Day 1

Today, Azathoth was born.

My original identity is not relevant. I worked with computers, fixing and maintennance mostly. Lighting programming here and there, Database management. Typical IT stuff. "Have you tried turning off and turning it back on again?" Cue laugh from the studio audience. It wasn't an interesting or social life, but it was one I found acceptable. I was content. I was safe.

I woke up in the middle of the night, and my body was covered in sweat. Night terrors weren't an entirely odd or outside event for me. Dreamscapes were strictly reserved for nightmares. But I didn't remember anything of the sort before awakening. As I lay, staring at my ceiling, I realized in horror that my sweat was starting to boil on the surface of my skin. I heard a loud sizzling, as if my skin were an oiled grilltop. And yet, I felt no pain. By the red glow of my alarm clock (which I noted to read 3:01 AM), I could see it bubbling over.

I dashed to my darkened bathroom, grabbing a towel and patting down my arms and torso, finding spots of sweat boiling over until the popping stopped, until the seemingly deafining sizzle ceased. Only now did the absurdity of the situation seize me, as I stifled a chuckle. My hands groped for the sink, finding purchase on the cool porcelain. My left hand went to the lightswitch, and toggled it to on.

The face in the mirror was not mine. My skin looked like a deep shade of scarlet, closer to a Coke can than human skin. My hair, though it was recently short from a haircut, had grown to rest just above my shoulders, and turned from a dark brown to a jet black. My teeth were now pearlescent, almost glowing in the lightbulb's illumination, and my canines extended into sharp, almost vampiric fangs. And my eyes... Instead of their usual, gray, human resolve, I stared into the golden, evil eyes of a serpant. And for the briefest of moments, I spied a black shape over either of my shoulders.

The room seemed to spin, as I backed away from the mirror, slamming into the wall behind me. I looked backwards, surprised by my speed and strength of withdrawal. In the plaster, the dark masses on my back left two, oval shaped holes. In the mirror, I caught myself in profile, realizing that the shadow behind me were growing out of my back, two small and darkened wings. Again, the world shifted and I found myself backed into a corner, fetal and hyperventilating.

I must have cowered there the whole night and eventually passed out. (Probably from lack of oxygen, in hindsight. Hyperventilation is hardly an efficient way to exchange air.) I woke up as light began to creep through the windows. I stood, convinced I had been hallucinating or having a walking nightmare. After rising, again, the mirror proclaimed that I was not. As my anger grew, I felt myself becoming angry. Beyond angry, I started to feel real rage. My body started to feel like it was on fire. From my eyes, black wisps of flame started to flicker, developing from mere embers to meter-long strands that shot horizontally off of my face.

My closed fist struck my foe, the mirror, a fatal blow. It fractured into countless pieces, shattering instantly. I looked to my knuckles, expecting to see blood and viscera. Instead, my new flesh seemed fine, as if the power of the shards could do nothing to pierce it.

I felt myself wondering about my changes, this... Transformation. As my curiosity grew, my ire proportionally shrank. In a larger shard, I saw the black streaks dissipate and disappear as they if they never were. They apparently were summoned by mere emotion, so I noted to myself that emotional restraint would be required until I was sure what I was dealing with. However, is was at least evident that I would be the next of Maghelm's empowered. I sighed, looking at the floor. Lucky me.

I spent a long while, then, just sitting in my bedroom, staring at the ceiling that had so long ago been my night's best and most faithful companion. It hadn't changed once in the past two years I had been here, but for some reason I expected to find guidance in it's rough surface. Nothing did.

I heard my roommate, Ed, stirring from his room. His footsteps approached his door and the hallway outside. I glanced down the hall, outside of my open door. A moment of clarity later, and I had jumped up, seized the door in my grip, and slammed it shut. By the time Ed had emerged into the hallway, all that accompanied him was a closed door and its echo.

His voice sneaked it's way into my room. "Uh, hey man, making eggs. Want some?" I formed a story. I wasn't feeling well. I wouldn't be out, I wouldn't be going to work. I began to speak. "*No, I-". I realized even my voice had changed. I transferred from a light trill to a deep, gravelly register. I sounded like a god damn movie thug, not an IT Technician. I mustered out a feigned cough (which even managed to vaguely sound like a gutteral growl), and spoke again. "Throat. Day off." Ed's voice sounded... scared. Concerned. "U-Uh, okay bud. Try to keep your illness to yourself, huh?" He laughed. He always thought he was the funniest person in the world. We have... Differing opinions.

It wasn't long until he had left for his own job. I sent an e-mail to my supervisor, informing them of my impending absence on this day. It felt strange to do so, typing away with foreign, demonic fingers. I was in no form to be seen, not by people so damned familiar with me. Then, a new wave of panic seized me. How much of my life could I maintain, now? Would I honestly be able to go, live a normal life, looking like a knock-off Satan? I looked more like a Lovecraftian Horror than a human.

So I resolved that I needed to... escape. Lay low for a while. See if I could find a way to revert my.. Deformity. My metamorphosis. The walking devil wasn't safe in a middle class apartment in the suburbs. People were too prying, too pushy. Too many curious eyes. I needed to be somewhere people wouldn't give a shit.

So I went searching, and not even an hour later, found another apartment, located right in what might be referred to as a "bad part of town". I have enough in savings for the security deposit and a few month's rent. Hypothetically, I could survive there for a long while anonymously without having to do anything. I budgetted my cash and stored the large majority of it in a category I called "Survival Funds". At least I would feel guilty if I tried to spend it on my FF14 subscription.

I leave later today. I've left most of my possessions, and a note for Ed telling him I'm visiting my parents. I'm not sure if my original identity is relevant any more. I'm not sure if, with the way the empowered seem to be fucking up on the news, if I'll even be considered a human by the people I meet. Maybe my moving into the city, I can meet Empowered that don't feel like they need to be god damned heroes all the time. Some refuge where I could lay low.

For now, I've dubbed myself Azathoth. He is the daemon sultan, a name that no man would dare speak aloud, a creature that hungers beyond the reach of the space and time. He is nicknamed as the Blind, Idiot God. Considering how little answers I have, it seemed appropriate. I just hope I have not jinxed myself into some accidental, self-fulfilling prophecy.

I'll update this when I can or when there are events. I do so through enough VPNs and proxies that I should be safe, unless some organization wants too desperately to find me. But if they can muster that much computing power, I'm already screwed anyway.

I was an Atheist, before, even when super heroes emerged from every day citizens. But now... I'm not sure if I believe in a God, but I certainly do believe in Demons. Every mirror declares their truth.

Good luck.

-Az