Warnings for violence, murder, the conclave-which leads to violent child death.
There are going to be multiple references to Lovecraft's work in this. To "The Mountains of Madness," "The Whisperer in Darkness," more "The Haunter of the Dark," "Call of Cthulhu," "Dagon," and "Shadow over Innsmouth."
Chapter 9
The death of the Commander
The commander was so content with her arrangement with Klark, while Linkin looked on with distrust, that she didn't even realize anything was amiss, until she heard screeching and screaming from below, around Polis tower.
Klark, Linkin and the Nightbloods looked to Korta. Korta frowned and went to the window behind her throne, ignoring Titus's questions of what was happening.
She peered out through the glass down at the people on the ground. It was far away, but one thing that Korta could make out? All of the people below were running, and many were pointing upwards at the sky.
Korta lifted her head and looked at the sky ahead.
Her eyes widened. She now suddenly saw why people were fleeing in almost endless numbers.
There was a form flying through the sky, getting closer by the second. Dark, winged. With a flash of red on the front of its face which might have been its eyes.
"What is-?" Korta began, eyes not able to make out the entirety of the flying creature getting closer by the second.
She was not able to answer her own question. What she saw had wings and what may very well be multiple tails hanging out from its back, but that was all she was really able to make out of it. But there was one other thing she was able to make out about it. It had fangs. A wide mouth, full of sharp fangs.
Gasping, Korta backed away from the window, trying to ignore the cold shiver that ran through her at the sight of this creature.
"Titus," Korta commanded, "Take the Nightbloods and Klark and Linkin to a safe location. To the armory."
Titus nodded and did as his Heda ordered, herding the Nightbloods, Klark and Linkin away, to the armory.
"Lincoln, where are we-?" Clarke asked, frightened.
"Don't be concerned," Lincoln said gently to her as he moved with her, "Let the commander handle this."
He added quietly in a hushed tone to Clarke, "You shouldn't trust the commander. She is not as righteous as she claims to be."
Clarke looked at Lincoln, startled. Not expecting that.
The winged figure in the air, skin scaly and black, wings like that of a bat's, with three burning red eyes, fangs as long as the blades of swords, tentacles slowing behind it, got closer to the tower of Polis, the capitol of the tribes' home.
Nyarlathotep. The shapeshifter who could change into as any forms as he wanted, flew closer and closer.
There were many forms that he had taken over the centuries. This form? Was just a pinprick of the number of forms he could take.
And he could sense her. The girl. The child that had been stolen from the sect in Venice.
She was here. In Polis.
Most likely? She had no idea what he was, would be told to fear him, as soon as she saw him. But he knew that she would be able to feel it.
She'd be able to feel that she had more in common with Nyarlathotep, than she had with any of the fleeing humans around her.
She would be able to feel it, as soon as she saw him.
On an intellectual level? The girl, Clarke, wouldn't know who or what he was. And she wouldn't understand why she felt like she knew him.
But on the level of instinct? She would know him.
She would want to know more, even if she was telling herself that she shouldn't want to know him or know what he was or what he wanted.
That was alright. He would supply her with whatever information that she wanted. She would know everything that she could ever want to know. But first, he had to grab her. And he had no doubt that the idiotic tribes would try to prevent that.
In one of his tentacles, he held a small, wooden chest, that held a gift that he brought for Clarke.
Originally, it was to be given to her on her fifteenth birthday. That was the instruction that was given to him, when Clarke was born. An instruction given to him by Clarke's biological mother.
However, circumstances had changed those plans.
This would be brought to Clarke now. Especially if it meant that she would be more likely to listen to him, when she saw what he had for her.
He swung forth, sensing the girl's presence in Polis tower. He would kill whoever he needed to, to get to her.
His eyesight in this form only allowed him to see as gray shades. There was only one gray form behind the glass. He could make out gray figures moving away from the glass. But there was only one gray figure, pulling out a sword and facing the glass as he got closer.
He knew who this figure was as he got closer.
The commander of the twelve tribes.
No matter.
If she chose to stay and fight? She would die. Nothing else except that.
Nyarlathotep charged the tower, and hit the glass window.
The glass of the window shattered as soon as he made impact, creating a massive hole in the window behind the throne.
Nyarlathotep fired one of his tentacles through the window, and speared it, right through the current commander's chest.
The tendril shot out of the commander's back, black blood shooting all over the floor of the throne room.
Korta, who had been holding her sword up, had been ready to charge and kill whatever that creature was. And she had been taught that her fight ending in battle, was far from anything to be ashamed of.
But she hadn't seen what came next. Couldn't possibly have predicted it.
The creature in the sky charged forward. And blew out the glass of the window behind the throne.
It then had fired one of its tendrils forward and had actually sliced right through Korta's chest, and Korta felt it plunge the tendril out of her back.
Korta gasped, eyes becoming huge, feeling the life slowly drain out of her. The pain was unlike anything she ever could have imagined.
In the past, Korta had gained many sorts of injuries. Stabbings, hits from arrows, punches, even a stab would to her side that she had sure would be fatal.
But nothing came even close to this.
To this pain.
Korta's huge eyes locked onto the grotesque face before her. An impossibly huge mouth with impossibly huge fangs, in a gigantic grin. Three burning red eyes. Black rubbery skin all around those gleaming white fangs and red eyes.
As Korta slowly felt the fight leave her, stepping back and sliding off of the long and sharp tendril, she saw the body of the thing that had killed her, begin to shift.
Korta dropped onto the floor, in a pool of her own black blood, as the figure began to change from a huge, black, rubbery creature with tentacles, to a man in a suit and top hat and cane.
Korta's eyesight was beginning to fade, but she could make an outline out of the figure in front of her.
She heard the man's voice before she died, "Now, where is Clarke? Time to find her."
Korta's life left her then, knowing that she would never see the man she loved again, that Boudalan man, Motku, who had her heart, her body now limp on the floor, as her spirit left her.
Contrary to what the tribes believed? The commander's spirit did not go to find the successor to the commander's throne.
This was the belief that all Grounders had, however, this was not ever what happened when a commander died.
This was what Korta discovered.
Her soul was not going to find the next Heda.
No. As Korta discovered? Her soul left her body, and while the last thing that Korta saw in the living world, was of an abomination that changed somehow into a human form, Korta saw something else after she died.
She saw her mother and her father, and the rest of her dead family, and an endless valley, where there were tentacled creatures occasionally going by, but Korta laughed as she ran into the arms of her mother, who had died when she had been eight years old. Her mother held her, and Korta no longer knew pain, just happiness.
In the living world, on the other hand? There was soon to be plenty of pain.
Guards screamed and roared in rage as they saw the dead body of Korta, the commander.
They charged with spears, swords, knives and axes.
But no good came of it.
Nyarlathotep grinned at his pursuers, removed his top hat and monocle, and changed his face. Only his face.
What stood before the guards, was a creature with a human body in a suit, but with a head that was bulbous and expanded and had a far too wide mouth, with a cluster of sharp fangs sticking out and the crown of its head elongated to the point that that alone, even without the rest of the thing's face, could give someone nightmares.
The guards screamed and backed away, all bravado forgotten. Some of them even dropped their weapons as they fled.
Nyaralthotep laughed, a sound that coming from the throat of the form he took, sounded like an explosion of water.
"Such brave warriors!" He cackled, "Run! All of you run! Your only chance to live!"
He cackled some more as the guards fled.
Such fun. Such easy fun.
He walked through the halls, the bulbous and expanded head remaining on his human appearing shoulders.
He would kill any who got in his way. But as it appeared that no one would even try to contend with him? He saw no reason to waste his time with the guards. He would just go right to where Clarke was.
He sensed her. In a room across the hall.
He reached the door for that room, grabbed the door and tore the door off of its hinges.
There, he saw her.
Standing there, behind the man who was standing in front of her protectively.
Nyarlathotep changed his head back into that of his human head that went with this body.
And he smiled at the child that was stolen from the sect that worshipped him and his gods.
"Hello, Clarke," Nyarlathotep greeted the girl, in the language of the Old Ones.
Clarke, Lincoln, Titus and the Nightbloods, had gone into the armory for several minutes.
But that sense of safety hadn't lasted long. There had been the sound of crashing, the sounds of people running and crying out in terror.
Then they had heard the screams get louder.
Then had heard something crash again. Then had heard a deep, yet watery laugh.
Then the door of the armory had come torn clean off of its hinges.
And the figure that stood in the doorway? Clarke knew that she should have screamed as soon as she saw it. But all she discovered herself doing? Was staring at it. Feeling awe and intrigue at the sight of what was before her.
It was a figure with a body of a man in a suit, but the head? The head was something very different.
The head was misshapen and bulbous and dark red.
Clarke heard the screams of the other children; the Nightbloods, around her.
Heard Titus and Lincoln both yelling out for the beast in front of them not to get closer, and even if both men sounded like they were trying to be brave, heard the wavering in their tones.
And even then?
Clarke just stared at the creature, mesmerized.
Clarke wasn't sure she knew how to describe what she felt right now. But it was almost as if…
Clarke had seen videos on the Ark, videos uploaded on the Internet. And she had seen videos of the way animals greeted each other. Specifically, animals who knew that they were of the same species.
How excited two dogs were when greeting each other. Or how happy a pair of elephants were when greeting each other.
This? As strange as it might have sounded? This felt like that.
Clarke felt like…like she knew this creature. Like she had met it before. Like she could trust it.
The figure's head then changed. It changed from its grotesque form to the face of a man.
The now bearded man put his top hat back on, and placed a round, glass over his eye and smiled right at Clarke and said, "Hello, Clarke."
Clarke gasped.
This creature knew her? Just like she had thought?
The figure then suddenly lunged and with speed that shouldn't be possible for a human being, was suddenly in front of Lincoln and Titus and slammed each of its hands against their chests.
Both Lincoln and Titus went flying.
They slammed into the wall behind a wooden row of spears and collapsed to the floor.
Clarke then at last, found her voice.
She screamed when she saw Lincoln get thrown back several feet.
Clarke's eyes caught the creature's reaction to her scream.
The creature stepped back, hands going to its sides.
"I apologize, Clarke," The creature that looked like a man said, "I didn't wish to scare you. Or upset you. But these people are keeping you from coming with me."
Clarke's eyes widened. "You're…," she began shakily, still knowing that she wasn't as afraid as she should be, "You're here for me?"
That should have terrified her.
But she felt something much worse than fear.
Happiness. Joy.
It was like she had just learned that her big brother or something had come to take her home.
"Does knowing that make you happy?" The creature that looked like a man asked, smiling, as if already aware of the answer.
Clarke nodded. She was sure that this man would be able to sense if she was lying.
"Yes," she confessed, realizing the futility of lying, "It does."
The man smiled. "I thought it would," he said.
There was a sudden interruption, when there was a cry of anger behind Clarke.
Clarke gasped, turning, only to see the oldest of the Nightbloods, "Lexa," grab a sword and rush at the man.
"Wait!" Clarke cried out, but Lexa had gone past Clarke and had lunged for the man.
The man snorted and thrust his right hand out, his left holding a cane, and his right hand gripped the girl's neck easily, lifting Lexa off of the floor.
Clarke screamed at the man, "NO!"
As soon as Clarke screamed this, the man looked to her and dropped Lexa onto her rear on the floor.
Leksa grunted, landing on her butt on the floor with a painful thud.
She dropped her sword and was dazed both by the grabbing of her throat and by being dropped, but she had enough sense to look to Klark, suddenly very aware that the girl was able to order around this creature that was attacking Polis.
"You want me not to kill them?" The man asked Clarke, nodding to Lexa, then to the other now cowering Nightbloods.
"That's right," Clarke insisted, "Don't kill anyone. I don't know if you've just killed someone. But I don't want you to kill anyone else. If I go with you, will you let everyone else go?"
The man's black eyebrows went up.
"Yes," he said, smiling, seeing that he had Clarke where he wanted her, "Everyone else will live if you come with me."
Clarke winced when she heard Lincoln groan out behind her.
He sounded like he was waking up from being briefly knocked out against the wall.
She hoped he understood why she was doing this. Besides, if the way she felt when she saw the creature at the doorway was anything to go by? Then she belonged with this creature.
Maybe that explained everything. Why everything she touched was destroyed. Why she had killed all the Mountain Men. Maybe she was like this creature.
Maybe her having wiped out an entire civilization, including all the children in Mount Weather, was a sign that she had more in common with this horrifying creature than with human beings.
Clarke added before anything else, "If I go with you, will you help protect the people from the Ark?"
The man looked at Clarke for several seconds, then answered, "Very well. I see no reason why I should. But I will, if that's what you want, girl."
Clarke nodded, the man's answer making her decision for her.
Leksa looked between Klark and this strange shapeshifting creature.
She didn't understand a thing that was being said between Klark and the creature.
The moment the creature entered this room? He had started speaking in a language that Leksa did not recognize.
The language was not Trigedasleng, not Gonasleng or any other language that Leksa had heard of.
This was another language. And somehow? Klark knew this language too and was interacting with the creature through this language.
Leksa heard the language that was leaving Klark's mouth and she didn't understand. Hadn't Heda said to protect this girl? But here the girl was, smiling up at the creature and speaking in its language.
Had Heda been wrong? Was Wanheda not their ally?
Nyarlathotep spoke softly to Clarke, "Come with me. And no one else in this tower, will get hurt, I promise."
Clarke sighed and nodded as she said in the same language that Nyarlathotep was speaking, even if she didn't realize it, "Okay, but I need to get a few things first from my room. Can I?"
Nyarlathotep nodded. "Make it quick," he requested.
Clarke went past Nyarlathotep, out the door and down the hallway to her room and Nyarlathotep followed.
Clarke took a few turns, going past the throne room without looking in, so she didn't see the dead body on the floor.
Nyarlathotep followed Clarke to Clarke and Lincoln's shared room, and Clarke opened the door and went in and grabbed her backpack and made sure she had everything from her father.
She then looked at the shield. Captain America's shield.
She took a deep breath, and reached for it.
She picked it up, and carried it out of the room. The strange man again followed her.
Clarke led him back to the armory and watched as the Nightbloods, including Lexa, backed away from her.
Clarke tried to ignore her hurt over that and kneeled down in front of Lincoln, who was now more or less awake.
"Lincoln," Clarke said gently to the young man, raising up the shield, "This shield belonged to a great hero. It should be used by someone who's a hero too. I shouldn't have it. Not after what I did to all those people in Mount Weather. You should have it. And if you don't want it? Find someone that is worthy of using it."
She leaned the shield against the wall next to Lincoln.
She then backed away, a sad smile on her face.
Lincoln watched Clarke do this and a realization hit him. Clarke was leaving. He didn't know how or why, but she was going away.
But she was leaving.
Lincoln looked past Clarke and saw the figure standing behind Clarke.
It was the man that had broken into the armory. Who previously, had a head that was stretched out and hideous, but now had a human face.
Lincoln felt his heart fall to his stomach.
Clarke was going with him?
"Clarke," Lincoln began, his eyes darting to Clarke, his voice a plea, "No."
Clarke smiled sadly. "Lincoln," she said, "I killed children in the mountain. All of them are dead. Because of me. And I could still be used as a hostage against my father. Maybe there's a reason why I never belonged with the Ark people. Why my own adoptive mother couldn't love me and wanted me gone."
She got up and backed up. The man behind her reaching out for her.
Linkin hissed, grabbing for one of his knives.
"It's over, Lincoln," the man said, sounding amused at Linkin's efforts, "She's coming with me. Goodbye, now."
He wrapped his right arm around Klark's shoulders and pulled her to him, and as Lincoln growled, grabbing his knives, the man's form changed. He was becoming dark mist.
And as he wrapped himself around Klark, he and Klark both disappeared in a swirl of black smoke.
"Klark!" Linkin yelled, getting up and running for her, but Klark and the strange man both disappeared.
Linkin gasped, searching the room. But he saw no sign of Klark or of the shapeshifting man.
Leksa stepped forward as she said, "I heard Klark and the man talking. They were speaking in another language."
Linkin looked at Leksa, confused.
"What type of language?" He asked.
Leksa shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "But it wasn't Trigedasleng and it wasn't Gonasleng. It was in an entirely different language. I think Wanheda knew the man. And was working with him."
Linkin's eyes widened.
No, that couldn't be.
Linkin said, shaking his head as he went to the wall and picked up the shield that Klark had brought with her from the mountain, barely able to hold it. "That can't be," he said, "I need to find her."
He put his arm through the straps of the shield and carried it out of the room, ignoring Titus calling after him.
He was done with the Commanders. If the Nightbloods really thought that Klark could be working with that creature, they didn't know what they were talking about.
He reached the throne room and gasped, finding the body on the floor. Korta, the former Heda, dead.
He swallowed and nodded, knowing what was going to happen now. The conclave would take place. The rest of those Nightblood children would die, and the most powerful of them would be the next Heda.
And Klark, if people believed that she had worked with the creature, would most likely be blamed for Korta's death.
Linkin cursed quietly. He would find Klark and try to keep her safe.
He had no desire to stay and watch almost all of the Nightblood children die in unnecessary combat.
He moved away from the throne room and went down the stairs past the many confused and horrified guards, avoiding the elevator and going all the way down the stairs and ran out of the tower, panting and sweating after all the flights of stairs he had gone down, and grabbed the reins of the horses that he and Klark had brought her, got on one, secured the shield to the other horse's side and rode off, with the other horse in tow.
Across the landscape, where Mount Weather was, Clint Barton, who had been sent there by SHIELD, stepped out, having pocketed the journal that he found, that had belonged to the now elusive Dr. Tsing.
What did he do now?
He knew that his familial soulmate, Clarke Griffin, had killed all of the Mountain Men, and that she was most likely deeply traumatized.
And he knew that Natasha, Laura, the kids and Maria all deserved to know about Clarke.
But how did he explain?
It would likely hurt Laura, Natasha and Maria all the more when they found out that Clarke was traumatized by what she did in the mountain, even if there was no other choice. But he knew that he had to tell them. They had the right to know.
He would have to skim a few details when explaining all this to his and Laura's kids. But he would tell them about Clarke.
Clint sighed and began moving. He brought his radio out and spoke to Maria, trying to calm her down after what he had first relayed to her.
He reached his vehicle, which was how he got here, and began taking off, heading for SHIELD base.
An hour after he left the mountain, he crossed paths with someone else. A man atop horseback, pulling another horse along. The riderless horse had a shield tied to its side. The shield? Looked rather familiar.
The shield tied to the horse, was clearly designed to look like Captain America's shield.
The man riding the horse, brought his steed to a stop in front of Clint and Clint stopped his vehicle in front of the man and the two horses.
The two men eyed each other for several moments, before the man atop the horse spoke in English, or as Clint knew the tribes called English, "Gonasleng."
"Hello," The man said to Clint, "I see you are from some of the other communities."
"Yes," Clint said, not surprised by the man's observation, since he was riding a motorbike and as Clint knew, the tribes weren't that fond of technology, "And you are of the Trikru."
Clint recognized this man, he realized. It was the same man from the videos in Mount Weather. This man had been with Clarke when Clarke had pulled that lever.
And that shield that was with the man? It had been in the mountain too, when Clarke had pulled the lever.
Clint recalled what this man's name was.
Lincoln.
"Lincoln," Clint said, not waiting for the other man to introduce himself, if he was going to at all.
Lincoln's eyes widened.
Clint explained gently, "I am part of SHIELD. I was sent to investigate what I heard was going on in Mount Weather. And I saw a video of what happened there. I know about Clarke. I know that she pulled the lever. And I know about Maya."
Clint watched the man stiffen, as if he wasn't sure whether or not to pull a knife out.
Clint pushed carefully, knowing that this could escalate if he wasn't careful, "You want to protect Clarke, right? Where is she right now?"
Lincoln eyed Clint suspiciously. He said, "I don't know. Something took her."
Clint frowned. A strange way of putting it. "Something" took Clarke? Who? What?
"What took her?" Clint asked cautiously.
"I don't know," Lincoln confessed, "It looked like a man. But it wasn't. It could change its form. And it could disappear in black smoke."
Clint heard this. He had never heard of anything like this. Not during his whole life both before and after joining SHIELD.
"You're looking for her now?" Clint asked Lincoln, trying to ignore the anxiety this information was causing him.
"Yes," Lincoln said, "And you will not get in my way."
Clint held up his hands. "I'm not trying to get in your way," he assured Lincoln, "I'm trying to help. If I offered my help, would you help me find Clarke?"
Lincoln watched Clint cautiously, and Clint could see that he was thinking.
Linkin wasn't sure he could trust this man. But what options did he have? There was option number one; see if he could go back to his people and get them to listen to him and not the new commander, whoever that was going to be.
Or there was option two; go with someone from the communities who weren't superstitious like the tribes were and hope that rationality won out.
Linkin had seen the way that Titus had looked when he had heard from Leksa that Klark spoke the same language as the intruder at Polis had.
He had looked ready to speak fanatical words for the rest of his life into whatever victor there was of the next conclave about conspiracies that Wanheda might very well have been a part of.
Linkin nodded to Clint at last. He said, "I will go with you," he said, "But if anyone tries to hurt Klark in any way-"
Clint shook his head. "We won't, we won't," he assured Lincoln.
After almost ten minutes of thinking, Linkin at last nodded. "Very well," he said, "I will go with you."
When her brain stopped spinning, Clarke and the man holding her, at last came to a stop.
Clarke shook, feeling dizzy.
The man that had brought her here, stepped back.
He said, "Clarke, I've brought you to the city where you were born."
Clarke blinked and her vision began to clear up as she looked up at the man. "Where on Earth was I born?" Clarke asked, curious, trying to ignore the unease that she felt at the choice she had made.
Nyarlathotep smiled at Clarke. "You were born in R'lyeh, then brought to another city. And in that city you were taken by your adoptive father when he found you. In Venice. But you weren't born in Venice. You were born here. In R'lyeh."
Clarke furrowed her eyebrows together. The name didn't sound familiar. It wasn't like Venice, which was a city she had heard of. It was a city in Italy.
But "R'lyeh?" She had never heard of that city before.
But even so? She felt like she knew the name somewhere. Just like she felt like she knew this man from somewhere. It was a knowledge that went deeper than just intelligence.
Clarke began to look at the city that surrounded her; the city where she was born.
Her eyes widened as she did.
Whatever she was expecting? It sure hadn't added up to this.
There were buildings all over the place, yes, but not your average skyscrapers or apartment buildings.
There were behemoths of structures towering over her, all colored the same shade of pale almost sickly green. The sides of some towers had almost horn like designs protruding from those sides.
Other structures went up, but stopped at a platform, where several statues sat, crouching.
These statues were figures that Clarke realized she recognized.
They were the same statues as the statuette she had in her backpack.
The creature with the octopus for a head, with claws on its hands and feet, with wings sticking out of its back.
Clarke gaped at those stone figures.
Clarke asked, turning to the man, "Alright, I have to ask, what's the deal with all those statues?"
The man chuckled, "Those are statues of the god that lives here. Sleeps here always. Trust me, you don't want him to wake up."
"Who?" Clarke asked. She didn't understand any of this. A god? Sleeping?
Clarke knew that she'd been speaking before with Dante Wallace about religions and gods, but this was getting weirder than that.
"His name is a bit difficult to pronounce," The man said, "As is mine. His name is Cthulhu." And Nyarlathotep pronounced it in the way it was supposed to be pronounced. In a way that human vocal cords couldn't.
And a smile crossed his face, when Clarke repeated the name, saying it in exactly the way that Nyarlathotep did. In a way that humans couldn't possibly pronounce the name.
The name was pronounced "Clulu," but the way Clarke said it was exactly in the way it was supposed to be pronounced, but in the way that humans could never pronounce it.
Nyarlathotep said, "Yes, that's right. Excellent. He's sleeping here. In this city. This city is protected under a sort of mist, kept from human eyes. But it very much is on Earth. You were born here, your birth meant to be blessed by the presence of the priest of the gods, Cthulhu, even if he was to remain asleep while you were born."
Clarke listened to this and found it stranger and stranger by the second.
"Those statues?" The man continued, "Are of that same god, Cthulhu. It's best he remains sleeping. But I brought you here to help you understand what you are and where you came from."
Clarke began looking up at all the seemingly endless towering structures around her, each one looking more unsettling than the last one she looked at.
She half thought of asking the man if the structures around her were supposed to look creepy but chose not to ask.
Mainly because she had the feeling the ultimately? The answer would turn out to be 'yes.'
"I brought you something, by the way," the man said, reaching behind his back.
Clarke turned to look at him, curious.
Nyarlathotep opened up the short tendrils at his back, allowing the wooden chest to fall into his left hand and he pulled his hand out from behind his back and held the chest between him and Clarke.
Clarke frowned, wondering where the chest had come from, but looked up at the man.
He nodded to her, smiling in encouragement. "Go on," he said.
Clarke slowly reached out and lifted the top of the chest.
When she did, her eyes widened, seeing the glowing red stone inside.
"Whoa," she said, "What's that?"
"That," the man said, grinning at how impressed Clarke was, "Is a trapezohedron. It belongs to me. For now. You may use it however you want. What would you like to see?"
"See?" Clarke asked, still not tearing her eyes from the stone in the chest.
"Yes," Nyaralthotep said, "This trapezohedron can show you anything you want to see. If you concentrate."
Clarke thought about this, then stared into the stone and concentrated, just like he instructed her to.
She decided that she wanted to see who this god was that this man was talking about.
She pictured the statues in her head and demanded mentally who the god was.
And suddenly, pictures began appearing inside the red of the stone.
A massive green figure with a huge octopus head, tentacles and all, large claws on its hands, gargantuan bat wings began walking, moving through an ocean, towering over not boats, but dinosaurs. Various ocean bound dinosaurs that on their own, when put next to human beings, would be extremely impressive, were miniature when compared with the colossal creature that stood over them, trudging through the waters.
The figure went past all the sea bound dinosaurs, barely looking at them. Ignoring them in the same way that humans would ants that they found on the ground.
The image changed. The figure moving through the water changed. Then a new image showed up. It was the same winged creature with the octopus for a head, only it was fighting with something.
At least, she thought it was. There were shapes hitting it and it slashed with its claws.
Then a new imaged entered the picture.
Multiple flying things. Large insectoid creatures with batlike wings, and claws, and they had…exposed brains at the top of their spines. Yet they were flying around as if them having exposed brains was nothing for them.
Clarke gasped, dropping the chest.
The man caught the chest and the stone rolled around on the floor of the chest harmlessly.
"What was that?" Clarke demanded, swallowing, "There were things in that stone. Images of creatures with exposed brains."
"Oh, those?" The man asked, laughing in a way that made Clarke think that her almost breaking the stone into pieces meant nothing to him, "Those were just the Mi-Go."
"My-go?" Clarke repeated, saying it in the way that the man pronounced it.
"Yes," the man said, "But the proper pronunciation for the species name is 'Mi-Go,'" this time he pronounced it the way it was supposed to be pronounced.
Clarke repeated it, exactly as it was supposed to be repeated, and in a way normal humans wouldn't be able to pronounce it.
Nyarlathotep nodded. "Like so," he said, "They are also called the 'Yuggoth.' Or the 'Fungus from Yuggoth.'"
Clarke stared at the man and Nyarlathotep almost laughed as Clarke said, "I have no idea what that means."
Nyarlathotep chuckled, "They live on another planet. Outside of this solar system. That planet is called 'Yuggoth.'"
Clarke's eyes widened. "Oh," she said, "The Mi-Go live there?"
"Yes," Nyarlathotep answered, "They still do. They are insectoid, as I'm sure you saw. And they offer people a way of going to different solar systems, of seeing different planets."
Clarke's eyes widened. "They do?" She asked, "How?"
Nyarlathotep smiled as he answered, "By taking a person's brain out of their head and putting it in a can and taking it to different planets to see. The brain goes into another body."
Clarke paled.
She thought she might be sick at what she had just heard.
"That," she said weakly, "That can't be real."
"Unfortunately," The man answered, "It is. However, what is unfortunate too? Is that there are actually many ways of traveling to different solar systems and planets. Ships that will take people to those different places. And not just your Ark. The many galaxies are vast, Clarke. And there are millions and millions of species that have access to advanced technology and advanced ships to take people to different planets. The Mi-Go? They are what humans may refer to as 'scammers.'"
Clarke balked.
There were other creatures out there on different planets? Aliens? Actual aliens? And they had ships that could take people to different planets?
The man nodded to the stone in the chest, "The moral of this story? Avoid the Mi-Go. They are trouble. However, they worship a few of the Old Ones. I believe Dante Wallace discussed some of the Old Ones with you. That small statuette you found on the shelf? That was of Yog-Sothoth, one of the gods that the Mi-Go worship."
Clarke stared at the man, bewildered.
"How do you know about that?" She asked, "What are you? Who are you?"
The man chuckled, and dipped himself slightly in a bow to Clarke. "My name is Nyarlathotep. And in a way? I am a messenger of the Old Ones. Of beings commonly referred to as cosmic gods. And Yog-Sothoth is just one of the many Old Ones I serve. I am also revered by the Mi-Go. So, I can keep you safe from them."
Clarke backed up from this man, her brain trying to do the math. He was a god. But so was the creature that there was a statuette of in her backpack, and so was that creature that there was a statuette of on that shelf that she and Dante Wallace had discussed.
Gods were real.
Okay…that was a lot for her to process. It was already a lot for her to accept that she had just seen a creature that had changed his head to expand.
None of this logically should be possible.
Clarke then thought about all the drawings that Dante had shown her.
"What about all the fish creatures?" She asked, "They look like people, just more fishlike."
"Oh, those?" Nyarlathotep chuckled, "Those are Deep Ones. They are hybrids. Part human. But descended from their fish god. Father Dagon. No need to worry about them. Their ilk went deeper into the ocean after their town, Innsmouth, sank into the sea."
"Oh, that's all, huh?" Clarke gestured to the water that she now saw surrounded the city, "In case you haven't noticed? We're surrounded by water!"
"Yes," Nyarlathotep said, nodding, "But they wouldn't come to R'lyeh. They fear Cthulhu. They are stronger than human beings, but could never take on an Old One. Even if I wasn't here and even if Cthulhu is asleep? They'd never risk it."
Clarke was incredulous. She felt like multiple anvils had just been dropped on her head.
Aliens existed. A planet outside of Earth's solar system, was inhabited by some of them, and those aliens liked to take peoples' brains out of their heads. There was an octopus headed creature on a city that no one could find on a map of the Earth. Oh, and there were half human, half fish hybrids that were in the water somewhere.
All in all, Clarke had a feeling that if she chose to freak out right about now, she would be perfectly justified.
"And you?" She asked at last, "Are you a threat at all to humans?"
Nyarlathotep smiled. "I am a shapeshifter. As you have seen. I have many forms that I can change into. I am an Old One. Which means yes, I am, technically. But I won't raise a finger to the mass of humans. I'll kill the occasional human that gets in my way. But not all of them. Humans? They…amuse me. They…I find human beings greatly entertaining. Which is why I would never wipe them out."
"Oh," Clarke said, shaking her head, again feeling like she had just been socked in the face with an anvil, "How reassuring."
She sighed, feeling exhausted, "Are there any other surprises I should know about?"
"Oh, yes, more than a few," Nyarlathotep informed her, "Namely, stay away from Antarctica."
"Why?" Clarke asked suspiciously.
Nyarlathotep raised the chest with the stone in it up to eye view and obviously sent some sort of mental order to the stone.
Clarke watched the stone and her eyes widened when she saw the many peeks of Antarctica go by, before several more shapes loomed into view, but they weren't icy peeks.
These were purple barrel shaped bodies, with tentacles at the bottom of the barrel shaped figures, with stalks on top of those heads, with red eyes gazing out of those stalks. There were bat wings on the backs of these things.
Clarke gasped, eyes wide.
And as ridiculous as it was, Clarke felt herself ask a question that she knew was extremely minor when compared with everything else, but she still felt the question come out.
She asked, "Okay, what's with all the tentacles and the wings?"
While Clarke was discovering the horrifying and the awe-inspiring and the ludicrous secrets of the many galaxies with Nyarlathotep, all the way back in Polis?
The conclave had taken place and had ended. Luna of the Flou tribe had fled.
She had run after seeing her brother be killed.
Luna was now gone from Polis and away from Titus, running fast. The rest of those in the conclave, including Luna's brother, were dead, killed. All, except for one.
The oldest of the Nightbloods had won the conclave.
Leksa of the Tri tribe.
Titus, the Flame Keeper stepped forward, nodding in acknowledgment to Leksa, and pulled out the dagger that had been taken from Korta's body. Korta would be burned now, with all of the dead Nightbloods clustered around the pyre. All of them would burn. And Leksa would be the new commander.
Leksa accepted her new garbs, her jaw tight, clearly keeping her emotions at bay over having killed all of the children that she had spent so much time around, save for Luna. Black blood coated her clothing and hands, not one drop of it, her own blood.
"Bow," Titus ordered everyone still living in the room, except for Leksa, "To your new Heda!"
The generals, all of them, and Titus, bowed before Leksa.
Leksa took the dagger from Titus and allowed the standing servants to fit her body with new clothes, fashioned after Korta's clothing.
When she was older, she would be getting new clothes exactly like the ones she wore now, to fit her as an adult, that was, should she live to adulthood.
Many of the previous Hedas hadn't lived that long.
Leksa approached the throne, as the bodies of the Nightbloods were carried out to the pyre to join Korta's body.
Leksa turned around, her back to the throne as she announced, glancing back at the broken window behind her, speaking in Trigedasleng, "The window behind me, will remain broken. It will be a testament to the attack against our capitol. And for what was taken from us on this day. Now, I have a law that will be respected as of now. Wanheda is the enemy of the tribes. Her people, the people of the Ark are, as well. And any who help her or her people? Will suffer the consequences."
And the commander made one last statement. She said, "From now on, Wanheda will also be called 'Shro-Kron." Those bowing all said, "Yes, Head." Wanheda from then on was called a dreaded name, as well as the name, "Commander of Death." Shro-Kron, which when translated into Gonasleng, meant "War Dog."
Author's note
The trapezohedron is actually a thing in "The Haunter of the Dark."
