Last time on “Obvious Enough Observations,” I compared Cult of the Lamb to Conan. Which was basically my way of saying that writer Alex Paknadel and artist Troy Little had taken what could’ve been a “simple” video game adaptation and turned it into a genuinely rollicking fantasy adventure. A proper epic with rich lore, a stoic hero, and the right kind of theatrical dialogue to rival the steel sword of any other archetype.
But while those comparisons may be apt enough, they actually pale in comparison to the true feats of Cult of the Lamb as it ends its first arc.
Leading into issue #4, there were a few key threads within Cult of the Lamb. Having been freshly resurrected and charged with building a cult, Lamb was dealing with Leshy, one of the Bishops of the Old Faith who’d bound his boss, The One Who Waits. And within that framework, Lamb was trying to forge a new path, one where the sacrifices of old were no more and his little cult might flourish in other ways. And wouldn’t you know it, all of those threads coalesced in #4 in a mighty battle that defined perhaps this title’s most thrilling and jam-packed issue yet.
Main cover by Carles Dalmau. Courtesy of Oni Press.
From a visual perspective, Little (alongside colorist Nick Filardi and letterer Crank!) had perhaps the most obviously thrilling performance thus far. The whole development arc of the visuals across this book has been quite exciting and interesting, as they’ve had to try and maintain the game’s cute-but-creepy aesthetic while trying to create something novel for this specific medium. And it’s been a matter of slowly pushing out monster designs and battle scenes as a way to make Cult of the Lamb feel even more layered and compelling.
Issue #4, then, is an elevation further still, as we get big, nearly tactile fight sequences that show you the rage and desperation that’s been building within Lamb; lots of great monster designs that, once again, infuse even more horror elements into this series and show the sheer range and power of this premise; and just a breeziness and intensity that pulls your eyes across the page in the way all great adventures can and should. Cult of the Lamb has been heaps of bloody fun, but it reached a truly epic level in issue #4 where you felt utterly consumed entirely by the story. That’s the thing where it becomes the best version of a Conan: forceful and everlasting.
Variant cover by Abigail Starling. Courtesy of Oni Press.
It’s that level of precision and power that makes you forget that you’re dealing with evil forest creatures and that you’re instead in the midst of this rich, multifaceted world whose very story and history are developing in front of your very eyes. It’s the purest kind of excitement, really, and proof positive of how you can respect the source material and blow it out of the water with just a little more blood, the right kind of measured, thoughtful growth, and the joy to push things to their logical extreme. I am surging with geeky joy after this issue, and I want only to use cardboard swords to play pretend.
But it’s not all beheadings and whimsical oddities. As I hinted at in my review of Cult of the Lamb #3, the best fantasy stories do more than spike your blood pressure; they can explore the political and the emotional with the same kind of brutal efficiency and impact. The first three chapters of Cult of the Lamb certainly did just that, as the book delved into ideas of community and friendship, religion’s role in society, and even tidbits about socialism. In this arc-ending finale, then, a lot of that’s fully solidified.
Variant cover by Troy Little. Courtesy of Oni Press.
And by that I mean, there were decisions here that no longer hinted at some ideas but really drove them home as proper, fully fleshed out sentiments. The battle over the sacrifices, for instance, takes on a new light that feels connected with our own times and this “debate” about how we might better serve the rights of the many over the elite. Or, how the Bishops really are these stand-ins for norms that are harming society and its general arc toward progress. It’s a process fully aided by their connections to the book’s emotional core. For instance, the roles of Nana and Ratau — their support and energies eschew theory for these deeply resonant moments about how communities are built through hard work and collaboration, or how it takes more than great heroes to change the world.
And from that, Lamb is affected greatly by these decisions, and they are changed in a way that allows these notions of equality and community action to resonate with layers and layers of life. Our hero may swing an axe with great strength, but their mightiest achievement here is to grapple with the sheer humanity of this and to emerge more aware and engaged than ever before. They’re not just fighting for blood and power but something even more significant, and we can see their shifting worldview extending and coalescing in some utterly informative ways. The blood and gore will thrill you but the end result will have you moved like rarely before.
But there’s more work to be done, and without spoiling too much else, the story is clear that Cult of the Lamb will return sometime in the future. And as if you even needed to ask, I’m totally overjoyed. Cult of the Lamb took me on a journey — from doubting the need for a comics remake of a “cult simulator” to seeing the glory and power of a story about people (animals) coming together for something different.
It shocked and delighted with weirdness and dark horror as much as it sat you down like an old friend to tell you of a new and exciting world, one where the true gods were all of us working in service of one another. It was political and relevant while also being silly and timeless like a proper fairy tale. If this Cult of the Lamb were real, I’d give my life for its grand mission of humanity and transformation.
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