Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lambert didn't remember much before the culling. A quiet life with their family on a farm in Darkwood, doing chores around the house. Helping their Mama in the kitchen while their older brother helped Papa with the manual labor of the farm... It had been quiet, Lambert was sure. Perhaps that's why they couldn't remember the life before everything. Perhaps that's why they couldn't forget the horrors of the night they'd received the warning and the years after spent running.

They had been young, maybe 17 or so, the night a knock sounded on their door. An elderly doe, wringing her hooves, asked for a quick word with Papa in a hushed voice, eyes drifting towards them and their brother sat bundled up by the fireplace.

Papa stepped just outside and Lambert found themself leaning towards the door, nosy and curious.

"What's this about," Papa had asked in his voice rough with years of use and smoking. "Sum'n need fixin'? I'll get my boy out there down yer way t'morrow," he'd obliged only to be waved off.

"No, no, deary... you and your family must be leaving!" She hushed him once again and tried to lower her own voice, making it harder for Lambert to hear. "My cousins husband... lamb hims... and all of a sudden... GONE just like that," he voice rose with her panic, and Papa had hushed, patting her hooves kindly. Shortly after, the doe took in a breath and continued at an even tone. "Lambs are going missing, left and right... People are saying the Bishops are displeased with them. If you were smart, you'd pack up and leave before the sun rises."

Lambert remembered her peering in through the door, eyes meeting theirs briefly. They remembered a chill from the evening air sending a tremor down their spine. Winter must have been settling in, perhaps that's why Lambert could so easily remember the pain pressing over their Mama's joints so cruelly as she cradled her hand to her chest after a moment too long spent kneading dough.

Papa made a gruff sound and nodded his thanks as Mama had stood up and began fretting over Lambert and their brother. After the door closed, the night was a frenzy of packing and scrambling to get out as quickly as possible. Papa had thought maybe the old doe had gone a bit senile but... He kept bringing up how it had meant to be their cousin working for him this past fall, not Lambert's brother. And how he hadn't been able to get in contact with him at all, despite easily corresponding with him before.

Everything became blurry after that. Shelter after shelter, constantly running. Sobbing into their Mama's arms when things became frightening. And then things were always frightening and there was no time to cry. Not when so many were dying every day.

Papa died first. Lambert remembered this because they remembered begging him not to leave, not to try to help. No one can kill a god... But he'd insisted on it being a mans place to protect those who couldn't protect themselves. He must have been kind like that. He must have been foolish... He didn't come back and Mama decided to move them to a different safe spot after a week of mourning. Lambert's brother had cried silently, but vowed to keep them all safe. Lambert had cried loudly and hadn't known what to do with themself.

Then, Mama had to go get supplies. Rations, probably. Medicine, most likely. Perhaps one of them had come down with a fever... They couldn't recall. But they did remember waiting. For three days, Lambert sat nestled against their brother's side, waiting.

No longer than three days, though, because their safety was compromised. The rabbit who had been hiding them must have sold them out, because when their brother grabbed them up by the arms and ran, they saw guilt in her eyes. Sometimes, when they let themself think back to that moment, they hoped she perished painfully... But then they remember it wouldn't help... This was all foretold before Lambert had even been a blip in the universe.

Watching their brother die had, perhaps, been the worst thing they'd experienced before their own death. Perhaps even worse than their own death. He had screamed at them desperately to run but they'd frozen in fear and grief. The blood that splattered their snowy fur was sickeningly warm and they stared into his empty eyes before lifting their gaze up to the gods who'd deemed them too dangerous to exist.

The Bishops were horrifying creatures, twisted by their immortality and power. Cruel monsters who stared down at their small form sat shivering in the brilliant green grass surrounding them. They remembered trying to speak, but all that had come out was a frightened bleat.

They felt rough hands grab them and drag them towards the Bishops. These individuals were called heretics now, but back then they'd simply been known as followers of the Faith. Lambert faintly remembered a struggle. Trying to flee. Being punished brutally with a fist to the face and a knee to their stomach. Sobbing. Begging for mercy. Apologizing for whatever their species had done as a whole to deserve total erasure.

All met with coldness. Detachment. And a soft voice emerging from one of the Bishops, greeting them as the last of their kind. Emptiness.

That in itself was painful.

To be the last of ones kind is a unique kind of loneliness. Lambert knew this at the time in the way a toddler learns of pain by falling over for the first time. They would soon learn the true depth of that loneliness later on, but in the beginning, they'd simply mourned the loss of anyone they might have known.

Their time for mourning had been cut short, however, by an ax to the throat. Cold metal kissed feverish skin and... They couldn't quite remember what that felt like. That kind of detachment must have been blissful in that moment. Severing them from the painful reality that no one in the entire world could or would save them, not even the gods they'd prayed to, worshipped, and admired.

Darkness must have been a gift.

Chapter Text

The darkness couldn't last forever. Like all good things, it too was ripped from Lambert's grasp.

When Lambert opened their eyes, they were met by an empty, glowing white. Pristine and clean. Soiled only by the blood pooling beneath them and the glowing red circle they laid in. A groan escaped them as their head pounded. Having your head severed from your body strangely amplified the risk for headaches, apparently.

They reached up with a weak hand, prodding gently at the raised flesh encircling their throat. A scar, then. One oozing blood onto their cloven paw. They would have to find something to do about the bleeding...

They slowly dragged their body into an upright position, staring down at the circle around them. Their blood looked almost black against the harsh shapes under them. It was mesmerizing to watch the shapes form and vanish, almost like they were floating around Lambert instead of drawn on the ground.

They raised their eyes to look around and paused. Their gaze had caught on a figure standing guard nearby and they looked at him. A cat with a scar over one of his eyes... He was clearly trying to ignore them while also watching intently, standing at attention for... Something. Then they saw the edges of a white curtain? They paused before slowly following the line of it upwards where it converged with chains they hadn't formerly noticed.

It wasn't a curtain. It was a white robe. Draped elegantly around a god wrapped in chains. The gods face was concealed by a veil, but the twitch of pointed ear and the flash of slitted red eyes warned Lambert that this was something that could kill them swiftly and without second thought.

Their body immediately reacted, scrambling back away from the god. Fear made them fast but the smaller cat guard off to the side reacted faster, lunging and grabbing their scruff to hold them in place. The scar faced cat was on the other side, his weapon pressed against their neck. Sobbing erupted from them as they began pleading. Anything but death again... They couldn't go through it again.

Then a dripping black skeletal hand came down, the flesh actively rotting from the bones, and caressed their wool. The two guards eased their hold until Lambert sat limply, staring up at a god who gently brushed their wool with his claws. The touch was soft, careful and they hiccuped as they looked on with watery eyes.

"Finally... A vessel for their destruction and my freedom. They have stolen everything from you, lamb. With me at your side, you shall repay them tenfold."

Lambert stared up at the god, slowly registering that he seemed to have no ill intent. Mama had always said not to judge a person on their looks... Surely that applied to gods as well.

But... If Lambert was one to judge a person based on appearance... They would say this god looked lonely. And in pain. Every brush of his claw and stretch of his arm within his shackles seemed to leave him shaking in pain. And yet he continues to caress Lambert, to sooth them, to ease their fears.

Shaking, they shrugged themself completely free of the smaller cat and ignored the threat that was the scar faced cat and stood slowly. The gods hand retracted as he watched them curiously. One footstep at a time brought them closer and closer to the god until they reached up with a blood soak paw and pressed it against the gods robe.

The fabric was soft and smooth... Like how they imagined a cloud or the petal of a lily to feel. They buried their face against the fabric for a moment before peering upwards.

"Who are you," they whispered softly.

"Forgotten by all... And yet they still fear me. I am the ever present threat... I am what lays at the end... I am the one thing no being can escape." The god leaned down as much as he could to peer at them, a third red eye opening and watching them closely. "I am Death... But you may call me The One Who Waits, vessel."

Lambert stared up at him with widened eyes, fear gone from their face. They reached up automatically, wanting to touch his soft fur. A grunt of frustration escaped them as they realized they were too short. They couldn't reach his face, too much distance lay between the two of them and they pouted a bit.

"Am I here because I died," they asked as they stumbled back a bit and sat down. Their eyes were still curious and observant, large as they watched the god. "I didn't want to. The other gods were angry at my kind... They killed all of us!"

"Yes... They did that so I could never be free... In doing so, they placed you right within my reach... The fools. It will become their undoing... You will become their undoing." The gods voice rumbled in satisfaction, shaking Lambert to his core. He pulled back up to his full height, tucking his hands into his sleeves as the chains around his body rattled. "I can give you back your life. I can make it so you won't die... If you'll become my vessel. Begin a cult in my name. Rebuild what I am owed. Only then shall we both be freed from the hell they've bound us to." The god bared his fangs in a smile and even through the veil the lamb could sense the danger. "I can give you the power to make them pay for what they've done to your kind, Lamb."

Lambert doesn't remember what possessed them to agree, but this was how their first meeting with The One Who Waits went... And how they became his most loyal disciple...

If only they'd known what that entailed...

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Lambert remembers their first resurrection painfully well. They almost wish they could forget it...

The One Who Waits gave them no warning of how severely they might react. perhaps he didn't know. Lambert never really asked about it... But if someone ever asked them what it was like, they'd tell them immediately. The first resurrection is without a doubt the worst one out of all of them (and they'd been through some pretty gruesome resurrections.)

But that first time... They remembered waking up and being unable to breathe. Like their body just didn't remember how to do that. Something so vital, something that should have came naturally. A reminder that their new life was anything but natural. They'd rolled over on their side, chest heaving as they forced breathes in and out, laboriously trying to ensure that they wouldn't die of something so stupid as resurrection shock (that's what they liked to call it). Worse was trying to realign with the world around them, which felt like it was tilting and moving with every shift of their body. Nausea finally got the better of them and they'd thrown up pitifully. With nothing in their stomach, all that came out was bitter bile. They laid still, eyes closed, as their head swam a bit. Their stomach continued to churn but they didn't think they were at risk of throwing up again, so long as they laid with their forehead against the cold stone of the resurrection circle (why there was a resurrection circle out in the middle of nowhere, they couldn't say... all they knew was The One Who Waits demanded this be where their cult be built.)

When all had finally settled within their tumultuous body, they'd opened their eyes to see the crown floating by their head, red eye watching silently. "I'm okay," they murmured weakly, trying for a smile. there was no response of course. And no way of knowing if The One Who Waits was actually watching from the other side. When he'd offered them his crown, they'd been shocked, of course. A god offering even a crumb of his power to something so weak as a lamb would have been laughable in any other circumstance. However, Lambert had a reason to get stronger.

The vision of their brothers dying eyes had hurt the most the first few years... Each death had felt like a failure to him, like they weren't trying hard enough or pushing themself far enough...

Regardless, once they'd been able to move, they got up (slowly, due to the lingering twisting of their stomach). Looking around offered them a lovely little clearing with some things the lamb had been told to expect. A chest near the entrance, a crumbling stone fence, trees, stone slabs, a strange circle that looked eerily like the one in The One Who Waits void, and a small path that led to nothing. They clapped their hands together and cleared their throat. The only way to start making the place look homey was to start getting to work.

They'd started with the trees. Shaping the crown into an ax had been surprising and fun, though with every swing they felt themself tiring quickly. A bed of foliage was made. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was enough, and sleep came easily to their worn out body.

They rose with the sun and returned to work, and this continued for a time. Once they'd satisfied their need to clean up the space, they decided to finally get to their real quest. Crusades, The One Who Waits had called them. Missions to bring in followers, kill heretics, and hunt down Witnesses and Gods alike. There was only one little issue really...

They stood in the clearing that held the passages to each domain, trembling in fear. They'd never had to go out on their own before... Certainly not with the intent being violence! They hugged their pack to their side and hesitated outside of what was the domain of He of Havoc... The One Who Waits called him Leshy, which sounded much friendlier and less over-bearing, but the lamb knew better. Darkwoods had been their home, afterall. They'd heard stories of the chaos the god had caused within many smaller villages. Tearing through houses, destroying farmland, devouring rations and followers alike.

They reached up and grabbed the crown in their paws and stared down at it. "What do I do? Do I just saw 'Open sesame'," they yelled out with an arm out stretched dramatically before dropping their voice to a staged whisper. "Between you and me, I don't think I'm all too ready for this whole killing gods thing... What if he just eats me? Gobbles me right up and then takes a nap in the dirt!" They frowned down at the unblinking eye that offered them no answers and let it return to their head. Taking in a deep breath, they stepped towards the door and pressed a hand to it. Something happened the moment their paw came in contact with the door. An inky blackness began to leak from under their fingertips, oozing down their cheeks like tears, dirtying the wool around their lips. Their hooves lifted from the ground, leaving them suspended in the air. Symbols, glowing and red and whispering to them in a strange language they couldn't comprehend, floated around them before fading away. They plopped back down onto the ground and stared blankly at the now open space in front of them. The door had just vanished. They swiped an arm across their face, smearing the inky, oily stain, and walked forwards.

And that was when the deaths started. They coud barely make it through the paths without dying. The small dagger in their hands was nothing against the creatures they were facing against. Things they hadn't even known existed launching themselves at the lamb. Their first death had been an attempt to dive away from one heretic with a sacrificial blade (The One Who Waits says if they're squiggly, they're meant for sacrifice). While moving out of the way, their hoof caught into the root of a vine coiling around them and they fell hard to the ground. They'd scrambled to free themself, only to be cut down quickly and cleanly.

They woke up in The One Who Waits void, being regarded with something like mild disinterest. "Can you not fight, Lamb?" the god shifted his weight to rest more comfortably, or as comfortably as possible. The chains around him restrained so much of his movement, they wondered how he slept. Did gods of death sleep? Did gods sleep?

"I... No... I've never had to before..." The lamb looked down at their feet meekly, a quiet bleat escaping them in the form of a sigh.

"You hold your blade like it is a tool for cutting onions, not enemies." The One Who Waits narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. "At this rate, I will be forced to see you once every two days if I am unlucky..." The guard with a scar on his face let his lips quirk upwards into a smile and Lambert tried to ignore the heat in their ears. Shame would get them nowhere.

"I... I just have to learn. It will take time. I was a kitchen hand before this. I help my Mama with the-"

"I did not ask for your life story," The One Who Waits rumbled, before looking away. "Try again," he concluded with a wave of his hand, not giving the lamb time to speak.

The second resurrection wasn't nearly as bad as the first, though Lambert still had to take a heaving moment to settle their stomach. They stared down at the resurrection stone with a faint frown before carefully picking themself back up and making their way back towards Darkwood. They would prove their worth to The One Who Waits...

This time, they must have gotten far enough to be a threat. All four bishops appeared before them, grabbing them without ever laying a finger on them. The one they knew as He of Havoc, and now as Leshy spoke first. It was the typical spiel of them trespassing in his domain and how they were meant to be dead and then how Leshy would destroy them if they coud every reach him. They struggled against his hold and scowled when they were dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Leshy leaned down over them and muttered one word in a voice that sounded like the rustling of the tree canopy.

"Bow."

Lambert blinked at him blankly before letting out a bleating laugh. they fell over sideways from where they'd sat and giggled to themself at the idea of bowing to these gods... They sat up and wiped at their eyes, still letting out little huffs of breathy laughter when they realized all the gods were scowling at them.

"Very well... Then perish."

A swarm of Leshy's creature flooded the clearing and the Bishops vanished, leaving Lambert to fight them off on their own. Thier little dagger hacked and sliced and stabbed into fleshy bodies. Blood splattered Lamberts wool, but no matter how hard they fought, it still wasn't enough. Something must have stung them, before their body suddenly stopped moving, and they could feel their heart slowing as the poison incapacitated their ability to breathe... Just when they were finally getting the hang of it, too.

The One Who Waits didn't even spare them a glance before resurrecting them this time.

Chapter Text

It took a few seasons for Lambert to be able to get through Darkwoods without getting cut down. By the time they'd gotten the hang of it, it was nearing the fall season, a time for crops and harvest had they still been living with Papa and Mama and their brother.

Instead, they spent the time training with the gruff rat who'd approached them early into their crusades. Between learning carpentry, learning fighting techniques, and learning how to wield the crown as a sword, they found themselves busy gaining skills they'd never realized they could do.

They could fish now! That had been a skill that had proven helpful! They also had a few followers now. People who relied on them to take care of them and keep them safe!

There was Mira and Pheobor and Tyfer… Mira helped with the farm, his golden yellow fur and happy smile a ray of sunshine when things got tough. Pheobor was great with an ax, cutting down trees that overgrew the cult grounds. Despite being a rabbit, they were strong and fast. Tyfer was good with a pickaxe and tried to help in the kitchen sometimes (though he wasn't quite that good at it).

And then there was the witnesses whom the lamb had rescued and converted after their defeat. Ambusias, Valefar, Barbatos, and Agares were willful but helpful. They'd taken to life in the cult fairly quickly despite being avid supporters of the old faith. Valefar and Agares had had the hardest times adjusting. They'd picked fights and called the lambs followers horrid names. At one point, Lambert had been sure Valefar was going to dissent. But soon enough, they adjusted and became just as faithful as the others.

When the time came to face Leshy, they prepared a special sermon for their followers. “Greetings! Praise be The One Who Waits!” The followers chorused back to them, repeating their words. “Praise be O’ Great Death!” Another chorus and they smiled. “Today, I will go into Darkwoods and by next week we will have conquered one of the Old Faith. He of Chaos shall fall to my hands, his soul sent to our faithful Death. He shall be freed of the torment he suffers, his chaos quieted.” A cheer rang out in the small gathering and the lamb bowed, ears flicking with the sound. They righted themself and smiled benevolently over those around him. “A bonfire! To celebrate our coming victory and Leshy’s coming freedom!”

There was food and dance as the bonfire roared around them that night. Many might think it a sad meager party but the lamb was happy to have anyone with them during the long nights that used to weigh heavily on their mind.

They remember the next day, Tyfer, Mira, and Pheobor waiting for them at the entrance. Tyfer handed them a homemade meal (some berry stew that he insisted would help them keep their strength). Mira offered them their satchel and requested they do their very best (and to enjoy the treats he’d left for them from the latest harvest). Pheobor bowed low and promised to maintain the grounds and keep the others safe from any harm (“They are far too careless, but my axe will cut through any who dare seek to harm us, Lamb”). Barbatos approached before the lamb could leave and bowed low before humbly offering to accompany them on their journey. Lambert smiled at him and gently held his face in their hands.

"You must stay for Amdusias... She desires your company and will miss having you in her homestead. Thank you for your kindness and concern."

"Blessed be," was his response, and the lamb smiled at each follower in turn. They took a moment to hold each of their hands, one by one, and promised a swift return.

With that, trusting the grounds was in good hands, they set off. They chattered to the crown every now and then, having learned that The One Who Waits did in fact monitor them through it. Slicing through enemies and holding a one sided conversation they’d be scolded for later. Saving poor sacrifices from the hands of heretics and gathering resources to bring back to the cult. All of it acted as a distraction from the fear that was beginning to build up within them as they approached Leshy.

Finally stopping outside of his altar room, they paused and gently grabbed the crown to look down into the eye.

“You can’t get angry at me if I die, okay? He seems scary… I can’t imagine fighting a god, but I’m about to have to…” Their hands trembled a bit as the crown remained silent. “You… You’ll owe me something for this one… Maybe a nice petting. Oh! Or Baal and Aym can play knucklebones with me as a treat… Something, ya know?” They paused, as if waiting for an answer before rolling their eyes. “You’re so mean… I know I’m doing this as your vessel and you already saved my life like big time… But… a little treat for being so brave would be nice…” They took in a deep breath and closed their eyes before letting go of the crown and clapping their paws together sharply. “Okay! No more waiting! Praise be the One Who Waits!”

And then the lamb dove into the first level of hell.

Chapter Text

The memory of fighting Leshy had long since faded. Lambert remembered it as follows:

Leshy’s body splitting open to reveal this eldritch form, a god form they would later muse. Rows of teeth scattered down a bloody maw as he consumed the followers who so worshipped him. The sound and feeling of the ground shaking under Lambert's feet as Leshy burrowed and burst through the dirt to attack them. Wave after wave of creatures and followers alike trying their hand at killing and consuming Lambert.

Leshy demanded a bloody sacrifice and he seemed determined to get it. His violence was overbearing as he slammed into Lambert once, twice, three times, causing the lambs feet to stagger as they tried to regain their bearings. Lambert's sword seems to bounce off the bone like branches that jutted through the god's rough exterior. Though his fur seemed deceptively fluffy, it was more like razor sharp leaves cutting through Lambert's skin. They stood panting, sword drooping in their hands as they stared up at the god. Black ichor oozed from where they’d managed to hit, but they were coated in their own sticky red. A moment of clarity struck Lambert as they dodged yet another attack.

Leshy was hellbent on Lambert dying. That wasn’t anything new. However, Lambert didn't think they would get through this alive. Not this time. That was the new thing…

Leshy’s cruelty knew no limits. He utilized their exhaustion, mocking them, calling them a coward, weak, small, useless. His words cut just as sharply as his attacks. Lambert got slammed into a pillar and sank to the ground with a grunt. A thorny worm appeared under their feet, slicing their skin to shreds. The sword hummed in their hands as they sank to the floor, eyes blurring. It only took one more hit and their whole world went black.

When they woke up, The One Who Waits was staring down at them calmly. They laid on the strange summoning circle, trying to force their lungs to draw breath after being crushed. The god waited for them to regain their awareness before his rumbling voice echoed in their ears.

“You did well, Death is not to be feared during these little spats. I will always bring you back. Now get back to your feet.” he stared down at the small creature as they struggled to catch their breath. He watched them sit up, shaking like a leaf. His eyes were unreadable as he gazed down at Lambert but he brought one of his hands lower to Lambert's level. They looked up at him before slowly crawling over to his hand and looking up curiously. A bleat escaped them as the god moved abruptly, scooping them up and lifting them in the air by their cloak. Their legs kicked feebly before they stilled and just looked at the god.

“You should ask before picking someone up like this.” They felt like a kitten being wrangled in after misbehaving.

“You mentioned wanting to be pet? Or given a treat… If I recall correctly…” The One Who Waits raised a brow and tilted his head as he settled the lamb into his other hand, chains rattling. A sickening black ooze dripped down his arm and stained the lambs feet but they didn't really pay it any mind. He lowered his other hand to caress the lambs wool with a careful claw.

They’d brightened up, leaning into the pets. “You can hear me when I talk to the crown?!” They relaxed knowing they weren’t so alone on their journeys. “Good, because that means I can tell you all kinds of things I’m discovering on my journey!” They sat down in his hand and kicked their feet, calmer now that they’d received pets and knew they weren’t being reprimanded for dying. The One Who Waits let his other hand fall away, content to watch the lamb. Well… Until they opened their mouth. “Your brother is mean.”

The One Who Waits scowled and closed his claws around the lamb like a cage. Loose enough he could see them between his fingers, tight enough they were properly trapped. “He is not my brother,” he hissed. “He is a cruel and vile creature. I hope when he does die, it is not swift. I hope he bleeds at your feet, begging for mercy.” He fell silent upon noticing the lambs head tilting a bit to the right. His vessel seemed unbothered by his sudden aggression, much to his displeasure. His frown deepened. “You still do not fear me.”

“Mmm… No, not really. Not anymore, I don’t think. I like talking to you. I prefer this over fighting your family.” They rushed to add “Not that I won’t do it! I’ll do anything to get you out! I just prefer chatting, ya know?” They sat quiet for a moment, legs stilling before being pulled to their chest. “He was vicious…”

“He is cruel. What did you expect, vessel?”

“I dunno… Not… That… I guess.”

Not that Leshy had been known for being anything but cruel… His followers, one of whom used to be Lambert themself, knew all too well the sporadic and violent nature of Leshy. He would tear apart villages, consume followers for fervor, haunt the woods in hunt of unsuspecting individuals. He was more like a demon than a god, terrifying even his own creations. The lamb had been foolish to go into the fight thinking it would be anything less than terrifying.

The One Who Waits stared down at the lamb before softening a moment. “You will overcome him… You simply must have patience, and faith in me. I won’t let you lose to a fool like him. Blinded by his own power and greed… You will win. You must win. I command it.”

The lamb seemed to take heart in this and nodded in agreement. They would win for their savior. They would do anything in their power to free him.

“Now… Return and attack him with all of your strength. You can only grow stronger through this cycle of life and death, Vessel.”

And with that, Lambert was resurrected once again. They found themself standing in the resurrection circle, dark black blood pooling around their eyes and dripping like sludge to the ground. Resurrecting would definitely forever remain their least favorite part of the process.