Birth and Rebirth

Meanwhile, in an old abandoned waterfront warehouse . . .

A couple dozen men in long, purple robes gathered together in a long-deserted building. Each man wore a strange mask that almost covered his entire face, leaving only the mouth exposed. The masks bore the semblance of a monster with great tentacles about its head, like an octopus.

They stood in a circle, ceaselessly chanting their mantra. On the ground beneath their feet, they had drawn a round symbol, painted in blood. All but one of the men stood along the circumference of this symbol. At the center stood the last man, their high priest. He addressed the others in a clear, commanding voice that carried easily over the din of their chanting.

“The time is near, Brothers. I have found the spell that will awaken our Master. He need not slumber for another sixty years! Nay, he need not wait even sixty more hours! We have redeemed ourselves in his eyes, and he has rewarded us with a second chance to serve him. We shall not fail him this time.”

Outside, a drifter stumbled along the pier. He was far from coherent after his night of boozing, but a rush of sobriety suddenly overtook him. He swore that he could hear the rhythmic chanting of two nonsensical words.

“Kuh . . . Kuh-too-loo fuh-tog-un?” he slurred. Having uttered the words aloud, he suddenly felt as if someone had just walked over his grave. He let out a nervous wheeze, and took a long draught from the bottle he carried in a crumpled brown paper bag. He then quickened his step, fleeing as fast as his legs could carry him.