Chapter Text
Who was this creature treading upon his land? A lamb wielding divine powers, bearing the Red Crown. Ah, so it was time. This was inevitable. He prepared for this. Or at least, he thought he did. But this… he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready for.
“Wow, this is such a cool lab you've got!” the lamb exclaimed as they examined the room which housed bookshelves and small fragments from his research. The wolf noticed that the red crown was absent from their head, perhaps it was hidden under their cloak? The god took a closer look at a large glowing bulb, a finger hovering over it as if they were tempted to touch it. “And this is what fuels your power?”
The wolf's gaze narrowed at the small god from across the desk, a soft growl emitting from his throat. “Typical Gods, not caring for the words of those they view as less.”
The lamb turned to him, a look of mild surprise on their face. They then straightened their stance, finally seeming aware of how they were presenting themself. “Ah, my apologies. I may have gotten excited. I haven't seen technology like this before. It's quite impressive, Marchosias.” They remembered his name? “I see that you've built quite the haven for you and your pack here. Honestly, I respect that. I don't wish to intrude. I was just… exploring, I suppose.”
“You're here to conquer. Why else would your kind show up here?”
“I felt a call. From the dead. I was asked to retrieve their souls. Y'know, just God of Death things,” the lamb answered as they shrugged.
Marchosias stared at the other silently for several long moments, unsure how to respond to their nonchalance. “Tsk,” he eventually vocalized, “how can you act so carefree?”
The god shrugged again before their eyes began to wander, focus once again fixated on the room decor.
The wolf bowed his head in frustration, biting the inside of his cheek until he felt blood trickle onto his tongue. You’ve got to be kidding me. Does this God really see me as a joke? “You call yourself God of Death, but all I see is an insolent child parading around carelessly,” he began once again, lifting his gaze to meet theirs as it snapped back towards him. The lamb opened their mouth to retort, but he quickly cut them off, “Still I, the Heathen Marchosias, am a wolf of reason. Let us conduct our tests to see what kind of God you truly are.” The charged orb hanging from his neck began to float in the air as it sparked with energy. Then, a beam of crackling electricity shot out from it, wrapping around the crown bearer to bind them. Their eyes widened as they struggled, summoning their crown to take the form of a sword in their left hand, but their efforts were fruitless. A malicious grin crept onto the wolf’s face as he watched the display. “The choice is yours: Give me all of your food, or,” he shortened the beam, bringing the lamb closer so they were almost above the desk, “surrender a heart.”
Any fear that was shown on the god’s face quickly melted, instead being replaced with a mildly perplexed expression. “That’s… it?” they asked.
Marchosias grunted as he extended the beam, distancing himself and the lamb once again. “Well, what’ll it be, God of Death?”
“You can take the food,” they replied casually as the crown returned to its normal form and seemed to open up like a bag, food pouring out from it onto the desk.
The wolf made a sound, something between that of a chuckle and a scoff, the charged orb on his neck glowing as the food levitated from the desk and into the folds of his tunic, seemingly disappearing into a void. “So, you keep your heart and starve the ones who kneel for you.” The energy that constricted the god retracted, releasing them from their binds. “Typical God. Proud and spineless.”
“Oh, you mean my followers?” the lamb asked, dusting off their cloak. They then lifted it just enough for their crown to retreat under the fabric. “We’ll be fine. Our farms produce enough food, and I have a ritual that summons a whole feast if worst comes to worse.” Their eyes then locked with his, their expression softening. “I was more worried about you and your pack. It can’t be easy to grow food up in these cold mountains.”
Marchosias growled lowly, glaring at the other as he bared his teeth. “Don’t patronize us, Filthy God. We manage just fine without your help.”
“You can call me Lamb, by the way.” They lifted a hand to rub the back of their neck, eyes averting his gaze. “It still feels weird being referred to as a god. Heh, though ‘Lamb’ isn’t really much of a name either, but it’s all I’ve got.”
The wolf was ready to cut this conversation off here, but something in the back of his mind made him pause. Before he even realized it, a question slipped past his lips, “Is that what your followers call you?”
“It is. At least, that’s what I ask them to call me. Some are still getting used to it, though.”
“What of the ones that don’t?”
The lamb tilted their head. “What do you mean?”
“Your followers that don’t call you by ‘Lamb’. Do you punish them?”
The god’s brows scrunched up, total confusion written on their face, as if the thought had never even crossed their mind. “No? I just kindly correct them. It’s not a big deal.”
Marchosias hummed in bitter acknowledgement before wordlessly sinking into the ground.
The lamb called out to him as he did, “It was nice meeting you, Mar–” but they were cut off as he didn’t care to pause his departure. He materialized inside a large tent, filled with even more of his research. Though the tent kept out the cold, he could hear the wind howling outside, as if it were a large crazed beast demanding to be let inside.
Ignoring the demands of the wind, Marchosias gripped the orb hanging from his neck, willing the power within to shrink his stature so he could fit comfortably in the space. He always thought it strange how, even though he was not a god, in trying to mimic the divine powers through his experiments, the increased size of his body was an unavoidable side effect. Perhaps the nature of gods were to blame, as they viewed themselves more important than anyone else, and wished to portray themselves as such. Though, it would appear this god of death would be an exception to that. At least he found a way to shrink temporarily when he wanted to fit in spaces intended for members of his pack, but it was still inconvenient nonetheless. He would rather not tower above his companions, but at least he could use it to intimidate his enemies. Though, it would seem this lamb would, again, be an exception to that.
The wolf groaned as he plopped himself down on a chair sat in front of a desk. He tiredly slid a paw down his face before propping himself to lean against the desk.
‘Lamb’, huh? God of Death. Bearer of the Red Crown. The last of their kind.
Marchosias knew that their first meeting would not be their last. It was the nature of gods to conquer, regardless of what the other claimed. He would see them again, and he will see to it that they regret ever stepping foot on his mountain.
He’s not afraid to do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of his pack. Could the same be said for that pathetic god?