PatrickFillion

CTHULHU RISES - the Great Dreamer VS Class Comics! Variants and hieroglyphs! (Patreon)

Published:

2019-10-22 23:55:36

Edited:

2019-10-23 04:04:25

Imported:

Content

CTHULHU RISES!

...or… the Great Dreamer VS Class Comics!

ISAIAH

Isaiah awoke, he knew not where. Some strange beach, perhaps, cursed to existence beneath a hideous sky, eternally shrouded in angry clouds, pelted by vengeful, frigid rains.

The odor of fish was maddening. **

Immediately, the oppressive dampness struck him.

He was completely nude and struggled to rise to his feet, acutely aware that he had never felt so cold in his entire life.

Everything within sight was soaked; slick and slimy, as if this odd, barren tundra had never known a dry day – a lick of sunshine – since its very genesis.

In the distance, upon some as yet unseen shore, waves collided against rock, loudly enough to evoke visions of some outraged expanse, concealing beneath its depths, God only knew what manner of horror.

And yet, over the vociferous din of the charcoal tides, Isaiah’s mind reeled! He could hear the call, a faint whisper at first, but clear and definite with purpose. Slowly, this strange chorus intensified, until finally, it swelled and escalated to a roar, threatening to obliterate his very sanity.

He mind reeled from the onslaught. Stars danced before his eyes. Upon the coarse, wet sand he fell to his knees.

He had an unprecedented dream of great Cyclopean cities of titan blocks and sky-flung monoliths, all dripping with green ooze and sinister with latent horror. **

The chanting in his head was now perfectly clear. The previously unintelligible cacophony originating from that dreaded ocean Isaiah feared above all else was gone. Now it was replaced entirely by words the young man could not begin to comprehend.

This became a chorus of hoarse voices, rising in sing-song chant. **

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." **

What manner of evil was this? In all his years of hunting and slaying demons, Isaiah had never, EVER encountered a malignity so vile.

Still on his knees, he fell backwards. He writhed in the soggy grit of the sand, his hands clutching at his temples, screaming inaudibly.

Inexplicably, his penis began to harden, coaxed to inflexible erection by the horrid voices in his head.

Soon, his dark member rose proudly, pulsing with hot blood, accusing that accursed sky. His full, plump balls tingled, abounding with sperm, aching for release, hanging heavily between his perfectly muscled thighs.

Isaiah lay there, sodden and ridiculously aroused, his mahogany skin glistening, slick and inviting. His hands finally left his aching head and made their way to his erect nipples, which he teased and pulled tantalizingly.

Impossibly, his cock danced, swaying and jouncing as if possessed of a will of its very own. Unexpectedly, Isaiah began to relax, preoccupied now more with the undeniable heat washing over him than his strange surroundings, or the horrid voices screaming in his head, over and over…

“Cthulhu R'lyeh”!

That was when the tentacles found him.

ZAHN

As the feelers grasped his legs, reaching, aching for his long, thick horse-cock, Zahn fought to wrestle his mind back from the brink of total, utter madness.

Surely, he was no longer in Varda – his beloved home land, realm of a thousand proud warriors, and mother he was sworn to protect. No such place as this – twisted and vile in every sense imaginable – could possibly exist, part of so wondrous a realm as Varda.

Above it all – above his will to be free of this insanity, and free from these grotesque, swollen limbs violating his flesh – he could hear the call.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

Monstrous and demoralizing, the indecipherable discourse sluiced over him, body and soul, like a rancid torrent of concupiscent incandescence.

The tentacles persisted, lazily perhaps, but definite in their intent. Soon, they slimed and slicked their way over his thighs to his impressive manhood, coating every inch of exposed skin with their sickly, translucent green glop.

Zahn’s cock flopped, in a state resting somewhere between engorged and flaccid. The feelers had retracted his ample foreskin, and his exposed mushroom head was coated in a thick clear ooze.

The feelers wrapped around the base of Zahn’s glans, squeezing and releasing, over and over, causing the bright pink helmet to swell. Precum began to appear at the slit of that beautiful hammerhead.

The barbarian moaned and grunted, no longer quite so determined to wrestle himself free.

He shuddered, gasping out suddenly as a limb pushed beyond the mouth of his knob, cruelly forcing the small opening to gape unnaturally wide, sliding with remarkable ease down the length of his pulsating shaft, filling his urethral canal.

Zahn imagined the tentacle coming to rest within his low-hanging ballsac, curling around his testicles – embracing his loaded jewels in a possessive, unrelenting vice grip.

More grotesque feelers came, from where and attached to what, Zahn dare not try to imagine for risk of going completely, irrevocably mad. Soon, his arms and legs were well restrained. Immobilized by the oppressive orgy of swollen limbs beseeching him, Zahn was slowly lifted from the coarse, cloying sand of the beach.

“Cthulhu R'lyeh”!

The words THUNDERED in his head. But even as his brain threatened to tear apart – as his sanity teetered on the brink of complete, utter annihilation, his body’s arousal could not be denied.

He honestly couldn’t recall ever being so hard. His massive schlong quivered, flushed to a nearly purple hue from the squeezing it was receiving. He felt so incredibly horny. He desperately hoped that one of these particularly plump tentacles would find its way to his anus, and force itself deep within him, even though the very notion repulsed him.

Drenched in ooze and his own mansweat, Zahn moaned and mewled, incautiously begging to be fucked. Incredibly, pre-ejaculate continued to seep from the mouth of his horse-cock, stuffed with feeler though it was.

He ached for more – now sobbing and screaming over the din of the untiring waves and wind and rain.

“Fuck me, master Cthulhu! I give myself to you freely, oh Great Old One”.

Oh yes indeed. An especially grotesque and bloated limb found it’s way to Zahn’s twitching pucker. As it unceremoniously forced it’s vile, bulbous girth deep into him, squirming and squiggling inside his gut, Zahn howled like a mindless sex beast.

His very last thought was “Be careful what you wish for, Son of Winter”!

DEIMOS

Deimos hated being wet. His thick, dark body hair was completely matted against his taro-tinted skin, and beads of water dripped continuously into his eyes, blurring his vision.

Perhaps, given where he was – not that he knew where he was – this was a mercy. What he could see of his Stygian surroundings, he could not readily identify as any place he’d ever been before.

If he were back in Hell, there would be the familiar smells - the stench of brimstone and hopelessness – those he would recognize. But although this place stank… and reek it did… it was a perfume one would associate with a fetid, rotting ocean rather than the pits of Hades.

No. This place was even worse than Hell.

Ultimately, though, this didn’t matter. Imperative above all else was silencing the voices in his head, and getting free of the mass of distended and bulgy feelers currently violating his flesh.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn."

The chanting insisted, but Deimos… Deimos resisted.

It was at times like these where, to a small amount of personal shame perhaps, that Deimos felt proud of his demonic side. That part of him that was belligerent and obstinate made life quite difficult at times, particularly when one was trying to regain ones’ path to the Lord. But in all honesty, this stubbornness could also be a source of great strength. At times such as these, it could protect Deimos, forming a sort of armor around his will, leading to implacable resistance of a most remarkable sort.

Try as they might, the grotesque, water-logged voices determined to burrow into Deimos’ very soul, were failing.

That is not to say that the Taro Demon was left unscathed in their attempt. Resisting so monstrously evil a call was a life-threatening endeavor. Deimos was could not keep the fight up eternally, and perhaps soon, he would succumb.

NO!

"Cthulhu R'lyeh"!

The ensemble howled in his mind, determined to rape his will as much as the feelers were raping his body.

Suddenly, as if to distract him from his stand and undermine his resistance, a tentacle bore its way deep into his hole. Deimos gasped in horror and shock, foolishly not anticipating the attack. While the bulbous limb mercilessly pounded his ass, others groped his impossibly hard cock.

Deimos despaired. These grotesque monstrosities were obviously tasked with distracting him in an attempt to weaken his resolve. Unfortunately for the Taro Demon, they were beginning to succeed.

The cold, damp digits wriggled and slid, winding themselves around his engorged sex. They squeezed his penis, teasingly, tantalizingly. They retracted his prepuce and slid beneath the hood of skin, massaging the oh-so sensitive and delicate flesh that connected it to the crown of his juicy plum. They tugged on his foreskin, pulling, teasing.

While this transpired, another tentacle grabbed hold of his full balls. It tugged at his heavy oysters in tandem with its brethren which was bringing him alarmingly fast to the brink of climax.

N… Nooooooo!

Again Deimos shouted in refusal… in resistance, but sadly, completely in vain.

His entire body – his very being – shuddered as he renounced himself to the inevitable.

Deimos’ cock erupted in a volley of hot man-juice. Sperm flew in thick strands of glistening translucence with impressive intensity and velocity.

Tears streamed down his face even as he continued to orgasm, for he knew that this release spelled his doom.

Wet, cold and deeply frightened, Deimos continued to ejaculate well after his mind had gone blank. Well after the inevitable and ultimately irresistible call of Cthulhu had smashed beyond his resolve, crashing upon his defiance, eradicating his claim to self.

The tentacles continued to fuck him and jack him off wildly. Even though he was unconscious, the horrors forced nearly three more loads of semen from his balls.

All the while, the chanting continued.

"Cthulhu R'lyeh"!

And the laughter, twisted and profoundly evil, boomed from across the yonder obsidian waves. The Great Old One began to rise, eager to claim his bounty, three sublime males from the human realms, delivered to him as payment for a debt, now paid in full.

EPILOGUE

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. **

At least their minds have been broken. They will not consciously feel or comprehend what is happening to them.

As I, Hurnon the great Collector gaze upon Deimos, Zahn and Isaiah Shade, my three prized males, through the main view screen of my inter-dimensional vessel, I experience a swell of regret. Perhaps even sorrow. I shall miss these three. And dare I say, my heart – if I even have such a thing – feels for their plight.

Their torment will be great and their bodies and spirits will be made to endure unspeakable debasements. Their perfect manhoods will be molested. Their impeccably muscled frames will be defiled. Their sperm will be spilled for a thousand and one days, to feed ravenous hordes of nightmarish monstrosities that will lap at their swollen penises like famished babes suckling at mother’s milk.

My three best males. That was the price… and the bill came due.

Mine was a great indebtedness, and one does not ever renege on the Greatest of the Old Ones, lest one wishes to find oneself hunted and tormented well beyond the furthest reaches of time and space.

No, I am not so foolish. I have not survived – THRIVED – all these countless eons by being foolhardy.

When the Great Dreamer calls, you answer. There simply is no ignoring the Call of Cthulhu.

The End.

** Passages appearing with the "**" are borrowed directly from H.P. Lovecraft's "DAGON" and "the Call of Cthulhu".

CTHULHU was created by H.P. Lovecraft in 1928. Since the character has become "public domain".

LINES: Patrick Fillion

COLORS: Cabrera & Fillion