perhaps they were naive from the start to have trusted him. To have thought that in comparison to the other gods of the land that had ordered the genocide of his kind... He was... Better.

Naive to think that Narinder was different. A good god, locked away by the evil ones, and that they were some kind of shining lamb knight, meant to free him, and restore peace... It was such a childish idea.

Narinder had been no better than the Bishops. Just desperate for power, no matter how much blood was spilled to get it.

They had thought that maybe in the end, if they had spared him, he would...

They feel so stupid.

Standing outside of Narinder's shelter, back against the wall, and hand over their slammed-shut eyes, trying to stop the tears.

The former god of death would never change. He is still just so angry.

~~~

"Be patient, Lamb. He's spent so long festering in his rage, and it is going to take a long time for him to learn how to live a life without it." Ratau pat their shoulder after a long game of knucklebones that they ultimately lost.

They have spent more than half of it complaining about the feline ex-god and the hell he had given them over simply eating.

"I'm trying, but it's me! He hates me! He's never going to understand why I did what I did or that I... That I actually do care about..." Him.

That they care about him.

He had been their savior. Giving them a second chance, and a third, and fourth, and fifth. Every time they died during a crusade, he was there. To greet them, and bring them back.

Sometimes they would talk. Narinder would listen to them, give advice, laugh at their jokes...

They thought he cared... They had certainly cared. They cared so, so much.

The One Who Waits was one of the only beings who truly understood what they were going through. He had been kind to them...

~~~

It was all a facade though. They see that now. Or, hell, perhaps they had just been delusional. Perhaps it was always just a one-sided illusion, them thinking the world of someone who truly hadn't cared at all.

Perhaps they shouldn't have spared him.

Saved them both the agony they're in now...

~~~

This chapter is definitely a longer one guys, so I hope you enjoy this preview! Expect angst, mixed emotions, and a heart-wrenching confession. The full chapter will be posted tomorrow on Ao3 at noon and here on Tumblr at 8:30ish pm. Hope to see you then folks.

Soooo, normally when I'm writing fanfiction guys, I try to keep the chapters between 3000 and 4000 words, but I'm thinking of making the chapters a little longer (between 5000 and 6000 words, maybe more) for Cult of the Lamb: Redemption because I have a lot of story to cover. Though I don't mind making a 100-chapter fanfic, I think I'd rather keep the number of chapters reasonable.

What do you guys think? Poll below:

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.