Hello there! This story uses the major Elder Gods from H.'s writings, and personifies them in human forms and gives them human interactions. It is meant to be losely accurate in that sense alone. This is a rather different view on the Mythos than most you've probably read, so enjoy the magical uniqueness of it!
I Wish He Hated Me
I wish Nyarlathotep hated me.
From a human perspective I admit it's an odd thing to wish for, but none of us here in the Dreamlands are human. Rather, we are Elder Gods.
What's an Elder God, you ask?
I could tell you. I could sit you down with a steaming pot of my raspberry tea and tell you about how we are genderless, mind-shattering, chaotic entities seeking to rain death and insanity upon the human race, but that would probably encourage you to smash your teacup and use the shards to kill yourself.
I've lost a lot of good porcelain in that manner.
But I digress. What I really want to tell you is that I am in love. Love is an emotion humans are quite familiar with; I am sure that will count for a good teapot or two.
I remember that morning was a beautiful one. Well, as beautiful as the open, desolate badlands of Kadath could hope to be. The shriek of the Shantak birds outside was what woke me first, followed by the blinding reflections their oily scales shot into my room. "Cursed spawn of Cth…" I mumbled grumpily, whipping the curtains closed and turning on a soft bed lamp instead.
What? I'm not a morning person.
My reflection in the mirror caught my eye and I turned to it, frowning at the tall, bedraggled man that stared back. Even after all these years, it's still weird to wake up to this body. Of course these are not our real forms, as you've probably already guessed. We can take on whichever form we need to carry out our business, and the last 10,000 years of our diabolical plotting have been focused on the human race. I ran a hand through my long, wavy magenta hair, rubbing the darned annoying crust out of my eyes. After I made myself presentable, I threw on my deep purple robes and headed into the palace to start my daily work.
Being a servant of Nyarlathotep is not for the faint-hearted.
Being his personal caretaker, on the other hand, is something only a God could do.
As usual, a bustling hoard of servants greets me as soon as I step out of my bedroom, awaiting my orders. "Lord Yog, shall we make baguettes today?" "How about juice?" "Will we have any guests later, Lord Yog?" "Lord Yog, does this apron look okay on me?" "Lord Yog—Lord Yog? ---Lord Yog!"
"Shut up!" I screamed over them, and they all froze comically in place to listen to my strict morning orders. Every day is like this.
Every. Day.
Who would have thought Dreamland humans were just as annoying as the ones on Earth?
Once they scurried off to tend their duties, I headed directly for the master's room. Master Nyarlathotep, that is. I do not wish to paint a sour image of my master, but I can't help but say that even his doors are intimidating. They are tall and heavy, adorned with famous scenes of hell etched in with disturbing detail. I brushed a finger softly along the bottom half of a child's corpse before the door glides silently open, betraying its immense size. Once I entered, it closed again of its own accord. My eyes slowly adjusted to the heavy darkness the room is always kept in until I saw the dim outline of my master sitting at the dressing table.
I fear if I try to describe him to you, you will only be treated to the scattered, biased ramblings of a lover. For that reason, I will try my hardest to remain objective and report only what I see. First is always the soft silhouette. He is tall and thin, but in a wonderfully proportioned and elegant manner; not at all lanky or awkward. His sable hair sways just along his chin, sharply cut and angled to flow with the path of his jaw line. Nyarlathotep tends towards a more Egyptian-inspired style, and regularly wears the light, fitted dresses and heavy golden jewelry of the ancient culture. I give you these simple details, but I
promise you they lend no credence to the true majesty of this man.
"Come, Yog-Sothoth. I've been waiting" his smooth, dark voice drawls, coaxing me softly like a hypnotized mouse to a snake. I didn't remember moving my legs, but I was suddenly behind him, the dyed-bone brush in my hand. I moved it gently through his silky hair, my eyes locked on the thin, gleaming golden eyes in the mirror. Their gaze worked like a phantom hand, snaking into my flesh and grabbing my spine in a cold fist so that I could do nothing but stare back. "The Shantaks were making a ruckus earlier" Nyarlathotep commented disinterestedly. The spell is broken and suddenly we are two separate entities again. "Yes, my Lord. I believe a few night gaunts must have been flying around" I replied as casually as possible. It was not such a bad suggestion; Shantak birds are deathly afraid of even the sight of the black-skinned, faceless demons.
It doesn't take long to finish brushing his hair, even considering having to work around the ring of tiny horns that haloes his head. I moved in front of him to apply the thick imperial-blue kohl he so adores around his eyes. In the moment when he closes his eyes and that ethereally beautiful face leans towards me in trust, my heart always skips a beat.
I've been doing this for centuries and I swear it's never failed.
Nyarlathotep dressed himself as I made the bed and cleaned up the dressing table, impossibly glad for the darkness covering my blush.
"I need your help."
The unexpected request almost made me drop the powder brush as I turned towards him on the other side of the room. He was wearing his usual knee-length robe with the high-collared sable cape resting easily on his slender shoulders, glittering dark gold on the underside of the fabric. Just looking at him made my throat tighten.
"With what, my Lord?" I asked politely.
He held up a heavy gold corset and I couldn't help but lift my brows in surprise. I didn't remember any special event scheduled for that day, but I also wasn't about to question my own master.
"Ah, of course."
I took it carefully and he turned around, placing his hands on the wall to brace himself. The position is hardly necessary, for years of experience have taught me how to apply the piece of clothing with very little pain or jerking about. With every tug came a soft grunt, and I quickly finished the lacing just to bring an end to those embarrassing, beautiful sounds. I watched as he brought himself to the mirror and observed my handiwork, nodding approvingly. My heart soars.
"I will be attending breakfast momentarily. Make sure the preparations are made" he said absent-mindedly, still admiring his own dark beauty.
I bowed and left the room with the same feeling of breathlessness one gets after falling from a great height. I brought my hands to my warm cheeks and I ccould pick up the faint perfume of his hair lingering on my fingers.
I am not a morning person, up until I visit my master.
As is expected of a servant of my caliber, the breakfast preparations were set in motion long before my master had to mention them. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining hall were thrown open to let in the crisp mountain air and pale sun, casting glimmering streaks of light along the polished dishes and cutlery. Enormous columns adorned with arcane and atrocious glyphs stretched up to the ribbed ceiling, alternating with foul, bestial statues carved of ebony.
Nyarlathotep has an interesting decorating style, but it is his castle after all.
The servants lined up along the hall as the main doors swung open and admitted their master. Seeing Nyarlathotep in the light is a much different experience than seeing him in the darkness. Much of the mysticism and quiet intentions are gone. The teasing game of cat-and-mouse is lost, replaced with the blunt, cold promise of pain without play. He is no less beautiful, elegant, or powerful, but there is a sense of being out of his element that is hard to ignore.
I walked him to the table, inhaling quietly every time the golden underside of his cloak caught a beam of sun and reflected it upon me. This is how I enjoy Nyarlathotep; through the tiny, insignificant nuances only a master and servant could share. I stood by his side as he ate, and he does so very slowly, for eating is still new to him. Having a mortal body is undoubtedly convenient for our line of work, but they require much more care and time then we are used to giving ourselves.
When he is done he rose from his seat and strode to the open windows, gazing quietly over the lands that call him Lord. In the oncoming sun I couldn't help but think that he was like a cloaked blot of darkness; a fleck of seething impurity on the shining face of the world.
"We have important business today" he said softly, though there was no noise in the room to drown him out anyways. Everyone listened expectantly.
"I am going to visit Azathoth."
My heart dropped to the pit of my human stomach; not because I fear Azathoth, but because I fear the effect Azathoth has on my master.
Nyarlathotep and Azathoth have been destined since the dawn of time to live in rivalry, one creating and the other destroying for as long as time continues to tick. They share a complicated history together; one that I will not indulge to you, so I will suffice it to say that Nyarlathotep's main goal in life is to destroy Azathoth. This goal became a need, this need an obsession, and soon enough Nyarlathotep found himself zealously watching and guarding the rival god lest any others think of destroying him first.
Am I jealous, you ask?
Do I sound jealous?
I will tell you now that Nyarlathotep is capable of only two emotions: hate and apathy. Apathy is what he bestows upon everyone; hate is what must be earned. Having Nyarlathotep hate you is like having him love you, for you become the object of his thoughts and actions, and he grooms and guards you….until he destroys you, that is. Azathoth has earned this twisted affection of his, and I despise him for it. It is better to be groomed and destroyed than remain alive and ignored.
"Azathoth?" I formed it as a question and he was quick to pick up on the intonation despite my subtlety.
"Yes, Azathoth" he answered curtly, lifting an eyebrow towards me as he started to exit the room, motioning for me to follow.
I frowned as I walked behind him, torn between hating and loving the ebony cloak swishing close in front. Suddenly he turned towards me, staring me square in the eye.
"Yog-Sothoth, do you have a problem with today's plans?" he asked with cold accusation. "Of course not, my Lord."
I answered promptly but guiltily, and he could tell. There's no hiding from the 'Crawling Chaos', as we call him. Luckily, he didn't seem in the mood for arguing, and simply brushed it off, ordering me to ready our transportation.
I will not bore you with the details of an uneventful flight, but I will mention that the main form of transportation in Kadath is the Shantak bird. These birds are as large as Earth elephants and are covered in slippery scales. When I say slippery scales, I mean 'oil on polished ice' kind of slippery.
Not the most relaxing creature to pilot early in the morning, to say the least.
So when we reached the white palace dubbed 'The Void', I looked a tad more disheveled then I would care to admit.
Yig, the Serpent God and Azathoth's personal servant, was the one who greeted us in the main hall, his annoying smile slapped across his annoying face. I twitched my lip in an attempt to reciprocate that smile, but it sadly failed. Beside me Nyarlathotep winced, making it openly known that he strongly disapproved of the over-use of white and gold in the palace aesthetics.
"I know it's kind of bright in here, but there's not much I can do about that. I can't very well re-paint the whole place!" Yig chuckled jokingly.
Nyarlathotep silenced the chuckle with a withering glare, making Yig step back awkwardly.
"Um, I'll get my master. One moment please." The Serpent God darted out of the room faster than necessary.
I can confidently say that I am a better servant than Yig. While I wear classy, dark-coloured robes that sufficiently cover my body, Yig finds it acceptable to wear only loose fitting, orange, Arabian-styled pants, and no shirt whatsoever. How can any dignified servant walk about with the entire expanse of his tanned chest exposed?! And don't even get me started on the attitude. Always grinning and joking and…..ugh.
Terrible.
The orange-haired atrocity of a servant returned a few moments later with his master. I will not lie; Azathoth is stunning, but in the polar opposite way of my master. Azathoth chooses to dress in pure white robes, accented with intricate details of spun gold. He has sweeping ivory hair from which two silver horns protrude straight upwards, the left of which is sawed in half. He is blind, but only in the loosest sense of the word. Yes, his eyes are milky and blank and subject to occasional bleeding, but he is still an Elder God, and we do not need ocular organs to 'see'. From the outside, Azathoth appears to be a young adult, but due to untold eons of madness and betrayal, his mental state has been reduced to that of a child. Occasionally he regains his senses, but this never lasts for more than a day.
I don't know what Nyarlathotep sees in him.
My master strode forward and stopped before Azathoth, who stared back with those unsettling vacant eyes. He took the pale god's face in his hands and offered a seething smile, bringing his voice down to a darling coo.
"Dear Azathoth, how are you? It has been so long since we've last been at accompany with each other. Such a pity, really."
Azathoth fidgeted and placed a slender hand hesitantly on Nyarlathotep's, glancing towards Yig for support. The white god is quite aware of my master's intentions, but he is powerful enough himself to not be overly concerned with every little threat he receives. "Yes. Perhaps we should head to the gardens and catch up with each other?" Azathoth suggested politely, seemingly in his right mind today.
Nyarlathotep graciously offered his arm and the two Elder Gods head out of the room together, leaving me with Yig, who immediately breathed out a long sigh.
"Geez, the first meeting is always so awkward, eh?"
I stared at him dully, silently willing him to shut up.
Of course, he doesn't pick up on the clue.
"You know what we should do? We should eavesdrop on them."
My eyes immediately opened to the size of dinner plates at the impossible suggestion. "Come on!" he encouraged, "Let's be naughty servants for once! Haven't you always wondered what they talk about?"
Aside from the shock, a small spark of interest flared in my stomach. Being a decent servant, I have never entertained ideas as rude as eavesdropping, but the burning curiosity in me is a different urge completely.
"What if we are caught?" I asked reluctantly, not wanting him to think I was agreeing with his idiocy.
"Oh, we won't, we won't!" he nearly begged as he danced around like he had Zoogs in his pants (I apologize; Zoogs are a sort of small, furry mammal that have a voracious appetite for human flesh).
I looked about to ensure that none of Azathoth's servants were around and turned back to Yig with an exasperated sigh.
"Fine," I whispered harshly, "But if we're caught, it's totally your fault."
Yig wiggled a hand in the air to brush away my anxieties. "You worry too much, Yog. Let's go!"
Did I mention I hate this stupid orange servant?
Yig took me to a small, discrete balcony that looked down over the large palace gardens, as white as the palace itself is. I didn't even know that many white-coloured plant species existed, to be honest.
Much to the chagrin of my palpitating heart, Nyarlathotep and Azathoth were sitting side by side on an ornate bench not far from where we were hiding.
"See?" Yig grinned, "Now just duck down and stay quiet."
I squatted down and peered intensely between the gold rails, the feeling of sick jealously already stirring in my gut.
Nyarlathotep leaned towards Azathoth and twisted a lock of ivory hair around his finger, staring at it with dark fascination.
"It's been a while since we've had a civilized conversation" he says handsomely.
"I wonder whose fault that is" Azathoth snapped back, referring to the fact that it was Nyarlathotep's betrayal that destroyed his sanity.
The dark god clucked softly and edged closer, breathing feathery wisps on Azathoth's neck.
"Don't be mad. You know I just want to be near you" he coaxed.
"So you can learn my weaknesses and destroy me faster? Great," the white-haired god droned sarcastically, folding his arms but not pulling away from his partner's continued affections.
"Would it make you feel better if I said I hated you?" Nyarlathotep stopped to whisper between the soft licks he's leaving along Azathoth's jaw line.
"Yes. At least you'd be telling the truth" the white god muttered, this time with much less conviction.
The Crawling Chaos chuckled; such a rare and delicate sound to behold.
"I never tell the truth."
Finally their lips found each other and they fell into a long lapse of quiet kissing that looked more like a power struggle than a show of affection. Azathoth nudged forward slowly before being pushed back, forced to take the violent kiss before regaining his former domination. They continued on like this until Nyarlathotep shoved Azathoth back with both hands, climbing up to sit on the white god's chest.
"Want to tell me how to destroy you?" he purred, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence.
"You're too weak to destroy me" Azathoth grinned with venom in his voice.
The Crawling Chaos sneered darkly and leaned back down for an even more violent round of kissing, unrelenting even when Azathoth's fingernails sent thin lines of crimson down his cheeks. He moved his kisses down to the collarbone, adding in wicked bites as he went along, and bringing up the most wonderful moans of pain and wanting from his victim.
By now I was leaning right up against the bars with my hand over my mouth, frozen in shock and fascination. I admit that Elder Gods have weird ways to exert dominance over each other, but this certainly 'took the cake', as you humans say.
I was so frozen, in fact, that I didn't notice that Yig had managed to climb up onto the thin rail to get a better view of the scene below. When I finally looked up, I gasped in surprise.
"Yig, what the hell are you doing?!" I hissed.
"Wha--?" he said as he looked back unexpectedly and lost his balance, plummeting to the rose bushes below with a loud yelp.
I swear time slowed as I watched that stupid god fall.
Every second was another ring of my death knell, and I could only watch in helpless horror.
The sudden crash made Nyarlathotep turn from his handiwork, an expression of pure murder darkening his usually calm, elegant face.
"Holy shit" I breathed between the fingers I splayed across my face in terror.
Denied of his entertainment, Azathoth sat up and stared as Yig rolled out of the mangled bush, yelping at the thorns that dotted his bottom.
"Yig? What are you…."Azathoth asked dazedly, unsure of what had just happened. Nyarlathotep's golden eyes slowly shifted from Yig up towards me, and our gazes locked in a moment of terrible understanding. I choked on my breath and backed away, scurrying out of sight of those eyes.
Needless to say, we went home immediately.
Nyarlathotep dragged me to his quarters. Literally.
He held a fistful of my wavy magenta hair and tugged me along as I tried to hold back my sharp cries and whimpers, pleading him to forgive me. We passed through those damned hell-doors and he threw me onto the enormous four-poster bed with more force than his light frame suggested. I struggled to sit up on the slippery black silk sheets but his hand around my throat ceased my efforts.
The room became very still, very suddenly.
His face was only inches from mine, but it did not give me the warm feeling I'd expect. He was back in the darkness, back in his element, and that extra spark of mystery and the unknown returned to rend him even more terrifying.
"You're such a good boy, Yog-Sothoth. Why did you have to misbehave like that?" he whispered almost too softly for me to hear.
I didn't want to answer. I really didn't, but I had to.
"It was Yig…" I began before he tightened his grip around my throat.
"Oh, Yig? You blame Yig? Was it Yig who carried you to the balcony and forced you to watch us?" he prodded ruthlessly.
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, ready to accept whatever punishment I deserved. I waited for a bite, a slash, a burn….anything. But instead I felt him climb up and lay on top of me, resting his head gently over my heart.
I didn't move an inch.
He felt so slight and fragile in that position and I felt I had to protect him, as I have had to do so for eons; but that is part of Nyarlathotep's skills. The power to deceive.
"You're always such a good servant, Yog-Sothoth. Do you want me to hate you?" he asked in a hushed voice, sounding sweet and innocent again. It was almost a whine.
I was positive that he could hear my human heart beating at a hundred miles an hour. It could probably be heard from across the room.
"I want to be of use to you, my Lord" I answered in the only way I could.
It was avoiding the question, but it wasn't a lie.
I could feel Nyarlathotep frown against my chest. He lifted his head to look up at me with those jaded golden eyes.
"I only hate those who I plan to destroy" he said as he lightly gripped my robes.
He moved up and cupped my face in his hands, pressing our cheeks together so that I could feel the cool texture of his skin.
"So I can't hate you because I can't destroy you."
He spoke the words so close to me that I could feel his silken lips brush past my ear with each syllable. I dared to lift my hands from my sides and rest them on his back, gently holding us together. He lifted his head again at the gesture and let our gazes lock, even closer now then before.
"And I can't destroy you because I need you…"
My heart was like a block of cement in my chest. If he was lying, then he was only living up to his reputation as a master deceiver, but if he was telling the truth, then that means he could never bring himself to hate me.
He can not hate me because he needs me alive.
"My Lord…" I start, but he pressed a cold finger to my lips.
"Say my name." He commanded. I stared back confusedly.
"Say it." He urged, this time more demandingly.
"Nyarlathotep."
The Crawling Chaos sighed with a soft smile, resting his head against my warm neck.
He left soon after that.
I'm not sure where he went, but I spent the rest of that long night alone in his bed, staring up at the black four poster canopy with a thousand thoughts swirling through my mind. I had miraculously avoided punishment, but no matter which way I looked at it, I was doomed to never be more to Nyarlathotep than a servant.
And that is why I wish Nyarlathotep hated me.
Oh dear, was the story really that disturbing? I didn't think it was—wait, wait! What are you doing with my fine porcelain--?!
………………
Crap.
I hoped you enjoyed reading!
Comment if you wish to. ^.^