Eldritch Enactment
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 23: The Three Beneath the Gate
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 23: The Three Beneath the Gate - After his father's passing in 1822, Silas Wolcott returns home to discover he has inherited a fortune beyond necessity. However, soon, he must uncover the secrets of his House and bloodline. From a seductive vampire to a university that wants knowledge, a tale of hubris, fear, and destruction unfolds.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Hypnosis Mind Control Gay Heterosexual Historical Horror School Science Fiction Alternate History Paranormal non-anthro Vampires Cream Pie Squirting Voyeurism Geeks Halloween Royalty Transformation Violence
“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.”
— The Call of Cthulhu, H. P. Lovecraft. First published in Weird Tales, Vol. 11, No. 2 (February 1928). Public domain.
There were regions beyond existence where even eternity suffered from exhaustion.
Such domains could not be mapped, for mapping required relation, and relation demanded laws. Here, law was not abolished but consumed. Principles devoured one another in cyclical feasts of contradiction. Vast immensities folded inward into infinitesimal irrelevance while particles smaller than mortal mathematics could contain the carcasses of unborn universes.
This was not some common jumble of disruptive mayhem being dressed up as Chaos, for Chaos implied disorder.
This was a place (if it could be called as such) was higher and more terrible arrangement wherein every impossibility existed in flawless harmony with potential.
Distance did not separate locations in this dominion, for a distance was nothing more than a measured interval. In this place, thought did the partitioning while hunger divided and memory disunited.
A being could stand beside another individual for ten thousand years and yet, it was entirely conceivable that they remained farther apart than two stars divided by creation itself.
The gulf between the Realm of the Gatekeeper and the lesser dimensions shivered with a pressure akin to anticipation, for this breadth was both impossibly large, yet infinitesimally small.
As per their orders, the three had gathered there. Compulsion was the closest approximation available to mortal language to act as an explanation, for their compliance was sewn into their very beings.
The Horror drifted nearest the Threshold. Its shape was obscured by writhing curtains of blackness that devoured the illuminating quality that was certainty. Around its colossal form, the lingering scars of the Keeper’s tendrils still glowed with hateful silver. Wounds inflicted by law itself could not truly heal, for they were intended to burn deep into this being’s core.
Beside this singular being circled the Chronovore.
Time broke against its personage like water upon jagged cliffs. Futures peeled from his body in translucent ribbons only to decay backward into infancy before vanishing entirely and starting all over again, but this time in reverse. Every tick of every clock that would ever exist screamed inside his impossible frame. If only there were those that could appreciate its melody...
The Revelator remained furthest from the others, there was isolation in truth.
To gaze too long upon that pale entity was to perceive conclusions before questions. His silver-white body resembled sculpted marble left beneath a dying sea. Upon his smooth surface, revelations moved like parasites beneath skin.
For a span beyond measurable chronology, none spoke.
Then the Revelator broke the stillness.
“A Crown?”
Both the Horror and the chronovore remained unmoved.
“A Crown of Sin placed upon mortal flesh,” the Revelator continued. “An aperture joining lesser existence to ours. You gamble with inevitability.”
The black mass shifted. Somewhere, stars burnt out from the mild gesture.
“This world will belong to the Keeper,” the Horror answered. “The Crown ensures compliance.”
“But... Why are we constructing the apparatus?” the Revelator spat.
“The circlet exists because it always has,” the Chronovore said simply. “Outcomes where the vessel resists are possible no more upon the band’s constructions, so we have forged it as others have before and like we might again.”
“We have not made it yet!” the Revelator exclaimed. “And there are none who could oppose us!”
“False.”
That singular declaration caused entire chains of unborn timelines to curdle into nothingness around them.
The Chronovore laughed at both the consequences of its actions and the power of the single syllable word’s utterance. The very noise came from centuries colliding.
“Causality remains intact only to the lesser beings,” he hissed.
The Horror ignored the two, but especially showed no interest in the time being.
The Revelator was not so foolish.
“Divergence?” the silver being asked in observation. “Speak.”
The Chronovore unfolded.
There was no other term suitable for the grotesque expansion of his existence. Infinite versions of himself peeled away from one another like pages from a burning manuscript. In one reality he was skeletal bronze. In another, a tower of screaming infant faces. In another still, merely a rotating spiral of emerald dust.
All were equally true, yet none could capture that which he had been, that which he was, and that which he may be; still, he was none of them as well.