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“Are you sure this is going to work?” Kallamar asks. He wrings his tentacles together nervously. You would think after a thousand years as a god, his anxiety would improve. If anything, it’s worsened. “If this doesn’t work, he’ll kill us. You know he can.”
“It’ll work,” they assure him. There is a dark pit of dread wedged in their chest, heavy as stone. Death would be kinder, but it’s a mercy they can’t grant to the bearer of the Red Crown. Not without someone else to claim and wield it in his stead— a dangerous unknown they could never permit. The idea of giving his Crown, hard-won with his own blood, to some interloper is a final insult they couldn’t withstand.
This is the best option.
“Where is he?” Heket glances nervously at the grand doors. This is the Gateway, his temple, his domain. Yet he’s the one who is late. He loves to keep them waiting. It’s his idea of a joke.
“Probably getting ready to attack our cults while he knows exactly where we are,” Leshy says. He crosses his arms, mirroring Heket’s impatience. “This was a mistake; we shouldn’t have left our domains defenseless.”
The air shifts, power rippling as another god arrives. Five points on the pentagram, five gods gather for the last time. Shamura wordlessly sinks into the shadows and begins the spell. The pentagram on the floor glows softly, a faint purple shimmer as they spin a trap.
The stone doors open and Narinder strides in. He looks at the other three suspiciously, not even glancing at the trap being laid at his paws. “Where’s Shamura? I thought this was an ‘emergency family meeting.’”
“They’re coming,” Heket lies. She narrows her eyes at him, immediately beginning to vent her rage. “What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“I leveled the scales, sister,” he hisses back. There’s no love in that word, only venom. It’s another piece of proof, evidence the boy who would die for his family is long gone. There’s a stranger in his place, one who is too ambitious, never satisfied. “Shamura was the one who told me to try to begin with.”
“Shamura told you to experiment with your domain and learn to be satisfied with it. They didn’t say to tear a hole in the veil!” Leshy joins in.
“The veil is fine. Do you see Shithead running to complain?” Narinder gestures around them, as though inviting The Mystic to appear and prove him wrong.
Shamura keeps weaving. They know Narinder won’t stop. If they don’t stop him now, they’ll never be able to. A betrayal is inevitable; they have no choice but to strike first.
“M-Maybe we can talk this out,” Kallamar says. He’s still not convinced of the plan. Shamura has to pray his fear of the consequences should they fail wins out over his fear of Narinder. “I’m the god of health and pestilence. Maybe he can be—”
“God of life and death? Do you hear yourself Kallamar?!” Heket whirls on him, causing the squid to flinch away. “You want to hand this egomaniac the power to destroy everything we’ve built?”
“Everything we’ve built?!” Narinder snarls. “Who struck the final blow to Grand Mancer? Not Shamura, me. Who eliminated Neftis and cleared the path for us? Me. Who killed entire armies of our enemies for this fucking family?! ME!” Narinder leans in close, all three red eyes burning with rage. “I built this! And the four of you have reaped the benefits while I sit on a throne of corpses! No fucking more! I am DONE waiting!”
“What are we waiting for?” Leshy hisses, all four eyes drifting to the soft purple glow on the pentagram. The spell is ready, but Shamura can see plainly none of them want to be the first to strike. Narinder has always been the warrior of the family, the one who emerged from every battle dripping with blood that was not his own. “This heresy cannot stand. He’ll usurp all of us if given the chance.”
Narinder draws back and sneers. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like Laplace. Oh, but you don’t even fucking remember them— because I killed them so Shamura could place that Crown on your head. You're so very welcome, brother.”
“Do you think we’re stupid?!” Heket yells. “How long have you been planning to betray us? After everything we’ve gone through to get here, you would destroy it for this vile, unnatural magic!”
Narinder’s eyes red flicker between them, caught somewhere between righteous fury and something else that Shamura cannot name. He steps back, nearly off the pentagram. “If you mislike it so, you’re free to stay far from me and my cult. I won’t apologize for greatness because it chafes against your baseless paranoia.” He looks to Kallamar, silent and shaking, then turns toward the doors, as though expecting Shamura to enter. A tense heartbeat passes. Narinder growls, “I’m leaving. Tell Shamura they can find someone else to fight your battles from now on.”
If he steps off the pentagram, the trap will be for naught. They’ll never get him in a room with all four of them again, not after this. They raise their hand—
Leshy acts first. He raises a hand, adding his Crown’s magic to the spell. A giant chain bursts forth from the pentagram and wraps around Narinder’s arm, wrenching him backward onto it. He stares at the binding for a moment, confused and furious all at once.
“Leshy,” he says, voice full of cold rage, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Saving our family,” he answers defiantly.
Heket follows their youngest brother’s lead. She raises a webbed hand, and a second chain bursts forth to join the first. They wrap around his wrist, forming a manacle stronger than any metal ever forged by mortals. It wrenches him further into the center of the pentagram. Their sister’s yellow eyes narrow. “You did this to yourself.”
“Have you two gone mad?!” Narinder snarls. He yanks against the chain, tugging so hard the metal cuts into his flesh. Steaming black godsblood wells to the surface. “Let GO!”
“Kallamar! We need you!” Leshy shouts.
But he goes on trembling, tear-filled black eyes rapidly flickering between his other siblings and Narinder.
The moment of hesitation gives Narinder the opening he needs. He lunges forward, still so strong despite the two chains trying to drag him backward. He roars, a wild beast backed into a corner by spears and flame. The claws of his freehand rake across Leshy’s face, leaving four deep gashes. Leshy shrieks in pain as one of his eyes drops to the floor, completely ripped from its socket. The other three are shredded, like three mangled fruits leaking pulp and juice. Somehow, their youngest brother maintains concentration on the spell, though his raised hand now trembles with agony.
“I said LET GO!” Narinder screams, still straining against the metal. A high whining sound fills the temple; metal threatens to snap like a string.
“Kallamar!” Heket shrieks. “We need you! Do something you useless fucking co—”
Narinder lunges again, nearly to the edge of the pentagram. His bloodied claws dig into his little sister’s neck, stabbing so deep that anyone less than a god would not be able to survive it. Heket lets out a wordless, mangled shriek as he shreds her throat, blood pouring down her chest and his arm. When she does not drop concentration, he turns back to the chains, free hand gripping the manacle and trying to dig his claws beneath it. One paw steps off the pentagram as he struggles against their magic. Two is not enough; they’re straining, about to break. The pentagram flickers.
Kallamar raises his tentacles. A third chain shoots forward, grabbing onto the opposite wrist and dragging him back again. The threat of Narinder getting away and seeking his revenge has won out over fear. Narinder’s eyes go wide and wild, all three pupils so large that there is only a sliver of red still visible.
“You’re part of this too?! You sniveling, worthless, ungrateful BASTARD!” Narinder charges Kallamar, who tries to scramble back, but the chains still aren’t strong enough to fully contain him. A clawed hand digs into each of Kallamar’s ears and rips, slow and painful, as Narinder bares his teeth. Kallamar screams and howls, getting steadily louder as both of his bejeweled ears fall to the floor.
Just one more chain.
They can do this. They have to do this. It’s the only way to keep the others safe, to save them from the monster they created. Shamura raises a hand, ready to step out and put this awful business to an end—
“SHAMURA!” Narinder cries out for them, stopping them in their tracks. He looks toward the door, still oblivious to their presence in the shadows. “SHAMURA, THEY’VE GONE MAD! HELP ME!”
Shame washes over them, sudden and so overwhelming it almost paralyzes them. They steel themself and step forward. They owe it to him not to hide. This is their fault, in the end; they’re the one who told him to experiment, never dreaming how ambitious or power-hungry their dear little brother had become. His gaze fixes on them, confused and hopeful all at once.
“I’m sorry, Narinder,” they say. They raise their hand, adding the full measure of their power to form the final chain. It shoots forward, joining Kallamar’s and forming a second manacle. Narinder stares at it in disbelief, as shocked as if his arm had suddenly fallen from its socket. They face him head-on, refusing to turn away from what their imprudence has wrought. “This heresy cannot spread; this is the only way.”
The pentagram begins to glow, all of their magic combining to open a portal to the veil. Narinder looks down, realizing in an instant this trap has been crafted with Shamura’s magic.
“You…?” he says, voice suddenly so small. His ears flatten against his head, and he once again meets their eyes. They expect to see rage, hatred, wounded pride. Instead there are tears. He does not look furious that his plan to kill and usurp his siblings failed.
Narinder looks betrayed.
Oh, no.
No no no no—
Shamura tries to withdraw, to break the chain they’ve forged, but their own ritual works against them. They designed this trap themself to be inescapable, to cage Death itself. There’s no stopping it now that it’s started.
“YOU PROMISED!” Narinder lurches toward them, fighting the four chains with all the strength he has. The others struggle to hold him, links straining, shouting for them to move. But Shamura can only watch as the kitten they swore to protect raises two blood-soaked hands and brings them down—
The world goes white.
Everything comes back in pieces. There’s screaming, swearing. The pentagram blazes with light. Blood runs down their forehead and drips into their eyes. New chains form, snaking up Narinder’s legs and twisting around his chest. They squeeze, painfully tight, and his curses become wordless cries of rage and fear.
“No…” they say, too quiet to be heard over Narinder’s yelling and the thrashing of metal.
A sense of impending doom comes over them, heavy as a shroud of steel. They drop to the ground beside the pentagram, watching helplessly as Narinder is pulled backward into the veil. Shamura reaches for him, confused and unsure what is happening, but they somehow know it’s all their fault. For a moment they think he reaches back, but his claws swipe at the air inches from their palm. Narinder’s eyes remain fixed on them, tears streaming down his face, teeth bared as though he wants to rip out their throat with them.
A traitor deserves no less.
“I made a mistake…” they say.
The pentagram flashes blinding white. Narinder disappears.
“My ears!” Kallamar shrieks. “He ripped off my ears!”
“Cry me a fucking river!” Leshy snarls. He goes to Heket, pressing his hand over her ripped throat. “This is your own fault! If you’d done your part when you were fucking supposed to-”
“What took you so long?! This was your plan—” Heket demands, her voice now deep and rough. She turns on Shamura, but stops short of whatever verbal onslaught she wants to unleash. Her eyes widen in shock. “…Shamura?”
They keep sitting and staring at the pentagram, now faded into a normal-looking seal. Five points on the pentagram. Five siblings. Five becomes four.
Four becomes three becomes two becomes one becomes nothing. Nothing at all.
They’ve killed them. They’ve killed them all.
“He split their skull,” Kallamar says, voice high and trembling with horror. “He was going to kill us, he was going to kill all of us—”
“Shamura? Shamura look at me.” Heket kneels in front of them, tilting their face up to meet her eyes. Her throat is fully open, ragged flesh dripping black gore. A godly wound that will never heal. “Shamura, say something, please.”
They can only repeat: “I made a mistake.”