Alright First Things First, This Is A Bloody Long Chapter. I Know I Have Been Saying That A Lot Recently

AAAAnother chapter, we are at 6th now, Hurray... Anyway I am sick as hell and wish to go outside to get some fresh air to see if it helps. I hope you all enjoy it. 

Love the redesign, it looks woooool ye indeed. Also new profile pic is looking rather nice.

I made a slight redesign of my lamb

Now her wool looks like actual wool yee

Still unsure if it's just a headcanon or is this AU or OC thingy...

Kalamari

Alright, Hello! Welcome you all to the third episode of The Five Traitors. This time as you might have been able to guess we will be taking a look at the ol Squid boy/God Kallamar.

This chapter has taken me a while to make and I hope you all enjoy it, it is a little long but I am sure it won’t be a problem for you all. (Also the Ao3 link is down there) (:

There was a storm outside. One with great thunder that soared through the skies with a boom that reverberated across the halls and rain that can only be called a cacophony as it assaulted the walls of his temple.

With such a storm came the ocean, so fierce even the most foolhardy captains would avoid testing their luck or mettle. Once blue skies now turned grey like the murky foam that claimed the sand.

Rising above high, almost touching the clouds started the wave far away, then a moment later too soon did it come crashing against the golden beach with a force strong enough to break apart rock and stone. Just like that after such a fierce blow did it slowly recede back, with it took the pieces it claimed, to take them back with it to the unknown so far away.

In such discord, there were few who could bear it let alone enjoy it and as the Lord of these lands and the waters so ferocious he was not one of those few. Far from it in fact as he was one of many that hid from the horrid noises such storms brought, trying to cower away inside to stop the monotonous yet terrifying screams of nature.

Hiding away would perhaps be too harsh as he was only choosing to stay in his chambers. One could even say that he wasn't even really a choice and he was just getting ready for… a visit

Indeed, if one were to come to his chambers uninvited they would see him with his collection. Taking stock of his tools of war, checking his blades and scepters alongside many assortment of holy weapons.

Of course, such a thing would never happen. No one would sneak into his chambers of course, to see him not assorting his weapons and instead curled against the wall shaking. On the verge of tears over such a small thing as a storm, covering his ears in an attempt to stop the cacophony…

No, no one would ever see him like this, a God in such a pathetic form. Indeed No one ever has… other than one but he would not really be with them after they were done with their little visit.

After the visit there would be no one who could claim to have seen him cower before such a benign thing as a storm. After the visit there would never be anymore ridicule, mocking or indifference. There would only be soothing ignorance to his real pitiful self, as he would be left as the third in the line up of bishops. Forgotten as he was always meant to be.

Always spoken with dismissal if spoken at all. Always swept under the dark where none could see him and cause harm. Always be seen as invalid and protected even though he was fully able to protect himself if need be, at least in theory.

Of course, it would always stay as a theory as he was currently stuck against the wall of his chamber. No, not stuck, just preoccupied with preparations.

After another particularly loud lighting which came too close to his temple for comfort he looked up at the sudden feeling of wetness against his tentacles. Has the storm outside that had laid claim to his realm, to have come to take the last of his respite away from him? How had it breached the sanctit-

Oh… It was not rain. Black as the skies above it was ichor. wiping at his eyes he changed the ‘verge of tears’ to ‘in tears’ as now he shed few more indignant tears at his own inadequacy.

Just how much of a coward was he? Just how much of a failure? How much of a mistake?

Eyes burning with ichor he buried his head against his tentacles, trying to stop them pouring out with limited success.

What if someone saw him like this? What if one of his followers saw him weeping away in his room where he was meant to lead them in just a few hours time? What Would they think of him?

He assumed they would mostly just be disappointed but then again perhaps empathy would have been possible not too long ago. After all his apothecaries were known for their sympathy as well as their healing as one bred the other and the other complimented the first. Surely though, they were not really  apothecaries anymore were they?  not after they showed up at least…

No, he would not get empathy if they saw him like this. Not that he could blame them really.

He was not really given that by his own family, why would he get any from the ones he was supposed to lead?  No, it was just wrong to expect them to march to their doom and also pity him like the rest of everyone he had ever known… barring him. Ignoring him he pondered to the rest of his family.

There was his sister, if were to be seen by Heket there would not even be pity much less empathy. She would take one good look at his form and the wretched bile within her would rise to squash him where he stood. She would strike out in full force and in but a few short words he would be begging for what counted as a lecture to end. She would ask if he was truly the Lord of Plague, truly one of the Bishops of the old faith, truly a brother she could accept. There he would stand, almost in trial as he would mutter excuse after excuse, trying to get her to stop for a moment so he could breathe, maybe to beg her enough so she would stop assaulting his ears with her often thunderous voice.

But it wouldn’t work, it never really did. In a few minutes he would go from feeling saddened to pathetic and to miserable shortly after. Of course, she never did any of these because she hated him. No, she never really truly looked down on him. She was just giving criticism. Indeed it was him who was just too thin-skinned, she was just offering suggestions if he had just looked beneath her wording and just read between the lines… really, he was just a snowflake wasn’t he?

Then there was Leshy, there would be pity there. Lots of it in fact… After all the mocking laughter there were loads of sympathy. Each time he would howl in delight at his expense, there was always understanding hidden deep within. Each time he would whisper behind him where he couldn’t perceive just to see his reaction. Each time he would stalk him through his lands to haunt him until he couldn’t take it.

Really, it was just that He couldn’t take a joke. So what if he would lay restless each night where his ears would be worn down due to his shrieks. Where he would spend days sleepless trying to soothe them with no success, just before passing out of exhaustion into a merciful slumber. So what if, he would be looking behind him even in the sanctity of his own temple, always expecting to be followed for each step he took. Where he would station apothecaries at each of the doors just to get a semblance of safety amidst the paranoia he found himself in. So what if the only times he got to sleep without exhausting himself he kept a dagger beneath his pillow just to be safe. Really, if he could just loosen up then maybe he too would be laughing with him.

Lastly there was indifference given readily by their eldest Shamura, sweet indifference and ignorance at his sheer existence. Someone to be swept under, to be forgotten so all could ignore his inadequacy. It was perhaps the most merciful response to his being, no ridicule nor barely hidden disgust hidden with criticism and lectures. Just looking the other way and acting as if he simply didn’t exist.

If he could just be more like his other better siblings, then perhaps he could be given attention to. Then again his siblings weren’t like him, they were not failures.

Leshy never feared a single thing amidst this earth, not mortal nor beast, even their eldest up to a certain point. He simply did as he pleased even when one begged him to stop, nothing short of death would stop him. Only if he was so cruel.

Shamura was perfect, they were perfection made reality. They stood as the eldest amidst them all, one that reigned above them all as was his rightful place in their A quinte- no, their quartet. There was no being like them, as one could never reach perfection. One could only hopelessly follow it, chase it around until maybe they could catch a glimpse of it on the horizon. There was no hope for him though, he was not fast in this race nor enduring enough. He was slow as a turtle and as energetic as a sloth.

As for Heket, well she never shed a tear in her life. Not once in their uncountable years had he seen her shed a single drop of a tear. Not when she lost her first witness when she sacrificed herself for her, not when she lost villages full of her followers to starvation, not when their sibling left them…

In contrast he wept the first time he had to sacrifice one of his followers. They wanted him to do it, they practically begged him to take their life so he could be one with him. He could still remember the cold stone of his temple as he stood in front of all his siblings, all looking, judging.

He wept as expected, as soon as he felt his heart stop. In front of all his followers and siblings he wept over a simple mortal. He could still feel the disappointment from all their eyes, baring one. Heket shaking her head as Leshy snickered behind her, even Shamura paid enough attention to look away from him. All deep within carried pity for him that day, baring one. The cruelest of their siblings carried not pity, nor disgust. He carried sympathy so unwanted.

He carried that wretched feeling within himself as he walked up to him after the debacle. He walked up to him so callously and took him by the hands to guide him to his realm where he got to see his beloved follower yet again. He wept once more there, but this time it didn’t stung as bad as he told his final goodbyes to his most faithful, without the gaze of the rest of his siblings, baring him.

That misbegotten brother of his, he carried the belief of him being capable within himself. He never saw him for what he truly was, he always looked at him as if he had potential deep within instead of failure. A fool and a cruel man he was.

The same cursed brother who would have taken his hands even now, to ask him what was wrong as he did in days like this so long past. Today he wouldn’t know what to tell him but back then he told him it was the thunder and the rain that made him weep and nothing more.

He should have mocked him for standing as a god and yet being afraid of something so laughable, something that had no way of actually hurting him even back when he was much younger. He should have lectured him, told him his cowardice was a shame he brought to The Old Faith, he should have laughed at him for his weakness, he shouldn’t have even asked him what was wrong, he should have just left him to his devices and attend their court instead.

No, he just had to embrace him. He just had to look him in the eyes and tell him that no rain nor thunder could haunt him when he was with him. He had to give him the only thing he was good with, his first blade. Tell him that he didn’t need to ever be afraid as long as he was willing to fight.

He cursed him the day they sparred against one another in those halls, the day where he found something he was not a failure at. The day where he learned he hadn’t needed to be taken care of as an invalid and that he could be strong.

How he hated his brother for he took him out of his quiet dark corner and showed him the stars he came from. Promising him all that was under their grand light if he just fought for it, not realizing he was wasting his time.

Sudden anger now coursing through his veins he suddenly looked up from his corner, still on the ground with his tentacles up to his chest. Wiping at his eyes yet again, he got up slowly. He couldn’t just stay here to mop, even if it was the only other thing he was good for.

When the last of his tears dried, he looked around to take stock of his options. In his weapon rack he saw many weapons he had used in the times when even he was needed.

Scepters made for war, their gold glinting against the jewels adorning them. His hand momentarily went across one of their handles before receding. No, he needed something closer.

As his hand moved back he spotted his smaller collection. Daggers of all kinds, all lining the walls with each promising him safety allowed from such a hidden weapon. He had to admit, it was a good idea to carry one be they under a pillow or in battle. Still, he also needed some distance between him and his brother if he ever even got to fight him before he would be sidelined by his more capable siblings.

Not even looking at the holy hand grenades he moved to his most favorite part of his collection, swords of all sides in their individual cases. There were many to choose from, some straight and narrow, some curved and graceful. In the end however he chose the saber, standing taller than any mortal, Forged by blacksmiths from so far away. It would be useful.

Before he could leave his chambers to wash away the ichor, before anyone could spot him. His gaze fell on a forgotten part of his collection. In the far corner, he saw it. It was a small blade, one standing just about a mortal's height. Forged before he came to this earth from the holy lights high above, it was his first blade.

He didn’t know what possessed him to move closer to the rightfully forgotten relic, if it could even be called as such. Gingerly opening the small case, he took the weapon by the handle. It was far from easy to wield with his new size, but somehow it still felt natural within his grasp.

A high swing and a low strike, it was… unneeded. It was far too small to be used as a sword and far too big to be a dagger, it was just awkward to handle on top of that. Bringing this piece of loathed history was just a mistake…

Then again, he too was a mistake so it was only right that he would bring it to possibly his doom.

The track to the temple was unpleasant, that much was to be expected really. Between the still ongoing storm and the mountainous path, it had made everything more miserable than it had to be. Then again, maybe it had to be miserable. After all, they did come uninvited, didn't they.

Just another one of his brother’s cruelties he thought as his tentacles moved up the path. Why had he found his temple here of all places? Did he assume they would come for him one day and wanted to make it as hard as possible? or Perhaps he wanted to make it impossible for any of them to visit him, then again why would he visit his brother?

Perhaps he did it because he could. It was possible that he made his temple up on these mountains because he could do so unlike him. He was strong and independent enough to climb such high with his followers and establish such a bastion in a place so uninhabitable.

Perhaps, he just wanted to look down upon them from his castle so far high up.

Lost in thought he didn’t hear from the cacophony when one of his aphoteceri- warriors fell to her death, or at least he acted like he hadn’t heard her cries. She was no one of importance, just a mother of three with a husband lost when a prank of his brother got out of hand. Someone who worked at the cult's bakery when not in the sick bay as a nurse.

Someone who hadn’t cried for him when they fell to the stone jutting out of the side of the cliff, who didn’t ask for his mercy, who he couldn’t help because it would show him as a weakling yet again.

Forward he walked, not confident nor willing but he moved forward nonetheless.

The initial breach was bloody, as expected. His brother had raised good warriors, all who carried his name in their lips as they dove into the battle they had no chance of winning. While his soldiers fell with faces full of sorrow and anguish. Only if he was good enough to raise them as well as he.

Eventually however, even their zeal gave out. All coming back to the realm of the living from their deserved slumber to protect their master even as their bodies broke below them it wasn’t enough. In the end, they all broke away to torn limbs and broken bodies.

So they reached the gate to his throne room. Wide open with him still sitting on his throne looking at them with eyes that spoke nothing but spite.

How cruel he was, as they walked past the broken bodies of his protectors torn asunder. How his eyes didn’t twitch with indignation, as their sister stepped over a small mound made of bodies as she didn’t even bother to look down, or when his brother Leshy held a wolf within his grasp squeezing at his ribcage like a toy as he looked around bored like this was all some sightseeing.

How he hadn’t looked away as the wolf’s last words fell on the deaf ears of his master. He cried ‘F-forgive m… me-e lord for I- I… have failed-d’ as his Lord's breath hadn’t hitched for but a moment.

Now they stood, four looking at the Lord of Death as he sat still.

Then after a moment that stretched over a millenia Shamura spoke, the one that seemed least interested in this affair. ‘’Brother, Narinder. We have come to take you back’’ He looked at the Master of War at their words for a moment, surely they didn’t mean that had they? Their brother should not be allowed back, he couldn’t be allowed back… should he?

A voice rang out from the throne, one of laughter that lacked mirth that quickly fell to melancholy. ‘’His name was Melvin you know, my Witness’’ He got up from his chair slowly as he walked closer to them. He felt his grip on his sabre harden as he felt each step reverberate against the ground.

He pointed at the small mound as his voice grew colder ‘’They were the ones whom I called my priests. Lancelot the deafened’’ After a moment he added ‘’He was a grand writer. The one closer to me was Deniz, they held no title but were grand nonetheless.’’ He sighed as he gazed at the last of the ones who still could be distinguished amidst the pile ‘’Joan, youngest of them all. She was a poet an-’’

He was cut out by their sister as she spoke ‘’Quit the nonsense Narinder’’ She turned to Leshy as she held her axe closer ‘’Leshy, with me’’ Before she could take her place against him however their siblings hand stopped her.

Shamura eyed her wearily, as they sighed ‘’There is no need for such action sister, Narinder will come with us to his rightful place’’ they looked back at Narinder ‘’Won’t you brother?’’ There was almost a tinge of hope behind their seemingly uninterested voice.

He for his part looked upon his sibling for a moment, so many untold thoughts coming through his mind surely. For a moment as he looked deep into his unsure eyes, he thought that their brother would show one kindness to him and show him that he did not stand to go against their sibling’s word. Show him that all had to follow his word no matter how nonsensical and humiliating it felt, and that it was not something one could fight against. Yet again his hope was dashed across the halls broken as his eyes met the still bloodied hand of Leshy still clutching the corpse of his follower.

He shook his head before a gentle smile bloomed slowly over him, he spoke ‘’No, I don’t think I will sibling’’

At his words came a warcry from Heket, striding at their brother with full force. Swinging his warhammer Leshy joined her, barreling at him in force. He was as he looked over the battle commencing in front of him. Looking over to their eldest he looked much like a statue as they gazed at nowhere in particular.

Just then a voice rang out, coming from Heket who was deflecting a blow from their brother ‘’Come on you damn squid, be useful for once and join us!’’

Before he could apologize to her for his failure, Leshy spoke while swinging his warhammer over his head ‘’Leave the crybaby be, we don’t need that coward’’

He didn’t let their words sink deep before entering the fray, his three hearts beating down in his chest as he tried to match their brother’s style. It was easier said than done however as they were not in those halls like back in the days, his brother was not holding back.

Each strike was perfect, his ripostes were blinding as were his dodges. Each strike felt like fighting against the thunder outside as they all got reflected or turned against him with a counter. His ears rang out almost deafened by the noise of steel against steel.

What was not helping their fight was the fact that there was no cohesion between them all. Heket acted like he nor Leshy existed as she pushed further and further against their brother who brushed each of her advances. As for Leshy, he acted like it was all a free for all as he swung wildly at them all with almost a giggle emanating from him.

It all went so fast, one moment they were fighting and the next he met the stone under them, his sabre falling behind him as he heard the metal hitting the floor. Momentarily stunned it took him a while to look over to his siblings, but as soon as his eyes met them he wished he hadn’t.

Leshy was on the ground clutching his face as he shook violently, Heket on the other hand was against a pillar as she held her throat, oozing ichor slowly as she no doubt tried to curse the one that caused the injury.

Their brother paid neither any mind as he slowly made his way to him, walking slowly as he looked down on him with pity. So now he was finally kind to him, looking at him the way all should have.

Breathing deep he tried to calm down, his three hearts now feeling like they were about to tear their way out of him as he slowly realized what was to happen. He was going to die.

The primal urge to fight back was overtaken by sheer terror as he was frozen to his spot, unable to even look at his brother he instead closed his eyes. His hands to his eyes, he tried to calm himself down.

No matter what he did however, it didn’t help. Each step he took closer to him drew him closer to the inevitability. This is what he was always afraid of wasn’t it? The unstoppable constant that is death, his brother.

The thing that pushed them so far from those lackadaisical days at his temple, to now here. It was almost poetic if it wasn’t so scary.

Steps stopped close to him. A second then a minute, nothing happened. Too afraid to open his eyes he waited for his assured doom, why couldn’t his brother just finish him already? Had he have to torture him like this?

But instead of a blade striking down he heard his brother’s voice. This time it felt… odd. ‘’Why are you afraid brother?’’ He stopped shaking ever so slightly as he moved his fingers just enough to look upon his executioner. ‘’Haven’t I told you, you have nothing to fear as long as you are willing to fight?’’

He was stunned for a moment, his surprise caused by his voice just as much as his unwillingness to finish him off. ‘’I-I c-cant… I can’t fight-t I.. I’’ He tried to form words but his throat squeezed harder and harder at his attempt.

Seemingly not seeing his struggle, or perhaps because of that struggle ‘’Why so?’’

Gathering what courage he had within him he looked up, his fingers fully parted he gazed upon his brother. Now on his knee with his weapon to his side, he gave him a curious look. Breathing in deep, he let it out with a sigh ‘’I… I have no blade’’ His throat constricting further at his attempt he felt the tears finally breach as he wailed ‘’J-just end it already!’’

Just why was he still playing with him?! What was his damn game? Had he just wanted to see him in tears, did he just want to humiliate him one more time as if he wasn’t already?

Lost in thought he didn’t see his hand move to his face, gasping for a moment as he felt his paw wiping at one of the tears running down his eyes. In a voice so soft ‘’You have a blade, one so dear to me as you are’’

What blade? He thought before he remembered. His hands went to his cloak to seek his old blade to feel nothing, he felt a terrifying chill run down his body before suddenly he saw it within Narinder’s paw, offering it to him just like once before.

Hesitantly he reached out, grasping the weapon by the small hilt. His brother gave him a smile before he grabbed him by the shoulder. Slowly they got up, both upright as Narinder moved a step away from him.

He small smile crept to his lips before in a playful tone ‘’Come on Kalamari, show me what you got’’

He oddly enough returned his smile, maybe out of confusion or perhaps fear. It began, slow at first as his brother countered his attacks. His strikes were not like the ones a moment past, they weren’t softer perhaps but they didn’t carry the same intent from before.

But eventually the warm up ended as the spar or fight or really whatever this was supposed to be really started. Almost like a dance his brother struck from one side to the next, spinning a moment before jumping high. It was not really a sound idea in battle to do either but it was… Fun.

Taking his clue he started his own ‘dance’, crouching low before raising his blade high to meet his on air. Spinning on his tentacles to match his turns and weaves, to add to their play.

In the end, he couldn’t call this much of a spar, but it was something more perhaps. Something that made him forget all those years spent fearing him, something that quickly ended with the addition of another dancer who didn’t seem to care much about softening their blows.

This new dancer was not really in favor of their dance going on longer either as they struck true and quick. In a few short moments he found himself going against the newcomer alongside his brother, this time neither struck soft as they battled them.

But by sheer chance or perhaps misfortune his brother fell to his knees, a moment so wrong and horrific. Not one moment sooner he found himself on the ground also with a strange ring in his ears as they felt… odd. Something ran through his head as he looked up to meet his sibling with their claws against his brother’s throat.

Realization hit him as he understood what he had just done, he fought against his eldest. The thought terrified him to his core as his mind ran with the possibility of what was to happen to him. Would he be cast out? Would he be run through with claws? Would he…

He was taken from these portents by the gasps of his brother who struggled in the grasp of their elder. In that moment he felt horror stronger than that of the fear he felt for his own life, one for his brother’s.

So their dance ended for real this time, as his blade pierced the heart of their eldest when they seemed so intent on taking the life of his brother, overlooking his sheer existence for the last time. One moment they looked within their brother’s dimming eyes with nothing but pain and in the next they found themselves in his realm as they collapsed upon the stone.

His brother breathed hard as he looked up to him from the ground, his eyes regaining their shine as he gazed upon his blade which ran with ichor.

Offering his hand he took it in his a moment later, and they rose up from the ground just like a moment before their dance.

He felt an awkward silence settle between the two of them before the soft voice from before cut through ‘’You did good Kalamari’’ He chuckled softly ‘’Real good’’

As he felt a small chuckle rise out of him, he found himself in his embrace, He did good didn’t he?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44580424/chapters/114866662

Praise be his servants for they have answered us with the truth we seek.

(Heh, love Aym's eyes, the difference between the right and the left is rather stylized.)

Greetings the grand servants of The One Who Waits, the Lord of the Death and all beyond. Hearing of your respite from duty to answer our questions brings great joy to me and many more who still choose to follow our Lord from the beyond.

Anyhow, I wish to ask something that has bothered me for long years since my first encounter with the teachings of our lord. What does our Lord ask of us? To be specific, how do we properly worship his greatness? The heretic Bishops such as Heket wish us to starve ourselves just as Shamura asks us to lose ourselves in bloodlust to worship them completely.

But how are we to worship him? Are we to sacrifice ourselves? Are we to take lives in his great name? Or is perhaps blind prayer enough?

Baal: Make no mistake, it's hard to find the right gift.

Aym: Feel free to contact me if you are interested in the LIFE gift.

Baal: That shall be your choice dear follower.

EDIT: Font change.

Didn’t Matter

Hello there, firstly I am trying something new on Tumblr. I wanna see how these short stories will do here. I am kind of new to these things so sorry if I am going against etiquette in some way. Anyhow I was meaning to talk about my headcanons and write them here but I thought giving an account of them through a story was a bit more entertaining and much more fulfilling. I hope you all enjoy this, if you all do I might continue it. also the link to the AO3 should be down there.

Warnings: Blood, Violence

WC: 1407

Rating: T+

It was not a quiet day. Far from it in fact as the sounds of battle reverberated across the temple I called my own.

Clashing steel against one another as they forced their way into his temple. Singing praises to my siblings. They poured into our home like thunderous rain, washing away the defenses set by my own flock. They showed no mercy as they ran them through, but as they moved forwards they noticed the death they gave was not the end for their would be victims.

One by one, all those they thought slaughtered rose from their supposed final slumber. To attack there would be killers. Some cried, some laughed maybe at the irony or just out of madness. But it didn’t matter.

Even as they got slaughtered back they pushed their way forwards with unending numbers on their side. An unceasing tide pushing against the shores of the restless dead. Eventually they came, the siblings I once called beloved. What a sight they were. Leshy breaking the very earth as he swung his hammer, Kallamar as he tore through the lines with his blades, Heket as she chopped my followers to bits. The only one standing unbloodied was Shamura, they stood clean amidst the carnage. If one were to ask me what was the oddest sight amidst this accursed day, I would tell them it was her. They were the most unusual. Not the sibling coming to slaughter one another nor the followers of the same faith tearing each other apart as they let their steel talk rather than the preachers. They stood as a Goddess of war, unbloodied amidst a carnage such as this. Even as my followers flung themselves at the four they stood unimpeded. Whatever opposition they had offered didn't matter. The four entered the throne room unopposed in the end, but none of their followers followed. Maybe it was because of orders or perhaps by genuine fear as they saw me in my fullest. 

I sat upon the throne with my scythe to my side. I wore no armor as I knew for beings such as us, no armor could stop our blows. No. I stood with only robes as white as snow. There were no words exchanged for what felt like eons. Eventually I spoke ‘’So, what has brought my dear siblings to my domain?’’ Even as I spoke I felt anger course through me. Trying to keep calm I drummed my hand against the throne. I was answered with silence as loud as the battle still waged behind. None met my eyes, not the proud Heket nor the coward Kallamar, other than Shamura. They gazed upon me as if they were judging me. What a funny little concept. They spoke after a sigh ‘’Narinder, Lord of Death, Traitor of the Old Faith, we have come to stop you for your Her-’’ 

I cut them off before they could speak more nonsense ‘’You think me as a traitor? a heretic even?’’ a scoff escaped me ‘’I am neither, my deluded sibling. Has your age finally gotten to you? Perhaps you have become maddened in your search for knowledge?’’ I got off the throne and as I did I could see my siblings take up arms once more, their limbs tightening against their weapons. I did not. I had my scythe still against my back.

I paced across the room as I continued ‘’You have come upon my realm, you have slaughtered my devout followers, you have insulted me with your baseless accusations’’ At last I stopped meeting Shamura’s eyes ‘’And you dare suggest I am the traitor?’’ I saw the way their face fell further as they closed their eyes, breathing once more they spoke ‘’I know the fate you wish to befall upon us Narinder. I saw it all, I saw your plans for us all, for the ones loyal to the Old Faith.’’ I laughed as they finished, what little faith for a God I thought. To believe some vision they have had over their own brother. To judge them based on something as simple as divination. I wanted to cry at that moment, to ask why, to demand why she would ever judge me on something that would never come to pass. I wanted to strangle her as I asked her what ill have I ever done to warrant the ostracization, the ceremonies I was excluded from, the unwillingness to hear my pleas for audience, the tears I shed not knowing why my cult had to be disbanded. But it didn’t matter. My laugh ended abruptly as I took up arms. My scythe by my side. Leshy was first. My brother was a being of chaos. His hammer reflected this well. He swung wildly as he tried to squash me down, but he held back. I could see it in his eyes as he tried to incapacitate me rather than kill me. It was a mercy that caused him much as I jumped over one of his blows to land upon the hammer. There was a pang in my heart as I clawed his eyes out, one swing and no more would the Leshy of Darkwood see. Next was Kalamar. He surprised me as he dodged my attacks. Weaving and countering all I could throw at him, but even as Heket helped him defend, he couldn’t keep up with me. I was stronger, faster, better, I was better. I saw his ears twitch as I got the upper hand on him, his brother always had his ears twitch when he was nervous. As of late it was whenever I was close to him, fluttering around as if I was an enemy, a beast, a monster. I swung, and no more did his ears offend me. Kallamar of Anchordeep would hear no more. A shrill voice came when Kallamar hit the ground weeping. and an ax flew for my throat, just to be caught by my scythe. Heket was a challenge. A challenge to be around, a challenge to be a friend to, a challenge not to love. She was strong, confident, smart, annoying, nagging and criticizing. Her words cut deep, deeper than the blow I almost received as I ducked just in time. It was time she stopped. a gurgle sounded from the ground as I silenced her forevermore. Heket of Anura would speak no more.

As we stood face to face with her, my sibling, my caretaker, the one I loved more than all, the one that took away my beloved cult, relegated me to a misbegotten legend, changed the very sermons so none could remember me. My first sibling now faced me with a withered look, their eyes not meeting mine. I could almost believe myself as I thought they wept. Only one word broke my silence ‘’Why?’’ We fought, steel against claw, magic against curse, brother against sister, traitor against traitor. I couldn’t match them, they were stronger, faster, better, they were better. But even as we fought, I could see their faith waning. Their blows softening, their curses now aimless, their eyes full of shame. In the end though, it didn’t matter. I struck their head, tearing apart the mind that thought me as a traitor. Shamura of Silk Cradle would think no more. As for me, well my chest wasn’t left untouched as my guts bursted out. 

I hit the ground, in the pool of my siblings blood as well as mine.I heard the chanting raise from all around me as I lay. I wept then and there. I would deny it, but it is true, I did. I wept as the chains shot out from the portal to the limbo and took me by the limbs. The searing heat of them only a mild pinprick in comparison to the pain of betrayal I felt. 

I raked my arms upon the ground as I tried to claw myself away from the void I was being dragged to. I gave all my might even as they got torn apart. But it didn’t matter. As I was dragged off to my fate I saw Shamura. They spoke even through their wound ‘’five becomes four becomes three becomes two becomes one becomes nothing’’

I felt a chuckle raise its way out as I was swallowed by the blinding white. All their efforts, all  their spilled blood, all their sacrifice. 

It didn’t matter. 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43839834/chapters/110230173

Trully, most highest honour one can receive.

I need to draw my lamb boy more, heres some doodles

Just wanna say i cant wait for the next chapter

I love this story so much

Also have a great day

Thank you! I hope you have a great day also. As for the new chapter, I am thinking of releasing it today. Hopefuly anyhow. (:

Alright my fellow tumblr people,  I have survived the ilness which has taken hold of me and I stand victorious over it. Other than that there is not much to say, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I will try to be faster in the new episodes now that I don’t feel terrible but I still got a uni to worry about so... yeah

Alright Folk, firstly I am still alive behest of efforts done by my midterms. I am still alive and kicking, anyway I have written another chapter actually I have written like three, but alas I decided that publishing all three would be a bad idea and that I should look em over before posting. I know, common sense is rather out of fashion but then again so is this site sometimes and we still keep on using it. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, more will be added in time. :)

Puppers, a doggy even

Some real life stuff

I GOT A DOG

Look at this girl I'm crying