Ariamis
Lemons
Izurich
TrippyNightmare
Mixtape Ghost N
Sep
Expendable
PerfectThought
Randomness
RothurageThe Cult of the Serpent
The Novitiates of the Cult of the Serpent sat silently meditating for a length of time that none of them could determine. It could have been hours, but it perhaps it had only been minutes. The passage of time was impossible to track in the tiny, sweltering chamber. The fire in the braziers did not seem to shrink at all, but the volume of smoke in the room didn't seem to change either. It was never enough to choke the lungs, but always just enough to make breathing a strenuous task. Still, with what little training they had, they reached out with their minds to feel for any aetheric presences or disturbances, but felt nothing but their fellow Novitiates. This carried on until they felt their patience beginning to slip, and were on the cusp of abandoning this endeavor.
A tiny whisper sounded from the center of the room, "Do you know the secret name of God?"
Eyes snapped open at the sound, but nothing in the room had changed. There was no one else there, just the three Novitiates. And the mushroom, still sitting at the room's center. With no source readily apparent for the sound, they wondered if their minds were playing tricks on them, but they had all heard the same thing. Perhaps Nevrakis was still in the room, disguised or invisible, and was toying with them? It seemed like the most likely answer.
That was until they looked at the chamber's walls. They had not changed, they were still raw stone carved out of the bedrock beneath Photep, but they were different. Where before the mineral veins in the stone and the imperfections in its carved surface were meaningless and random, patterns began to emerge. The chaos of it organized before their eyes, into words they could read but did not understand, and faces they recognized but could not name. The floors took on the same properties; loose, sandy clay now arranged to make a startling amount of sense, like constellations in the night sky.
"You are struggling." The voice sounded again, noticeably louder and clearer. "That is all you ever do. Your life is an endless struggle." It was not a man's voice. It was not a woman's voice. It was not a human voice. They heard it without sound, understood it without meaning. "You can feel it in your hot, animal heart. Blood pumping, lungs filling with air, flesh burning with friction and desire. A constant struggle to stay alive, to keep your imperfect machine of flesh and blood in motion."
The heat and smoke of the room were no longer as oppressive as they were before. Every drop of sweat they perspired felt like a tingling pinprick as the Novitiates became aware of the thousands upon thousands of microscopic processes at work within their own skin. Sebaceous glands produced their skin's oils. Tiny muscles attached to every hair along their bodies, pulling at them in rippling, involuntary waves. Their bodies seemed like separate beings, animal-shapes that their minds had merely attached to, along for the ride but not in control.
"Do you feel it? The fear inside you? It is the only thing your animal soul knows how to make." It was the mushroom talking to them, of course. The realization was so obvious, it hit the Novitiates like a crashing wave.
They turned their attention to it, the wisdom of the mushroom so profound and sincere and nonsensical that it brought tears to their eyes and knocked them to their knees. They looked at it and for the first time saw. It was not the mushroom, it was everything. It was this room. It was the whole pyramid. It was all of Photep. It was so clear now, it seemed impossible that they had not noticed it before. Like an imperceptible membrane, pulsing, undulating, its threading tendrils stretching out over and into everyone and everything, folding back over itself a million times a million times. It had mass without space and it grew and shrank outside of time. It reached through spaces that they did not know were there, so close they could touch but constantly out of reach. As they moved, it moved with them, their every motion and emotion mirrored like their reflection in the sky. It moved in and through them, nestling into the wet, dark caverns in their skulls. The age of it felt like the pressure of the deep ocean, impossibly ancient but reborn anew every waking moment.
"You cannot kill me in a way that matters." Said the mushroom, and they felt the fear reach up from their hearts and grab their brains in a crushing, caressing embrace. This was where they were meant to be, while they were everywhere, and so they could not escape while the fear still gripped them. They saw this, everything they ever were, and looked out into everything they never could be.
The Novitiates of the Cult of the Serpent sat silently meditating for a length of time that none of them could determine. It could have been hours, but it perhaps it had only been minutes. The passage of time was impossible to track in the tiny, sweltering chamber. The fire in the braziers did not seem to shrink at all, but the volume of smoke in the room didn't seem to change either. It was never enough to choke the lungs, but always just enough to make breathing a strenuous task. Still, with what little training they had, they reached out with their minds to feel for any aetheric presences or disturbances, but felt nothing but their fellow Novitiates. This carried on until they felt their patience beginning to slip, and were on the cusp of abandoning this endeavor.
A tiny whisper sounded from the center of the room, "Do you know the secret name of God?"
Eyes snapped open at the sound, but nothing in the room had changed. There was no one else there, just the three Novitiates. And the mushroom, still sitting at the room's center. With no source readily apparent for the sound, they wondered if their minds were playing tricks on them, but they had all heard the same thing. Perhaps Nevrakis was still in the room, disguised or invisible, and was toying with them? It seemed like the most likely answer.
That was until they looked at the chamber's walls. They had not changed, they were still raw stone carved out of the bedrock beneath Photep, but they were different. Where before the mineral veins in the stone and the imperfections in its carved surface were meaningless and random, patterns began to emerge. The chaos of it organized before their eyes, into words they could read but did not understand, and faces they recognized but could not name. The floors took on the same properties; loose, sandy clay now arranged to make a startling amount of sense, like constellations in the night sky.
"You are struggling." The voice sounded again, noticeably louder and clearer. "That is all you ever do. Your life is an endless struggle." It was not a man's voice. It was not a woman's voice. It was not a human voice. They heard it without sound, understood it without meaning. "You can feel it in your hot, animal heart. Blood pumping, lungs filling with air, flesh burning with friction and desire. A constant struggle to stay alive, to keep your imperfect machine of flesh and blood in motion."
The heat and smoke of the room were no longer as oppressive as they were before. Every drop of sweat they perspired felt like a tingling pinprick as the Novitiates became aware of the thousands upon thousands of microscopic processes at work within their own skin. Sebaceous glands produced their skin's oils. Tiny muscles attached to every hair along their bodies, pulling at them in rippling, involuntary waves. Their bodies seemed like separate beings, animal-shapes that their minds had merely attached to, along for the ride but not in control.
"Do you feel it? The fear inside you? It is the only thing your animal soul knows how to make." It was the mushroom talking to them, of course. The realization was so obvious, it hit the Novitiates like a crashing wave.
They turned their attention to it, the wisdom of the mushroom so profound and sincere and nonsensical that it brought tears to their eyes and knocked them to their knees. They looked at it and for the first time saw. It was not the mushroom, it was everything. It was this room. It was the whole pyramid. It was all of Photep. It was so clear now, it seemed impossible that they had not noticed it before. Like an imperceptible membrane, pulsing, undulating, its threading tendrils stretching out over and into everyone and everything, folding back over itself a million times a million times. It had mass without space and it grew and shrank outside of time. It reached through spaces that they did not know were there, so close they could touch but constantly out of reach. As they moved, it moved with them, their every motion and emotion mirrored like their reflection in the sky. It moved in and through them, nestling into the wet, dark caverns in their skulls. The age of it felt like the pressure of the deep ocean, impossibly ancient but reborn anew every waking moment.
"You cannot kill me in a way that matters." Said the mushroom, and they felt the fear reach up from their hearts and grab their brains in a crushing, caressing embrace. This was where they were meant to be, while they were everywhere, and so they could not escape while the fear still gripped them. They saw this, everything they ever were, and looked out into everything they never could be.
