Chapter Text
Everything was a blur. It all happened so quickly. His murder by the hands of The One Who Waits’s vessel. Then, he awoke back at his temple, right as his followers were about to submit themselves to him. To hand him their fervor. To transform him; further change him into the proper form of a God. His chest pressed against itself before turning to the entrance and there, right there at the arch, stood that condemned vessel; The Lamb threateningly, sword in hand. Menacing eyes glowing from the darkness, his form shifted in three:
Itself, the Lamb, the vessel of the traitor.
The Rat, the placeholder for their traitor brethren.
…Itself, a form he once knew; a form he loved once thousands of years ago. His brother.
Three forms, three faces; the same crown and demon. He was no God, he’d never be. Neither three will be. The Lamb stepped forward from the darkness, the sounds of silver leaves piercing through skin and the ground before him drowned in river trails of blood. Fervor encapsulated him, the pain was too great, his body morphed and ached and he was reborn.
With a roar, Leshy pounced at the cursed vessel, carnelian eyes looking back at him devoid of emotion before the searing feeling the crown’s blade pierced through his body. It burned him like fire and he yowled in pain.
The sound of a bell forced his mind to open and he gasped, once again; he was back at his temple. Surrounded by his followers, ready to hand their lives to him. To transform him; further change him into the proper form of a God. And right at the arch of entry, stood that condemned vessel; The Lamb threateningly, sword in hand.
“Something is not right…” Leshy thought, but his thoughts were interrupted when his followers’s blood pierced through his skin and he shouted in pain. His body ached as it transformed, a new form he took; becoming a monster but the pain was agonizing. He was being tortured; his body no longer his own to control, it launched itself to the Lamb, carnelian eyes looking back at him devoid of emotion before the searing feeling the crown’s blade pierced through his body. It burned him like fire and he yowled in pain.
The sound of a bell forced his mind to open and he gasped, once again; he was back at his temple. Surrounded by his followers, ready to hand their lives to him. To transform him; further change him into the proper form of a God. And right at the arch of entry, stood that condemned vessel; The Lamb threateningly, sword in hand.
“No…” He uttered, his followers raised their blades to impale their stomachs. Realizing what this was. “NO!” Leshy shouted but there was no stopping it. He fell to the ground, his mouth filled with ichor blood as it fell agape, breathing in but not receiving air.
The sound of a bell echoed over as he felt the blade pierce through his Godly skin, and he awoke back at his temple, right before the Lamb walked through the arch of entry of his temple. “No! Stop—” He ordered the Lamb but it did not heed his warning. The sound of its hooves echo in cleats around his temple, striking fear into his heart, “S-stay back! Stay back!” The worm shouted. “Get back, you BEAST—” But the worm choked on his own words when fervor ate at his skin. His hide was being torn apart, his body stretched and broke itself to fit his new form. His yell turned into a screech before the bell rang again once the Lamb tore his form apart again.
The bell rang and the ritual commenced, his body ached in both forms; its transformation and his murder. The way that his most loyal followers’ fervor burned through him, aching him, hurting him; torturing him. Preparing him for the inevitable, to be sliced up and torn by the vessel; the Lamb. It hurts. It hurts so much.
Leshy felt tears force out of his empty sockets and passing through his bandages, he clawed at the stone ground and screamed in pain. The bell; the ritual, the murder, rebirth; the bell, the ritual, the murder, rebirth: the bell, the ritual, the murder, rebirth; over and over and over again. Forced to relive and die constantly, endlessly. Leshy’s body changed, hide fell off his flesh, leaving it bare and a tremble formed on his palms. Each rebirth caused his mind to fog, no longer himself but an animal; to be hunted and torn to feast upon his flesh.
It screeched; it roared; it shouted and cried. In pain; in agony; in plea and beg. He begged for an end to all of this. Leshy wished for this to cease. Would give anything to it end.
Then, there was silence.
Leshy stood over his followers, heaving, looking down at the vessel; his eyes…no longer a devoid carnelian. A soft hue that he once knew; empathy, looked back at him. His eyes rained God tears down his face, the cycle repeating and Leshy screeched at the Lamb.
Once and for all; this time he was going to end it once and for all. This pain, this cycle shall be no more. He’d make it truth.
~
Everything was dark for Leshy, now reborn once more.
But this time…he was no God. Not anymore.
The feeling of a three fingered hand binded cloth over his forearm and he breathed softly, letting realization of what had occurred fall over him.
“You know that I know that you’re awake, right?” A voice that he’s never heard before spoke to him, but he knew who it belonged to. “There’s no need to hide yourself anymore.”
The Lamb held his hand gently as he pushed himself up; sitting up on his bed as the distant sound of chatter bounced over the land. Being blind had made his other senses become acute, from where he sat he could tell how big this place was. This camp, this…cult was big.
“How are you feeling?” His voice vibrated through his hand, Leshy clenched on it.
“I feel…hungry.” He answered softly. The Lamb’s hand gave his hand a squeeze.
“I figured you were. Do not worry,” He spoke, his voice warm. “My husband is preparing you some food.” The Lamb finished.
“Hmn,” He grumbled.
“Does anything else hurt? Anything I can help you with?” The Lamb insisted.
“Why did you bring me here?” Leshy asked, his voice dropping. The annoying sound of a jingle echoed over his tent, letting him know that the Lamb was taken aback by his tone. “What purpose do you have for me?” He continued.
The Lamb stayed quiet for a moment before he placed his hand on shoulder, “Leshy, there is no purpose. No ill will.” He answered.
The worm grumbled, pulling his hand away from Lambert’s hold, “You’re lying.”
The vessel inhaled, “I'm not. I promise.”
“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought,” Leshy rebutted. “You have me at your advantage, you can decide my fate, and your first instinct is to bring me to the heart of your communion? Have you no malice?”
The Lamb stayed silent and Leshy tightened his grip on the covers that shield his lower half. “This is why your kind were deemed sacrificial; all you ever did was frolic and prance around the scape. Preaching of useless matters such as peace and unification.” He insulted the vessel. “No wonder my treacherous brother selected you as his kin; even he could see how disposable you are.”
Leshy waited for it to respond but it did not speak. The vessel remained silent.
“Despicable the thought that he fell before you, the last of your being—”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Leshy?” The Lamb interrupted him. “Anything I can help you with before I go?”
“...Tell me your purpose for me.” The worm insisted.
“I told you; there is no purpose.” The vessel answers as he gently pushes Leshy back to lay down.
“You’re lying.”
“And you are projecting.” He rebutted the worm, pulling the covers over his chest as a gust of wind blew in his tent, sending a chill to him. “Please stop moving, you’re not fully healed yet.”
“I will stop if you answer my question, Lamb.” The worm insisted, turning his head to where Lamb’s voice was. “What purpose do you have for me?” He insisted.
A sigh exhaled from the Lamb, Leshy waited for him but all he received for now was a gentle caress on his temple, moving the fuzzy hide with his thumb. “None that holds malice, little brother.” The cult leader answered, Leshy flinched at the call of endearment. “I just want you to heal. The both of you.”
The worm’s brows furred behind his bandages, “Both?” He parroted, his chest started to ache a little. “Are my brethren here? Who is here?” He insisted with his questions, rising up.
“Please stay down,” The Lamb insisted, pushing him back down. “You must rest—” He moved his hand from Leshy’s forehead before it was caught by swift claws, preventing him from leaving.
“Tell me, Lamb. Is it my sister, Heket, is she here? Or is it my brother, Kallamar? Wait no, is it Shamura?!” He asked, his voice becoming desperate. “Please tell me, I need to know! Tell me…and I won’t bother anymore, please.” He insisted.
But hesitation could fill Leshy’s hands, he sensed the unsureness of the vessel vibrating through his palms. “...It’s neither of them.”
The sparks of excitement soon diminished, his grip on the Lamb’s hand loosened as he understood. He slowly relaxed back into his bed, head pressing against his pillow.
“I believe that you do not wish to see him, do you?” The Lamb asked.
“...You’re right, Vessel,” Leshy said, releasing his hand. “I do not. You can leave now, Lamb.” He dismissed him, turning to lay on his side.
The rustle of the tent caused his branches to twitch, “Lambert?” A distant voice chimed and the smell of food wafted in. The Vessel moved from beside his bed, a small ‘thank you’ was overheard before his body loomed close to him and warmth was placed before him, beckoning his stomach as it growled; noticing that food was close by.
“I’ll leave your food here, Leshy. You can eat when you’re hungry.” He spoke. Leshy grumbled, keeping his hand close to his chest. Compressing himself. The Vessel’s hand brushed against his own before something filled them. Leshy trapped them in his claws, palms recognizing the feeling of a fuzzy stalk, the neck of flora—a flower.
He gently moved up and felt the nub at the base before caressing the petals; he counted; one, two, three, and four petals.
“They are—”
“Camellias….” Leshy cut him off. “I know my own flora, Lamb. I don’t need your insight.”
“...Alright.” The vessel spoke, his body shifted away from the warm. “I just thought you’d like them. Rest easy, Leshy.”
The rustling fabrics indicated his movements and Leshy could feel his presence begin to leave. Pursing his lips, Leshy brought the flowers close to him and spoke once more. “Thank you…Lambert.” He acknowledged, despite the fact that he didn’t deserve it; Leshy was raised better than that.
There was a moment of hesitation, a small chuckle echoed and the vessel, Lambert, left without saying another word.
Acknowledging Leshy as well.