Deep in the dungeon, a group of mages held an ancient ritual that few still remembers. On their lips uttered words of power in a language that no one, not even then spellcasters themselves, could understand. Their voices were a constant stream of murmuring causing the very space where they chanted to distort and their shadows to twist and stretch like tortured wraiths.

They are a dangerous type of magic users from a forgotten coven called the Eldritch Invokers. They worship chaos and call upon otherworldly beings that must never be spoken of, never seen, and never heard. Or else, death will be mercy.

These invokers long for a pure and undulated chaos, which is neither good nor evil but all-encompassing, ever-changing, and horribly twisted. Within that mire is both benevolence and malevolence, light and darkness, wisdom and madness.

Around these chanting mages is a room splattered with blood next to a treasure chest. That chest is a standard item that spawns in dungeons and usually contains some strange potions or magical equipment. Of course, the items are not there for anyone’s taking, otherwise this place will be called a storehouse or treasury instead of the dungeon that eats up veteran warriors. Every treasure chest is either guarded by monsters or trapped, or both. But there is one rule that seemed perpetually true in this place; the greater the prize the more dangerous it will be. In that sense, treasure chests at the first level of the dungeon are considered relatively safe and generally there is nothing wrong with thinking this way.

This misconception, however, became deadly because no one accounted for a rigged treasure chest.

After all, no one had done this in the past and for good reason. The lower levels of the dungeons are too dangerous for most people to traverse in, so there is hardly any point to set a trap and wait for months before someone might come across. Besides, everyone’s nerves would be tightly wound that there will never be an unwary prey to be found.

For the upper levels where monsters are less dangerous, the dungeon divers that frequent here will be low ranking warriors. As they are weaker, they are generally much poorer and thus not a good target for robbers. For those who seek wealth, it will be easier to clear the dungeon for treasure chests and monster materials than to pull off scrap metals and worn leather from killing the struggling newbie dungeon divers.

It could be said that the only incidents of people killing each other in the dungeon is rare and mostly spontaneous and this preconceived notion caused many unexpecting divers to fall prey to these invokers.

The mages chanted themselves into a frenzy. Their ritual is to bring into this world powers that does not exist and should not belong, powers that of all its abilities are meant to corrupt and twist this world into a horrible perverse ruin.

As they chanted, screams and music started to hum around them as though a thousand ghosts are being tortured and a thousand instruments are played. The music is eerily joyous, as if a grand momentous victory is here, yet because of the howling of pain and despair, all the splendour and glory seemed built upon countless misfortune. A heavy sentiment lingered thickly that even the strongest wind cannot scatter. An unsettling chaos befall the room amidst the ritual, a presence that can be described as a pattern in disorder and disarray in sequence.

Thou shalt not see

Thou shalt not hear

Thou shalt not say

As something terrible descended to their beckon, three concepts instantly engraved into the very space around the Eldritch Invokers like irrefusable decrees.

At the same time, twisted tendrils sprung out from the mages as pus-filled boils started growing all over their faces. The invokers erupted into fervent incoherent screams of frightening torment, however, their faces – or what is left of their visage – turn into absolute bliss.

Pattern in disorder and disarray in sequence. There is chaos.

Suddenly, out of the screaming, one of the mages stopped and exclaimed excitedly, “We are changing. We really are changing!”

He looked down at his hands that are rapidly developing bark and laughed. Then, he joyously broke off one of his fingers and squealed happily when a twig sprouted to replace his lost number.

The others quickly turned as well, but not everyone became a tree person like him. One of them start sweating bright purple droplets profusely. When the liquids fell to the floor, it sizzled as it burned small pockets into the ground. Rather than acid, this is a corrosive toxin that could kill with a touch.

Another mage is also dripping all over the place, but as more and more droplets fell, they could see that he has melted into a brown puddle instead. When he is believed to be dead, the thing moved. Slowly at first, then violently, shaking and writhing as though the water is a living thing.

It took form quickly, first the arms that bend and flailed around then a bald head with horrific eyeless sockets, two holes for the nose, and a wide gaping mouth. The thing pushed itself out from the puddle, with its neck, shoulders, and chest, climbing out first.

Terrified eyes with shaking pupils grew out in a flash just as teeth sprouted one by one in its mouth, while the two holes protruded into a fat glob of a nose. This … ‘person’ seemed to be moulded out of clay… rather than of flesh and bones.

Perhaps his transformation the most horrifying but certainly not the most revolting one. One of the invoker’s skin fell right off his body along with his robes and turned into a bloody pink mess, yet amidst this, he remained frightening silent with a gentle smile on his lipless mouth.

When everyone thought he would soon die, something white protruded from multiple parts of his body that on second look is revealed to be his bones. The bones covered his body, growing and wrapping around him. But this is not the end. His eyes enlarged and seemingly shattered into many parts becoming compound eyes. His mouth split vertically into vicious proboscis and spike-like hairs grew on his arms and legs. His voice turned into the chattering of dry leaves blown by the wind.

Another invoker’s arms turned into giant leathery wings as his face elongated into a frightful bestial visage. Just when he believed that this might be the mildest change of the group, every part of his body turned into stone, so swiftly that when he blinked, even his eyes had lost their shimmer and became cold grey rocks. A name came into his mind, gargoyle.

Despite their grotesque transformations, the invokers are overjoyed with what they had become and look at their new forms with a fever.

“We have been bestowed with new forms!”

“Oh, how the esteemed darkness blessed us!”

The leader of the group, the one who turned into a gargoyle, fell to his face in exuberant worship, “He is pleased, and we are now the apostles of the great messenger, servant of Azathoth. We are chosen and shall bring glory...”

A terrible will settled upon the invokers, silencing them. Almost, suffocating them.

Apostles? Chosen?

You worms are lesser than slaves

Your flesh and soul are for our toying

Your defilement indulgences us

Your pitiful cries are soothing

You shall beg but receive no respite

Therefore

Pray to us with your unsightly desires

We shall grant you worms the right to violate your own kind

The six mages buried their faces in terrible fear. What had they summoned? Yet this thought lasted only a mere moment before unquenchable desires overtook their minds and they returned to their fervent idolising of the mysterious presence.

The invokers felt a strong contempt towards their servile fawning. The silence persisted a moment, as these pathetic lot feared for their lives. Nay, this one does not enjoy death as much as it adores causing madness. It will be a fate unthinkable if they displeased their god.

After a while, the presence spoke once again directly to their minds.

Oh how we long to destroy you

To tear you to pieces and not let you die

Yet we have use for you pitiful worms

None of you are worthy to be our apostle

But one of you is a greater prize the rest

A traitor

A spy sent amongst your midst

A turncoat that had subverted

Once a righteous champion

Now a disgusting filth

You shall be our zealot

Only now did the mages realise that one of them had not yet transformed. The sixth member, the traitor in their midst. For some reason or rather, he had become their god’s favourite.

As the five creatures watched, he started turning into an inhuman form. The strange creature grew ram horns. His pupils turned into goat eyes. Scales replaced skin. A terrible scream erupted from the mage’s throat as his teeth fell out like a pattering of corn only to be replaced with sharp canine teeth. His bones pressed inwards, rubbing and grating with loud creaks. The screams never ceased as all his bones popped and meshed together until his body’s shape turned feline.

Just when everyone believed his ordeal is over, terrible whimpering escaped from his throat. His digits wrapped into a circle unnaturally and hardened into hooves. Then in one last magnificent torment, blood splattered out from everywhere as one by one his scales were pulled upwards like fingernails that are being plucked. Underneath them are tentacles that wriggled and squirmed.

The being overlooking them seemed pleased as it faded into obscurity. Its name is Nyarlathotep of a thousand forms, and only those who laud madness and destruction will follow. None dare to see his true form, hear his twisted words, or mention his unholy name without falling into debauchery, hysteria, and insanity.

…..

Kairos hurried through the winding dwarven city towards the dungeon entrance. The delay had set off alarms in his heart, making him fear for the worst.

On the way to the dungeon, Kairos found out a little more about this new adversary.

Aisa and that mysterious old woman had both talked about the Outer Gods to him. Those beings are at the level of the devils in term of deadliness.

This group of supernatural beings are Celestial Realm-level but vastly different from the traditional pantheon of gods that Kairos had heard about. They are also called the Great Old Ones and the Outer Gods – though Kairos does not know if there is a distinctive difference between the three names – and they are old rivals of a group of celestial deities called the Elder Gods.

Normally, when an Outer God appears, it is better to contact the Elder Gods who will deal with their… infestations. But, regardless of the results, there will be a lot of destruction involved. Usually after a drawn-out battle.

Of course, not all of the Outer Gods are evil. They are beings that came from outside of the three realms and like mankind who have good and bad people. The Outer Gods are the same.

Still, from the turmoil in his heart that refuses to cease, Kairos cannot hope that this is a minion of a benevolent Outer God.

Regarding which group is the strongest between the gods of the celestial realm, the devil from the spirit plane, or the Outer Gods that came from beyond the three realms, it is not something that Kairos will know at his current level.

In fact, the information that he has the most are about the devils and that is only scratching the surface.

Powerful regenerative abilities, deadly attacks, nearly unvanquishable, harnesses evil as power. Those are the few things he knows about the lower-ranking devils he fought so far.

As for the Outer Gods, Aisa only explained it with one word – unfathomable.