The Dark Rites of Cthulhu

The Dark Rites of Cthulhu by Brian Sammons Page A

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Authors: Brian Sammons
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crept into a trap as she tried to sneak across the great, creaking bridge. Men and sea-devils with guns emerged from wrecked cars and chased her down. She cut three of them before being overwhelmed. They tied her tightly with straps onto a metal frame, and carried her, like a slab of meat, into the Dominion.  
    The Lord of the island kept his court in the tremendous Central Park, his throne at the bottom of a large depression with seats, his castle a little ways off to one side. The crumbling towers of Manhattan stood silent and stern above it all. 
    The theater was full of filthy men, who pounded hands on their thighs as she was carried down the steep incline. They grunted an unintelligible monosyllable in time with their fists.  When she reached the nadir she was pitched upright, face to face with the grossly fat Lord of Manhattan. Wedged into a leather, bucket-seat throne, at least three times as wide as she, blubbery fat as if he wanted to grow huge like a Master. His face was heavy and drooped like diseased fungus off a tree trunk. Four inhumanly tall fish-men flanked him, guns in their frying pan-sized claws. In front of the massive sea-devils were a pair of young, naked woman, absent-mindedly running their hands through the Lord’s hair and touching his greasy skin. Their eyes were deader than those of the fish-men. 
    “A wild girl, I see.” The Lord’s deep, forced rasp sent unpleasant chills up her spine.  “Let her go.”  
    The straps were undone in a moment, and Laura was unsteadily on her feet. Above her the still sky was white with overhanging clouds. She stared into the Lord of Manhattan’s pale-blue eyes, and said, very slowly, “There will be a time when you and your Masters will die.”
    He laughed, a heartless, fleshy earthquake that left him coughing and wheezing. 
    “You’re one of Dornier’s little followers, aren’t you?” He moved his face close to hers.  Laura turned away from his reeking breath, but someone grabbed a fistful of hair and forced her head back to him. 
    “Let me guess, he told you that you are the chosen one.”  
    “The what?” She tried to bluff, but her heart quailed. His laugh was cruel.
    “Release her.” And she could move her head again. “Dornier is just like us, the only difference is that he was stupid and backed the wrong horse. We came to power, and now he’s just a beggar, seeking after the scraps left by our lord. He finds gullible children and tells them they’re the chosen one, like a fable off TV. He teaches them a useless spell so they think they’re something special, then runs off to find another one. We’ve killed six of his chosen ones this year. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but he can’t stand against the might of Great Cthulhu.” 
    The crowd shuddered at that awful name. 
    “You see that?” He regarded the cringing throng with open contempt. “That’s power.  Fear is power. You want to get anywhere, people have to fear you. I’ve got the power of life and death over everyone here, and your Dornier lives like some sort of shit-eating scavenger. Nobody tells me what to do.” He glared at the mob. 
    “You!” The man he pointed to was pale and wasted-looking, with few teeth left in his head. The crowd backed away, as he fell to his knees, too paralyzed to beg for mercy. 
    “Tear him apart and feed him to the crowd.”
    Two of the sea-devils were on the man instantly, his inarticulate screams replaced with wet tearing and the spatter of liquid on concrete. Laura didn’t even bother turning away. After they’d ripped the terrified man into raw chunks, they jammed handfuls of human meat and offal into the terrified faces of the crowd. They ate, the blood coursing down their chins. They hated it, and glared in the direction of their Lord, but they ate. 
    “That’s power, little girl. They hate me. They’d kill me if they could. But I’ve got power, and your precious Dornier doesn’t. All he can do is

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