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...but whose?
I release another blast from my horn, but the battle is over. The Messengers lie broken, their blubbery mouths held open in expressions of shock, their gelatinous bodies slowly dissolving in their own secretions. One raises a tentacle as I trot by, too weak to hold me, but it looks at me, pleading, and I pause.
“Do not fight us!” it slurs. “We offer you glory, glory! The glory that we yearn for, the glory that we have been denied, the glory of feeding the Eater!”
I shrug the slimy thing off in disgust and rush past. We hurry towards the lake. Already it is strangely silent. The birds have gone. Silver lines flash on its surface. We draw closer, and I see they are thousands of dead fish, bobbing on waves this lake should not have.
Out in the center of the lake the waters stir. Huge bubbles, glistening oily black, surface and break, belching foul sulfurous gases that spread a fine yellow-green mist over the lake. The water rises and pushes, a great green wave surges and sweeps forward and yet still rises and rises behind, rising like a tower, turning blacker as it rises, until the wave breaks and reveals the dark lugubrious glory of the Eater.
We were wrong. We were fools. It Is. We are less than insects before it.
It has no shape, and all shapes. Its formless black protoplasm oozes and pulses through our reality like gobs of oil dropped in water, taking and discarding the shapes of strange alien organs. The black blaze of light reflecting off its carapace hits me like a wave, dizzying me. I raise a hoof to ward it off, and I see eight great white oval discs in rows on its side, with black circles growing in their centers, and I have only a moment to think Its eyes, don’t look, I’m not worthy—
and it. Looks. At. Me.
I am panting. How long have I stood here? Is it possible that I have had its Eye, even one of its Eyes, upon me? Is it possible I could be found worthy of feeding it?
I thirst for just one drop of the viscous black ambergris I know coils within its hidden intestines. I thirst to taste, and be tasted, and trade my inflexible solid solitary soul to be one bilious infinitesimal piece of the Infinite.
Up above a blue gnat buzzes about before the god’s face. It darts forward and strikes at its squamous hide. Momentarily some tree-like tentacle will swat it out of the air.
Something shouts at the back of my mind, shouts the folly that this matters somehow, when the black gates, the Eater’s horrible glorious jaws, beckon.
Instead the Eyes, those glorious Eyes, turn slowly towards the blue speck. They stop and focus on what I see is a pony like me, only blue, vaguely familiar.
No! Take me! She isn’t worthy!
The vast mouth moves, forming words that blast the insolent pegasus backwards, though they rumble out slow as elephants.
WHO.
ARE.
YOU.
I see the tiny creature hovering before the god with its forelegs crossed, and half of me laughs and half of me cries and half of me screams in silent terror. It throws its puny voice against the god. Its words echo in my mind, its voice growing louder, nearer, more recognizable, battering down some invisible wall:
“Who wants to know?”
“Do not fight us!” it slurs. “We offer you glory, glory! The glory that we yearn for, the glory that we have been denied, the glory of feeding the Eater!”
I shrug the slimy thing off in disgust and rush past. We hurry towards the lake. Already it is strangely silent. The birds have gone. Silver lines flash on its surface. We draw closer, and I see they are thousands of dead fish, bobbing on waves this lake should not have.
Out in the center of the lake the waters stir. Huge bubbles, glistening oily black, surface and break, belching foul sulfurous gases that spread a fine yellow-green mist over the lake. The water rises and pushes, a great green wave surges and sweeps forward and yet still rises and rises behind, rising like a tower, turning blacker as it rises, until the wave breaks and reveals the dark lugubrious glory of the Eater.
We were wrong. We were fools. It Is. We are less than insects before it.
It has no shape, and all shapes. Its formless black protoplasm oozes and pulses through our reality like gobs of oil dropped in water, taking and discarding the shapes of strange alien organs. The black blaze of light reflecting off its carapace hits me like a wave, dizzying me. I raise a hoof to ward it off, and I see eight great white oval discs in rows on its side, with black circles growing in their centers, and I have only a moment to think Its eyes, don’t look, I’m not worthy—
and it. Looks. At. Me.
I am panting. How long have I stood here? Is it possible that I have had its Eye, even one of its Eyes, upon me? Is it possible I could be found worthy of feeding it?
I thirst for just one drop of the viscous black ambergris I know coils within its hidden intestines. I thirst to taste, and be tasted, and trade my inflexible solid solitary soul to be one bilious infinitesimal piece of the Infinite.
Up above a blue gnat buzzes about before the god’s face. It darts forward and strikes at its squamous hide. Momentarily some tree-like tentacle will swat it out of the air.
Something shouts at the back of my mind, shouts the folly that this matters somehow, when the black gates, the Eater’s horrible glorious jaws, beckon.
Instead the Eyes, those glorious Eyes, turn slowly towards the blue speck. They stop and focus on what I see is a pony like me, only blue, vaguely familiar.
No! Take me! She isn’t worthy!
The vast mouth moves, forming words that blast the insolent pegasus backwards, though they rumble out slow as elephants.
WHO.
ARE.
YOU.
I see the tiny creature hovering before the god with its forelegs crossed, and half of me laughs and half of me cries and half of me screams in silent terror. It throws its puny voice against the god. Its words echo in my mind, its voice growing louder, nearer, more recognizable, battering down some invisible wall:
“Who wants to know?”