Dagon Quotes

I felt myself on the edge of the world; peering over the rim into a fathomless chaos of eternal night.

The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!

Your god, sir, is the World. In my eyes, you, too, if not an infidel, are an idolater. I conceive that you ignorantly worship: in all things you appear to me too superstitious. Sir, your god, your great Bel, your fish-tailed Dagon, rises before me as a demon. You, and such as you, have raised him to a throne, put on him a crown, given him a sceptre. Behold how hideously he governs! See him busied at the work he likes best -- making marriages. He binds the young to the old, the strong to the imbecile. He stretches out the arm of Mezentius and fetters the dead to the living. In his realm there is hatred -- secret hatred: there is disgust -- unspoken disgust: there is treachery -- family treachery: there is vice -- deep, deadly, domestic vice. In his dominions, children grow unloving between parents who have never loved: infants are nursed on deception from their very birth: they are reared in an atmosphere corrupt with lies ... All that surrounds him hastens to decay: all declines and degenerates under his sceptre. Your god is a masked Death.

Where is the graveyard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a time when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter today? And who of Huitzilopochtli? In one year - and it is no more than five hundred years ago - 50,000 youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him. Today, if he is remembered at all, it is only by some vagrant savage in the depths of the Mexican forest. Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried out with the sun. When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with 10,000 gallons of human blood. But today Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Allen G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha and Wotan, he is now the peer of Richmond P. Hobson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler and Tom Sharkey. Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother Tezcatlipoca. Tezcatlipoca was almost as powerful; he consumed 25,000 virgins a year. Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quetzalcoatl is? Or Xiuhtecuhtli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Of Mictlan? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitl? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard-of Hell do they await their resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Caesar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Of that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jackass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods, but today even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them. But they have company in oblivion: the Hell of dead gods is as crowded as the Presbyterian Hell for babies. Damona is there, and Esus, and Drunemeton, and Silvana, and Dervones, and Adsullata, and Deva, and Bellisima, and Uxellimus, and Borvo, and Grannos, and Mogons. All mighty gods in their day, worshipped by millions, full of demands and impositions, able to bind and loose - all gods of the first class. Men labored for generations to build vast temples to them - temples with stones as large as hay-wagons. The business of interpreting their whims occupied thousands of priests, bishops, archbishops. To doubt them was to die, usually at the stake. Armies took to the field to defend them against infidels; villages were burned, women and children butchered, cattle were driven off. Yet in the end they all withered and died, and today there is none so poor to do them reverence. What has become of Sutekh, once the high god of the whole Nile Valley? What has become of: Resheph Anath Ashtoreth El Nergal Nebo Ninib Melek Ahijah Isis Ptah Anubis Baal Astarte Hadad Addu Shalem Dagon Sharaab Yau Amon-Re Osiris Sebek Molech? All there were gods of the highest eminence. Many of them are mentioned with fear and trembling in the Old Testament. They ranked, five or six thousand years ago, with Yahweh Himself; the worst of them stood far higher than Thor. Yet they have all gone down the chute, and with them the following: Bilé Ler Arianrhod Morrigu Govannon Gunfled Sokk-mimi Nemetona Dagda Robigus Pluto Ops Meditrina Vesta You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: You will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity-gods of civilized peoples-worshiped and believed in by millions. All were omnipotent, omniscient and immortal. And all are dead.

He came to a decision and looked at Dagon before climbing into the car. "Find the Disir." Dagon stiffened, showing a rare sign of emotion. "Is that wise?" he asked. "It is neccessary.

Takiramon," Dagon and Xev said in unison. "And that would be what brand of Pokémon, Ash Ketchum? Should I fetch Pikachu's bal and have at it? I choose you, Dagon!

I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below.

- John is a dangerous fanatic. - And you are not ? - asked Dagon. - I'm just dangerous.

I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more.

Perhaps I should not hope to convey in mere words the unutterable hideousness that can dwell in absolute silence and barren immensity.

Once I sought out a celebrated ethnologist, and amused him with peculiar questions regarding the ancient Philistine legend of Dagon, the Fish-God; but soon perceiving that he was hopelessly conventional, I did not press my inquiries.

I cannot think of the deep sea without shuddering at the nameless things that may at this very moment be crawling and floundering on its slimy bed...

Elohim was, in logical terminology, the genus of which ghosts, Chemosh, Dagon, Baal, and Jahveh were species. The Israelite believed Jahveh to be immeasurably superior to all other kinds of Elohim. The inscription on the Moabite stone shows that King Mesa held Chemosh to be, as unquestionably, the superior of Jahveh.

I am writing this under an appreciable mental strain, since by tonight I shall be no more. Penniless, and at the end of my supply of the drug which alone makes life endurable, I can bear the torture no longer; and shall cast myself from this garret window into the squalid street below. Do not think from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate. When you have read these hastily scrawled pages you may guess, though never fully realize, why it is that I must have forgetfulness or death.

Dagon shook his head. “So damn appealing.” “Aww.” Smiling, she patted his chest. “You used an Earth curse word to describe me. That’s so sweet.” He laughed. “Appealing and odd,” he qualified. She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. I was hoping it would take you longer to figure that last part out.

Of the name and abode of this man but little is written, for they were of the waking world only; yet it is said that both were obscure. It is enough to know that he dwelt in a city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, and that he toiled all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening to a room whose one window opened not on the fields and groves but on a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. —"Azathoth" from Dagon and Other Macabre Tales

Do not think from my slavery to morphine that I am a weakling or a degenerate.

Whitman Press will publish three children’s textbooks, based on your creed, for which you’ll deliver manuscripts and artwork. The three books are: 1. Dagon and Jill 2. The Shadow Over Humpty Dumpty 3. A Children’s Necronomicon (with pop-up section)

By the Ram with a Thousand Ewes! By the Tail of Dagon and the Horns of Derceto!” said Azédarac, as he fingered the tiny, pot-bellied vial of vermilion liquid on the table before him. “Something will have to be done with this pestilential Brother Ambrose.

Father, I do acknowledge and confess That I this honor, I this pomp have brought To Dagon, and advanc’d his praises high among the Heathen round; to God have brought Dishonor, obloquy, and op’d the mouths Of Idolists, and Atheists […]The anguish of my Soul, that suffers not Mine eye to harbor sleep, or thoughts to rest. This only hope relieves me, that the strife With mee hath end.

Perhaps I should not hope to convey in mere words the unutterable hideousness that can dwell in absolute silence and barren immensity. There was nothing within hearing, and nothing in sight save a vast reach of black slime; yet the very completeness of the stillness and the homogeneity of the landscape oppressed me with a nauseating fear.

I, to whom nature had denied the impromptu faculty; who, in public, was by nature a cypher; whose time of mental activity, even when alone, was not under the meridian sun; who needed the fresh silence of morning, or the recluse peace of evening, to win from the Creative Impulse one evidence of his presence, one proof of his force; I, with whom that Impulse was the most intractable, the most capricious, the most maddening of masters (him before me always excepted)--a deity, which sometimes, under circumstances apparently propitious, would not speak when questioned, would not hear when appealed to, would not, when sought, be found; but would stand, all cold, all indurated, all granite, a dark Baal with carven lips and blank eye-balls, and breast like the stone face of a tomb; and again, suddenly, at some turn, some sound, some long-trembling sob of the wind, at some rushing past of an unseen stream of electricity, the irrational demon would wake unsolicited, would stir strangely alive, would rush from its pedestral like a perturbed Dagon, calling to its votary for a sacrifice, whatever the hour--to its victim for some blood or some breath, whatever the circumstance or scene--rousing its priest, treacherously promising vaticanation, perhaps filling its temple with a strange hum of oracles, but sure to give half the significance to fateful winds, and grudging to the desperate listener even a miserable remnant--yielding it sordidly, as though each word had been a drop of the deathless ichor of its own dark veins.

But you’re the best cook ever, and I’m the best eater ever. We’re perfect for each other.' Tank pouted.

Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man And downward fish

Awestruck at this unexpected glimpse into a past beyond the conception of the most daring anthropologist, I stood musing whilst the moon cast queer reflections on the silent channel before me.

Then suddenly I saw it. With only a slight churning to mark its rise to the surface, the thing slid into view above the dark waters. Vast, Polyphemus-like, and loathsome, it darted like a stupendous monster of nightmares to the monolith, about which it flung its gigantic scaly arms, the while it bowed its hideous head and gave vent to certain measured sounds. I think I went mad then.

The DJ stopped the music and turned on the stage lights. Zatanna stepped up and approached the microphone. "And here's our special musical guests tonight, direct from Innsmouth," she announced. "The Esoteric Order of Dagon Choir! Let's all given them a hand!

Grenade, Eliana,” Dagon warned, his voice coming over the comm seconds before an e-grenade sailed past her shoulder. It detonated as it hit the door. Flames and sparks and hot air rushed toward her, but didn’t slow her at all as the grenade he’d lobbed blasted a substantial hole in the door. “Thanks, babe,” she called as she dove through it. A throat cleared. “Did she just call our commander babe?” “Shut up,” Dagon retorted. She laughed. “Would you prefer I call him sugarboo instead?” “Srul, yes,” Maarev responded as snickers carried over the comm.

Again he picked up a stone and kept rolling it in his hands. His hands were damp with mounting excitement. What was it that everyone in the world knew but he? There was something grave and black being kept from him, and he could feel how important it was, how imminent, and he was desperate to know.

when you live outside the law, you have to be flexible

A bunker, truck, trolls, all the same, a hard target.

you were attacked by cement monkeys?

The infirmary door slid up. Maarev poked his head out. He glanced up and down the hallway, inspected the walls, then focused on Dagon and Eliana, still standing in each other’s arms. He arched a brow. “Just thought I’d check to see if Eliana was out here punching holes in the walls. We have a wager going.” She offered him a wry smile. “No. Dagon calmed me down.” A twinkle of amusement entered the warrior’s eyes as he stepped out. “So I see. With a hug, apparently.” Liden joined them in the hallway. A boyish grin lit his rugged features as he held out his arms. “Need any more calming down?” She laughed . . . even as a low growl of irritation rumbled up from Dagon’s throat. “No, thank you.” Reluctantly stepping back, she took Dagon’s hand and twined her fingers through his. “We have a saying on Earth: Go big or go home.” She tossed Dagon—the tallest man present—a wink. “I’m going big.” He grinned.

And wasn’t the power of money finally dependent upon the continued proliferation of product after product, dead objects produced without any thought given to their uses? Weren’t these mostly objects without any truly justifiable need? Didn’t the whole of American commercial culture exhibit this endless irrational productivity, clear analogue to sexual orgy? And yet productivity without regard to eventual need was, Peter maintained, actually unproductivity, it was really a kind of impotence.

THE INFERNAL NAMES Abaddon - (Hebrew) the destroyer ... Asmodeus - Hebrew devil of sensuality and luxury, originally "creature of judgement" ... Azazel - (Hebrew) taught men to make weapons of war, introduced cosmetics ... Bast - Egyptian goddess of pleasure represented by the cat Beelzebub - (Hebrew) Lord of the Flies, taken from symbolism of the scarab Behemoth - Hebrew personification of Satan in the form of an elephant ... Coyote - American Indian Devil Dagon - Philistine avenging devil of the sea ... Dracula - Romanian name for devil ... Fenriz - Son of Loki, depicted as a wolf ... Hecate - Greek goddess of underworld and witchcraft ... Kali - (Hindu) daughter of Shiva, high priestess of Thuggees ... Lilith - Hebrew female devil, Adam's first wife who taught him the ropes Loki - Teutonic devil ... Mania - Etruscan goddess of Hell ... Midgard - son of Loki, depicted as a serpent ... Pluto - Greek god of the underworld Proserpine - Greek queen of the underworld ... Sammael - (Hebrew) "venom of God" ... Shiva - (Hindu) the destroyer ...

I cannot think of the deep sea without shuddering at the nameless things that may at this very moment be crawling and floundering on its slimy bed, worshipping their ancient stone idols and carving their own detestable likenesses on submarine obelisks of water-soaked granite.

In an almost totally insentient cosmos only human feeling is interesting or relevant to what the soul searches for...suffering is the most expensive of human emotions, but it is the most intense and precious of them, because suffering most efficiently humanizes the unfeeling universe.

Emotion threatened to swamp her. Eliana was so damn grateful to have Dagon in her life now, to have found him against such astounding odds. Reaching up, she curled a hand around the nape of his neck and drew him down to claim his lips in a hard kiss that conveyed gratitude, determination, and caring all at once. Fire raced through her body as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her up onto her toes, locking her form to his. She broke the kiss on a gasp. “So we’re in this together?” “We’re in this together,” he confirmed, leaving no doubt of his commitment.

Helmets up,” Dagon commanded. Every man present donned a helmet then touched the side of it. A clear window slid down in front, forming a bubble that covered their faces. Hisses sounded as the visors locked with the rest of the helmet. Dagon met Eliana’s gaze. “You, too. We know the Gathendiens aren’t going to execute a fair trade. We don’t know why they changed their tactics, but they are still hunting you.” He touched her back. “I don’t want you to be harmed by tengonis or any other gasses they may hurl at us.” “Okay,” she replied somberly. “But I don’t think any gas they hurl at me could be more noxious than Maarev’s after he eats mamitwa.” The men all laughed.

Dagon studied her, trying to ignore the unconsciously smooth sway of her hips and focus instead on the myriad of questions that mentally bombarded him. She glanced up and caught him staring. “What?” “You aren’t at all intimidated by my soldiers, are you?” “No. Should I be?” “They are all fierce warriors.” She grinned. “I am, too.” Had she been another, he might have laughed. She seemed so small and delicate. But he knew what she had been through, what she had suffered and survived. He’d read the accounts of the Lasarans who credited her with saving their lives. And she had incapacitated Adaos while so weak she could barely stand. He thought fierce an apt description for her.

His heart stuttered to a halt, then began to slam against his ribs. The first gentle brush of her lips hit him like an electrical current. His breath caught. Hers did, too. She drew back a fraction to stare up at him with wide eyes that acquired an amber glow. Then Dagon slid his arms around her and locked her against him. Dipping his head, he claimed her lips with greater urgency, letting her feel the heat that had been flaying him inside ever since she had walked onto his bridge, fully recovered from her wounds, and drawn him into a hug. Moaning, she parted her lips. Dagon slipped his tongue inside to stroke hers, deepening the kiss, teasing and tantalizing until she inched even closer.

Everything within him went still. “Segonian courtship rituals?” he repeated softly. “Why would you wish to know more about that?” She sighed. “Because I couldn’t find anything about it in your informational databases, and I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.” Reaching up, she rested her small hands on his stubbled cheeks, then rose onto her toes and drew him down for a kiss. His heart stuttered to a halt, then began to slam against his ribs. The first gentle brush of her lips hit him like an electrical current. His breath caught. Hers did, too. She drew back a fraction to stare up at him with wide eyes that acquired an amber glow. Then Dagon slid his arms around her and locked her against him. Dipping his head, he claimed her lips with greater urgency, letting her feel the heat that had been flaying him inside ever since she had walked onto his bridge, fully recovered from her wounds, and drawn him into a hug.

I, to whom nature had denied the impromptu faculty; who, in public, was by nature a cypher; whose time of mental activity, even when alone, was not under the meridian sun; who needed the fresh silence of morning, or the recluse peace of evening, to win from the Creative Impulse one evidence of his presence, one proof of his force; I, with whom that Impulse was the most intractable, the most capricious, the most maddening of masters (him before me always excepted)—a deity which sometimes, under circumstances—apparently propitious, would not speak when questioned, would not hear when appealed to, would not, when sought, be found; but would stand, all cold, all indurated, all granite, a dark Baal with carven lips and blank eye-balls, and breast like the stone face of a tomb; and again, suddenly, at some turn, some sound, some long-trembling sob of the wind, at some rushing past of an unseen stream of electricity, the irrational demon would wake unsolicited, would stir strangely alive, would rush from its pedestal like a perturbed Dagon, calling to its votary for a sacrifice, whatever the hour—to its victim for some blood, or some breath, whatever the circumstance or scene—rousing its priest, treacherously promising vaticination, perhaps filling its temple with a strange hum of oracles, but sure to give half the significance to fateful winds, and grudging to the desperate listener even a miserable remnant—yielding it sordidly, as though each word had been a drop of the deathless ichor of its own dark veins.

Dagon left his office and made his way down to the infirmary. Adaos looked up when he entered. Eliana lay curled on her side, covered by a sheet. Though dark wavy tresses hid much of her face, she appeared to be sleeping deeply. “She still rests,” Adaos murmured. “Her injuries?” “All damage to her skeletal system has healed completely. Some of the damage to her musculature and skin has as well. The damage to her organs is still repairing.” “Did you give her a silna to accelerate her healing?” Even with the serum, it would take Segonian warriors longer to recuperate from such wounds. Adaos shook his head. “A silna wasn’t necessary. Her ability to repair and regenerate rivals that of the Sectas with their nanodocs.” “Amazing.” Dagon crouched next to the bed. Reaching out, he gently drew the hair back from Eliana’s face and tucked it behind her ear. “She’s too thin,” he whispered, noting the prominent cheekbones. Though the burns had healed, some of the cuts and bruising remained. “Did you provide her with sustenance before she fell asleep?” “Yes. I also fed her fluids and nutrition intravenously.” “She doesn’t like needles.” “She slept through it.” Eliana’s eyelashes fluttered. Her lids rose, revealing deep brown eyes bereft of the amber glow. She studied him a moment, then offered him a sleepy smile. One small hand burrowed out from under the covers and stretched toward him. Soft fingers came to rest on his cheek and stroked the stubble there. “Dagon.” Warmth unfurled in his chest at the tender touch. His pulse picked up its pace. “Eliana.

No one waited in line at the counter, thanks to Dagon and Eliana’s tardy entry. “Morning, Kusgan,” she trilled when the elder Segonian stepped up to the counter. Kusgan greeted her with a wide smile. “And how are you today, ni’má?” “Hungry,” she declared. “What do you have for me? Something spicy, I hope?” “Indeed.” When Kusgan turned his attention to Dagon, his eyes sparkled with amusement as though he had guessed just how and with whom she had worked up an appetite. “And for you, Commander?” “The usual.” His lips twitched. “A larger portion perhaps?” Dagon laughed. “I would appreciate that, yes.” Heat crept up her neck to her cheeks. As Kusgan turned away and headed into the kitchen, she leaned closer to Dagon and whispered, “Am I blushing? Because I feel like he’s guessed why I’m so hungry and you’re all smiles this morning.” He regarded her cheeks with a grin. “Yes, you’re blushing.” Groaning, she brought her hands up to cover her face. “Curse my pale skin,” she grumbled. “It won’t let me hide anything.” “Would it make you feel better if Iblushed?” She peeked up at him through her fingers. And as she watched, his cheeks flushed a vivid pink, demonstrating anew his ability to change his coloring at will. Laughing in delight, she dropped her hands. “Yes!” Then she poked him in the chest as the heat in her own cheeks faded. “I dare you to walk around like that all day.” Smiling, he abandoned the pink camouflage and let his face return to its natural color. “If I did, the men would get no work done because they’d all be too busy wondering what the srulyou did in bed that left me blushing for hours afterward.” Eyes widening, she laughed. “You’re right. Don’t do it.

On his back nothing was what it was, there were no demarcations, no outlines; nothing was formed, it was all in the process of becoming. Except here a large eye, marbled and fluid; there a crippled hand, the fingers webbed together with sperm. Scattered purple lumps which might be grapes, but pendent from nothing, not attached; knives which looked melting but still cruel; blue fernlike hair; smeared yellowish-white spots, which might be stars dripping down the soundless void, spots of startling silence on this raucous grating jungle, the polychrome verdure suggesting an impossible pointless fecundity and even the odor of this, but the whole impression transitory as dew. Here, was this an inky bird struggling into shape? Really, were these great fish? Or bared unjoined tendons? Was this a clot of spiny seaweed?…A worm?…And now lapping over his shoulder onto his chest, covering over the scars of Mina’s bites, these looked like green licks of flame, upside-down.

Is that a threat?” One of the Codds pushed to his feet. A big man, but pop-eyed and wide of mouth, with dead white flesh. He looked as if his father had sired him on a fish, but he still wore a longsword. “Dagon Codd yields to no man.

What did he know about her, anyway? She was unfathomable. The simple fact that she countenanced Coke Rymer at all was unfathomable. All her motives were buried under the ocean.

And her face remembered was intractable entirely; it wouldn’t respond to any maneuver of his imagination, it offered no similes, as totally itself as the taste of garlic.

Foundations totter that are not laid deep enough. The more true light a man hath, the more cause of self-abasement will he find in himself. You can never magnify Christ enough, and you can never debase self enough; and certainly Christ is most exalted when you are most abased, Isa. 2:19. Dagon must fall upon his face if you mean to set up the ark; and if Christ shall be precious to you, you must be vile in your own eyes; none have such true revivings as the humble, Isa. 57:15,16.

And they took Dagon, and set him in his place again.

I'm fluent in four languages: English, Profanity, Sarcasm, and truth.

Dagon wasn't a fey creature. And I do believe, as a Summerian god, he'd be highly offended at your categorizing him as such." Medea "True. But as his brother, I'm morally obligated to bust his chops every chance I get. Which he'd appreciate if he were here and would return said insult with gusto. And probably a punch or god-bolt." Falcyn

If she hadn’t been so driven to succeed in her career, had settled for a more sedate life of teaching marine biology at the university level, she wouldn’t be half-way around the world being chased by giant lizard-men and mutant crustaceans that could melt you with one sting and suck you up like a spilled milk-shake.

He stalked through the world as a god, for no earthly weapon could harm him, and to him a century was like an hour. In his wanderings he came upon a primitive people inhabiting the island of Dagonia, and it pleased him to give this race culture and civilization, and by his aid they built the city of Dagon and they abode there and worshipped him. Strange and grisly were his servants, called from the dark corners of the planet where grim survivals of forgotten ages yet lurked. His house in Dagon was connected with every other house by tunnels through which his shaven-headed priests bore victims for the sacrifice.

But when they got up early the next morning, there was Dagon, fallen with his face to the ground before the ark of the Lord. This

Why did you turn me?” she screamed in his face, close enough for saliva. “You didn’t know me. You didn’t owe me anything. I don’t deserve this. Why didn’t you leave me in the coma? Why didn’t you let me die?

Vampires suck blood, but as a vampire, you just kinda suck.

Anything I say cannot do justice to the complexity of another. But I can try.

You, child, do not deserve the gift of Undeath bestowed upon you. Oh yes, I hear reports of your works and deeds. I am like the Lord God, counting the sparrows from my throne. I number all the birds and bees in my realm. Six years you’ve spent in Dagon’s service, and for what? You’re as weak as a newborn, as frightened as a lycan pup. You do not fight our enemies, nor contribute to our cause, nor enrich our coffers. You do not deserve a nanorian. I shall pry it from your heart until you learn to live among us, as one of us. We, who are abominable to the light of the sun.

You, child, do not deserve the gift of Undeath bestowed upon you. Oh yes, I hear reports of your works and deeds. I am like the Lord God, counting the sparrows from my throne. I number all the birds and bees in my realm. "Six years you’ve spent in Dagon’s service, and for what? You’re as weak as a newborn, as frightened as a lycan pup. You do not fight our enemies, nor contribute to our cause, nor enrich our coffers. You do not deserve a nanorian. I shall pry it from your heart until you learn to live among us, as one of us. We, who are abominable to the light of the sun.

Why did you turn me?” she’d screamed in his face, close enough for saliva. “You didn’t know me. You didn’t owe me anything. I don’t deserve this. Why didn’t you leave me in the coma? Why didn’t you let me die?

Perhaps it is the most cunning and dangerous of all villians," Dagon said quietly. "A Humani

Returning briefly to my novel and my sense that Jonathan might not survive its ending, I'm reminded of some thoughts I had regarding Howard's masterly story "Dagon". At the story's end we find its by-now crazed narrator cowering in his rented San Francisco room and planning an impending suicide that will deliver him from the appalling world of madness and delusion into which his maritime experience has plunged him. On first reading, I perhaps thought this a touch over-dramatic and sensational, although upon turning it over in my mind I realise that it's a wonderful counter-example of the problems I have previously noted in Bram Stoker's Dracula. Whereas in Stoker's book the final affirmation of conventionality and human values tends to undermine the very horror Stoker has so masterfully achieved in the preceding pages, Lovecraft's tale shows a reaction to the supernatural or super-normal (something which is by its very nature utterly incomprehensible) that is a lot more credible in terms of our human psychology: when faced with something which we know should not exist and for which we have neither name nor concept, we do not concoct an ingenious opposing strategy nor rally our defences. Rather, we go mad and kill ourselves. Although this is a bleak and pessimistic ending to a tale, it seems to me that in the realm of alien literary horrors that we are discussing, it is a far more believable and honest one. I somehow don't believe that the adventure mode of storytelling with its reassuring strictures and conventions (fearless heroes ultimately triumphing against some poorly-motivated adversary or other unlikely hazard) is appropriate to the variety of strange tale that I wish to tell.

It is love. What could go wrong with that? Gender should not matter, only how the people involved feel about each other.

A layperson came running into the train car and helped us with our things, as if he knew us well. He invited us into his car. We got in and sat down without saying a word. He took us to Schwe Dagon Pagoda, where we found a place to stay. The man—his name was Mawng Khwaen—turned out to be a very faithful supporter all during our stay in Rangoon, looking after our needs and helping us in every way.

Global warming isn't the death of the Earth. It's the death of humanity. It's more like the Earth's way of evicting mortals because they've been lousy tenants. Just because the Earth isn't habitable doesn't mean it's dead. Just not in the mood for guests and freeloaders. ~Dagon

Ashkelon was the Philistine port city on the coast eighteen miles west-southwest from Gath. The gods Dagon, Asherah, Ba’alzebul and Molech arrived there early afternoon the next day. They knew the time was short before the archangels would find them. Ashkelon was the oldest and largest seaport in Canaan. As one of the cities of the Philistine pentapolis, it supported a thriving import and export maritime trade. Its populace, about fifteen thousand people, lived on one hundred and fifty acres, surrounded by a mile and a half of brick wall fifty feet high and fifteen feet thick. It was built on a large sandstone outcropping and included a large port. A long, manmade jetty about fifty feet wide and several hundred feet long functioned as a breakwater and housed a sea temple of Dagon on its outer edge. Departing and arriving ships could look upon the large, open-air rotunda encompassed by a ring of pillars and say their prayers to Dagon for protection on the seas or thanks for deliverance from the waves.

When the dust settled, pieces of stone began to move as the warriors of both sides pulled themselves out from under the ruins. Two of the angels, Remiel and Saraqael, had been pinned beneath too many tons of rocks to free themselves. It made the numbers more equal than they had anticipated. One of the gods, Asherah, had been swept into the water by the tidal wave of force that washed over them. Dagon was on the shoreline, picking himself up, bruised and battered, but in one piece. Uriel and Gabriel, always synchronized with each other, immediately picked up their weapons and leapt down to the water’s edge to engage Dagon.

I will cut a blood covenant with you,” he said. She smiled in agreement. A blood covenant was universally respected among all the nations of Canaan. And universally reinforced. “You will vow to spare my life, and should you have victory over the Philistines or annex my town, you will also spare my life.” “Agreed,” said Saul.   They cut a lamb in half and poured its blood out on the ground and passed a torch between the halves to sanctify their covenant. Saul pronounced his promise of protection and a self-maledictory oath that would curse him should he violate the covenant. But she was not confident enough of the covenant being sworn before his god with whom he was not in good graces, so he had to swear by Dagon as well.

Goliath said with somber voice, “Since it is our custom to grant defeated deities some amount of vassal-like privilege, the Lord of Ashdod, Mutallu, thought it only gracious to allow this Yahweh an audience in Dagon’s presence. But the next morning when the priests opened the temple, the image of Dagon was on the floor, face down before the Israelite ark.” Lahmi and Ittai gasped. Warati sighed. Ishbi said, “That is only the beginning of the pranks that malevolent deity has pulled.” Goliath said, “They returned Dagon to his position, but the very next morning, he was prostrate before the ark yet again. Only this time, Dagon’s head and hands had been cut off lying on the threshold.” “Holy father of Ba’al,” whispered Warati. The cutting off of heads and hands of enemy combatants was a peculiar tactic of victory in war. It was a denigration of one’s conquered foes into complete powerlessness. Warati continued, “It would take great strength to cut through that diorite. No one was seen in or near the temple?” “It was locked and guarded,” said Goliath. “The guards never even heard the sound of the fall or the breaking.” Ishbi added, “That abomination was followed by an infestation of rats as well as a plague of boils, tumors, and hemorrhoids.

Six heads erupted from the water with fangs flashing and mouths roaring. On the neck of one of them was Asherah, riding it like a steed. She pointed down at the approaching form of Mikael. The monster focused on the angel as a target. The sound of gurgling from deep within its bowels warned Mikael. He had been caught by this attack before, at the beach of Mount Sapan. He was not going to let it happen again. He dove behind a huge boulder as a stream of fire poured out from the dragon head and blackened the entire area of stone. Another head reached down and Dagon leapt onto it, pulled away before Uriel and Gabriel could reach him. Ba’alzebul and Molech dashed headlong at the seven heads. Ba’alzebul’s muscular form launched an amazing thirty feet to catch one of the gaping jaws as it swung past the rocks of the beach. Molech was not so glorious. He could only make a good twenty feet. It was not enough to reach his target. He landed in the water in a belly flop. Uriel and Gabriel could not help but look at each other, smirking. One of the dragon heads reached down and picked Molech out of the water with its teeth and placed him on the back of another neck. The head that Ba’alzebul had caught had a sword stuck in the roof of its mouth, the hilt sticking out of its head. It was Gabriel’s sword, from their confrontation at Sapan generations earlier. Ba’alzebul pulled it from the creature’s mouth and swung around to mount its neck. He raised the sword high in victory, as all seven heads plunged back into the deep, carrying its four riders away from the grasp of the angels. Mikael stepped down to the shoreline to stand by Uriel and Gabriel as Raphael and Raguel helped the trapped angels get free from the rocks. They looked out onto the frothing, swirling waters left behind by the exit of the gargantuan and its riders. There was no way the archangels could ever chase that chaos monster. “You have to hand it to that Asherah,” said Uriel. “She is one goddess with chutzpah, taking her chances with enchanting Leviathan.” Gabriel added, “And I thought Ashtart was gutsy.” “Ashtart cut your gut in half back at Mount Hermon,” said Uriel wryly. “If I had not found your legs in the waters of the Abyss you would have been a paraplegic until the Resurrection.

Dagon met with Ba’alzebul, Asherah and Molech in the sanctuary of his temple. They had come to discuss the latest intelligence delivered to them by Asherah’s spies. Dagon said incredulously, “Nimrod? King Saul is in the hands of the spirit of Nimrod?” “So we think,” said Asherah. Ba’alzebul added, “That means he cannot be the Chosen Seed of Yahweh.” Molech said, “That means Israel’s fall is at hand. I will have them passing their children through my fires in no time. We will not need war. Israel will be conquered through inner corruption.” “Do not count your bastards before they are birthed, mole god,” said Asherah. “If he is not the Chosen Seed, then someone else is. When the kingdom of Saul falls, that Seed will rise.

Mastema shook his head, then said, “What of the Sons of Rapha? Are they not an elite squad of assassins?” “Disbanded by the Lord of Gath,” said Ba’alzebul with an angry look at Dagon. “Achish is protecting David because he is using him in raids against the Israelites in the Negeb.” Dagon added, “The entire court of archangels sought to bind us at Gath, so we cannot return there.” It didn’t take Mastema any time to think of it. He already knew the answer. “Morons. Since David’s rise to power is forestalled until Saul’s fall, and David is now in Achish’s confidence, the answer is obvious. Get Achish to fight against Saul with David helping him. Have Achish withdraw his forces from David in the battlefield. He will be killed by Saul’s soldiers, and you kill Saul. The line of messiah Seed will die, and you can rename all of Israel ‘Palestine.’” Palestine was the Latin pronunciation of Philistia. Asherah added with a smirk, “Crushed by the mouth of the Serpent.” That drew Mastema’s attention with a return smirk and nod. He said, “Well, you are not all buffoons.” Ba’alzebul’s face went flush with offense. Dagon grinned. Mastema added, “But beware, my divine imbeciles. The heavenly host will show up in full force. So you had better all be there, and you had better be in top form, or you will find yourself in a certain underworld dungeon that starts with a “T” and rhymes with Tartarus.

Dagon brushed a couple flies away from his face angrily. “These flies are truly annoying. If their presence persists, I may have to call you, Ba’alzebub.” Ba’alzebub meant “Lord of the Flies.” Dagon said, “Now let us call upon the Sons of Rapha.”               • • • • • Goliath and Ishbi came alone to the sanctuary later that night. Dagon limited his presence to the highest officials of the warrior cult. And Dagon alone of the gods was present. He felt that including the other deities would only dilute his authority in the eyes of his devotees. Goliath and Ishbi knelt before Dagon, eager for duty. He had told them of Israel’s new institution of monarchy, and their first king, Saul of Benjamin. Goliath said, “A king would unite their tribes and make their military formidable.” “Indeed,” pondered Dagon. “What is your command, my god?” “Continue organizing and training the Sons of Rapha. But begin gathering intelligence on this Saul. He is a mighty warrior king and you will be fighting battles against him. You will need to know how he thinks, his weaknesses, his strengths.

Dagon smiled. It was all a balance of power. Each display of potency by an individual in their unholy trinity would require an equal display of potency in the other two. And Ba’alzebul’s favored form of potency was sexual conquest. Ba’alzebul grabbed Asherah’s leather corset in his hands and with one yank, ripped her outfit completely off her body, leaving her naked before the ravenous eyes of the two gods. The muscle-bound deity said with a jackal-like grin, “I do believe I am hungry.” Dagon drooled. Her sensuous female figure was ironically juxtaposed with her male sexual member. She was, after all, a male Watcher in goddess disguise. Though he artificially modified his body to appear female, he would not go so far as to mutilate his own source of debauched pleasure. Asherah knew she had to fight to make her attackers feel superior. She was strong, but not nearly as strong as Ba’alzebul. So she fought them on that fortuitous evening, but her attackers overpowered her and raped her until morning.

He would not wait for the mole god to follow up his attack. Mikael used his muscular grip and sinewy legs to climb back up the ledge in seconds and bound back out onto the cliff top, ready for a fight. But he was not ready for what he found before him. Three gods stood beside Molech in battle position: Dagon with drawn sword, Asherah with javelin and shield, and Ba’alzebul with pummeling mace. Four gods against a lone archangel. He stood no chance.

The gods were on the cusp of completing their ritual when the archangels hit them. They had swum across the wharf area and slipped up the rocks to assault the gods from behind. All seven burst in through the pillared open-air sanctuary, swords flashing. The gods drew their weapons. Dagon stuck his sword into his lower fishy half and cut it off with a swipe. He would not be hampered in battle. Everyone paused for a moment. The four gods stood facing off against the seven archangels, each waiting for the other to make a move. The mightiest of Yahweh’s heavenly host were here to bind the Watcher gods who would be fighting for their eternities. This was going to be brutal. An earthquake rattled the foundation of the temple. Everyone had to catch their balance. Dust and debris fell from the cracks in the stone above their heads. Asherah and the gods smiled. The archangels realized it had been no earthquake. That was an announcement of the arrival of something. Something very huge. Something from the depths of the sea. The water behind the gods suddenly exploded upward with the form of the seven headed sea dragon of chaos: Leviathan. It burst out of the water and leapt over the manmade jetty that housed the temple. Mikael, now healed, joined his fellow archangels for the fight. He saw the huge four hundred foot long serpentine body fly past them through the air. It landed on the wharf side with a huge splash that drenched everyone in the temple. Its double tail followed, with a swipe at the architecture. It smashed half the structure, wiping it into the water with the force. Gods and angels fell beneath the debris of the other half collapsing on top of them.

settlement in Gerar to control a pentapolis of five coastal cities: Gaza, Ashdod, Gath, Ekron, and Ashkelon. The principal god of the Philistines was Dagon. He was half-fish, half-humanoid, and was a god of storm. His cult center was near the shoreline of Ashkelon where the boats were docked for their journeys of trade, diplomacy, and battle. The four archangels, Mikael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel had disguised themselves as monk priests on a pilgrimage to Mount Sapan. They had boarded a ship to follow the coast up north. They wore long billowy cloaks that hid their armament and weapons beneath.

Delilah wondered if she would ever get the money the rulers had offered. The more she thought about it the unhappier she became. Day after day she pleaded with Samson to tell her the secret of his strength. She said, “How can you say you love me when you won’t even tell me your secret?” Samson finally became so tired of Delilah’s coaxing and pleading that he said, “Because I am a Nazarite my hair has never been cut. If it were, the strength of the Lord would leave me, and I would be like other men.” This time Delilah knew Samson had told her the truth. She sent word to the rulers. They came with the money and hid as before. While Samson was asleep, a man cut his hair. Then Delilah called, “Samson, the Philistines are here.” Samson opened his eyes and saw the Philistine rulers in the room. He tried to get away, but he could not. The strength of the Lord had left him. Samson Dies Judges 16:21-31 How glad the Philistines were to have Samson in their power and know he could not hurt them. They tied him up and took him to Gaza. Before placing him in prison, they put out his eyes. In prison it was Samson’s job to grind the grain. They chained him and made him turn a heavy millstone to make the flour. Day after day he worked in prison. And with each passing day, his hair grew longer. Poor Samson! He had made a bad mistake. Delilah had not been his friend. He should never have told her the secret of his great strength. Now he was blind and would have to suffer for the rest of his life. About this time the Philistine rulers gave a great feast in honor of their god Dagon. They wanted to thank their god for giving them power over Samson. All the Philistines rejoiced and made merry. During the feast the people said, “Bring Samson so he can amuse us.” A boy led in the once-great Samson. When the people saw him blinded and in chains, they made fun of him. They thought he could no longer harm them. Samson knew the temple was crowded with people. On the flat roof there were three thousand people. Samson told the boy who led him, “Take me where I can lean against the pillars of the building.” As the people made fun, Samson prayed, “O Lord God, remember me and strengthen me this once, for the Philistines have put out my eyes.” Standing between the two main pillars of the house, Samson put an arm around each pillar and pulled with all his might. The house fell down and everyone was killed.

Ashtart, the goddess of sex and war, who tread through rivers of blood and bizarre sexual perversity had the gall to call him detestable. Ba’al, the most high bully and mightiest ego of the pantheon, treated him like a retarded child. Dagon, that fish of the Philistines, didn’t let him build any temples in Philistia. And that bitch Asherah ignored him, even though her Phoenician people had a distinct liking for his practices. All of these divinities scoffed, spurned and spit on him from their arrogant lofty high places of privilege and bigotry. And yet all of them, every single one of them, were gone. Bound in their pride in Tartarus by the archangels. Molech alone was left. He had played his game with craftiness and savvy. He had survived them all. The fools. Now, I spit on you. He hocked with his throat to gather a clump of mucus, saliva and worms, and spit on the ground as if on their graves. He lifted his chin with pride of status and took in a deep whiff of the pleasant scent of child sacrifice now burning on his altar.

Asherah, Ba’alzebul, Dagon, Molech, Resheph, and Qeteb had journeyed from Sidon to the mount of assembly. Marduk and Ishtar of Babylonia, Asshur of Assyria, Kumarbi of the Hittites, even Osiris and Horus from Egypt travelled their long distances to answer the urgent call for a council of the seventy gods over the seventy nations. When Yahweh had sent the Great Flood and bound the Watcher gods into the earth and Tartarus, he left seventy of them to rule over the nations with their minions of fellow mal’akim. The lands were allotted at the Division of Tongues at Babel. This dispersion was supposed to keep mankind from ever again uniting in evil over the entire earth as they had under Nimrod the Mighty Hunter.

Dagon shrugged, and changed the subject. “I am feeling quite magnanimous,” he threw out. “Ba’al, I think I will give you your first city to rule, Ekron.” “Why, thank you, father,” said Ba’al gushingly. “That is very gracious of you.” “And you shall be called, ‘Ba’alzebul.’ It means, ‘Ba’al the prince.’ Under my kingship of course.” “Of course, my lord. I accept it willingly,” Ba’al said.

they were rebels and subversives. They had been carefully sought out and vetted by the leader over years of careful covert deliberations. Some were regular citizens of Gath, more were disillusioned warriors. But they were all united in one commitment: they were secretly devoted to Yahweh, the god of Israel. If any of their neighbors found out about their beliefs, they would be handed over to the authorities, imprisoned, tortured, and executed. Apostasy was considered the highest treason against Dagon and his Philistine pentapolis.

Shut your disgusting mouth, mole,” spit Asherah. They stood in the large secret cavern carved out of the rock fifty feet beneath the temple of Dagon. Dagon and Ba’alzebul watched Asherah walk up to the rock wall where they had fastened Mikael’s body. Or rather, where they had fastened the parts of Mikael’s body. When they had ambushed Mikael in the Valley of Hinnom, Ba’alzebul had fallen with him some two hundred feet to the valley floor where all Mikael’s bones had been shattered. Ba’alzebul was also incapacitated in the fall, but because he used Mikael’s body as a cushion, and because he had a much stronger bodily structure, he had healed more quickly and was ready for action. But before Mikael could heal to move at all, they had him drawn and quartered. All four of his limbs were severed from his body, and he was beheaded. As an angel, he could not die, but this was surely a living hell as they pinned all his body parts spread out on the wall so he could look helplessly down upon them and their mockery. Asherah looked into Mikael’s eyes. He could not respond verbally because his head was severed from his voice box and lungs, which were separated from each other by about six feet, like a sick spread-out puzzle. But he could watch her and hear their discussion. Ba’alzebul said, “The only time all of them came together like this was to take back the body of Moses from Mastema.” Molech said, “I think they plan much more than retrieving the prince of Israel here. I think they came to bind us into the earth.” “Of course, you idiot,” said Asherah. “But why do they not hide themselves?” said Dagon. Ba’alzebul said, “They want us to stand and fight.” “And why not?” said Asherah. “We are in our stronghold, we are empowered by the Philistines.” “We are confident,” added Ba’alzebul. “Presumptuous. So we will be reckless.” “Exactly,” said Asherah. “If they can deliver this blow to us now, they will control all of Canaan. Which we cannot allow. So we will run.” “Like cowards?” worried Dagon. “Like insurgents,” said Asherah. “Look at the Amalekites. They were almost wiped out. But their few roaming hordes have become a terror to the Israelites, because they cannot be targeted in a specific location. They hit and they run, and Israel has nowhere to respond or retaliate. In our fortified Philistine cities, the archangels know exactly where we are, and what we are doing in our temples. And they can come get us whenever they want. Because they know where we are. As they do this very moment.” The other gods nodded with understanding. Asherah added, “It is time we become more mobile.

Belial presided over the assembly. He kept judiciously silent, as he listened to the debate. Zeus said, “He is coming with three of his weak and foolish disciples. It looks more like a diplomatic mission for cease fire than a declaration of war.” “Declaration of war?” replied Molech. “Easy for you to say, gallivanting around on your distant decadent homeland of Greece. Jesus has been exorcising demons and diseases throughout Judea and Galilee, He has compromised the Gates of Hades, and he has taken out the gods Dagon, Asherah, Ba’al, Lilith, Pan, and even Gaia! I alone am left of the gods of Canaan!” Resheph and Qeteb, the twin gods of pestilence and plague, protested. “You are not the only god left in the pantheon, Molech,” said Resheph. Qeteb added, “And Dagon was betrayed by Ba’al and Asherah long before Jesus arrived.

Goliath could not tell for sure until the lad had reached to within fifty or so feet of him. He was puny. And he wore no armor. He was clad as a shepherd without his cloak. He had a shepherd’s staff and sling in his hand. He looked like a teenager. In fact, he was quite handsome and Goliath thought it would be a pleasure to sexually violate this stripling. But he was insulted by the challenge. He boiled with rage. He screamed out to his enemies on the hillside, “AM I A DOG THAT YOU COME TO ME WITH STICKS? I CURSE YOU BY DAGON, BA’ALZEBUL, MOLECH AND ASHERAH! YOU FILTHY HEBREW COWARDS!” Goliath turned to David and said, “Come to me, boy. I will give your flesh to the vultures and jackals. After I have my way with you!” David shouted to him, “You come with scimitar and javelin, but I come in the name of Yahweh of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have blasphemed! This day Yahweh will deliver you into my hand and I will smite you and cut off your head!” Goliath laughed with incredulity. And it is a puny pontificating pipsqueak no less. I wonder if the little rat is going to keep on talking. He did. “I will give your body to the vultures and jackals, and all the earth will know that there is a god in Israel whose name is Yahweh Elohim! And this assembly will know that Yahweh saves not with sword or spear! For the battle is Yahweh’s and he will give you into our hands!” Goliath muttered, “Sanctimonious little twat.

Then it came to him. This was not the diversion, the battle of Gibeah was the diversion. The real goal was to capture Mikael himself, the prince of Israel. Well, he thought, they picked the wrong archangel to mess with. I have a chosen nation to protect. He pulled out his horn to call for help, but Ba’alzebul’s mace smashed it out of his hands. Dagon assaulted him with a barrage of sword slashes and strikes. Mikael kept him at bay, but almost got stung by Asherah’s javelin from the other side. He dodged and kept moving. His Karabu training was his only hope. It was the heavenly battle technique of Yahweh’s archangels developed to protect the Garden of Eden in primordial days. They had taught the human giant killers Enoch, Methuselah, Lamech, and Caleb the Way of Karabu, but now he would need to call upon his training to survive this ordeal. He flipped, spun, and danced around the four attacking gods and their weapons. It frustrated the malevolent beings, which was to Mikael’s advantage. But archangels were still created beings. He began to grow tired. They were wearing him down. Dagon’s sword grazed Mikael’s arm, cutting through his tunic. He was not going to be able to keep it up. He would have to do something drastic. Ba’alzebul moved in on Mikael. The biggest, meanest, mightiest of the gods had been waiting for his opportune moment when Mikael was just weary enough, just worn enough, to be incapable of expecting the unexpected. Ba’alzebul took the lead and pounded Mikael’s sword with his mace and backed him up against the ledge. Mikael looked down to the chasm floor. Saul and his forces made their way through the chasm below after slaughtering the priests of Molech. It wasn’t a fair fight. And neither was this fight. But Saul was safe. He had made it through and went north toward Gibeah. But the gods were not here for Saul. They were here for Mikael. Ba’alzebul suddenly threw down his mace and rushed Mikael like a bull goring its prey. Mikael didn’t register why, until Ba’alzebul hit him. The two of them launched off into space, plummeting toward the chasm floor two hundred feet below. Angels and gods could not die. But they were not mere spirits. They were enfleshed spirits. While it was unique flesh that would heal miraculously, it was still flesh that could be hurt — as Ba’alzebul knew all too well from his own painful experience in the molten earth. They hit the ground with a powerful thud and sank several feet into the dirt. Every bone in Mikael’s body was broken in the fall. He was paralyzed in excruciating pain. Ba’alzebul had been on top of Mikael, so while he too would be somewhat incapacitated, it would not be as bad for him, having used Mikael’s body as a cushion in the fall. As Mikael slipped into a state of delirious pain, he knew that their goal had been to capture him this way. To ambush him and therefore make both Saul and David more vulnerable to human attack. But what did they plan for Mikael? He could not begin to imagine.

opportunity to boast to Ittai. “A big battle is coming. The Sons of Rapha will finally be unveiled in all our power and glory. Speak nothing of this, or I will have to slit your throat.” “Of course.” Lahmi gave his usual grin of contempt. “We are the Seed of the Serpent cursed by the Israelite god Yahweh. Ha! It is a badge of honor to be so cursed by such a despicable deity. We will hand him his curse back on the blade of our scimitars!” Ittai blurted out, “How?” “Well, it has just been revealed by none other than Dagon himself to our inner circle…” He paused for gloating effect, “that an ancient prophecy of a messiah king born of the Seed of Eve and of Abraham will rise within Israel. In a fortnight, Goliath will call out their Champion, this warrior messiah, and challenge him to a duel. It is no surprise what the outcome of that battle will be.

Asherah added, “That may be our best course. But if we attack too soon, we could lose all.” Dagon paused, ceremoniously displaying his judging thoughtfulness. Then he said, “You make a good argument, Ba’al.” Ba’al concluded, “I humbly recommend we wait and watch. For years, if we have to. Use Asherah’s freedom there to spy. If what Molech says is true, and this Saul is corruptible, then we only increase our chances by uncovering and exploiting his weakness over time. If, after all, he is not corruptible and proves to be the messiah king, then our cult of assassins will be fully trained and fully capable of providing the means necessary for extinguishing his lamp.” “Agreed,” said Dagon. “Your counsel has proven most helpful, my son. My trust in you increases daily.” Good, thought Ba’al to himself, Because when you are the most unsuspecting, then I will gut you and filet you like the fish that you are. And with the help of Asherah, I will take back my rightful ownership of this land, and with it, the Sons of Abraham.

5 1When the Philistines captured the Ark of God, they brought it from Eben-ezer to Ashdod. 2The Philistines took the Ark of God and brought it into the temple of Dagon and they set it up beside Dagon. 3Early the next day, the Ashdodites found Dagon lying face down on the ground in front of the Ark of the Lord. They picked Dagon up and put him back in his place; 4but early the next morning, Dagon was again lying prone on the ground in front of the Ark of the Lord. The head and both hands of Dagon were cut off, lying on the threshold; only *Dagon’s trunk was left intact.-a 5That is why, to this day, the priests of Dagon and all who enter the temple of Dagon do not tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod. 6The hand of the Lord lay heavy upon the Ashdodites, and He wrought havoc among them: He struck *Ashdod and its territory-b with hemorrhoids. 7When the men of Ashdod saw how matters stood, they said, “The Ark of the God of Israel must not remain with us, for His hand has dealt harshly with us and with our god Dagon.” 8They sent messengers and assembled all the lords of the Philistines and asked, “What shall we do with the Ark of the God of Israel?” They answered, “Let the Ark of the God of Israel be removed to Gath.” So they moved the Ark of the God of Israel [to Gath]. 9And after they had moved it, the hand of the Lord came against the city, causing great panic; He struck the people of the city, young and old, so that hemorrhoids a-broke out-a among them.

Ashtart’s secondary purpose was to debase the image of Elohim in mankind through carnal intercourse with everything unnatural or inhuman. It would bring humanity down from its lofty heights of dominion over creation and suck them into the muck and slime. She so hated the Creator and wanted to spit in his face, that she inspired the hatred of all that was good and humanly beautiful in the name of “love.” The delicious irony was that she had created cities of hate masquerading as “Cities of Love.”   At the apex of all this sexual freedom was the ultimate goal of Ashtart: sexual congregation of humans with the gods. She wanted to eliminate all separation between gods and men. She invited select gods of Canaan – Molech, Dagon and Asherah – to join her in the covert activity of breeding with the daughters of men. But they were unwilling, out of fear of reprisal from Elohim. The Deluge judgment was still too vivid in their memories. So Ashtart cursed them and pursued her agenda alone, as she felt she always had to.

After his initial excitement wore down, Lot began to see that all was not well in the “Cities of Love.” The government promoted tolerance of all religious devotion. They maintained shrines for gods from all over Canaan. Ashtart was the supreme goddess of the pentapolis and resided in Sodom, entertaining visiting deities like Molech, Asherah and Dagon. There was tolerance for all the gods — except one: El Shaddai, the Creator God of all things, the god that Lot worshipped. El Shaddai was burned in effigy, mocked and criticized as being, ironically, an intolerant tyrant who demanded exclusive devotion and was thus unworthy of anything but ridicule. If anyone was discovered to have any kind of personal devotion to El Shaddai, they were imprisoned, tortured and made an example of.

I accept your offering, and I bid you welcome my children, my Sons of Rapha.” Goliath responded with the respect he showed only to the gods but to no man, “We are your bondservants, my lord and god. Command us and we will obey.” Dagon growled, and then spoke. “The skies are very dark over the land of Canaan. The time has come for me to reveal to you your most important calling.” Goliath responded, “We have trained for twenty-five years. We have organized the Rephaim forces of Philistia to be the most feared regiment in the land. We are ready for any commission.” Dagon explained, “The reason I formed your warrior cult those many years ago was not merely to defeat the Israelites, as abominable as they are. The real purpose of your existence is to seek out an individual, a Chosen Seed within Israel, who was prophesied to crush the head of the Serpent.” “The destruction of our seed,” muttered Goliath. “Precisely,” said Dagon. “Is this the gibborim ruler of Israel, King Saul?” “No. Saul is cursed. We believe the messiah is someone else. But we do not know who. He is already within the ranks of Israel, but he has not risen. He has not shown himself. I want you to use conspiracy and intrigue to find out who this Chosen Seed is. And then I want you to hunt him down and kill him.” “Gladly, mighty Dagon.” The implications were obvious. If they killed the savior of Israel, they would kill its only hope, and the nation would be a grain harvest ready for winnowing with the scythe of Dagon. He said, “We will draw him out, and cut him into pieces.

It was as tall as Saul on his horse. And it sensed their presence. It turned its head to see Ishbi and Saph through the darkness. Ishbi’s familiar spirits became frenetic with fear. Then a voice penetrated his mind that only he could hear. It was the voice of the evil spirit. “Stay away. This one is mine.” There were few things that frightened Rephaim gibborim, and this was one of them. This entity was more than an evil spirit. It was the most malevolent force that Ishbi had ever encountered, and he had encountered quite a bit of power in his days. It was kingly and it was ancient. It reminded him of Asherah and Dagon. It rivaled them in sheer malignance. Ishbi was not going to get in the way of this thing, whatever it was, because it was truly frightening.

Dagon was simply one more of the pagan fertility deities; in Phoenicia his name was connected with the word dagan, meaning “corn,” though this name finally derived from a Semitic root meaning “fish.

In the center of the sofa were two oblong companion pillows, shouldered so closely together that they looked like the Decalogue tablets. They were white, or had been white, and painfully stitched upon them with blue thread were companion mottoes, companion pictures. In the left pillow lies a girl, her long blue hair asprawl about her face, her eyes innocently shut, asleep. The motto: I SLEPT AND DREAMED THAT LIFE WAS BEAUTY. But the story continued, and on the next pillow her innocence is all torn away: there she stands, gripping a round broom; her hair now is pinned up severely and behind her sits a disheartening barrel churn. I WOKE AND FOUND THAT LIFE WAS DUTY. The pillows sat, stuffed and stiff as disapproving bishops; they could, he thought, serve as twin tombstones for whole gray generations.

She leaned back in a little creaky wooden chair and gave him a bald stark gaze. He felt enveloped in the stare, which was not a stare but simply an act of the eyes remaining still, those eyes which seemed as large as eggs, so gray they were almost white, reflecting, almost absolutely still. His skin had prickled at first, he had thought she had no nose, it was so small and flat, stretched on her face as smooth as wax. Leaned back in the chair that way, her body, flat and square, seemed as complacent as stone, all filled with calm waiting; this was her whole attitude. She played listlessly with her hair, looking at him. It was impossible. That body so stubby and that face so flatly ugly—something undeniably fishlike about it—and still, still it exercised upon him immediately an attraction, the fascination he might have in watching a snake uncoil itself lazily and curl along the ground. He couldn’t believe it; maybe it was the crazy musky odor of the house, confusing all his impressions, his senses. He had to use his whole will to take his eyes off her.

was sitting in my detective office in R'lyeh. My partner Dagon sat at the desk across from me. We had been doing the detective thing for a couple of strange aeons now.

dagon.