Chương 42: The Horror - 2

"My pantheon? Are you sure?!" WARHOL couldn't believe it.

"What does that mean?"

"I do not know. I am hoping you might know..." Signet replied. Warhol spoke aloud, more to himself, rhetorically, than anything else: "It could mean a lot of things, really. Long lost god? Long lost relic? Maybe the first of another whole Pantheon from another system?" He did not say the most outrageous of his thoughts, though, that perhaps the Cosmic Horror itself was — no, he would not entertain such monstrous perversions of faith.

Signet showed him the data and though he wasn't the best at reading the complex graphs and tables which Signet's people used in these academic matters, he had grown well-enough in reading them over the years to know what he was looking at, generally speaking, that is; so, when he saw the graphs and data and tables show an unmistakable match to the energies released by followers of his world's gods when they used advanced magics, he was shocked.

He wondered if it might even be a match to the artifact that had crashed into the planet?

"I will need to investigate this," he told Signet.

"Does an old friend have any surplus gear that I might use?" More twitching from Signet's antennae told him a lot of things, namely, that yes, there would be surplus gear yet.

"This way. Do try and bring it back in one piece, yes?" All geared up, and his incantations still active, Warhol opened another portal, this time to just inside the part of space infected by the Horror. He stepped through and was surrounded by immense, suffocating darkness — cold, chilling, freezing shade unlike anything he had experienced planet side — as he floated in space, the pull of the vacuum demanding his self be shredded. Warhol didn't let the inhospitable environment get to him, though.

Neither did he let the horrible, continent-sized tentacles of the horror, barbed with nation-sized talons, get to him either, despite the uncomfortable closeness. He incanted [Warmth], then [Flight] and pushed a substantial sum of mana into each so he would not need to spend days flying through the absolute emptiness of space.

He wore a space suit over his wizard robes and golden chest plate; he didn't care for how the helmet squished his wizard's hat, but beggars couldn't be choosers, as the saying goes, so he had to roll with it. On his back was strapped one of the Neons advanced weapons -- a pulse rifle. He touched his earpiece, activating the communication line to Signet.

"I am inside the enemy's expanse. Incantations are active and I am making a beeline for the unusual signature. Arrival in... uhh... a couple of hours, maybe?"

"Are you done talking now?" Signet replied after a silence.

"Yes?"

"Then say, 'over,' remember..." If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"Oh, yeah. Over!" The conventions of the Neons remained strange to him. How they talked, their head things, their atheistic beliefs. It was hard for him to believe they came from a world without living, breathing Gods. A bizarre notion for him to fathom even now. And yet, life goes on. Warhol pushed the differences between them from his mind. It would do him no good to be preoccupied by religious and scientific beliefs.

Especially when it was all for naught anyway; the Neons had done well enough without the aid of Deities. After all, they were the ones who were a spacefaring society while his Godly folk remained mired on their origin world. As he traversed the bleakness of the Horror's expanse, ever on the lookout for rogue tentacles which would try and snuff his life out, he thought of how he would defend his home if all their efforts failed to stop this behemoth.

Could he defend the entire world by himself, as tentacles wrapped themselves around the entire world? How much energy could he blast before running out? Normally, not a question he would consider, but when the creature's limbs were the size of moons? His immense mana only went so far...

"I've arrived at the energy signature," he spoke into his earpiece.

"I am descending now. The signature is part of a moon. The Horror has grip on the moon through the use of one of its minor tentacles. Over."

"Acknowledged. Be safe, over." And Warhol was safe. If there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was to trigger a fight with the Horror in the middle of its own territory. If he ran out of mana here, his incantations would fail, and he would suffer a quick, inglorious death via asphyxiation. Not how he wanted to go! He landed on the moon's surface. Dusty, gray dust covered every surface. It was an unremarkable sight. Warhol continued to follow the energy signature, using his visor's built-in tracking.

He eventually came upon one of the beast's minor tentacles. It was tempting to scratch off a genetic sample for Signet but resisted the temptation. He did not know if the beast would react to such a small part of itself being afflicted, but he did not want to risk it regardless.

"What do you see?" Signet asked.

"The feed is spotty at best."

"Uh, so there's a small structure on the moon. It is underneath the minor tentacle. I think I can gain access to the building, though without disturbing the Horror. Give me a second, over..." The structure was a bunker once upon a time. It looked to be made of concrete, but Warhol knew the material was something else entirely, something which could stand up to the challenges of outer space. Undeniably, it was a bunker, as identified by its compact shape and its little slits for windows.

Whoever build this clearly came from a militarized background. Warhol approached the structure and pried the door open with good old elbow grease. Inside of the bunker was bare, to say the most. Anything of note had been long ago stripped. No weapons, no suits, no ammo, just bare, cracked walls with the tattered remains of a propaganda poster. He saw a hatch in the floor which led deeper into the structure.

He waved the hatch open with a little wave of his finger and floated his way down alongside the tall, multi-storied ladder inside. He descended until he reached the deepest part of the bunker. He incanted [Search: Scan] and injected a lot more mana into the spell than normal. He was in outer space, which was inside the expanse of a cosmic entity, so now wasn't the time for conservation. The information his incantation returned, told him he was at the start of a series of corridors, offices, and research labs.

Together with his visor indicator, the incantation led him directly toward the source of the signal. All he had to do was blast through a couple of reluctant doors from time-to-time. When he arrived before the center of the maze-like interior, he saw the source of the signature clear as day — it was an artifact.