Some of you intrepid readers may be curious about what happened to that semi-sluggified cultist of Glarthulor, The Fear Eater and his time-travelled-neutrino-sabotaged ritual.
But first, I am sure that you are even more curious about the contents of Jeffbob's letter. As such, let us turn our gaze back to that red planet where the currents of time flow ever forward, sometimes backwards and rarely in circles for no apparent reason at all.
****
"This letter...", Jeffbob forced out the words with visible effort. "I have understood it completely".
His tone was grave as his hooves sunk deep into the sand below as though the metaphysical weight of that knowledge bestowed upon him had been so great as to have conferred onto the physical plane.
Ziriothrax gulped and took a few steps backwards, although his tiny insect body meant he only really moved a few millimetres. Jeffbob opened his mouth and for a second, it felt as though the very stars held their breath for what came next.
"Follow your stomach".
"..."
Ziriothrax waited for some clarification, but none was forthcoming as Jeffbob had taken to gazing forlornly at the horizon once again.
"The letter was three words?", he spoke in an attempt to clarify the unclarifiable.
Jeffbob turned back to the cricket with a solemn look.
"Indeed. Truly, knowledge is a heavy burden. Those who bear it are cursed to suffer in isolation from the ignorant masses."
His eyes burned with righteousness.
"I shall bear this burden for the sake of all vegetable-kind!"
"So it wasn't some sort of code or hidden runes in the form of three words but actually containing much deeper meaning?", Ziriothrax asked with a tone tinged with desperation.
"Heh", Jeffbob chuckled and shook his head. "Pitiful cricket. Seeing into the depths, one often misses what is at the surface. What I have spoken contains enough knowledge to overload your brain several times over".
Ziriothrax was about to refute such an accusation but a look of madness had nestled itself in the Trinacornagon's face that caught him off guard.
'This...no it cannot be. For his anti-saniton levels to reach this high it would mean...'
For a split second, his certainty wavered before he steeled himself with the sheer weight of uncontested self-belief.
'I am The Great and Powerful Ziriothrax, Devourer of a Billion Souls, Origin of All Evil, Archon of Suffering. None can escape my schemes. This may be my greatest hurdle, but it will not be my last. I shall always prevail.
If man obstructs, then I shall eradicate man. If fate obstructs, then I shall abolish fate! This is my, The Dread Ziriothrax's, unyielding Conviction!'
While Ziriothrax's monologue was ongoing (there were a few small crackles of thunder in response to his powerful conviction, but really it was quite underwhelming. After all, he is just an insect), Jeffbob continued his speech in a trance-like state as though possessed by some strange force unknown. His voice grew deeper, commanding all who heard to listen and all who listened to...listen.
"This letter contains profundities beyond the unprofund. Abnormalities beyond the unabnormal. Strangeness beyond the unstrange. Let me explain: to follow my stomach means to satisfy my hunger. But what is 'hunger'? Simply put, it is an feeling to eat. But it is more than that. It is an urge to satisfy what our body, minds, or souls require yet cannot elucidate. It is a fundamental emotion to all living beings, yet being completely solipsistic in nature. No matter how well I describe it to another, they can only imagine it in the framework of their own experiences with it.
"In this way, it functions as a metaphor and analogy for experience itself. We are who we are because of the experiences that shaped us. You may argue that instead it is genetics, or code, or quarkion sediment that is responsible for who we are. But even identical twins or clones will differ and pursue individuality. If their base is the same, then the only independent variable is the experiences they have had.
"But then at the root of experiences lies desire. We of sentient mind are different from the rocks we now stand upon because of this simple word. Even animals, driven by their basest instincts, still possess desire. The desire to feed, to mate...to kill. And what is the most fundamental desire...if not hunger. Before there was anything, the void itself hungered. It hungered to be more than what it was.
"The same applies to all beings, great and small. Some of us-"
He gestured to Ziriothrax.
"Hunger for power and strength above all. Others-"
He gestured to an empty space to their side. Yet, if one were to look far enough, past galaxies, universes, worlds, cabbage fields, one would notice a familiar looking creature with three horns and dragon wings. That Trinacornagon jerked his head to stare directly with unintelligent eyes at the red planet, while a sliver of drool exited his open mouth.
"Others hunger for redemption and peace"
Jeffbob paused, glancing at...us?
"While others still hunger for myriad things."
He turned back to Ziriothrax.
"It is this hunger that drives us. What I hunger for is..."
***
Anyways, as I had mentioned previously, some of you may be curious about the fate of that semi-sluggified cultist, so let us return to his golden ship and have a look.
The rotary phone with an eyeball decoration was slowly disintegrating into a grey powder that blew away despite a distinct lack of circulation in that hangar. The cultist struggled to his feet, shivering and muscles twitching as he fought off the possession that had taken ahold of him. The great eye floating in the void behind his head had gone red and started smoking, as though it had witnessed something far beyond its calibre to comprehend.
The cultist brought a hand to his forehead as he groaned.
"What...happened? The ritual...this is not how it was supposed to go."
His head was still foggy and his thoughts jumbled up, yet before he could clear anything up, a recording started playing, startling him from his concentration.
"This is a recording for Slalgulathon Slalgulus, cultist of Glarthulor the Fear Eater, mediocre-class cosmic horror. If you are him, please press one. Failure to do so will result in involuntary disembowelment."
This threat seemed to be enough to shock Slalgulathon out of his confusion and he raced to the console where he slammed down on the nearest button that said 'one'.
There was a loud beep before another recording started playing.
"Hello, this is Victim Harvester with Universal Auto Coverage. Apologies for the nonconsensual bodily possession, there was an emergency situation with a high priority client. According to our divination, this causality nexus point was the closest available for a stable connection.
"If you would like compensation, please press 5 to be referred to our Bureau for Occult Relations, you may be eligible for a free hundred-thousand-soul-sacrifice if you enter into a quarterly subscription! Your patron deity will also be suitably compensated!
"If you feel personally violated, then please press 4 to be referred to our customer services department. Once again, we at Universal Auto Coverage extend our sincerest apologies for this mix up. Have a nice day!"
The recording cut and Slalgulathon collapsed into a chair nearby. He cradled his head in his hands and moaned balefully.
"Why do these things always happen to me. I just wanted to be a normal cultist but no, something seems to have bigger plans for me. I should have listened to mother and retired to our slug farm after what happened last time".
Unfortunately for Slalgulathon Slalgulus, his luck would only get worse...