Perdition Below

 

 

We are sinners, yes. We may be cruel, callous, violent, depraved. But we are not born thus. It is the world and circumstances which shape our natures, our own choices, which lead us on the path to wickedness, though Primeval Sin too plays its part in so often pushing us down that path. It is easy to assume, then, that those men-made-monsters are the nadir of existence, the end point of the world's wickedness that sees us reduced to a most terrible existence, cursed, alone, and turned against our fellows.

This is not so. A pit darker still lies in the deepest recesses of the earth, lit with unholy fires and profane wills. Crawling along the inverse world and lit by the inner fire is a realm of abject horror, ever aligned against all which we name decent.

Some say that which is named Chthon came into being from the detritus of the war between man and beast, others that when the sorcerers of Antiquity first dabbled in Goetia, twisting life into unwholesome forms which, by using them as weapons, ensured they would only ever seek the degradation and ruin of man. Others say that Chthon has always been there, down below, waiting for us to find it.

The living dead, spirits, daimons, all represent the dominance of the spirit over the body, for good or ill. But what Chthon, what a devil, represents is a soul which is embedded into the matter of the world, mastering it for their foul ends yet reliant on it for to enact their will. They wear the faces of men, monsters, and beasts alike, yet grotesque and disfigured in ways which far exceed even the most grotesque of mutants or chimerae. They possess bodies and reshape them into profane tools of ruin.

Their souls are subtle and insidious, shaping Worldly bodies like clay. Indeed, it is thought the Theurgy of Flesh developed from those who learned from them in ancient days, and for this reason among others Chimerae remain viewed with suspicion, as do their makers.

 

Unlike daimons, which merely ride physical bodies but in truth exist as numinous spirits, a devil is reliant on its physical shell. If its body is destroyed the soul crumbles with it, and so it meticulously weaves a network of connections and hidden vessels such that it may escape from one to another if need be. It is comparable to a certain affliction of the flesh which causes tumors to erupt and death to ensue in Worldly folk, but capable of afflicting root and branch, stone and soil, even space and time, perverting all materials of Creation into extensions of itself. As more devils cavort within a place, the whole of it becomes more like themselves, turned into a miniature perdition. Faces erupt from stones and houses and imps crawl from orifices in trees and dirt. The sky darkens and foul winds blow over moaning hills. Their hordes parade across what they have made, and woe to any who encounter them.

And yes, there is a perdition in truth. At the bottom of the earth teems an immense host of devils, which themselves slip through stone and fire and bring with them crawling masses of life the size of cities, of kingdoms, migrating ever through the depths. It is from this source that the unending tendrils of the whole of devildom, the idea, people, and nation which collectively is named Chthon, spread across the world.

What such terrors seek is no less than the mortal soul, for it is the soul itself for which they hunger. Unable to exist outside of worldly flesh, their nature is one of deficit. Without more numinous essence to replenish their own, of which even the lowliest of mortals possess in abundance, they dwindle and wither. Yet there is a conundrum in this. For all their terrible power, they are scattered and broken by sufficient spiritual strength. Daimons may contest them for ownership of a soul, and saints are nigh-untouchable. Indeed, even the flock of a great faith prove a challenge, for their spirits are fortified by their Gospels. Even a monster may have pride, code of conduct, standards, affection for at least its own kin. Oh, they can be tortured, they can die, but what is the use of that if the numen they hunger for dissipates or vanishes beyond reach, or simply rebukes them by virtue of its strength?

No, in order to obtain what they desire, all spiritual protections must be stripped away, such that the spirit has no ward, no patron, no route of escape, save for the waiting maw of Chthon. Thus devils are ever bent towards the degradation and defilement of all held sacred by man. Of torment and diminishment, until all under their power are mewling, wretched thralls which possess no convictions of the spirit nor strength of body. Thus as a tiger's mind is bent towards the hunt, the quick kill, the chasing instinct, all of Chthon have minds and souls bent towards the perpetuation of maximal cruelty. All wickedness is as breathing to them, and any seeming deviation is assuredly a deception, one oft perpetuated by more cunning members of their kind.

If there is any goodness in the heart of a thing touched by Chthon, it is those men-made-monsters which align with them, and even then it is only the potential to be so, for rare is the one to take the devil's mark which did not wish for it, and rarer still is one with the power to resist its pull towards sin. Possession by a devil is no small thing, the horror itself taking root as a tumorous growth within the body, ever whispering into the mind of the afflicted and guiding their thoughts; sometimes impersonating their own inner voice, other times presenting itself as an advisor or a friend. To comply is to be rewarded with floods of pleasure and to deny it is to be wracked with pain. Those who truly abide by its will are paid well; their very bodies are transfigured into undying pseudo-devils, and they are welcomed as kin into the hierarchy of the damned.

Yes, indeed, there are mortals who consult with such fell powers. For all their fragility, the souls of Chthon are old and clever, awash with secret knowledge and profane power. Those seeking a short route to strength themselves, who lack the will or means to indulge in Primeval Sin as is more often the case for the amoral or ambitious (or simply seek a kind of power that mere enhancement of the body cannot provide, such as Gnostic secrets), will treat with fiends of Chthon to their advantage.

All that is required is a prepared sacrifice to act as a doorway and host, and knowledge of the rites to call them. Provided they are properly bound and unable to spread, they are all but helpless, and thus compelled out of self-preservation to speak to you. Often, what is summoned is a lesser emissary of Chthon, an expendable spirit sent to either see if the summoner is worth using, or to open a path for its masters if there is a gap in the rite's defenses. Chthon only wants one thing, of course; souls, or living mortals containing them. A sufficiently large animal, sacrificed in great quantities, can suffice in the manner that boiling and eating one's boots may keep you alive, but they vastly, vastly prefer thinking beings over such paltry fare.

Thus any who have gained power with Chthon's aid have surely done so through the offering of people unto the darkest of all fates; a slow spiritual unraveling and the total destruction of their identity. Be they innocent or wicked, Chthon cares only if it may take them. Even a saint, unclaimable by their arts, is a worthy prize, as by subjecting them to unspeakable bodily torment they may break the faith of lesser devout and strip them of spiritual defense, and so take more souls in the long run.

The True Faiths and the keepers of esoteric knowledge know the danger of Chthon, however, and when signs of it appear, even bitter enemies may unite to stamp out its presence. Even the hell which the return of the Titans would result in is a hell more preferable to the truer nightmare which Chthon would bring upon the world, and even the end of all history that Heaven will create, if ever it is brought to earth, serves a better conclusion to history than the slow digestion within the bowels of perdition.

But in such chaotic times, the shadows which pool between the points of light and civilization grow dark indeed, and none may watch them all.