We would offer up virgins for sacrifice, but there are simply too many of us to single one out, Jam.
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?Agh shit!
That theme!
I am a fucking superhero, I deserve better than this.
Who the fuck expects a three minute delivery time? How the fuck does my boss get away with firing me when for all he knows I'm a normal human being navigating the densest traffic in America?
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?NO FUCK YOUR BALLOON GIVE ME DOC OCK ALREADY!
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?who wants to hear about a dream I had
too bad you're all hearing it anyway
behold the Dream of the Red Eye
note that when I say "Egyptian evil eye" it was definitely not the Eye of Horus, which is a symbol for good (it missed the little tail beneath the eye for one)
I was in something like a church, with hidden passageways and long doors. A church of stained glass, red carpets, and not enough light. A church with strange icons I cannot recall even now, with no clergy but an order of priests who worshipped at strange altars and did not shew their faces. There was a man who said he had weighed the universe and found its mass. Or at the very least, the mass of the Great Attractor at its centre. He was approached by a man from this building, who asked him to record the weight of something on the edge of the observable universe. Perhaps it was the edge of the observable universe itself. “How shall I get there?” asked the man, and so they lent him a fast ship, its shape in some way reminiscent of a Viking longboat with a bird on the prow. It could cross such distances 512 times in a year, such was its speed. But time, in that sense, seemed somehow irrelevant to that man. I felt he could have taken millennia and he would not fear death. Yet he still needed to bring his information back to others.
He journeyed to the edge of the universe, and gazed past its end. He saw, in horror, what seemed a giant eye, drawn too much like the evil eye of the Egyptians. It was all red, a red that defied existence in the void, reminiscent of the crimson of blood. Its lines and edges were thick, and it hung there unmoving. Its size must have beggared description, if size it had at all, for it hang in the endless void like some nebula. Yet it seemed only two-dimensional, as if drawn without depth.
The man, though unnerved, turned his instrument toward the eye, for that is how his strange machine worked. Through sight alone, the handheld device, like a strangely angled brick or speedometer, would measure the weight. An error of a poor fool. For though the eye was not seen to move as he gazed upon it, it awoke to his actions. Its outlines became black, somehow visible against the void, and its shape became as some great semicircle, the horrible echo of an eye in an unnatural shape no eye would be seen in. It seemed too tall, too archlike, and its rounded edge was not smooth. In its centre was an iris all white, so that it merely seemed another outline, and what could be vessels of blood spidered away from it. They eye was bloodshot, all blacks and whites but for the red of those spidery lines. It starkly stood against the void, and with a horrible movement that was fast and yet somehow not darting, it turned its gaze on the man and his machine.
There was no escape. How could there be? The Eye Awoken gazed upon the man, and the man gazed back. An echo of the eye flooded into the man, and he grew hunched as if under some great weight. There was no resistance, only the blind destruction of sanity and consciousness as he gazed into that lidless eye, eternity passing in but a few moments. Like so many mirrors, each reflecting a different scene, the mind shattered.
The man returned. Whether he used his ship or not I could not say, but I did not see it when I saw him, and surely he did not need it now. He came back to the narrow passageways of the church, laughing and killing with glee. For in the centre of his forehead there was the design of a red eye in a mound of flesh, perfectly circular, with raised vessels of blood that spidered away from it in symmetry.
No weapon was in his hands. I do not know how he killed. He was unstoppable.
A faceless priest in a long robe that hung in many folds from his body told me that the Red Eye had been the Crawling Chaos, and it was this that drave the man mad. That revealed to him truth. I said that this could not be, for the man himself was Nyarlathotep, was he not? Perhaps they had been two faces of he with a thousand forms, the Eye something greater, more primal, more true, that awoke and imprinted itself upon this smaller facet, reawakening it in its turn. No more subtle plans against man, merely the primal Chaos itself. Perhaps Nyarlathotep was not awoken in the mask of the man, but lay dormant. Perhaps the man had on some level intended this, desiring to be awake once more.
Perhaps this was yet another effect of the Red Eye. My confusion could be explained thus. Of course the man himself was Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos. How could he not be? He had seen the Red Eye.
My drawings are but pale echoes. None can do justice to the Eye itself, or any of its forms.
The Red Eye, in incidence, outmassed the universe.
The second line of my dream was as follows.
There was a Superman in my dream. I do not recall if he was in the church with me, but he was true, and he did good in the world. I was called to a back passage, where a strange form, perhaps connected to the eye, found me, as he was Doomsday. I was saved by the Superman, but not before I was pierced in the leg by a bone-claw extending from two knuckles, with other wounds beside. Even in the dream, this seemed like a memory, a tale told for others of events that had already happened.
For some time later, I found myself removing a bandage over the wound. I remember the bandage clearly. It was white, and somehow stretched in its dimensions. It was far thinner than a normal bandage, but far longer too, covering a hole the size of my finger. For a hole there was, and it terrified me.
It ached with a hollow pain, if pain is the right word to use. There was no blood, and it seemed to run deeper than my leg should allow. I was horribly tempted to place my finger inside the hole, to see what it was, but I was too afraid to follow through. Before the bandage was removed I hardly knew of it, but afterward I was keenly aware. It seemed to shift position when I was not looking at it, relocating to different places on my leg, but I was never sure that I had not imagined its previous position. I remember its look even now, seeming a horrible hole of yellow flesh, seeming lined with skin rather than muscle, yet falling out of view before one could be sure. Never collapsing inward, always remaining the same size. A small protrusion of skin could be seen inwardly before it fell away to infinity, somehow making me unsure if I truly gazed into its depths or looked away from fear, even as I stared at it for long times. I believe I showed someone, perhaps Superman, although he seemed different somehow, like a civilian. He seemed concerned, but my dream shifted before he could do anything but that. Perhaps he could not do anything to it at all. For I am sure of it, despite the wound being delivered by Doomsday, it was the doing of the Red Eye.
I awoke in my dream, relieved that it was all a dream, that I had escaped. I looked at the time with dismay, for I would soon have to travel, and I did not relish getting ready when so tired. It was 7:15 AM, and yet when I checked the time a moment later, it was 7:50, and I was deciding that it would be much easier to simply catch the next train, as after all, I had that freedom, and I had no rush, no deadline for which I would have to catch the 8:20. That my alarm had failed to go off was regretful, but not terrible. Still, something seemed wrong.
I awoke again to the sound of my alarm. It was 7:10, the time which I had indeed set it at. I grew to realise that this first awakening had not been an awakening at all, that I had dreamed it. There was no Red Eye, no yellow wound. I simply had to get ready for the morning commute.
The Red Eye has won. The time is now constant, yet surely the first time I awoke it seemed more real than the dream that had come before. Surely even then I was relieved that my wound did not exist, that it was all a product of the mind. For all I know, this could be an illusion all the more carefully devised, so that when I see the surface of the water as a drowning man, and reach toward it in joy, I may be pulled down to the depths once more. I may be awake, I may have escaped the Red Eye and my horrible wound, but how do I know I am not dreaming still?
edited 11th Aug '15 5:29:01 PM by ThanatoSeraph
Shocker was from the first game as well.
Mysterio was cash as shit though.
I will never forget the final battle. Best boss fight ever.
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?Because they needed a villain to fight with and didn't have time for a long intro or anything, so they just go "Shocker's up to his old tricks again, better go pound him, it's been a while since a boss fight and you get to team up with Black Cat."
Also, that is one elaborate dream.
What if there’s no better word than just not saying anything?@Lemonormhildaisy: I actually get elaborate dreams like this semi-frequently, and I love it when I do.
Although they do tend to come grouped, like how just the other week I had one that started really strong after not having any for a while.
@Space: i no when stuff like this happens I'm always sort of proud of my subconscious
I had another cool dream recently that I think you'd be interested in as it had servant-esque figures in it
and also holy shit it had the red eye
edited 11th Aug '15 5:22:11 PM by ThanatoSeraph

you're no king of mine
dead devotion