"How many seconds are there in Eternity?"
The mist roiled and writhed as a single, immense eyelid that cracked open to reveal an iridiscent iris surrounding a bottomless pupil. Its alien gaze stared down in apathy like the stars themselves.
"So? How many?"
It blinked slowly, its scaled eyelids closing and opening like the movements of tectonic plates. Its iris seemed made of countless threads of all colours, woven together in a net of infinite complexity. Its pupil, on the other hand, was just as infinite in its darkness, hiding an abyssal depth.
"If you don't know, just say so."
: : THERE ARE NO SECONDS IN ETERNITY : :
The voice was not spoken so much as commanded into existence. The mist bubbled and frothed with the vibrations of each gargantuan syllable. It was not any language known to any mortal race. This was the language of the universe itself. Meaning in its purest and most distilled format. Enough to melt the brains and fry the nervous systems of all those weak and plenty of those strong.
"How can there be no seconds? Even I know that doesn't make sense."
The responding voice complained.
The colossal eye constricted ever so slightly, as though for the first time noticing the atom-like existence before it. So weak a mere breath could consign it to the realms of non-existence. So fragile a stray thought could obliterate its mind.
Impatient, the small voice sounded out once more, like the squeaking of a mouse in a great concert hall.
"Fine then. If there are no seconds, then what is there instead? I'm sure you can tell me that much at least."
The iris shone with colours known and unknown, swirling patterns of cosmic intent. It defied perspective, seeming as though even the largest of stars would be swallowed by the empty abyss of the pupil within.
: : THERE IS ONLY THE MOMENT. EVERLASTING. ETERNAL. : :
Its voice was final and ultimate, carrying a will strong enough to raze planets to the ground. It spoke with Authority, as if it embodied the intent of the very universe itself.
"The moment, huh? Close. But not quite."
The colossal iris constricted, the glassy surface of the eye rippling like tsunamis on a land-locked moon. The mist shuddered and shivered under the chilling aura that suddenly descended onto that place, ice crystals forming within them.
"Let me enlighten you: there are two seconds in Eternity. The first second. And then the final second."
The gargantuan iris, constricted to a point, focused for the first time the entirety of its indescribable presence onto the spot in front of it, like an atom before a man. The sheer metaphysical weight bearing down there should have sublimated the very space itself into nonexistence, yet it held firm. The colours of the iris raged in a storm of blinding shades and threads.
: : WHO ARE YOU? : :
The mortal amoeba tutted disapprovingly in the face of cosmic annihilation.
"The wrong question."
: : THEN WHAT IS RIGHT? : :
A hoarse, self-deprecating laugh sounded out before ending with a deep sigh. The eye was a mountain before a mote of dust, its presence was for all intents and purposes omniscient and omnipotent.
"Of course, there is only a single question worth asking"
The rolling waves of mist froze still, as though the universe itself held its breath. Perhaps it would not be an exaggeration to say that a universe did hold its breath. The pressure of anticipation grew until it was almost unbearable, like the gravity well of the largest black-holes formed from the cold-deaths of a thousand universes.
The mortal insect finally spoke, grinning.
"How many seconds are there in Eternity?"
***
The golden ship glinted as it bathed in the light of the yellow star. It floated in its orbit listlessly, no different from the asteroids and dust. The gibberish glyphs engraved into its side were disappointing and unintelligible.
Within the baleful vessel was a captain who reflected the lifeless aura of his ship in its entirety. Grey, knobbly skin, wiry frame and a bandage covering the left side of his face.
Oh and, of course, the massive bloodshot eye floating in the void behind him. Its seven-coloured iris constantly moving chaotically in all directions in a dizziness-inducing cascade.
Astute readers may recognise this fellow but I have low expectations for your long-term recall abilities and so, in my magnanimity, I shall introduce him once more.
This semi-sluggified pathetic excuse for a cultist is none other than Slalgulathon Slalgulus himself. After the...unforeseeable circumstances that interrupted his ritual last time, and a harrowing call with Universal Auto Coverage customer service lines seemed to last aeons and eroded away at even a cosmic cultist's remaining sanity, he had simply collapsed in place on his chair.
Lethargy encompassed his entire body exacerbated by the weight of despair. Even [The Great One's Eye] he had been bestowed with had been forced to close in order to process the backlash from that intervention and when it re-opened finally, it was...different. Changed.
Its usual sinister aura was now tinged with a superior form of insanity. The seven-coloured iris a clearly visible mutation from its previous obsidian shade. Yet what could have possibly corrupted an Outer God?
A stabbing pain lanced through Slalgulathon's remaining eye shattering his concentration and forcefully suppressing that line of thought. He shuddered instinctively as the fog he hadn't even noticed cleared from his mind.
Quickly changing his train of thought, he focused on the feedback from [The Great One's Eye]. Before it was akin to a boon, something untouchable and unknowable, granted to him and yet not his to truly command.
Now, his connection with it seemed stronger. Like he had gained a fragment of control over it.
Or stolen a fragment of control over it.
Regardless, with that fragment came a torrent of knowledge channeled straight into his mind without care for his fragile consciousness. And so he entered into a catatonic state, processing that knowledge piece by piece. When he finally opened his eyes, it's colour had changed, as well as its aura.
An evolution of sorts, forced onto it by the circumstances of that wretched day. But within even the deepest pits of despair, there is always a glimmer of hope.
Slalgulathon looked at the hologram on his desk, displaying his lost loved one/ plot device melancholically. Drawing on that grey and lifeless memory, he steeled his wavering will. Standing up from his slouch, his voice rasped across the empty hangar.
"Better get to it. There are things to be done."
The colossal eye vibrated behind him in affirmation, as though relishing its carrier's newfound strength of will. Slalgulathon walked over to the centre of the hangar and knelt down.
In his mind's eye, he could still see it. That accursed rotary phone, disintegrating into grey dust before being blown away into the void. He ground his teeth together in fury.
"You won't be able to hide that easily."
With a mad grin on his grey, disgusting, horrid (blurgh, I vomited thinking of his appearance) face, he pressed two fingers onto the floor and closed his remaining eyes.
His brow furrowed in concentration as he felt through the new, unfamiliar channels branded into his pact. The seven-coloured eye behind him flashed chaotically, looking in every direction at a dizzying speed.
Smoke began rising from it accompanied by a sizzling sound from behind Slalgulathon's eyepatch. Just as the smell of burnt flesh permeated the hangar, his eyepatch soaked through with rancid, purple blood, Slalgulathon stopped, collapsing to the ground in a heap, heaving deep breaths of relief.
The colossal eye behind him slowed down its movements, its previously white sclera almost crimson with blood.
Despite this, Slalgulathon's grin only widened. He let out a maniacal laugh, clenching his fists.
"I see you!", his voice was hoarse like sandpaper. "I will find you! In the name of Glarthulor, King of Fear!"