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Lamb	By : Laryna6 Category: +G through L > Legacy of Kain Views: 2170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Legacy of Kain, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Lamb
- 1
Okay, I would like to say this fic is mostly not my fault. Nemi_chan and I were RPing Kain/Raziel and I had a brain-breaking mental image. In
order to share the misery, I told her of it. Then, the next day, she insisted
on writing it instead of continuing the very amusing conversation about Vorador running a porn studio. Then she said it had to be
published, and since she claims to have an aversion to posting fic she ordered
me to edit and post it. I was like, but I swore not to write any more LoK fic until I finished at least BO2, which is next to be
played after I finish my second playthrough of
Dante�s disc of DMC2 and go on to Lucia�s, but then realized since I wrote
about a sixth of this, merely editing it would not violate my oath. So, here
you go.

-

Janos Audron, the last of
ancients, was burdened.� He had his
faith, he prayed, he loved the God, the parent that no longer spoke to
him.� His life, his very existence was
blasphemy.� He needed to live, all the
others were dead, the humans held the Pillars.�
He had his duty as Nosgoth�s last
defender.� There had once been stairs
rising out of the lake in front of his home, once because he tore them down
today.� The stairs were once an offering
to the humans, a way to the security of his aerie when the storms came instead
of their thatch roofed houses.� They had
provided access to his library for any seeking knowledge.� They were a direct route for angry riots and
mobs when they found out he had not escaped the curse even though he never
preyed upon them.� He tore down the
stairs to protect himself, the Reaver and the books.

The aerie had been constructed for him and it had been
hailed as a blessing by the mortals when the last sane angel came to live near
them, defended from the mad fallen.� To
think he had seen generations pass in friendship with the town,
centuries...� He should not have lived
this long.� God no longer spoke, how
could he know he was doing God�s will?�
What if Raziel never came?

The Great Seers had not spoken but everyone had thought the
war would continue until Raziel came.� He had reserved judgment, the signs did not
seem right for that, and he was amongst the best at reading signs, so when the Hylden had obfuscated themselves from foresight Janos could
still read their actions due to hard study.�
Janos Audron had to study hard to read the
signs as he completely lacked one of the greatest blessings from God; Janos
lacked the eldritch gift of foresight.� �Because of his deficiency he had been barred
from the most holy places, like the Spirit Forge of the Citadel, though he had
the last remaining key to that blessed chamber.�
He could enter, but he would not.�
There were other places for him to pray.

God, if he still listened, could hear him anywhere.� But Janos was driven to someplace Holy,
someplace said to be near God.� The
thought was blasphemous so he did not allow it to fully form, but he wanted to
force God to listen to him.� They were
cursed because they disobeyed God.� They
were commanded to kill all the Hylden, give them the
blessing of The Wheel.� Some had been
converted, willing to be killed later when they saw miracles.� But...they had been tired of killing, of
murdering, of war, for so many years.� So
instead of obeying they had tried to send them away.

The signs dated back to before The Binding, maybe God had
changed it, changed everything and waiting was no long His Will.� Maybe...he could be released.� Such foolishness, because God would never
tell him.

He entered a stone grotto, the sand here was sheltered and
swirled in impossible patterns. This was a holy place, it had been open to one
as unblessed as himself, so maybe it was open to one as cursed as himself as
well.

There were so
many eyes gleaming like fine jewels, dilating in surprise when he entered, all
seeing but unseen. The first time in almost a millennia an ancient had
come to
pray in a Holy place beyond the Citadel. Janos went to his knees in the middle, hands clasped and not
sitting back on his heels, standing instead.�
Janos Audron had been known for the utter
purity of his unswerving faith that even in the height of civilization had been
rare.

And for the first
time in too, too long, faith was rewarded.

God spoke.

The voice
surrounded him and called him
his apostate child, chided him and told him to go home, for he was no longer
worthy and would not be able to resist temptation and darkness to pray to him.

A miracle, no,
more than a miracle, to hear God once more. Determined to prove himself,
he begged for the chance to try.

It was granted,
of course, his worthless soul's choice in the matter to strain as hard as he
liked, as many times as he liked, to return to The Wheel. The lightest brush against his hair,
perhaps someday he'd be able to return, because He, God, saw him trying many
times to pray here in the future.

And he
prayed. Prayed as the limbs wove in front of him unseen and creeped just
beneath his robes, not yet touching.

He continued to
pray as suddenly he was touched, and he called out in surprise, then
pain. God had commanded him, and he tried so hard to obey, to resist, as
something unseen, flexible and hard, creeped in, brushed against him,
wrapped around his wrists and pulled
him over the invisible trunk thick tentacle in front of him. He tried to
pull back, fight with all his strength while praying: up
until one squirmed into his mouth.

Squirming forcing
taking watching. God speaking to him, that he is weak and contemptible
and cannot resist the hidden evils that are not there, only products of his
debased mind, to pray to him. That the destiny of his apostate soul is
hidden from his all seeing gaze, and urging him to try harder, try again until
he is once more of The Wheel and his good child.

Twisting in
deeper, wrapping one around his arousal and pulling, playing, bringing an eye closer
to watch and judge what else can be done.

His obedient child struggling weakly, lips and throat trying
to form the words but blocked, desperately trying to prove himself worthy,
knowing he would fail but overjoyed to tears at hearing God's voice again.

All his senses
telling him there is nothing there, save for touch, save for the waves of pain
pleasure and stretching invasion. A creeping nudge below where he was
entered but not behind him, stroking the sensitive stretch of skin there while
there was a flexing tightness looping around his thighs just over his knees.

There was nothing
there, he told himself. Nothing opening your thighs, nothing inside of
you. Only God watching you disappoint him with your weakness.

It strengthened his resolve to
fight: he'd become practiced at this thanks to Vorador,
he was used enough to such touches to keep his mind, and he summoned all his
concentration to pray.

He had the urge
to close his eyes, keep them closed, but he fought it, opened them to show
himself no, there was nothing there. His throat and mouth still would not
work, refused to bend to reality and form the words.� He
felt tracings around his stretched entrance. All illusion he
insisted. His hands moved though as something that was not there slithered
into them and moved back and forth. Things squeezed around the base of
his wings.

He prayed mentally, forcing his
throat to move though no words came out.

Things were in
his wings, his instincts screamed in sudden fear. Not hands but things
sliding through the feathers to wrap around the flesh and forcing them to move
and display. Something was trying to squirm inside of him in addition to
what was already (not) there. His erection was squeezed, pulled and it
felt like the illusion was going deeper into him from both ends.

He prayed to God now for the
strength to resist this.

"You had the
strength once, but now you are an apostate. So you lay there victim to
your own dark desires," idle flexing to cause pain. "These are
the evils of your desires. To pray is to cast out darkness and resist it
to be come more one with Me."

More tears for the shame, struggles, like those in his study
of interpretations, were useless.� His
skills never won him entrance to the Great Holy Places, these struggles would
never free him to prove himself.

"Your
weakness damns you, Janos Audron. And you will
return here, time and time again, telling yourself it is to purge yourself, to
prove yourself once more. But it will always be to indulge yourself in
what no mortal or immortal can grant you." He rubbed him up the
middle of his back, almost with affection. "At the best of times it
will be both, and though you will deceive yourself as to your desires when you
come once again to pray it is good, for it shows there is some light left in
your wretchedness.

"Never stop
hoping, and never stop trying, for then you will be as vile as the Hylden in My all seeing gaze."

He nodded, still crying out to his
god, like the abandoned and tormented child he was. And he prayed.

Push and force a
smaller, second coil into him, stretching him out just that much more.
Twist it inside up against the larger first and then press the tip down while
sliding deeper inside to run over that lump of tissue and nerves.

A gasp, blocked by the thing that
was not there, and he closed his eyes to focus harder on prayer.

Twist and nearly
knot himself over that point, pressing too hard and then not at all, again, and
again. Coils against his chest and squeezing pinching flicking.

It felt like tongues
at his sac, taunting him worse than Vorador because Vorador only had one. Then there was compression and
pulling, tongues and then squeezing, almost hurting again.

He fought against his own release,
not wanting to demean himself further before his God, who must be so ashamed at
the people He had once considered worthy to be His children after seeing how
far this one had fallen.

Toying, flicking,
torture. His legs would not close. This was his own darkness, his
own desires. If his legs did not close it was because he didn't want them
to. The feel of dozens of tongues, of something more than anything he had
felt before invading him from behind and driving him to the edge of pain.� God told him it was his desire so it must be.

His eyes opened again, wanting to
see his God, but none of them had ever been granted that sight, wanting to hear
that voice. Even if he was still apostate, this humiliation was worth it to
hear the divine voice again: that was a blessing his people had happily died to
gain even before they were cut off from it.

"You are
trying very hard Janos, to be obedient to Me. Yet each indulgence will
drive you further and feed it. You know this and you will still attempt
to fight. That is why you are the last, because you were the strongest
then, the most worthy."

And his tears were mingled shame
and joy, that his God found him the most worthy, even if he was and would
always be not worthy enough. The prayers were of praise now.

God did not speak
but readied himself, though the apostate did not know. He'd drive tears
of pain and pleasure into that divine mixture. Twisting, coiling up
outside of his entrance and then pushing, forcing in, mimicking mortal thrusts
on the ancient vampire who almost seemed to languish on his hands and knees in
the middle of the stone grotto, robe bunched up on his back and pants around
his knees. Spread and speared now and many more times into the future.

He struggled to keep his head, to
keep praising, interrupted by gasps and moans that pleased the god, in its
control over this servant, this willing slave. This act would have been a
blessing if it had merely told a different lie, but that which it could not
feed on deserved to suffer. For it had no
right to exist.

The apostate, the
most wretched of them all for it fathered the rest, would return to please it
once more with his suffering. Return knowing he would be demeaned before
God, suffer before God, scream in pain and be ashamed of his pleasure.

He prayed of his love and devotion
to the God that had lied to and destroyed his people as that God performed an
act symbolic of the 'love' it had for his race on him.

The God who lied
to him now and convinced him that he was doing this to himself while in all its
vileness it watched his degradation. This was not symbolic: this was in
pure action an analogue of what this God had done to his race it was doing to
him. And like all of his people, he didn't even know it.

God caressed the stretched
throat, then the parted rounds. The apostate could not feed him any
longer, but it still served.� He pulled on the wings, drove a small portion
of Himself deeper into the immortal where it did not belong. Though the immortal belonged to it,
and always would.

Undulate, then
literally coil inside to cause a greater thickness while pulling on the
arousal, sliding over the slight bumps. He did not want to give the
apostate pleasure very much but it would cause him such shame, enough to be
worth it.

God freed his
throat to hear the wretched screams of the last Fallen. Watch in disgust
as it gouted and shuddered.

God pulled away,
letting him fall to the ground, surreptitiously rolling his limbs against cleaner
areas of blue flesh. "You utter a full sound at last, because you
desired to voice yourself more than you wished to pray to Me."

His body ached,
sore despite there hadn't been anything inside of him.� Nothing that had abused his body.� "Please,
my God," Janos struggled to his knees, head bowed and then abased himself
fully. "I will never cease to worship You, my God." He tried to slow
his panting breaths.

"All serve Me,
with or without their knowledge, or will. The Hylden
gave many of your people to me, saved them before damning them. Your Vorador feeds humans into My Wheel. You speak that
you worship me, and this is the truth and the True Way of things, that even the most
lowly filth of Nosgoth serves My Will. And it
is Balance that such a creature be the only one who knows that it is in
service."

He trembled with shame and relief:
at least he was still doing God's will. He had doubted, such horrible doubts!
"Thank you, God."

"Though you
have strayed, as you have proven here once more. As you are outside The
Wheel that is to be expected, you cannot help yourself. That is your
nature and you fight it to worship me."

He began a short prayer of thanks
and praise, almost weeping with joy again.

"Stand,"
the command was firm, cruel in tone and reaction for the pain He had inflicted
upon the anchinet. "Look upon yourself,
your own filth that you are covered with by your own desire. Look upon
yourself and see what acts you have willed to be done to you for pleasure
rather than offering prayers to your God."

He stood, head bowed and obedient,
and was guilty but so glad to hear the voice of god again, to be able to obey
him again, to know he was doing right even though he was fallen and unworthy:
God had said he could not help being unworthy!

"Disgusting.�� God knew all, knew even what Janos thought,
and cut him with words. �Such weakness, how you now cling to excuses for
your own sake. You embrace your own comfort instead of Me just as you
embrace your own desires rather than pray. The fault is your people�s for
allowing themselves to become such foulness.

"Rather than
obey My Will and kill the Hylden as commanded, giving
them the blessing of The Wheel, you send them away and raise the Pillars,
because it was easier for you. You cannot help your actions due to your
contamination, but the reason that you are tainted is your own.

"Leave my
gaze and this Holy Place,
abomination. Return to your home and bathe, shrive yourself and then you
may return and attempt to prove yourself once more."

"Thank you, my God, for
giving me the opportunity." He bowed deeply, ignoring the physical pain
that faded and obeyed, taking a greater agony within at God�s open disgust.

God saw all, and
watched the Fallen take flight, clumsy as he had been graceful landing. The Apostates had
left this last one, this final one as a lamb. Janos Audron
would suffer for his people.
- 1
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