Ancient city of Damascus, Syria, Earth – 2017

“The time is nigh’ my brothers” a deep voice called out to the eleven robed men.
“Immortality is upon us!” jeers of triumph resounded in the dark cellar within the ancient city.
Eleven men all robed in black circled two young women bound in chains, with each man wielding a golden curved dagger that held ancient inscriptions that not even modern-day scholars would be able to decipher. The women’s watery eyes looked hopelessly up at their captors. One man donned in red robes stood outside of the circle; his black sunken eyes stared with reverence at a black book that he held in his left hand. The book seemed to emit an aura reminiscent of a battlefield, of death.

The man robed in red clutched a long silver sword that held similar inscriptions to the golden daggers. Both his sword and his precious book were artefacts passed down from his ancestors, both created by Abdul Alhazred, the Mad Arab.
The man donned in red was Amir Alhazred, the last of his bloodline, the last descendant of the Mad Arab. His obsession with the occult stemmed from his parents or more specifically his father, a key member of the cult, the Black Brotherhood. This was not just any cult; it was one of the oldest surviving cults on Earth that sought to hasten the return of the Great Old Ones. The other men in the room were none other than the last remaining members of this ancient cult.

Amir had spent the last fifteen years of his life in Damascus researching and studying his ancestor’s demonic book. After all those years all Amir had managed to do was decipher a single page of the book. A page that detailed the ritual for immortality.
The ritual required the sacrifice of two maidens by the hands of twelve devout believers of the Great Old Ones. This sacrifice was a gift to the High Priest of the Great Old Ones, Cthulhu. In exchange, Cthulhu would give a slither of his power to the believers, granting them immortality.

Everyone present had waited months for this time to come for, the total solar eclipse. This was the remaining cult members’ only chance to reach immortality not only because of the eclipse but because if their sacrifice and prayers are not responded to it spells certain death for every one of them.
~
It was time. The eclipse had reached its peak and the ritual was ready. Archaic but profound symbols were painted in a circle surrounding the two sacrifices and outside of that circle stood the eleven men all robed in black. Standing above all of them was Amir with his unholy book in one hand and the pommel of his sheathed sabre in the other; he stood at an old stone altar. If anyone had seen him there, they would be reminded of a Christian church ceremony except this one was not praising God but THE GODS.

Amir who was previously staring down at the black book in his hand suddenly shot his eyes upwards, the ritual was starting. Amir’s deep but somewhat relaxing hums signalled to the robed men that it was indeed time. The men slowly started to circle the two women in the middle of the circle all while Amir continued his humming. The men in black looked like a pack of wolves circling their prey, ready to pounce at the command of their pack leader. The two women shivered and whimpered as the men surrounding them started to approach, each of the men brandished their daggers that all shone under the singular lamp that hung above them. All of the daggers dripped with a liquid that was devoid of all colour. The men finally reached an arms distance from the two women, all of them raised their daggers over their heads, waiting for the hum of their leader to cease.

And as it ceased the eleven men brought down their blades upon the maidens. Each of the men cut and stabbed flesh. Blood spilt everywhere and the dark void like liquid entered the wounds of the sacrifices. After around a minute of mayhem and carnage, the robed men stepped backwards returning to their positions outside of the circle. The light of life slowly left the two chained maidens as crimson blood-soaked and stained their once jade-like bodies.

All twelve men in the room looked on in satisfaction as the blood of the sacrifices spread out onto the runes inscribed on the floor. The men all prepared themselves for what was to come and as if they were all mentally linked every one of them began to recite their plea to the High Priest in harmony;
“I call Thee, O High Priest of the Gods
Spirit of the Seas
The Sea below the seas
Cthulhu the Dread
The Serpent who sleepeth Dead
Yet lies not dead, but dreaming
Stand by and accept
This sacrifice I offer
May it be acceptable
To the Most Ancient Gods!
So that you may grant us a gift”

After the cult’s plea was over, all of the robed men including, the one in red, stared at the mess of blood and flesh in the middle of the circle, all waiting in anticipation. Seconds began to feel like minutes where minutes began to feel like hours. Because of how isolated the cellar was no one knew how long they had been standing there, waiting. Some of the cultists' minds started to waver while others started to tremble as they knew, that if they received no response it would be the end of them. Sighs and moans were slowly released from the members in black with some even collapsing in shock due to fear.

All the while this happened Amir just silently watched on in disappointment, both at the results of the ritual and the behaviour of his fellow cultists. While his faith never wavered rage built up within his heart, not towards his Gods but towards himself and those among him.
“Why? Why?” Amir thought to himself.
“What went wrong? Is it my devotion? Is it the devotion of my fellow cultists?” Amir continued as tears of anger and shame began to well up within his eyes.

“My fate has been determined; I will meet an untimely end soon enough” Amir mumbled under his breath as he began to unsheathe his silver sabre. “I will take my life and sacrifice myself to the Great Cthulhu” He continued on in a tone of almost satisfaction inaudible to those around him. As Amir brought his intricately detailed blade to his chest, a sharp searing pain resounded within his head that seemed to be unfelt by those in front of him as none of them even flinched.
“O mortal
I have heard your pleas,
I have received your sacrifice,
I have felt your unwavering loyalty and reverence.
You who shares the blood of the prophet, the Mad Arab
Abdul Alhazred.
Shall receive a gift befitting of the last Alhazred.”

Amir’s arms dropped to his sides due to the pain and the shock of hearing the voice of the very one he revered. When he tried to speak, his voice emitted no sound, when he tried to kneel, he remained still. All he could do was stand in awe at the words spoken into his fragile mortal mind.
“Your fellow cultists have wavered,
Their faith reduced to nothing.
Their mere presence is an insult to me who is sleeping in R’lyeh.
Slay them,
Sacrifice their mortal flesh to me and a gift will be granted.”
Cthulhu’s words continued to sound in the mind of Amir.

After pondering for not even a second, Amir unsheathed his silver blade which shone under the dim light of the cellar and begun the execution. Releasing his pent-up rage and thirst for blood, Amir quickly and efficiently killed the cultists he once called his brothers. Before they even realized it more than half of the cultists were dead, they were mostly all easy picking as they were either asleep on the floor or sitting staring into nothingness. Those that remained were the more able members of the group but even so, Amir’s sabre sliced through their flesh like a hot knife through butter.

But when it came to the last cultist it was Siraj, Amir’s childhood friend who was truly like a brother to him. Pained expressions were shown on each other’s face as they knew that only one of them would survive the fight. Hesitation filled Amir’s mind as he lunged towards Siraj who had picked up another dagger and was duel wielding. Both parties looked at each other with sorrow in their eyes as they continued to return slices and stabs at one another, covering themselves in each other’s blood. All of a sudden Siraj stopped, dropping his weapons as if he was being controlled. Seeing this Amir knew it was his chance, looking down at his hands and sabre he was reminded of his duty, with one swoosh, one fluid motion Amir slashed Siraj’s neck allowing blood to gush out.
“Goodbye, brother”, they both said as the life faded from Siraj’s eyes. A singular tear escaped from Amir’s eye, this tear contained sorrow and grief unlike any he had ever felt before.
“The deed is done,
Their souls are mine to consume.
You have done well, Mortal.”
Amir simply nodded in response, still covered in blood and still feeling the grief of killing his brother.
“I will grant you the undying body you so desire,
I will also grant you a token of my acceptance.”
A black wisp appeared suddenly in front of Amir; the wisp slowly flew towards his forehead causing a pain unlike any Amir had ever felt before; it was as if his skull was being crushed and penetrated by the small black sphere and the darkness that surrounded it. Amir shut his eyes instinctually and only tried to open them when the pain had subsided. Upon opening his eyes, Amir felt nothing, he could see nothing, but deep endless dark void.
~
After what felt like an endless amount of time in the abyss, in a sea of nothingness where Amir slowly forgot the things he did to his brother. Where Amir’s 40-year-old body was rebuilt into something reminiscent of a 21-year-old man. Amir finally awoke but, not in the dark bloody cellar in Damascus but, in a green luscious forest.