A voice, dripping with sarcasm, sliced through the tense air. "Is that all you got, snotty kid training?"
Siegfried and Retch spun around, hearts pounding, to see a disheveled figure looming behind them. The man looked like a homeless wanderer, clothes tattered and grime caked under his beard. Yet, his eyes held a spark of unsettling intelligence.
"A snotty kid who always obeys his mother is trash." the man rasped, his voice a rusty saw against bone.
Before they could react, a gnarled hand dipped into a pocket, emerging with a card unlike any they'd seen. It pulsed with a sickly light, its surface a grotesque mosaic of teeth and writhing tentacles. In a blink, the man transformed. His clothes ripped away, replaced by a grotesque chitinous shell. His form ballooned, dwarfing both Siegfried and Retch.
"Oh, it is?" Siegfried spat, a cold anger replacing his initial shock. "How dare you-"
"Siegfried, we're barely the size of his legs!" Retch hissed, panic lacing his voice.
"Shut up." Siegfried growled, his voice hardening. "This ends now."
A sly chuckle echoed in Siegfried's mind. "Siegfried…" Nyarlathotep's voice purred, a hint of amusement creeping in. "This one... he's not part of me. Might be entertaining."
Nyarlathotep seized control, his power surging through Siegfried. The monstrous entity materialized, towering over the newcomer, Grulos, as he was called. A monstrous hand slammed down, aiming to crush Grulos in one swift blow.
But Grulos moved with impossible speed, dodging the attack with a casual flick of his wrist. More alarmingly, he retaliated by casually snatching Nyarlathotep's enormous hand and lifting it effortlessly.
"Seven Archetypals?" Siegfried whispered, a flicker of fear replacing Nyarlathotep's initial amusement.
"No, that's… unwise," Nyarlathotep rasped, dread tinging its voice.
The fight unfolded in a blur of chaos. Siegfried, on his own, was woefully outmatched. Grulos barely registered his blows. Yet, in their moment of despair, Retch seized his chance. With a surge of N'ghaarnagg's power, he grew, matching Grulos' colossal form.
He slammed into Grulos with the force of a battering ram. Grulos grunted, surprised for a moment, but the blow seemed to leave no lasting damage.
"Pathetic children!" Grulos roared, his voice a booming thunderclap. "Full of arrogance, devoid of power!"
With a flick of his wrist, Grulos unleashed a wave of raw energy. It slammed into Siegfried and Retch, their forms fusing in a grotesque amalgamation. They were hurled through the air, a tangled mess of limbs and tentacles, hurtling towards the distant horizon.
At that moment, Siegfried's trauma resurfaced, a tidal wave of grief threatening to drown him. He remembered his mother's gentle face, her unwavering love, and the sickening image of her lifeless body at the hands of rogue authorities. A choked sob escaped him, tears threatening to spill, yet an iron will held them back. He wouldn't let Grulos manipulate him.
"You dare twist my mother's memory?" Siegfried roared, his voice raw with barely contained fury. Dark energy crackled around him, Nyarlathotep's power amplifying his rage. His form warped and twisted, becoming even more terrifying than before. Flames erupted from his body, an inferno hotter than any sun, yet strangely contained within his monstrous form. He had shrunk slightly, his height now rivaling eleven stacked pyramids of Giza, a concentrated embodiment of power and sorrow.
Grief fueled his every move. He fought with a desperate ferocity, each blow a testament to the love he bore for his mother. But within the storm of rage raged a flicker of her final words: "If you seek revenge, make sure you don't kill, for you will be no different from that person."
Siegfried unleashed an attack, a concentrated explosion equivalent to ten Little Boy bombs. It detonated against Grulos, a blinding flash erupting on the island. Yet, the monstrous being stood unfazed, its laughter echoing across the wasteland. Radiation, a meaningless concept to such a creature, did nothing to impede it. Siegfried, however, hadn't expected a direct hit. As he launched his attack, he'd brushed against Grulos, managing to draw a vile, black ichor – its blood perhaps.
"Fragile child!" Grulos roared, its voice a booming mockery. "You can't even scratch me, let alone defeat me!"
A cold smile played on Siegfried's lips. "I can," he said, his voice no longer his own. It was Nyarlathotep, the cosmic horror now in full control. "And I will." His grip tightened around Grulos's hand, the drawn blood shimmering with a dark light in his grasp. Nyarlathotep's true plan, a chilling realization for both Siegfried and the monstrous entity before him, was just beginning to unfold.
Nyarlathotep now fully took over Siegfried's consciousness; a chilling grin replacing the sorrow on Siegfried's face. Like a puppeteer with a grotesque marionette, Nyarlathotep unleashed Siegfried's body into a whirlwind of attacks. High-voltage electric currents arced from Siegfried's fingertips, crackling and spitting like a nest of angry hornets. Ice materialized in his other hand, a chilling counterpart to the electrical fury, as he pummeled Grulos with a chaotic mix of elements.
The monstrous being roared in defiance, the island itself trembling under the force of their clash. But Nyarlathotep, a being of pure chaos, reveled in the destruction. The fight raged, a grotesque ballet of power, until with a final, earth-shattering blow, Nyarlathotep unleashed a power unlike anything Siegfried or Retch had ever witnessed. A swirling vortex of energy erupted from Siegfried, engulfing Grulos whole.
Then, silence. Grulos was gone. Nyarlathotep, ever the strategist, didn't want to raise suspicion about his true power. With a flick of his stolen form, he meticulously reconstructed the destroyed arena, leaving no trace of the battle. The facade complete, Nyarlathotep relinquished control, the last vestiges of his power fading like smoke in the wind.
Siegfried's body crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Retch, drained by the ordeal, stumbled to his friend's side, collapsing beside him with a weary sigh.
Retch couldn't bear the thought of leaving Siegfried unconscious any longer. Using his newly acquired telekinetic abilities, he gently lifted Siegfried's inert form and settled him onto his trusty remote-controlled hoverboard. The journey home was a tense blur, the setting sun painting the sky in ominous shades of orange and red. Hours bled into one another as Retch navigated the deserted landscape, a gnawing worry twisting in his gut.
Finally, they arrived back at their humble abode. But relief was short-lived. Siegfried remained stubbornly unconscious. Desperate, Retch reached out to N'ghaarnagg, the grotesque entity that now resided within him. N'ghaarnagg's voice, a cacophony of raspy whispers, sounded in his mind.
"He's not… waking," N'ghaarnagg rasped. "The… Ultimate Gate…"
"Ultimate… Gate?" Retch's confusion mirrored the pounding in his head. "What is that?"
A chilling silence followed before N'ghaarnagg spoke again, its voice laced with a disturbing reverence. "The Gateway. The starting place of the Outer Ones. Beyond dimensions, beyond existence itself… a realm of… formless chaos."
Retch's blood ran cold. "So it's… where you guys come from?"
"Not a home," N'ghaarnagg corrected sharply. "A crucible… a wellspring… of destruction."
A primal fear coiled around Retch's heart. "And what… what's Siegfried doing there?"
Another silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, N'ghaarnagg spoke, its voice a chilling whisper. "His business. Not mine to share."
The entity retreated back into the recesses of Retch's mind, leaving him with a horrifying image: Siegfried, alone and vulnerable, somewhere beyond reality, in a place of unimaginable chaos. Retch's resolve hardened. He wouldn't let his friend be lost in this ultimate nightmare. He had to get Siegfried back, no matter the cost.
"Of course," N'ghaarnagg rasped, its voice dripping with malice, "if you want to know your friend, you have to face him in his subconscious."
"Face him? What do you mean?" Retch's heart hammered against his ribs.
"Dreams, Retch. You have to find him in the labyrinth of his own mind. But be warned," N'ghaarnagg's voice took on a predatory edge, "it's a dangerous landscape. Get lost, and you'll drown in the chaos."
Retch swallowed hard, the risk heavy in the air. "How do I do this?"
"Sleep," N'ghaarnagg commanded, a hint of amusement in its tone. "But if you're not strong enough, there's a very real chance you'll be consumed by nightmares."
A cold sweat prickled Retch's skin. But the thought of leaving Siegfried lost in that unimaginable void spurred him on. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the unknown. N'ghaarnagg, sensing his resolve, grudgingly offered a sliver of its own power, a thin tether to anchor him amidst the churning dreamscape.
Hours bled into what felt like an eternity. When Retch finally entered Siegfried's dreamscape, it wasn't a battlefield or a cosmic void. It was a memory, imbued with an aching tenderness that took his breath away.
He saw Siegfried, younger, smaller, tears streaming down his face as he clung to a woman's embrace. The woman, Siegfried's mother, radiated a warmth that even the distorted dream couldn't diminish.
A wave of guilt washed over Retch as Siegfried's mother spoke, her voice a soothing balm. "Son," she said, her words clear despite the dreamlike haze, "no matter how much someone hurts you, remember, violence only breeds more violence. Don't become the monster you fight."
Retch flinched at the unspoken truth in her words. Then, the dream shifted. Siegfried's mother turned, her eyes meeting Retch's for a fleeting moment. A single tear rolled down her cheek, a silent plea for help.
She turned back to Siegfried, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Well, son," she whispered, "it's time for you to wake up now. And don't forget… your friend needs you."
The dream began to dissipate, the colors swirling and fading. Retch clung to the last vestiges of the image, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He had a glimpse of Siegfried's inner torment, a glimpse of the humanity buried beneath the power. Now, he had to find a way to pull his friend back from the brink, not just from the Ultimate Gate, but from the darkness within himself.
When the two of them woke up, Siegfried emerged from sleep with a choked sob. His mother's image, a beacon of love lost, lingered painfully in his mind. Tears streamed down his face as the memories flooded back – fourteen agonizing years since she was ripped away from him. He was just a little boy of nine then, left alone in the wreckage of a broken family.
Alina Hurge, his mother, had separated from his father after discovering his infidelity. But the bitter divorce turned tragic when his father, consumed by spite, arranged for her murder. Young Siegfried, weak and overwhelmed by grief, swore vengeance then. But his mother, in her final moments, had uttered words that would forever etch themselves on his soul: "Even if you hate someone with every fiber of your being, never kill them. It turns you into them, a monster no better than the evil you seek to destroy. It only creates more problems, a never-ending cycle."
Those words became Siegfried's principle, the only solace in a world that had turned cruel. He was left to fend for himself, running his mother's small estate. It was a constant struggle. He started selling food to scrape by, but the meager profits were often preyed upon by ruthless gangs. They extorted him for "protection," leaving him with barely enough to survive. Hunger gnawed at him as often as grief.
But a spark of defiance ignited within him. Siegfried wouldn't succumb. He decided to fight back, not with violence, but with innovation. He channeled his pain and rage into creating weapons – a shield against the darkness that threatened to consume him. His first project, the KR-821, stunned the government. This wasn't just any sniper rifle; it boasted an ultra-long-range scope with a jaw-dropping 34-kilometer view, and even the capability to launch miniature missiles. At just eighteen, Siegfried had laid the foundation for the thriving weapons company that stood today.
Siegfried met Retch when he was 19, a raw wound of grief barely beginning to scar. Retch, fresh out of college with a brilliant mind for technology, applied for a coveted position at Siegfried's burgeoning weapons company. Siegfried initially dismissed Retch. He needed a weapon-smith, not another tech whiz. But something about Retch's hungry ambition and a spark of defiance in his eyes resonated with Siegfried. He took a chance, recruiting Retch not as an employee, but as a friend and teammate.
Over time, an unlikely bond formed. Retch, the eccentric genius with a rebellious streak, found himself drawn to Siegfried's quiet strength. They became inseparable, their days a whirlwind of research, development, and late-night brainstorming sessions fueled by coffee and a shared hunger for knowledge. Retch curbed his cravings for alcohol and cigarettes – not out of obedience, but out of a newfound respect for the human body as the ultimate machine he could optimize. He actually has a girlfriend, but somehow he rarely meet her.
To be continued...