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Moon was bright tonight.
The air was crisp, smelling of pine. The grass felt soft underneath his feet and the darkness brought ease to his tired eyes.
He was rarely rested, visions plagued his sleep.
Cat’s ears twitched, searching for sound, but the night was deathly silent.
Narinder usually enjoyed the silence for how rare it was on the cult’s grounds. Even in his hut he could not escape the cacophony of mortal lives.
But he was not here for this enjoyment. The lamb has been absent for many days and followers grew restless, sniveling things pestering him for help.
Ridiculous mortals, worrying for a god. The god of death at that.
…he had to admit though, Lamb’s absence was unusual. Crusades did not take them this long and if they were to be gone for longer, their disciples would have been informed.
Death could not contain them and yet…
Leaves rustled, breaking cat out of his thoughts.
“Beautiful night, is it not, Bishop?”
A familiar voice. One as cold as the dark of the night.
A creature obscured by shadows creeped closer to the clearing, stopping at the very edge of it. The moon’s light parted darkness there.
The tall figure was hidden underneath a long hooded cloak, only the muzzle visible in the faint light.
A fox. The Fox.
After all, no regular fox had a grin that wide and so full of teeth. No fox had irises burning like flames.
“I have sensed your presence. I see Lamb broke your chains as foretold. Created new ones too, judging by your form.”
Narinder’s grip tightened onto the farming sickle. There were no proper weapons on the cult grounds, so this had to do.
“Lamb. You have seen them. They spoke of you.”
Beast’s eyes flickered to the makeshift weapon, before focusing back on the black cat.
“I have. Loosen your grip, Bishop, for you have no enemy in me. I would never dare to prey on a hunter of your status.” Fox chuckled slowly, seemingly amused by its own words.
Narinder remained silent.
“I did indeed meet with The Lamb. They sought me out, looking for answers. For clarity.” Beast moved alongside the clearing’s outer ring.
Now as a mortal, Narinder could see how the creature towered over regular folk.
“Do you seek anything, Bishop?”
He did not.
“Clarity perhaps?”
His mind was clear.
“Or maybe…”
Enough.
Perhaps all the little annoyances of mortal life stacked up. Perhaps millenia of chains drove him mad. Either way, Narinder snapped at the beast.
“I do not have time for your games. Lamb, where are they?”
Fox stopped in its tracks, smile gone, mouth closed.
Narinder could feel his heartbeat quicken and his fur bristle.
Stupid mortal body.
“I am glad to see you did not lose your bravado, Bishop. Albeit, I would not recommend interrupting those who you seek information from, it’s quite rude.”
A grin returned to beast's muzzle.
“And to answer your question. I do not know the whereabouts of The Lamb. They did treat me to some… slivers with hope it would be enough to gain the information they sought.”
“What did you tell them?” He grew tired of Fox's vagueness.
“That is to be kept between me and them. But perhaps we could reach… an agreement.”
His tail twitched.
He was a (former) god, not one of Lamb’s pathetic acolytes. Why did he have to risk his life looking for that damned sheep-
“I will not make dealings with you. I am no longer a god with followers to spare.”
Beast tilted its head.
“Ah, do not fret, I am ready to part with this knowledge for a smaller price.”
His muzzle scrunched.
Dealing with the fox was never a good idea.
…but the alternative was to lose time looking for Lamb on his own…
“Speak.”
The toothy grin of the fox widened.
A cloud began to cover the moon, covering the clearing in darkness.
And so, the beast moved closer. Too close.
“I crave to taste you.”
Narinder took a step back. His heart began to race. He could feel his fur bristling once again.
The teeth got too close to him.
“Your flesh would be divine, but I lack something of equal worth. But your blood… Let me taste your blood, your devotion, in exchange for the information on Lamb.”
Cat pointed his sickle towards the canine. His tail swished anxiously.
“You never cared for mortal blood.”
Beast chuckled, its eyes never leaving the cat. “Ah but you are not just a mere mortal. Even now, stripped of your divinity, you radiate with old power.”
Fox pushed the sickle away with the back of its hand. “Do we have a deal, Bishop?”
His thoughts raced. If Fox changed its mind, he could-
.
.
.
…he was starting to think like a mortal.
Like a cornered prey.
Narinder, was not just another vermin trying to survive.
“We have a deal. Stand back.”
A look of delight was visible on Fox’s face as it moved back.
He simply gripped his sickle tighter, before taking a deep breath.
Extending his arm forward, he opened the palm of his hand, the blade of his weapon shining faintly.
Damned Lamb.
The slice was quick, wound slowly oozing with his blood. Red blood. Mortal blood.
Fox moved fast. Too fast.
Gripping the cat's wrist, it pulled him closer, canid’s eyes flickered in excitement.
The muzzle moved lower.
Fox’s nose twitched, sniffing the air. Narinder too could smell the iron.
He felt sickened, closing his eyes to spare himself the view.
Narinder could feel beast's tongue lap at the blood, slowly, savoring each and every move, every droplet it tasted.
Lamb will pay with their head for this.
He was going to rip it off from their neck with his own teeth, tear their chest apart with his own claws, he will…
“Thank you for the treat, Bishop~” Huh?
Narinder focused his attention back on the fox.
The blood was gone. His wound slowly healed itself. He was a god no more, but some perks of old divinity remained.
Beast licked across its teeth.
“I must say, your taste is exquisite, Bishop. I can only imagine what it must have been during your godhood days.”
His tail swished, his brows furrowed.
“My ichor would burn a hole in your throat before you could even swallow a drop. Now speak. Where is Lamb, Fox?”
Their eyes locked, red meeting red.
“They seek your old temple.”
Well. Shit.