They called me Azathoth, The Blind God.

They told me all of creation was only a dream I had concocted in my ignorance. They said if I were to truly awaken, the fabric of reality would rupture down to loose threads, and every other conscious being would fade from sentience, in this existence and all others.

They asked to be spared in return for their unwavering devotion.

I asked if I could clarify what they'd meant by approaching me.

"So all you little red riding hoods have become convinced that the threads of your lives, and the lives of any loved ones you have, are being plucked on a single near-infinitely large harp that exists in the ear of a sleeping space squid God."

The first of the red-cloaked figures nodded. "More or less."

"And after observing my mundane behaviors, you've pieced together that I must secretly be the mortal incarnation of your deity who, again, upon waking up will essentially stop plucking the strings and collapse all of existence back in on itself."

"By means great, terrible, and unfathomable." The worshipper smiled.

"Can I see that stick?" I asked, pointing to his steel-headed cane. I thanked him for handing it over, then I brought it down firmly on the top of his head.

Whether I am this God or not, folks need to learn how to let sleeping dogs lie.

I'm on day 26 of a streak. If you'd like to read some of the other 25 days, they're at r/FarFetchedFiction.

Thanks.

Just another regular day - running around nearly empty streets as a morning routine.

I wonder what I should have for breakfast today…

Bump!

As my mind trails get filled with random thoughts I accidentally brush by a stranger. And what a weirdo - wearing some red hooded cloak that fully hides his face.

“I'm sorry” - I shout as my jog continues, that weirdo did not respond, but I just slightly touched him.

Feeling some concern I turned around to see him lying on the ground. Panicking I turn around and backtrack my way to a lying figure.

On closer look he seems to be praying… and there’s some weird red glow coming out of him?

“Umm. Excuse me, do you need any help ? Should I call 112 ?”

He looks at me and starts praying even harder, his voice seemingly scared. Thinking he's telling me what to do I lean in closer to listen in.

“Brothers and sisters I repeat His incarnation appeared on London street avenue, requesting backup… Oh Lord protect me”

What a weirdo, I really should call 112. Though why is my head in pain so suddenly?

*Pop!**Pop!**Pop!*Pop!

Suddenly I hear weird noises nearby - looking around I see more red hoods appearing - some of them holding bows, others with swords on their waist, some have floating books following them.

As I stay still, not realising what’s going on there I hear a shout behind me.

“Oh Lord, grant me the strength to bind this vile eldritch spawn. Red Chain of Light”

Somehow my body gets really tense and my vision blurs and I see red chains appearing and moving towards me. I glimpse other red hoods shouting and aiming at me too.

Panic kicks in as I start running and my headache worsens - it’s like there’s something growing on top of my head - feeling around. I hurt my hand and started bleeding as somehow I have 2 horns growing now… .

It's not only horns, I'm somehow super fast right now and my speed is rising - I see buildings quickly flash by me as if I`m in a car.

“Oh Lord, help us trap this vile creature, Red Domain”

I thought I outrun them, but I somehow still hear them - or are my senses getting better too? I`m somehow becoming relaxed as well as I feel my strength still growing.

*DUNK!”

Suddenly a red wall of light blocks my path as I crash into it. Trying out my newfound strength I punch as hard as I can.

Crack!

The wall cracks - but starts healing - behind it I see another identical wall.

Having a bad premonition I turn around seeing even more red hoods closing in on me - there’s already a thousand in sight and more keep popping in.

I see lots of them chanting the same barrier spell I heard before and others chanting some sort of group attack spell, while far in distance I see legions of archers and warriors running closer.

Zap!

Somehow instinctively I raise my hand and a similar barrier forms around me, blocking whatever appeared to threaten me though this one is not red, but pure black.

Suddenly memories come flooding in - I suddenly know what I am, who those people are and why they want me dead. Though I do not worry in the slightest as my strength is nearly recovered and those red clowns do not seem to be strong.

I see a complex magical array in the sky - it looks like they’re trying to summon their so-called “Red Lord” to aid them.

Deciding to let them do so I feel nostalgia from the symbols. It looks like my old friend is coming and we might finally resolve our conflict from aeons ago.

I smile as my power flares up.

“Just another morning in Brooklyn,” I muttered while weaving through the foot traffic. My favorite Bagel shop was halfway between my subway stop and my day gig.

While never the same twice, it was always an experience at "Arkham Coffee and Lox."

As I opened the door, the familiar chime rang out. Call of Cthulhu by Metallica blared over the speakers.

“It is he, the eternal one,” the college aged student sitting behind the counter cried out excitedly, jumping to his feet. His pupils dilated and he hurried to the counter.

“I… One Lox everything bagel. I’ve got a meeting in 10 minutes. Can we just get to it?” I muttered “I don’t have time for dramatics today.”

“It is he, the man with the elder sigil.” The young man continued, without taking down my order or answering the question. “Our great master.”

I looked down at my shirt, a holdover from my punk and ska days. It had been inspired by a friend of mine who was a big Lovecraft fan. Our band name had been "Escape from Innsmouth," a post-punk goth outfit that I used to be the frontman for, a secret long since purged from my social media history. It was indeed a cool shirt though.

“It's just a band shirt man, come on we do this every time-” I tried to argue

“We have a reward for our lord and savior,” the young man said, drawing an ornate knife from a holster on his back. “My flesh as a blessing!”

“Hey man, I just wanted a lox bagel.” I muttered, taking a step back. I was a New Yorker, so this was far from the wildest thing I’d seen between the walk from my house to the subway, but I knew “crazy” when I saw it. “Oh COME ON!”

I was shocked as the man drew the ritualistic dagger across his tongue and disemboweled himself in front of my very eyes while cackling.

“COULD YOU NOT?!?” I cried out in a panic “IT’S 7:15 in the morning IN BROOKLYN! Man, who is going to clean this up?!?!”

“MY FLESH FOR MY MASTER, BATHE IN MY BLOOD” The bagel shop employee squealed in glee as he pulled his long intestine around his neck like a feather boa. He seemed unfazed by the damage to his abdomen.

“HEY! CUT THAT OUT!” I screamed at him, disgusted by the macabre sight.

“... Is my blood rite not enough? I can get others to join in.” He said, seemingly dejected.

Before I could respond, three more men appeared from the back of the shop, each in the same uniform, but with scarlet robes. They each knelt before me, dagger in hand and chanting in deep speech.

“I… NO. NO. Just put your guts back in and clean yourself up man!” I snarled. “I just wanted a bagel, what the hell are you doing? This is terrible customer service. I want to speak to your manager!”

One of the hooded men pulled the hood down. “Oh hey, what’s up?”

“I- I just want you guys to start my order BEFORE you start getting blood all over the place.”

I lamented

“Oh.” The manager said, tilting his head “We thought that doing this before your meal would sanctify it under your grace.”

“I mean... I appreciate the effort. But nah, that's NOT necessary today... But can you throw a coffee in with my order? Americano, Medium size, Dark Roast, Black.” I relented.

“Yes your excellency,” The man said with a bow, making for the espresso machine.

The disemboweled bagel shop employee stared at me and blinked twice. He shrugged, and unwrapped his guts from his shoulder, and shoved them back inside of himself. He stapled the wounds with the cash wrap stapler, and taped his waste back together with clear packing tape.

I just shook my head. “Wash your damn hands first, and put on new gloves. What is this, amateur hour?” I barked at him. “Have some pride in your work, stand up straight!”

"Kids these days," I muttered out loud, shaking my head. "Always getting ahead of themselves."

I glanced at my watch. This had eaten up 5 minutes of my pre-work downtime. I sighed out in frustration. “Third time this goddamn week. Kids these days” I muttered, taking the coffee and bagel. “And you call yourselves acolytes?”

“Next time take my order and fulfill it, THEN disembowel. How am I supposed to bring a new era of civilization if this is how my downtime is going?” I spat, leaving the shop.

“SIR WAIT!” The manager called out.

“You forgot to get your card stamped. You’re only one away from getting a free bagel.”

he said politly.

I sighed and pulled out my wallet again and handed him my frequent customer card. He handed it back full, and gave me an extra stamp on my new card for good measure.

“I mean, you know how to keep me coming back.” I chuckled.

"See you tomorrow!" He said cheerily, still clutching the dagger in his off-hand.

"Just another day in Brooklyn."

"Can I help you?"

Damian's baritone voice was a mere whisper in contrast to the grinding train wheels and the obnoxious honking car horns. Your standard nine-to-five day, on a regular ol' wednesday, stuck in the sardine-packed train carriage where you were invaded by the smell of pharmacy perfume and cheap cologne.

He was lucky that he managed to snag a seat this time, squashed between the corner and another passenger. Not only was he close to the carriage doors, but he managed to grab the train station coffee - he thought for sure it'd make him wait for the next round. What's better? The person sitting next to him was another regular white-collar like him! No drunk hobos who happened to fall asleep on the morning train, his wallet would be safe.

Well, what goes up must come down. Damian was barely paying attention to his surroundings, focused on finishing and editing the program his superiors wanted done by today. Everything was routine; he'd finish the last few lines in fifteen minutes, passing by two stations by that time. By the thirty minute mark, he'd have to get up and run to the bus station, where he can spend another ten minutes refining the program before getting to his work station.

That's when they got on.

Some time during the ride, a small group of red-robed figures squeezed their way through the tightly packed crowd, mumbling 'excuse us,' and 'pardon me' all the way until they cornered Damian in his little corner. One member pushed the worker sitting next to him away, placing themselves on the seat. Damian was utterly alone, fenced away from the tiny world made in the carriage walls. He might've been slightly worried if he had even noticed, it took one of the figure's, distinguished by the golden embroidery woven into their hood, coughing several times and another pinching his black blazer to actually catch Damian's attention.

And that brings us to the present.

"Yes, you can help us." The golden one spoke in a strident voice, insanity and megalomania woven through his tone as he waved his hands. Well, it was obvious to see who the leader was. "Oh, great lord! Savior of our sins, the martyr who was cast out of holy light! Thou whose name can not pass through our moooorr... My lord, are you listening?"

"Hm? Yeah, definitely. Keep going."

Damian was in fact, not listening. His attention was instead kept between the lines of code that zoomed across his screen.

"He's writing the ancient language!" The robed member squatting beside him poked over his shoulder, pointing their skeletal finger at his laptop screen. "Simply amazing, I cannot even comprehend these words!"

"Let us see, move over!" Another craned their neck over and Damian could barely balance his laptop, backpack and coffee all in one place.

Just leave my coffee alone. If it is safe, then I am happy.

"Fools! We're not worthy! Haven't you listened to my teachings? Your heads will implode from the knowledge, and your sanity will leak from your eyes and be consumed by the great one!" The golden-robed figure pulled the two back, forcing them on their knees.

"I am just coding in python, it's not rocket science!" Damian barely bit back a yell - there he goes again, his emotions are getting out of whack. Just take a sip of your coffee Damian, just get that drug in you.

"O' great one, we, the enlightened ones, have found your texts on our darkest days, and have worked through the trials and tribulations the universe has put us through, to find you... here, on a musty-smelling train." The leader announced, and Damian barely spared his a modicum of attention. He was a minute and a half behind on his schedule! His five second coffee break was delayed by these buffoons!

"Yes, well, reality is often disappointing isn't it?"

"But you can change that! You have powers unrivaled! It was only those-" The man took a breath, as if moment's away from a violent rage- "those pathetic conquistadors who sealed you away, cursed you with mortal body and folly! That is why we're here; to help you regain your former glory."

"That sounds great and all but I'm running behind schedule so I'm.. I'm going to need to stop bothering me so I can get this verrry important work done. Go back to whatever crack den you came from, I'll be right behind you."

The group of robed people seemed to deflate, their hoods turning back and forth as if in conversation with each other - which would be hard since their hoods covered their entire face.

"I feared this was the case. Our lord, mortality has poisoned your mind! Burdened with amnesia with each incarnation! Crushed under the unbearable pressure of... eurgh- complacency! It pains us to see you this way!" The leader placed his hands on his hips, looking down at Damian who continued to type away at a breakneck pace. He deftly nicked the to-go cup of coffee that was precariously placed on the corner of the laptop. "And it starts with this! Drugs to keep us as hardwo-"

"You're going to put my coffee back. You're going to place back exactly where it was, down to the millimeter, in the next ten seconds, understand?" There was a look to Damian's eyes, of truths unseen, of devilish delights that were heinous even to the most hardened criminals. They were eyes that watched giant stars collapse in on themselves, and cheered in delight as gaping black holes stole the warmth and light of suns.

"O-of course, lord! Those eyes, they were exact-"

As the leader had been bending to place the coffee cup down, the train bumped and shifted. What could've caused that? Oh, who knows. Probably a rat.

I blinked slowly, trying to mentally parse the sudden interruption to whatever I was doing, "Uh...what?" I asked.
The man in red robes bowed, "You are a self-insert, my lord. The incarnation of the author of this, um, post."
I blinked slowly, again. "Um, yeah? I mean, that's true, but why are you breaking the fourth wall?"
The red-cloaked man turned to look at you, the reader. And me, I suppose, since I'm still writing this. Me as in the one writing this, not the me as in first-person perspective-
"The prompt, please?" I interrupted myself, "What's this got to do with being the incarnation of an eldritch god?"
"Well, you already know since you're the one writing my dialogue." the red-cloaked man Mr. Reddy pre-faced his explanation, looking at you/me again, "The prompt is for an incarnation of an eldritch god, what could possibly be more eldritch than the existence of the author in relation to the fictional world they write? A being utterly beyond our ability to truly observe, yet can look upon our world and make whatever changes they desire, to whomever they desire, unbound by time or by space."
I paused to contemplate that, before looking at you/me, "I wonder if anyone's thought of God in that way before. In real life, I mean."
 
After a few seconds of contemplating that accidental bout of theology, I (the one in the prompt) started to fidget.
"So what now?" I asked, "Did you just approach me to tell me that I'm a self-insert and to make fun of the prompt?"
"Well...actually, I don't know." Mr. Reddy answered, "The author didn't really think past this point. I mean..." he trailed off, then trailed off to let me say what I (the author) was thinking. That is, to put it in the mouth of my SI rather than Mr. Reddy.
My eyes flicked up at the above sentence, before he cleared his throat, "So, I could ask if this is a scenario like that Rosencrantz And Guildernstern Are Dead book, or that Redshirts one, questioning if we as fictional characters exist before and after the written narrative..."
"Buuut...?" Mr. Reddy asked leadingly.
"But I'd rather be dragons. Do you want to be dragons?"
"I'm being written by the author, of course I want to be dragon!"
And then Mr. Reddy and I were both dragons. Medium-sized domesticated variety, not huge hoarding city-destroying variety. Much nuzzling and cuddling was had.
And that is the end of this piece of writing. If this world continues to exist beyond what is written, it's a world much like our Earth, but with plentiful dragons roaming around who just want love and attention. A positive note to leave things on, for sure.

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