(Per the poll) Eldritch Dad versus Jak versus Cultists
(Featuring characters from The Disowned Game 😅)
For context: the antagonists are trying to unlock an ancient seal to conjure the patron of dark eco, to basically turn the whole population into dark eco warlocks.
Their sage insists that they must spill the blood of a prism channeler to "appease the gods."
"You don't know what you're doing!" Phoenix shouted, straining against Skyheed's soldiers. He managed to get a good kick in, but there were too many to take in one fight. "Skyheed, stop!"
Keira lunged for the ceremonial dagger, a snarl on her lips.
"You so much as scratch him, and the gods will be the least of your worries!"
The blade slammed into the altar as Keira cracked the priest's arm against the stones. He cried out in pain, releasing the knife.
"The madness of the Light will not save the hero!" he gasped, struggling in vain against an enraged sage-in-training.
Jak strained his fingers towards the knife, just out of reach of the triple shackles. So close. He was so close! But he was going to need help.
"Keira! You have to cut me!"
"Are you nuts?!"
"No no, I recognize that glyph! It's gonna be fine!"
The glyph was familiar. Studying with Sister Merci at the temple, Keira had come across many pictograms older than the writing she and Jak and Daxter had employed as children. She could read one or two, but most still mystified her. This one's meaning escaped her memory, but she was certain she had seen it before. Which meant that unfortunately, Jak probably knew what he was talking about.
Reluctantly, Keira pressed the tip of the blade to Jak’s finger. Two small drops of blood slid down into the channels carved into the stone as Phoenix cried out in horror.
"Keira, no! What have you done?!"
Darkness took them.
Out of the blackness, the sounds of scuttling filled the room. Hundreds, thousands of tiny legs across metal and stone. Spiders began to creep down the walls, congregating on the twelve iron cuffs. Thousands of tiny, hairy, bodies pushed between metal and flesh, heedless of the crush until Jak could slide his wrists and one of his ankles out.
"Phoenix! Get everybody out!" he warned, "We don't have a lot of time before-"
"Who is misusing my gift?"
a voice like dry leaves, like the creak of timbers, like bells, filled the chamber.
The darkness drew close, twisting and writhing around itself to form the shape of a woman so tall her masses of curls brushed the ceiling. She took in the prostrated forms of the cultists below her with glowing eyes and curled her lip.
"And what, pray tell, is this?"
The question seemed to shock the onlookers out of their stupor.
"Oh great lady of darkness!" Skyheed bowed from the waist. "We, your humble devotees, come before you to ask your blessing on-"
The woman turned her head to see Jak still struggling to free himself. He'd taken hold of the obsidian dagger to pry off the ankle bands.
"Agh-! Mi'jo, no!"
the goddess snatched the blade from his hands in an instant.
"That's a knife!"
It was as if she hadn't even seen the cultists. Micteca held the hilt between thumb and forefinger, scowling.
"Foul thing. Ugh! How did you even- Nevermind. I'm calling your father."
Jak cringed. "No-! It's not even that bad!"
He and Keira broke the last shackle together as he continued to babble protests.
"He-! He's busy! You don't need to tell him, i can handle this-"
"DAMAS! LOOK WHAT YOUR SON GOT INTO!"
the shout shook the room, sending curtains of dust raining down on them.
"Dude, your mom's a snitch," Daxter snickered.
There was a clap of thunder, and the chamber filled with a blinding light. A biting chill curled around them, contrasting sharply with the warm voice emanating from the center of the light.
"Why is it always "my son" when he's gotten into something he shouldn't?"
Jak groaned. "Guys, I'm right here."
That wouldn't help him and he knew it. But he had to save a little face in front of Daxter and Keira.
Incrementally, a face appeared in the light, then a muscular body, held aloft between wings more like an anemone's tentacles, formed of living sand. Stars wheeled across dark skin like a piece of the sky had come to personally judge them all. The giant gazed down at Jak and narrowed his eyes.
"Hello, son."
He sounded amused.
Ignoring the choked off curses and whispered questions around him, Jak dropped his face into his palm.
"Hello, Father."
"Got yourself into a Situation again, haven't you?"
"It wasn't my fault this time!" Jak protested. He pointed at Skyheed, and decided that whatever followed was on the duke's own head. "That guy made Dark Warriors out of his whole city! He was going to sacrifice me so he could control them all!"
"Ohhhh crap." Keira cringed.
Micteca's eyes flashed. In a much too calm voice she said,
"Kids, would you step outside for a second?"
"Yep! No problem!" Daxter said hastily, leaping off the altar, "No problem at all!"
Keira ducked the priest and Skyheed to grab Phoenix by the sleeve. "Let’s go, let's go! Trust me, you don't want to be anywhere near this room."
"Uh....maybe...don't kill all of them?" Jak offered, pausing at the door.
"The pale ones didn't choose this."
"Jakkkk-"
Micteca frowned.
Jak glanced at the bewildered soldiers, all completely disoriented by the mass influx of dark eco.
"Mamá, please?"
"...you're as bad as your father."
Burning eyes narrowed down at Jak, and long black talons drummed impatiently on the goddess's folded arms.
Damas left off prodding at a smaller Dark Warrior to smirk.
"I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me all year!"
"Oh don't you start-! Alright! We'll see."
Micteca glared at both Jak and Damas.
"The things I do for you two troublemakers..."
"Appreciated, my love."
Damas -- or Deimos or Xenodamas, the monks could never agree on whether his name ought to be more "formal" now -- tucked a lock of hair behind Micteca's ear and began idly braiding it.
"There. That ought to keep the blood out of it."
Jak met Klout's flummoxed and slightly horrified gaze. He, unfortunately, could relate.
"Ugh. There's a time and a place, Father," he muttered under his breath.
A nearly prehensile wing tip snaked out to cuff Jak across the back of the head.
"Be glad your mother has more restraint than I usually do. Relocate, offspring."
Jak shoved the wing away and grinned. "Yeah yeah. Thanks, Ma! Okay, eviscerate away!"
"OUT."
The great stone doors slammed into place behind Jak, and he rolled his eyes at his honorary siblings' unimpressed expressions.
"Well did you want to wade through pureed soldier bits?" he asked indignantly.
Phoenix stared straight ahead, wide eyes focused on nothing.
Mr. Shoggoth the #1 eldritch monster dad headcanons
Just a few fun things I came up with about Beetlejuice’s Lovecraftian dad being the better parent.
Adam was actually the one that connected the dots after seeing a bit more of what Beetlejuice can do. (What? He prefers cosmic and existential horror over gore and jumpscares, seeing an adult dressed as a baby is friggin’ terrifying!)
Mr. Shoggoth didn’t know he had a son until Beej came looking for him under Antarctica. He didn’t even know he could have a child. He’s also surprisingly receptive and even exited about the idea.
Mr. Shoggoth used to be rather indifferent about humans. But hearing his son talk about his ‘other’ family is infectious. He grew to love Lydia as a second child just from hearing Beetlejuice speak fondly about her.
These days he might interfere when he sees a human in danger.
Mr. Shoggoth met Lydia first, since she’s the horror fan and the most accepting of all things scary. He was a bit self-conscious about how people might react to how he looks, he wants to have a good relationship with his son’s family after all. But he realised that as long as his form doesn’t shift too much and he looks somewhat symmetrical people react a lot better.
Beetlejuice and Lydia dubbed him ‘Pops’. Mr. Shoggoth loves it and rarely answers to anything else anymore.
Charles fells a little awkward calling him Pops. So he walls him Mr. Poe instead, much to Lydia’s delight. (Which was exactly what Charles was aiming for when he picked that name.)
Pops can be a bit of a deadbeat dad, but that’s more-so because he can’t exactly live in human society and doesn’t quite know what to do as a dad. He’ll still spend time with and help his two kids whenever they ask.
Lydia is allowed to sleep over from time to time. She had no idea how to explain to friends why she has a one-person arctic tent at the front of her closet.
Even though the Shoggoth became independent centuries ago, building is still an important part of their culture. So of course Pops taught his son how to build. By Shoggoth standards Beetlejuice’s architectural decisions are rather...interesting. Pops and Delia are hella proud though.
Very few people know just how much they f*cked up when they get Lydia to grumble ‘just wait until my Pops hears about this’ under her breath. Prepare for regular nightmares to insomnia induced death in extreme cases.
Shoggoth opinions on humans range from mildly curious to hostile. But as long as humans restrict themselves to the surface and they can keep the deep, they rather share the world with humans than the other option.
They tolerate Pops’ family and keep an eye out for Lydia when she stays over. Having a demon on their side might come in handy one day after all.
In return, all the Shoggoth are either ‘uncle’ or ‘cousin’ to Beetlejuice (and to some degree, Lydia). Reactions to this range from annoyance to mild fondness.
Rough sketch I'll likely finish tonight of Eldritch Damas au plus @sparguscityangel 's version of Mictecacihuatl as the patron of dark eco (in her marigold crown of course, for Dia de los Muertos)
Text: "Accidentally walked into the room at the wrong time"
Sometimes Jak regrets accidentally turning his father into a sort of neo-Precursor. Especially considering his mother being the dark eco patron. (@sparguscityangel 's Micte)
It's really hard to keep up his image when his Lovecraftian parents are busy being Morticia and Gomez any time they encounter each other on the battlefield.
It's Black Friday and I refuse to leave the house. Here, take my incredibly and unrepentantly self-indulgent Eldritch Damas au.
Premise: Damas death scene but close to a light eco vent and Jak tries to heal him.
Well Tumblr won't let me fix the formatting it donked up, guys, so there's a copy of this post that's actually readable on dark theme up now.
Damas has never been exposed to that much at once, unfiltered. Jak can't control how much he's channeling from the vent, he's too distraught. And he ends up changing Damas in the way the Dark Warrior Program changed him.
Damas can't control the light eco transformation. He looks like some kind of ascended being, trapped in a more powerful form and unable to utilize his new powers in a way that would deplete the eco and let him de-transform.
Do people consider him dead? A changeling? A Precursor-king? Jak would feel so guilty, having put this on Damas's shoulders without him having a say in it.
He's guilt stricken, he's horrified, he's so sorry, Damas please-
He doesn't know he's Damas's son, Damas doesn't know he was always Jak's father and not just recently his father.
Jak thinks of the Arena, thinks he knows what Damas's wrath looks like (he doesn't, he's seen only the strongest commingling of worry and frustration)
His war amulet feels meaningless. He has betrayed his leader, after all. The one ruler he chose to serve willingly. The only adult in his life to see his darkness and embrace it as simply part of him. And look what Jak's done to him. He thinks he deserves what is surely coming, but he's still just a boy and he can't help pleading for forgiveness.
And Damas sees a child, stripped of his tough protective shell, terrified beyond words -- is he so horrible to look upon? -- pleading incoherently for either forgiveness or mercy, he can't tell which. Tears stream down his face, making him look disturbingly young.
"I didn't mean to- I didn't mean to, Damas, please-! Please forgive me! I-I-I lost control of it, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"
Jak doesn't beg. Jak never pleads.
This is profoundly wrong and he knows this in his heart although he cannot quite fathom the depths of the wrongness he feels. He only recognizes that he does not want this boy to kneel before him. He has never been so formal before, it feels unnatural for him to be so now.
(Veger arrives late, does not recognize the cosmic horror as the king he willingly betrayed. He sees the dark eco freak humbled, on his knees before what he believes is a Precursor. He thinks that at last the thorn in his side will be struck down)
This is it! At last! Veger thinks
And then this thing that was their king bends
Jak grieves, believing Damas no longer knows him; he wonders if this is worse than Damas being angry. Everything they've been through, every memory, just gone? As beyond reach as Jak’s own childhood? And he did this to him.
- this is it. I won't fight him, Jak thinks -
And the great tendrils of its -- his -- wings wrap around Jak. On that too calm face, artificially peaceful, something quizzical appears in the tilt of a mouth swirling with stars. Wings draw close around them, dragging Jak up to collide with a broad chest thrumming with energy both alien and familiar. Light eco begins to seep into Jak, whispering beneath his thoughts "ours, ours, ours"
He traces a glowing hand along Jak's cheek, cocks his head and twists Jak's face back and forth with an innocently curious expression as though he's never seen him before.
Something sparks in Damas's eyes, some thought or impulse, and he seizes Jak by the upper arms. The words that pour from his mouth are ancient, a dialect lost long ago to all but the monks and those who once called Sandover their home.
"Mine…? You are! You are mine.”
It is a declaration, a discovery. A revelation. A promise.
With a flick of his wrists, he sends Jak tumbling into the light eco vent. Light flares and Jak transforms with a choked cry. Daxter panics, but he can't get past Damas's wings to get to his best friend. He watches Jak stand on shaky legs, wings curled tightly around himself as though he is trying to hide. Hide from his shame, hide from his friend, hide from his king. Light eco usually calms him, soothes his nerves, but not this time. It is frenzied, yet it is rejoicing, singing through his veins like a homecoming and Jak is left disoriented. Dazed.
Ours, ours, ours-!
Unnaturally strong hands lift him up under the arms, leave his feet dangling like a child's. Jak doesn't remember ever being held like this, outside of the secondhand memories of holding his own childhood self. When he finally works up his courage and looks into the Precursor King's eyes, looking through the filter of light eco himself, there is no anger. Neither is there a lack of recognition. Damas still knows him, that's becoming obvious. Jak looks into his eyes and sees pain and acceptance and a naked, boundless joy.
And Jak is so stunned that he forgets in that moment that he was trying to hide. He almost forgets why he feels squirming guilt -- albeit muted -- under his skin. He knew that Damas liked him. That Damas was comfortable expressing pride in him, even in front of the whole Arena. This is something else. Something Jak has never been bold enough to hope for outside of his own lonely imaginings: that Damas might see him with a kind of fatherly affection. That the closest thing he had to a real father figure might see him as a son as well.
"Child,"
Damas echoes, proud and warm and earthshaking,
"My child."
And what Veger sees, what he thinks he sees, is the child he ripped away from Damas, the tainted heir, receiving the blessing that should have been his: to ascend to Precursorhood. Welcomed into this evolved form as though the dark eco meant nothing.
He can't fathom it.
His worldview is cracking at the edges.
Oblivious to his crisis, Damas -- now closer in nature to his ancestors than he knows -- is content. This is his child. His. The eco in their blood harmonizes, dark with light, in one melody. He knows this weary warrior. He knows the blood that flows in his veins. His subject, his best warrior, his impudent rascal, his Jak: his son.
Vaguely he knows there's something they were supposed to do, something quite important. But it doesn't seem as important as stopping time just so that he can hold his child in his arms again.
Jak would like to get down, he really would. His wings flail in an ultimately futile bid for freedom. He has a world to save. But Damas won't let him go. He's smiling -- it's a relief, but the guilt still eats at him and he doesn't understand, what is the eco doin? Why is it harmonizing? Does the light eco in Damas recognize his own eco? Is that why he's calling him "My own. My little one."?
Jak has had enough experience with the Light Form that the Precurian instincts don't overwhelm him, and he still thinks on a very human level. But Damas doesn't know how to separate human instincts from Precurian instincts. They're all one to him.
His memories run against the swell of light and life and love and absolute otherworldliness coursing through him, too strong to control.
"Why aren't you angry?" Jak whispers as he tries to find somewhere for all that light eco to go.
Tendrils of living eco brush across his cheek in a loving caress and lift his chin. Jak finds himself leaning into the touch without thinking as he watches the stars shift and swirl across Damas's face. This Light Form of Damas croons comfortingly, a subsonic rumble that is both calming and Alarming to Daxter and even Veger as they watch.
"Angry?" The word lilts oddly in the old language. "Why, little one?"
"I...I did this to you! You didn't choose this!"
"But now I am neither dead nor dying. And I know who you are."
Jak twists up his face in confusion, refracting light across his cheeks.
He's not afraid, but he's hesitant to ask. "Who...who am I?"
Always thought it would be neat if there were actual stars and constellations you could see on their bodies in that form. It didn't show up as clearly as I would've liked though.
