Eldritch Ascension

Chapter 5: Cryo-Stored Divine Flesh

The logic chain collapsed under overload, and the taste of Long Island iced tea churned in Ethan Moore’s stomach.

Through the porthole, jagged, spike-like shadows drifted across the sea, their surfaces carpeted with phosphorescent green algae. From the mining zone buried deep within those shadows, black fumes billowed upward. Each time the mass expanded, the entire ocean resonated with an organ-like hum.

“Is this Cthulhu’s stomach?” Ethan Moore clung to the window, dumbstruck. “And we’re delivering takeout?”

Silas Quinn rapped him on the head with a peachwood sword. “More precisely, the Old Ones’ fishery. The last people who came here—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Following his gaze, Ethan Moore saw a group of Deep Ones dragging shriveled corpses into the sea. The surface roiled as translucent jellyfish emerged, the lamps at the tips of their tentacles flickering with an eerie glow.

“The last people became snacks,” Rowan Shaw said, engaging the autopilot. “Cryo-bombs deploy in five minutes. Once it’s frozen, we slice it into sashimi.”

Ethan Moore’s left hand began to tremble uncontrollably. Inside his skull, the King in Yellow sneered coldly. “He wants to turn them into… a chilled offering to the dark…”

Seven minutes later, inside the pyramid.

Silas Quinn’s talismans flared to life. The floor was carved with reliefs of humans copulating with Deep Ones. Ruanruan scanned the walls with her mechanical eye. “What species did this flesh come from?”

“The pleasure grounds of the Old Ones,” Rowan Shaw replied, activating his terminal. “According to the specs, these tentacles have a preservation window of seventy-two hours.”

Ethan Moore’s skin began to itch. Scales split through the gaps between his fingers, forcing their way beneath his nails. Beyond the door lay a shadowed corridor, the air thick with figures in white lab coats—memory-entities, incarnations of the Woman in Yellow.

“Special experimental specimens,” the woman said, her voice laced with electronic distortion. “Thank you for supplying the cryo-fresh core.”

Ethan Moore’s tentacles tensed instinctively. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“To ‘reboil,’” Rowan Shaw said suddenly, yanking open his pack. “The main ingredient for divine flesh hotpot—the appendix of Patch-the-God Asura.”

The black fog beyond the doorway congealed abruptly.

At the center of the circular hall, suspended beneath the dome, hung a mountain-sized mass of dark red flesh. Its surface was riddled with sucker-like pores, each embedded with a translucent human face—residual traces of what had been consumed. Layers of living tissue wrapped around a steel framework, expanding and contracting with each breath.

【Residual activity of an Outer God detected. Containment advised.】

The system alert rang inside Ethan Moore’s mind. The King in Yellow erupted in fury. “Leave! This is… mine!”

“Dig in,” Rowan Shaw said, tossing Ethan Moore an entrenching shovel. “Your scales are sharp enough. Take a few cuts—don’t waste it.”

Ethan Moore’s armor of scales surged over his body as he moved across the flesh. Within it, countless twisted human forms were melting away. One familiar face flashed before his eyes—the vagrant he had devoured at a convenience store three days earlier. Scales were already blooming across the man’s features.

“Don’t freeze up!” Silas Quinn snapped, his peachwood sword shattering Ethan’s trance. “They’re assimilated cultists. Killing them is mercy!”

Ethan Moore hacked down hard, carving off a chunk the size of a basketball. The mass shrieked in agony and instantly burst into hundreds of blood-red bats. Ruanruan’s micro-guns stitched a web of fire through the air. “Not enough hotpot ingredients for you?”

Rowan Shaw’s voice crackled through the comms. “Silas Quinn! Five o’clock, left!”

The Taoist’s sword slashed a golden arc. At the same time, Ethan Moore’s bone whip tore free, striking the air and shattering a Cthulhu-like sigil. The entire flesh-mass convulsed violently. A piercing scream erupted from its crown, knocking everyone but Ethan Moore unconscious.

“You dare sacrifice me?” the King in Yellow roared. “My power… all of it is yours…”

Ethan Moore’s spine warped grotesquely, transforming into a barbed, whip-like column. As it pierced the apex of the flesh, he saw the truth: etched there was no incantation, but a linear cipher labeled—

Cultist of the Yellow (Experimental Subject).

【Contamination level exceeded threshold. Old Authority unlocked: Yellow Bestowal (Tier I).】

Golden vine-like patterns spread across Ethan Moore’s skin. He tore the flesh apart with his hands and seized a pulsating pale-violet heart. Memories flooded his mind: the origin of the Deep Blue Eye, the Cryo-Fresh Division, Ruanruan and the Plague Doctor’s past, Silas Quinn hunted by Yellow cultists since infancy…

“Ethan Moore!” Ruanruan’s mechanical eye locked onto his chest. “That’s an Outer God’s heart!”

Her voice cut off abruptly. Ethan Moore watched as his tentacle pierced her torso. Blood splashed across the god-heart, igniting the energy patterns etched upon it.

Silas Quinn’s peachwood sword cleaved down from behind. “You’re corrupted!”

“i***t,” Ethan Moore said, turning the heart as dark red web-like veins spread outward. “You’re the ones who used me as bait.”

A thunderous roar echoed from the depths. The pyramid began to weather and crumble. Rowan Shaw grabbed Ethan Moore by the hair, madness blazing in his eyes. “True enough. Seems my dosage wasn’t strong enough this time.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Ethan Moore said, sweeping Rowan Shaw’s ankles with his bone whip. “Aren’t you all just rabid dogs jolted awake by nightmares?”

The logic chain fractured once more. Ethan Moore fell backward into chaos. Before losing consciousness, he saw the Woman in Yellow standing on a reef above the sea, raising her hand to catch the heart he had hurled.

“Welcome to the true Deep Blue Eye,” she said, crimson lips parting to reveal a face identical to Ruanruan’s.

Twenty-two hours later, Blue Sea City subway station.

Wrapped in a borrowed trench coat, Ethan Moore retrieved a new terminal from a locker. A television nearby played the news:

“An Old Ones organization in the eastern district has been eradicated. Experts claim the phenomenon was naturally caused by extreme heat…”

He tightened his grip on the object in his pocket—half an appendix of divine flesh, still smeared with blood, coordinates carved into its surface: 34°7′ N, 124°42′ W.

The King in Yellow whispered once more. “Go to R’lyeh… your answers await you there…”

From deep within the subway tunnel came damp, echoing footsteps. Ethan Moore’s tentacles slid out from his sleeves.

This time, he would set the hotpot himself.