#lovecraftian abomination

[autumnmobile12]

So I had a thought:

Dr. Garaki straight up says that due to his catastrophic injuries, Dabi shouldn’t have survived a month after escaping the facility and because of that, none of All For One’s cronies bothered retrieving him, and everyone involved was pretty shocked when he turned up years later for the villains’ social upheaval/anarchy quest.  The explanation we get for this medical improbability is he remained alive because of his absolute hatred for Endeavor and need for personal vengeance/validation.

Me:  “There’s no scientific or medical explanation that makes this remotely plausible outside of bullshit anime willpower and——*side eyes H.P. Lovecraft’s Cool Air*——You!”

Long story short, Cool Air is one of Lovecraft’s lesser known short stories about this guy Dr. Muñoz who is technically dead, but through sheer willpower, he’s able to keep himself alive, and through the use of a janky cooling system he keeps in his apartment (an air conditioner, it's an air conditioner) he’s able to keep his body from rotting.  The contraption fails one night, and in a desperate attempt to stave of the inevitable, he recruits his downstairs neighbor to keep him supplied with ice until they can get the machine fixed.  They can’t fix it in time, Dr. Muñoz dies, his horrible secret comes out, and that’s pretty much the plot.

To sum up, a technically dead guy who keeps himself alive through sheer willpower…and ice…?  And Rei’s Quirk is…

It’s still implausible because Lovecraft should never in a million years be taken with any kind of scientific/medical seriousness, but neither should My Hero Academia, so my new headcanon is Dabi's ice-Quirk manifested way earlier than everyone thought it did and Dabi just never noticed it and credited his survival to the aforementioned hatred and determination.

In short, Dabi is a Lovecraftian abomination.

...

And for good measure, when I re-watched Overly Sarcastic Productions video on Lovecraft to see their rundown on Cool Air, this description of Dr. Muñoz came up:

This shitpost is writing itself.

[syncopein3d]

The Warm One 7: Wrath

Part 6: Spring Campaign

CW/tropes: living weapon, nonhuman caretaker, female whumpee, intimate/nonsexual touch, servant caretaker, traumatic restraints, nonsexual nudity mention, gore, blood, slaughter, extraplanar abomination/monster. Fair warning, this one's going to be gory and gross and weird. After all, what good is a living weapon story if you don't get to see the weapon being deployed?

The Field of Thearn has never been tilled.  Boulders lie scattered across a knee-deep growth of bracken and heather. The crows and ravens that follow the army circle above it now, more immanent than the distant hawks. The winter heather is still in flower when the army starts pulling it up in organized squares. Space is cleared for tents and latrines, and now there is fuel for the campfires.

The camp of the Elves lies some distance away, fireless, lit by little glowing spheres that hover above it. Their snow-white faces flit across the twilight above their mail.  They’re not pink-skinned, like the Ifrits, but their ears are just as pointed.

Aldo the Orc helps pile up heather, and then goes to wash up in the stream with the maids. He recognizes a tiny gnome girl called Gella crouching beside him.

“Why are you so afraid of her, all of you?” he asks, nodding toward the black wagon with the gilded bars across the back. “Has she hurt you? I’ve never heard her be harsh.”

“Not me,” Gella says. “But we all know what happened to Merrly.”

“What happened?” Aldo asks, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“The Wrath of the King slipped out of one of her bracers and tore her into pieces. The biggest thing they found was a hand,” Gella says, glancing sidelong back at the wagon as one fingertip surreptitiously shapes the holy sickle for protection, curve across and curve down. “If the Master hadn’t stopped her she would have killed everyone. I didn’t see it, but he told Merrly’s family when they gave them the ashes. I heard him because I was dusting.”

“Terrible,” Aldo said.

“Terrible,” Gella agrees. The look she gives Aldo before she scuttles away is one of intense pity.

That night, as he brushes out the weapon’s thin hair in the cushion pile in her tent, he thinks about it for a while. Then eventually he asks,

“Do you remember a maid called Merrly?”

“Oh, yes. Human,” the Wrath of the King murmurs sleepily. She sits on Aldo’s thigh with her face resting against his chest, facing outward so he can brush with one hand and hold her steady with the other. A bony elbow digs slightly into his big soft belly. His liniment seems to be helping. She can actually tie the soft robe closed over the scar that covers much of the front of her.

“She died from falling into one of the arcane fires, the Master said. Odd thing. They only had ashes to give the family. Why?” It’s not often the Orc asks questions.

“He told the maids something different,” Aldo says.

“How strange,” she says. “Why would he bother? He doesn’t care what the servants think…” She is nodding off. Aldo doesn’t think she is lying. He’s never known her to make the mental effort to be circumspect, let alone to try and deceive him.

The next day, the maids dress her in a plain linen robe dyed the color of old blood. The kingdom’s sword and sickle is not embroidered, it is smeared in black paint on the front and back panels. Aldo wonders at this as he helps hold her up. Usually she is swathed in layers of buckram, wooden stays, heavy brocades with elaborate embroidery. Usually her hair is piled in pins and gold combs and sticks. Today it’s a simple braid with a black ribbon. She has always been weak and listless, but today she trembles with a strange nervous energy he has never seen. A fervid spot of color mounts each pale cheek. She seems to blink less often, brown eyes held wide.

“What happens today, Milady?” he asks her.

“You’ll see,” she says, voice raw and stretched. “Until you look away. I won’t blame you. No one watches but him. Just be there when it’s over, all right?”

“I will, Milady.”

“And bring the gray robe.”

“I will, Milady.”

Aldo’s voice is deep and clear and firm, like always. The weapon grieves that that must change today. When he sees what is really inside her, he will never wish to see or speak to her again. And he will not be able to go. He will hate her and be stuck here with her forever. But that grief is a painful, twanging tune beneath the symphony of hunger and want. She knows what’s coming. No amount of shame or disgust can change that she was made for this.

The general and his captains have their last diplomatic parlay with the Elves early in the morning. By the time the Master comes to get her, the military men are back again, stepping over the white chalk line poured onto the dirt as a corporal furls the white flag.

“Well, gentlemen?” the Master says. “Have they elected to surrender?”

“No. Send the weapon,” says General Izath, a rose-skinned Ifrit. Butterfly-wing ears curve back beneath his red-plumed casque. He doesn’t look at her. He only makes the sign of the sickle as he passes.

The Master smiles. His blue eyes are unblinking and intent as he steps behind the weapon and lays his hands on her shoulders. Aldo can see him all but inflate with pride in his own work, in the power he is about to wield. The two of them begin a strange litany, one voice oratorical and measured, the other high and trembling.

“In the name of Malacien, Hearth and Huntress, She Who Wieldeth the Sickle, hear thou the Word of Retribution.”

“In the Name of Malacien, She Who Chooseth the Slain, I hear.”

“In the name of the Eight Good Gods, in the name of the Kings now and past, I abjure thee. Thou shalt harm none who dwell behind this line, but all who lie in front of it are thy prey. Avenge thyself upon the foe and return to thy form of birth. Swear thine obedience.”

“By Morith, He Who Keepeth the Slain, I swear it.”

“Shouldst thou disobey, the bonds of thy keeping shall slay thee. Swear again thy fealty.”

“By Mighty Serne, King of Gods, Hunted and Risen, I swear it.”

“Before this line, before all assembled, I loose the Wrath of the Kings. Return when nothing of his enemies draws breath.”

“I am loosed,” the weapon practically screams, and the Master takes his hands away. It’s the first time Aldo has ever seen her run, stumbling barefoot through the heather, heedless of thorns or sharp stones. He winces for her feet. Across the field, the Elves are forming up lines of battle, spreading the two wings of cavalry that have proved so deadly to the armies of other would-be conquerors of these isles.

They don’t even see her at first. She has a long distance to cover for a small, sick woman past her first youth. Aldo half expects her to be slain by an arrow when they do spot her, but it is now evident to him that they don’t know what is about to happen. Spycraft has failed them, or previous encounters have left no sane survivors. There is no real disturbance in their lines as they begin their slow movement forward toward what appears to be a foolishly disordered foe behind this one little sacrifice.

A few desultory arrows flit into the bracken around her. She stops, swaying, and raises her arms in their golden bracers, spread wide as if inviting an embrace.

Even at this distance, Aldo hears the sound of flesh tearing. He knows it must be the scar, the one that never really heals. He doesn’t expect the snap of bones breaking as she folds backward practically in half. Her arms dangle, eyes rolled up into her head. Aldo is aware of everyone but the Master turning away, making signs, murmuring prayers. Only he and the Master see the arms unfurl, tendrils like a polyp starting at the width of a hand but widening as they lengthen until they are bigger than tree trunks. The weapon’s body simply shreds, crushed beneath the weight of the ever-growing knot of slimy black branches. Only the two little arms in their bracers remain, flat and dead-looking on either side of the thing’s base until they, too, are covered and crushed by the mass.

As the horror expands, Aldo can see suckers on one side of each tendril, discs as big as his head. Every one has a barbed hook in the center of it. There the resemblance to anything in nature ends, for now the arms are sprouting more arms yet, and now some have horns and eyes. He can tell they’re eyes because they are Human, round-pupiled, brown. Brown like hers. They ARE hers, he realizes, as one looks directly at him and a pupil the size of his fist expands with recognition. Wet, glistening lashes flutter, and then the thing twists away from him in its eagerness to get at the enemy.

“I think it recognized you,” the Master says beside him, his voice amused. “You should be grateful for the line. It’s come within a hair of reaching me before the pain stopped it before.”

“She would eat us, Milord?” Aldo asks. His tone is dull. It’s hard to imagine any more horror than what is now happening among the Elven lines. Aldo has seen war, lost someone precious to it, been forever marked by it. He’s never seen an Elf and a horse torn into gobbets of gore and stuffed into the toothy circle of a black maw. There are now innumerable mouths among the coils, lipless, silent.

“Oh, yes. Did you think you were the first in your preset position, Goodman Aldo?”

Aldo is silent. He can’t tell if this is another lie, or what the purpose of such a deception could be. The screaming is too loud now. He sees a single Elf on a horse try to flee up the hill behind the camp, to carry word of what is happening here, or perhaps just fleeing in panic. A tendril snaps out like a whip-crack hundreds of yards long. The Elf falls from the saddle in two directions, top half and bottom, and the horse is snatched into the air to be torn and engulfed with the pieces of the rider.

The Wrath of the Kings rolls over the distant camp. Aldo prays silently that there were no children there. He now understands that the reason this tactic keeps working is that there will be no bodies. The thing does not discriminate between flesh and armor. It’s far away now, but he can see it ripping up tents, too. Everything goes into its horrid jawless orifices.

It’s only minutes before it’s over. The sun has scarcely moved overhead. When at last there is silence, the nest of arms and eyes and mouths slithers back toward the line. It’s bigger than a house. It’s almost bigger than a castle. It fills much of the distance between the two camps. When it comes close to the line it is a writhing wall that fills Aldo’s world, towering into the orange sky. People in the camp move farther away from the shadow that has fallen over them. They cover their heads and whisper more prayers. Many brown eyes fix upon him. Some look at the Master, too. The mouth that opens in front of the sorcerer is taller than he is, drooling blood, stinking of charnel. As Aldo watches, it pulses open and shut, edging further from himself and nearer to the Master. This close, he can see into a throat of incomprehensible, impossible depth, lined with rows of teeth like a hagfish that stretch down endlessly into the darkness.

The Wrath of the Kings is still voiceless. The only sound is the glutinous slither of its movement and the awful click of many, many teeth. From the corner of his eye, Aldo sees the man’s shoulders heaving, face empty of color.

A tiny tendril, as thin as a finger, quests right up to the line, waving to and fro in front of Aldo’s face. Up close, it isn’t really slimy. It’s covered in tiny armored scales, black and shining. He can see the little hooked barb on the tip. It might be white bone like the sucker-hooks, when it isn’t bloody.

The whole mass of the thing shudders. It ripples and twists and begins to curl inward on itself, little arms folding into bigger arms, horns and teeth shrinking and withdrawing into flesh. As Aldo watches, still unable to look away, it gets smaller and smaller. Now it does make noise. There are many hissing exhalations as air is expelled from its vanishing mouths. He is half surprised that the thing actually breathes. He can’t imagine how the form of woman can re-emerge after he watched it so thoroughly destroyed. He watches with a kind of sick curiosity, hands clasped behind his back in an unconscious parade rest that hasn’t been meaningful in his life in a decade or more. The tendrils twist and twist and shrink, and as they fold around each other they sculpt one another into a human shape, at first writhing in all its components, then slick and black, then suddenly blending and fading into lighter flesh, scales smoothing away as if they were never there. At the last, the thinnest of them fold away into a jagged mouth lined with more teeth, and then that shrivels crookedly away and becomes a red scar branching over a naked woman’s breast and belly and thighs. It’s a slightly different shape than before. Of course it is, Aldo thinks. It's a new body.

The golden bracers are the same. She could not, it seems, remake herself into a form without them, however much she must have wished it. They’re not so loose as before. Her body is still thin, but less thin than before now, pink and blushing as she lies gasping in the flattened heather. The battlefield is crushed down flat over all of its width. Black steam rises and sublimes away as the moments pass. Over the fading stench of blood and death there’s a strange and unearthly smell of something Aldo can only describe as perfume, but it’s no perfume of any plant he has ever smelled. It doesn’t smell real or right. The ravens are descending, but there won’t be much for them to find.

“Well, go on and get her,” The Master says. “Be careful. She’ll be heavier.” He turns away to stalk back to his tent. He’s still smiling slightly in Aldo’s last sideways glimpse of him, but the Orc is already kneeling with the robe in his hands.

“Milady,” he says. She opens her eyes, still panting. Her hair is dry and braided. That detail bothers him more than a lot of it, for some reason.

“Oh, the robe. Yes. Thank you.” Her voice is almost normal. It’s stronger than usual, in fact. He helps her into it and then picks her up carefully in his arms. She’s heavier than usual, but not by much. She turns her face into his shoulder in the familiar way.

“How do you feel?” he asks, as he carries her into her tent. He can’t completely keep emotion out of his voice. Is this the same person that he has served and held and warmed with his body? Is it a new one every time?

“Good,” she murmurs. “It’ll be good for a little while, except for the mark. Aldo, do you – can you - ”

That note of worried self-loathing is certainly familiar. Aldo relaxes. He has his balance now. Nothing he saw will ever leave him as long as he lives, but here, now, in this tent, he is with the same person he has been with for months. Nothing that happened out there has changed that. Nothing about her has changed at all. He just understands her better now.

“Of course,” he says softly, no more “Milady” now that they’re alone. “I have my liniment still. Be easy.” He lays her in the pillow pile and turns to get it. When he turns back, she reaches for his arm. Her hand is as cold as he remembers. He lets her hold onto him, looking down in puzzlement for a moment until he realizes she is testing to see if he flinches, eyes unblinking on his face. Her hand holds him so tightly that she shakes.

He sets down the liniment for a second so that he can sit down beside her and lean over and pull her into his lap. He is still very careful. He will always be careful. He lays his arms around her and holds her face against his shoulder again, lightly, so that he doesn’t press hard on the scar.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’re still you. That’s enough.”

“How could it ever be enough?” she asks lowly.

“He said there were others before me,” Aldo said. “Is that true?”

“No,” she says. “What a strange thing to say. He never even offered before you. I never asked.” He feels her sigh. “Aldo - ”

“You knew me,” he said. “You wanted to eat him, but just him. I don’t think he realized.”

She snorts into his tunic. “Of course.” There’s a silence in which he gently strokes her back over the robe for a little while. Eventually she says, “I remember everything. None of it is outside of my control, do you understand that, Aldo? I can’t disobey him because he’ll kill me, but – I know that I choose to obey. That’s important for you to know.”

“I think I understand that,” Aldo said. “You’re not really able to eat properly in this form, are you? This is only part of you.”

“Yes. All of me is – well. You’ve seen,” she whispers. “You didn’t look away. But I won’t be hungry for a while after the campaign is over. Then – the winter becomes long. He likes that, watching me get hungrier and hungrier.”

“It’s not right,” Aldo says very quietly.

“Nothing about it has ever been right,” she says. Her voice is fading now in a familiar way. She might be a little better fed, but it’s still been a busy and exhausting day, flailing about annihilating an entire army and destroying and remaking her own entire body. Perhaps this way of thinking about it is a little mad. Perhaps Aldo is a little mad now, too. He can’t examine that too closely. There’s work to be done.

“You’ll feel better for a rest,” he says. “Let me take care of everything. It’ll be all right.” She sighs deeply. After a moment she kisses his shoulder over his tunic very lightly. “I might fall asleep while you’re applying the liniment,” she says. “That’s all right, dear.” “You won’t leave me tonight, will you?” “I will never leave you,” Aldo says. He probably wouldn’t be allowed to. But right now, he doesn’t care about that part. He means what he says.

[dream--interrupted]

he's not just eepy - he's THE eepy

(fun fact: his name is literally pronounced as "eep-nos" in modern Greek)

Edit: recoloured it because it looked boring.

[bugbeast]

i think theres something out there

---

My shop

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Friday: untitled Jak oneshot/ Daxter Snaps And It Doesn't Go Well

(This takes place right after Jak finally gets to return to Spargus in Jak 3, because I had some Feelings about the Dark Eco Oracle and its well-loved shrine having been either moved or destroyed in Haven. Also for reference: since the original Jak concept art was a cat/foxlike alien child, hence the ears being set so high on his head in TPL, I'm hereby deciding that their species can purr. Because I said so.)

This is Quite Long, so I'll probably crosspost to AO3 later.

TW: panic attack

Jak hadn't been surprised by the summons when he'd returned from Haven. He knew he was in for it. Damas had started trusting him with more and more responsibilities and then Jak had screwed it all up. Running off to Haven and then getting stuck there immediately after? Not a good look.

Honestly, Jak was just grateful he wasn't being "escorted" up by city guards.

Part of him wanted to go in fighting. That's all Damas cares about, right? a small, bitter corner of his heart muttered.

The rest of him was too afraid. He finally knew better than to look to anyone in Haven for affirmation or examples. Damas had been the closest he'd ever come to an authority figure he trusted. What if he lost that, too?

The second his and Daxter's heads were visible in the elevator shaft, Damas was already raising his voice. Perhaps he was simply projecting his voice to reach them, but Jak's stomach twisted into knots regardless, and his breathing became quick and shallow.

"Where have you been?" Damas demanded, rising from his throne. "It's been a month!"

The elevator locked, and Jak crept out onto the pathway like a skittish animal. He didn't meet Damas’s eyes. The confused anger and hurt he'd seen in them the last time flashed in his memory, and he winced. An oppressive silence fell for a few unnaturally long seconds, punctuated by the creak of the water wheel. Damas was waiting for an answer.

It's not our fault, Jak tried to reassure himself, Just another betrayal. We didn't do anything wrong.

When he didn't answer Damas, the king’s expression twisted between outrage and disbelief and-

And disappointment.

"Nothing? Really, Jak?" He took one step down from the dais, clenching his fist at his side. "Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

Daxter took it upon himself to answer when Jak wouldn't -- or couldn't.

"Oh lay off!" he hissed, puffing himself up to look bigger, "Don't you have friends to kill in your gladiator ring?"

"Dax!" Jak gasped. Too late.

The words were already out and a black look fell across Damas’s face. His entire posture went rigid.

"Excuse me?" he asked in a frightful facsimile of calm.

"Daxter, don't," Jak pleaded, but it was far too late for that. When Daxter got this mad, he didn't even hear Jak.

"You heard me!"

Daxter leapt off Jak's shoulder and stood on the first stepping stone as if blocking the way between them.

"You tried to make us kill one of our only real friends, and threw a tantrum when we wouldn't! And if you think I'd trust you with Jak's location after that, those spikes must be diggin' into your brain!"

Jak couldn't breathe.

Either Damas was going to cut them off, or Daxter was going to get hurt, and either way everything was going to crumble. He'd finally escaped Haven and there was going to be nothing to escape to.

His core pulsed, obeying signals he didn't even know his brain was sending. It tried to respond to the fight-or-flight instincts quickening his pulse and shortening his breath. In Haven, he would have gone Dark in response. But he'd used all the dark eco. There was nothing left. Nothing but adrenaline and panic.

A strange, almost echoing sensation pushed at the inside of his skull, and the room spun. He couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they'd been fused shut. He couldn't breathe!

"Jak!"

Between blurs of brown and green, Damas -- or an unfocused and staticy version of him -- approached rapidly.

As if from another room, Jak heard Daxter snarl, "Stay back! If you hurt him, I'll rip your spikes out!"

"I wouldn't hurt him!"

"You already did!"

It was too much. He couldn't- he couldn't focus. He couldn't find the light eco. Jak's knees gave, and it was a struggle to stay upright. Hands caught his upper arms, preventing him from collapsing entirely.

"Breathe, Jak!"

Damas sounded worried this time.

"You have to breathe!"

"Can't-!" Jak gasped, breath squeaking.

Then the world turned sideways and he was in the water. Or partly in the water.

His legs twitched with the shock of the new sensation, surprising him enough to suck in a deep breath. A compressing sensation against his chest and arms tightened in response.

"Focus on the water. Find your feet."

It took four tries to get his boots on the rocky bottom of the pool. His chest hurt, but he managed another deep breath.

"That's it. You can do this."

A small hand took his, pulling against the pressure around his shoulders, and pressed it against a narrow chest.

"L- like we practiced, bud-"

Oh. There's Daxter.

"Just breathe when I breathe, remember?"

Distantly, he heard Damas ask Daxter, "Has this happened before? In- in Spargus, I mean."

"Don't think about it, warrior," the other voice encouraged -- Damas? Is that Damas? But he's mad at us! -- "Just do as your friend does."

"If Jak wants to tell ya, he'll tell ya," Daxter said sourly. "You and I are not on speaking terms right now."

"...that is understandable."

One by one, his muscles relaxed. His breathing was much too fast, but it was easier to get full breaths at least.

When the ringing in Jak’s ears at last began to subside, he picked up a new sound. It was faint, barely audible at all, but he could just make out a nervous rumble. A laryngeal vibration he could feel through the back of his shirt. With conscious thought on standby mode, Jak's body responded to long-forgotten cues unbidden. His glottis rapidly dilated and constricted with his breathing, creating its own vibrations in a bid to self-soothe. It was how he'd learned not to cry out loud as a young child -- although blessedly, he would never remember that.

It wasn't the first time Damas had walked one of his people through a panic attack in the throne room, and it wouldn't be the last. But this one hurt.

"You're safe. There is no danger here. This is a safe place."

Shame raked its claws down his chest and Pain reached through the incision, grasping at organs and prying bones out of the way.

Jak didn't trust him.

And it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he whispered- to Jak, to Daxter, to either-

A memory loomed damningly before his eyes. Mar had just started walking, and nearly toppled into the pools. Damas had yelled at him to get away from the edge, and the baby had burst into a loud, terrified wail.

"I'm- was it the shouting? I-"

"I'm sorry, it's okay, it's okay now- I know, I used the Big Voice, Daddy's sorry! You scared me, Bug!"

He hadn't gotten any better after losing Mar, had he? He still shouted when he was afraid. And look how that had turned out.

Damas tightened his hold on Jak and rested his chin on the crown of the boy's head. The apologies were bitter on his tongue, but necessary.

"I...I triggered this, didn't I? I'm sorry- gods, I'm sorry, Jak. I'm- you scared me. I couldn't find you! No one could!"

"You...thought we defected?" he asked through numbed lips.

The panic was slow to fade, still muddling Jak's mind. He couldn't quite make sense of what he was hearing.

"I thought the Marauders had taken you! Or you'd collapsed somewhere in the Wastes where we couldn't find you!" Damas answered. The dregs of that old fear still stained the edges of his voice. He shuddered.

He swallowed hard, interrupting the agitated purring for a moment. "I...did not handle the...situation as I should have. I damaged your trust. And I deserved worse than the silent treatment. I understand that. But to keep it from Sig, too?"

"You can't just run away like that! I- I understand why you didn't tell me-"

Painfully slowly, Jak drew his legs back out of the water and onto the rocks.

"They wouldn't let me," he mumbled. "They didn't let us leave."

Damas shot a concerned look at Daxter, who shrugged and looked away.

Shifting his grip to have one arm around the boy's waist, Damas heaved himself to his feet, taking Jak with him.

This promised to be a very unpleasant conversation, the least he could do was find them somewhere more comfortable to sit.

They were silent for a time, each processing the whirlwind of events. Jak was deeply, thoroughly, confused. No one had ever apologized like that before. Acknowledging his pain and the specific way their actions had caused it? It would be a cold day in hell before Samos ever did anything like that.

He didn't understand.

They'd defied Damas, then run from him. Daxter had just challenged him to his face.

Yet he spoke like a man anxiously awaiting the return of a prodigal son.

"Who wouldn't let you leave, Jak?" Damas asked him, far too gently.

Jak shut his eyes. "Haven."

"Haven?!" Damas sounded horrified. "What were you doing there?! Is that where you've been this whole time?"

Miserably, Jak nodded. "I was just- we were just scouting. Just- it wasn't supposed to be-"

He gritted his teeth.

"They locked down the air trains," he croaked. "And- and there's force fields blocking off the city exits. The only way they'd let us go was if I fought on the frontlines for three weeks first."

Fighting down his anger lest he trigger Jak's panic again, Damas forced himself to ask, "What made you go back to that city in the first place?"

A hostage. His boy- The boy had been a bloody hostage, and he'd had no idea! Damas felt something dark and dense fluttering between his ribs. If he found the person who ordered this, he would drown them in the sands.

Jak winced and passed several looks back and forth with Daxter.

"Ashelin...called me to the oasis," he said at last.

Damas stiffened beside him.

"She want- she wanted me to come back to Haven. After everything they did to me, she wanted me to come back."

He felt the hints of the anxiety returning, and wrapped his arms around himself for comfort.

"Ashelin Praxis?" Damas demanded. He curled his lip. "I might have known. I hope you told her where to shove that offer."

Daxter scoffed. "Oh, he did. Even told her "I have new friends now", which was a little too generous considering what you said to my pal."

Jak gave the ottsel a weary look, and Daxter grudgingly subsided.

"I told her to leave. She- she wouldn't drop it. Said the friends we still had were going to die. That it was my responsibility because of-"

He flipped a hand in the air in frustration.

"I don't know! Dead people I share some common blood with!"

"Pal, I'm pretty sure that common blood stopped bein' responsible for that dump when Princess Scribbleface's darling pappy took over," Daxter grumbled.

"Common blood?!" Damas startled, but Jak had already moved on, hastily trying to explain himself.

"We didn't believe her -- I- I mean, why would we? But when I asked the Oracle in the temple-"

"How did you find the Oracle?!" Damas spluttered.

"The stupid thing called me," Jak growled. He leaned forward and pressed his face into his hands. "Said the whole planet was in danger and my friends would die if I didn't find the catacombs."

He muffled a snarl in his palms.

"I hate them. I hate those rottin' things. They don't tell me when something is a trap. They only tell me what fits their agenda."

Jak could speak to Precursor Oracles.

Only monks were supposed to still be able to do that.

Monks, or Heirs of Mar taking the Trials.

"And...was it a trap?" Damas asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

A painful, wishful image of Jak in the Tomb of Mar wormed through Damas’s thoughts. If life had any semblance of fairness, or restitution, it would have been reality. It was not what he deserved, not after how many times he'd failed the people he cared about. But Jak deserved it. He'd been isolated enough.

Jak's face was like stone.

"All they cared about was getting me into Haven to find the catacombs before that nutcase Veger could. And all Haven cared about was keeping us there."

A deep, ominous creaking filled the room. Harsh shadows stretched and yawned as the terrible old statue beside the dais flickered, then lit up. A suffocating sense of dread filled Damas as he beheld the monolith. It wasn't a real Oracle. It was a shell, made to hold pieces of the water wheel. It wasn't made to have any kind of lights.

Daxter yelped and scurried up to Jak’s shoulder as the water wheel ground to a halt.

The silence was unnatural.

Jak's chest heaved, and Damas feared for a moment that he was going to panic again. But an answering light flickered in the boy's eyes. White, incandescent rage.

"What do you want now? You're not welcome here!" Jak snarled, standing up with a jerk.

"Angry one-"

It said in warning, a rolling, ancient voice that echoed off the stones and twisted in their eardrums.

Jak clenched his fists.

"No! I'm not afraid of you! You're no "holier" than Onin. You aren't even a Precursor!"

A sense of fury shook the room, and the water trembled.

Jak held his ground though his legs shook.

"You can't do anything to punish me," he challenged, angry tears glowing in his eyes. "The worst you can do is withhold information that would protect me, and you do that anyway! If- if you had power at all, you wouldn't have let Veger destroy Crius!"

Crius? Damas vaguely remembered that name. Hadn't he been one of the Bonekeeper's heralds? The memories were fuzzy at best. Father forbade Mother from speaking of the Bonekeeper when they married. Any communing with the patron of dark eco was done in secret, and as a child Damas had only caught her once.

"The dark shrine was all those people had!" the anger was slipping away from Jak now, replaced by something closer to grief. "He gave them hope! He gave- he gave me hope! And you couldn't save him. So what makes you think you can scare me now? Hu'mens are worse than you."

And the Oracle, miraculously, quieted. The waters stilled, and some of the dread receded. Jak fell back to the steps, having exhausted the last reserves of his emotions.

"Yeah! You tell him, Jak!" Daxter cheered, breaking the silence, "About time you put Sparky in his place!"

He ruffled Jak's hair -- the hair he could reach at least -- and leaned against his arm comfortingly.

"Next, we get Loghead!"

The Oracle remained lit, but speechless. All this time, had rebuking the heralds really been an option? Ever the pragmatist, Damas decided to follow Jak's example.

"As the boy said." His voice was quiet at first, but gained courage with each new word.

"This is not a place of seers and soothsayers. Respectfully: we do not require your guidance at this time."

"Heir of Mar-"

the Oracle began, almost wheedling.

Rage loosened his lips and he lost the last shred of reverence he'd held for the messenger.

Jak went rigid and Damas felt an anger of his own. How dare this entity try to leverage his bloodline when the Precursors had turned their backs on him!

"Hold your tongue! Unless you can comprehend the trouble you have caused, keep your counsel to yourself."

Resentfully, the Oracle's eyes flashed.

And with that, the lights were gone. The water wheel resumed its gloomy rhythm. The statue was hollow once more.

"So be it. You wish to hear no truth from me? Then you, Damas of the Wastes, shall hear no truth from me."

Something about the acquiescence -- or threat -- made Damas uneasy. Withholding information again, just as Jak had said. But he had the feeling it was hinting at something important. Taunting him.

Bloody seven hells.

He'd sooner cast the bones himself and call upon the Dark Lady directly as his mother once had than ever deal with that thing again.

"Little wonder you're always so on edge, dealing with that," he said; a poor attempt at a joke.

Jak dropped his face back into his hands.

"I'm so sick of them. Jak do this. Jak go there. Suffer for us, Jak! It's Fate!"

Damas scoffed. "Fate, eh? Wastelanders make their own fate. If this is who my monks consult, it's no surprise that they believe the world is coming to an end."

"They are pretty worried about the creatures in that space ship," Jak admitted reluctantly.

"Bah."

Damas waved it off.

"When the metalheads invaded our world, we survived with or without the Precursors they hunted. We will do the same if these creatures land."

He jostled Jak's shoulder -- shaking Daxter by proxy.

"Ey! No manhandling!"

Daxter slithered away down the steps and into the water. He glared up over the step like a little croc.

"You keep your emotionally constipated hands away from me!"

Damas let out a startled laugh, and Jak shook his head and grinned.

"I...guess you're right. Spargus is pretty tough."

"We are Wastelanders, boy," Damas declared, "We carved out a home in the places where nothing else survives. We'll carve out our fate the same way, with the same tools our ancestors used."

"...with eco," Jak said quietly, as if experiencing a revelation.

"Our minds think alike."

Damas’s wry grin faded.

"Jak...I'm...sorry. That I made you feel you couldn't contact me for help. If I had known you were being held in Haven against your will, I would have come for you."

The boy fixed him with a bewildered expression.

"You would have?" Jak asked, "You're serious. You. Leaving your people to come after me?"

The king met his stare evenly.

"Yes."

"After the- the thing, with the Arena-?"

Damas winced and looked away.

"I. I did not warn you, I was not permitted to. But the final trial of a Spargan is one they are supposed to lose."

Jak bristled. "What?!"

"It's a test of whether they can put loyalty to their city over the commands of a tyrant. Sig wasn't supposed to throw down his gun, he was supposed to goad you into a sparring match." Damas ran his hand over his shaved head. "I should have told him before he went in that it was you. I didn't know that you knew each other, but- maybe he wouldn't have panicked if he'd known it was a Final Trial. Maybe I wouldn't have panicked."

Jak stared at him in disbelief for several seconds. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he blurted out an accusation with no bite to it.

"What, did you forget I didn't grow up here?"

When he was met with chagrined silence, his eyes widened.

"Oh my gods you did. How?! You're the one that found me out there!"

Clearly embarrassed, Damas shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to tell you. There are days when it just...seems as though I have known you for much longer than seven months."

Jak took that statement, turned it over in his mind. The version of Damas in his head wasn't quite matching the one in front of him. Even before things had become strained between them, he hadn't had the context to understand the way Damas saw him. He still didn't- not completely.

"Sorry," he said suddenly, and gestured to the soaked trousers. "I um. I don't usually...not in front of people, I mean-"

He leaned back against the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. The linen stuck to his legs in sodden wrinkles and folds, nearly transparent against his calves. It would dry quickly once he stepped outside again -- and the evaporating water would serve to cool his skin nicely. But for now, it drew his mind to his panic attack.

"Don't apologize." Damas laced his fingers together loosely and leaned his elbows against his knees. "May...may I ask what it was that sparked that kind of fear?"

Jak met Daxter's eyes, down in the water. The ottsel winced. He knew he'd taken it too far. He was just so sick of people acting like Jak was a trained dog with no autonomy of his own. And sometimes his desire to protect Jak’s emotions didn't mesh completely with what Jak needed at the moment.

Jak broke their gaze and began to pick at a scar on his elbow.

"...thought I was going to have to choose sides. Between you and Dax."

"Why would supporting Daxter cause you to panic?" Damas pressed.

"Because," he muttered with a shrug.

He'd assumed without question that Jak would take Daxter's side. Jak didn't know whether to be amused or grateful or just tired.

"Because?"

"Because I- I wanted this to still be home." Jak made a vague gesture encompassing the room, and its occupants.

"This is your home," Damas insisted. He glanced to the empty Oracle with a thoughtful frown.

Something lingered in the corners of Jak's eyes. A concern he wasn't voicing. Did he still believe he could be so easily forsaken?

"If this is where the desert brought you, then this is where the desert meant you to thrive."

But then, he had been cast out of Haven on the flimsiest of pretenses. His faith in hu'menity was shaken. For a moment, Damas considered changing the subject. He could talk about the coming trials, give Jak something else to think about.

Or he could meet him on his level. Show him the same vulnerability he'd so unwillingly displayed.

The words stuck to his tongue, stabbed like needles into the roof of his mouth as he forced them through his teeth.

"I...had a son. Some years ago."

"Had". Was there ever such a horrible word?

"He was like you -- or, he would have been, when he was older."

Under his breath he added, "if he ever got the chance to get older."

Jak's brows knit together, then went slack. From tiny pinpricks in the centers of his eyes, horror flooded out to the rest of his face.

"You have a child?"

After a moment to collect himself, the king nodded.

His head dipped lower, nearly brushing the steeple of his fingertips.

"I did. He was taken from me, by some of the same people who seem to have orchestrated your own suffering."

"I pray that my son still lives but- he was so young. So small. So-"

Damas’s voice cracked.

"So very small."

Guilt played across Jak's face for a moment, then was swallowed up by a deep sadness that welled up from within. Haven was a city of devils. He wondered if Damas’s child had been taken during the time when Praxis was snatching children en masse in his search for Jak's childhood self.

Did that make it his fault that Damas was so bereaved?

"That's-"

That's not fair. It's an abomination. Hurting a kid should be enough to make the Precursors strike you dead on the spot. Errol should've died the first time he put me in the Chair-

Jak's thoughts spiraled out of control, and he had to fight to return his focus to the moment.

"That's terrible."

Inhaling sharply, Damas raised his head and straightened his spine. One warm, callused hand found its way to Jak’s shoulder and squeezed.

He felt his throat closing up, snapping his voice into grating pieces.

"The reason I tell you this is so that you will understand this: It would take more than a little teenaged defiance to make me turn my back on you."

"I lost my son, Jak," he croaked, "I cannot lose you, too."

The laryngeal vibration began again -- from Jak, this time. The nearly autonomous response was as much a subconscious desire to comfort Damas as it was self-soothing. Even so, his chest ached dully. How old, he wondered, had Damas’s son been when he was taken? He must have been so scared! Did he call out for his father? Did Damas call out for him?

"In...war," Damas said hesitantly, "Sacrifices are sometimes required of us. In my case, I had to stay and rebuild the part of the wall the attackers destroyed. To protect thousands from the storms and the Marauders. I knew that, but it still took days for Sig to convince me to send him to Haven in my place."

"Yeah," Jak muttered, "I know about sacrfices."

But Damas shook his head. "It's hardly a sacrifice if someone else chose it for you out of convenience. That's just betrayal."

Silence fell again, but there was no tension to it. A sense of introspection lingered between them, each consumed with his own thoughts. Even Daxter's anger had muted itself -- now overlayed with guilt, berating himself for jumping to fight Jak's battles without bothering to see what Jak himself wanted.

The moment of quiet ended with a crackling of the city radio from which Damas monitored all official channels.

"Oh not now," the man groaned with a most unkingly attitude. "Can I have a moment of peace?"

"No way," Jak scoffed, finding a glimmer of humor in the situation, "You jinxed it by letting us take a break. Now something crazy is going to happen."

Damas narrowed his eyes. "Boy, if you will that into reality-" he warned, with no real way to finish the threat.

The second he picked up the receiver, he knew it was going to be a headache.

"Sire! We've got three different Marauder patrols converging on the city gates! There's a fourth on the radar crossing the river now!"

Daxter pulled himself out of the water and cringed. "How many cars is that?"

"Twelve, at least," Jak gulped.

Damas did not take this information the way he normally would have. He seemed to be fuming as he stood up and stomped up the stairs to retrieve his staff. Jak could hear him muttering under his breath.

His voice rose to something more audible. "I'm not in the mood for this, Egil," he snapped, addressing the thane of the Marauders as if he were present.

"Not the time, Egil, this is not the time to test me! Just got my kid back, got threatened by a bloody Oracle-"

Jak decided, for the sake of being able to focus during a fight, to just pretend he hadn't heard Damas referring to him as his own kid. He could come back to that and freak out later. Right now, there was a fight to be had. He held an arm down for Daxter to use as a ramp, then stood.

"Where do you need me?" he asked.

Damas gave him a searching look. For an instant, his gaze flicked to the lifeless Oracle. That seemed to reinforce his resolve.

"With me," he said shortly. "We're taking the Dozer. You're on the turret gun."

The way Jak's -- and even Daxter's -- eyes lit up almost made up for the hassle Damas knew this skirmish was going to be. He cast one last look at the Oracle before shepherding them to the lift.

Keep your counsel, he thought, and I will keep mine. I don't need your permission to add a son to my House. What of that, eh? The Heir and your renegade Pawn allied against you!

"Hey, maybe I should drive," Jak suggested as the lift began to move."

"Hm." Damas pretended to consider it. "No."

"Why not?!"

"You can't reach the pedals yet."

He could have simply explained that he preferred to drive his favorite vehicle himself. But, the slightest bit giddy at the thought of open rebellion against fate, Damas instead bent slightly to offer a teasing grin.

"What?! Oh come on!"

The elevator sank out of sight, and the water wheel trembled. The statue vibrated and the pools bubbled and boiled with the helpless fury of a falconer whose birds had long since slipped the jesses to fly free. But the boy had not spoken falsley: it was not a Precursor, merely the echo of one's memory. In the face of hu'men defiance, it was helpless to retaliate in any meaningful way. Even withholding the truth of the Hero's identity had been robbed of its intended effect, considering the Fallen Heir and the Hero had gone ahead and reformed the broken bond between them anyway!

The Oracle could not comprehend their motives, nor could it ever hope to understand the complexities of the hu'men mind.

It could only watch and seethe.

[toacody]

Bionicle MOC: Semmu and Solruru

When I said you two should get closer, I didn't mean that close!

Source

Creator: LordObliviontheGreat

[i-am-trans-gwender]

Could estrogen have saved Nylarthotep?

[rupertbbare]

Source:

[clankhead]

Abominations

Avalon Hill

Here and back again with the horrifyingly best thing about HeroQuest:

Deep Ones

[droneboi]

As somone who can barely distinguish between romantic and platonic love, aromantic people are far beyond my comprehension.

[i-fucked-your-milkshake]

Color: does not exist in nature

Shape: does not exist in nature

Flavor: does not exist in nature

Cheetos are Lovecraftian.

[beautys-abomination]

Be the d̶̯͎̍͐͒̃i̸͗̿̐͜s̴͙̀͘t̴̪͍̥͒̿o̵̮̰̙͊͐̀͝r̵͉͚͗̓̈́t̴̫͖͛i̵̺̔͠o̴̖̯̯͌̿̓͘ń̴͉͇̱͚͋̽ ̸̩͎͇̓̿͠ḯ̵̡͎̟̐n̸͇̮͔͉͑ ̵̳͔̮̖̄̎̀s̵̖͒͊͘ṕ̴̱̃͝a̸̠̖̓̈́̈c̵̠̪̦̅ͅȇ̸͓̗̈́-̴̘̳͓̝͛͊͝t̶͖͉̚í̷̭͖͙̈́m̵̼͍̜̗̄e̶̝̲͕͗͌̀͝ ̵̧͕͖̎́̃͠f̴̰̈͊̽ạ̶͕̎b̵̛̗̩̮̉̿͜r̸̦̪͋̀̆í̴̛̯c̵̲̉͛̕ you wish

to see in this plane of reality.

[depizan]

Dear Tumblr, I know you're busy setting yourself on fire and peeing gasoline on the flames, but could you maybe fix your goddamn readmores? The entire point of them is to, you know, exist. Not disappear when I hit post.

[lovecraftianirk]

OOC: A full look at this adorable Lovecraftian bean. Yeah, it was too tempting to go for the "adorable abomination" trope. XD

[r-e-dax-t-e-d]

I can hardly believe how this turned out. I am so happy with it. Ended up nearly meeting all expectations I had when planning it and exceeded many of them.

[robbyrobinson]

Vicksburg

Chapter 1 

The town was abuzz with the whirring of cars and the ceaseless hustling and bustling of busy bodies so obsessed with their routines, they would unknowingly let life pass them by and miss out on the simple things. Several people chatted loudly as they crossed the streets on their way to work. Suffocating, black smoke from many a car’s exhaust pipe permeated the air and polluted the sky with clouds of smog. Rats scavenged for food and left trails of wet, goopy trash along the walking paths. The unsanitary conditions would lead to the spread of several pestilences leading to the town’s hospitals becoming clogged. A clap of thunder eviscerated the sound barrier accompanied by the steady drizzle of rain.  

I watched the town fade from view as I rode the public bus. As any who was familiar with this form of transportation could attest to, the bus was congested to the brim with several passengers all with varying characteristics and hygiene. Due to the tight, cramped build in the bus’s structure, many passengers were sandwiched together, some packed together like a can of sardines. And they certainly smelled like it too.  

Greasy, slimy sweat rolled down the forehead of a large, burly guy I was forced to sit by. He had sweated so much, his white, buttoned shirt was see-through. His foul, decaying stench wrinkled my nostrils with the urge to gag becoming harder to suppress. His whiskers were wild and unkempt. His eyes so wide, they could have burst from his sockets. When he stared at me, the best I could do was offer a lighthearted smile.  

“Well, good afternoon to you, sir.”  

He stared at me for a minute not saying anything. His discolored eyes peered in opposite directions as if he was staring into infinity. After nothing of note happened between us, I tried to focus on my trip. I held the handle of my briefcase with some hesitation. The town soon became a dot in my eye before sinking into the inky abyss. This was it. It was really it.  

I turned my attention back to the ride. To think this was the last time I would be seeing this town. Sure, it had one school, a single grocery store, and station, but it had its charms such as its park on the western side of the town. I gazed at the man beside me again, but he was still in his own little world. I tapped the handle a few times as I watched the passengers start to settle down into their seats. Those that could not depend on their handgrips. They stood there shaking slightly any time the bus made a stop.  

Even then, it felt like the bus was not even close to thinning out instead becoming more inflated by the minute. Every now and then, I looked up to see passengers trickling out. I did not know how they could handle being nearly suffocated by the claustrophobic crowds. It reminded me of the droves of people at auditoriums watching ball games. The air became hotter from the body heat and warm breath radiating from the travelers. 

 During the third stop, the heavyset gentleman finally left his seat and walked away without as much as saying goodbye. Not that I was intending on saying goodbye anyway, but it would have been thoughtful. A trace of the fat man’s putrid stench lingered in the air. I sighed to myself and plopped the briefcase on the seat. My fingers strummed the side as a twinge of doubt arose within me. It will be a couple hours until I reach my destination. Three hours give or take. The town did not have the best reputation, but my company insisted that I move there.  

“Pardon me, my good sir, would you mind if I sat there?”  

I shook my head clean of the thoughts and looked up. There stood a well-dressed man wearing beige slacks and an overcoat. He wore a matching top hat on his head and boasted a thin, brown mustache that twirled at the ends. He withdrew his hat and tipped it to me in a friendly gesture.  

“Oh, uh, sure. Be my guest.”  

 The gent elegantly found purchase on the seat and watched me fiddle around with my luggage. After what seemed like an eternity of him staring me down, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card. “My name is Jacques Skinner. Private Investigator.”  

He placed the card in my hand, and I flicked it around in my hand to analyze it. “Seems legit. What are you trying to solve?”  

Jacques smiled at me, revealing a small space between his two front teeth. “Ever heard of a man named Walter Bean?”  

Walter Bean. The name sounded familiar. I rummaged through my mind for a few seconds. “He was the owner of a furniture company, right?”  

“Aye. 68-year-old Walter Bean, a CEO and a family man, was the owner of a huge corporation. He was last seen two weeks ago. He apparently was looking to expand his business in the town of Vicksburg. But... well, after he made the business trip, he never came back. Which is where I come in.”  

My eyes widened. “Vicksburg? That is where I am going as a matter of fact.”  

Jacques’s eyebrow arched his interest peaked. “Really? That is quite the coincidence.”  

He withdrew a picture of Walter Bean. He was a slightly portly figure with a balding head and spindly mustache. Walter wore a red, 3XL cotton shirt and khaki pants. He had a half-grin on his face as he stood in front of his office. Jacques rubbed his chin and probed me further.  

“Why are you going to Vicksburg if you don’t mind me asking.”  

“Business trip,” I explained, “they said it was nonnegotiable.”  

“Perhaps. But I am certain you have heard of the story behind the town and why it is held with such disdain?”  

I shook my head. “I know that the town is worn down and practically a ghost town, but I am not afraid of any ghost stories.”  

He laughed. “Okay then. Legend goes that during the 1770s, the town of Vicksburg was once a prosperous place with friendly faces everywhere. People openly shared with each other, and no one was left without. A real utopia, I guess is the term.”  

I quietly listened to the private investigator as he further lectured me on the town’s folklore.  

“That was until there was a certain woman who grew up with nothing before marrying into a noble family. She was beloved by her husband, but she had one fear that is universal to everyone regardless of their status: the fear of death. So, she conducted research into the dark practices meeting an undead cultist who indoctrinated her into the worship of the gods of old. She summoned a demon from the bowels of the Earth to grant her the gift of eternal beauty and life. The demon fulfilled that wish, but it required sacrifices from the living.”  

“Sacrifices? Gods of old?” I stammered.  

“Are you telling the story, good man?” Jacques asked me somewhat annoyed but still smiling. 

“Sorry. Just got entrenched in the story. Do go on.”  

“One by one, the woman led her family into the Mouth of Hell starting with the servants and then her loving husband and their four kids. From there, more and more of the townspeople disappeared in thin air and in their place... well, let’s just say that demons are the residents now.” He chuckled to himself and returned the photo of Walter to his pocket. “Or that’s what I have heard.”  

My mind was awash with a surge of thoughts. “My... that is quite the story. And you are saying that Walter went to Vicksburg?”  

“Him and three more gentlemen as well. Either it was because they wanted to expand their businesses, or they were selected almost at random. The previous three had vanished for a few months now. It’s peculiar that they would all leave without telling their families that they should not expect them back anytime soon.”  

We talked a bit more about the missing cases. Much like Walter, some of the men missing were the heads of different corporations ranging from furniture to oil. They were all gradually lured to Vicksburg through whatever means and were never heard from again. Eventually, the bus made a stop and the private investigator got off. He waved goodbye to me tipping his hat once more. “Do keep me updated if you find anything peculiar in Vicksburg.”  

My eyes were glued on the man as he left the bus and continued his way without looking back. After he left the premises, the bus resumed its designation. 

Chapter 2 

The tires on the bus screeched to a halt signifying that it was my time to get off. I collected my things and exited the vehicle. The nauseous fumes spewing from the exhaust pipe wafted in my face and nearly knocked the air from my lungs as it sped off leaving me alone. One look around at Vicksburg and I could see why its reputation was not the best.  

The town was an ancient relic of the past: dozens of houses were dilapidated with speckles of paint chipping away and flaking off like dandruff. The walls had caved in overtime to where the roofs were barely hanging on by a thread. I passed by buildings that were scorched down to the wood and abandoned to the wrath of Mother Nature. Moss grew along the sides of brick walls and rats ran rampant through the streets. The cold, crisp air smacked me on the nape of my neck sending a shiver up my spine. The grass in the city was totally dead and blackened. Any scarce shrubs and trees there were, they were winding and fatally emaciated.  

I had arrived at Vicksburg at around 4 in the morning, so my best initiative was to find a place to stay. I walked down an isolated road with the slightest sense I was being watched from afar and anytime I tried looking in the opposite direction, they would scuttle off. It was hard to believe that anyone would live here, let alone that Walter and the other gentlemen would be compelled to come. Columns held buildings up but the slightest poke would make them crumble. Mud and other debris were flung on the windows obscuring me from peering inside. Almost as if they wanted it that way. The state of disrepair also extended to the roads and walking paths with spindly cracks scattered throughout. 

I traveled down the square of the town seeing several small businesses denoting some of the products you could expect to purchase like canned goods or bread. The light posts were faintly lit reminding me of twilight with the sun’s rays partially illuminating the atmosphere, a “perfect” combination wherein it was neither too dark nor completely lit.  

In the middle of the square was a large fountain with the sculpture of a scantily clad woman calling to mind those Roman statues. Despite being made from stone, her long locks of hair flowed in the wind. Murky, tarry water poured down from a pot she was holding. Upon a closer look, tiny hints of algae coated the rocky surface adding to its prehistoric state. 

After taking in the whole picture of the fountain’s condition, my attention became directed towards the hotel. As with the other structures, the hotel had seen better days having long since fallen into a decrepit state of disarray. Its name rubbed off the sign to where I could vaguely make out a few letters. The paint peeled away from the foundation giving it a hideous, ghastly appearance. Newspapers padded the windows and nasty smoke drifted from the chimney. There were a few areas where the bricks were punched out and smashed on the ground below. 

With nowhere else to turn to, I entered the establishment. The scent of decay slammed into my face like a sledgehammer to the head. So much dust accumulated on the furniture and doors, it shot up in the air. The musky debris made my nose recoil in disgust. Coughing, I scanned the surroundings. Two chairs with bare backs lined a shaggy rug that became green from the moss residing on it. 

Photos decked the walls some dating back to the 1800s and eroded over time due to the improper maintenance. I approached the service desk spotting a book on the desk. Heavy layers of dust coated the surface. I looked past the desk noticing copious amounts of cobwebs dangling from the bookshelves and ceiling. A small bell laid beside the journal. Weighing my options again, I tentatively pressed the knob. 

Ring, ring, ring. 

Hm. Nothing. I tapped my fingers on my briefcase and waited a few seconds. I rang the bell again after 10 seconds passed. Still no one stirred from the faint sound. I stared at my wristwatch seeing that it was almost 5. Perhaps if I was more assertive, I could somehow convince a citizen of this town to offer me a place to stay. As I turned to leave, I finally heard a commotion.  

“Good morning, sir.”  

I turned to the desk again my eyes beholding a peculiar man. Strange... I did not hear him walk behind the service desk and, judging by how sudden his appearance was, he practically manifested or, could he have been hiding on the floor the whole time?  

I internally understood people’s apprehension for the physical features of a Vicksburg citizen: the gentleman was pale, deathly so. His skin lacked any ounce of pigmentation, looking more like a reanimated corpse. Not one speck of hair was on his slick body with his cranium briefly illuminated under the faint light. His eyes, however, were the most jarring attribute: they were as black as a starless sky, darker than the pitch-black void. I was uncertain if it was a result of his pupils expanding to collect more light, or if his irises were naturally black. He seemed to notice my repulsion of his peepers, so he... tried offering me a smile.  

Except it was the furthest thing from a smile more a poor man’s replication of one. He possessed a row of sharp, jagged teeth that, when parted, only revealed a jet of inky nothingness at the back of his throat. He spoke in a low, guttural voice somehow sounding distant and yet, still close. He arched his head to the side, analyzing the subtlest of my movements. “Welcome to our town, sir.”  

There was nothing more that I wanted than to end the conversation and get the hell out of dodge, but where would I go? I tried to muster up as much politeness as I could. “I would like a room.”  

The enigmatic man’s eyes widened more. I felt that he was staring into the recesses of my soul and got his jollies from frightening me. “Very good, sir.” His long, skeletal fingers groped the journal.  

“How much is a room for the night?” I asked/  

“Oh, no need for payment!” he chuckled. Purple goo glistened on his yellow-stained teeth and landed on the desk. “You don’t have to pay a single dime.”  

“Really? That would be great.”  

Not once during our discussion did the gentleman ever blink. If anything, he would freeze up temporarily and just glare at me like a record that has the issue of skipping before resuming. His moved in a wobbly, drunken stupor with his knees buckling and jerking. Did he even have a pair of feet hidden behind the counter? He pushed the journal to me and handed me a pen.  

Once I opened the book. I immediately knew something was amiss. “Walter Bean?”  

The employee froze in place. “Ah, yes. He visited this same hotel. We like to keep their names and addresses for documentation.”  

“Well, it says that he signed this exactly two weeks ago.”  

“We like to record the names and addresses of our guests,” the man replied, somewhat forcefully. His tone sank to a deeper octave.  

“Walter has been missing for a long time. This was the place he was last seen, isn’t it?”  

The man leaned in looking at me with his black holes for eyes. “I assure you that you have nothing to worry about. For all intended purposes, we are not allowed to disclose our clients’ private information.”  

Drat. He was not budging. I could argue with him for hours and hours, but I was not mentally willing to do so. I shrugged and sighed in defeat. “So, just sign my name and address, right?”  

“Very good, sir.”  

I jotted down my signature and address and closed the book. “This town is... something else.”  

“Whatever do you mean?” he asked.  

“Just... in a total state of disrepair. Hardly any birds or other animals aside from rats and... everything seems so... bleak.”  

He chuckled again hearing my complaints. “You sound like you are starving for some entertainment.”  

Without saying anything further, he disappeared almost as quickly as he did manifest. Before I could question him on his sudden interest, he returned holding a flyer in his hand. “Tell me... are you alone?”  

“Alone? Why is that crucial information?” Normally I would be put off by that sort of invasive question, but I decided to play along. “I am single, yes.”  

The gentleman’s smile widened, purple fluid rolling down his mouth in thick layers. “Perhaps... this would be of interest to you?”  

He handed me the flyer. My eyes skimmed the piece of paper the words “Vicksburg’s Annual Mix and Mingle.” My eyebrows stretched in surprise. “A... dating game?”  

He jerked a bit, giving a firm grip on his arm. His frail fingers reached out for the flyer in hopes of reclaiming it, but his grip tightened forcing him to reel back. There was visible hurt on his face as if he was conflicted with revealing the occasion to me. He hissed under his breath before the internal conflict resolved itself. “It is a tradition we have here in our little town.”  

“And... is it the only thing to do here? Nothing like a movie theater or anything else that grandiose?”  

He did not know what I was blabbering on about. “Never mind. I’ll keep this in mind.” The tips of the employees’ mouth curled. “You won’t regret this.”  

With nothing more to say, he pulled a key off the hook and dropped it in my open palm. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”  

Nodding, I started the long ascent up the stairs. While I left, I heard a shrill voice whispering maliciously at the man. It was so low; however, I could not make out what the heated words were. Come to think of it, I didn’t recall seeing anyone else at the hotel.  

The wooden planks creaked under my feet while I approached my room. More dust settled along the rails of the stairs. While I waited for the man, I did sneak a peek at one photo that said the hotel was established 3 centuries ago. You would think that during all that time, they would consider some renovations. From the erosion over the centuries, large gaping holes formed on the floorboards threatening to swallow up any poor sap unaware of their presence.  

“Room 3.”  

I opened the door and in doing so, several cockroaches scuttered out. Peeping inside, it was a relieving sight to see that room, even though it was old, looked presentable. I settled down on the bed’s cover not daring to even see what was underneath. Later that day once I had settled in, I would have to meet up to discuss my business with the higher ups. While thinking about it, my eyes wondered back to the flyer and Walter’s disappearance. I knew damn well that the employee was lying through his mustard teeth. Thinking back, not only was Walter’s name and address listed, but so were the other men that Jacques had reported missing. All of them arrived at the hotel at some point only they never checked out.  

“I’ll contact the private eye soon.” As I settled into bed, my mind continued to whir at the thought of partaking in the annual dating game. Why was the man so insistent on him attending it?  

Chapter 3 

I let my curiosity about the dating game compel me to consider attending it. I did not expect much to come from it, but it should be fun. Besides, I could learn more about the town’s history and potentially gather some information pertaining to Walter’s disappearance. The meet up was in a large auditorium wherein several of Vicksburg’s populace were present. My curiosity slowly subsided when I noticed how every resident was draped in brown cloaks obscuring their pale, hairless bodies save for their hands. Their eyes were downcast and, much like the employee at the hotel prior, they moved in a drunken stupor with their legs knocking and wobbling about reminding one of those trapeze walks at the circus.  

It did not help that the lights were faint, making me bump into things. The raspy, gruff drones of the residents reverberated through the room sounding pained and congested the further they lumbered along. They did not pay much attention to me when I first entered the establishment making me wonder why the man running the service desk was so insistent on me attending. The building was also unbelievably cool but that was to be expected from the town’s ruined state.  

Rationally, I considered leaving then and there, but I ended up going along with the “dating game.” I sat at a table when the first option reared up. It was a rather short woman who leered at me with those same, unblinking eyes of coal. I giggled nervously in an attempt to break the ice. “So... uh... what are you interested in?”  

She opened her mouth letting a low groan leave her lips. Ooze dripped from her lips. “Okay... could I ask you a question?”  

The pale woman was too invested in a huge, hairy cockroach scuttering across the table. Before my eyes, she grabbed it with her open palm and took a huge chomp out of the insect. Her canines ripped clean through the bug, her lips parting as she stretched the roach between her teeth as if the roach was string cheese.  

“Thanks for the introduction. But... I have to respectfully decline. Next.”  

Another woman sat down this time being taller with a hint of moisture behind her eyes. “I was wondering if you know of a man named Walter Bean? He went missing in your town weeks ago.”  

The woman leaned in grinning. A mysterious fluid gushed from her lips when a huge smile spread across her face. Her eyeless sockets bore holes in my body. Her body trembled with pangs of hunger. “Heh, heh... he is here. With us. All are one within our god.”  

“God? What are you...!”  

Before I could probe her further, the woman lunged at me and pinned me to the ground. Her jaws unhinged and I peered into the depths of her mouth. Slimy drool dangled from the ceiling down to the base of her tongue. In desperation, I tried retaliating, but the taller woman was stronger. “Soon, you too will become part of our god.”  

I closed my eyes fully expecting her to bite me in the neck. However, a few solid seconds pass. I reopened my eyes seeing that the woman reeled herself back and clutched her head. “Can’t...hurt...” A shrill voice crawled out from the bowels of her gut making her upper body spasm. “No... yes...! No... get out of my head!” Her head bobbed back and forth with her fingers tightening around her head.”  

I became petrified, but now that she was distracted, I took the opportunity to knock her off. With one swift push, the woman fell to her side still in an eternal battle with herself. A mob of Vicksburg residents staggered forward and dragged the woman away. Gasping on the floor, I slowly collected myself. Coming here was a mistake. I was only here because of a business trip so it was in my best interest to pursue it. Maybe once I get that done, I could leave this godforsaken town in the dust.  

“Oh my... that was quite the experience, wasn’t it?”  

My eyes leered a young woman. What a sight she was. Blue eyes; a flawlessly silky skin complexion. A low-cut red dress and ample buxom. And a dark blonde bob cut with matching piercings. She strolled over to me and knelt at my eye level. “Welcome to Vicksburg, sweetheart.”  

She extended a hand to me and, with little consideration for my own safety, I took her hand. Her palm was warm and cozy to the touch. There was something about her that seemed... soothing. “We haven’t had that many visitors to this town in a while. Pray tell, why are you here?”  

My mind became a total blur. “I... um... I came here for business, yeah, that’s it.”  

The woman laughed to herself. Dimples formed at the corners of her mouth only accentuating her wholesomeness. I got up from the ground my eyes wandering back to the strange woman. “You seem... normal.”  

“Normal? Well, I certainly hope so, darling.”  

“It’s just that... the other residents here are... somewhat peculiar.”  

“Ah, that was my reaction to when I first moved here.” She looked me over, her smile widening. My name is Narcissa Witwe. Judging by your appearance, you must be the one who was invited to Vicksburg.”  

“Yes. My boss had connections in this town and had me come as a representative. Funnily enough, I never met him in person.”  

Narcissa nodded. My god, I fell further ensnared by this mystery woman. If I had to wager why that was, it was definitely her voice. Herred lipstick popped like precious rubies. Her plump, luscious lips were like hot butter with how flawlessly she spoke. I slowly forgot the horror of being nearly ingested by a psychotic woman. The more she talked, I felt myself falling deeper for her. “You... happened to be invited to attend this occasion?”  

“Why, yes. I thought it would be pretty interesting. Vicksburg has this as a tradition. I was honestly getting bored out of my mind, my dear... but you made this more fun.”  

I looked down and twiddled my thumbs. “So... you are willing to try this date out?”  

“I would love that.”  

We ended up talking for hours far past the time limit. Narcissa was truly an interesting individual. She had an extensive knowledge of the town and other subject matter. I found myself further wowed by her effortless recounting of historical events providing me with such an elaborate description, I was wondering if she witnessed any herself. She claimed to have family back in some city and was intending on returning there after the business trip. That infectious laugh of hers was music to my ears. I shared some of my personal information with her explaining the extent of my job and my interests. I have to admit that my eyes had a mind of their own. I gazed at her cleavage any time she bent. She propped her head on her hand and lovingly stared at me.  

“Come to think of it, there was something that I was curious about. Have you heard of a man named Walter Bean?”  

Narcissa squinted her eyes shut. “The name does ring a bell. Why do you ask?”  

“It’s just that he’s been missing for quite some time.”  

“Hm... perhaps he left the town and just neglected to inform anyone?”  

I shrugged. “I suppose so. Sorry to spring something that deep on you.”  

“It’s quite alright. After all, I am sure you heard of the rumors permeating the town?”  

I nodded. “Yeah, a private investigator told me of them.”  

Narcissa frowned. “It’s just so terrible, isn’t it? That a loving wife and mother would sacrifice her own family for eternal youth?”  

“Yeah, but it’s a story. We shouldn’t fret over some myth.”  

A smile canceled out her frown. “You’re right. Shall we... take this discussion elsewhere?”  

Chapter 4 

As my time in Vicksburg progressed, I met up with Narcissa more and more. Her cutesy yet mature, witty personality was her signature charm. She filled me in on the origins of the myth again with such vividness, it was like she was there. She expanded on Jacques’s relaying of information explaining how, according to ancient cults, there were once several inhuman, otherworldly gods that made the Earth into a festering cesspool and were worshiped by the cultists until the day the primal threats were sealed away in ancient tombs left to rot. That is, till the day they will arise and treat mankind as an insignificant bug.  

“As you know, there was once a woman who was so afraid of death, so she called on the gods to preserve her youth and gain eternal life. She wandered down into the depths of the Earth to beseech an Old One. And the god she sought out was none other than that Pale Beast, the God of the Labyrinth, Eihort. But, as with anything, there was a price to be paid.”  

I quietly listened. Who could have fathomed that there were so many hidden societies dedicated to worshiping these unknowable, eldritch beings, and for what cause? Are they obsessed with bringing about the apocalypse and practice their perverse religions to summon them? What ancient books did they have in their possession?  

“And you say that this woman found an undead cultist who gave her secrets to communing with Eihort? What did she have to do?”  

“Reprehensible acts that went against natural law and would damn her very soul to the darkest pits of Hell. She knew the secrets of where the gods of old laid dead and where they would once more trek. She uncovered the truth behind our known reality and peeked her eyes into infinity. With the assistance of that Pale Beast, she could even travel dimensions without the need of ever leaving home. Life itself was an illusion, a cheap replica of what eternity felt like.”  

My heart sank into the depths of my body. Cults. An ancient, primal god. My mind connected the dots back to when I first took part in the dating game. All the citizens of Vicksburg wore cloaks, something that I should have correlated long ago. That woman insisting that Walter and the others were all one in the god she worshiped. I had become ensnared in a tangle of webs.  

Screw everything. I had to get out.  

Narcissa stared at me her blue eyes reflecting her concern. “What’s wrong, darling?”  

“I... just feel a little flushed.”  

“You don’t have to lie to me. I can sense how uneasy you are about the cults I mentioned. But don’t worry; there is nothing to be concerned about. I am sure you noticed that the townspeople wear those garments. It is not what you think.”  

“Then... why do they wear them?”  

“It is rather simple; the people of Vicksburg have a weakness for sunlight. Tell me: have you ever seen any of them walking about during the day?”  

I thought back to my previous encounters with the townspeople. Truth be told, they were able to freely shuffle around in the auditorium because of an artificial light. Even the hotel I resided in was dimly lit. “Then... what about when that woman attacked me? She seemed... conflicted about it. It was almost like two halves were fighting each other.”  

“Perhaps a temporary bout of madness,” Narcissa casually explained, “besides, Vicksburg hardly has any outsiders visit their town; she was probably just overcome with astonishment.”  

I did not say anything to further rebut her. “I... am unsure if I should stay here.”  

Narcissa’s eyes lowered in a crestfallen fashion. It nearly pained me to see her upset. “Is that so?”  

“I have spent about two weeks here and I was never able to find the people who wanted to do business with me. To be completely frank, I believe that it was all a ruse to make me look like a fool.”  

The blonde woman paused and thought intensely of her next move. “If that is the truth, then I may as well explain why I am really here.”  

My curiosity piqued in that moment. “What happened?”  

“To tell you the truth... my life back home isn’t good. I... have a husband who is a raging alcoholic who would beat me unconscious every day he came back from work. If it wasn’t me, he would go after our two kids. One day, he beat me up so badly. I...” she paused, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I was in the hospital for three months. After that, I somehow managed to escape his wrath and ran away from home.”  

She covered her eyes with her hands and bitterly wept into them. Her breathing became staggered the more she let her raw emotions loose. “I know I shouldn’t have abandoned my kids with their father... it was a moment of weakness!”  

I didn’t know what to say at that instant. It was quite the bombshell I was handed. Without thinking heavily on it, I gently embraced her. She was startled at first, but she slowly melted into the hug, clasping my back. “I’m... so sorry to hear that.”  

“You shouldn’t be. It is not your problem to deal with,” she replied.  

“I’m planning on leaving Vicksburg tomorrow. If it is fine with you, would you care to accompany me?”  

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden on you.”  

“No, you won’t bother me at all. It’s the least I could do.”  

Her smile poked through. “It’s a deal.”  

Chapter 5 

It was approaching nighttime when I returned to the hotel. I approached the counter and hit the bell. “Sir, I’m informing you that I will be leaving first thing tomorrow.”  

Much like the first time I arrived, the employee did not come. I tapped the dusty counter with my fingers in irritation. “Sir, let’s not do this again.”  

I allowed some more time to pass, but the man still did not show up. “Is that how you are to treat a customer?”  

Refusing to wait any longer, I climbed over the counter nearly getting tangled in cobwebs. “Bleh! Yuck! How can anyone live in this kind of condition?”  

From the way the lights were dimly flickering, I was forced to collect as much light into my eyes. As expected, the room was in total disrepair. Books were lying in piles beside the bookshelves. Webs coated furniture and tickled my nose. I fought the urge to sneeze. The floorboards creaked and moaned under my weight. The further I went, the light diluted into beams. “Sir, come out now. This is getting ridiculous...”  

Finally, my eyes settled on a heap of clothes. He couldn’t. Could he? The thought of the peculiar man parading around in his birthday suit was burned into my mind. A ruffling of the clothes knocked me out of my train of thought. I slowly advanced towards the clothes with it becoming evident that the man evaporated. Before I could theorize what happened to him, dozens of small white objects erupted from the clothing and scuttered around like cockroaches dispersing when a light is turned on.  

“What the?!”  

The millions of spidery, bloated beings crawled on the walls and up my clothes. In a panic, I scrambled over the counter the wet squelches of crushed younglings making me squeamish. Debris rained down from the ceiling as a sudden earthquake surged. I could have sworn I heard something writhing in agony from the bowels of the Earth. The foundation of the hotel shook incessantly and groaned with the death of each abomination suggesting a possible link between the two. The stairs finally dissolved and exploded into splinters.  I covered my head as best I could, but the monstrous arachnids kept pursuing.  

Squish, squish, squish.  

The wet, gooey bodies of the monsters popped under my feet like overripe grapes. I had the sinking feeling some of the residue getting between my toes. Eldritch ooze clung to the soles of my shoes restricting my movement. Each time I tried to move, the runny, stringy substance came into contact with the floor and formed a strong adhesive.  

And those legs. So many legs. Hundreds of thousands of marbles with an unnatural number of appendages crawled on my body. They creeped their way up my pants legs, with some slithering beneath the fabric. No matter how many times I tried to bat them off, these abominations latched on my body. The hairs on my body rose on end from the impression that I was being licked by the millions of spiders. My skin felt violated from the endless probing and pinching. I grabbed my ankles and continued my mad attempt to free myself.  

“H...help...”  

A faint, weak murmur caught my attention. I darted my eyes back and forth in search of the scream of urgency seeing no one until I directed my sight to a hideous event. The white, pulsating blobs with stalks for legs linked the innumerable limbs together in huge, grotesque lines and did the most harrowing of things any sensible man could anticipate they started to move in a single motion multiplying and expanding until... something ghastly was taking form.  

The gunky paste on the soles of my shoes finally gave way. However, when combined with the invasive pests crawling all over me and making me squirm, I fell on my rear. The monsters kept feeding into the growing figure. Much like a well-oiled machine, the beasts kept feeding themselves into each other. “Help...”  

With all of the beasts working together, a human shape came to being. They moved in a swimming motion shifting their icky legs to a side to mimic the gesture of limbs. The dread welled up in the pit of my stomach and crawled up my throat. The insidious spawn multiplied further, breaking apart and restructuring themselves until a vaguely humanoid shape took form. However, its skin became melty and ran like a lit wax candle. 

My eyes became blood shot. It was the employee. Except now, it was clear to me that what I was speaking to in my entire stay in Vicksburg were millions of blotches who hardly could pass themselves off as human. The piercing assaulted my ear drums calling to mind a nail scratching a chalkboard. The man, nay, the creature, moved about miserably dragging its upper body along the floor. Its mouth hung agape with a hazed wheeze spewing out. Almost every slight movement brought unending suffering for it, it seemed.  

The humanoid anomaly held out its hand to me, gesturing in a hopeful fashion. It jerked itself closer to me, moaning and shuffling just to stay in its form a bit longer. I became frozen temporarily horrified at the unholy display which violated the laws of nature that every being under the sun had to follow. The hotel continued to collapse around us shaking me out of my terror. I slowly backed away from the monster, but it somehow sensed what I was intending to do and clawed its way towards me. It hissed at me, destroying the illusion it was desperately clinging to.  

Before it could strike, a plank fell from the collapsing ceiling and pinned it. It let out a high-pitched, hellish shriek, but there was no way I was going to humor it. I rushed to the door, the wet squelches of the broodlings I had killed echoing.  

Chapter 6 

I succeeded at escaping the hotel as it suffered its final death throes and went up in a heap of primeval dust. As it cleared, all that was left of the establishment was a pile of bricks and smoking debris. My mind was still wrapped around the surreality of the situation. The pale, hairless appearance of the man. All the residents of the town’s bizarre skin complexions. How that woman fought herself when she was deciding whether to eat me or not. None of them were humans but arachnid, hideous carbon copies that struggled to be approachable. I shook my head. Whatever the case, I had to leave Vicksburg, but not before taking Narcissa with me. After all, I could not live with myself if I knowingly abandoned someone in this wretched town.  

High-pitched screams filled the empty air alerting me. Crap. More of the “neighbors” are coming, obviously because they heard the collapse of the old building. Without much contemplation, I hid in the alleyway and bit my lower lip. Their gravely, guttural voices were like waterlogged bodies with their constant squelching and damp noises.  

Cautiously, I peered from a corner of an abandoned store seeing four cloaked Vicksburg citizens staggering on their legs. If only I could decipher what they were saying to each other only for curiosity’s sake. As they chatted, one of the hooded figures stopped and slipped his hood from his bald head. I heard what sounded like mandibles clanging on each other when I noticed he was getting closer.  

I backed further into the alleyway out of concern that he had seen me. The hissing reached its apex with his long, spiderly fingers scraping the edge of the building. I shimmied down to get as close to the ground I could. Even though it was nighttime, the creature’s glare burned holes in the back of my head. He entered the alley sliding his appendages in the dark void. We were so close; I smelled his pungent breath.  

Eventually, something else caught his attention and he left with his group. I wiped the sweat off my brow and sighed in relief. With them distracted, I could make my escape attempt. However, before I could continue the next phase of my plan, a feminine voice echoed through the streets. My eyes widened in shock.  

“Narcissa!”  

I peeped from behind the dilapidated wall and almost doubled over. Narcissa was captured by the Vicksburg anomalies with her distress. Her arms flailed around with the feeble hope of striking one of her threats. I... had to do something. But what could I do?  

I rummaged through my mind for a solution, but Narcissa’s screams were making me anxious. Swallowing my pride, I sprinted towards the assembly and balled my fists. I swung wildly in the air smashing my knuckles over and over their gelatinous mass felt like I was punching raw meat. 

The more I railed against them, the Vicksburg anomalies gradually lost their corporeal forms and disintegrated exploding into millions of skittering spiders. Narcissa glared in absolute horror upon seeing these humanoid beings dissolve into pulsating, rampant marbles on thousands of stalks. 

“What… is this?” 

There was no time to explain. I grabbed her wrist and urged her to move. Her warm, silky hand felt amazing to grope, but I threw that thought to the back of my mind. My heart galloped behind my chest my breathing became taxing. My lungs wheezed and buckled beneath my rib cage. The sound of thousands of bony, fleshless legs scraping the ground reverberated on the streets. “Everyone… in this town… all those monstrosities link together mimicking the basic movements of the human body.” 

Narcissa shared an equal look of dread. “What should we do?” She grasped my arm and squeezed up against it. Her soft breasts felt amazing around my wedged arm driving me crazy. Her warm breath sent a chill down my spine. Even when she was being terrified, that statuesque glare of hers made her impeccable.  

“We have to find a place to hide and wait for things to blow over.” 

The blonde woman scratched her head. “If we are looking for a refuge, I know just the place.” 

Chapter 7 

I let Narcissa lead the way happy that she knew the layouts of the town. Throughout the whole secretive walk, we did not speak a word to each other. The air around us became thick enough to slice with a knife. After about two seconds into it, I tried to break the ice.  “So... we have been traveling for a while, haven’t we?”  

She did not respond. That night was especially breathtaking. The moon was in close proximity to the Earth resembling a polished full moon. Narcissa used the light radiating from the celestial body and led me further away from the town and into the rough thickets of the woods. The forest was completely bereft of noise. No owls screeched in the night; if there were crickets, they were deathly silent. Narcissa gently tugged my arm deeper in the neck of the woods until we stopped at a cave.  

At the entrance, Narcissa withdrew a torch and lit it. She then beckoned me inside. I was not thrilled to be entering into a dreary, claustrophobic area, but those cultists could still be on our track. Soaking in my fears, I entered the cold and dreary cave. A pungent, repulsive smell, that of decaying matter, drifted from the entrance. The odor of ages long pass was not lost on me. I stared at Narcissa wondering how she was holding up, but she was unbothered. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time to waste.”  

She flicked her finger through her bangs before leading me further into the maw of the cave. It was silent aside from our footsteps and the soft dripping of moisture in the distance. Water sparkled on the stalacites like beads of diamonds and trickled into an underground pool. I confused the stalagmites for razor, jagged teeth from the erosion over the years. Behind us, the entrance disappeared into the void as shadows encased us. The wind whistled into the cave adding onto the ambiance. If... I was being accurate in my description; I could have sworn I heard the cavern breathe.  

And the cavernous walls appeared to twist and contract like a living creature.  

My paranoia became flared. I wanted nothing more to leave, but the exit was nowhere to be seen. Besides, if I left on my own volition, I would have become stranded and made to wander in the dark until the end of time. My breathing hazed and goosebumps flared on the surface of my skin. Fluid fell on my shoulders from the stalacites making me wriggle in displeasure. Eventually, Narcissa led me to an opening. “What is this place?”  

Narcissa didn’t reply, merely goading me in with her finger. Seeing no reason to doubt her, I entered the area. The secret location was decked in heavy sheets of cobwebs which dangled down from the ceiling. It was also inexplicably damp and the disgusting, putrid scent of decay was even more prominent. My eyes settled on discarded skeletons with their wrists restrained in chains protruding from the walls. They were likely down here for centuries judging from their aged, worn features. Whatever they had witnessed, they died in total fright. Their lower jaws were stretched as far as humanly possible to where they became unhinged. Over the years, the only thing keeping them suspended was the webbing.  

The more I soaked in my surroundings, I became aware of the purpose the location served. There was a huge slab situated in front of a bottomless pit at the base of the cave. Arms made from wedges of stone stretched from the structure. Dried blood and viscera were stained on the flat surface of the instrument. I desperately looked at Narcissa with the hopes she was as confused as I was.  

However, instead of a detection of fear... Narcissa’s facial expressions shifted to one that was apathetic to the whole thing. I watched her stride over and light a crucible underneath the stone slab. The gaseous, nauseating fumes wafted in the air smelling like rotten flesh and scorched ashes. Her once beautiful, hypnotizing eyes transitioned to a pale blue as if her energy was sucked from her body.  

“Hundreds of years ago, the great Old One Eihort first manifested in the town of Vicksburg. This cave is the exact place that, according to folk tales, a woman who came from an impoverished upbringing, made a deal to the gods for eternal beauty and youth.”  

“Narcissa? What are you suggesting?”  

I felt a wet, slick object grasp my shoulders. The cultists’ voices gurgled and wheezed. Before I could try to fight back, two of the worshipers lifted me off the ground and directed me to the stone slab. I kicked and thrashed. I flailed my arms around. Nothing happened. They tossed me on the hard surface with such force I felt my spine buckle. My wrists were tightly tied to the arms of the instrument, the ropes ate into the tender flesh.  

Narcissa stared at me for a few seconds. She was no longer the woman I thought I knew for a duration of my stay in Vicksburg. She strolled over, kneeling and staring at the primitive skeletons. “And once again, my god will have a sacrifice.”  

Sacrifice? The word bounced around in my head. Everything was happening so fast. “You... know an awful lot about that myth.”  

She laughed. “Well, yes... after all, how old do you think I am?”  

I strained against the tight binds to no avail. “The town and its conditions. It was always you.”  

“Hundreds of years ago, the town of Vicksburg was once a prosperous area. It was a massive trading town where corn, pumpkins, fabric... you name it were traded and sold. I was born to a poor family, but I was considered the fairest of the town. Of those a nobleman took a liking. After meeting him on several nights, he popped the question to me. And, I said yes.”  

I grunted under my breath. “Then why did you betray your own family?”  

“What do you think is the one fear that all humans share?” Narcissa asked, though it was clear she did not care what my answer was. “Death. Humans have had several accomplishments when they crawled out from the festering, primordial cesspool. And yet, despite all those achievements, the one thing that they failed to conquer was death.”  

She casually pried the skull off a skeleton and flicked her fingers through the jawbones. “I knew that one day... I would die. But... I couldn’t live with that harsh truth. Not someone who is as gorgeous as me!”  

Narcissa tossed the skull aside and spoke to the cultists. “You think that you saved me from earlier? Don’t you realize that the people of Vicksburg follow my commands?”  

“So... then that means Walter...”  

Her eyebrow perked. “Is dead? That should be obvious. I thought you of all people would be more intuitive. He was but a sacrifice. One I lured.”  

“That explains why I was told to come here... so the dating game?”  

Narcissa hushed me. “A ruse, sweetheart. How else was I supposed to meet up with you?”  

The cultists backed away from me and collapsed on their knees in a praying stance.  

“My fear of death became so great; I called on the God of the Labyrinth to grant me eternity. Which he did. However, I had neglected the fact that Eihort himself had his own terms. He asked me to foster his brood. Not thinking much about it, I accepted. They are squirming around within me as we speak in a larval state. But... once I realized his brood would eat their way out of my body, it was then that the truth became clear. He merely extended my lifespan, but in order to avoid missing his quota, I had to resort to drastic measures.”  

“Your husband and kids... how could you...”  

“Necessary sacrifices. After them, I did the same process to the rest of the town. Some would go missing for weeks locked away in my lair with their bodies being dissolved and eaten from the inside out. Curiously, the Broodling acquired memories of their hosts sometimes effortlessly mimicking their voices. I saw that happen with a young, 32-year-old I lured. The Broodling demonstrated mannerisms he himself had. Perhaps when a host perishes, they are never truly gone but exist as bodiless spirits attached to the Broodling.”  

It made a considerable amount of sense despite the bizarre nature: the hotel worker and the woman he met at the dating game. Their essences were still present within these anomalies, and they were crying for release. Narcissa cleared her throat and walked over to caress my cheek. “Shame... you were really nice.” She chuckled again. “Eventually in my haste to stay alive, I accidentally destroyed the town. I tried any solution I could think of like introducing interbreeding among the Broodling, but after a few centuries, that was not enough.”  

“What... are you getting out of helping an Old One? You know the risks these unspeakable monstrosities have for the Earth.”  

“The God of the Labyrinth shall once again be free to rule this world. I intend on becoming a lower royalty once the ancient crypts are opened. I already have served Eihort faithfully as his high priestess for centuries. I am not some lowly, weak, insignificant human. I have ascended to godhood, and I believe I deserve my dues. Wouldn’t you?”  

My eyebrows furrowed. “After I comforted you about the abuse you suffered....”  

“You BELIEVED that story?” Narcissa’s chuckling became louder and echoed throughout the cave. “Gods... you are as pathetic as all those other humans who I tricked into loving me.”  

I snarled. “You’ll never get away with this. I will escape and tell Jacques all about what I learned. This town will be demolished faster than you could even blink.” 

Narcissa’s grin stretched around her ears. “Need I remind you that the Broodling follow my commands because of the spawn that are swimming in my stomach? Through Eihort, I have eyes all over the scope of this world. Let’s just say he was paid a very special visit.” 

I wanted to say more, perhaps call Narcissa every name under the sun, but I froze when a series of tremors shook the cave to its very core. Narcissa maniacally snickered at me relishing in how utterly defenseless I was. “Now... time for you to make the choice so many before you have.”  

My fear bubbled from the deepest regions of my stomach, but there was no one present who could help me. The ceiling quaked as a series of cracks formed. Stalacites of varying sizes crumbled and fell around me. It was as if legions of freight trains collided all at once in a massive collision of biblical proportions.  

Chapter 8 

And then... I caught a glimpse of those... legs... hundreds of thousands of rigid, bony legs rose out of the hole, scraping and clawing the ground for leverage. Larger than a public bus. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead, the color drained from my face. Eyes upon eyes where such features should not reasonably be. Peepers so horridly massive they eclipsed the eyes of the largest known species on this planet. Its pale, gelatinous mass bubbled to the surface resembling a disgusting, pus-filled pimple and its abdomen. Good god, its abdomen. It was shaped like some overgrown olive with eyes bulging all over every surface of its great body. The God of the Labyrinth towered over me with his unholy glory.  

My blood ran cold, and I was at a loss for words. Eihort moved in an abnormal, hypnotizing motion, swaying back and forth with nary a bone to be found on its gelatinous build. I immediately understood what Narcissa meant when she said she had eyes throughout the world: the multi-legged abomination’s “labyrinth” expanded across the globe granting it the illusion of being omnipresent. At any time, some hapless sap could end up lost in the cavernous walls and encounter this Old One. It unnerved me how easy it was.  

Narcissa cackled, her smile becoming more twisted. “I have done what you have requested of me, my god. Please, bestow me with your blessings!”  

Eihort shifted its many eyeballs to what I assume was his chest. It spoke with the same gravely, gurgled voice its offspring shared. Its voice... was not what I was expecting for a creature as huge as a boulder. Its tone was distant, bizarrely cordial. Despite its terribleness, the Pale God was patient. Unspeakably so.  

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, mortal. Your time as my high priest has reached an unfortunate end.”  

Narcissa’s eyes widened in horror. “But... my lord...! Have I not faithfully served you for centuries? I have provided you with the best sacrifices to meet your quota!”  

“You are such an insignificant, incompetent waste of filth.” Something shifted within Eihort’s indescribable mass stretched and twisted indefinitely into itself forming a colossal fist. “You have forgotten your place, human. You may have an extended life in comparison to the rest of your kind... but you also forget who it is who can take it away.”  

Narcissa clasped her hands together in deep prayer. “No, Eihort, please! I am sorry for speaking out of turn! Please, let me serve you for eternity! I will kill whoever I have to in your name if you jus-!”  

Without warning, Narcissa keeled forward grimacing. Her eyes bulged upon the realization of what was happening to her. Dozens of Eihort’s brood squirmed and wriggled from within her body ruffling her outer skin. She clutched her midsection between her arms letting rip a haunting, agony-filled moan. Yet, no matter how much she begged, her desperation fell on deaf ears. Narcissa’s face contorted into a twisted scowl with ludicrous tears streaming down.  “No... my lord....”  

A deathly cough started to choke her out. Gagging profusely, streams of white, spindly critters wriggled free. Her eyes disintegrated as the insidious creatures chewed their way out. Her sobs of pain transitioned to wet squelches and tearing of flesh. The brood slashed their way through her lungs and turned them to slush along with her other vital organs. Narcissa’s once glamorous, flawless skin bubbled and popped as thousands of spawn made a mad dash. Even her skeleton dissolved into more nutrients for the hungry infants. Within three agonizing moments, Narcissa was gone. All that was left of her were her favorite dress and ear piercings.  

I struggled to breathe after being bare to witness Narcissa suffer a form of divine punishment. However, I faced the horrific reality that I was now alone with her murderer. Eihort’s arm twisted and shifted, moving from one side of his body to the other as if he was contemplating when an appropriate time was to drop its mass on me. Its myriads of eyes settled on me. Even without the Old One talking, I knew how lowly he thought of me.  

“Fear not, my dear human” it whispered. Once more, its voice sounded soothing, but I realized that it was not because of true benevolence but rather manipulation. “I shall give you an offer, and I am certain that you will not choose poorly.”  

Everything that I thought I knew disappeared in an instant. We, as humans, were so convinced of our place in the universe, but there existed things, horrible, reality-breaking things. Things that no one of sound mind should fathom or search for truly existed. We are but a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, and the Old Ones thirst for release.  

“You will gestate my brood. Otherwise... I have no further use for you.”  

My lips were dry. I... did not know what I should say at that moment. My options were limited considerably: should I agree and allow Eihort to gestate me with his offspring, I don’t think I would be getting off that easily judging by what happened to Narcissa. But...seeing that titanic fist hovering above me, swinging back and forth like a pendulum, was also a situation I wanted to avoid at all costs.  

“Unless... you wish to become my Chosen?”  

“Chosen?” My mind worked into overdrive to comprehend the offer. That must have been what Narcissa was. If so... if that entails sacrificing the life of someone else for my own safety was not only an irredeemable act, but also very cowardly. After mulling it over, I came to a decision. 

“I think I know what I want...”