Post by satyricalconsort on Mar 1, 2023 21:08:25 GMT -5
The sky ran red like blood, and angry black clouds swirled in the sky. White lightning crackled over the blistered, tortured, scared landscape. Oh no, not again! He hated it here; decrepit earth stuck between his toes, and in the distance; obsidian obelisks; so much like the Tower of Babel; so jagged and sharp, slick and shiny - each of them attempting to pierce the sky itself. A horrific monument to the tyrant god, the lurker in the darkness, the mad king, Haster, the king in yellow.
And between the obelisks was a googolplex of entities that could perhaps be described as serpents? It was like the ground itself was writhing, squirming, slithering. A significant of them were tortured, writhing in agony; their bodies knotted together in the mass not unlike that of a rat king. And so the mass bled, it roared a horrific and deafeningly loud hissing sound which absolutely tortured the ear drums as it hammered on the psyche. A horrible yellow light throbbed from within the knotted and tormented black mass - which the black serpents seemed to somehow enter as if it was a singularity. That awful yellow light shone brighter by the second before it erupted, and suddenly the king of serpents had become an entity in a yellow coak. It stood there, half of its face made of radio static, the other half seemed to be made of maggots, worms, with pustule like eyeballs that would rise and burst like boiling water. A collection of slimy looking green tentacles writhed from beneath the horrific yellow cloak, as it bobbed in the air. A gnarled talon covered hand, covered in gnashing mouths would reach towards Guts and hoist him; bringing him close to what could be called a face but not really. It opened it's maw and stuck it's tongue in his eye, trying to lick his brains clean like a scoop of ice cream.
Guts could not resist, he could not bring himself to fight, and the very thought of resistance was as departed from his mind as north is from south. He could only scream in agony and terror as the green ichor from Hastur's tongue violated his entire body, mind and soul. This moment seemed to go on for an enternity, as Guts was in a space of relative time.
Outside, the chrome hub hoisted back to the ceiling, leaving a foul smelling and tasting fog in the lab. The tentacles from Guts body undid the restraints after dropping the syringes, uselessly to the institutionalized looking, yet disheveled and withered floor. He seemed to rise without consciousness, and stand before the cyborg who tried to lead him away. Maybe seizing the metahuman by the arm? But he'd find himself unable to move him as Guts began to inexplicably levitate into the air; just inches from the vaulted metallic ceilings. An ominous red light would shine from his eyes and mouth, his head was back, his arms out, fingers splayed apart.
And in a voice that was not his, but sounded like deep groaning hive of madness he spoke.
"You are a worm though time.
The thunder song distorts you.
Happiness comes.
White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.
Through a mirror, inverted is made right.
Leave your insides by the door.
Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.
You’ve always been the new you.
You want this to be true.
We stand around while you dream.
You can almost hear our words but you forget.
This happens more and more now.
You gave us the permission in your regulations.
We wait in the stains.
The word that describes this is redacted.
Repeat the word.
The name of the sound.
It resonates in your house.
After the song, time for applause.
We build you till nothing remains.
The egg cracks and the truth will emerge out of you.
You are home.
You remind us of home.
You’ve taken your boss with you.
All hair must be eaten.
Under the conceptual reality behind this reality you must want these waves to drag you away.
After the song, time for applause.
This cliché is death out of time, breaking the first the second the third the fourth wall, fifth wall, floor; no floor: you fall!
How do you say “insane”?
Hurts to be happy.
An ear worm is a tune you can’t stop humming in a dream: “baby baby baby yeah”.
Just plastic.
So, safe and nothing to worry about.
Ha ha, funny.
The last egg breaks now.
The hole in your room is a hole in you.
You came and we let you in through the hole in you.
You have always been here, the only child.
A copy of a copy of a copy.
Orange peel.
The picture is you holding the picture.
When you hear this you will know you’re in new you.
You want to listen.
You want to dream.
You want to smile.
You want to hurt.
You don’t want to be!"
And between the obelisks was a googolplex of entities that could perhaps be described as serpents? It was like the ground itself was writhing, squirming, slithering. A significant of them were tortured, writhing in agony; their bodies knotted together in the mass not unlike that of a rat king. And so the mass bled, it roared a horrific and deafeningly loud hissing sound which absolutely tortured the ear drums as it hammered on the psyche. A horrible yellow light throbbed from within the knotted and tormented black mass - which the black serpents seemed to somehow enter as if it was a singularity. That awful yellow light shone brighter by the second before it erupted, and suddenly the king of serpents had become an entity in a yellow coak. It stood there, half of its face made of radio static, the other half seemed to be made of maggots, worms, with pustule like eyeballs that would rise and burst like boiling water. A collection of slimy looking green tentacles writhed from beneath the horrific yellow cloak, as it bobbed in the air. A gnarled talon covered hand, covered in gnashing mouths would reach towards Guts and hoist him; bringing him close to what could be called a face but not really. It opened it's maw and stuck it's tongue in his eye, trying to lick his brains clean like a scoop of ice cream.
Guts could not resist, he could not bring himself to fight, and the very thought of resistance was as departed from his mind as north is from south. He could only scream in agony and terror as the green ichor from Hastur's tongue violated his entire body, mind and soul. This moment seemed to go on for an enternity, as Guts was in a space of relative time.
Outside, the chrome hub hoisted back to the ceiling, leaving a foul smelling and tasting fog in the lab. The tentacles from Guts body undid the restraints after dropping the syringes, uselessly to the institutionalized looking, yet disheveled and withered floor. He seemed to rise without consciousness, and stand before the cyborg who tried to lead him away. Maybe seizing the metahuman by the arm? But he'd find himself unable to move him as Guts began to inexplicably levitate into the air; just inches from the vaulted metallic ceilings. An ominous red light would shine from his eyes and mouth, his head was back, his arms out, fingers splayed apart.
And in a voice that was not his, but sounded like deep groaning hive of madness he spoke.
"You are a worm though time.
The thunder song distorts you.
Happiness comes.
White pearls, but yellow and red in the eye.
Through a mirror, inverted is made right.
Leave your insides by the door.
Push the fingers through the surface into the wet.
You’ve always been the new you.
You want this to be true.
We stand around while you dream.
You can almost hear our words but you forget.
This happens more and more now.
You gave us the permission in your regulations.
We wait in the stains.
The word that describes this is redacted.
Repeat the word.
The name of the sound.
It resonates in your house.
After the song, time for applause.
We build you till nothing remains.
The egg cracks and the truth will emerge out of you.
You are home.
You remind us of home.
You’ve taken your boss with you.
All hair must be eaten.
Under the conceptual reality behind this reality you must want these waves to drag you away.
After the song, time for applause.
This cliché is death out of time, breaking the first the second the third the fourth wall, fifth wall, floor; no floor: you fall!
How do you say “insane”?
Hurts to be happy.
An ear worm is a tune you can’t stop humming in a dream: “baby baby baby yeah”.
Just plastic.
So, safe and nothing to worry about.
Ha ha, funny.
The last egg breaks now.
The hole in your room is a hole in you.
You came and we let you in through the hole in you.
You have always been here, the only child.
A copy of a copy of a copy.
Orange peel.
The picture is you holding the picture.
When you hear this you will know you’re in new you.
You want to listen.
You want to dream.
You want to smile.
You want to hurt.
You don’t want to be!"