Teaser
Haven’t done any fanfiction writting in a long time, but I figured I’d post a teaser of the recent cult of the lamb (Narinder x the Lamb 👉👈) fic I’ve been writting.
I’m about 14k words in so don’t be surprised if chapter 1 appears on Ao3 in the next couple days.
ALSO! Tw for descriptions of violence, blood, and temporary (dreamed/imagined) character death!!!
‘Four broken crowns, five bishops slain, one heretic standing.’
Lambs wool, divine blood, silver chains. Such images flashed rapidly in the gods mind.
‘Five becomes four…’
For the god’s greed he was trapped in chains, the blood of his siblings on his clawed but wounded hands. The pain was unbearable. Chains digging into freshly made wounds, his vision fading in and out as he struggled to speak. Spitting venomous words at his so-called family.
The lamb used the crowns magic to choke him, magic that was supposed to be his. He clawed desperately at his throat in a pitiful attempt to free himself before his throat was crushed with a sickening crunch. The last thing he witnessed was the hateful gaze of the red crown. His birthright.
‘Becomes three…’
His eye was gorged out by swift movements of long, black claws.
Leshy was the first to fall to the lamb. His glorious green-eyed crown in scattered pieces across his temple floor. His long eldritch form a tangle of knots without a head. Black divine blood coating the peaceful temple within Darkwood.
‘Becomes two…’
Her throat was slashed with a brutal but precise scythe slice.
Heket was second. Her eyes popped out of her head with her teeth cracked like glass. Her long tongue torn from her body. The pieces of her magnificent yellow eyed crown indistinguishable from her mangled corpse.
‘Becomes one…’
His ears were shredded like paper beneath the magic of the red crown.
Kallamar was the third. His most prized weapons nothing more but broken toys scattered across the battlefield. His holy hand grenade in pieces, his dagger stuck in the temple wall, his staff broken in two, and his sword stuck squarely in the back of his head. His corpse pinned to the ocean floor. The pieces of his crown lost to the ocean abyss.
‘Becomes nothing…’
Their skull was brutally broken open by repeatedly bashing his head into the cold, uncaring floor.
Shamura was the last faithful bishop to fall. Their incredible, purple-eyed crown broken in two. His long limbs scattered to each corner of the battlefield with his abdomen torn free from his body and crushing his head.
When the god of death awoke, he broke out into a cold sweat. His form trembling as he struggles to catch his breath. Narinder felt sick, a looming dread stuck in his stomach as he felt the urge to vomit.
The images of his siblings’ brutalized corpses were burned into his mind.
No matter how much he tried he could push the image of Leshy mangled form or Kallamar’s impaled body from his mind. Or any of their corpses for that matter.
He tried to wipe away his tears, but with three eyes and only two hands that proved foolish.
He was betrayed by his siblings.
He was betrayed by his vessel.
He was betrayed by his crown.
And for what? Ambitions? Desires??
This had to be inaccurate. This couldn’t truly be prophecy. He just wanted what was rightfully his! He just wanted…
Narinder recalled the bloodied corpses of his loved ones.
The wounds he had caused. The deaths caused by his vessel.
No.
His ambitions could wait.
He had to ensure such a fate never become reality. He refused to sit back and let his brothers and sister become nothing more than godly corpses. Damn be these prophesies and damn whoever that lamb was.
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