2013/16. Precursed
Assassin's Creed/Cthulhu Mythos
FR-T
With the sun boiling in the sky above us, churning the Earth with waves of radiation and shearing magnetic tides, we at last opened the door to the inner vault of the First Civilisation; the Grand Temple of Those Who Came Before.
The walls were carved from the same smooth, unearthly stone as the other precursor ruins we had seen, but the sense of alienness was stronger here even than in the Vault beneath the Colosseum. The light which played eerily between the vast, cyclopean slabs was pale and limpid, and the air held a lingering dampness. As we walked, I felt an indefinable dread creep over me and a voice seemed to whisper in my ears, although when I strained to hear its words they seemed to slip away from me.
At last, we reached the innermost shrine, where a pedestal rose from the floor, and upon it a device of strange and malignant form. Juno waited for us, her form distorted, more inhuman than ever, but I could not tear my gaze from the thing on the pedestal.
"We are those who came before," she declared, "those who are, and who will be."
At that, the thing on the pedestal moved, opening like a flower, but a blossom that unfurled across the dimensions of time and space without regard for the norms of geometry that we have long held to as absolutes, to reveal the infinity of creation within and, at the heart of that Nexus, the true forms of the First Civilisation, their bloated bodies and wafting, dendritic limbs; the unwholesome threefold symmetry of their design. They poured up from the depths of that non-Euclidean abyss and I knew that they were going forth not into the space of our world but into the minds of those hapless fools chained to Abstergo's Animi Project.
As my mind fractured at the sight of those terrible yet immaterial forms, I heard Juno's voice one last time, as she pronounced the doom-laden words of the diabolical Necronomicon of the Mad-Arab Abd al'Hazred, which held a peculiar relevance to our reckless, virtual necromancy: "That is not dead that can eternal die, and with srange eons even death may die."
FR-T
With the sun boiling in the sky above us, churning the Earth with waves of radiation and shearing magnetic tides, we at last opened the door to the inner vault of the First Civilisation; the Grand Temple of Those Who Came Before.
The walls were carved from the same smooth, unearthly stone as the other precursor ruins we had seen, but the sense of alienness was stronger here even than in the Vault beneath the Colosseum. The light which played eerily between the vast, cyclopean slabs was pale and limpid, and the air held a lingering dampness. As we walked, I felt an indefinable dread creep over me and a voice seemed to whisper in my ears, although when I strained to hear its words they seemed to slip away from me.
At last, we reached the innermost shrine, where a pedestal rose from the floor, and upon it a device of strange and malignant form. Juno waited for us, her form distorted, more inhuman than ever, but I could not tear my gaze from the thing on the pedestal.
"We are those who came before," she declared, "those who are, and who will be."
At that, the thing on the pedestal moved, opening like a flower, but a blossom that unfurled across the dimensions of time and space without regard for the norms of geometry that we have long held to as absolutes, to reveal the infinity of creation within and, at the heart of that Nexus, the true forms of the First Civilisation, their bloated bodies and wafting, dendritic limbs; the unwholesome threefold symmetry of their design. They poured up from the depths of that non-Euclidean abyss and I knew that they were going forth not into the space of our world but into the minds of those hapless fools chained to Abstergo's Animi Project.
As my mind fractured at the sight of those terrible yet immaterial forms, I heard Juno's voice one last time, as she pronounced the doom-laden words of the diabolical Necronomicon of the Mad-Arab Abd al'Hazred, which held a peculiar relevance to our reckless, virtual necromancy: "That is not dead that can eternal die, and with srange eons even death may die."