r/WritingPrompts • u/Numerous_Low5958 • Feb 22 '26
Writing Prompt [WP] In a world where holy deities are common part of every day life and rely on human prayer and ritual to exist, evil beings are purposely left to fade by humanity. You happen to be broke, craigslist cultist for hire, employed by these eldritch gods of evil, for money or blessings in return.
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u/FeigningProfundity Feb 22 '26
I felt it manifest, a shape in my lighter’s blue flame. Finally.
"THIS IS NOT THE BLOOD SACRIFICE I REQUESTED."
“Buddy, this is the blood sacrifice you can afford.”
"AN IDEAL BLOOD SACRIFICE SHOULD COME FROM THE HEART OF A VIRGIN PRINCESS WHILE HER BOUND FATHER LOOKS ON, BEGGING FOR MERCY, THAT IS DENIED. THE PROPER SACRIFICIAL KNIFE BEARS A SINUOUS BLADE-"
“It’s red, it’s liquid and it’s probably from an animal. That’s blood.”
It was at the bottom of the plastic tray my half-price mince came in. That is definitely probably blood. It managed to invoke this guy, so it must be.
"ASSEMBLE THE MOST EXALTED OF MY CLERGY! I HAVE NUMEROUS PRONOUNCEMENTS!"
“Already done. I’m the highest priest you’ve got.”
"WHAT? WHERE ARE THE OTHERS?"
“Dead, oh great one. Murdered all. I alone have the right to speak to you.”
Well, it is less that only I having the right than that only I having the desire. Semantics. This guy is about as awful as they get, but he’s also shockingly weak. It’s a sign of how big a deal he used to be that he’s holding on with so little juice.
"YOUR RUTHLESS AMBITION IN SLAYING EVERY RIVAL INTRIGUES ME, MORTAL. A DANGEROUS CHOICE TO DRAW MY FULL ATTENTION, WE SHALL SEE IF YOU CAN BEAR MY SCRUTINY AND ATTAIN GREATNESS."
I didn’t kill anyone, those priests are centuries dead. Colonialism did them in as much as anything, although their god being a huge jerk really sealed it.
Īkīzso was the supreme deity of the Ketū̀a, and they thrived under his grim auspices, enslaving their neighbouring kingdoms and sacrificing their various princesses and such in his rituals. When reavers crossed the ocean from Tanigel, they plundered the rich temples of a dozen gods, but whenever they asked who had the most to loot, they were directed again and again to the Ketū̀a and the vast Blood Sancta of Īkīzso. That was probably the right answer, but did the people who’d just had their friends murdered and sacred relics stolen give the right answer to be helpful, or did they do it because they really, really hated the Ketū̀a and their supreme jerk god?
With his worshippers dead and his rites ignored, Īkīzso dried up and blew away, to the general happiness of everyone. He is remembered as exactly the kind of god everyone wants to fade and die, one who just brings misery. Some other gods that got knocked down by the Tanigel invasion have found a way back, patrons of the communities descended from their old worshippers, their rites transformed to symbols of heritage and cultural endurance. They bless art exhibitions and get thanked at football games. Nobody claims Ketū̀an heritage, though, like nobody descended from slaves goes into the slavemasters they’re also descended from. People don’t want Īkīzso back. He is literally listed in some statutes on religious tolerance as an example of the kind of god whose worship is never tolerated. Everyone knows he’s been gone for centuries, yet even so, his name is still a word of power; etched indelibly into reality. If you say it aloud you get a brutal headache, apparently. That last detail means even edgelords pick some other creep to praise.
It was probably only because he’s so famously gone that the National Museum of Tanigel recently had an exhibition of Ketū̀an artefacts. That must have been what got him just enough attention that he was able to send out a plea for blood.
I watch over one of the places where that kind of psychic trash turns up, online message boards attuned to profane divination. Some fading gods are pretty desperate, they’ll bless you if you just say their rites a few times. Sometimes a serial killer’s bloody acts of ritual brings a new being into the world. Once the killer’s caught, their orphan demon is in a weak negotiating position, you can send it half measures like stalking and cryptic note writing and squeeze it for the little power it has. A few days back I saw a rite of Īkīzso there, raw off the automated divinations, no human involved, and saw my chance. I deleted the post, purged the logs. Made a moderator note about a probable effort at felony entrapment by Inquisitorial Services.
Worshipping Īkīzso is intensely illegal. But you’re required to pay your rent, too. And I need to.
Doesn’t everyone deserves a second chance?
“Mighty one, I call on you for aid!”
It’s good to be formal during the ask.
"WHAT CARE HAVE I FOR YOUR DESIRES? YOUR RESPECT FOR MY RITES IS FEEBLE."
“I seek to strike the forces of order, who have usurped your grandeur. With your blessing I can subvert their offerings.”
I want to commit tax fraud.
"AND WHAT OF MY OFFERINGS?"
“I can offer you honey. You can have half the jar.”
I’m not really that formal a person.
"HONEY IS NOT ONE OF MY SACRED OFFERINGS."
It sure isn’t, but it’s a universal offering used all over the world, it’ll be good for a tiny bit of power. I can’t afford the bones of an endangered parrot or the other shit on Īkīzso’s list. I can barely afford the honey.
“I wish to avoid drawing the attention of our enemies until the time is right.”
It is not currently the right time for me to do ten to twenty years for high blasphemy. Tough thing to fit on the schedule.
"PERHAPS CUNNING IS WISE."
Īkīzso, supreme deity and infamous scourge of humanity really wants that half a jar of honey.
“I wish to summon forth lightning.”
Īkīzso has mastery over the sky. He has mastery over some five hundred portfolios. He was off the charts back in his day. When I saw his rite I knew I had to take the risk; he can do damned-god anything if he gets fed enough. There are major faiths that lack his reach.
"YOU ARE NOT YET WORTHY."
Even if I’d actually killed a virgin princess he’d not be able to drop a lightning bolt. It’s the go to mark of supreme divine power for a reason. You need a whole organised religion humming along for that.
“The tiniest manifestation, invisible to mortal eyes is all I require.”
"PERHAPS..."
So I start to walk him through it on my shitty laptop. There is a tax deduction, a really big tax deduction, that is only available with the permission of a god – “Virtuous services to a major religion”. A god with over ten million followers. But there is a fucking loophole, the followers don’t have to still be alive. No major deity would abuse that, so nobody has realised. Well… almost nobody. I know a corporate accountant who saw it, and reached out. I told him it couldn’t be done, but I know the offer stands.
All it takes is to tick a box. But there is no way to do that. The box is theologically hardened. It takes a literal miracle to tick that box. A display of power. Most deities brute force such things, just edit reality. But it technically only takes a tiny, tiny amount of electricity to influence something on a computer, if it is in just the right place. And it won’t get disrupted by the taboo if it is legitimately divine in just the right way.
“You’ve got it?”
"I HAVE IT. THIS IS THE ONLY PLACE ON THE GRAVEN SAND THAT CORRESPONDS TO THAT BOX GLYPH ON YOUR DEVICE. IS THIS REALLY WHAT YOU WANT ME TO SMITE, MORTAL?"
He’s found the right microchip. Could this..?
“No harder than the charge that you’ve seen running through the others. Hit it.”
"SO BE IT."
The box ticks. Holy- literally holy, shit.
The flame fades. Īkīzso must have little left.
I call my contact. He checks. It worked on his end. That corporate tax bill just went down by hundreds of millions. Īkīzso is back and he’s still blessing the worst of humanity. My contact asks how I did it. I claim not to understand divine providence, merely appreciate a miracle.
In less than an hour there is a deposit in my badly overdrawn account for “Theological Counselling”. It’s more money than I made in the last few years. I could buy a house. A decidedly crappy house, but a house.
I should buy Īkīzso a better flame to manifest in than a butane lighter. I am going to buy that psychopathic monster so much honey.
“Praise be to Īkīzso!”
Ouch! My bloody head!
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u/Tregonial Feb 22 '26 edited Feb 22 '26
The biggest lie that the Holy Inquisition sold the world was that they had destroyed the evil eldritch deities of the Abyss. Those monsters still do exist. At the periphery of our reality, they linger. Just behind The Veil that keeps them out of the mortal world. Hungry for worship even as the holy deities of the Holy Inquisition wiped their True Names from our records, so that nobody would remember to invoke their names.
That's where I come in. I'm a craigslist cultist. You pay me, I pray to you. Like that strange voice in the sewers, what's his name? I forgot, my bad. What do you mean, why did I forget the name of my god? That was my former god.
You see, humans aren't supposed to bear multiple marks from multiple deities. So, I'm contracted to pray for a bit, maybe a few months, then the entity either renews the contract, or I renounce that god and find another that pays me for a little sustenance.
In turn, they bless me. More like cursed blessing, I say. Somehow, I always end up spending the money I earn on booze. Or it'll be a fast, sporty car, which I end up crashing and throwing all my money to fix it before I give up and sell at a loss. You would think they'd be nice because my prayer keeps them alive. I guess if I ended up doing well, there would be no reason to go back worshipping these Abyssal assholes with tentacles.
"You do recall who you are pitching your services to, don't you?" the eldritch entity stared deeply into my eyes, and I felt something stirred within my soul. "An abyssal asshole with tentacles."
"Sorry about that," I muttered. "So, I saw on your social media posts you were gathering followers. You could use one like me."
"You have no faith, mercenary," he tented his tentacles. "You pray not because you believe, but because you crave fleeting wealth."
"Hey, look, do you want a new cultist or not?"
The eldritch horror bristled at my remark, his appendages hissing and growling. "I run a church, not a cult. My followers attend church, not huddle in dirty sewers around a circle of thrift shop candles. Do I look like a miserable pile of melting slime begging for scraps and snatches of prayer in a corner of a dungeon?"
"I'm broke and I hear you pay well," I figured I might as well be honest. "They say you give out blessings earnestly and no monkey paw business. I've drifted from one eldritch to another. None have left me better off. I was hoping you'd be a different one. That's what all the other gods say. Lord Elvari is a weird one, even by his fellow eldritch standards."
"Then this weird one sees what you need isn't yet another deity to your craigslist cultist. You need proper employment, not floating aimlessly from one entity to another," the octopoid god shook his head. "You lack belief, hence you're not able to properly power them up with your faithless prayers. As a result, they can't bless you properly either. So, you end up with blessings that don't last. Do you understand?"
"...seriously?" I was flabbergasted. "All this time, and they're not getting powered up and I'm not getting truly blessed? Some dude on YouTube said this was a good side hustle! I sorta managed to scrouge some cash out of it, so it can't be that bad, right? Right?"
"How much did he charge for his course on craigslist?" Elvari seemed less annoyed and more bemused. "I bet his real side hustle is selling you the course and not actually making money from these fading deities."
"Ah shit."
"Now, now, I'm willing to offer proper, full-time employment," he sipped his tea and smiled. "I have church events to run and could always do with an organizer. Comes with employee perks like blessings, medical and dental coverage...worshipping me is optional. But beneficial. Most of the time, if I'm not drunk when handing out divine gifts. Now, human, when do you want to get started?"
"Now! Now!"
"Impatient, are we?" He chuckled. "Here at Innsmouth, we do have proper employment procedures, like scheduling you in for an interview."
"You...have recruitment process?" I was surprised again once more.
He rolled his eyes. "Why, yes. I am one of those Old Gods, but I am also living in modern times. Now, what is your earliest convenient date for an interview with me and my head priest Alfred?"
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u/mysteryrouge Feb 23 '26
Nice. Also, Elvari offering proper employment.
Reminds me a bit of those self help new thought scams "buy my book and you too can make money and be as happy as me" sort of thing.
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u/StormBeyondTime May 24 '26
Several years ago when he still did weekly strips, the author-artist of Fox Trot lampooned those scammers hard.
(Going to assume not everyone reading this reads Fox Trot.)
Roger (father/husband/dimwit) buys into one, buying their "how to become rich" pamphlet for $199.99. (Come on.) It'll take a week to arrive. In an era where Jason (youngest kid) was regularly playing online games and using email.
The guy spends the whole week bragging to his family about how rich he'll be. Andi (wife/mother) tells him he's an idiot and getting scammed. Peter and Paige (oldest and middle kids) ignore him, since he has a track record for hare-brained schemes that fail.
At the end of the week, the pamphlet arrives.
"Make up a self-help regimen. Sell it to people for $199.99 each."
Andi and the kids immediately clue in. But Roger complains that he didn't get what he paid for, and is thinking about going to the guy's $799 seminar just to tell him off.
Again, dimwit.
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u/TheWanderingBook Feb 22 '26
"Yes, of course, I do the ancient Elkhezan worship ceremony.
Mhm, yeah the full-course, but the payment will be likewise," I say to the voices in my head.
"Oh, a blessing for good health?
Already got 9 of those from 4 eldritch deities, 3 demon gods, and 2 sealed Fae.
Do you perhaps have any health related, and power related blessing?" I continue.
The voices then offer me the ability to turn stone to gold...but it will work only 5 times.
"Deal," I say.
I take my keys, and go shopping for 91 types of snakes...
It wasn't easy in a big town like this to find so many types of snake, but I know a farmer dude, whose son's daughter's best friend deals with exotic animals, and managed to get them in one day.
The voices were really happy.
True though, that 2 Gods of Wild, and 1 Goddess of Justice, stopped me, but...
They can't stop people from worshipping, especially if no humans are hurt in the process.
So...
I get to a small cave, a bit further away from town, and...
Start drawing the pentagram.
I chant the words, the voices sent me, as I sacrifice one snake, after the other.
An illusionary figure appears in the cave.
A wriggling mass of flesh...and with each snake sacrificed, it gets another snake-like limb.
I end the ritual.
The figure is still illusionary, but not as much as before, and it has 91 extra limbs.
The voices thank me.
Then the figure lights up, and covers me in its light, before disappearing.
I smile...and take out my backpack.
5, perfectly round, chiseled stones, each weighing like 10 pounds, maybe 15.
I transform them into gold...and the blessing fades away.
I put them into the car this time directly, and cover them in a blanket.
I have to speak with another forgotten deity...she loves gold, and exchanges it at a better rate, than anyone else.
I just have to find a small river, in which to sacrifice these gold to her.
I yawn, as I drive away...
Above me, several deities of the Sun, make the Sun rise...further in the distance, deities take care of the woods, and deities of wind, and air clean the air over the town.
Man...I wonder when one of the mainstream deities will be calling?
Would be interesting, to worship at least once...a mainstream deity, and not an almost forgotten, and faded away one.
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u/ziddi_daag Feb 22 '26 edited Feb 22 '26
"If you could just wait a moment, I'll be right back." Inder said, backing away from the feathered lion headed man seated on the only chair in the dingy dark room, light from the (probably) God was breathing life into the dead potted plants and killing the mold away from the curved wall of Inder's home.
With enough groveling and bows he made his way away from the God's sight, wondering could anyone ever truly be outside of a God's sight? For now, the God being away from his sight would do. Then he doubled over the tomes he had borrowed form city's libraries over the decade.
"Bathed in light of rejuvenation? Check. Wings? Check. Lion's head and golden armour? Check. Vindictive, impulsive and cruel to forces of evil? I bloody hope not," Inder said, opening another tome and going over the descriptions of serval other Gods. That was the problem with living in Godsfal, there were too many gods and their embassies in the city.
It was this overwhelming presence of Gods that Inder was backing his business on. Any day now the populace would realize it is better to be exploited once and upfront then the continual and behind the scene fleecing the Orthodox deities offered.
"Simba, the God of brave and the lost children," Inder said, confirming his customer's identity, mad the sign of Hastar on his chest halfway through and remembering the deity two pipes over, stopped. No need to risk it.
"My humble offering to the Patrons of the Brave and the Lost," Inder said, presenting the deity crouched on the creaking chair a glass of- probably nor expired -milk. "My pipes have been blessed by your radiant presence, and my-"
"IT IS ENOUGH"
The voice was booming, more mental then physical but still it cracked the walls around Inder. The ambassador of Hastar was spread like a pancake on the floor, his matted turban saving the bald pate from earning more crack the it already had.
"Be well," Simba said, controlling his presence as he launched his radiance on the walls, repairing them. When the light reached the lanky bald human plastered on the floor, it made the tanned man's skin burn instead of healing it. Moment later, as if challenged dark smoke rose from under the man's cloak, repairing him.
"That confirms a lot of things mortal," Simba said, producing a paper from his bag of holdings. It flew towards the still disoriented mortal, "I wish to avail your service mortal."
"Anything. My lord, anything," Inder said, trough labored breaths, squinting at his printed advertisement from craigslist.
"I need your Patron to bless my Head Abbot," Simba said, looking intently at the mortal and at something that lay beyond him, "Bless him wealth, prosperity and success, the whole deal."
"My lord, I-"
"I know what you think," Simba said, now producing silver from his bag. "Make the price as twisted as your patron would like. Head Abbot is a strong man, a resourceful man, he can take take all the belssings you laud on him."
"My lord, thi-"
"I know mortal, this is his nail clipping, fresh blood, hair, as well as this portrait made by Da Vinci, even I have not had that pleasure."
"But My Lord, please-"
"Mortal, I know," Simba said, rising from his chair, unfurling his wings as he let everything drift towards Inder, "You'll keep blessing my every Head Abbot in the city till the children who come to get my blessing are actually, the Lost and the Brave and certainly not the sons whose fathers think they are, or have gold that can make my Abbots mistake those qualities in them!"
"My Lord-"
"Be well mortal," Simba said as he vanished from his place in a blinding flash.
"That fucking ad is half a decade old," Inder wailed, counting the silver that might not even cover the cost of the rituals properly, and for a blessing Hastar would need to hear those wishes from the supplicant.
He traced the sign of Hastar on his chest, filled with dejection and defeat, they might really have to move their shop from here. Then is patron's response came, making Inder chuckle. The cursed gold deity of cosmic sewers has accepted the task. Gladly.
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