By: Gabriella Balcom
Eyes blazing, Venostuthulu snarled and bellowed. He surged first this way and then that, trying to break free of the magical boundaries imposed upon him.
But the combined strength of the other gods outmatched his, and they trapped him in a secluded prison.
One year passed, then dozens and hundreds, and Venostuthulu's rage burned just as uncontrollably as it had the day he was first caught. However, no matter how many times he tried to get free, he could not. The other immortals' watch over him might have been silent and from a distance now, but it was ever vigilant.
Venostuthulu studied his surroundings, remembered his past days of glorious freedom, and his nostrils flared. A memory of something he used to enjoy, hunting people, ran through his mind. If he were free
His anger over being trapped skyrocketed, but he knew brute force hadn't worked to free him. Then something occurred to him. Wondering if the solution to his imprisonment could really be that simple, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, went icy cold, and plotted.
Over the next few weeks, Venostuthulu tested his idea, cautiously extending the tiniest tendrils of himself and gently probing his boundaries.
A breeze blew inland from the ocean, carrying a salty tang, summer's heat, and more.
Venostuthulu gloated over his delicious plan. He knew his presence, fragmented into thousands of particles, was undetectable. Because the other gods had condemned him for violence against people, choosing a target had been easy.
Reaching the metropolis, he noted the human infestation, reassembled himself as a massive snake, bared his venomous fangs, and laughed as poison dripped onto screaming people. He shot fireballs from his eyes, exploding structures, individuals, and everything.
Venostuthulu sensed gods coming, vanished, and reappeared elsewhere. Chortling, he again rained down destruction.