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The clang of metal rang in the ears. Dark torches lit the path along the old stone pavement. Cold hands gripped chains. Dirty scraps of fabric hung from a gaunt little body. A sea of red hoods surrounded the procession. All of them watched intently as the victim was led along his final path.
Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like an eternity. Eternity felt like torment. Lambert's whole life seemed like nothing but a cruel joke. What had he done to deserve this? For what reason was his kind condemned to such cruelty?
He could not ask this. Not before the ancient Gods who oversaw the execution. Their eyes, cold to such a degree that one's body began to tremble with goosebumps, watched the lamb being led into the center of a scarlet circle. Whose blood had outlined this pentagram? One could clearly say that this blood would soon merge with the blood of the lamb.
"At last, we shall break this pitiful prophecy. It could never have hindered us."
"The Old Faith shall triumph. No one is capable of threatening us by their mere existence."
"It's time for you to pay, little lamb. Accept your fate and depart to the next world."
Black, bottomless eyes, full of sorrow, looked upon the four majestic Gods. There was no plea, no fear, no anger within them. Only a lonely, soul-chilling despair. They could do nothing.
A large cultist raised his axe. A head bowed toward the floor. What was going on inside the head of this little creature? Oh, poor child, betrayed by the world. But... are you worthy of one more chance?
The strike. Through a quiet cry, the oppressive sound of tearing flesh broke through. The head fell to the floor, and the body sprawled helplessly beside it, flooding the ground with blood and fertilizing the flowers with it.
Applause. Thousands of claps sounding every second. Joyful shouts could be heard from all sides.
"We've done away with this freak!" "Glory to the Old Faith!" "Long life to our Masters!"
The four figures paid no attention. Their faces reflected a sense of former confidence. It could not have been otherwise. Their cult had ruled for countless years. If some lamb dared to be an obstacle to them, he would be subjected to punishment.
Casting a final glance at the pitiful corpse, Shamur shook his head. Was this truly the end? But reassurance washed away the last waves of doubt. One by one, they made their way back together, leaving only a few followers to tend to their spectacle.
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A bright light blinded the eyes. An endless pale wasteland surrounded Lambert. He looked around in mute surprise. He wasn't in pain. But he felt strange. As if his body had become lighter than before.
His little hoof took a step forward. The white matter beneath his feet felt like soft cotton. His small face twisted into a grimace of incomprehension.
"Where am I...? Am I not dead?"
"FEAR NOT, LAMB. YOUR DEATH PLAYS INTO MY HANDS. COME CLOSER AND PRESENT YOURSELF BEFORE ME."
The voice seemed to cut through the softness of the surrounding space. Commanding, as if accustomed to giving orders, it made the Lamb immediately turn and behold an unusual sight before him.
Chains hung from the heavens, or whatever passed for the sky in this place. Amidst them was a being clothed in white robes. Its face was hidden by dark fabric, and its skeletal black hands rose helplessly to the sides, bound to unknown distances by shackles. Upon the head of this unknown creature sat a small crown with a single closed eye in its center.
As the Lamb stepped closer to this unknown personage, their red eyes — of which there were three — closely watched every movement of the tiny animal.
"Very good. Those foolish Bishops thought they could rid themselves of you. But they have brought you straight to me..."
"I will give you a new chance. A new life. But everything has a price. You must create a cult in the name of your new God. Do you accept my generous gift?"
It seemed as though the words had stuck in the throat of the little lamb. Lambert nodded his head, unable to tear his gaze away from such a majestic being.
"Wh... Who... are you? What may I call you, O Great One?"
"Me? Names are but meaningless labels. You need only know that your life belongs to me. Now take my crown. With its help, you will subjugate the weak and destroy the strong. Now go. Know that we shall meet again. For I am watching."
As the dark crown settled onto Lambert's head, he felt a sharp pain. As if thousands of needles had pierced his body in different places. His eyes closed from the all-consuming sensation. He nearly fell to his knees.
"What?! How did you—"
Lambert raised his gaze. Before him appeared a familiar altar. A forest that reeked of death. Black shadows gathered behind the trees, blocking the dark groves from prying eyes. The Lamb rose from his knees as the feeling of agony fell away from his body. He felt strange. As if his entire body was charged with electricity.
A few meters away stood a stunned cultist. The others also stared at the incredible event as if it were a dream and not reality. Finally, coming to their senses, they drew their swords and aimed them at the Lamb.
"No matter! Brothers, let us send this abomination back where it belongs!"
Raising their weapons over the resurrected one, some of them managed to bring them down. But the result was not at all what they expected. A long sword, gleaming under the banner of the sun, deflected the blows flying toward the Lamb.
"What is this? I...?"
The exclamation came not from the attackers, but from Lambert himself. He stared at the object in his hand as if it were something completely new to him.
Suddenly, a small red eye opened on the hilt. Its black pupil met the surprised gaze of the weak animal. A quiet voice, a mixture of whisper and growl, sounded through the veil of shock.
"Kill them. Tear the flesh of those who stand in your way. Offer a sacrifice in the name of Death."
The cultists began to slowly retreat from Lambert, seeing how deftly he wielded the blade. One of them dared to take a step forward.
"I will take your life! For the glory of the Old Fai—!"
His head was immediately cleaved. The weapon became spattered with splashes of blood. The cultist's body fell down like a crushed fruit, from which juice had begun to leak.
"Whoa... So this is my power now?"
No one answered Lambert's enthusiastic voice. But he didn't need verbal confirmation. The corpse before him already told him everything he needed to know. Just as it told the other fanatics, who were ready to bolt away. But who was going to give them such an opportunity?
Their screams were heard by no one beyond the edge of this little forest clearing. But Lambert remembered that feeling. The first life he had taken. It sent shivers across his skin. Never before had he been so happy.
"Revenge? I just... took revenge... No... This isn't everything. All of them. Every last one. I'll make them all... DIE."
A devilish smile spread across the face of the innocent Lamb. Was this creature like this by nature? Did it wish for death? Of course not. But those who cut its flesh had never thought about the consequences.
But consequences always come and take their due. A life for a life. Fear for fear. Torment for torment. Genocide for genocide.
---
"N-no! Wait, okay?! We can make a deal! I'll join your cult! I-I'll serve—!"
Another victim on the Shepherd's path. Another death. Lambert ran a hand along the smooth surface of his sword. The blood of defeated enemies remained on his fingers. Peering into the droplets, one could see one's own reflection. White wool, stained with crimson. A gaze that burned through like a forest fire. And a smile. Not the kind that soothes, but the kind that brings only terror. Cold, as if woven from threads that never let go.
"Ah... How many? Which...? The tenth? The twentieth? When did I stop counting?"
The red eye on the sword closed in satisfaction as the weapon once again transformed into a crown. Suddenly, a quiet whimper was heard from behind the bushes. Black eyes turned toward the new presence. Parting the branches with his hands, Lambert discovered a small ginger spot.
"Save me... Save... Don't kill... I..."
Tears were welling in their eyes, wetting their fur. Their eyes stared downward in fear, and their voice trembled. It seemed they had witnessed the spectacle the Lamb had demonstrated.
The Lamb realized that for the first time since his rebirth, the one before him was not an enemy. His expression quickly shifted to a less menacing one: his smile softened, and his hands, stained with blood, hid behind his back.
"Oh! Sorry, I just... didn't notice you. Do you need help? I'm building a cult here..."
The cat's eyes rose with undisguised fear. "A cult...? Are you a God too? But you... you look..." For a second, their gaze slipped past the Lamb's figure and fell on the mountain of corpses behind him. "YES! O-of course! Absolutely! I want to join!"
Their hands grasped the red robes of the Lamb, which he had stripped from the cultists earlier. Joy reflected on the Lamb's face, and then he extended a hand to his first follower.
"Get up! I'll take you somewhere safe!"
Their hands clasped together for a moment, and a bright burst of light erupted from the Crown. Opening their eyes, the cat saw that they had arrived in a quiet clearing surrounded by trees. At its center stood a huge statue made of sticks, which vaguely resembled the Lamb. Next to it was a large triangular building, surprisingly skillfully made.
"Where are we? Is this... your cult?"
They turned to the Shepherd, who was proudly surveying the small space before him.
"That's right! This place is your new home! It's safe here. I swear on my divinity!"
Lambert, with a cheerful smile, headed toward a small cauldron bubbling over the fire. Lifting a wooden bowl from the ground, he poured some kind of stew into it and returned, offering it to the cat.
"Here! You can eat! You're lucky! You've been granted the honor of witnessing the birth of my cult! Aren't you proud to be the first one here?"
The ginger cat let out a nervous chuckle and nodded, carefully taking the bowl. "Is it... Is it not poisoned?"
"Of course not! Why would I poison you? If I wanted to kill someone, I'd do it with my own hands! Hahaha~"
Despite the cruel words, the Lamb's laughter sounded innocent. As if he hadn't sent an enormous number of lives to the next world. But it did make the cat believe the Lamb's words. He had seen for himself that such tricks were unnecessary for this being.
Raising the steaming soup, they took a sip. A pleasant feeling spread through their chest. No pain followed, which reassured the follower.
"Thank you... Um... I thank you, Master? May I call you that?"
Lambert placed a hand on his chin for a second and shook his head a couple of times. "Hmm~ Well, I don't mind. So be it! From this moment on, you may call me Master. Or Shepherd, Deity, Holy Lamb, and so on... It matters not to me what name you give me. Just be loyal, yeah?"
"Yes, sir... I will be obedient..."
Taking a breath and finally accepting their new position, the cat continued their meal, which turned out to be quite pleasant and even tasty. Perhaps this cult wasn't so bad after all? Of course, one couldn't know what this Lamb might do at any moment, but... It was still better than being sacrificed by cultists.