“Azathoth is the horrifying reality of creation, the chaos at the center of all things.”
The voice of Azathoth filled the darkness and when he was done, I heard a click like someone had pulled the chain of a light fixture overhead and then a sudden, bright light blinded me momentarily. When my eyes adjusted, I was standing in what appeared to be a large walk-in closet. The walls were off-white and there was a shelf on each of the walls to my left and right that were as high above me as the Gods were tall. Underneath the shelves on both walls were two seemingly infinite rows of clothing that hung from metal bars on clothes hangers. Azathoth stood before me, not nearly as tall as I remembered.
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Are we in The Dreamlands still?”
“No, human, the Dreamlands will never have these possibilities,” he said, “unless Azathoth dons them and blesses the Lands with his presence.”
Because the Azathoth who stood before me was much smaller than I remembered – he was only a foot taller than me – I wondered if this was the man referring to himself in the third person, or if this was a small facsimile of the true Azathoth who filled in for him in small matters. But then Azathoth turned and walked down the long, room-wide corridor, running hands along the garments as he walked. As he moved away from me, he seemed to become larger and the incongruous sight made me nauseous. I was sure that it was the same Azathoth that I knew, then.
“Should I follow you?” I screamed down the hall after him.
“Of course you should,” he called back in his deep, booming voice and I jogged to catch up.
Moving through the rows of clothing on either side made the space feel even larger and I marveled at the garments that weren’t made of fabric, but a material that broadcast what I assumed to be the live feeds from various worlds and existences. I saw what looked like people with blue skin in a restaurant on the sleeve of a jacket, and a pack of reptilian animals devouring something in a frenzy on the frills of a dress. Nothing was duplicated, not the pattern of the garments or the scenes they broadcast and I fell far behind Azathoth as I tried to make out each new environment on the garments as I passed.
“Azathoth is terrible and beautiful, the wonderful light show at a distance that rends worlds and their parasite beings to dust.”
When he said this, I looked up and saw that he had stopped and was watching me with his sly smile. He had a hand on his hip and the other hung lazily at his side like he was posing for a magazine photoshoot. He wore the same skin-tight leather from the first time I saw him and I wondered if I could ever have the confidence that he obviously had. I envied him in that unbelievable place and I knew that what he’d said was true. I was at the center of all realities and the glorious Azathoth could wear any one of them on a whim. He was the ultimate power of all existence and I saw some of myself in him. I could have his confidence, I would. I would know the feeling of being the center of everything because I deserved it.
It was at that moment that I decided on my new name and I shall take it from henceforth: Azalaan.
“Azathoth is the mindless one, the Idiot God, source of ridicule to those who misunderstand their own words. Azathoth is mindless, that is the nature of chaos, but Azathoth couldn’t be an idiot if he tried.”
I heard this as the great Azathoth being defensive and wounded by name-calling, and I wondered if I could use this to my advantage because I had developed a scheme as I admired the Idiot God in his infinite closet; I would usurp the great Azathoth and take his seat at the center of everything. My fear at being in unknown surroundings had fallen away and I felt as though I had finally ascended to the position befitting my stature. It all made sense, then. I had come through the wretchedness of the Dreamlands to prove to Azathoth that I was worthy to be his replacement. I smiled at the realization and I knew that Azathoth would take me as the heir to his closet.
“Azathoth sees you, Scorched Man. Black man, African American Earthling. You think of yourself as more than mere man, and you have never found a place to belong. You long for the power of Azathoth. How do you see him through your eyes?”
“I see you for what you are,” I said confidently, staring at his great size, barely as tall as his knee.
“Do you?” he asked and then the form of his body twisted into tentacles of inky black, like dark eels squirmed around in a ball that undulated and made wet noises as it writhed. In an instant, he was back to his model form, like a black manakin in black leather.
“I do,” I said smiling. The vision of Azathoth in any form made me happy at the realization that the destination of my well-deserved comeuppance was a real place that I could achieve.
“You are very unique indeed,” Azathoth said with a chuckle. “The true form of an Outer God usually drives a man to madness. What is my true name?”
I smiled wide at him, as wide as the Brethren of Leng smile, and suddenly I began to grow. As the form of my body increased to his size, I could only smile at him, and when I was as tall as he was, I opened my mouth and said something that I had never said before, but I knew that it was Azathoth’s true name. He smiled at me with his black face that had only suggestions of features on his solid visage that had no holes or openings.
“Have you shown Azathoth your true form?” he asked, still smiling, but I could sense a nervousness in the configuration on his face.
“I will show you,” I said.
PRL Serials 