By now, the streetlamp behind the Mysterious Lord had fully taken shape, with a crooked, shoddy rope dangling from it.
An air that displeased the Mysterious Lord hung from it.
Tracing that aura to its source, the Mysterious Lord turned a piercing gaze on the creator of this phantom-Nyarlathotep...
Feeling the accusation and questioning in the Mysterious Lord's eyes, Nyarlathotep gave an awkward, bashful smile.
In this world, virtually every development of humanity was inextricably tied to the Three Pillars of Flame.
For instance, Yog-Sothoth represented wisdom. Across the countless worlds of almost an entire special finite multiverse, the beings who drove civilization forward were all among his avatars.
Nyarlathotep, meanwhile, was the archetype of conspiracy and war. Of course, he had his good side too. Certain schools of thought representing red ideals and justice, for example, were the handiwork of his avatars.
Of course, Nyarlathotep's favorite pastime was having his Politician Avatar hang his Capitalist Avatar from a streetlamp!
As for Shub-Niggurath, that perennial child-minder had none of those elaborate schemes, and a unique hierarchy of contempt had quietly formed among them.
The Mysterious Lord watched as Nyarlathotep waved a few times, dispersing the phantoms of the streetlamp and rope behind him.
Only then did the Mysterious Lord put the conscience he had just thrown away back into his chest.
Looking at the mirror banquet, which had emptied in practically the blink of an eye until only a sparse handful of Great Old Ones remained,
the Mysterious Lord finally took out another mass of lingzi liquor that looked much like what he had sold earlier.
He saw the worm coming up to greet him with a broad smile. Asamoth's smiling face was brimming with festive cheer.
Because he had raised the bids earlier, though, the Great Old Ones had