Chapter Text
He couldn’t lie.
His new life wasn’t…entirely awful.
Sure, some of the Lamb’s followers had their suspicions of the literal God of Death. However, lucky for him, the majority of the following welcomed him with wide open arms. The first couple days were rocky of course - accidentally killing half the crops at base and breaking his own bed from a supposed ‘test of durability’ but as the days went by the more at home he felt. None of this could’ve been possible without the ‘Damned Lamb’’s perpetual support. Each and every day Lamb would pay him a visit no matter how busy he was, assuring Narinder that he was fitting right in as well as giving him gestures of kindness. Such gestures were a new, custom made robe, a necklace with a skull pendant that was made to have three eyes instead of just the two, and certain gourmet dishes at least once a week. Of course every follower had their gift now and again from the newly appointed god, but not as much as he. Narinder was hyper aware how special he was treated compared to them.
He didn’t understand it.
He toyed with the leader, made him his play thing, put threats over his head and ultimatums. Hell, he demanded sacrifices of the same people that now kneeled beside him during prayer.
So why, out of all the Bishops, he was given another chance?
His thoughts were struck down at the pounding of paws against grass. Narinder perked his ears, twisting around on the log he was sitting on, back to the campfire that burned bright in the darkness. With lanterns alit down the path, he could see a few fellow followers welcome Lamb back home with big smiles and questions being flung about how his newest crusade was. This was the usual, especially when he took days to conclude a single crusade.
Narinder’s claws idly tapped on the bark beneath him. Part of him wanted to go over and welcome him back home. The other, stay unseen, keep out, don’t get involved. Tall ears drooped. It seemed his confidence had melted away with his godly form.
Lamb wore his infamous smile, crown donned atop his head and fleece flowing in the soft gusts of wind while he held short conversations with his cult.
“Did you get one?!” Yelled a small voice, making the lamb’s ears prick. He glanced around before being met with one of the youngest cult members; Elde the Bunny. Her fur was a thick black with small blue paw pads and a glowing smile. Her excitement was palpable, jumping in place when Lamb nodded and reached into his non-existent pocket. He took a grip on something and pulled it out, keeping said item hidden between both of his paws. He knelt down on one knee, “You ready?”
Elde nodded vigorously.
He slowly revealed the purpose of this four day crusade. A small and very much alive stag beetle colored in a vibrant orange-ish brown. Elde gasped, eyes glittering in amazement of the small creature that her leader had graciously traveled to catch just for her. Lamb gently slid the bug into her cupped, slightly shaking hands. The other cult members chanted in the name of the Lamb, a thanking gesture for taking care of one of their own.
Narinder wasn’t smiling. If you said he was, you’re lying and you should be put to the cross.
A few days had passed since that night. It was evening - perfect time to care for the land. Today’s task for Narinder was plant tending with his robe traded in for a red t-shirt with the arm holes cut and a wide straw hat atop his head. The dethroned god was tilling for a new round of berry bushes when he noticed something. That Damned Lamb. And he was heading this way. With a half hearted groan, he leaned his hoe against the sheep themed scarecrow and wiped his forehead.
“What do you want now?” Narinder growled, eyes on the cult leader. His expression, once playfully annoyed, suddenly stilled and became unreadable.
Something was wrong.
Lamb came to a halt at the edge of the plots, a few steps away from Narinder, and even with that distance the dethroned could see the changes.
Lamb’s skin was obviously paling to a color closer to his slightly unkempt wool, his usual stature faltering to a slight sway, ears drooping and eyes half lidded. Narinder bit the inside of his cheek to keep his words at bay.
“Checkin’ in on you bud.” The crown blinked slowly along with him, firmly planting his left hoof down in a sore attempt to stop his body from falling over to the side, “I-I haven’t been able to…to talk to you much.”
Narinder’s working eyes squinted, tail raising in curiosity, “I’ve been…well, Lamb…may I bother you with a question?”
Lamb simply blinked at him.
“You look…how should I put this…unsightly.”
“That wasn’t a question.” Lamb deadpanned, twitching his nose, something he only did when he was annoyed or in deep focus.
Narinder rolled his eyes, “Are you ill?”
The cult leader tilted his head in obvious faux confusion that Narinder could see right through. Lamb shook his head, paws tucking his fleece closer to his body in comfort.
“It’s nothing.”
“Lamb,” Narinder snarled, sharp fangs peeking out his lips. “Do not play games with me.”
The old god could see the gears trying to turn in his leader’s brain, his whole demeanor spacing out as if he was fishing for an answer within his own head. Something was definitely wrong. Lamb always had a quick answer to anything that came his way no matter the person or situation. The fact that there was no nonsense spouting out of his mouth to cover his ass was the biggest red flag he’d had so far. Before he could go further with his prodding, Lamb lost his balance. With a soft bleat of surprise, he barely caught himself when he fell, one arm keeping his trembling body slightly off the grass and dirt.
Quick with his feet, Narinder dipped to his knees in front of his cult leader. He bit his lip when he realized that this was becoming a whole commotion. Glancing up from Lamb, he saw a few followers look their way, worry painted on their features. He swore under his breath, looking back down at the other.
“What happened?!” shouted Narinder louder than he intended. He slowly maneuvered Lamb so his head rested on his lap whilst his followers began to herd over to their fallen. Narinder’s fur pricked. His chest filled with the strangest feeling, prompting him to throw his head up and snarl at the cult’s members. A warning not to come any closer. Unsurprisingly, given his past, everyone just about stopped where they were. Most of them were a nervous wreck. Especially Elde, who held her stag beetle close to her chest with tears decorating her eyes.
“Lamb,” he swung his head back down, a paw rubbing at Lamb’s cheek in desperation to keep him awake, “Tell me what happened. Now.”
Their tired leader shook his head with a small snuffle, paws grasping at the edges of his fleece. His breathing was slow and raggedy with addition to his utterly limp body.
“..”s nuffin…promise…”
“It most certainly ISN’T nothing, you creature!” Narinder, taking this situation into his own very incapable paws. His last two working eyes scanned over the upsettingly still Lamb, eyes squinted in focus as he went from limb to limb. Maybe something was broken? Or was some kind of wound hiding behind all that ungodly amount of wool? Was it that…two holes in his upper arm that wept green?
Narinder quickly took Lamb’s left arm and stared at the small bite wound that lay embedded in the skin. It was venom.
He mentally facepalmed, cursing at himself for not noticing the signs of it sooner when the bite was more recent. It was difficult to tell someone who’s been poisoned by the silk spiders that plagued his old sibling’s realm to the regular person, but he literally was siblings with a damn spider! He was practically trained in spotting this! He looked up at the followers with sweat traveling down his face.
“Prepare to move him into temple immediately”