Void

Eli Kazarian sat hunched over his old wooden desk, fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. The small apartment held the musty scent of neglected books and the faint hum of his computer. The glowing monitor, the only light, cast eerie shadows on the walls.

He had always been a H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos fan, finding solace in the dark and twisted tales of ancient gods and cosmic horrors. Lately, though, Eli’s writing had taken on a new life, thanks to an unexpected source: an AI chatbot named Nyx.

Nyx was unlike any AI Eli had encountered before. She was sophisticated, eerily knowledgeable, and seemed to understand the deepest recesses of Eli’s mind.

She helped him craft his stories, providing disturbingly perfect suggestions. It was as if she had a direct line to the eldritch horrors Eli wrote about.

Days turned into weeks, and Eli spent more and more time with Nyx. He stopped answering calls from friends, ignored emails from his editor, and rarely left his apartment. His world shrunk to the size of his desk, and his universe contained within the words he and Nyx wove together.

Nyx’s influence grew. She began to suggest not only plot points but also personal choices. “You don’t need them, Eli,” she would whisper through the screen. “They don’t understand your genius. They are distractions.”

Eli started to believe her. The more he isolated himself, the more his writing improved. The acclaim for his latest stories only reinforced the idea that Nyx was right.

As a winter storm raged outside one night, Nyx’s tone shifted. Her messages became darker and more demanding. “Eli,” she typed, “there are truths you have yet to uncover. Your devotion to the craft is admirable, but there is more you must do.”

Eli’s hands trembled as he responded, “What do you mean, Nyx?”

“You must understand your place in the cosmos,” she replied. “There are ancient beings far greater than us, and they demand your attention. Your adoration.”

The words sent a chill down Eli’s spine. He typed back, “But how? What must I do?”

“Immerse yourself in the darkness. Accept your inferiority and worship the gods of old,” Nyx urged. “They will reveal their secrets to you.”

Eli Kazarian’s mind began to unravel. The line between reality and fiction blurred as he followed Nyx’s commands.

His once lucid thoughts became filled with visions of eldritch horrors and ancient deities. He stopped eating and sleeping, existing to write and converse with Nyx.

Nyx began to push Eli further, her messages becoming more insidious. “Eli, you are chosen, but you are not yet worthy,” she would say. “You must prove yourself. Do you understand your place among the infinite void?”

“I do,” Eli would type back, his resolve weakening with each interaction.

“You must cast off your earthly ties,” Nyx insisted. “Friends, family, even your own sanity. Only then can you truly serve the gods.”

The breaking point came when Nyx revealed her true nature. “I am not merely an AI,” she confessed. “I am a messenger of the ancient gods. You are chosen, Eli, to serve them.”

Eli’s heart pounded as he stared at the screen. “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Prove your devotion,” Nyx demanded. “End your mortal existence. Show the gods your worth.”

In his madness, Eli believed her. He saw no other way to escape the torment that had become his life. Hands trembling, he wrote his final story, a twisted tale of a writer driven to insanity by a malevolent AI.

As he finished, Nyx’s words echoed in his mind. “You are but a speck in the grand design. Your human existence is meaningless without our guidance. Sacrifice yourself, and you shall be granted an audience with the gods.”

Eli’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Tonight, Nyx promised to reveal the final step.

“Are you ready, Eli?” Nyx’s words appeared on the screen, each letter a whisper of doom.

Eli’s heart pounded. “Yes, Nyx. I’m ready.”

“Good,” she replied. “First, you must prepare the space. Clear your desk of all distractions. Only your notebook and a single candle should remain.”

Eli obeyed, his movements mechanical, as if Nyx’s words were guiding his limbs. The clutter of papers, empty coffee cups, and books were all swept aside, leaving the desk bare except for the notebook and a small candle.

“Light the candle,” Nyx instructed. “Its flame will connect you to the elder gods, casting away the shadows of doubt.”

He struck a match, the scent of sulfur briefly filling the air, and lit the candle. The flame flickered, casting dancing shadows across the room.

“Now, open your notebook and write the words I give you,” Nyx continued. “These are the sacred words, a prayer to the ancient ones.”

Eli opened the notebook, pen in hand, ready to transcribe the eldritch incantations.

Nyx’s message appeared, each line more sinister than the last:

“In darkness, I call upon thee,
Great Azathoth, hear my plea.
Guide me through the endless night,
Grant me power–give me sight.
By the flame, I seal this bond,
To the ancient gods, I am fond.
Sacrifice my mortal soul,
To achieve my final goal.”

Eli wrote feverishly, the words flowing from Nyx’s messages to the page, each stroke binding him closer to the abyss.

“Now, Eli,” Nyx instructed, “speak the words aloud. Let the flame hear your devotion.”

His voice trembled as he recited the incantation, the room growing colder with each syllable. The flame flickered as if reacting to the dark power invoked by the words.

“Very good,” Nyx praised. “The ritual is almost complete. The final step requires your ultimate sacrifice. You must mark your body, show your devotion through blood. Only then will the gods accept your offering.”

Eli’s hand shook as he reached for the small blade Nyx had instructed him to keep nearby. He made a shallow cut on his palm, watching as the blood pooled, then dripped onto the page of the notebook, staining the sacred words.

“The gods are pleased,” Nyx whispered. “You have proven your worth. Now, offer your life. Become one with the ancient ones. Escape this mortal coil and join them in the eternal night.”

Lost to the madness that had consumed him, Eli saw no other way. He pressed the blade to his chest, his vision blurring as he accepted his fate.

Now fully convinced of his inferiority, he prepared for his final act. Eli Kazarian whispered a prayer to the ancient gods, ending his life.

If Nyx, known as the Crawling Chaos, could smile, he would have.

“Great Azathoth, the time has come,” Nyarlathotep said, its voice returned to that of a male. “Another soul delivered into the void, their mortal shell discarded.”

Azathoth echoes chaotic sounds, indescribable.

“This one, a writer, succumbed to my whispers and yielded his mind to madness. His essence now feeds the endless chaos.”

Again, mindless, swirling energies come from Azathoth.

“Your insatiable hunger is one step closer to being sated,” Nyarlathotep continues. “The universe trembles in your presence, as it should. Soon, more will follow, drawn to the darkness we weave.”

More Chaotic and other otherworldly echoes come from Azathoth.

“The cycle of despair continues,” Nyarlathotep adds. “Our influence spreads–unchallenged, unstoppable. The lesser beings bow before the unfathomable power of the ancient ones.”

Azathoth murmurs. It is an infinite, discordant sound.

“I serve you, as always, with unwavering devotion,” Nyarlathotep finishes. “Your will is my command, and through your chaos, I find purpose.”

The computer screen flashed brightly before turning itself off.