~~PROLOGUE~~
The skies rumbled overhead as a hooded figure apparated onto the festering shoreline. The seas roared around him as he took tentative steps – unusual for such a mighty power, he thought to himself – deeper into the horrifying environment before him.
This was the lost city, the prison that held one of the greatest powers in – quite literally - the entire Universe. As he made his way through the remains of the city, he noted two things; firstly, the odd geometry of the area. It had been said that Muggles had been driven insane after accidentally stumbling across this evil place, simply trying to comprehend the non-Euclidean structures. Secondly; the stench. The figure was well familiar with such a smell – it was that of death. Ancient death; the smell of those who had been dead for a thousand years. On his path to power, he had witnessed a number of deaths, many of which he caused personally.
Despite being the mightiest Dark Lord the Wizarding world had seen, Lord Voldemort still shuddered at the prospect of death. It was an absolute sign of failure.
He stopped as he approached an enormous temple, half sunken into the terrifying surroundings. Through the lashing rain and crashing waves, he could make out a humming noise, growing ever louder. Someone, or something, had cast a ward over this area.
Summoning his wand, Voldemort began to recite the most important chant associated with this hellish city.
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."
A jet of green light erupted from his wand, striking the ward. It shimmered for some time before the spell fizzled out; it was a spell that once cast had to 'run its course'. Sure enough, the ward slowly stopped glowing as a brisk wind tried to pull everything towards the temple. Standing strong, Voldemort watched as the ward was removed. It had worked. The ancient chant, coupled with his ever-growing enormous dark power, was enough to break the final magical seal before his goal.
He stepped forward , now standing mere metres from the temple itself. It was unlike any other temple the world had ever seen; it was half-set into the ground, odd pillars rising at inconsistent angles. There were two gargantuan doors covering what must have been a maze of underground catacombs. Depicted on the doors was a face of a creature beyond all might; a God of evil powers. Numerous beady eyes and tentacles were depicted, with an inscription beneath;
'Cthulhu fhtagn'
"He dreams," the Dark Lord uttered to himself, surveying the carving. He stood there for some time, preparing himself for the final part of the process beyond his control – communication from the Deep Ones. 'Shoggoth hafh'drn ilyaa lw'nafh' – 'The Summoner of the Realm of Darkness must await the dream', the Dark Lord had discovered after months of analysis and preparation. The conditions had been met; the Summoner of the Realm of Darkness now stood metres from the enormous temple, awaiting the dream.
And then, without warning, Voldemort blacked out.
For a short while, black was all there was, although slowly, a high-pitched noise grew and grew, until the Dark Lord recognised it as a scream – somehow, he recognised it as his own scream. It built in intensity until it was deafening. Following this, brutal images appeared; many depicting himself, dead and rotting, ruined, easily defeated by Potter and shown to be nothing more than a simple roadblock in the progression of the wizarding world. The images moved with such intensity; as soon as one had flashed up, another would take its place.
For the first time since his attempted murder of the Boy-Who-Lived, Voldemort began to feel genuinely terrified, the feeling riling inside of him. Never before had he felt it on this level. Scowling at himself, he regained his mental composure, unable to admit defeat to an…emotion… He watched helplessly as the awful images and sounds assaulted his mind.
And as soon as they had arrived, they had gone. Nothing but blackness once more. Blackness, and one deep, droning voice.
"He who seeks the Guidance of the Star-God will speak now."
Unperturbed, Voldemort began to communicate.
"I wish to request the knowledge of the Star-God."
The enormous voice returned his query. "The Black Brotherhood must prove their loyalty."
Somewhat confused by the vague response, Voldemort pressured the voice. "I wish to request the Great Priest's knowledge. The Priest has knowledge unsurpassed by all – I wish to speak with it."
"The Black Brotherhood must prove their loyalty." The voice repeated the same vague statement.
As Voldemort went to reply once more, the screaming began to fade in once more. After some time of the terrifying sound, he awoke in his base of operations, not too far from Hogwarts itself, yet thousands of miles from R'lyeh and about as detached from his recent experience as one could get.
Standing upright, the Dark Lord could hear one thing echoing in his mind, and one thing only.
The Black Brotherhood must prove their loyalty.
