Chapter 60

Nyarlathotep caught Ode’s ankle in His right hand. “What’s this supposed to be? A kitten batting its paws? It’s nothing compared to the sting of those two times you torched My statues. I still remember exactly how it felt when My idol went up in flames… sister-in-law.”

He knew precisely how to repulse someone, drawling that self-pleasing title without regard for anyone else’s opinion while lifting His right hand higher. The gesture carried an unmistakable innuendo, and Ode recoiled, catching himself on his arms as heat flushed from his earlobes down his neck in a mix of fury and humiliation.

“Exquisite.” Nyarlathotep heaped on the praise. “Did you know I’ve been taken with you since the moment we first met? Two statues—one of yours, one of Mine. Burning them one after the other feels just like some ancient betrothal rite—”

“Is this the sort of garbage rattling around in your skull all day?” Ode finally lost his patience—or at least feigned it—and spat the barb. “Is it possible I burned those statues purely out of revulsion, and you’re the one fabricating some grand romantic epic in your head?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Nyarlathotep tightened His grip on Ode’s calf and yanked him closer. The motion left Ode’s captured leg draped almost over Nyarlathotep’s shoulder, his body pinned in the looming shadow cast by the Black Pharaoh’s avatar. His voice turned gentle and coaxing. “There was already a contract between us. You were always meant to belong to Me.”

“I entered your life well before Yog-Sothoth. Haven’t you ever wondered how your parents escaped from Dreamcatcher Town? Or why, after all these years, not a single Elder God noticed an experimental subject had slipped away? Your peaceful childhood, free of strife—that was thanks to My contract shielding you and your family. Surely you owe Me for all of it?”

“…” Ode’s mouth fell open. “A contract? Protection?”

“Of course.” Nyarlathotep’s tone slithered like a demon’s midnight whisper against a sleeper’s ear. “Let Me lay it all out for you. Twenty-one years ago, while you were still in your mother’s womb, your father boldly forsook the deity he revered for the sake of love and turned to Me instead. In My mercy, I helped them flee Dreamcatcher Town and cloaked your little family of three in a veil that hid you from the Elder Gods’ sight. Put it this way: every beam of sunlight in your childhood, every lazy afternoon—My hand made them possible.”

“…” Hold on—this was starting to veer into nauseating territory. Ode didn’t need to fake his look of revulsion. “You’d really be that generous?”

“Oh, of course not.” Nyarlathotep answered candidly. “Everything comes at a price, doesn’t it? I answered your father’s summons for two reasons. First, the god he once worshipped was the Black Goat of the Woods, My blood relative Shub-Niggurath. Oh, yes—your father was a devotee of an evil god himself. In fact, most Druids pay homage to the Black Goat of the Woods.”

“…” Ode wrenched his focus toward the new intelligence, refusing to dwell on what he already knew. “And the second reason?”

“Why the rush? I haven’t even finished unpacking the first.” Nyarlathotep was clearly relishing the conversation. As He spoke, He hiked up Ode’s pant leg and fastened the string of golden bells around his ankle. Ode tried to resist halfway through, but pitting himself against one of the Three Pillar Gods was obviously futile. “I find the whole affair endlessly entertaining, whether you look at it as a ‘follower of Shub defecting to Nyarlathotep’ or as ‘Shub ignoring summons until the devotee jumps ship.’ Either way, I was delighted to extend a helping hand.”

Ode reined in his temper and endured it. “So what was the price?”

“You, my impatient little Lettuce Princess.” Nyarlathotep cooed the words with syrupy false affection. “You’ve read that tale, haven’t you? The one where a princess’s parents trade their unborn child to a witch. Your parents struck a similar bargain with Me—I simply haven’t come to collect, having been occupied elsewhere.”

Nyarlathotep lowered Himself, pressing close to Ode, His left hand clamping halfway around Ode’s side in a grip that was both caress and threat. “So do you see now? You belonged to Me before you even drew breath. It was only My brother who meddled.”

Real bitterness crept into His expression. “You have no idea how much effort it took to unravel this mess. Dagon’s marriage contract set the rule. My contract provided the power to enforce it. Yog-Sothoth’s summoning contract granted permission.”

“God only knows how those three crashed together and somehow fused into your marriage pact with Yog! Had He not inexplicably shown up in Dreamcatcher Town—had His summoning contract not interfered—Dagon’s marriage contract would have merged with Mine to bind you to Me!”

Ode: “…”

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. All he could think was that it was a stroke of immense fortune amid disaster.

His marriage to Yog-Sothoth… At least neither party had dropped dead, and that was solely due to the excision surgery he’d undergone. The procedure could target only one Outer God at a time, and by sheer coincidence, they’d zeroed in on Yog-Sothoth—just as They blundered into the crosshairs. Without Cavendish’s intervention, heaven knew if he would have survived Nyarlathotep’s clutches this long.

Ode was convinced he’d lived through such futures—or pasts. Devouring Dagon’s marriage contract had likely occurred in multiple loops, but only in the final one had he and Yog-Sothoth stumbled into their union by twist of fate, prompting Them to invoke time reversal…

That did explain why each successive attempt came with better preparations, yet the endings grew bloodier, the descent into madness steeper.

Who could say what machinations Nyarlathotep had wrought across those cycles, always ensuring some twisted “parting gift” even in death?

Ode mulled it over with calculated nonchalance, but the hatred and rage piled up over loop after loop seethed like a volcano on the verge of eruption, buckling his fraying restraint. He fixed the figure before him—perhaps his true ex-spouse, or the architect of every defeat—with venomous loathing he could scarcely contain. “You—”

No. Questions and taunts would only vent impotent fury. August fourth loomed mere days away. He had no time to indulge private vendettas. “—So you’ve always known what went down in Dreamcatcher Town?”

It couldn’t be. Cold reason slammed his emotions back into the crater like a lid on smoldering magma. Ode dissected every nuance of Nyarlathotep’s monologue with surgical precision: If He truly grasped the Elder Gods’ experiment, He never would have said, “God only knows how those three fused.” He would have known about the devouring.

Nyarlathotep sounded even more exasperated. “If only! Those Elder Gods must have layered on restrictions of their own. Why else would I enter the barrier without once thinking to poke around? For twenty-one years afterward, you didn’t even cross My mind… Fine, I confess: I never came looking because I’d utterly forgotten you existed until this year, when the old business resurfaced.”

One might call it a classic case of the snipe and clam battling while the fisherman profited. Nyarlathotep grasped the irony all too well, which only fueled His ire.

He was never one for self-restraint. In a flash, He seized Ode by the throat, wrenching his head back to claim a savage kiss. The proximity crushed Ode’s left leg tighter against his chest. “Zane, come examine our dear sister-in-law for any other ill-timed spy trinkets.”

“Za… mmph!” Ode twisted to glimpse the silhouette emerging from the mausoleum shadows, only for a hand to clamp his chin and force him back into the devouring kiss. “Jack—”

“’s brother?” Nyarlathotep eased up just enough to nip delicately at Ode’s ear wing. “That’s right. Little Jack’s big brother. Surprised to see Zane here, aren’t you? I’ve devoted no small amount of time to those two brothers.”

Nyarlathotep clamped a hand around Ode’s waist, scooping him into an embrace before settling onto the throne—positioning him for an easy search. “I sowed the seeds with diligence. I deserve My harvest. And now is the hour to savor the fruits of My labor. I could command Zane to do anything for Me. Shall we say…”

Nyarlathotep glanced at the silent, upright Zane. “I order him to demolish the London outpost. How’s that?”

“Perhaps no one ever noticed—not even Zane himself—how his little brother chased stardom from childhood onward while an extraordinary talent for black magic slumbered unrecognized within him. Maybe it’s time everyone got the shock of their lives…”

“Or…” Nyarlathotep tilted His head back slightly, eyeing the red-haired youth whose limbs strained futilely against the golden chains binding them. “I could have him strip down and join the festivities. Such a pity my beloved brother can’t witness it, lest our revelry come crashing to a halt. It took considerable ingenuity to carve out this little blind spot…”

“Does this amuse you?” Far from tensing, Ode relaxed into it. Faust’s promised three to five minutes had long elapsed, likely stalled by that so-called “blind spot.” He was on his own now. “Allow me to speculate based on your warped proclivities: pulling this off right under an omniscient god’s watch gets your blood pumping?”

“You do know Me so well, sister-in-law.” Nyarlathotep murmured into Ode’s ear, lifting a hand to stroke his forehead. “Fortunately, I know you just as intimately.”

“You see, we’ve crossed paths so many times now. I know exactly the kind of person you are. No matter what happens next, one thing’s for certain—you’ll resist me, one way or another.”

In His arms, the green eyes of the red-haired youth gradually lost focus the moment His palm pressed against his forehead, dissolving into a vacant, fragile, yet strikingly beautiful green lake.

Nyarlathotep kissed Ode’s temple. “What’s the way to make a warrior lay down his arms? Persuasion? Threats? No, not at all.”

“It’s forgetting.”

“Conveniently enough, scrambling memories falls squarely within my powers.”

From the shadows, Zane watched the red-haired youth grow increasingly docile without a word, his body twitching faintly before he fell silent once more.

Nyarlathotep carefully combed the stray hairs from the side of Ode’s face, not even bothering to look up as he said, “Go blow up the London outpost. Or just kill a few unlucky saps. Do something worthwhile, and stop standing around in my way.”

“…” Zane cast one final, deep glance at the red-haired youth nestled in Nyarlathotep’s arms, now sunk into a deep sleep. The young man’s snow-white face was half-buried in the Black Pharaoh’s broad sleeve—a decadent, gorgeous tableau woven from pure white, vivid red, and inky black. It called to mind nothing wholesome, only death and desire.

The final spark of hope in Zane’s eyes fizzled out with a faint hiss. He turned and melted into the darkness, materializing above the Sahara outpost.

London time read nine in the morning. Antarctica remained shrouded in endless polar night, while the Sahara Desert roiled with heat waves under the relentless sun.

He stared down at the outpost below, tiny as a chessboard, wondering if Jack was inside. He probably was.

Zane had checked—Jack spent this hour every day rolling around in the outpost’s training grounds.

He should have been down there at Jack’s side.

At the very least, he should have been back in London, punching the clock at some dead-end job or gig, waiting for Jack to get out of class. Then they’d head back to the Phantasmal Dream Realm together—home. Jack would trudge upstairs to wash off his sweat, while Zane and their mother prepared dinner in the kitchen…

That’s how it should have been. After everything they’d endured, it was the life they deserved.

But now, all he could do was hover here, his only hope that the people in the outpost would seize this rare chance, strike fast, and free him from this endless despair…

“Bzzz…”

A low, muffled hum filled the air as it warped and twisted, streaked with black distortions.

Zane plunged straight toward the outpost’s forward sentry post, praying the fight would end before Jack could arrive. He had no idea if he’d get another shot at exploiting a loophole like this.

“Beep—” A shrill alarm klaxon sliced through the desert’s rolling heat.

Zane raised his hands, wrapped in bandages—

“What the hell are you doing?!” A sharp bark cut into his ears. In the next instant, a wave of cool air washed over him; the Sahara’s scorching blaze gave way to the gentle chill of air conditioning.

His back slammed hard against the wall. A tall figure dressed in skimpy, host-club-style attire loomed in front of him, pinning his hands down. “If you’re gonna off yourself, this ain’t how you do it. What did Nyar tell you to get you so dead-set on doing His dirty work? Let me guess… something that’d drag you away from your little brother’s ghost without a backward glance. He promised to bring Jack back to life?”

“…Ah.” The denial stuck in Zane’s throat. “And who the hell are you? You can’t help me—”

“Why the hell not? Wasn’t I the one who saved Jack’s life?” Ode—wearing the Sleep God’s shell—narrowed his eyes. “I’d bet my last dime Nyar never breathed a word of this to you. Your brother? That wasn’t Him pulling the strings. It was me. Think back to your little road trip with Him—weren’t there times you went against His wishes, convinced you or your brother were done for, only for Him to let it slide?”

Zane’s mind was already muddled from his single-minded death wish; this only made it worse. “Wasn’t that just His personality? He gets off on fear, saves the real leverage for when it counts—”

“Nah, that’s because He didn’t have shit to hold over you! Christ,” Ode let go of Zane’s arms. “Quit spiraling. Your brother’s not gonna drop dead the second you defy orders. Park your ass here and wait to reunite with him. —That said, I gotta warn you up front: your rap sheet doesn’t just vanish. I trust Faust will cook up something fitting by way of punishment… With only thirteen days left, you’re worth way more out here than rotting in a cell.”

“…??” Zane struggled to keep up with Ode’s rapid-fire logic. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Ode? We just crossed paths in that tomb?” Ode rapped the comm button on the desk.

“…But I thought you were…” Zane glanced instinctively toward the way he’d come. “Your memories got wiped clean, didn’t they?”

Ode shrugged. “Felt Him messing with my head, so I slipped into this shell. Gotta head back soon, though—my power’s all tied up in that other body. Can’t hit the Gully without it.”

Zane blurted it out almost on reflex. “What Gully? I can—”

“No.” Ode’s ears caught the hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor—Jack, rushing in after the alert. “You stay put. Meet up with Jack, maybe go see your mom with him. The Gully’s my history, my fight. Nobody can do it for me. Got it?”

“Bam!”

The conference room door flew open as Jack barreled in like a human cannonball, the skinny kid slamming into Zane’s chest and clamping down in a desperate bear hug on his long-lost brother.

Ode turned to the two guards peeking through the doorway, rubbernecking the family drama. “Where’s Faust? Figured he’d be here the second I got back. Where’d he run off to?”

The one with the gun hesitated. “The chief said he needed some rare ritual ingredient, but Chief Eva swiped it. He’s off trying to get it back from her…?”