Hastum
patreon
75. Prayer
🕑 Added 2025-08-31 10:54:23 +0000 UTCMy new routine was going well. After a few hours of practice every day, I could feel muscle fatigue in my face. I would then drive to the storage room and start learning third-circle spells.
With the third circle and mana strengthening my body, I could finally learn some spatial magic, as most of those spells required dense mana and flesh that could withstand bends in space.
So my list of spells to learn for now was: Bone Arrow, Force Explosion, Spatial Mirror, Curse of Weakness Within, Death Surge, and Blink.
But there was one more spell that needed work, and that was Death’s Grasp. It was really effective against standard, fast-moving targets, but it consumed a significant amount of magic and didn’t last as long as I would have liked.
The problem was with the nature concepts in the magic. The way the spell knew how to grasp the target was described as the feeling of roots grasping onto soil to steady a dying tree. Thanks to the dying part, I was at least able to cast it, but I needed to rework the tree part and use some other concept.
That was a lot of delicate work considering how vital the grasp was in a Death’s Grasp spell.
The amount of work to be done was staggering. Thankfully, I should have some more free time soon for my research, as Ophelia’s martial arts lessons had been accelerated, and today, her teacher was scheduled to arrive.
Ophelia herself was also eager to get started after a week of reading, reading, and more reading. I felt slightly guilty, as I was spending most of my time on research and getting my new body under control, so all I did for my apprentice was leave her a stack of books to go through while I was busy.
She also finished with the cube and had fun trying to feel everything around her, as a practically new sense had been unlocked for her. Like a child with a new toy, she walked around making people uncomfortable as she felt them up. She got really pissed at me after a few days when I finally called her to tell her that others could sense that if she didn’t know how to conceal it.
Teaching was fun.
She only finally calmed down when I told her we would be meeting her new teacher today in a club for mages, no less.
So while tonight Ophelia was going through books, I was sitting by myself in the storage, preparing mentally for the ritual. And the reason was that today I wanted to learn the concept for Death’s Grasp to begin adjusting it for myself.
I had practiced this for the past week, and today would be the day to test my new relationship with the abyss to the fullest.
I double-checked if I had locked the doors to the storage and then made my way to a massive wooden crate in the corner of the room. It was where I kept the altar to my god.
Daily, I carried the idol, a small statue depicting a hollow mouth wreathed in tentacles that seemed to squirm and move on their own.
But this was a proper large altar.
It depicted… something.
It was not easy to describe. It was an eight-sided, cube-like object with runes, eyes, mouths, and tentacles etched into its surface. The cube levitated a few inches off the ground without the help of any magic.
It just did.
Even for me, looking at it was not a pleasant experience. It felt like the directions of space were getting all mixed up. And the longer I looked, the feeling of leaving my body and getting closer and closer to the altar grew.
I opened the chest and then lowered my head not to gaze at it.
I heard some movement behind me.
I turned around, just to see that the two gargoyles had changed positions to face the furthest wall from the altar.
Couldn’t really blame them.
I sat down in front of the thing and took out the small bone containing a piece of the reaper demon’s soul from Brazil.
I took a meditative position and closed my eyes.
Now for the exciting part.
I extended myself to where the altar was. I could feel its presence. It was as if I were a freezing man standing in front of a burning inferno. I sat before the endless sea of forbidden knowledge and tried to ignore its call.
I started reciting the mantra to occupy my mind with something other than the overwhelming sensation of bliss. My new Faith wasn’t helping, as I could now actually understand the sticky whispers all around me. It was as if distant voices carried by the wind right into my ears.
Oh, such beautiful things they spoke.
I pinched myself and focused on the mantra.
This was not something I could speed through.
I needed to be able to withstand the presence of the altar.
So I sat there, rooting myself, body to the ground, and my soul to the body, making sure they stayed here.
I’m not sure how much time had passed when I could finally think of something other than the mantra I shouted over the siren song of the Abyss. However, I eventually grew accustomed to the presence. Once I could think again, it was time to call upon the god.
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn,” I chanted to greet the blind god.
Silence.
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn,”
I chanted once again.
Nothing.
This was the very phrase I trained for so long to be able to speak with both tongues. I was sure I said it well, even better than I had ever spoken it.
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn.”
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn.”
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn.”
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn.”
I chanted, slowly falling into a strange, ritualistic rhythm that came naturally.
And then I heard it.
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn,” another, older, ancient voice joined me.
At barely a whisper. But I heard it right behind me. As if someone softly sang it behind my ear, I could sense the lips move as someone’s breath touched my neck.
I knew better than to turn around and look.
“Iä Iä Azathoth fhtagn.”
I chanted now with the second voice, until a third and fourth joined us, each initially barely at a whisper, each now singing it as loudly as I was. It was by the tenth voice that the music joined the chant.
A haunting music. It did not vibrate air, but soul instead. Amorphous sound frozen in a cycle of destruction and birth. It was too loud to ignore and died too soon to be heard. A bountiful cacophony of horrible notes, following the rhythm. The one rhythm, the only rhythm. There was no other rhythm in existence to follow.
I’m not sure how long we chanted. I was keeping my senses on the down low to make sure I didn’t accidentally perceive something else in the room with me.
We would sing together until the time was right, until the stars aligned. But that was not now. Those strange aeons did not yet come.
I felt the music reach its crescendo as I fought against myself to break it. It was so beautiful, if I could listen to it a bit longer—
I shook myself out of that thought.
I was here for knowledge.
I loved knowledge.
Especially the forbidden kind.
My greed accelerated the decision-making process, allowing me to focus on my offering while the other voices sang.
There was no special trick or ceremony.
“Zha’thurr nagl’vorth Azathoth Nygh’ghua r’lyek shugg’nor fhtagn,” I recited using both tongues as much as I could.
I then extended my hand with the bone.
The song continued, but over it, I could hear something approaching me. I could then feel someone pick it up. Fingers touched my palm and slowly closed on the offering. There were five of them, and they felt vaguely human.
I could feel the pressure linger on my palm as if the thing standing before me was waiting for me to open my eyes.
I wasn't that stupid.
I could hear the faint beating of drums, and a strange odour in the air. Finally, the pressure lifted, the movement accompanied by the soft clicking of jewelry.
The offering was taken. Small and humble, but what I wanted was small and humble in return.
I knew what concept I needed to replace the roots. I wanted the sensations of grasping hands during necromantic resurrection. I wanted to know how it felt for the undead to claw at the earth and anything in their way to pull themselves up from their graves.
Forbidden knowledge. Knowledge that humans should not use. It should work well.
I waited for some time.
And then it all went still. The chant was cut as if by a blade, filling the room with perfect, unnerving silence. All the presence in the room also dissipated.
Then I felt energy come from the statue and into me. It made its way toward my mind as I left myself open.
The moment it made contact with me, I blacked out.
It was like a vision or a dream. I clawed with my bony fingers into the roof of a coffin. I tried grasping for an instinctive breath that did not come. I kept clawing until I broke through the wood. Earth piled onto my face, choking me.
But there was no air I needed in the first place.
I kept clawing.
I felt the earth between my fingers and the call to serve. Until finally the dirt became lighter and my hand broke through to the outside.
I grasped something. It was a leg. I pulled it down to drag myself up. It looked to be a man. His face was terrified, and he tried to fight me off. But I just grasped at him, pulling down, dragging the man to myself to get out, to serve, to feed.
This maniacal dance took different forms and occurred in various locations, through many visions. But each time it was the sensations of pulling something down, of grasping onto it in desperation, that were the clearest to me.
They were foreign, not only due to being based in fear but most of all due to coming from the undead. It was a different kind of desperation.
I needed to understand it.
I woke up on the floor of the storage with a splitting headache and a wide grin on my face.
I managed to pull it off. I quickly went over the visions, wincing from pain, but it seemed I remembered it all, all the sensations, all the movements and motivations behind them.
Usually, I could just tell the spell to hold onto the target, sure, but there was a reason why the original used the concept of roots clinging to the earth. Concepts were complex to unravel and altered the movements, lending meaning to them.
I picked necromantic resurrection because it was death magic, and the source of movement fit the spell, with the grasping motion being made from the ground up. The need to serve at all costs should add desperation, which should translate to the strength and speed of the hands making up the spell.
It went well.
I looked at the gargoyles in the corner. They were shaking.
I sighed, slowly got up, and approached them as if they were scared dogs, and started patting the creatures.
“Sorry. I didn’t think that would scare you that much.”
That wasn’t a lie. Turning around was nothing new, but shaking had never happened before. The ritual was stronger this time.
Should have seen that coming. Dumb mistake on my part.
I berated myself as I was patting the gargoyles until they calmed down and went back to being stone.
I checked the clock and swore. I would be late, but oh well, seeing a god is a good excuse after all.
I shrugged and hurried on my way to the Red Head to meet my good friend and Ophelia’s new teacher.
