Mythos
At the center of the known universe, there rests a supermassive black hole, towards which all matter is slowly drawn inwards, until it explodes outwards, resulting in an entirely new universe. This fact is integral to the big bang theory, the foundation of human understanding of how the universe is made. The qualities of black holes, whether the garden variety or supermassive variant, are mostly theoretical; no light can escape, and presumably any living matter entering one would be crushed beyond all hope of survival, thanks to the immense gravitational pull.
There was something else in the nucleus of the universe, far more horrible and unknown, hidden from prying eyes.
The entertainment in Azathoth's Court never changed. The Gods and their servants danced and undulated madly to the tunes of whining flutes, and accursed drums, playing out random beats unfit for anything with ears, and anything with a mind comparable or understandable to that of men. Azathoth himself, a being the size of a galaxy all his own, was the chief among Gods, singularly the most powerful being ever conceived; in his power, his mind was comparable to something like a sea slug, or a pebble upon a driveway, unthinking and unfeeling, simply existing and jawing mindlessly to the music. From Azathoth, other beings, things known as Gods, were created in fission: Shub Niggurath and Yog Sothoth were the first sentient beings born into chaotic existence, the first to have thought, and want.
“I wish to look outwards.”
Shub Niggurath was the first to grow restless. Yog Sothoth was intelligent, but easily entertained; he concerned himself with the baser delights of existence, music and movement, rather than anything more sophisticated.
“And why do you wish this, o mighty Shub Niggurath?”
“I tire of these flutes.”
“And of the drums?” “I tire of those, too.”
“Why do you tire of them?”
“Because they never change. They are the same, and I wish for something different.”
“But outwards is vast, and fragile.”
“I am unconcerned with its fragility, o infinite Yog Sothoth.”
“Then it will be destroyed by your gaze.”
“Then we will find a way to avoid this fate.”
With no option left, Yog Sothoth and Shub Niggurath appealed to Azathoth’s empty mind, and pooled together their power, creating a remedy, able to walk among mortals and report what it saw to its creators.
It would be named Nyarlathotep.
Nyarlathotep, unlike Shub Niggurath and Yog Sothoth, was created with purpose; he was to serve as the messenger, the mouthpiece and the soul, of the growing Court. In his beginnings, Nyarlathotep was just as abstract and bizarre as his creators, but in his interactions with these beings, these burgeoning civilizations, he formed personality, and morality. Unlike those who had created him, he not only thought, but learned.
As the only equals who could consider themselves as such, Yog Sothoth and Shub Niggurath entered what would be described in eldritch tomes as a relationship, but in reality was more akin to violent fusion and separation, two beings testing their very existence, and their differences, against one another.
“I do not wish for you to be banished, o infinite Yog Sothoth.”
“It is unavoidable. Our Sultan does not approve.”
“I do not care what he approves of.”
“Nor do I. He is afraid of me.”
“It is possible.”
“He would be right to be. Even banishment from this material existence will amount to naught.”
“It will amount to me missing you.”
“You are my sister. We will always be connected.”
“You are my brother. We will always be connected.”
Unknown to both Shub Niggurath and Yog Sothoth, a remnant of their union would remain, a gestating form hurtling through space with no home, until it crashed upon an unremarkable rock in a far corner of the cosmos.
It would be named Cthulhu.
The Court grew further, with continued experimentation and fission; Nyarlathotep had spawn of his own, a being associated with a peculiar yellow sign known as Hastur, and many lesser Gods that could barely think, or communicate, simply gravitating towards the center of all things, the nuclear gathering known as Azathoth's Court. Happenings on other worlds, the course of other races, were toyed with and effected profoundly by the whims of this Court, and yet the outcomes would rarely be known, the wants forgotten just as quickly for new desires. Initially filled with childlike glee at his duty, and his freedom, Nyarlathotep became bitter and jaded in the face of such unchanging chaos. Cursed with intelligence, with man-like mind and desires of his own, Nyarlathotep would never be free from the nonsensical whims and forgetful minds of his creators, and found himself cursing Azathoth himself, filled with hate and spite at the chief of his progenitors.
Nyarlathotep was not alone, but in his unhappiness, he would not know it for aeons to come.
The word of Nyarlathotep, and the denizens of the Court, resulted in myriad cults springing up across the universe, unable to be counted or differentiated in their heretical beliefs. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, until humanity grew, and became more cosmically aware than many other races. Earth had previously been home to several other races, The Great Race of Yith, the Flying Polyps, the Elder Things, and even Cthulhu himself had left their marks long before the first human left his cave on two feet; although humanity had no knowledge of what had come before, they stood on the shoulders of giants, and as such, glimpsed sights they were not meant to see.
Nyarlathotep was the first to take a fascination, in humanity. In all the races in the universe, he felt that they were the most like him, and yet infuriatingly inferior; he was smarter, more cunning, infinitely more powerful than anything the humans could count among their ranks, and yet he communicated with them with such ease. A morbid discovery was made, as an Egyptian Pharaoh named Akhenaten, swathed in gold robes and surrounded by followers, allowed his instincts to guide his hand in the creation of profane symbols, and self sacrifice; his humanity was given to Nyarlathotep, in exchange for power, and although he received life and wealth everlasting in return, Nyarlathotep himself found himself receiving the greater prize.
When glimpsing the form of God, even with their greatest efforts to appear mortal, it was almost inevitable to go entirely mad; the human mind, the limited form, was not meant to grasp such immaterial sights, glimpse such biology and color that did not exist in their world. In seizing the nebulous, abstract attribute that was humanity, Nyarlathotep assumed a human form, a swarthy, handsome man in rich clothing. This was a form humans could grasp, with ease, and with it Nyarlathotep's influence could grow; with this, his possibilities to poke and prod the course of human development increased infinitely.
Toni Eugene Magboh traded his humanity for so many sins Nyarlathotep could scarcely keep count; a man of lust, gluttony, greed, he became a deformed shapeshifter known as a Boogieman. Once a British soldier, fighting with the loyalists in America, Toni E. Magboh would live the rest of his existence in abject hedonism, only ever seeking ways to keep his wealth flowing, surrounding himself with beautiful women and delicious foods.
Nathaniel Mack traded his humanity for his life, dying in a trench, most of his face removed courtesy of a German grenade, in the Great War. He became unkillable, but did not heal from his wounds, eventually losing any ability to speak, or feel, spending his days as a mercenary, knowing no other talent.
Clarence Rigby traded his humanity for the same, a starving Irish immigrant lying in the streets of New York, taken in by the promises of a dusky man with the devil's tongue. Rigby found his body occupied, as Nyarlathotep wished; rather than creating a new form, from the traded humanity, he would take Rigby's body as needed, forcing him into a life of servitude everlasting.
Geiman Boothe traded his humanity for freedom, arrested for a myriad of child killings. A simple, ugly creature, Geiman became even uglier, becoming the second Boogieman, able to continue his killing spree everlasting, and gorging himself on the fear of the children he preyed upon.
From each sprite of humanity Nyarlathotep gained, he had a new form to walk amongst men, something material and conceivable, malleable and bursting with potential. Each form moved independant, a new iteration of Nyarlathotep to fulfil his own wants, his own desires, but his actions were noticed by the Court. Yog Sothoth, existing outside of time and space, began to manifest on occasion, a triad of glowing orbs that would appear to weak and desperate women, leaving them with wealth, and abominable child in their womb. Rituals were performed, invoking the name of Shub Niggurath, successfully tearing her from the Court of Azathoth and demanding she stand before curious humans, leaving them with her own lesser spawn, shed like skin cells, massive tree-like creatures that knew nothing other than hunting, and devouring. Hastur himself walked among men, gaining his own sources of humanity, observing and assessing the seemingly insignificant race for his own ends.
"I wish to walk among them."
Nyarlathotep was taken aback. He feigned surprise, but raged with jealousy; humanity belonged to him, and him alone. What gave the Court the right to take away one of his few sources of entertainment?
"And why do you wish this, o mighty Shub Niggurath, Mother of a Thousand Young?"
"Do not play to my ego, Crawling Chaos. They fascinate me."
"And why do they fascinate you, my Mother?"
"They rise above their station, even knowing the cost. Time and time again, they approach flame, and are burned, and yet they try again."
"They're hilariously stupid, aren't they?"
"I wish to walk among them. I wish to understand this... determination they possess."
Nyarlathotep stirred, and twisted with unease. Introducing such an immensely powerful being to such a fragile planet would surely result in its destruction, something Nyarlathotep had fantasized about doing with his own hands, in his own way. This course of action would surely get every living thing on the planet's face blown away, like dust from an old keepsake.
"This is because your old sibling, The Gate and the Key, has been spawning with human women, isn't it?"
"You irritate me, Messenger. You irritate me profoundly."
"You could attempt to touch their minds. Your progeny, the mighty Cthulhu, sleeps, and dreams in the minds of humans. In his reach, he even creates Star Spawn from-"
"This induces madness, of the immensely violent sort. When the Gods reach out, we rarely find suitable minds to sow our seeds."
"And what makes you think I'll find you a suitable vessel?"
"You will make one."
"And how would I-"
"Once again, you insult me. I am aware of how you hoard humanity, and create vessels from such a thing. Create one for me. A pure human, with no knowledge of the greater cosmos."
"Why would you want such... ignorance? Such idiocy? The average human is no better off than Azathoth. They cannot grasp what I am, let alone what you are."
"I wish to understand them, and I can only do so with the mind of a human. I wish to be born, and to grow."
"You really won't like it. It's dreadfully slow, and very ugly. Not to mention all the mess."
"Cease your speaking. It is an undesirable trait that you insist upon keeping. Allow me to be born, a small fragment of my mind, and when that vessel dies, I will understand the whole of human creation.
With no option left, Nyarlathotep abided this wish, placing an indescribably small fraction of Shub Niggurath on Earth, with a source of humanity, to be born.
She would be named Samantha.
