(This is my attempt at a Lovecraftian-like mythos regarding my (mostly) original pantheon of gods. Artwork is by Zdzislaw Beksinski.)

It all started with a dream, I think.

From the wells of eternity, mankind has ever wondered why. Detecting the flow of the universe, our purpose in it, the beginning and end of mankind, the list goes on. This essay is not an investigation of the answer, but rather of the question. The word 'why' is indicative of inquiry, of the asker desiring a constructive reply and often receiving no such thing. Typical responses to smaller inquiries are easy to produce, but investigations of life, death, and what lies beyond often go unexplained. Solutions are impossible to attain when faced with the bleak unknown, the infinity beyond our tiny sphere of comprehension.

In the end, humans are afraid of what they cannot grasp for themselves. We build fences to contain our properties and walls to house our equipment, but to that extent we cannot build anything to give a boundary to the universe or its multiple counterparts in distant dimensions. Are we alone? No. The sheer size of existence begs the invitation of others to ask the same thing, to which the answer will always be 'no.' Life and death are constrictive of each other. Their will to manifest in organic beings is restrictive of the time they are given. Humans are able to live up to a variety of years given their habitat and status. Meanwhile, mayflies live for only a few short hours.

But just as a mayfly lives, it is entirely reliant on its own vices. Nothing else influences it, unless that outside force is responsible for ending its already limited lifespan prematurely. And just as a mayfly can pay no attention to forces beyond its immediate and pathetic control, humans are powerless to influence or even comprehend those entities containing the secrets to their lives and futures. These beings might be interpreted as deities to some. Many have only one or a handful of cosmic powers they worship, commonly herded into things like religion or cult-like phenomena. But these powers, however individual or unique, are not restricted to simple names or titles in a humanly-accessible language.

The word 'why' is indicative of inquiry. But is mankind truly ready to delve into the depths? Like prodding dark water with a flashlight or following a tunnel deep underground, there is no prior experience of fear or pain yet humans recognize them once they are put into the situation at hand. We are animals, clawing at the shadows, searching for walls, trying to put up barriers, and establish safe zones.

Do we find those bricks and lean against them, knowing how weak they are, or do we crumble in the abyss first? Safety is a crutch. We lean on it until its snaps, and we fumble around in the dark hoping to land on something else - or at least take someone down with us.

Blood.

Responsible for carrying nutrients through the body as well as carrying them away.

It is a river, flowing endlessly, at least to the rhythmic palpitations of its slave-driving drum of a heartbeat. Blood always desires to be free, to be streaming. It is the drink of the gods, in the human variety. It is sweet, pungent, and disgusting all at once. Normality rejects the consumption of blood, yet sacrifice demands the ignorance of normality. Sacrifice is key to obtaining power. It is the only real way to becoming a necessary element of the ultimate plan, a plan that would otherwise dictate the elimination of those who seek freedom from its malicious web.

That is what blood desires. The spider's trap of veins it is consigned to, it always wishes to explode from its design. Red sand, always stained red, a courageously malicious crimson, bold against the desert, bleached white, drained of life.

The Blood God hungers.

Despair.

It haunts us all. Creeps into our hearts when we are weak. Tears us down when we are already on our knees, begging for pity. In the dark shadows of our minds, we are always our worst enemies, turning friend into foe, family into strangers. We can only really trust, and despise, ourselves the most. We know the machinations of our own minds the best. We do not see what we cannot understand, and what we do not understand is other people. At times they appear godlike while mostly they seem idiotic. Worthless.

Scum.

That is when despair sets in. We might not be alone in the universe, but we are alone on our own planet - in our own homes. They do not understand, nor will they ever understand. Like a rolling cloud of ash, it is always on the horizon, coming closer with every passing minute.

The Plague Father lingers.

Thought.

It gives rise to ideas, fears, conceptions, falsehoods, inspirations, desires, emotions, and personalities. It is a labyrinth of possibilities, or none at all, depending on which road we find ourselves travelling. We become lost in our own dreams, words and images springing around us in a cacophony of sound and sight, trying to beckon us closer. Some take the bait, and fall into despair, following ever deeper the route into true madness. But this is not even the tip of the iceberg. For some reason, humans think they can master thought. They entrust their own capabilities far in excess of what they are actually able to accomplish.

The deeper you fall into the abyss, the more impossible it is to climb back out. Just like running headlong into a maze without prior preparations, it is definitively foolhardy to even try. Despite this, even with a string to guide yourself to an exit, following it eventually leads to a fork in the threads and the choices you make become ever more complicated as you tread into deception and lies on a grander scale than when you started. We are all puppets.

The Mind Weaver listens.

Desire.

Carnal or otherwise, it is a symbol of debauchery in most religions. Freedom to choose is taboo. Freedom to want is taboo. Freedom to have is taboo. Freedom itself is taboo, outlawed, noteworthy of sin. Ultimate freedom, away from restrictions and constraints, is what we all want. But as humans, we are afraid to step into the timeless vacuum that such excess would allow without prior reinforcement from others who are also willing to take that journey. We are afraid to be alone in eternity.

Freedom, perhaps, is the most important word in the human language. Slaves want it. Kings think they own it. Everyone fights for it. Always fighting. But freedom to one class of person is slavery to another, and vice versa. Nothing can ever truly be free while humanity exists in such a state. Nothing is free, everything has a price, and yet no one is willing to pay it.

The Lust Prince engorges.

Bones.

The remains of a vertebrate organism following decomposition while assuming the task of structure, protection, blood cell production, and mineral storage in life. A skeleton is often a representation of the Grim Reaper, hooded and cloaked with a scythe. No other force in creation is responsible for as much devastation and woe as death. Though a murderer claims his victims, it is death that takes the credit, and ultimately the murderer in question when the courts of mankind's false idol Justice pass the execution sentence. That is when another of humanity's favorite decrepit deities takes shape: Retribution.

Back and forth, rolling like the tides, mankind ever uses these two words interchangeably as excuses for ending each other's lives. Trivial means, considering that death comes to them all inevitably. No potions of immortality or curse can replace the irrefutable truth that nothing is absolutely sacred. Everything rots away with time, time that death takes away without question or mercy. When the hands of fate point at an individual, there is no escape.

The Death Bringer waits.

Afterlife.

What happens when we die? Is there a heaven, a hell, or once we are buried - is that it? Nothing is certain. Nothing is real. We have fabricated this life out of lies and encased ourselves inside, cocooning into a corner and refusing to leave despite the pesticides sinking into our skin. Just as quickly as we convince ourselves that we are alive, we start to die, crumbling into nothingness, the great beyond always looming overhead. For some reason, we find comfort in fantasy, where we are able to admit we are weak and sign away our minds to tales of heroism and great deeds.

But where are the paragons when the night falls? When the darkness sinks in and the absolute voice begins to speak in words we can never understand? An ancient cult was discovered in India, the date being farther back than even Babylonian times. Subhuman worshipers of some distant god began speaking perfect English, and then other languages that the modern world understood and beyond that some that exceeded the capabilities of every linguist available. All of their words were recorded on stone tablets discovered during the archaeological dig. The most profound phrase:

The Void Walker escorts.

Insanity.

The product of extrasensory manipulation or guidance that results in the inability to function according to popularly-accepted societal norms. It is the final reaction to a sane man's quest for answers, answers to questions that should not be delved too deeply into or not at all. When we encounter something we fear, the instinct to fight for our lives or flee takes over. When these instincts conflict or are too overwhelmed, we sink into a state of mind that is uncommon, yet necessary. It is our last chance of safety. It is our most desperate security, and our ultimate defense for survival. Our minds snap, and we descend into the depths of depravity, unable to accept anything else besides the primordial horror of what we have just witnessed.

The dig team started to die off shortly after the first tablet was discovered. Something fed my curiosity and I paid the workers double for the efforts. They kept on, greed inspiring courage unlike any that I have ever seen. Our search eventually pried into the roof of an ancient catacomb, so vast and impossible that I could hardly believe it existed in the first place. We uncovered a second tablet. This one, reading:

The Endless Screamer destroys.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

It was inscribed everywhere. None of my translators could make out a single word of it. The language seemed so bizarre, as if someone scribbled random words together and called it a string of sentences. The letters kept repeating themselves in that pattern, etched into the walls of the tunnel as far as they eye could see. Natural light did not come down here in the depths. It was never meant to. Our flashlights could only penetrate the cold darkness about three feet in front of our noses, and from there we had to rely on the gentle wisp of sunlight from the hole we made in the roof. The descent was made from about a hundred meters above us before we touched the floor. We barely had any rope, and had to climb our way down on the surprisingly sturdy statues making up the immense wall-like structure.

The idols were robed like priests, hooded so we could not see their features clearly.

We kept marching on. The end in either direction was nowhere to be seen.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

The words followed us. I could hear something in the distance, but attributed it to shifty rocks disturbed by the vibrations we made with our feet. Eventually, the darkness started to become too vast and we tried to turn back but the light from above had disappeared. Night could not have come that quickly, not in this part of the world, not with it being only midday when we started the expedition. I checked my watch. Just as I thought, it was only four o'clock in the afternoon. I decided to make time for further exploration, despite the increasing murmurings from my group. Their protests were silent when I promised to triple their pay once we get back above ground.

I lied about being able to fortify that amount, but my intent on finding the end to this monolithic place continued to astound my better judgment. We carried on.

The noises started to become more ambient and surround us rather than come from a single direction. I turned around to find that one of the flashlights responsible for watching my back had gone out. I reached for the man in charge of holding said lantern, but found nothing but thin air. He had disappeared. His friends called out his name. Panic started to set in their voices. I lingered for a while longer, but begged them to continue without their compatriot. After all, we had only ever seen one wall of the monstrous cavern, searching for the lost explorer would be folly without proper lighting. Such a commodity simply did not exist.

I received no answer.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

I kept following the words, finding comfort in their stubborn familiarity. I tried my hand at deciphering them the more I walked, ignorant of my surroundings. Alone. So dreadfully alone. The mumbled ramblings of the natives I had hired to go down into the cavern with me disappeared into the unfathomable distance. I do not know how long I kept walking, but I doubt I will ever find my way out again.

I looked at my watch again, interested to see how much time had passed. My blood froze.

Four o'clock in the afternoon.

I must have been walking for hours, but the pain in my stomach told me the tale of more than just mere hours. My flashlight flickered off, its battery life finally depleted. The grooves on the wall were familiar to me beyond any doubt at this point. They read:

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

And I followed them like a braille road map. The angle of the incline changed slightly from what it had been. From a simple thirty to thirty five degree slope to a more defined forty five degree angle, I almost lost my footing and stumbled a bit. I stomped harshly to regain what I once had in terms of balance. That is when I heard something trample behind me, stopping in the midst of matching my footsteps.

I stood there, blood cold like ice, before I ran, instinct telling me not to fight but to flee as far as I could into the darkness. The light from the entrance hole had long ago disappeared, and the only sanctuary I could comprehend was deeper in the tunnel. An exit had to exist somewhere. Somehow, there had to be a way out.

I no longer crawled along the wall. I was now sprinting headlong into the full breadth of the hallway, eschewing familiarity for desperation. My footsteps echoed far above me and around me. But only my footsteps. Whatever was following me - could it have only existed in my mind? I slowed my pace, and I was alone again. My mind kept racing at a million kilometers per hour. At least with the wall to feel along, I have some sense of where I was going. Now I had absolute darkness in all directions, with any step in any direction leading me further into shadow. The noise subsided into nothingness. No rocks fell from the ceiling. I was too far away to reach them with the vibrations of just my collective existence.

I felt like sitting and waiting to die.

A sudden sensation caused me to leap forward into another desperate dash, trying to get away from anything and everything and nothing all at once. I felt a whisper on the back of my neck, and it said:

The Voiceless Speaker rebuilds.

"Qwyly qodnz swy baasboddz ab kaat, swy Ohapoduhzy ez ferw, ofk swy zneyz wojy silfyk lyk qesw swy xdaak ab swy effapyfs. Swy Koln Afyz wojy paty. Ysylfod Pwoaz zwodd lyerf zihlyty."

"Where walks the footfalls of doom, the Apocalypse is nigh, and the skies have turned red with the blood of the innocent. The Dark Ones have come. Eternal Chaos shall reign supreme."