A world of natural beauty, filled with birdsong and the scent of flowers.
Green trees, thick grass, and moss-covered statues of Cthulhu…
Now that Morty had the portal gun, he had planned to ditch this place, head to a cultivation world, and bring back a few cultivation techniques.
Instead, he discovered that he was still in the Cthulhu Dimension.
He nearly opened a portal on the spot, went back, and tore Rick a new one.
So that old bastard had locked the portal gun’s destination controls ahead of time?
No matter which universal coordinates Morty selected, the gun would only send him back to the Cthulhu Dimension.
Goddammit!
Still, no matter how pissed he was, going back was out of the question.
If he went back now, Rick would definitely use it against him every chance he got, tearing down his confidence all over again.
Morty had to deal with the child in Cthylla’s womb without Rick’s help.
Only then could he walk back with his head held high and say dismissively, “It was just a little Cthulhu problem.
Boring as hell.
I didn’t know shit, and I still solved it in no time.”
So for now, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and keep going.
[Rick definitely learned something from this world, so I need to get my hands on more Cthulhu knowledge.
But where the hell do I start…?]
As the thought crossed his mind, Morty eyed the abandoned Cthulhu statue in front of him.
He knew that if he prayed in front of it, Old Cthulhu would show up in a heartbeat.
But without Rick around, there was no telling what kind of attitude Old Cthulhu would have toward him.
So…
A little extra walking never hurt anybody.
Maybe he would stumble across something useful.
Morty headed in the opposite direction from the statue.
Without the Cthulhu statue, the beautiful landscape would have looked no different from any normal world.
He passed through a dense forest, crossed streams, and climbed over rolling hills.
Eventually, Morty stopped outside a human town.
The people in the distance seemed to belong to the modern age, yet somehow remained cut off from it.
Men in suits, top hats, and tall boots were everywhere.
Primitive automobiles shared the roads with horse-drawn carriages.
Groups of young women strolled beneath parasols in the bright sunlight.
Morty could not help marveling at the absurdly long lifespans of the Cthulhu Dimension’s monsters.
Or rather, its gods.
According to the Cthulhu Mythos and the fragments of history recorded in the Book of Eibon, Cthulhu had arrived on Earth with a gang of followers three hundred million years ago to claim territory.
He had then fought the Ancient Ones, who were the dominant force on the planet at the time.
Eventually, the two sides divided the territory between them.
The newly formed continents belonged to Cthulhu.
The existing continents and oceans belonged to the Ancient Ones.
Yeah.
Three hundred million years ago…
That was enough time for “humanity” to be wiped out and evolve all over again countless times.
For all he knew, the previous “humans” who ruled this world might have been cat people.
“Young man, those are some strange clothes.
Where did you come from?”
Morty was still debating whether to enter the town when a sheriff with a revolver at his waist appeared without making a sound.
He had the rugged beard of a stereotypical Western lawman, a face reddened by the sun, and Cthulhu embroidered across his leather gloves.
[Old Cthulhu’s followers really are everywhere…]
Since Morty was carrying both a book and a sword, the sheriff kept his distance and rested his right hand on the gun at his hip.
The moment Morty made a suspicious move, the man would shoot first and ask questions later.
Morty knew that routine all too well.
He spread his hands to show that he meant no harm.
Once the sheriff relaxed slightly, Morty asked where he was.
“You don’t know the name of this beautiful town?
Then how did you get here?”
The sheriff remained on high alert, but Morty had no patience for managing the man’s nerves.
He was losing hair trying to solve a problem involving the unborn child of the daughter of the god these people worshiped.
So get the hell out of his way.
Time to pull out the book.
Morty raised the Book of Eibon, opened it, and recited a prayer.
The sheriff’s tense expression immediately gave way to reverence.
It was a prayer commonly used by the town’s priests when worshiping the great Lord of R’lyeh.
Over the course of thousands of years, nearly everyone capable of standing perfectly still and calmly reciting that prayer without the aid of any drugs had been an elite member of the cult.
Morty might not know where he was, but the fact that he could recite the prayer was enough to prove that he was one of them.
His devotion to Cthulhu was beyond question!
Morty muttered, “Devotion to Cthulhu, my ass…”
Once they had confirmed that they belonged to the same sect, the sheriff warmly led Morty into town.
“Here in Arkham, we worship only Cthulhu, so our people are honest and simple.
We’re nothing like those depraved towns that worship two, three, or even more gods.
They’re fighting each other every damn day.”
“Wait…
Arkham?”
“Yeah.
This is Arkham.
You’ve never heard of it?”
Morty stopped in his tracks, his face filled with shock and disbelief.
The sheriff immediately began to worry.
Their town had a population of only a little over eight thousand.
Compared with other towns and cities, it really was rather small.
But every last one of them was a loyal follower of the Cthulhu cult!
This boy was so young, yet he could recite the prayer without batting an eye.
And now he looked completely stunned after hearing the town’s name.
Could it be that Arkham’s reputation had changed in the eyes of outsiders over the past decade?
Had things gotten so bad that even members of the same cult could no longer accept them?
Worry had clouded the sheriff’s judgment.
They had nearly reached the town when he suddenly became agitated.
The townspeople in the distance also tensed up.
By the time a crowd had surrounded Morty, he finally snapped out of his thoughts and looked around in confusion.
“What the hell are you people doing?”
“Talk!
Why did you make that face when you heard the name Arkham?
You…”
Morty stared at him.
“You want me to explain the connection between Gotham and Arkham or something…?”
Morty made up an excuse and lavished Arkham with praise until he managed to fool the bystanders into leaving.
Then he met the town’s priest.
The priest was a charismatic elderly white man dressed in a long black robe.
Aside from the seated, contemplative statue of Cthulhu occupying the place where a cross should have been, every detail of the building looked exactly like a traditional church.
After explaining why he had come, Morty was readily granted access to every book in the church.
To his disappointment, they were all rambling, mystical essays written by priests over the past few decades and centuries to kiss Cthulhu’s ass.
Not one of them contained a shred of useful information.
That made Morty realize that if he wanted real knowledge, he would have to go directly to Cthulhu and the others.
Then he would have to use his own way of thinking, which differed from theirs, to put that knowledge to practical use.
But was it really going to be that easy?
“Father!
There’s an old man outside!
He’s covered in wounds!
And most importantly, he has tentacles on his face!”