Superbia (Pride)

Message in a Bottle

by Eric Gragsone

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I know now the source of the world's monsters, the fire breathing dragon, the giants of antiquity, the sea serpents, the bogey, the little gray men, even the god of brimstone and fire.  These often repeated tales are just fragments of the truth, as man is forced to describe the fantastical with the understood mundane.  This realm, my home of exile, will always be untranslatable to the mundane.  Even as I myself venture there, I cannot describe my vision beyond the vague.

 

Should I attempt to do so in some meaningful fashion, the resultant gibberish would be labeled insane.  Perhaps I am insane, though I am certain that this reality is far stranger than any hysterical delusion.  No, this world wouldn't make an observer insane.  Rather, a man would wish for the comforting escape that insanity could offer.  This horrific wonderland is most real, as real as the impending death that shall be my only pardon.

I author this account in an attempt to warn posterity of the dangers which seek to corrupt your world, my former home.  My assistant and I found ourselves trapped here as punishment for our short-sighted attempt to prevent these terrors from realization.  All I ask is, should fate place this tale into your capable hands, that you head its warnings and not let my stay here be for naught.

There is no light here save that of the unusually bright stars that move erratically as though reflecting in a whirlpool.  The realm appears to be flat, as I'm able to view endless horrors without restriction of a planetary curvature.  My position here is that of a rat in a jail cell, where every occupant of the prison is thrown into that one very cramped cell.  I have given up hope of escape as there is no light at the end of this tunnel, only an innumerable variety of violent and hungry things.

Everything here is sentient and mobile.  I have yet to find any vegetation and am I uncertain I've stood on real soil.  The hard, stone-like surface I rest on currently I know to be a being of enormous size, a being who finds me too insignificant to be either a threat or nutritious.  I am but a fly on the butt of a cow that needs to mind the occasional tail swipe.

From my position, I can watch a nearby living land mass I call Dagon.  Whether that is its identity, I cannot say with certainty, only that it fits past descriptions.  Between it and this creature I call Kansas are a multitude of lesser creatures too large to make another their home.  One of these Lessers is issuing its death cry as Dagon consumes it.

How Dagon performs this has eluded me; I know only that the victim is swept underneath it and never reappears.  I've lost my brave curiosity to make any attempt of a closer observation.  From my safe position, Dagon appears to be a heavily knotted serpent, though if other descriptions hold true, the intertwining swaths consist of tentacles.  I have yet to observe the tip of a limb or tail, so I cannot be more certain.  I imagine that uncoiled it could cover twenty times the space it occupies now, with the body or each tentacle as wide as Long Island.

Dagon's inhabitants, who are closer to my size than that of the sky-scraping Lessers, constantly face the risk of being crushed by an overlapping segment.  They deal with this, it seems, for the moisture Dagon provides.  Its body glitters and smells as if it is lubricated by salt water.  I speculate that the being secretes this lubrication as I've seen no evidence of free-form water, though I'm open to the possibility that it constantly slithers in its knotted form to dredge water from some unknown source.

As frightening as the presence of such a creature would be back home, I have lost the fear that once motivated me so strongly to prevent such an appearance from occurring.  Unless Dagon should one day approach and devour the beast upon which I currently reside, there are far many other creatures which are likely to claim my expiration.  Many of these are babies of the Lessers; the birth of such a brood is a tribulation that is best to avoid.

The last set I saw were the size of alligators and as fast as a plains feline.  After they'd eaten everything too weak or slow to escape, they turned on each other until only one was left.  Larger and slower with each meal, these alpha specimens are more easily overcome alone. Unless you are certain of their toxicity, however, it is best to watch the effects of such cuisine on other humanoid like creatures first.

The inhabitants I consider my neighbors, while bipedal, are far from human.  The Grays are every alien story without their moniker space craft.  Most of them tend to be antisocial among their own kind.  Frail, even in comparison to humans, their survival lies in their ability to control the minds of prey and predators alike.  Should you find yourself a sheik among a nubile harem, rest assured that you are not crazy, merely dinner.

As is habit with other creatures of this realm, the Grays hold no concern about their prey's condition.  I've witnessed as they stripped chunks of flesh while their victim was very much alive in its induced hallucination.  However, should you overcome their psyonic abilities, you'll find they are easy to incapacitate and quite delicious.  Their scales are thin and brittle enough to bite through. 

On a positive note, the smaller parasitic creatures I've seen here seem to be more beneficial than troublesome, though few novices would welcome the disfigurement that comes of genetically fusing with them. Such a union with an ally interested in mutual survival has allowed me to adapt to this harsh environment.  Still I lament my lost form, but I am no longer sure what a human looks like, not having seen my secretary in years.

Before sounding like a grim brochure, I restate that this account is to serve as a warning of the dangers that lie on this side of the curtain.  Though at present my situation seems stable, I assure you that this is no paradise and I may die before the end of this tale.  These monsters are not just a threat to me, but to anyone who reads this.

The only thought these creatures have, other than eating everything possible, is escape.  If my descriptions are successful in conveying the hell this dimension is, then imagine the kind of heaven your world would be to them.  Your safety would be easily gained if these creatures were ignorant of such spoils, but they are not.  The nightmarish tales littered throughout our past should be respected as a warnings of their prior visits. Stories of human sacrifice and idol worship omit the energy such practices afford to those who attempt to summon the creatures by opening these damning rifts.  Fairy tales of sea monsters and dragons have been spun from the minor successes these bridges have brought us.  I have no doubt that every religion started as a cult, by individuals who sought solely to gain favor by summoning one of these leviathan abominations into our world. 

 

Unlike those past accounts, mine documents not only fanciful descriptions, but my battle to prevent the construction of such a gateway from succeeding.  A battle, half won, which resulted in the exile into which my lover and I were placed.  The only lesson I can impart to you from my experience is this: avoid the aid offered by opposing godlings. Their aims will be double, to prevent competition and to subvert such gateways for their own use.

My experience with the followers of these creatures began on an island.  Remember that the tales of old always occurred in isolated locations. That's how the abominations try to get a foothold in your world.  In the shadow of a chemical disaster, this island - my former home - would've been uninhabited were it not for its lax legal status as a temporary autonomous zone.

Overnight it became a modern Tortuga, with rival gangs fighting to control various illicit interests.  The only civilizing factors were a small church, a strip club, and the Omega Institute where I served.  Before the Priests came, our island kept to itself, left alone from the rest of the world.

They rolled in with the salty stench of the sea: nine figures robed in black, calling themselves the Priests of Dagon.  The sudden appearance of an organized group of outsiders interrupted many of the island's activities.  Even the bar was empty that night, allowing the strippers to witness the new immigrants.

While posturing was top priority for most of the city's gangs, many stood back cautiously as if they knew the threat these evangelists posed.  Two of the larger factions were quick to seize any opportunity to gain an ally, setting up an ad-hoc meeting in one of the plusher rentals of a condominium complex long deemed neutral turf.

One group, known only by their logo as the KA, occupied a large warehouse along the docks, obviously focused on smuggling operations.  Their leader, an east European descendant, would often hold large formal balls to mask their ruthless reputation.  The other group, proprietors of a private club known as The Pit, offered unique carnal services to the City's criminal elite.  If rumors were true, young women were shipped in as sex slaves, leaving only when their bodies were dumped off shore.

What either faction offered the Priests was suspect, more so was what the Priests had to offer in return.  Much of the city stood idly outside the rental building.  Tensions were thick as the salty air, as many in the crowd had never been so close to one another without causing a loss of blood.  An undeclared truce was in effect as everyone awaited further details.

I wish I could say such apparently calm beginnings manifested peaceful ends, but such a story would not end with me in hell.  The meeting ended with as much secrecy as it began.  People didn't even know if they were permitted to return to beating on each other.  The days that followed continued the indecisive quietness.

At the Institute, we conducted ourselves as if nothing was amiss.  Naturally rumors sprang up; we denied them all with a knowing air, while taking note of them for our own investigations.  Officially, the church had no stance, welcoming the new worshipers to use their temple as needed.  Off the record, the church was as disturbed as the rest of us at the Priests' secrecy and choice of friends.  Business at the strip club took an unexplainable hit, though the place had a loyal customer base.

After a week of silence, notices began circulating, calling for a city meeting of all concerned citizens to discuss the current situation.  The island had no organized government, nor did any consider themselves citizens before the notice.  No one knew who started the call, nor did we understand exactly what the situation actually was.  Yet we felt something was wrong, and the town gathered in the streets at the allotted time.  Standing there, the crowd grew uneasy as we waited for the one who called us together.

 

Finally the Priests arrived, together with their new allies.  One of the Priests stepped forward, claiming responsibility for the gathering.  Covered in black cloth, it was difficult to distinguish him from his associates.  He thanked everyone for their enduring patience and claimed that his followers came to this island to avoid persecution.  He offered an invitation should anyone wish to join their faith, but asked that we respect their privacy and not disturb their worship.

He declined several requests from the audience stating that to know more, people would first have to become initiates.  As the crowd became noticeably dissatisfied with the constant stonewalling, the KA and Pit associates formed a protective barrier before the Priests, demonstrating that their friendship included protection.  The Priests thanked everyone again for accommodating their integration and concluded the meeting.  Everyone broke up under watchful eyes before it could be seen if protection extended to general thuggery.

In the weeks that followed, the Priests patrolled the streets in pairs seeking to convert any bystanders, shadowed by a small protective squad.  Many of us relegated them to another bunch of harmless religious nuts, until a stripper's body washed ashore, sliced along the abdomen with her insides burnt.  Her friends mentioned that she had joined the cult, which fired up an angry mob around The Pit.  Its members, heavily armed, stated that she had trespassed during a religious ceremony, and asked for everyone to disperse before they, too, were considered to be trespassers.

Out of fear the crowd dispersed, but not their outrage.  Future Priest patrols now included rowdy protesters, intent on forcing any would be converts to hear their allegations.  Fights often broke out with the smaller patrols, but never ended with anything more than a trip to the hospital.  It was during these troubled weeks that I was approached by a woman who only identified herself as the Oracle.

She pulled out stories from our own library that illuminated exactly what this Dagon was.  We had grown so accustomed to gods being absent or invisible that none of us had thought possible the existence of people worshiping a living, breathing monster.  Another book chronicled a fight between the followers of Hathor and Dagon.  I read these tales in horror, mortified that even in the likely chance Dagon wasn't real, his cult wanted him to be real.

Declaring herself to as a Priestess of Hathor, the Oracle felt that I could prevent this cult from calling Dagon into the world.  If I knew then what I know now, I would have killed her first.  However, I trusted that her intentions were honorable.  With the Priests' agenda known, I rushed to assemble a group of citizens I trusted to be free of the Dagon faith.  I needed someone the cult trusted for my next move.

A bartender came forward mentioning that he had passed notes between the Priests and various people.  When queried about his loyalties, he claimed he was loyal to beer and that this cult didn't seem good for business.  Messages were just one of the services the bar always provided, and he agreed to pass a false note.

The rest of us arranged for two volunteers to dress in similar cultist robes and meet the recipient of the fraudulent message.  On the beach, the representative came alone expecting a safe secluded meeting.  Instead, the Oracle and I abducted him and rushed him to a hidden chamber of the Library.  It took little effort to interrogate the captive, who willingly admitted their plans, confirming everything the Oracle had said.  The Priest was confident that come the next full moon, Dagon would come through and destroy the unbelievers.

With one of their own captured, the cult when on the offensive.  Overnight the city became divided.  People went missing, others wouldn't go out alone.  Fights escalated, resulting in serious or fatal injuries.  I gathered the resistance, informing them of what I learned.  I gave them them a list of items that the Oracle had said she needed to fight the cult, items consisting of various Egyptian artifacts, including a vase of water from the Nile. It seemed appropriate at the time.

Looking back, I curse myself for never asking how those items could be conveniently found on the island.  Never trust a cultist, no matter who they worship.  Still, we located and collected each item like bread crumbs, allowing the Dagon cult to continue unobstructed until the full moon.  The Priests gathered along with their friends, assured that Dagon would soon grant them limitless power and death to their opposition.

As the Priests prepared them, two women disrobed and allowed themselves to be trussed to a post as the rest of the city gathered around.  The other Priests continued their black evangelism, calling for everyone to convert or perish.  Accompanying the Oracle, we felt little fear though none knew what to expect.  As we surrounded the cult, the Oracle shouted, "Behold the army of Hathor!"

This struck fear in the cult's forces. They hurried to position themselves behind the Priests for protection.  Before the Priests could respond, the Oracle threw down the items we collected, splashing them with Nile water.  The Priests shrieked, calling us fools for putting our faith in her.  I still had no doubt she was merely casting some counter ritual.

My heart leapt into my throat as she pulled out a decorative dagger and flung it at one of the naked offerings with deadly accuracy.  A rift opened, but not the one we feared.  What was to step out, I now recognize as a would-be Lesser.  Standing at three stories in height, it would be considered short where it came from.  The green, drooling six breasted beast either knew its enemy or understood why it was summoned.

Having their portal ritual hijacked, the Priests were stunned as the monster rushed forward smashing them beneath its legs.  With them gone, the beast was wild, searching for anything was fleeing in terror.  I don't remember if I yelled or fought with the Oracle for having brought such a being upon us.  All I remember was her laugh, as being the closest to the rift my assistant and I were pulled though before it closed.  For all I know, the beast which I've lived out my exile on, the one I call Kansas, could very well be Hathor.

I hold no hope of ever escaping this place. Instead, my wish is that this story find its way into capable hands.  It is now up to you to defend your world from these invaders.  Should you find yourself banished as well, then I invite you to seek me out.  It's been so long since I last saw a human face.  I was sent here along with my companion, whom I miss most dearly - but I had to eat.

Poblano Beauchamp

Omega Institute, Director