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Chapter Text

The early morning grew colder than before, not once did a raven call out to awake the sleeping cult. It was late winter; an ongoing plague had struck and only so many individuals could bear the consequences of humanity. It was only five lost. Surely, that could be taken care of. Helob has more, and so did wandering cultists that prayed to gods no longer.

But what of a lamb, only last of his kind, falls too ill to survive another day of the cold? What would become of this young thing? 

"Kallamar, you are the only one of this cult who can help him! He's been bedridden for days, cannot even sit up from his bed!"

The yells of the Reverend Mother could be heard from the west side of the cult grounds; her words clear yet heartbroken. Her only son was slipping away from her arms, a fear no mother like her wanted to face. She was scared for her boy, and only an ex-bishop was so cowardice to seek proper answers.

The shaking squid ducked deeper behind his desk, in fear of the cult leader. Had he grown a spine or three, he would have set her straight. This was still his domain, no matter if he turned away his crown or not.

"Forgive me, but with the surprising number of other cultists remain sick, your beloved son must wait!"

Yes, it was selfish of the Reverend Mother to only prioritize her only son over the cult. But he was her only child, her only family. These followers she collected up to millennia mean nothing to her. Not even the bishops she forcefully put to rest mattered. 

They were never her family. That lamb is her family.

And yet in the midst of pointless arguing, the child's last breath was only a cold exhale.

"You are one mad man for you request me, her disciple, to dig out her son's body from the ground. And in winter, of all the things."

Maleficent, an eagle and one of the Reverend Mother's trusted disciples, could only watch in pure disgust of the High Priest putting the young lamb's body in a flowered coffin above a ritual pentagram. She never understood him, especially since he was the past master of the Red Crown. 

Narinder, the cult's High Priest, let out a small huff at the elder eagle's complaint as he flipped through the cult's bible. Through his immortality, he worked to the top to gain something as close to a god though he would never admit to care so genuinely for the Reverend Mother.

Yet his cold heart softened when he saw that woman cry out to the world when she felt her son's cold body.

He just had to do something.

"Spare me your complaints. She wishes for her son alive; I will do just that."

Maleficent scoffed, crossing her arms. Was this cat losing his head or was he doing this out of something else? She couldn't tell by his forever scowl.

"Samael will know of this, this will be your fifth time breaking the order of all nature. It'll have your head and where will you be then?"

Narinder could only glance a glare before resuming his research. If his cowardly brother wasn't going to help, then he will. This was an opportunity for trust, something to spit in the Reverend Mother's face if she ever was chained away like he was once centuries ago.

How cruel was he to make this seem payback for betrayal a second time? He wouldn't dare answer that out loud nor in his mind. All followers knew.

But he must focus, or else that body in front of him will rot longer. And oh how he hated the smell of rotten flesh.

The sounds of bones breaking and repositioning, smell of flesh being sewn back together with blood of gods. Nothing but horrid sounds of a revival awakening.

Welcome home once more, little lamb.

Chapter Text

Pilgrim Passage entered once another peaceful evening, only soft sounds of the sea wavering against the rocks. It was hardly night, around time where most shops and the grumpy fisherman were at a brink of closing. The lighthouse, long upgraded after the defeat of the bishops. Maybe so the lighthouse keeper still feels weary of them, and yet never stopped the eager pilgrims from interacting. Too cowardice of what could almost never happen.

This particular evening was a game of chance.

Eyes of the damned lurked under the crystal waters that shined under the evening sunset, the growling stomach of beast inaudible for many but loud and clear for the beast that was forever ravenous. The beast's eyes watched every pilgrim, a small chuckle escaping his toothy grin.

The once goddess of Harvests and Famine.

Bishop Heket.

It was a strange thing, seeing a ex-god that brought fear to the old land with the flick of her wrist, venture so far from the oh so innocent cult grounds.

What was her reason to be here? That was a curious thought this beast had in his cruel mind. 

Perhaps he could use this surprise appearance to his advantage.

As Heket strides carefully onto the pier, the beast emerged in dark ichor above the salty waters of the sea.

"A once goddess, how amusing. Careful, dear toad. You may never know what can happen in such darkness."

Heket could only huff, wishing to respond in sass but her tore throat stopped her. So, she could only sign.

'What do you want, beast?'

The Fox cackled, as if Heket wasn't plotting in her head the many ways to strangle him then and there.

"You wound me, little frog. But to entertain you, I offer a deal."

The Fox leaned closer to the pier.

"You seem to have lost your sense of voice, your authority. Your mighty crown gave you your voice, but now with it gone, you speak in croaks."

Heket moved back, not really in the mood to have this beast so close to her. But she couldn't deny it was right. She missed her ability to talk, all thanks to her crown that is now locked away forever.

'What's your deal? Explain.'

The beast smirked and leaned back into the ichor pool.

"Simple. I know that beloved leader won't ever agree to handing over that old rat. But if you hand me something much more precious, I can throw in favors to give you something to help regain your voice. Perhaps I could get that crown back, make you bask in glory again."

It reached out, offering his hand for her to shake.

"So a deal then?"

Chapter Text

"It is a... interesting sight to see you, of all the people here, to come for confessions."

Narinder kept his mouth closed as the one separated from him spoke, keeping his gaze away from the dark veil that restricted sight of the being above him in status. He was having... doubts, as of late. Even urges that he seemed to not rip from his head. He felt weak to come to the booth, feeling miserable to rely on such a being that was the leader of a seemingly innocent community.

Yet she, the Reverend Mother, gave him comfort to his struggles with her soft words.

"You know why. It is the same. My thoughts plague me, and I yet to find answers."

Narinder heard her laugh lightly, his three tails flickering to his unamused aura.

"Forgive me, dear High Priest. I do not mean to laugh at you. But I can't help that someone like you, with power of yours still at its prime, come to me for solutions then yourself."

The mixed eldritch cat only scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. Narinder wasn't one to truly confess. Only to speak in riddles to make the other work harder to give him what he wants. But now, it seemed the only person he trusts is using his own tactic against him.

Not that he minded in a sense.

"I served prisoned solitude of crimes I wouldn't think committing. Chained to my own domain out of the paranoia of the ones I once called family. But you... your words, your comfort. It heals wounds that my heart in seconds."

Narinder moved closer to the wall that separated himself from her, a hand to the wooden structure and the stained glass.

"I trust you. Aid me, as I had aided you before."

He heard her sigh. That was hopeful.

"Your persistence makes me smile, dear. So for another lifetime in this soul, I will aid you."

Narinder could only softly smile to himself.

"Thank you, my wife."

Chapter Text

"This seems wrong. What if we're caught out here? Mother will be upset."

The young caprine in front of the lamb scoffed and rolled his eyes, slashing his dagger against the overgrown leaves and branches that blocked a path they were heading.

The two young were far from camp, perhaps somewhere lost in Darkwood's once calm valleys. The sun was setting, only little light from the Lamb's lantern shined the two a way around the wood.

"You're such a baby horns! We'll be there soon if you stop clinging to my shoulder like a little bird!"

The Lamb sighed to themself as they pressed on, knowing whining more wouldn't get them to turn back.

"You have the ritual knives?"

The Lamb softly nodded, handing the Goat one of the knives carefully.

"Are you sure we should do this? We'll get in trouble!"

The Goat ignored the whines of the Lamb, rolling his hands as he twirled the ritual knife in his hand.

"No one is going to know, if you don't fib later. Now, can we get this done with?!"

The Lamb quieted down to the Goat's impatience. They didn't press more into the matter, not wanting to anger their friend more than they should.

By minutes, the two proceeded into a ritual, one unbeknownst and hidden. Their dark and golden ichor dripping into the calm pond in front of them as the two muttered an synchronized incantation.

The glowing pentagram above the pond flickered between red and purple. Darkwood became eerily still. 

At first, nothing. Not a sight of something new. It was disappointing.

Then a hand reached out from a pentagram, aggressively pushing out what seemed to be another caprine.

The Lamb and Goat took it upon themselves to bring the body out, yet froze in horror.

The creature in front of them was like no other, a type of mix of a goat and lamb with a crown-like snake with two heads and magenta coloring wrapped around its neck tightly as it stared down in what seemed disapproval. Yet the creature creepily smiled at the Lamb and Goat, too happy to see the two.

Both the Lamb and Goat stepped back.

What exactly did they create?

Chapter Text

The mix of sweet and tart from the steaming tea of rosehip was hard to break the glares between the two former gods of the same crown.

At "heads", found innocent before guilty. At "tails", found guilty before innocent.

A jackal versus a cougar.

"So. My other half was chained over silly paranoia. How interesting that is. And now you reign supreme here in this cult as a high priest, serving yourself to someone who never shows her face."

Nitha, the "tails" in this situation, calmly sipped his tea despite little struggle to hold his cup properly due to his big hands.

Narinder, the "heads" in this situation, sat quietly. He didn't touch his tea, only glaring at it as if disgusted by it.

"Poison?"

The three-tailed cougar only laughed at Narinder's distrust in the tea.

"You think I would do such a thing, to my own kind by the ichor of the crown? You serving here has made you paranoid."

Nitha shook his head.

"The tea is safe, I assure you."

Narinder scoffed but obliged, taking his cup. Not that he trusted Nitha that much to believe the cougar didn't sneak a poisonous plant into the tea.

He hesitated a taste, keeping his third eye on alert as it stared at Nitha's 2 pairs of eyes that complimented his main ones.

"What are you suggesting from me? More specifically on how I devote myself to the Reverend Mother. It sounds disgusting to you?"

Nitha's ears perked up yet he scoffed.

"Not that I'm disgusted. But.. not once a bit of getting back after her refusal to give up the crown. That is your right, and you have yet to take it back."

The three-tailed jackal stiffened at his words. It had been too long since that unfortunate day where he fought her. He was so angry then, he had ideas of keeping her by his side yet she refused to join him. Then the rest were a blur, leaving his vision in white till he was at the cult for indoctrination.

He was mad then, but he had the time to move on. So there was change in between.

"I accepted my fate. After all, I am no longer in chains. My gifted children are enjoying themselves. I found peace, despite my still hatred to my once siblings."

Nitha wasn't amused yet didn't protest. He took another sip of his tea.

"You're weak, Narinder."

Chapter Text

As spring blossomed throughout the world in ease, new beginnings arose within the calming cult. The harvest wasn't too long to begin, the arrays of flowers were beginning to bloom from the winter ground to greet the faces of every cultist.

Although the sights of perfect new life were endearing, some things were not so pleasing.

Such as the ascension of crownbearers.

"A third eye? Is that why my headaches have been more frequent?"

The Reverend Mother calmed asked as her head turned to Narinder's attention, the dark veil hiding her visual confusion.

Around the end of winter, she had numerous headaches and the Red Crown had been in its serpent form since the beginning of winter. At first, she had dismissed it in thought of it being sin being produced somewhere in the cult.

Unfortunately not.

Narinder, in spite of his cold stare, his gaze seemed to soften out of sorrow to not able to fix the headaches she endured due to the changes. To see his own wife in such pain to become greater was both to amazement but agony. All he could do in those moments were to stay by and calm her.

"That is correct. The crowns tend to flow power of the previous bearer on the new one. Traits from the past that are sewn into the present."

The Reverend Mother took a moment, trying to make her third eye blink but nothing.

"Is it meant to stay open at all times? It would feel awkward during our times together privately."

The jackal looked then shook his head, the jewelry crowned on his head making a soft jingle at the movement.

"No, it will not. Since it is new, it will take time to train it properly to obey your muscles and expressions. Believe me, I was frustrated at first to this."

The tall, feminine figure nodded and patted Narinder's head with a light chuckle.

"You are too good for me, husband. So wise."

Narinder smiled fondly at the affections but cleared his throat as a follower passed by the two.

"I was once the One Who Waits. It is within my stature to be known of such things as the eye of the Red Crown."

He then paused.

"It will happen to the Lamb as well, as he bore the crown first before you. It is best we prepare them, have them bedridden."

The Reverend Mother nodded, making her way to her shelter as Narinder followed behind her.

"Yes, of course. My child is still so young. Eyes such as this will not be so easy to bear, especially to such youth."

Chapter Text

"Now. Sozo. Tell me of your studies before... those menticides took over."

"Ah, of course! Where to begin, where to begin?"

Sozonius was walking for weeks within Anura's horrid wilderness. The mushroom trees creeped her out, the silent wails of what seemed to be lost and unfortunate creatures made the domain all more eerie.

They continued to walk further down the path to what now seemed to nowhere. They were getting tired, impatient even. Where was this "prized power" that being from the pier told them about?

Sozonius stopped for a minute, checking the map they had. 

"Near the skull of the Amanitas. It should be here! Where.."

Sozonius was about to give up and turn home to their colony just journeys away, until something shriveled out from the ground.

A little mushroom creature, no taller than five or six pumpkins.

The creature looked up at Sozonius, eyes in a daze of happiness as it spoke eerily cheerful.

"Hello, hello! Traveler, yes? Lost your way, hm? Our lady Rosie Bonnet will aid you! She is at the Amanita skull, waiting!"

Although creeped out by the little thing, Sozonius lightly waved their hand in a dismissal. 

"I appreciate the help, little creature. But I.. I can't seem to find this skull. My map says it is here but I don't see it anywhere."

The mushroom giggled, which didn't sit right for Sozonius. The creature offered something red, spotted.

A mushroom with a happy smile.

"Here! To help see! It is here, trust in us!"

Sozonius was hesitant. At one hand, they believed to trust this creature to show them the way. But on the other, it felt like a trick. Were they being tricked because of their gullible belief they would find what they wanted? 

Yet their ambition, their desire, was pulling them in.

Gluttonous to seek truths for their work.