The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  He gulped down the medicine with a glass of water, “What about the Hounds and our special project?”

  Amy Howard strolled into the room wearing her usual black turtleneck, “Father and I have been overseeing that. The Hounds are secure in the estate’s wine cellars. As for the new re-animations, they were finished an hour before Shoshannah’s fiery escape. We’ve stored them away in Dad’s lab until needed.”

  Richard dipped a hand towel in an ice bucket, “Pity she got away. She was a wonderful asset.”

  Max shrugged, “We’re actually in a better position because of it.”

  Amy scowled at him, “You think having an AEGIS agent learn that Richard is the head of the Tulsa Sect who has re-animation technology, is a good thing?”

  The man got up and gave an animated speech, “The burning of the re-animation facility was a blessing from Cthulhu. We were done with it anyway, and the PLX that was ignited did a handy job of doing away with the farmhouse. Our people set fire to the rest of the buildings before leaving. The data we gained from our AEGIS infiltration has given us a substantial advantage. We are still analyzing the information, but our technicians believe the police and feds are hopelessly lost. As for AEGIS, knowing who you are, they have no proof. Without it, they can’t go to the FBI. Shoshannah fulfilled her role. Because of her and AEGIS, our plans have only been accelerated.”

  The new High Mage flowed into the room wearing the ceremonial white robes, “Master Enfield, forgive the intrusion, but it’s time.”

  Richard stood up and slipped on his own black garb, “Very well, let’s get this done.”

  A few minutes later, a parade of his four Leviathans led him into the same ceremonial chamber where he had shot Samuel Howard. This time, he was the Master, and this was a much different gathering. The room was filled with black-robed cultists, holding torches aloft and standing silently. Richard took a seat in a high backed chair that had once been Miniel’s throne in the Library.

  Richard raised his hand, and a gong sounded out from somewhere in the catacombs. Moving in a single file line, John Utterson was ushered into the room by a host of three Mages. He was dressed in a simple black cloak with none of the characteristic Crimson Brotherhood markings. His bare feet trod on the cold stone, as his eyes wandered erratically about the room. His face was clean-shaven, and his once greying hair had returned to its original dark color. John’s face jerked from side to side as if he was reacting to something around him.

  Their company settled in front of Richard’s throne, and a chant started from those in attendance. From the direction of his personal chambers came the ghost of Samuel Howard and his daughter, Amy. She was wearing a dull grey robe, one he had never seen worn before.

  The Master raised his hand and announced, “Vulgtmah Cthulhu! John Utterson has been chosen as the Avatar of Cthulhu. Tonight, we welcome him into our Sect. Ahaimgr’luhh ph’nglui gn’th’bthnk s’uhn llll Cthulhu!”

  Maxwell pulled out a knife and sliced down the sides of John’s robe. As the cloth fell away, the man stood nude in front of the assembly and seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. Amy walked over to John and handed him a ceremonial dagger. She leaned in and gave him a kiss between his eyes on his forehead. The woman backed away and took a spot next to the Master. Almost in a daze, John stared down at the blade, seemingly unsure what it was for.

  Richard pulled the hood of his robe onto his head, “John Utterson, just as each of us have done, now you must sacrifice a life to Cthulhu. The Ancient One demands that you offer a contract of blood to the Tulsa Sect and to my authority. Bring forth the sacrifice!”

  Two burly cultists carried a person trapped inside a black body bag into the chamber. The big men’s faces were red with effort, as the individual inside struggled and shifted. As they approached the ceremonial altar, they seemed to delight in hoisting the occupant into the air and slamming it down hard onto the granite table. The person inside let out a grunt, and one of the men laid a brutal punch into the area where the victim’s head would be. Then the two unzipped the bag and revealed a bound and gagged Jessup House. The old man had a busted lip and a cut above his eye. His wrists had zip ties binding them together, and an IV port was tapped to his right arm at the brachial vein. He was wearing a familiar pair of overalls and his veteran’s vest. His eyes were glazed, and his movements were sluggish. Just like everyone that had made their way into these halls as a potential sacrifice, Jessup was drugged for easier handling.

  The guards turned him face up upon the altar and shackled his wrists and ankles to the four corners of the stone table. The country fed fat belly of Jessup heaved up and down as he gasped for air. All the torches were extinguished, and a single spotlight illuminated the grey-bearded sacrifice.

  Richard squinted as he thought he had seen several tiny bumps rippling under the skin of John Utterson’s back. He got up off his throne and took a closer look at the dance of small creatures rolling just under the man’s flesh. The crowd murmured, and the High Mage had to call for silence.

  John glared at the elderly war veteran, as he approached the altar. Jessup’s eyes were glassy, and he reached up towards the nude Avatar. The old man had a look of realization come on his face and focused on John’s face.

  Through the drug-induced stupor, Jessup pleaded, “Brother Utterson! Thank God! I was at my house and these men… men came into the house. I can’t remember how I got here. General Utterson, what is going on?”

  Richard studied shifting flesh as a multitude of small somethings journeyed under his skin. The new High Mage moved forward and put a cautious hand on John’s back. The lumps seemed to sense her hand was close and walked towards her fingers.

  She stroked the undulating mass. “Cthulhu be praised! The N’ghftor Gof’nnn, the holy worms, they’ve multiplied inside him. That only happens with a chosen of Cthulhu. John Utterson truly is the Avatar!”

  While she was looking away, one of the bumps bit through the flesh and into her index finger. The High Mage yelped and yanked her hand back. She giggled and held the bloody finger up for all to see. The ritual room erupted with chatter and elation.

  The uproar was silenced by the sound of John’s ceremonial dagger dropping to the stone floor. Richard watched with interest as the Avatar crawled up onto the altar. While Jessup begged for his life, John put his hands onto the fat man’s shoulders and positioned his knees on either side of the hips.

  Jessup shook his head and prayed, “Brother John, no! You can’t be a part of all of this. Lord Jesus, help John Utterson! Move your will into his life and banish this evil from his soul. Evil spirit, I rebuke you in the name of the Father, The Son, and The Holy...”

  Utterson opened his mouth wide, and a grey tentacle shot out. It jabbed into the praying mouth of Jessup House. Even in his drug-induced stupor, the country boy had some fight in him. Choking on the writhing tentacle, Jessup attempted to keep it from driving further down his throat.

  Richard’s eyes darted around to the room, witnessing the faces of his Sect, They’re in awe! This might be their first real glimpse of Cthulhu. Look at them! They don’t know whether to be afraid or drop down in worship.

  Samuel walked up beside him, “Do not envy him so. Being an Avatar does bring one power, but something is lost.”

  He eyed the ghost, Explain?

  The ghost continued as those assembled were oblivious to his presence, “Cthulhu doesn’t feel like humans do. It is an alien thing that has roamed the cosmos for longer than most star systems have been around. The Great Old One has an understanding of the universe that would cripple a human mind. If you were to be the Avatar, the Richard Enfield you are now would cease to exist. You would become a living extension of Cthulhu and forever lose your own will. These sycophants tremble at the power of the Avatar and secretly plot to attain it for themselves. This arrogance is why they were made to serve you, Master Enfield. What you see before you is proof that they are yours to command.”

  Richard digested Samuel�
�s point and brought his eyes back to the altar. The tentacle had traveled so far down the throat of Jessup, that its width was forcing the old man’s mouth to nearly split open at the crease. The veteran man struggled against the restraints, and viscous green saliva streamed out from his nose. Jessup’s face turned bright red as he suffocated. A thick layer of the oily fluids coated his beard, as the doomed war hero twitched and writhed on the altar. The sacrifice was complete, as Jessup House lay still, and the torches were once again ignited.

  John tilted his head, and the grey colored appendage slithered its way out of Jessup’s mouth and back down into his stomach. The Avatar of Cthulhu stood upon the altar, straddling the dead man beneath him. The gelatin-like drool rolled off his face and down his bare chest. The crowd chanted praises to Cthulhu, and Amy held out a hand for John. The Avatar grabbed her arm and lowered himself back down. The demi-god stared into Amy’s eyes as they walked together toward the Master.

  Richard boldly announced, “The sacrifice has been made, and Cthulhu is appeased. Brother John Utterson, Avatar of Cthulhu, you are now welcomed into the Crimson Brotherhood as a member of my Sect. Llll h’ nafl’fhtagn!”

  The members around him repeated the R’lyehian, as John wiped his face with the back of his arm. Jessup’s body was hauled away, as Amy draped a grey ceremonial robe around the Avatar. John turned her around, and the two kissed.

  Richard stood and bellowed, “The Avatar of Cthulhu has chosen a bride. Amy Howard, Sword of Cthulhu, do you accept Cthulhu as your mate?”

  She looked deeply into John’s eyes, “I do.”

  Samuel beamed, as Richard announced, “Then I now anoint you as wed under the gaze of the Great Dreamer.”

  Maxwell hushed the excited crowd, as Richard continued, “The first Avatar was spawned here, in my Sect. I’ve been chosen by Cthulhu to fulfill a great purpose and resurrect the Herald. It was my machinations that gave us the ability to create re-animations, and it was my leadership that provided us with our own Nephilim.”

  The cultists went still, “Let my word be law. A call went out tonight to all the Sect Masters in the world. I have proclaimed myself Grand Master, and demand their complete obedience by dawn tomorrow. Our efforts can no longer be piecemeal. Under my leadership, the Crimson Brotherhood will act as one and end this Aeon!”

  The chamber was filled with cheers as Amy took John by the arm and led him out of the Library ritual chamber. The cultists took turns serving up platitudes to the Grand Master and offered their undying loyalty. Maxwell assigned several of them to monitor communications from the other Sects, looking for each Master’s response.

  Samuel followed Richard back to his private chambers, “You see. Just as I said. This gift from Cthulhu is a powerful weapon, not to be used as a blunt force but as a token of his favor. By morning, all the Sects will be yours.”

  Richard slammed the door behind him, “What if there are hold outs?”

  Samuel paced behind him, “Destroy them. Let the other Sects divide the spoils. It shows your strength and ability to reward loyalty.”

  Richard sat down behind his desk, “When the Sects name me Grand Master, then I will have fulfilled the prophecy Ankh-es-en-amon mentioned. I will have proven myself a great leader, and the Scroll of Thoth will appear.”

  Samuel floated over to the bookshelf and remarked, “You could be right, but I doubt it. Gaining control of a handful of Cthulhu loyalists is easy when you have one of his avatars spewing tentacles in the next room. No, I suspect it will take something more… substantial.”

  Amy walked into his chamber and asked, “Grand Master, may I see John home for the night? He has to get ready for tomorrow’s speech. The General still has to coordinate security for the Governor-Elect, Avatar or not.”

  Richard sighed and rubbed his head, “Oh, yes, of course. I had forgotten. Brother Greyson Dunn’s vaulted Gubernatorial acceptance speech. We would have done it sooner, but he has been celebrating too hard.”

  Samuel shared a smile beneath his trim grey beard, “So many pious congregation wives to appease, so little time.”

  He found himself chuckling for the first time at the humor of the ghost, “I suppose I should return home and work on my own speech. Greyson insisted on being the one to announce the executive orders. The ego of the man is astounding. All those idiots just ready to lap up his diatribe.”

  A sly look came on Samuel’s face, “Amy, my beloved, are you planning on accompanying John to the speech?”

  She looked at him with petulant disgust, answering, “No! Why would I waste my time, freezing my ass off, watching the blowhard Greyson go on about nothing?”

  Her father floated over to her, “My daughter, you look so good in black. I would hate for you to waste an opportunity for a shot at the spotlight.”

  Tulsa, Oklahoma - Saturday, November 17th, 2018 – 9:30 a.m. CST

  Greyson Dunn stood beside Richard Enfield, dressed in a subtle grey three-piece suit. He was trapped with the Governor-Elect and his assistants in the visitors’ dressing room of the Eastland Lions. Greyson practiced his speech, trying out different variations on his marketing advisor. Enfield tilted his head back and rolled his eyes at the man’s repetitive droning. The lousy coffee they had poured into the preacher did little to remove the slurring from Dunn’s voice. Thanks to a liberal use of cologne, the smell of alcohol had been masked.

  One of the young interns reminded Greyson, “When the music stops, you and Brother Enfield will enter on the stage. General John Utterson will be waiting there with his elite UCC honor guard. The Oklahoma flag will be flying in the breeze over your heads as one of our members, a full blood Cherokee, sings Amazing Grace in his native tongue. Once the song is over, the quarterback of the Eastland Lions will introduce you both.”

  Greyson winced, “The quarterback? Why not someone more influential?”

  Another assistant added, “Yes, research shows that it would show a connection to the young voters and draw in more Democrats to your swing.”

  A tv monitor played in the corner, and a reverend from Eastland appeared on CNN, “Politicians have claimed to have God in their lives. Yet they vote for abortions, allowing pot to become legalized and condone gay marriage. God is not in their driver’s seat. It is time for a change. Brother Greyson and Brother Enfield have shown the world that the time has come to end the spell the two-party system has put us under. He’s putting God first and politics last.”

  A young Asian man asked Richard, “Brother, would you like for me to type out your speech so we can have it on the teleprompter?”

  He shook his head and gave a cryptic reply, “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Twenty minutes later, Richard was on stage, standing beside the tan-suited Greyson. He could still smell the faint odor of alcohol coming through the man’s pores. FOX News, the BBC, MSNBC, and other international agencies were positioned beneath the stage to hear Greyson’s first speech. The stadium was packed to its 70,000 capacity, with an additional 200,000 surrounding the massive stadium. There was an unprecedented gathering of 12,000 UCC soldiers walking security in the crowd in their blue uniforms. The Eastland digital billboard was set up to transmit the speech for those that had engulfed the university.

  As the Cherokee vocalist finished her rendition of Amazing Grace, Richard sat down in his chair and waited. Greyson took the podium to a roar of applause and cheers. The Governor-Elect paraded on stage, waving and smiling. He was followed by his blonde wife and his two teenage boys.

  Richard thought, Samuel was right about one thing: that man was born to the spotlight.

  After allowing the applause to go on for several minutes, Greyson announced, “Thank you! Oh, my. Praise Jesus!”

  Over a quarter of a million in attendance thundered back, “Praise Jesus!”

  Shaking his head in mock disbelief, he continued, “I’m truly not worthy of His love! I have been set on this path, and by His glory, we will see it through!”

 
A member of the crowd yelled out, “Down with the Brotherhood!”

  Greyson leaned into the microphone, “Amen, Brother! Let me give a message to the Crimson Brotherhood: You can run, but you can’t hide from His justice. A reckoning is coming, and the United Christian Crusaders are the spear point. It has been over four days since the last act of terrorism. We all remember our own General Utterson flushing that den of rats out in the Garden District and saving dozens of Christian lives in the process. Brother John Utterson has your number, and God is on his side!”

  The crowd roared as the Governor-Elect continued, “Now, let’s get personal. I want to speak directly to the leader of the Crimson Brotherhood, Henry Jekyll. You might have escaped the Tulsa Police, but you will not escape the people of Oklahoma, the United Christian Crusaders, and most of all, God! Brother Enfield and I are moving forward with a plan that will ensure our Crusaders will have the power to root you out of whatever sinful hole you’ve hidden in. As God is my witness, your days of creating terror are coming to an end!”

  The Governor-Elect’s left ear exploded outwards, spraying gore on his wife and kids. His head popped to the left from the impact of the bullet. Greyson’s body crumpled to the ground like a marionette who just lost its puppeteer. The shot rang out just as his body hit the stage and his head bounced off the wooden floor. The two hundred thousand plus in attendance screamed and went wild. The UCC security fought against the wave of fleeing masses to get to the fallen preacher. General John Utterson grabbed Dunn’s blood-soaked wife and kids, and ordered their guards to get them to their armored limo. The wailing Greyson family had to be dragged away in grief by the security detail.

  Richard fought the urge to smile as his UCC bodyguards hurried him to towards his car. His security was all secret Crimson Brotherhood men and they were not shy about punching and kicking their way through the panicked Christians. He tried to savor each passing second of the delicious rampage of humanity. Anyone that decided to drop to the ground to take cover was quickly trampled by the mass exodus. The chaos was intoxicating to him, and he hid satisfaction at how well the plan had worked.