Opinions please

[mytentacleshurt]

Hi ,

wanted to put this to you all, as you are versed in the mythos.

First attempt. Critical comments fine as long as some form of constructive feedback included.
Possibly the writings a bit ropey - but what do you think. Also, as a general concept, writing aside.
Thanks for you time.

What I Have Become

by

My Tentacles Hurt

I was once free in the universe. Free to do whatever I wanted, go wherever I desired.

I could form myself into anything I could conceive of, and create energy and objects at will. A colossus immaculate.

Until the day I was beguiled and trapped by him.

The torture seemed to go on forever. Wrenching, breaking, stretching me. Twisting me together with evil and blasphemous body parts so that we became one. Seething tentacles, half formed bones jutting out of half formed sinews, corrupted flesh wound to my own form, distorted organs which only served to disgust, having no corporeal use. The torment and convulsions his orgy of pain inflicted on me.

And I screamed. Oh, how I screamed. Rattling through space and time, they can still be heard even now.

And when he was finished, he fired me through the void.

Travelling for a million years, a fragmented being, I finally found a place to hide at the other end of the galaxy and there I festered. Hating, fearing, loathing I became the antithesis of what I once was. My spirit reduced to my substance.

Time passed and this hiding place became Earth.

My hiding place was known at intervals and I was feared, worshipped and reviled every few millennia. Known by different names by different races, mostly I was forgotten and left alone. And this was good.

But now they come again. Men of Earth this time, with their mysteries and books of runes and occult. They know nothing of me but call me Sha'nat'ar.

Pathetic.

Hate them as much as myself or Him.

I will scorch their minds and devour what is left.

Slow at first, as I move for the first time in a thousand years, the babel of moving my churning form, stops the expedition party in its tracks.

The one I corner is paralysed with terror.

As his co-expeditionaries flee - screaming, tripping, babbling – he doesn't make a sound, though his eyes tell all, as I close in.