Chapter Text
Every cell, every nerve ending, every capillary and vessel of the body, felt like the taut string of an Erich Zann’s violin, trembling under the skillful hands, although it could not be described by any human concept, of its tormentor, and maybe even savior. An experienced dreamer, in truth, could hardly distinguish and understand what was happening to him, left and right, up and down: too human concepts. Only millions of billions of touches, touches, pricks and cuts, contentedly tormenting his mortal body.
“I could,” - Nyarlathotep whispered voluptuously, "take the organs of this mortal body, Randolph Carter, brand them with my symbol, and then reassemble it, your body, so that you, the dreamer, would know what unlimited power I have over you, so that you, the writer, would understand the value of what it means to be a part of a destiny forged by my hand, the hand of eternal creeping Chaos. But no, I'll choose another path. The path of not only physical subordination, but also spiritual, the path that will turn you, Randolph Carter, not just into an empty vessel, but into a key that will open doors of perception that have been closed to me for eons. Because, mystic, for me, the messenger of Other Gods, Nyarlathotep, you are my own silver key.”
Carter clenched his jaw painfully, suppressing either a sob or a groan in his torn throat.
In the darkness of a creepy, ancient sanctuary, where shadows danced to the beat of whispers of madness speaking in difficult-to-recognize languages, Randolph Carter, who had so recklessly toyed with those indescribable concepts that he also responded with the fierce courtesy of a chthonic god, lay sprawled, like a sacrificial lamb on the altar of unknown horror. His body, once solid and unshakable, was now covered with marks, brands that seemed to glow with their own otherworldly power and brought truly heavenly pleasure. The brand of the Crawling Chaos itself is Nyarlathotep.
These marks were not simple drawings on flesh, but symbols of power carved from the very fabric of reality on an ordinary person, evidence of the power of the one who decided to brand Carter as his property. On his chest, one of the most noticeable places, there was a seal - a symbol of eternal variability, a reminder that the boundaries between worlds can be overcome, but at a price that surpasses human understanding. The sharp teeth sank into the delicate, yielding skin, causing extreme pleasure in Randolph's brain. No, the goal was not to torture, the goal was to break mentally, so that the dreamer would succumb to the temptation of Chaos, giving himself completely to it.
However, the most important of these brands was the one that was applied on his forehead. A sign that spoke of the authority and belonging of the one who makes the mark. This brand glowed with an otherworldly light, as if it were not just a physical sign, but also a gateway to Carter's very soul, a gateway that was wide open so that Another God could observe every step, every thought of his newfound vessel. And Randolph, whose mind was filled with the overwhelming excitement of this strange torture. A small tremor filled his entire body with goosebumps, right down to the tips of his teeth, tortured with tiny markings, or suckers, tracing unknown symbols. Carter was trembling, writhing, moaning, unable to touch himself, or even beg for mercy. All they wanted from him was absolute submission, humility. They wanted him to, yes.
Nyarlathotep not only branded Carter with his symbols, but also wove the threads of his existence into him, connecting his own divinity with Randolph's mortal shell. The seal on his forehead was not only a sign of ownership, but also a symbol of unity, which shook the fabric of reality from the very foundations, turning the dreamer into a tool through which Chaos could explore the secrets hidden behind the veil of his world. A world in which it was impossible to study such mortal concepts as sympathy and love. The very human emotions that could only be understood through the human soul. And Nyarlathotep wanted to possess it.
With a loud sob, Randolph Carter opened his blue eyes in his spacious, ordinary bedroom, which was located in a historic but long-deserted and dilapidated family estate. Uncomprehendingly, the man blinked from sleep and yawned. It seemed to him... but what did it seem? A slight obsession or a strange feeling permeated his whole being. The man slowly got out of bed, shivering from the coolness in the room. He jumped and scratched the smooth skin of his back that hurt for some reason. Apparently, he slept in an uncomfortable position. His whole body is numb... ha! Yes! There was only one name on his tongue and in his mind, one sound - Nyarlathotep.
Yes!