7. Death by Illness
It was just around the time that he was giggling away to himself, thoroughly pleased with the new goal he had handed down.
"So-o-o... what do we do nooow...?" Shub-Niggurath whispered, her voice hushed just enough that Father wouldn't overhear.
"Helping Father die... what kind of unfilial daughters would tha-at make us...?"
True — no matter how much they owed it to him to honor their Father's wishes, what he wanted right now was nothing other than death itself. And as his daughters, they could never allow him to come to such an end.
"You have to refuse him, even nooow... We can't help him diiie, you know..." she pressed, hoping he might still change his mind while there was time.
However.
"No — this could actually turn out to be an opportunity."
Nyarlathotep, for her part, saw the whole predicament as raw material for a turnaround.
"What is that supposed to mean? Father wishes for death, and you're calling this an opportunity?"
"Nyarlathotep... have you finally lost your miiind...?"
On hearing her out, the other two sisters began to seriously question her sanity.
"No!! Just think about it for a second!! That being is THE 'Father'!!" Seizing them both as though the answer were obvious, she launched into her persuasion.
"Think about Father's standing. He's so exalted that even finding a single friend is a monumental ordeal for him."
"Could someone like that — could our own Father — truly be able to die?"
"...!!!"
She had a point. He was the most supreme and majestic being in every world and every dimension, from the oldest antiquity to the farthest reaches of the future — so high above all things that even befriending someone posed him a colossal problem.
And someone like that, dying? It would be an endeavor more absurdly difficult than an egg hurling itself at a boulder, than a snail crossing the ocean. They could have declared it flatly impossible and no one could have argued. However great their Father was, this alone he would never manage.
"We'll just pretend to help Father die, and do what we actually need to do."
Meaning: creating a friend for their Father — fulfilling the very wish they'd never had a chance to prepare for.
And beyond that, there was one more reason the sisters had no choice but to accept Nyarlathotep's proposal.
Without a word, she extended her index finger and pointed somewhere.
"Hee hee, I'm looking forward to it~ Heheh..."
There sat their Father, beaming with innocent delight, the corners of his mouth stretched all the way to his ears.
"...So what do you want us to do?"
Not one of them dared to correct him — to say to his face, "You cannot die."
"So, what do I have to do to die?"
He came scampering over, his smile far, far too bright for the question, and asked Yog-Sothoth.
"Ah—a-ah! Y-yes! You mean, a way for you to die!" Her thoughts, which had briefly ground to a halt, finally stuttered back to life.
"Hmm... a manner of death befitting Father, you say..."
Death came in countless varieties. Natural death, accidental death, death from overwork, cardiac arrest, and on and on — counting every last form of it would likely have taken an entire sleepless night.
'Natural death is out of the question to begin with.'
Natural death — the very archetype of dying — simply did not suit him. Setting aside how long it would take to arrive there, the concept of a lifespan didn't apply to him in the first place. So, sifting through the methods of death that might actually work on him...
"...Let us first try death by illness."
Death by illness. A form of death that manifests as disease erodes and infects the body. It was the name destined to earn, in the far-off future, the title of having claimed more lives than any other. And right here, right now, there was someone who could well be called the foremost expert on the subject.
"Nyarlathotep, help me out, won't you?"
For it was none other than Nyarlathotep.
She was the one destined to slip into mortal society in the days to come and put those with promise to the test. Her trials would take countless forms, and disease, naturally, numbered among them.
"Well then... shall I begin?" Nyarlathotep knelt and gingerly took her Father's hand.
"...Whoa, so soft... no, no, that's not it." She had forgotten her calling for a moment, but she soon collected herself and began to focus.
Shuuuuuu...
Pathogens streamed out from her hand and drifted toward his body. They trickled slowly down from her fingers, settled onto their Father's frame — and promptly ceased to exist.
...?
Had their Father done something? Wondering, Nyarlathotep lifted her gaze to his face —
"Weren't you about to do something? Hurry up and start." He was simply staring back at her, blank and utterly adorable.
'A-again...'
Flustered, she tried once more to seep the germs into her Father's body, but the instant the pathogens touched his hand, they crumbled into black dust and scattered.
'I expected them not to take hold... but I never imagined they couldn't even make contact.'
Yog-Sothoth could only look on at her flustered sister's efforts, pity softening her face.