The Deathless Gods (Bonus Edition)

By Christopher Joyce

We are not alone; there is death and darkness deep behind the veil of the cosmos. There are terrible things out there in the darkness, but the true horrors are much closer to home…
"The Deathless Gods" tells of death, darkness, fear, and madness, as we peel back the veil of our world and dare to gaze upon the horrors which lie beyond.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Joyce
• Release date: Jul 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223873310

Christopher Joyce

Christopher is a Middlesbrough-born Horror/Fantasy author, and freelance content creator. When not busy crafting tales of weirdness and wonder, Christopher's main passions are retro video gaming, superhero comics, and tabletop strategy games.

Book preview

Part One:

The Arcane Archives

What follows constitutes only a sample of my ongoing research into the existence of life outside of not only our own planet or even our own galaxy, but outside of our very universe.

I have painstakingly curated various snippets and samples from newspapers, social media posts, diary entries, handwritten notes found in desk drawers, and a variety of other sources both commonplace and infinitely more macabre, all of which have a number of key things in common.

First, they all recount human experiences of horrifying ancient entities, described as either gods, demons, spirits, angels, or something else equally fanciful depending on the author.

Secondly, all of these pieces speak of horror, tragedy, death, loss, and pain. If these entities are in fact real - as I wholeheartedly believe them to be - they are malevolent in the extreme.

Finally - and most damningly of all - the stories and confessions reproduced within were each dismissed as nothing more than the ravings of lunatics, or as the manifestations of associated personal trauma.

I do not ask you to agree with my conclusions, nor do I honestly expect you to even believe the stories I have selected within, but I do implore you to keep an open mind as you read these tragic and disturbing examples from the countless I have found during the course of my research. 

Frankly, I do not think that we as a species can afford such complacency and arrogance. 

There are things out there; other beings, other planes of existence, other universes which overlap and bleed into our own.

So I ask you once more to keep an open mind as you read the words of those unfortunate souls for whom my hitherto abstract words became an all-too horrific reality.

You might not believe me, but I believe them.

Benjamin Cain

A Look Behind The Veil 

I will not speak of how this particular document came to be in my possession, but I do want you to know that I am one of the few who has seen the original item, reproduced for you here. It is at once a fascinating and terrifying document, and serves to demonstrate how utterly insignificant we are as a species, in the face of such an almighty revelation as that which follows.

-  B.C

I write in the expectation that someone finds this after I have done what needs to be done, but also in the vain and remote hope that this never sees the light of day.

My name is Thomas Bailey, and I am an astrophysicist.

I have made a discovery so monumental, so horrendous, yet so fundamental to the very idea of life and humanity as we know it that I can no longer bear the weight of this knowledge.

I have recently been heavily involved in the study of both dark matter and gravitational waves, and while those with any working knowledge of these fields will note that there is no discernible, intrinsic crossover – at least not directly – between the two disciplines, the study of both in tandem has led to my shocking discovery.

I do not have much time, so I will outline this in as simple a manner as I can given the complexity of the subject matter.

I have detected certain vibrations in the very fabric of space-time, and their origin has broken me to the core.

But I will come to that.

First, I need to explain. If you were to imagine taking hold of the very corners of the night sky, and shaking them like a duvet or a picnic blanket – this is the only relatable way I can currently think to best describe these vibrations, these ripples through the cosmos.

Whilst this, to my mind, is a good starting point, these vibrations  occur on a scale so large, so unfathomably grand that they shake the very space between galaxies, from one edge of the universe to the other.

Again, the minutiae and complexity of my evidence for this phenomenon are best left unsaid in a note such as this, but I have made – nor will I make – any attempt to hide or destroy my work. It’s all here, exactly where I left it.

These vibrations, to me, are not dissimilar to the beating of a drum, the banging of a gong, or even the sounding of an immense fog horn on a dark and perilous coastline.

But the scale...

The sheer immensity of this phenomenon is quite beyond the capacity of the human mind to fathom. When we start talking about the spaces between galaxies, even the brightest and most brilliant among us must rely on the abstract to frame such a grand cosmic notion.

But I have not yet come to the worst of it, and I falter even now at the thought of committing my findings to record. But commit them, I must.

Space as we know it – as we have always known it – is a veil, a curtain; it is a screen against which the history of the universe has played out for aeons.

But now I know that there is something behind the curtain.

Something ancient, something inconceivably grand.

Something malevolent and possessed of unimaginable cruelty.

You see, the vibrations, the ripples, the ringing of the cosmic bell, if you will – these are not random.

I have studied them, traced them back through time, and have cross-referenced them with recorded human history, and my conclusions terrified me to the point of nervous shock and to the writing of this very note.

The vibrations of the cosmic veil, you see, coincide to a devastating degree of accuracy with mass extinctions, great wars, the ravages of disease, catastrophic eruptions and tsunamis, not to mention acts of unspeakable terror and violence that we humans have historically perpetrated upon one another..

We are mere puppets on strings; we are being forced to dance unwittingly to the macabre tune of some unknown power, as we languish under the pretence of free will and the advancement of human knowledge, technology, and influence.

How very, very wrong we are.

One must assume that if we on this planet, in this solar system, within this galaxy are being so mercilessly orchestrated for the amusement of some ageless being, then it stands to reason that all other civilisations in every other conceivable galaxy out there are likewise being made to dance and sing and toil and die at the mere whim of.... something.

What are we but flesh and bone marionettes?

What is the universe but some upturned cardboard box inside which a child performs a pantomime for its parents?

What was the big bang but a mere sparkler in the hand of an ancient life form?

I have looked into every conceivable myth and legend; I have researched and scrutinised every reference I could find to ancient beings, cosmic entities, those who dwell outside of our universe.

I have read about the Council of Mylarth, I have heard first hand hushed tales of the bloody conquests of Kantep, and have collated a sizable file on everything I could find relating to Roloth the Defiler - some of which strikes much, much closer to home than I can even bear.

No, I cannot reconcile what I have discovered.

I am terrified, exhausted, overwhelmed, and inexplicably angry all at once.

Writing this note will be my last act on this Earth, save one.

I know my words will be dismissed as the ravings of a madman and that the evidence I have collated will be discredited or even destroyed to keep this dark discovery from the masses, but I tell you with hand on heart that what I say is true.

My final act of defiance will be to end my own life.

This, at least, I still have some control over.

Or do I?

Maybe I never did.

The Council of Mylarth

This next entry I pieced together from newspaper clippings of the time, and augmented it with revelations obtained via my own painstaking investigations in the matter. I risk much by revealing these hitherto guarded secrets and revelations, as some of the knowledge I am about to share came about via not altogether conventional, nor necessarily legal means.

What follows is, at least to my mind, one of the most harrowing and concrete examples of the degree to which these ancient beings, entities, gods, if you will, have immersed themselves within our lives and our societies, and yet remain utterly invisible and unacknowledged by the teeming masses.

They do, however, have their thralls; sycophants and cultists, all.

-  B.C

(Excerpt from the Daily Times, July 13th, 1982:)

48yr old Elizabeth Morton - local Pastor, Church Treasurer, and mother of three - was reported missing in the early hours of yesterday morning by her neighbour, who reportedly heard the children crying late into the night and went to investigate. A source close to the local police force has told us that strange symbols were found drawn on the walls inside the Morton house, in what may or may not be human blood. Beyond this, the details are being tightly guarded by the authorities, but it goes without saying that this incident has shocked the small, sleepy village of Westerside...

(Transcript of a cassette tape recording found in a show box in the late narrator's attic. B.C)

My name is Daniel Morton. Elizabeth is... was my mother.

My sisters and I have never received anything close to what we would deem a satisfactory explanation of what really happened that night nearly 40 years ago, although I must say that my sisters - more for their own sanity than anything else - have long since stopped looking for the truth.

I have not. I owe my mother that much, at least.

Finally, after all these years, I believe I have now discovered the truth, though it is as unbelievable as it is shocking.

It is fortuitous in the extreme yet entirely bittersweet that I should have stumbled upon my mother’s diary whilst simply cleaning out the attic. There, in the bottom of a damp, musty cardboard box, buried among Christmas decorations and decades old action figures, sat the little leather book.

It unnerves me to think that I had not come across it before now, and whether or not it is born of the shock and revulsion at my discovery, I can’t help but think that it may have been secreted there much more recently than I dare consider.

Among the pages of my mother’s diary lies a jarring juxtaposition of the mundane and the truly macabre, and I shudder even now to recall her words.

It may be better that I simply put them to record here, in my own words, as no police officer, investigator, judge, nor jury would ever so much as consider them to constitute the truth.

And therein lies the problem: I know who - what - took my mother, but nobody will ever believe me.

(Excerpts from the diary of Elizabeth Morton, 1982)

Sunday April 11th:

Easter service went well today, and most of the regular congregation were in attendance. The children seemed to love the egg painting competition, and young Timothy Valentine won 1st prize. There were also a few new faces among the pews today, but that often happens on the big occasions. Looking forward to a nice quiet night with my own three, although the chances of that are slim-to-none.

Sunday April 18th:

Service again went well, despite not feeling very well. There’s a bug going around, and I think I must have caught it. Nothing a good night’s sleep and two paracetamol won’t solve (and there’s always prayer...). None of the new faces from last week were in attendance (which is to be expected, as I said last week), save one - a young man of about 35 if I had to guess. He introduced himself as William Terry, and he’s new to the area. I do wonder if he’ll come again next week, and if he maybe has any family or friends who might also like to accompany him to St Joseph’s. I’ll have to make a point of asking.

Saturday June 12th:

What a day... The kids have been little terrors and I still have lots of work to do before tomorrow’s service - such as actually plan the thing. The Thompsons have already sent their apologies; they’re having a long weekend away with their children (who are infinitely better behaved than my own brood), but young William will be there. He is such a lovely, polite young man, and has far more time for the Lord than most his age; it’s all Duran Duran and Sega these days. I must also admit to being curious, as he has asked me for a word after the service, says he has something which will be of interest to me.

Sunday June 13th:

"Colour me intrigued and more than a little excited! I spoke with William after today’s service, and  he informed me that he hosts a get-together every Monday evening at his house. He told me to think of it as bible study and book club rolled into one, and he wants me to attend next week. I must admit I was a little taken aback at first by his offer, but he also said that, if I enjoy it and think it suitable, that he would happily open up the group to the congregation of St Joesphs, which could really help push up the numbers - especially among the youth.

I think he must treat the gatherings quite loosely, quite playfully, I suppose, because he ended our conversation with what I can only assume to be a riddle or a secret password: "Mylarth Aden Addenai."

I suppose it could be fun!

Monday June 21st:

"I will keep this short as I am in a poor humour.

I can’t help but feel as if William’s invitation to his group was nothing more than a joke at my expense.

Not one word did he speak from the bible, but instead spouted all manner of blasphemous nonsense about the universe being billions of years old, and housing a near-infinite number of galaxies and civilisations. I really had to bite down hard to keep from losing my poise and abandoning all social decorum.

Such poor taste, and such foul heresy."

Sunday July 4th:

"William was back amongst the congregation today following a two-week absence. He made his apologies and told me that illness had kept him away, though I believe his embarrassment and shame relating to the gathering may be the true root cause. Of that, he did make mention, and extended an olive branch of sorts. He told me that, every once in a while, they have been