Chapter Text
“IT’S ON YOUR HAND?!”
Lambert had wasted little time going to his most trusted ally after they had returned from Narinder’s realm. From what Lambert could tell, the crown had somehow split itself apart and infused itself to the both of them. Though his god did not have his full power, Narinder was able to safely teleport everyone out- including the followers. Of course, Narinder was still not happy with this and threatened to leave the flock stranded if Lambert did not settle matters with him.
Lambert wanted some outside advice first, though, so he managed to bargain with Narinder and allow them to go speak with Ratau. It went well, Lambert thinks. Apart from him threatening to behead each follower one by one if the lamb did not return- that part was not very nice.
Ratau was observing the marking on his hand, and the poor rat was utterly terrified. “I swear lad, if that mangy cat did this to you I’ll rip his head off his scrawny little shoulders- god or not!”
“He didn’t! I mean, our fight led to it…but he doesn’t know what's going on either.” Lambert explained, kicking his feet in the space beneath the chair he sat on. “Besides, I thought you’d be more mad about him repeatedly disemboweling me for a good few months.”
“He WHAT?!” Ratau yelled.
“To be fair, I technically started it, dad.” Lambert said. His other hand was free, so he used it to rub the back of his neck. It was a habit he picked up ever since his decapitation. “Though…you’d also be mad that he wanted me to…you know this isn’t really helping things.”
The old rat sighed, and let go of Lambert’s hand. “Aye, it’s just raising my blood pressure.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nothing like this has ever happened before. Not to my knowledge, at least.”
“Is that exciting or scary?” Lambert asked, tilting his head. “I assume it's scary.”
“Very scary.” Ratau confirmed, taking a sip of his tea. “Oh thank The First, I needed something for my throat. You’ll have me coughing up daggers at this rate, lad.”
Lambert fidgeted with his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Again. For like, the seventeenth time.”
Ratau sighed, though this time it was at least with fondness. “It’s been far more than that lad, but that’s what I’m here for. Wouldn’t be much of a father if I didn’t help you when things got scary.”
“So…do you know what I should do about Narinder?” Lambert asked.
Ratau looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Narinder? Who’s that?”
It suddenly clicked in Lambert’s wooly head that he had never referred to Narinder by name before, at least not verbally. He absolutely did not need to let that slip in front of the cat- that would not end well. “That’s his real name. The One Who Waits.”
Ratau scoffs. “Really? That’s the name of the man I had nightmares about for a century?! Who names their child that?!”
“You named me Lambert, dad.” The lamb pointed out, “Not exactly the most…original name.”
“Oi! I’m a retired cult leader, not an artist! Names don’t need’ta be creative if they just work.” Ratau huffed, taking another sip of his tea. Lambert supposed that explained why Ratau was called…Rat-au. Guess it ran in the family. He would have to make a mental note to name his kids something more original. Wait…could he even have kids? Lambert didn’t even know anymore. He hasn’t exactly been mortal for the past few decades, and he certainly didn’t know what he qualified as now.
“Well, if you ask me I don’t think there’s much you can do,” Ratau said bluntly, “He’s got half of yer crown, and he’s a maniac. Best you can do is attempt to reason with him, but he’ll likely just go off with his half and raise hell somewhere else.”
“Can he even do that?” Lambert asked, “We don’t know how the crown…crowns? We don’t know how the weird hand thingies would react with distance.”
Ratau shrugged. “I dunno. I just wouldn’t put it past the bastard to just leave.”
There was a moment of silence between the two. Lambert looked down at his own cup of tea that Ratau poured for him. He could see thin, wispy trails of steam rising from it. They reminded him of Narinder’s domain, and Lambert quickly waved his hand over the cup to drive them away.
“I guess I just have to talk to him, then.” Lambert sighed.
Ratau scoffed, “Good luck with that one, lad.” He groaned as he lifted himself out of the seat.
Ratau grabbed his staff off of the wall beside him- a modest, crude little thing. It was different from the staff he had when Lambert was younger. This new one was far sturdier- likely because Ratau actually used it to help him walk now. It was just another small reminder that his father was aging, even if it was slower than most. Lambert didn’t like the staff much because of that.
The rat gave him a soft, warm smile. Lambert decided to focus on that, instead of the staff. “If you need help, you always know where to go. Just...be careful dealing with that bastard.”
Lambert chuckled, and grabbed his fleece from the coat rack. “Oh, I’m sure he won’t be that difficult dad.”
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Narinder was about to be very difficult.
He still struggled to grasp what had just happened to him. His most devoted follower had stabbed him in the back, and his crown had seemingly split apart. It was utter madness, and yet it had somehow still granted his freedom. At least somewhat. He breathed in the crisp, clean air as he stood at the entrance of the cult grounds. It had been an eternity since he had breathed fresh air. An eternity since he had felt the sun on his skin. An eternity since he could feel the soft grass beneath his feet.
For just one moment, he could forget about his splintered crown. He could forget about the new wound that was freshly driven into his heart. He could forget about that vile lamb.
That was of course, until he saw the rotten ball of wool begin walking down the steps of the cult’s entryway. Narinder sighed, knowing his brief moment of peace was snuffed out. “You certainly took your time, putrid traitor.” Narinder snarled as the lamb approached. Truthfully, it would’ve been nice if they had been gone for longer. At least that would give Narinder more time to breathe.
“Sorry my lord, I just wanted to talk with dad.” Lambert said.
The cat scoffed. “With that old fool? You’d be better off talking to a rotting carcass.”
“He’s not as bad as you think he is.” Lambert chided, “Did you really hate all of your previous vessels before me?
Narinder’s tail lashed. “No, actually.” Lambert perked up in interest as the cat glared at him. “I actually hate you too now, so congratulations.”
Lambert slumped over with a defeated look. “Can we talk this out instead of fighting?” The lamb asked, knowing it was in vain. “I really didn’t want any of this. I just wanted to live beside you.”
Narinder looked the sheep up and down, before eventually scoffing and turning to the cultists behind him. They were all unconscious still, and if they remained so for much longer, they would begin to starve. Time was halted in the afterlife, but it certainly was not here. Lambert gingerly walked beside his former god- who immediately took a step away.
“First, we are going to sort this out.” Narinder said, gesturing to the followers laying in front of them. “Then we will see how merciful I feel.”
“You're helping the followers before talking about the crown?” Lambert asked.
Narinder’s ear flicked. “Their devotion is essential, especially with the crown’s current state. It needs however much power it can get.”
Lambert looked over his followers with a tinge of worry. Narinder could clearly see the concern in the lamb’s face, and the cogs in their empty head turning. “They will not remember anything.” He said. “It would be foolish of me to force my new cult to remember my slaughter of their former leader.”
“Okay well, how do we explain this to them?” Lambert said, raising up his hand. The black crescent did not shine in the sunlight- any light that touched it seemed to fade into a void of darkness.
“Worry about that later, foolish lamb.” Narinder said. He raised his right hand- the one where his crescent was. Though the engravings were identical, the only difference was that Narinder’s was a pale, shining white. The red eye, of course, remained the same as Lambert’s. The crescent flashed with power, and Lambert’s eyes widened as one of the followers was suddenly lifted into the air.
“You already know how to use it?!” Lambert asked. He quickly attempted to do the same thing on his own. He held his hand out in the air in front of a scarred deer, but nothing happened. Lambert waved it frantically trying to make it work. It was honestly rather pathetic.
Narinder began to move the otter he had lifted into a nearby tent. “Of course I do, it is still my crown.” Narinder’s hand suddenly spasmed, and the follower fell to the ground with a loud thud. The cat looked down at his hand and hissed. “Though it would be far easier if a certain lamb had not ruined everything.”
“I don’t think me saying ‘sorry’ again would help, I assume?” Lambert said, going over to move the cultist by hand. “Though I am still sorry.” He said, lifting the deer up with a grunt.
Narinder rolled his eyes. “Just carry them to their homes. When they awake, they will only think of it as a bad dream- if that.”
Lambert carried the deer over to a hut and opened the door. “Alrighty then. I hope you know what you're talking about.” He said.
“Of course I do,” Narinder stated, “I am Death, lest you’ve forgotten already.”
It did not take them long to place the followers back in their homes. Narinder would not touch the wretched mortals- preferring to lift them with the crown. Lambert, of course, didn’t mind carrying them. They had grown far stronger than a mere mortal, even with the crown’s power split.
How unfortunate, Narinder had thought. He had hoped they’d perhaps weaken enough to be killed and that hand carved from their corpse. Instead, he would have to bide his time. Oh well, that was what he was known for after all. Eventually the lamb would lower their guard. Soften their gaze. Then, at that moment, he would slaughter them.
Narinder then fixed his gaze upon the entrance to the cult grounds. The only problem with that idea, of course, was that he did not know what would become of the crown. Something like this had never happened in all of recorded history- at least as far as he was aware. There was one that perhaps had known of such a case, though.
“Lamb, come over here.” Narinder demanded. The lamb, having just finished moving the last of the followers, rushed over quickly. “We’re talking things out now, right? Okay so I know what I did was really bad but I think if you just let me-”
Lambert began to bleat his nonsense once again, and Narinder swiftly cut them off. “I need chalk. Where do you keep it?”
The lamb raised a brow. “Chalk?”
“Please tell me you have the most basic of ritual components,” Narinder muttered, raising a hand to his temple. “You cannot be that useless of a cult leader.”
“I mean I do have some…I think,” Lambert said, “I was just confused. Also, for the record, you told me I was like, the best. Ever. The best ever.”
Narinder scoffed. “That was before you stabbed me in the back. Now show me where it is.”
“Fine, fine.” Lambert said, rolling his eyes. Narinder had to bite back his rage at the gesture. He needed the bleating fool in one piece, at least for now.
Lambert led him into the temple, which was probably the most decorated place in the cult. The mighty stone doors were moved to reveal rows of wooden pews. Decorated statues adorned the head where the sermons were given. Unlit candles were nestled inside of stone columns that stretched across the walls. As they entered the temple, Narinder looked up at the large, stained glass windows that adorned each wall. The windows flooded the room with a warm, slightly warped orange light.
How pathetic. Was this truly the only temple left standing in The Lands of the Old Faith? Narinder’s grand temple was vast and beautifully adorned before his imprisonment. Massive sculptures made of bone and chiseled ebony. Flowing banners of fine velvet and gold. This was nothing in comparison. Lambert told Narinder to wait as they began to climb a ladder that led into the ceiling of the temple. The God of Death was certainly not in the mood to be commanded by his former vessel, but he would look past it once.
Finally, the lamb climbed down with a box of chalk in their hands. “I also grabbed a few bones.” They said, thrusting the box towards Narinder. Narinder reeled back at the motion. “You hold it, we’re going to the same place.”
“Ah, I must hold everything then?” Lambert asked dramatically. Narinder had already begun to walk out of the temple, already tiring of the lamb’s games. They had cost him everything, and they only thought of it as a simple dispute. Something they could just talk out. There was nothing to talk about here. Nothing to say. He had placed his trust in someone and it was shattered. The same thing that happened anytime he was foolish enough to try again. No words would fix this.
Narinder took the turn leading now, guiding the lamb back to the entrance of the cult. He walked out into the courtyard that once led to each of his sibling’s domains. At one time, this was a place of communion. A great hub of trade and commerce between the cults. Many would gather by the grand fountains to send their praise and devotion to each respective bishop. Only Narinder’s fountain remained now, and it was crumbling in disrepair.
Narinder looked up at the entrance to his prison. The grounds the cult now stood on were previously his domain. Far smaller than any of his sibling’s domains, and that was because he also controlled the afterlife. The gates that led to it once reminded Narinder of the sacred duty and power he had to uphold. Now, it filled him with bitter hatred.
As he began to walk up the stairs to the entrance, he could hear the lamb speak out in concern behind him. “Uh, do we really have to go back there so soon? I would prefer not to spend another month there.” Lambert said, frowning.
Narinder sighed in annoyance. “We are not going inside, you idiot. Just come, I grow tired of your incompetence.”
Lambert reluctantly nodded, and followed Narinder up the steps. The doors to the afterlife remained closed, and Narinder gestured for the lamb to hand him the supplies. It did not take him long to draw the necessary symbols required for the ceremony onto the doors. He had not spoken to the merchant in a very long time, but he memorized the steps for summoning them. He had thought it would be useful to summon someone so knowledgeable in the event of an emergency. At the very least, one of his failsafes would actually amount to something.
Narinder placed the bones down in front of the door and held out his hand. The crescent began to glow with a dark energy. Crackling red sparks began to fly from the door and his hand. Narinder grunted as he felt the power of the crown within his arm. He knew he could do this- this was his power. His crown. He strained as the magic began to falter, and pushed himself harder to keep going.
He would not be a victim of his own crown. He would not lose his power after so long craving its return. He would not fail.
It was not enough.
The sparks faded, and Narinder fell to his knees. He clutched his arm and hissed in pain. He could feel the gaze of the lamb burning into his flesh. He knew it was a look of pity. He didn’t need pity. Not from the one who had shattered his already broken heart.
He rose to his feet, and attempted it again. The lamb walked forward, attempting to help him, but Narinder snarled and pushed them away.
He tried again, and failed. He screamed in pain. He tried again. He failed. His hand was burning now. He tried again. He failed. He could feel the anger threatening to consume his lungs. He tried again.
The lamb held their hand out, and Narinder was too weak to stop them at this point. He yelled at them to stop, but they did not. He attempted to grab their arm and force it down, but the lamb glared at him. It was a look Narinder recognized, and one he knew he could not stop. Not in this state, at least. It was the same look they had when they fought Leshy for the first time. The same look they had when their first dissenter had begun to cause havoc. The same look they had when they defied Narinder for the very first time.
“You don’t even know what I’m doing, you moron,” Narinder barked as he forced himself back on two feet. “Why are you even trying?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lambert stated, “I still trust you, even if you’ll never trust me. If you think this will help us, then I’m going to try.”
Narinder hissed at the word ‘trust’, and looked down at his hand. Scars from his chains still remained along the wrist, and now it was covered in burn scars. Lovely. He balled the hand into a fist regardless, and let out a sigh. “You’re a fool.” Narinder said, as he raised his hand to the circle once again.
The magic began to spark once again. Both crescents shined as their primordial power began to finally unleash. Narinder could feel the energy swirling around them, and he could see the fervor and devotion dive into the door like bolts of lightning. It made sense, even if Narinder hated it. Both halves of the crown were working in unison now, and the ritual could finally be completed. The energy continued to flow, until eventually there was a blinding flash of white.
Narinder felt the pain in all three of his eyes, and he grunted as his focus was lost. He covered his face with an arm as the ritual finally completed itself. As he raised his arm and opened his eyes, he saw that the door to his former prison was now gone, and standing within it was a towering figure of divine origin.
The Merchant was an entity of unknown origin. None of the bishops could ever discover what era the being hailed from, nor would the merchant ever reveal it themselves. In place of a face was a black void of inky darkness, much like Lambert’s crescent. Within the void were several eyes, which constantly moved and changed. Its body looked as if the night sky had been captured and stored within flowing robes of white.
Lambert looked up at the being with awe. Of course the fool had never seen the merchant before. They were not adept enough to have sought the existence of other god-like beings during their campaign. The figure looked down at the both of them, and manifested its voice telepathically. “Ah, so my voyage has been expedited. One is grateful.”
“Holy sh*t! You’re weird looking!” Lambert said, gazing up at the entity. Narinder could only groan in annoyance.
“Hmm, perhaps to a creature such as yourself.” The entity said. Its eyes shifted and warped, and they began to look at Narinder. He felt a tinge of concern at the entity’s gaze. He was not used to being weaker than them. “Ah, so Great Death does continue to live. A blessing or a curse?”
“No riddles, merchant. No games,” Narinder said, crossing his arms. “I have summoned you here-”
“You mean we, right?! I helped!” Lambert shouted.
Narinder ignored them. “I have summoned you here because I demand answers.” Narinder held up his hand to the entity, and their eyes trailed over it slowly. “What has happened to my crown?”
“Yes, one does know of this. One was arriving within this plane to solve the matter already. ‘Tis helpful you both assisted the process.” The figure’s face shifted once more, and now its eyes were split upon both Narinder and Lambert. Lambert flinched under their gaze, and quickly raised their crescent up to them.
“Yes…quite a rare event, the splitting of a crown. ‘Tis not something that has happened for many centuries,” The Merchant mused, “Then you both are responsible for this rift. Responsible for the fracturing of the title of death.”
Narinder felt a flare of anger at their words. “Do not accuse me of this heresy! The lamb is the one who caused this!”
“For the last time you stupid cat, I deserved to live!” Lambert yelled.
“You’d have more use as a coat, you miserable lamb!” Narinder barked.
“That one is just offensive! Arghh…look, I told you I don’t want to fight anymore!” Lambert retorted.
“Then stop being a putrid traitor and return what you stole from me!” Narinder demanded.
“SILENCE.”
Narinder suddenly felt his body freeze. All his limbs became stiff, and all feeling was replaced with that of static numbness. At the same time, Narinder was lifted into the air alongside the lamb. Lambert was also paralyzed it seemed. Narinder attempted to yell at the merchant, but no words came from his throat.
“Thou petty arguments do not matter. The title of death has been split, and the balance of the plane shall fracture with it,” The Merchant’s voice boomed within Narinder’s head. “Thou both shalt listen, and shalt not question.”
They were both unceremoniously dropped to the ground in front of the stairway. Narinder coughed as the dust entered his mouth. He could feel his bones ache and groan in pain. He slowly raised himself to his feet for what felt like the twentieth time today, and growled.
“Can all gods do that?!” Lambert muttered, who rubbed his rear. The poor fool was dropped on his ass. Narinder would laugh at his misfortune if he didn’t know his ribs would ache in turn. “The bishops always did that to me, and I never liked it.” Lambert grumbled.
The Merchant ignored their words. “The Red Crown has been split, and thus its powers conferred between the both of you. An ancient failsafe within the relics crafted by The First. It has saved the crown, but not without cost.”
The figure shifted, as two smaller figures emerged from underneath its cloak. They were nearly identical, save for both being much smaller than the original. Both moved in sync with the original. “For when a crown is split into two, the consequences art dire. Souls cannot properly pass into the beyond, and those trapped within purgatory shalt tear into the waking world with fervor.
Narinder stiffened at that. “My siblings.” He spoke with a voice dripped in venom.
“Correct. Their souls not passed into the beyond, they shall yearn to break into the living world and reclaim what was taken from them.”
“You never sent their souls to hell?” Lambert asked, a tinge of slight anger in his voice. “They should’ve been burning.”
Narinder scoffed. “It was not for their benefit, foolish lamb. I wanted their souls to witness my freedom and my reshaping of the world. I wanted them to watch as everything they worked so hard to prevent crumbled before them, and then I would cast them down into the flames of the underworld.”
Lambert looked over at Narinder with disappointment. “What?! Nevermind, that would’ve been perfect...”
“Perhaps it would’ve been, if someone hadn’t ruined it,” Narinder said, feeling the need to remind Lambert once again.
Lambert put his hands on his hips. “Oh come on, I mean I’d want to have seen it. It’s not fair that I’d miss out on it.”
“Does one need to silence Death and its Fleece once again?” The Merchant’s voice echoed.
At this, both Narinder and Lambert huffed and looked away from each other. The Merchant continued to speak within their minds. “Good. You shalt both solve this matter, and put their souls to rest in whichever manner you both agree.”
Narinder grimaced at the command. He would not work with the lamb unless his life depended on it. The entire world could burn for he cared before he would help his former vessel, especially if it meant having to deal with his siblings another time. Unfortunately, it would seem The Merchant could either read his thoughts, or simply anticipate them.
“You are both bound by the crown, and if one dies then you both shall perish.” The Merchant said, its eyes shifting to one side. “And if you both decide to avoid this task, then one can assure that the bishops will find thou themselves.”
Lambert’s brows furrowed as he processed the information. Narinder, meanwhile, had to hold back his anger. The utter notion that his life was now connected to his traitorous vessel was enough to drive him insane. He was seconds away from finding the nearest heretic and severing them in half. Or a follower, even. Any person, really.
Of course, he couldn’t argue. The Merchant knew more than he, even if he was loath to admit it. Narinder could not simply ignore their words- it was the entire reason he had memorized that damn ritual. They knew what they were talking about. “So I am linked to this bumbling fool. Pray tell, what is stopping me from leaving them bound and caged as I handle my wretched siblings myself.”
“Maybe saying it in front of my face would be one thing,” Lambert huffed.
“Distance shall limit the crown’s already strained powers. Contrarily, the closer in distance, the stronger the crown shall be. Perhaps even stronger than before.” The Merchant said. “Even if thou did manage to quell the bishop’s revenants, both halves of the crown would have to agree upon their punishment.”
“I mean…I should probably not encourage my lord to do this, but I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing we both agree on at this point.” Lambert pointed out.
Narinder had to admit that at least the lamb was becoming a little more self aware. He did not respect it, nor did it make him hate the lamb any less, but he at least preferred it. He sighed, clenching his fist in frustration. He could feel stinging pain when he did so, due to both the burn scars and his wrist. “Fine. If we do this, then will the crown be repaired.” Narinder asked, locking his gaze onto The Merchant’s eyes.
“The crusade shall mend the crown, though perhaps not in the way thou may expect it to,” The figure said, “It must be done regardless, however, as their souls shall rend this world if not quelled.”
“And when it is repaired,” Narinder said, looking over at Lambert. Eyes locked onto them like a predator watching their prey. Analyzing each movement before going in for the kill. “I may reclaim it.”
Lambert noticed it quickly and flinched. The figure answered, “At that moment, thou may settle matters however thou need. So long as it does not split the crown again.”
“Oh, do not worry,” Narinder said, grinning sharply. The lamb shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“I will not make the same mistake again.”
