Silas lay on his back in bed, tangled in threadbare sheets, a damp light filtering through the gaps in the windowpane. He was lost deep inside an exhilarating dream.
It was unlike any other dream. There were no narratives or echoes of recent events. It was raw, primordial intensity pulsing through every nerve as he fell deeper into a dark place. In the darkness, figures moved. They had no faces, only textures. Slick, glistening forms twisted like enormous tentacles in a dance. They were coated in a dense, viscous slime that dripped constantly with every motion, radiating heat and a shit's stench.
Silas felt drawn toward them, compelled by an urgent need to become one of their shapes. His limbs stretched and twisted as if shaped by an invisible force. His skin rippled, absorbing the glistening substance. The world faded into deep green shades. There was no struggle, only surrender, a primal understanding that he belonged among these colossal, filth-covered entities.
A voice spoke within him, not with words but with raw instinct, a primal urge that resonated through his very core: "Consume. Become."
The figures offered him something tangible. As he reached out, he felt warmth and mushiness. He began shedding parts of himself, willingly merging into a being enveloped in thick, glistening material. Astonishingly, there was no pain, only expansion, a sensation of becoming limitless and untouchable.
Then came the offering, appearing silently. It was a towering mound of dark, organic substance, pulsing with life, radiating irresistible allure. Silas extended his hand and embraced it, consuming it completely and losing himself entirely in the darkness.
The sensation was euphoric. His sense of self dismantled violently, followed by an intoxicating completion, the realization that nothing remained for him beyond this boundless substance. All existence resided in the dark, glistening mass. As his body disintegrated into its components, he understood what he truly desired to become.
Silas awoke with a gasp, sweat clinging to his skin, heart hammering, the remnants of the dream thrumming beneath his flesh. A tremor inside him felt different, as though a part of him had already changed. He reached for the small mirror on the wall and barely recognized himself. For a moment, he saw darkness and tentacles instead of a reflection.
This was not simply a nightmare; it felt rooted in something real, a fragment of memory pulled from a realm beyond comprehension. He had to understand what had happened and what had drawn him so irresistibly toward that darkness.
Days bled into weeks as Silas became consumed by his search, poring over dusty archives and crumbling libraries, hunting for whispers of ancient rituals and forbidden places. He unearthed fragmented accounts and cryptic passages describing caves where the earth “offered its refuse” and cults that worshipped these gifts. Most dismissed it as superstition or madness, but some spoke of transformation, of those touched by something divine.
It was not mere curiosity driving him. A primal hunger pulsed beneath his skin, a craving so intense he struggled to name it. Shame no longer existed; it had been replaced by aching emptiness, only soothed by surrender. The hunger to give himself over to something darker, more visceral than any human experience, became a necessity. It echoed the sensations from his dreams, and he desperately sought the places where this gift might appear again.
An old map, brittle with age, depicted caverns beneath the Blackwood Forest, one marked as The Maw. The cartographer noted only unsettling signs: “absence of birdsong,” “a scent that clings long after leaving,” and chillingly, “those who enter do not return.”
Despite the warnings, Silas felt reckless anticipation. His body seemed drawn toward the cave, almost physically pulled. He considered the rituals described in some of the books, wondering what to do to appease the gods and find the Maw.
“I need to feel it,” he murmured one night, staring at a faded illustration of glistening black mud. “Everything I am is nothing but filth, and it is the greatest thing in existence.” Something inside him had already changed. The old version of himself was gone. His desire for degradation grew into an unyielding urge.
At dawn, he packed lightly, leaving home without a note. Guided only by the map and an irresistible pull, he ventured deep into the Blackwood Forest.
The forest pressed in, a suffocating blanket of ancient trees draped in moss and lichen. The air smelled of decay. He pushed through tangled undergrowth as the ground became slick and muddy. Silence intensified with each step.
After hours, a cavern appeared, a gaping maw radiating unsettling warmth. Though small, it glowed dimly from strange organic matter deep within. This had to be the Maw. As Silas stepped across the threshold, his senses screamed as if someone or something were watching, judging him. The ceiling dripped faintly glowing liquid.
The floor was black mud, undulating and warm. The scent of shit and musk was calling to his instincts from the dreams.
In the center, bathed in sickly green light, a cluster of pulsating tentacles coated in thick mucus. As he approached, an overwhelming urge seized him. It was crave to surrender, to lose himself in obscene beauty. His limbs moved as if guided by unseen forces. He knelt and reached out, silently acknowledging his destiny.
The Tentacle Lord appeared, not visibly, but as an idea, an echo in his mind: “Welcome home.”
Silas touched a tentacle and felt divine sensation and a desire to belong entirely. The presence spoke again: “Devour.”
He plunged into the glistening substance. As he ingested it, fragmented visions flickered before him, showing endless cycles of giving and reward, existence devoted entirely to feeding the Lord and his own desire to submit.
Another portion of shit emerged, darker and richer than before.
“There are many others here,” the Tentacle Lord spoke, resonating in his consciousness. “And there will be more. Join us.”
Silas shuddered, anticipation, not fear, coursing through him. He understood this was his fate to be with the twisted order.
One large tentacle extended toward a deeper chamber. There, he realized this was his path to immersion in dark beauty.
“Enter,” the Tentacle Lord instructed, its presence pressing against his mind, “And become.”
The darkness deepened as Silas followed the lead tentacle into the chamber.
