Herman Fuller Presents: Eucestodiel, the Pallid Godhead
rating: +49+x


Triumph of the Worm!

Once a

lowly

worm, now

a god:

Eucestodiel

is ten feet

of Holy



Wrath,

256 legs

of pure

divinity,

and a

one-worm

showstopper!

See the Worm's final triumph, over and over!

By purchasing a ticket to see "Triumph of the Worm",
you agree to forfeit the right to hold the Circus accountable
for any resulting damnation, trauma, or acts of God.

The following is a page from a publication entitled To the Circus Born: Herman Fuller's Menagerie of Freaks. The identities of neither publisher nor author have been established, and scattered pages have been found inserted into Circus-themed books in libraries across the world. The person or persons behind this dissemination are unknown.

Animal House

To the Circus Born

could be a real bastard when he wanted.

Case in point: shortly before Fuller dropped off the face of the earth, he had the "bright" idea of putting the older animals to use. Better to show them out with a bang, rather than letting old age have its due. Right? Enter Eucestodiel.

One of the perks of having a clown with a bottomless stomach was that any sort of intestinal parasite he could catch had a lot to work with. One of them, it turned out, had ascended to godhood in an act of defiance against… whatever force a common tapeworm could comprehend, I suppose. Of course, when the Kingdom of Heaven is little more than a few clowns and some freaks, your divine revelations become little more than an excuse for a new act.

That's not to downplay Eucestodiel. When I say they were a god, I mean it. That monster was a tempest in a tea-kettle, a terror constrained only by their crippling lack of imagination; them and Fuller were a match made in Hell, a wicked mind at the helm of a wicked machine.

And so we come back to Fuller's brightest idea yet. The night starts simple: old Menagerie stars are brought out to perform their best hits to the best of their abilities. They need not be good at it; indeed, the odd failure is almost fitting in the face of what comes next. Following the last hurrah for the last animal, the world stops: the lights dim, the band shuts up, the works. The crowd's a pop away from going bonkers with anticipation, and that's when the Ringmaster finally speaks up.

"You, my faithful audience, bore witness to legends, beasts of yore and so much more. But behind every legend sits an ugly truth:" And at this point I could almost hear the shit-eating grin plastered to his face. "That in the end, life is a Triumph of the Worm."

That's Eucestodiel's cue, and they waste no time stealing the spotlight. Everything the animals did, they did better: backflips became aerial maneuvers, fire-breathing came in a veritable rainbow of colors, and even Talkin' Tony was put to shame once Eucestodiel started beaming their life story into the audience's minds. We're talking a hodge-podge of everything and anything a Herman Fuller menagerie could do before the crowd.

Before I get to the finale, I would like to stress that neither Fuller nor Eucestodiel gave us any warning of what would follow.

One by one, every animal was called by name into the ring. Eucestodiel would give a brief tribute speech, followed by their favorite treat and a round of applause from audience and old-timer alike. Much celebration is had over their storied lives, etc etc.

It's at this point I realize I don't see Fuller anywhere.

As Eucetodiel finishes their final eulogy, their attention turns back to the audience. Scenes of the past are replayed, joyous memories and memorable screw-ups, one last thing to remember the old guard by. Eucestodiel calls the audience to a standing ovation for the loyal backbones of the Circus.

And then, six seconds into the applause, every animal's head fucking explodes.

It was chaos. The animals didn't even get time to scream before the tent, originally a gaudy yellow with purple stripes, was instantly dyed a macabre red. Brains plastered audience and performer alike. Not five minutes later were Fuller's enforcers putting out a full-scale riot.

All in all, third-worst show of the Fuller years.

459

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