Arrows whistled through the air as they embedded themselves in the trees. A group of old faith warriors stood around the dark forests of Darkwood. as they scanned for their target that they had missed.

"I can't see em!"-One cultist muttered. As he drew his bow close once more loading a arrow

"Shut up and keep your guard ready!" The lead guardian of the group ordered. The red eyes through his bone mask squinting, before a swirl of red soon lunged out from the nearby brush. The leader's head removed as blood erupted from his now revealed throat as he fell back. The others screaming as they swung and loosed their arrows at the speeding red mass. Another swing of its blade cleaved many of the swordsmen's legs from their bodies.

The demon terrorizing them finally revealed itself as the sharp toothed slayer of their gods viscously finished off the swordsmen with another slash. The archers quickly rearmed their bows firing into their revealed target. All shots nailing the new god, As the horned figure hissed in pain. A tar like miasma of Ichor shot from its wounds as it soon coated the archers. Their screams turning into gurgled messes as the eldritch fluid dissolved their skins from their bones. Their skeletons soon collapsing as red eyes formed across the Ichor with horrid whispers leaving it.

The Lamb breathed out as the arrow dissolved from their wounds which scabbed over and faded. Red fleece now soaked in the blood of the heretics as their sword softly reformed into a black crown that floated back onto their head. The crusades were always a bit hard to come out unscathed. Taking in a moment they finally rose back to their hooves. A pained chuckle leaving them.

"Lucky shot....Well. Not really huh?" The Lamb joked bitterly as they stared down at the melted archers as their horns shifted back down. As the inner darkness was pushed back. "Made me nearly mess up though..."

They moved deeper into the forest, finding a rather calm clearing, Red Camellia poppies spread out across the green grass. As they softly went to stretch out across the flower field. A sigh leaving them as they picked one of the flowers up. Twirling it between their fingers before they bit off a pedal to numb the ache of their wounds. Before carefully they begin to pick the flowers. placing them into a weaved pack resting on their belt. The cult was running low on medicine of course.

Bringing their pack back on their belt as they stood up. Just a day more of a crusade. then they could be home. Their sword arm itched as the crown reformed back into the weapon which they took. Before leaving the clearing and entering back into the darkness.