This morose procession ends in a massive, lightless cavern, in which the disfigured persons are forced through an arcane and painful transformation ritual that results in the addition of several new limbs, all twitching and bleached white as deep sea fish that have never seen the sun. Then, the procession attendants serve coffee and yam pie.
A lurid purple appendage stretched out of the thing’s mouth, rolling like an alien tuber towards the tuna, sucking it up and catching the ceramic plate on fire.
No first person narratives here, oh no; the reader is along for the tragic ride, watching the characters stumble towards doom not so much because of their flaws but in spite of their strengths.
Rather than xenophobia, I think, good cosmic horror and weird fiction practice something closer to exophobia–this fear of things outside human perception or outside what it means to be intrinsically people.
Overall, the body count was very low.
“Horrifying, right?” the cultist grinned. “You’re about to be driven to the brink of madness, yeah?”
“Oh…yeah. Absolutely,” Mo nodded, trying not to cringe