Chapter 1 Arrival
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
A low, droning chant filled the darkened chamber. Its source was a gathering of precisely forty-two figures arranged in a very specific pattern around a central altar. Each of them wore robes that were a dark red color reminiscent of a fine wine, with golden embroidery around the sleeves, shoulders, and neck. The long hoods each carried the same insignia - that of three vertical eyes in a triangle formation. It was all quite sinister and foreboding, and one wouldn’t be blamed for thinking this was some kind of cult.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
Of course, such rash judgements were ill-advised. With all the various cultures and races throughout the galaxy, it was common for people to interpret an extraterrestrial custom for some sinister machinations. One of the more egregious examples of such misunderstandings were the gorgori. When explorers from the Federation of Allied Governments first encountered these serpentine humanoids in the Jake-13 system, they witnessed a group of gorgori ripping out and then eating their own hearts. What looked like a ritualistic form of suicide at first was later revealed to have been a wedding ceremony that wasn’t at all as fatal as it first appeared. The entire galaxy had since learned to be more tolerant and understanding towards alien cultures. Indeed, just because a bunch of creepy guys in hoods were chanting while arranged around an altar didn’t necessarily mean they were a cult trying to call forth some ancient cosmic evil.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
That most assuredly was the case in this particular instance, though. The Cult of the Gazing Star was made up of the usual dregs of society that joined such organizations - the hopelessly desperate, the mentally disturbed, the easily manipulated, and the dangerously stupid. This particular gathering of deadbeats all agreed that the best way to leave their mark upon the vast and uncaring universe in which they lived, was to bring about an end to it. In order to fulfill that goal, they were attempting to call forth Magh'rathlak the Observer, an obscure Class-3 cosmic entity. Admittedly very few people understood what ‘Class-3’ actually meant, but given how such things usually went from Class-1 to Class-5 it was safe to assume that Magh'rathlak was average. At least, as far as terrible beings from beyond the fabric of reality went.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
As for how, exactly, the Cult of the Gazing Star were planning to draw Magh'rathlak into their realm, it appeared to involve the tried-and-tested method of human sacrifice. The offering in question was a young human male of unremarkable descent. He looked to be in his early twenties, with brown hair, brown eyes, a skinny out-of-shape figure, and a perfectly average penis. That last one was visible because the guy had been stripped naked and bound to the stone altar in the middle of the room with some uncomfortable chains. Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem all that bothered by his predicament. He glanced around the room with a vacant look on his face that suggested he belonged to the fourth group of people that usually took part in cults.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
As the ceremony progressed, the ancient runes etched into the stone altar began to glow a dull red. The sacrifice couldn’t see any of that, but he definitely felt the rock he was lying on slowly heat up his back and butt. His vacant expression momentarily changed to signify that the sensation wasn’t all that bad. It was certainly more welcome than it being cold, if nothing else. He wasn’t the only one heating up, either, if the rapidly approaching sound of gunfire was any indication.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
To their credit, the cultists continued their chant without skipping a beat. They felt certain that their defenses would either repel the interlopers or at the very least stall them long enough for the ritual to be completed. It soon became evident that their confidence in their fellow brothers and the facility’s automated security was, as usual, ill-placed. The crack team of military commandos that had caught wind of the cult’s plans fought their way through the sinister lair in less than three minutes. The only reason they hadn’t burst into the ritual chamber and ventilated everyone’s heads was because there was a massive sealed bulkhead in their way.
“Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara. Hoom ge’sore, ihm ge’sara.”
It would take more than some metal doors to stop these persistent soldiers, of course.They began cutting their way through the bulkhead within seconds of arriving at it. Unfortunately the basic handheld plasma cutters they had were woefully inadequate for the task. The doors were thick and heavy, so it would take far too long to get through them via conventional means. Thankfully for the commandos, they had an ace in their sleeve. The team’s psi-operative stepped forward and threw the entirety of her considerable telekinetic might at the barricade.
*THUNK*
A noticeable fist-shaped bump the size of a watermelon suddenly appeared on the inner side of the bulkhead. It was at that point that the cultists finally realized just how deep in shit they were. The psi-op would need several seconds before she could unleash another blast, and the doors looked like they could only take three or maybe four more hits before they gave way. In other words, the cultists had only about half a minute to finish their ritual. The one in charge of the proceedings shrugged and rolled his eyes as if to say it couldn’t be helped, then just went ahead with the final step of the ceremony.
*THUNK*
The leader nodded to one of the others, prompting the underling to flip a switch next to him. The strange machinery at the base of the monolithic altar sputtered to life. Four mechanical arms rose from each corner of the bed-like shrine. Each robotic appendage was tipped with a brick-like laser emitter with a tiny outlet on their smallest side. These were pointed upward and then engaged so that the four beams of purple energy converged in a single spot somewhere above the hapless captive’s midsection. The streams merged into a slowly growing ball of light that let out tiny arcs and sparks as it gathered power.
*THUNK*
The head cultist walked up to the bound sacrifice and pulled something peculiar from his robe. It was an obsidian dagger with a curiously curved blade that resembled a crescent, the length of which had been inscribed with a series of squiggly runic symbols. The head cultist gripped the occult implement firmly in one hand and pressed it to his lips as he muttered some forbidden un-words to it. The loopy sigils lit up with a familiar red glow while the chained victim looked on with a sort of bewildered concern that implied he wasn’t fully aware of where this situation was headed.
“Oh, wise and all-seeing Magh'rathlak! We, your devoted servants, implore you to hear our humble plea!”
*THUNK*
The chief of ceremonies spoke in a clear, crisp voice that did not waver even as a fourth fist-shaped dent appeared in the bulkhead. It was clear he had thoroughly rehearsed for the big moment.
“Join us now, in our moment of revelation,” he carried on. “Accept this meagre offering of blood! Share with us your terrible glory, so that we may in turn spread it across the cosmos!”
The man reversed the grip on his dagger and unhesitantly plunged it down, straight at the heart of the bound sacrifice.
*THUNKRRANK*
Thankfully for the witless offering, the bulkhead gave way under the telekinetic assault in a rather spectacular way. The mass of mangled metal was ripped out of its sockets and flung across the chamber. It pulverized the leader’s head into chunky soup before he could deliver the final blow while also interrupting the converging laser beams, causing the ball of energy to fizzle out. It then flattened several low-ranking cultists before it came to a stop by crashing against the far wall. The commandos burst through the newly created opening in the next instant and unloaded into the chamber, mowing down the unarmed and unarmored cultists with extreme prejudice. It was a testament to the soldiers’ marksmanship that they managed to take down all forty-ish suspects within the initial three-second volley of automatic fire.
The ten-man military unit ceased fire and fell silent as they scanned the room for any more threats.
“Clear!”
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
A few of them called out that they spotted no additional targets. It was only then that the team finally allowed themselves to release the tension within their bodies. Fist-bumps, high-fives, down-lows, and too-slows were exchanged as they briefly congratulated each other on a job well done. The only one who wasn’t taking part in the festivities was Agent Johanson, the team’s psi-operative. She would have liked to participate, but was too busy vomiting in a corner. It wasn’t the sight of blood that had made her queasy, nor was it that suspicious mega-burrito she’d had for lunch.
“You alright, AJ?” one of her comrades came to check on her.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Just a bad overload, you know how it is.”
Breaking through that bulkhead had put an enormous amount of strain on her nervous system that her body wasn’t quite sure how to deal with. The so-called psionic overload could manifest in a number of unpleasant ways, and evacuating the contents of one’s stomach was a common one. Agent Johanson was just quietly glad that her meal hadn’t left through the other end of her digestive tract.
“I dunno, AJ, I’ve never seen you this bad,” her concerned colleague pressed. “You’re looking awfully pale, and you keep shivering.”
“No, really, it’ll pass,” she insisted. “It was a heavy door, is all.”
She usually needed anywhere between a few minutes and a few hours to fully recover from an overload, depending on how severe it was. Some symptoms passed much quicker than others, at least. Agent Johanson’s splitting headache, for instance, would usually subside after several breaths. However, as the seconds dragged on, it did not get better. Just the opposite, actually. It was gradually growing in severity to the point where the woman couldn’t help but clutch at her forehead while wincing in pain.
It was only then that she realized that the source of her brain-ache wasn’t an internal one. She frantically turned towards the middle of the chamber. The door-turned projectile had eliminated the head cultist, but it had done so in the worst possible way. The impact had both coated the man’s dagger in his blood and had flung it from his grip. The obsidian weapon had then fallen atop the stone altar, right between the legs of the miraculously alive hostage.
Now, Agent Johanson had some knowledge of the occult. It was impossible not to pick up a thing or two in her line of work. Though by no means an expert, her experience told her that whatever cosmic entity this cult was trying to contact had interpreted the aforementioned sequence of events as a suitable sacrifice. This unfortunate conclusion was born from a series of hints. The first of those was her rapidly worsening headache. The second was the way the runes along the blade and the altar continued to glow through the blood on them. The third and most damning piece of evidence was the tiny golf ball sized object of pure darkness that hovered idly in the air, right where that ball of energy had been.
“Get away!”
The psi-op shouted a warning to her comrades, but it was too late. The tiny void-ball exploded into a cloud of writhing shadow while simultaneously unleashing a mind-rending screech. The soldiers scattered away from the source of the disturbance while reeling from the indescribable sound. They raised their weapons at it and watched with mounting terror as a thoroughly alien being beyond their understanding wormed its way through the veil of their universe. They stared into that sentient void, and sure enough, it stared back. Eyes of all shapes and sizes emerged from the eldritch entity’s formless mass as it scanned every molecule in its immediate surroundings.
“M-Major?” one of the men called out. “Do we start blasting or what?”
“Hold. Your. Fire,” the officer slowly commanded. “Whatever you do, do NOT engage!”
It was the right call. The invasive mental pressure the Major felt from that creature’s multi-faceted gaze told him that he was facing a Class-3 cosmic entity. Mere bullets were completely ineffective against it. One needed either powerful psionics or heavy ordnance in order to drive such beings back to whatever nightmare they crawled out of. However, Agent Johanson was barely resisting the urge to pass out and the team had exhausted most of their explosives on the way in. In short, the commandos would be hopelessly outmatched should they engage the entity in a contest of force. They should have been already retreating by all accounts, but operational protocol demanded they learn the name of this threat and, if possible, discern its motives. This information was vital in order to formulate a viable plan of action so that the eggheads back at base could formulate a viable containment strategy.
“S̝̫͉̯̲u͈̪͚̱b̗̗̗̜̺̬͠ͅm̶̤̝͙ḭ̢̱̭̻t̩̲̥,̫̠ͅ ̛̩͚͚̗̦m͈̖͚͚o̙̭͎̙̤rt̥͚͎̝a̪̝͍̱̩̹l̖ṣ̳̺̫̤̱.”
An eerie whisper was not heard, but felt as words seemed to emerge from the deepest recesses of the soldiers’ minds.
“M̸̞͇̻͙̭͈͉a̭̣̫̖͙͈͚g̤͇̠͠ͅh̙̣̙̪͠'͈̮̟̰͈r͖͇̪a͍̺̫̳͉̩t͙͖̜͢h҉̬̠̭̲̜l̛a̸k̖͓ ̧̠͙͓̯d̜̰̥̲͔e̷̗͔̙m̗̟̼̩̟̤͚a̰͓̳̥̼n̴̺̼̥ͅd̼̗͎s ̤͔̤͔͝y͏͓o͓̙͉͓̬͕̗͡u̦͍̮r̵͔̱ o̱̲͚͔͔͜ḅ̼̪̰͔̖e̖͈͡d̩ḭ̫̗̣̜ͅe̷̹̣͕̙͍n̘͎t҉̞̩ͅ ͍̤͉̼̠s̰̯̯̹̺͚͜e̜̺̺̥͖͚͜r͖͠v̵͙̞i̷̳̩̫͖̼̞͎c̤̣̤̠̜͔e͏̝.”
“Major?!” the same soldier cried out.
“Okay, start blasting!”
Having obtained the bare minimum his contract required, the officer prompted his team to unload on the mass of darkness and eyes with all they had. Small arms fire wasn’t enough to force it back through the portal, but it would serve to stall it long enough for the commandos to retreat. Or at least that had been the idea until the soldiers found their bullets instantly reflected right back at them with pinpoint accuracy matching their own. Their helmets and body armor absorbed most of it, allowing them to escape the ritual chamber with only minor injuries and no casualties. Once through the breached doors, they used their last few bombs to collapse the hallway in an effort to buy themselves more time in case the thing gave chase.
Thankfully for them, Magh'rathlak had no desire to follow after them. The entity had already seen all that they were and it wasn’t all that impressed. That female with the ‘gifts’ was a bit interesting, but there was someone far more curious in that very chamber. Magh'rathlak’s countless eyes fell upon the specimen still bound upon its altar. There was nothing remarkable about his physical form, and his mental faculties appeared to be… unimpressive. And yet, this one lowly mortal had somehow withstood all of the events that had transpired around him without so much as a twinge of fear.
“Y̨͚̥̬o̺̝̝͠u̦͍͍.̘̞̭ ̰̯̠͉͚͉̣͠T̢̟͓͔̥ͅhé͎̙̪̺͎ ̶͇̞̰o̖̲̰͍̟̼n͈e͍͈͎ͅ ̥c̪͔͔̲a̝̻̩͔l͕̝͚̮͇̹̗̕l͖̥e̲̹͓̯̮d̞ ̞̻̻̝̝̙̳J͏͖o̻͚͔̮e̝̹̮̣̬̞͚ ̻̬̤͈͔́M͎̘̤̭̦ul̯̕l̷͙i̺̰̫̼g͉̼̠a̱͢n̙̦̰͉.͎̲̹̜̥͘”
“Oh, hello.”
Joe responded in a slightly surprised but otherwise calm manner as he stared up at the writhing mass of darkness above him. He even gave it a little wave, though the shackles on his wrists made that a bit difficult.
“Are you the matchmaker?” he asked hopefully.
“… T̲͓̹h͏͉̞͚̮͖̻̖e̡͍̪̘̱ ͈̥̣w̢ha̷̮̠̻t̜̞̦?̞̜”
“Y’know. The matchmaker. The one who can make all my dreams of finding a girlfriend come true?”
Magh'rathlak was momentarily struck speechless, something that hadn’t happened in eons. What had given him pause was that this mortal’s words carried not even the slightest hint of mockery or deception.
“W̰h̞͎é̪̭r̴͎̳̫e͓̪̜͉̗͘ ͈̬͕̻̯ͅe͔̟x̞̳̹a̭͉͍̜̗̜c̙̟̼̭ͅt̘͚lͅy̛̻ ̡̜̪̼͚͚͕ḍ̜͇ǫ̖̞ ̮͍͡y̲̕ò̤̣̟̩̠u͙͟ t̵͔͇̥ͅh͍͙̠̻̙i̗̫̱͚̜̗̱ṋk̸̼̫̳̻͖̰ ̪͉̫y̨̦o̠͝u ͚a̡̭̭͇̘r̗̺͓̟̭͚͟ḙ͚̜̞̩͙͕,͙͇ ̥͎̮̞̥̬͚͟J̞̳̤ͅǫe̮̦ ̞́M̪͙̥̼̥͘ul̰͎̬̺̟l̺͍̳i͇͙͇̭̖̞g͉͠a̜̗͓̻ṇ̢̝̞͕̭̣̭?̳”
“Ack,” the man winced. “Listen, before we go any further, could you tone down the special effects? It was all quite impressive at first, but now it’s just a tiny bit grating, you see.”
The Observer considered this paltry request. It very much wanted to know how this strange individual had remained so blissfully oblivious to the terrible events that had transpired around him. One option was to gaze into and dissect his thoughts directly, but mortal minds were fragile and prone to shattering before anything useful could be gleaned from them. It was possible to use more gentle and subtle methods of mental manipulation, but conversation required far less time and effort. Therefore, Magh'rathlak decided to accommodate the lesser creature. One of the larger eyes upon its formless being split open like a mouth, complete with a set of needle-like teeth.
“Very well, Joe Mulligan,” its deep voice echoed through the chamber. “I have agreed to your terms.”
“Oh, that’s so much better. Decent acoustics in here, too. No wonder that performance sounded so good.”
“What performance are you referring to, Joe Mulligan?”
“You know, the special event the guys put on just now? Wasn’t it meant to help hopeless bachelors find true love or something?”
“You are mistaken, Joe Mulligan. This is the site of a ritual performed by a cult that wished to summon me to this reality. I have heard their call - sloppy and mishandled though it may have been - and have answered it. Those soldiers you no doubt saw attempted and failed to bar my arrival through force, which brings us to our current circumstances.”
“Oh. That would explain a lot. Y’know, I didn’t wanna be judgemental of the guys, what with all the robes and the chanting and whatnot, but I guess sometimes things really are as they seem, huh?
“You only now realize the truth of your surroundings?”
“Yeah. Rather obvious in retrospect, now that I think about it. I did kind of enjoy being the center of attention, I suppose. Less so the being naked part, but what can you do, eh?”
“How did you accomplish this feat of ignorance?” the godlike entity pressed.
“Well, I dare say it’s because I am not a clever man. I only skimmed through the brochure they gave me and just kinda rolled with whatever they said.”
“You trusted them with your life so readily?”
“It was a bit silly of me when you put it like that. Their boss was a pretty reliable and trustworthy guy, though. Seemed like one, at least. He said he had this surefire method of getting me a girlfriend, and I was like, sure, let’s go for it, you know?”
“You mean the human whose brain matter is currently in your hair?”
“Uh, ew. That’s real? Actually yeah, it would be if this cult business is for real. Big yikes from me, know what I mean? Bugger me if they didn’t put on a good show, though. They harmonized quite well even though there wasn’t any music playing.”
“On that we can agree. Their inane attempts to draw me out have been most entertaining.”
Gross incompetence was often just as enlightening as flawless execution, at least in Magh'rathlak’s opinion.
“So…” Joe hesitated. “I take it I won’t be getting a girlfriend?”
“Hmm. Perhaps something can be arranged, Joe Mulligan. Though you may have been deceived in part by your captor, my ability to bestow favors was no fabrication.”
“Really? So, like, you can grant wishes and stuff?”
“Indeed. The fabric of your reality is mine to fold as I see fit. It would be a trifling matter to fulfill whatever pitiful desires you might have. This includes your apparent need for companionship.”
“Awesome! Uhm, is that okay, though? I wouldn’t want to impose. You seem like a busy and/or important individual, and I do not want to be overstepping my boundaries here.”
“Rest assured, Joe Mulligan, this is not a whim, but an obligation.”
The ritual through which Magh'rathlak was brought into this reality hadn’t been completed quite yet. The eldritch entity still had to fulfill one task as requested by his summoner in order to bring its entire being into existence. Until such time, it was incapable of moving from that one spot above the sacrificial altar. However, the only thing left in the vicinity that still bore the burden of consciousness was the strange human that the entity had been conversing with. As such, the responsibilities of the summoner fell to him by default.
“Listen, that’s great and all, but could you drop the last name and just call me Joe?”
The unfathomable existence did not fail to seize upon this opportunity.
“Granted, Joe!”
With those two words, the already distorted space around Magh'rathlak outright shattered. Rolling shadows like light-devouring smoke surged from the gaping wound in reality and enveloped the entire chamber. Within moments, the witless moron responsible for freeing this horror upon the universe found himself surrounded by a tapestry of eyes swimming in a sea of darkness.
“Ah, bugger. That counted as my wish, didn’t it?”
“It most assuredly did, Joe.”
Admittedly the Observer had already agreed to communicate verbally with him, but that had been more of a suggestion than a request.
“Oh well, me and my big mouth again,” the man rolled his eyes. “Well, easy come, easy go, as they say. Anyway, if we’re just about done here, could you take these things off so I can go home? My soaps are almost on.”
“You continue to take such a casual tone with me. Do you not realize the immense peril you find yourself in, mortal?”
“Oh, no, I get it. I mean, I might not be all that bright, but even I’m not that much of a moron. I just figure you either let me go or something horrible happens to me, and I’m kinda fine with either.”
“Yet again your words lack both the taste of deception and the sound of logic. Why do you not resent me, Magh'rathlak the Observer, who has you at my mercy?”
It wasn’t as if the extra-dimensional being had anything particularly nasty in store for the hapless fleshling. It was just used to these mortals fleeing in terror like that squad of soldiers had, so this individual’s anomalous behavior was a total mystery. And if there was one thing that Magh'rathlak adored more than anything else, it was mysteries.
“Well, it’s just that, it’s not because of you that I wound up in this mess, right,” Joe shrugged. “It’s my own bloody fault, and let me tell you, I’m giving myself the mental equivalent of a sternly worded letter as we speak. Also, whatever happens next is completely out of my hands, so I don’t see the point in stressing over it.”
“Curious. Most curious indeed, Joe. You intrigue me, for I have never met another such as you. Perhaps we may come to an arrangement that can benefit us both.”
“Ah, see, now you’re getting me worried,” he smiled nervously. “I’m not very good at making decisions, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“Do not fret, Joe, for I am confident the terms I am about to propose will be to your liking.”
“Alright, then. I’m all ears.”
“… In what way are you composed entirely out of auditory receptor organs?”
“N-no, it’s just an expression - a figure of speech. It means that I’m ready to listen very closely to what you have to say.”
“I comprehend.”
The countless eyes flashed with a pale blue light for a split second as Magh'rathlak committed this seemingly trivial knowledge to its expansive memory, then returned to the topic at hand.
“I will swear to bind myself to you, so that I may guard and nurture your fragile being to the full extent of my vast ability. In return, you will serve as my guide and anchor in this reality, so that I may study it and everything it has to offer in great detail.”
“Uh… So, like, you wanna be mates?”
“Indeed, that is also possible, should you desire it.”
“Riiiight. That’s a weird way of saying it but yeah, that works for me. And all I need to do in return is show you around and teach you stuff?”
“In essence, yes.”
“Do you really need me to do that? You seem a lot smarter than I am.”
“This is true in all ways but one. As a native to your reality, your knowledge of it surpasses my own.”
“Can’t argue with that, I suppose. Just to be clear, you won’t, like, try to blip my universe out of existence or anything?”
He did live there, after all, and he preferred his home to remain un-blipped.
“That is precisely what this covenant aims to avoid, Joe. I have a deep interest in this dimension’s inner workings, but my past attempts to study it have been... misguided. Both your minds and your matter are far too fragile to withstand my usual methods of deep inquiry. If I wish to learn the secrets of this dimension without destroying it, I will require your input to ensure I am using appropriately delicate means.”
“Well, now! That sounds positively peachy if I do say so myself. Thing is, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a bit too, err, you. Now, I know you’re far more reasonable and agreeable than you look, but that’s just me. People on the street - who are not me - might freak out if they see all of, you know, this,” he gestured around himself as much as his restraints allowed.
“Your words hold wisdom that belies their simplicity, Joe. These concerns are valid, but of little consequence. Creating a vessel of flesh capable of carrying my vast being will be a trifling matter once you have agreed to serve as my anchor.”
“Uh… I’m afraid I don’t follow. Could you rephrase that?”
The cosmic entity paused as it formulated a more palatable way of expressing its intent.
“I can make myself look human.”
Admittedly Magh'rathlak had never done that before, but it was certainly within its abilities. The only concern was that whatever shape it inhabited had to be pleasing and unalarming, and it wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. After all, its sense of aesthetics was so unfathomably alien from the humans’ that it was like comparing Tuesday to the color orange. Thankfully plucking something suitable from Joe’s subconscious thoughts was a simple matter that carried very little risk of driving him irreversibly insane. It involved the same subtle techniques Magh'rathlak was using for its psychic lie detector, and the man seemed to be functioning well enough after being exposed to it.
“That’s certainly convenient,” he nodded. “If you can do that, then I see no reason to decline.”
There were, in fact, about twenty seven reasons to decline the Observer’s offer. Even Joe would have picked up on at least five of those if he thought this through more, but he was in a hurry. As stated earlier, his soaps were almost on, and he couldn’t miss those. Especially the one called ‘Love At First Flight.’ This upcoming episode would reveal whether the lead heroine would agree to marry that evil spice baron in order to get her true love out of prison, and Joe sorely did not want to miss it.
“Then you agree to the terms I have proposed?” Magh'rathlak requested confirmation.
“Indeed, I do.”
“The pact is thus sealed.”
The very air trembled at those words.
“Wait, that’s it?” Joe spoke up. “Don’t I need to sign a contract in my blood or something?”
“Such methods are unnecessary. Your stated consent is sufficiently binding.”
“Oh. That’s a bit disappointing.”
“… Would you like me to prepare a contract for you to sign with your blood?” Magh'rathlak offered.
“If it’s not too much of a bother.”
A suitably sinister piece of parchment materialized out of thin air and floated in front of Joe’s face. The rather short yet grand terms that the Observer had proposed were all written out in strange red ink that shone ominously.
“Hah. Now we’re talking,” he grinned widely. “Mind drifting it over to my right hand there? Can’t exactly reach with these manacles in the way. Where’d they even get manacles, anyway? Probably the Dungeon Emporium catalogue, now that I think about it.”
A few trivial requests and some mild verbal detours later, Joe had successfully signed his name at the dotted line in his own lifeblood.
“Fantastic,” he kept smiling. “Now I have a souvenir to bring home and show the lads. Thanks a lot.”
“Your gratitude is not required. I shall now commence the ritual of binding.”
The curtain of darkness and eyes began to retract, revealing the bare metal wards of the ritual chamber once more. The eldritch entity’s formless being converged into a single point on the ceiling, like a massive blob of crude oil. It allowed itself to succumb to gravity and fell onto the still-bound man, splashing over him and enveloping him in complete blackness. When his vision returned moments later, he felt something heavy and warm against his midsection. Glancing towards it, he saw something he didn’t quite expect.
Sitting on his stomach was a human girl that looked almost exactly like the character he had been thinking of moments ago. Her face was stunningly gorgeous, as was her curvy and well-proportioned figure. However, there were certain things that betrayed the true nature of that which dwelled beneath the supple and soft flesh. Her long and straight raven-black hair seemed to sway and coil as if it were alive. Her irises were swirling pools of darkness that seemed like gateways into the unspeakable void from whence she had come. Her skin was extremely pale and felt a bit odd to the touch. Not bad or unpleasant, just… strange.
Joe had plenty of opportunity to assess that particular sensation, given how she was just as naked as he was. Feeling her bare bottom press against his stomach and seeing her impressive bosom and exposed pale pink nipples made a certain part of him react involuntarily. Thankfully the thing that looked like a girl did not notice the muscle pressing against her backside. Either that or she did not mind it. Or maybe she was livid about it? It was difficult to tell because the expression on her face was quite difficult to read. It featured a lightyear-long unblinking stare and the tiniest smile in the universe, neither of which moved as she spoke.
“Curious, this thing called flesh. I believe I can grow accustomed to it.”
Her voice was shockingly soft and entirely befitting her feminine appearance, but Joe was still coming to terms with the situation.
“Uhm, th-that’s nice, but, uh, is there a reason why you look like Melinda Sparklestar?”
“I chose this form based on your preferences in a mate.”
“… Ah.”
It would appear that Joe’s new companion had somewhat misunderstood his statement about them being ‘mates,’ but the man was hesitant to speak up about it. He felt as if that could be interpreted as him going back on his word and somehow violating the pact that had just been made. He wasn’t about to push his luck any further with that kind of risk. Even he wasn’t that stupid. Besides, he wasn’t going to complain about having a total doll follow him around.
“Is this shape displeasing to you, Joe?”
“No! No, it’s fine. Better than fine. Quite lovely, in fact. Has all the right, uh, limbs and… shapes,” the man desperately avoided the word ‘breasts.’
“This pleases me.”
The now-female cosmic entity felt pretty good that her first foray into flesh-sculpting appeared to have been a success.
“I look forward to our partnership,” her unmoving smile widened a tiny bit.
“Uhm, likewise, Miss Maghra- Magahar- Sorry, what was your name again?”
“Magh'rathlak the Observer.”
“Yeah, that’s a bit of a mouthful. Do you mind if I just call you Maggie instead?”
“I will allow you, and only you, to do so.”
It would appear that Joe might have gotten the girl of his dreams after all, though perhaps not exactly in the w
