Here's chapter two on the same day, as promised! Praise the lamb!
~|o|~
The flickering of torchlight bled through the stained glass windows, bathing the interior of the chapel in a red, wavering glow. One of the large wooden doors groaned as it opened just far enough for a certain lamb to slip inside. The roar of raucous laughter and joyous off-tune singing filled the room for a brief moment before he eased the door closed again, just barely heard through the solid surface.
The lamb slumped against it, his head making a soft thump and he let out a low, aggravated breath. One that had been building inside him over the course of the last several hours.
The great feast in honor of him and the new holy day ("Thousands Day", his followers weren't terribly creative) was still going and would likely continue long into the next morning.
And yet he was here, almost sick of it all.
Whether his followers noticed him leaving or not he didn't find himself caring.
Shaking his head, he pushed off the door and slowly wandered down the middle of the chapel between the pews. Statues made in his honor and stained glass windows singing his triumphs loomed over him, in stark contrast to his somber state.
Climbing up the steps and passing the podium, he made his way to the door set in the far wall. Twisting the knob, he stepped into the darkness of his inner sanctum, his personal chambers.
The plush, red rug tickled the underside of his hooves as he strode over it, passing his desk laden with crimson stained scrolls and thick, rune covered tomes. He came to a stop in front of his bed, soft and stuffed with feathers, also colored red.
He hardly slept in it, considering he hardly needed to sleep thanks to the power of the Red Crown.
He made sure of that, his chosen vessel being able to toil and fight in his name without rest.
Tonight however, the lamb was exhausted beyond any fatigue in his body. His mind was heavy and any chance that a period of rest may solve that, he'll take.
He turned and sat on the edge of the bed and after brushing off his hooves on the mat at the foot, he pulled himself up and laid down on his back.
Lacing his hands together behind his head,he stared up at the angled, wooden ceiling and breathed again. The sounds of the festivities were faint, but ever so slightly audible here.
'A thousand followers, huh?'
Never had he thought that a four digit number would carry so much weight to it. He wasn't even sure that the bishops of the old faith ever had so many souls at their disposal. It just cemented the fact that there was nothing in his way now.
He had it all.
He had wreaked his vengeance upon the bishops and scattered their followers across the land. He built a cult from the ground up, becoming the most powerful religion since the forgotten ages, shrines made in his honor in every settlement supplying him with devotion. He had a home where none went hungry and could live out their lives without fear. He had more riches than anyone aside from the lord of avarice knew what to do with. He showered in the adoration of his scores of loyal followers, who would gladly throw themselves into the darkest depths if he so wished (he didn't, but the thought is what counted). He had everything a leader could ever want.
Then why did he feel so… empty?
As soon as that thought came over him, he felt a gentle caress on the edge of his mind. Arching his eyes past his brow he was met with the gaze of the crown resting on his head, its own pupil looking at him in concern.
The crown was the lamb's source of power, but it was also the closest thing he had to a companion. Linked to him in death, they were connected on a level deeper than anything he could imagine.
In the early days, the crown was cold and straight to the point in its communication with him, imparting meaning and intent with shared emotions instead of words. Perhaps its detachment at the time had been from its belief that he would fail, like all the others before him. Or that it knew what would become of him should he succeed and did not want to get attached.
But as the days wore on and he continued to prove himself, the crown's cold, telepathic prodding began to soften, especially as he treated it as a friend rather than a weapon or tool. Eventually, it actually seemed to care about him, a theory that was tested on that day.
Now he couldn't imagine a time that he never had it's comforting presence on his head and within his thoughts. There was no one he trusted more.
He sent comforting sentiments towards his sentient headwear accompanied with a smile.
"I'm alright. Just thinking is all."
The crown blinked and tilted its "body" in question.
"About how things are, really." He answered. "I've been feeling for a while that even with everything I have… something is… missing."
It sent another pulse of confusion, its eye looking at him, as if to say: "What more could you possibly want?"
"I know, I know. Doesn't make much sense to me either. I should be as happy as Helob with a full stomach, not that that could ever happen."
A brief tickle of warmth conveyed the crown's amusement at his jest.
"What do you think?" He asked. "Any idea what's wrong with me?"
It leaned forward a little, shaking uncontrollably as it silently laughed.
"Other than normal, you cheeky cap!" He snorted.
Soon enough the crown calmed down and straightened, its eye glancing to the side as he could tell it was deep in thought. A couple minutes later it looked back down at him, the sobering cold of regret and apology sinking into him.
"It's alright." He promised it with a small shake of the head. "Just because you're a relic of unimaginable power doesn't mean you have all the answers. Doesn't make me think of you any less."
Its eye glowed softly and he could feel its relief.
He smiled again. "What's that saying? Heavy is the head that wears the crown?" He mused while he reached up and gave it a little scratch on the side. It nuzzled against the digit rubbing it, its pliable velvet like texture sagging in bliss, waves of which poured over him like a bucket of warm water.
He let out a chuckle. He could imagine it purring like a cat if it could ever make a sound.
'Considering the original bearer, I wouldn't be surprised.'
"I think I just need to sleep it off. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning." He said, gently lifting the crown from his brow and reaching over to the plush pillow on the nightstand right next to the bed. The crown's eye was half lidded as it was set down and he could sense it bid him a good rest before it slipped away to dormancy, its presence still felt but muted.
Settling back on the bed, the lamb laced his hands on his chest and closed his eyes.
~|o|~
A stone paved path lay before the lamb through the darkness. What little light there was was stained crimson, almost hiding the innumerable stains upon the ground. A cold breeze raked it's fingers along his form, hardly shielded by the rags he now found himself in.
"What…?" He uttered, trying to move his arms, only to feel them bound in chains behind his back, the links rattling from his efforts.
"Where am I?" He asked aloud.
He was promptly rewarded with a sharp jab in his back and he twisted his head. Standing there was a pair of robed cultists, one of their curved daggers red with his blood.
"Walk tribute!" The one on the right ordered, gesturing with his weapon.
The lamb's eyes widened. He knew exactly where he was and what was happening. It was a night he had almost forgotten, a moment that was swept up in the tide that followed. One that he would rather he never recalled ever again.
His coronation day.
Immediately he started to panic.
Why here?! Why was he experiencing this again?!
The cultists didn't take his silence or noncompliance well, as one brought the pommel of his dagger onto his head. He cried out and fell to the cold stone, the throbbing on his skull making it painfully obvious that he did not have his crown.
He felt himself get lifted by the shoulders, his hooves making a hollow scraping sound as they dragged him down the path.
After several agonizing minutes it opened out into a round clearing. Without even looking up he knew who awaited him there. He could feel their overwhelming presence pushing down on him like gravity, making it hard to breathe.
With one last heave, he was thrown forward upon the raised dias into the center of a glowing red pentagram.
This couldn't be happening. This was a dream wasn't it? A nightmare!
"You thought you'd succeed where so many have and will continue to fail." Rumbled Heket despite the gaping hole where her throat once rested.
"Even your false god has forsaken you and now you are at our mercy!" Kallamar hummed softly, losing his sense of volume along with his ears.
"How amusing the one foretold failed so comically. Even the old rat came closer than you!" Leshy mocked him, his crown's green eye full of mirth in place of the bloody mess hidden by his blindfold.
"To fall.. to rise again… to fall again… again, again, again…" Shamura hissed absently, his mind often drifting with a fresh trail of red coming from his shattered skull.
The lamb, the once god shook on the dias, his eyes turned to pinpricks.
"No! You're dead! I killed you! I killed you!" He quailed.
"Ah, the inane prattlings of the weak. It's so terrified it knows not what it says." Leshy cackled.
"Enough chatter! Let us be done with this false idol and perhaps finally this troublesome prophecy will be forgotten."
"Let us be done with this…" Shamura agreed.
A heavy set of footsteps echoed from the right. Stepping out from the shadows was a hulking robed figure, his drapery splattered red. His red eyes gleamed from behind the mask pulled over his face. His chipped and bloodied axe gleamed in the candle light.
"No! NO! This isn't right!" The lamb cried, attempting to stumble to his feet only for the two cultists to tackle him to the ground. He thrashed and screamed: "This isn't right! THIS ISN'T RIGHT!"
But he had no crown. He was no god.
He was but a helpless lamb, ripe for the slaughter.
The headsman stopped and brought his axe over his head.
"NO-!"
A flash of metal and a heavy thud and the world was whirling.
He could not feel anything except for his head.
He landed painfully on the ground and blinked.
There was his body. Headless and spewing blood from the stump.
"Oh…" He said as the blood-his blood-pooled around him.
He sank beneath the red and began to fall. Naught but a head, the red light of the world above dwindling as he sank into the darkness. It filled his mouth and nose and despite lacking lungs he was choking on it.
'What's happening anymore?' He thought, his mind a haze as he continued to sink.
"How couldyou…"
His eyes shot open and he tried to look around as best one could, missing a neck, eventually gazing down into the inky abyss.
'Who said that?!' He thought aloud, unable to make a sound beyond bubbling coughs.
"How could you son?!" His blood ran cold at that voice.
No.
It couldn't be.
'M-Mother..?!'
"How could you have forsaken us son?!" The voice he thought to be his parent admonished him and from the depths, two eyes reflected the little light there was.
"You've forgotten us!" Another voice cried, the partner to the first, that made him think of strong, warm hugs.
"What kind of god are you?!" A third voice joined in, one that would have made his heart stop. One that brought back memories of innocent laughter and held hands.
More and more voices cried and wailed in a horrible choir of suffering and lamentation and he could finally see what awaited him.
Heads. So many heads.
And all of them were sheep. THE sheep. His parents. His friends. Even ones he had never seen before. They all stared at him with dead, glassy eyes. Their mouths were open in silent screams which did nothing to stop the onslaught of agony and horror.
"You promised you'd save us!"
"Murderer!"
"False savior!"
'No! No, please!' He pleaded. 'I didn't forget! I didn't forget! I didn't forget! I didn't forget!'
He repeated over and over again until the words had lost meaning.
The voices all went quiet, save for one.
"Then what is your name?" His mother asked.
He blinked.
'Its-!'
The bearer of the Red Crown? No.
'Its… my name is…'
The One Who Liberates? No!
'My… my name…'
The god of death?! NO!
The heads spoke as one.
WHO…
ARE…
YOU..?
'My name! WHAT IS MY NAME?!' He howled and dropped deeper and deeper, spiraling into the dark pit amidst the rest of his kind.
WHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOAREYOUWHOARE-
"AAAAAH!" He cried and pitched forward. His eyes unfocused, it took a few moments to realize he was back in his room.
Bringing his hand up, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. A chest! He had his body!
Looking down and patting himself, he confirmed that yes, he was no longer decapitated.
A pulse of concern to his right and he felt his crown leaping onto his head. Instantly he could feel it scan him, trying to find whatever spell or demon had distressed him so.
It would find nothing, he knew.
Whether it had been simply a dream conjured by his guilty subconscious or a true vision from beyond the veil he knew not.
All it did was put things into perspective.
Why he had been so unsatisfied as of late. And why he felt pangs of jealousy when he saw the two pig siblings reunited.
His fists clenched his bed's soft fabric as self loathing burned inside him. He had been so immersed in his quest for vengeance upon the bishops, he had forgotten the very reason he had done so.
His family. His friends. His race. Hunted down and put to the blade in fear of a prophecy that he ultimately fulfilled.
He was the last of his kind. Doomed to wander the world alone.
He felt a warm dampness on his cheek and noticed he was crying. Reaching up, he brushed them away and froze when he saw his hand.
Rather than the black ichor that normally fell from his eyes when enraptured in his power, he beheld clear beads of water. They pooled in the center of his palm and he just sat there, in awe.
He grit his teeth and crushed it within his grasp.
What a fool he was. Losing sight of what he once treasured. Had he really been so blind? Drunk on his growing powers and the adoration of his followers?
Then an odd thought struck him. And he smiled grimly.
He was a fool. But he was also a god. He had accomplished that which would be unthinkable.
What was one more deed to the list?
He stood up from his bed and finally answered his crown's inquiries with certainty and determination, the likes of which it had not witnessed since the day of his ascension. Now intrigued, it hummed with power and asked him of his new found mission.
He took a deep breath to clear his head. In that moment, he finally remembered.
"Lambert. I am Lambert. By the power of the Red Crown I will steal back what was taken from me. Even if I have to tear it from the abyss with my bare hands."