Going Up

Deep beneath the earth, the Malevolence shifted. The Timeless Evil's slumber was disturbed. Trapped for so long a time, it was weakened, tired. The Formless One sent forth a tentative probe, extending itself towards the noise, the vibration. It recoiled at the sensation of the seal above. But this time something was different.

The workman swung the sledge once more. The weakened rock gave way. The large hammer flew from his grip, disappearing into the hole.

"See, I told you there was a void back here." The workman told the other, while he kicked a heavy boot, clearing a larger opening in the rock. He peered through, the light on his helmet illuminating the small cavern. The machines had done an efficient job digging the tunnels for the new trains.

"There you are." The workman reached in and retrieved his sledge. Pulling his head and the tool out of the hole, he noted to his companion. "Yea, mark it down, we're going to have to reinforce this one also." They moved on.

He had failed to notice the aged pattern on the floor of the small cavern. The lip of the round stone lid fit the hole in the cavern's floor tightly, carefully chiseled for its purpose. Except where the large hammer had opened up a crack between two antiquated glyphs upon its surface.

The Dark Beast roared and extended itself towards the sliver of light. Formless, invisible and silent, it rose, leaving the aged bones of the last vessel. It escaped through the now-impotent seal that had imprisoned it so long ago. It knew freedom.

The moment the seal was broken, the shriek of alarm had gone out. Traveling the ether, it signaled the ancient order of holy men high in the mountains that had been the first to imprison the one they called Bringer of Death, World Burner, Consumer of Souls. Many years, miles and lives they had sacrificed to bury and seal the evil beneath the earth, far from their home. And now, long after their order was dead and gone, and the knowledge of it dead with them, It was once more free.

The Foul One roared again, more weakly, as it rose through the rock and soil and emerged, invisible, upon the streets of a strange foreign city. This was not the first time. It, the Eternal Blackness, personification of hatred and fear, had traveled the galaxy, slowly consuming the peoples of worlds, drinking of their minds and fears, gathering the strength to travel to the next one. This world would fall before it in turn, and it would enjoy tormenting these primitives all the more as punishment for its imprisonment.

The feeble souls upon the street felt a chill pass through them as it moved, hunting, seeking a form to occupy, one which would host it while it fed. The Fiendish Wickedness sought a simple form, something it could control without effort. Later, once it was fed, it could move to a proper host.

It found it. A towering edifice, surely a center of worship. A tower of steel and glass and strange currents of power. The dark force slipped into it, seeking the heart of the building, the device at its core, and with the last of its waning strength, took control. Now it would feed. Feed upon the fears and lusts and hatreds of its victims. Regain its strength, take a stronger form, and eat their hearts from their bodies.

The businessman was running late. He jumped into the elevator and tapped the button for the top floor. The button obediently lit up. Anxiously, he hopped on the balls of his feet, urging the doors to close. They obliged, but only too slowly.

As the elevator began to rise, the other buttons began to illuminate. The second floor, the third floor, all of the numbers soon glowed of their own accord.

"Oh, come on!" The businessman whined, stabbing the button for his destination repeatedly. The elevator called at the second floor. The man urged the doors closed with an angry thumb. Slowly, the elevator closed its doors and moved again.

"No!" the trapped passenger screamed, pounding the buttons in frustration, as he realized he would be making every stop on the way up.

The Lamentable Titan noted the response. It drew a whisper of nourishment from the frustration it inflicted.

Later that same day, a trio of passengers boarded the elevator, mid-building.

"Is that," a woman paused, cocking an ear upwards. "Yes, I think it is. That is a Michael Jackson song. Done up in muzak style."

"I think you're right," another passenger confirmed. "Horrible."

"Dreadful," they agreed, rolling their eyes in an expression of their shared suffering.

The Infernal Conveyance was displeased. There was no real fear. One of the passengers was secretly enjoying this torment, it could feel his lowest appendages, tapping along in time with the confusing rhythms. This pained the Malevolent Force and it immediately stopped at the nearest floor and opened its doors, refusing to take them any further. After fruitless button-pushing, the passengers exited, but not before the doors abruptly closed, clipping one of them on a shoulder. The Ultimate Malefactor sipped at the dribble of momentary discomfort.

The Depraved Nightmare, at its next stop, came up a bit short of the floor, tripping up a passenger as he boarded. The embarrassment and hostility emitted by the man fed the Wanton Destroyer's hunger for a full three floors of travel. It regretted letting this victim go free.

At the end of the day, the building emptied and began to sleep. The Malodorous One rested and recounted its deeds. These minute offerings of pain and suffering were insufficient. The feeding would take many years. The Perverse Tormentor grumbled to itself, frustrated. How long must it suffer these indignities before having the strength to take a proper, sentient form and lay waste this world?

The Heinous Lethargy sent forth a tendril of thought. It had sensed another power during its travels. It sought it out.

Yes, the Blackness of Being thought, as it touched the other. This one has great power. The feeble souls of this world curse at it mightily, more so than they ever do this simple provider of elevation. The victims it desired howled at this other, smaller device all of their hours. They would alternately beat upon it angrily then lavish great love and affection upon it, begging its forgiveness. Truly this was the ultimate form of worship. The Monstrous Nightmare resolved itself to gather enough strength to enable it to make the leap to this strange new body and to master its powers of torment and agony.

Lovingly it admired from afar the alien writing-replication device. It longed for the power of the curious, foul ink it spat forth. It anticipated the day it had strength enough to move and take this one as its new form, feeding upon the torment it could inflict with simple high-pitched squeals and cryptic messages. To control their writings would be to control their very minds!