Tales of
Cthulhu
Invictus
Edited by
Brian M. Sammons
Copyright ©2015 by Golden Goblin Press, LLC
All Rights Reserved.
Excerpts in the publication and related advertising, artwork original to Tales of Cthulhu Invictus remains the property of the artists, and is copyright by them under their individual copyrights.
Cthulhu Invictus is a Registered Trademark of Chaoisum Inc., and is used with permission.
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ISBN 978-0-9895603-3-7
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Thank You
I’d like to start by thanking the backers of the De Horrore Cosmico Kickstarter for making this book possible.
My thanks to Alberto Guerra for the amazing cover art. Thank you to Brian Sammons for putting such a wonderful collection together for us. My thanks to the authors of these wonderful tales; William Meikle, Christine Morgan, Konstantine Paradias, Pete Rawlik,Edward M. Erdelac, Penelope Love, Tom Lynch, Lee Clark Zumpe, and Robert M. Price. Thank you to Chitin Proctor for your help proof-reading this collection, and to Mark Shireman for layout.
You are all incredible!
Oscar Rios
Publisher and Editor-In-Chief, GGP
Dedication
I would like to dedicate this book to my wife, Mitzi.
Thank you for making every day of my life, for the last twenty five years, one long epic and occasionally horrifying adventure. If we go down, we’ll go down together.
Oscar Rios
Publisher and Editor-In-Chief, GGP
Table of
Contents
Vulcan’s Forge
by William Meikle page 5
Fecunditati Augustae
by Christine Morgan page 15
A Plague of Wounds
by Konstantine Paradias page 30
Tempus Edax Rerum
by Pete Rawlik page 37
The Unrepeatables
by Edward M. Erdelac page 46
Magnum Innominandum
by Penelope Love page 61
Lines in the Sand
by Tom Lynch page 75
The Temple of Iald-T’quthoth
by Lee Clark Zumpe page 88
The Seven Thunders
by Robert M. Price page 101
Vulcan’s Forge
by William Meikle
—Day 1—
They told me it was a temple, one dedicated to a forgotten god from over the seas. The ziggurat builders of Mesopotamia were the main names being mentioned, but as soon as I climbed the smoking slopes and entered the shaft I saw that what the quake had uncovered was something far older—and far more interesting.
I immediately knew one thing for sure—it is certainly no temple, although I am at a loss as to categorize the place in any other fashion. The basalt walls are smooth, as if cut in great precision by a master builder, although there is no sign of any joints, not even where high arches have been formed to mark the passageways. Strange jars line every wall; tall glass vases filled with wonders—and horrors—strange creatures beyond imagining, all of them dead, dissected and floating, specimens of some dark experimentation.
Three long tables, hewn from a strange green marble mark the workspace, and on each lies a range of knives, specula and a variety of objects—obviously tools—that I can only hope to fathom the meaning of. It will take weeks of careful study.
But first, some cleaning will be required. Everything is covered in a thin layer of ash, and I speculate that the place was abandoned in some unimaginable past during a previous volcanic episode, although I will admit to that being no more than a theory at present. I only know for sure that it is old—older by far than the great structures of Rome herself, maybe older still than the Sphinx in the desert, and with as little intention of giving up its secrets.
The place is an enigma—one that I hope to be given time to understand. I must not complain. To be given the task at all is a great honor. There are mysteries—and wonders—here that will do much to advance my reputation should I manage to penetrate the secrets, and the chamber itself is a privilege to behold.
It might never have been found had it not been for the quake that shook the slopes of Vesuvius three days ago. There have been tremors in this area before—of course there have, and some of them large enough to do substantial damage around the region. But none has ever opened up such a gash in the mountainside as this. The fact that so much has survived intact is only one of the many wonders of this place.
I am told by Galvinius the Builder that a new eruption may indeed be imminent, one that might destroy this wonder before we have time to fully understand it, but I cannot allow myself to worry about that at the moment. The marvels I have seen this day must be catalogued and preserved—that is my only priority at this time.
I have a lot of work ahead of me.
—Day 2—
The complex of shafts beneath the main chamber is far larger than we have been led to believe. Galvinius is astounded—something I never thought I would say about such a stout, earthy mason. But the sight of the tunnel network that he uncovered this morning is certainly enough to amaze even the most jaded of minds. It is as if an army of ants—enormous beyond all belief—have hewn and cut out the heart of the volcano for their own as yet unfathomable devices. Galvinius has his young assistants down there now, trying to delve ever deeper
There are many chambers like the one in which I sit penning this—a score at least, with more being uncovered at every turn, each containing more of the glass jars—more monstrosities, more evidence of experimentation on a grand scale. We have seen no sign that men have been the subjects of these grotesque depravities—but I fear what we might find even further in the depths of this infernal place.
Infernal is not a word I use lightly. It is warmer here than the hottest summer’s day, a dry heat that sucks the very moisture out of a man in minutes, leaving him parched and leathery. Great care has to be taken inside the complex, and to tarry too long will only bring quick and certain death. Several of Galvinius’ men have succumbed to heatstroke already, and he is having fresh water brought up by the barrel from the lower slopes in an attempt to keep us hydrated.
As for myself, I have as yet ventured no farther than the initial find—there is more than enough to keep me occupied up here. So far I have identified some of the creatures from the jars—although their forms are strange to my eye, as if not quite fully realized. There is part of a horse that seems too small, a strange lizard thing that seems far too large, and a hairy loathsome beast in a tall jar that I can scarcely look at. It has some resemblance to the monkeys of the Barbary, and an even closer resemblance to a man around the face, but it is far larger than any man—and somehow looks angry despite having been dead for a great length of time.
There are other jars where I can only guess at the provenance of the occupants. Some contain many legged things with membranous wings that look more like a hideous prawn than anything. Others are full of squat leathery eggs that have long since hatched, and insects—huge insects—unlike any I have ever seen.
And then there is the black tarry substance that, on close examination, seems to have coated almost everything at one time. It has long
since hardened such that it is almost indistinguishable from rock, but when you break a piece—I did so by banging a fragment hard on the green marble—it shows distinctive internal structure that tells of a once living thing. Not for the first time in these past few days, I am at a complete loss as to what to make of it.
—Day 3—
I had believed myself beyond any further astonishment, but today has proved me quite wrong. Galvinius had sent to Pompeii for rope and tackle last night, and this morning he and his assistants went even deeper into the bowels of the volcano. I was at one of the green marble tables when the mason returned—eyebrows singed, skin covered with a layer of ash and sweat, eyes showing white—and terrified—in a smoke blackened face.
“You must see this, Septimus. Rome must be told.”
He would not elaborate, insisting it was something that had to be seen to be believed. He would only say that it was a greater wonder by far than we had so far uncovered. Of course there was nothing for it but for me to descend to the depths to investigate for myself.
We carried extra flasks of water with us for the descent but even so I was feeling as dry as old leather by the time we arrived at what the mason was so anxious for me to see.
It lies deep inside the volcano, at the foot of the steepest shaft we had traversed—the lowermost chamber of the complex. A vent blew sulphurous belches at us, the heat would have cooked us to a crisp if we had tarried too long, and the very walls of the shaft trembled as a fresh tremor shook through the volcano. I scarcely noticed any of that.
The chamber is a huge forge, vaster by far than even that of the most successful sword smith in Rome, a pit of molten rock and flame fit for the use of Vulcan himself. It is currently plugged with a vast slab of rock, but it is obvious from its design that this has not always been the case. Once again I can only guess at the use to which this might have been put, but there is a most cunning mechanism of gears and pulleys employed, and it was Galvinius himself who spotted their purpose, although even after being told I could scarcely believe it.
The forge itself is acting like a massive bung—a cork if you will, one that can be raised or lowered to selectively increase or decrease any growing pressure in the magma flows. It is a work of engineering genius unparalleled in the world that we know—perhaps the greatest such feat ever undertaken. One thing is certain—it was designed and built by a race long since lost to time—a race of giant intellect so far above ours that we would be mere insects under their boots should they return.
And it is the only thing that is preventing this volcano from blowing its top—and taking us with it.
—Day 4—
The great forge has been much on my mind—and I am only slightly appeased by the fact that Galvinius has pronounced it safe. Indeed he believes he may well be able to use it to prevent what he had previously considered to be an inevitable cataclysm, and if he does so, he will be the most feted man in the Empire.
Word of our find has reached Herculaneum. General Flavius Meranus arrived this morning with a retinue of thirty armed guardsmen, although the dangers present here are not the kind that can be fought with swords and spears. I was in the top chamber when the General arrived, and he did so right at the moment that Galvinius announced that he had found more wonders. Had we been alone I might have counseled the mason to silence, but I was not given that opportunity. He arrived in the chamber at a run, full of excitement.
“There is another chamber,” he announced, even before noticing the General’s presence. After that, of course, there was nothing for it but to show the General the latest find.
I was expecting another chamber similar to the others, but there were no glass jars in the one that Galvinius led us to. Instead there was a single sheet of glass encompassing a whole wall of the cavern—a singular feat of craft and engineering in its own right. At first I could not discern any use apart from decoration, for it was not a window to the outer slopes of the volcano.
It was, however, a window to somewhere—or some when, as we found out when Galvinius walked up to it and stroked its surface—gently, almost a caress.
Several of the General’s guards let out cries of fear as the glass cleared and we looked out over a scene of battle—but what a battle, the likes of which our legions should hope never to encounter.
A great city—spires piled high to the sky, walls almost as tall as the mountain on which they were built—was under siege. The attacking army was not even remotely human, but was little more than a seething mass of black tar, crawling and creeping inexorably closer to its goal, roiling and seething with a strange form of life. Tendrils rose from the tarry surface, as if tasting the air. Wet slits opened and our cavern filled with the sound of a high piping whistle that grated on the ears and sent two of the guard to their knees, bleeding at nose and ears. The rest of us endured as we watched the tar begin its climb up the city wall.
Somewhere on the top of the wall there were defenders, too small for us to make out detail of their form, although they seemed larger than men, with too many limbs. They poured fire down on the tar, but that only seemed to speed the attack. The walls began to crumble and quake, great rifts and cracks appearing in the stone. Spires and turrets fell into dust and the ruin of that great city seemed inevitable.
The mountain smoked and belched then belched again, louder this time. Fire erupted from the summit. The ground—even here in the chamber where we watched, rolled and yawed like a boat in heavy seas.
Then the top of the mountain came off with an explosion of such force that the entire city—what was left of it—crumbled and fell under the blow. Fire ran down the slopes like rivers, and a great ash cloud rose high into the heavens then fell like a blanket, smothering everything until even the black tar was quiet and still and hard.
The last thing we saw before the glass went dark was a scene of utter devastation—all was flat and gray and dead, and no sign remained that the great city had ever stood.
To a man—even including the stoic old general—we were in shock, trying to comprehend what we had seen—some of the guards were calling it a vision from the gods, saying that Vulcan himself had shown us a sign, a portent of a cataclysm to come. They were ready to flee until the General called for order. As for myself, I was thinking more of the engineering skills that had built the great forge, and whether this was no more than another manifestation of the builder’s ingenuity.
Galvinius had obviously been thinking along the same lines as I.
“I think they did it deliberately,” he said. “I think they set off the eruption. And I think they did it from a place like this.”
He went off to one side of the glass panel and I followed him, with the General right behind me.
There is an alcove there, and it only contains one thing. Galvinius explained to the General what he thought its purpose might be, but I am in no doubt.
It is a lever, one that can be pulled to take out the bung, to use a crude analogy—one that will set this volcano to exploding.
—Day 5—
I thought that the General might return to Herculaneum, but he stayed today, taking great interest in everything we have discovered so far. I am not naive enough to think this is in the spirit of intellectual rigor—indeed, that was proved rather early in the day. He has taken special note of the black tar residue, and as ever with a General’s mind, his thoughts have taken a militaristic turn.
“Think of it, Septimus,” he said, hefting a large piece of the black material in his hand. “If we could have a living supply of this material to hand, we need never lose a man in a siege again. We would simply deploy this, and stand well back. The job would be done for us without a single grave needing to be dug.”
I tried to impress upon him the horror I felt in my heart at the very idea, but he was deaf to my implorations, even after I reminded him of the destruction we had seen wrought on the great city in our shared vision. He waved my protests aside.
“I am sure you can devise
a means of control to avoid such extreme conclusions. I want this to be your priority, Septimus,” he said, making it clear that he would brook no argument, and that my options for dissent were limited. “I want barrels of this material, alive and flowing, for use on my next campaign—I aim to make my mark on the Empire—I mean to go down in history.”
Quite how history will remember General Flavius Meranus is as yet unclear—it is my own place in the immediate future that concerns me now. I am to begin study of the black tar.
I am to bring it back into a world from which it was banished eons ago.
May the Gods have mercy on me.
—Day 23—
The mountain is angry today. Perhaps it is my actions that have precipitated it—I can only hope not, although my dreams are dark now, filled with visions of the tar overrunning the country.
I have succeeded in the task set before me, although I have not yet informed the General, for my main desire is to destroy that which I have wrought, and to tell him that I have failed. It would mean almost certain death for me—and he would only send another to take my place before the day is out. But I would not have to live with the consequences, and that, perhaps, would be preferable to the alternative.
It has been a hard task getting as far as I have. At first the black tar refused to yield to my efforts to pry into its secrets. I tried water, wine, vinegar and a variety of salts—all of them merely washed off the surface leaving the still solid tar behind.
I only had a breakthrough when I boiled the material in a retort containing salt water, and kept the heat on it until the water had almost evaporated.
All that was left in the retort was an oily residue, and at first I thought it was another failure, but when I put out a finger to scrape at the residue, it flowed away from my digit, as if afraid of the touch. After that it was simply a matter of boiling as much of the material as we could find in the complex—which was quite considerable.
There are two barrels down in the deep parts of the complex, in the nearest chamber to the forge. They seethe and roil. The tar is viscous and things float in it; unformed limbs, suckered tentacles like those of an octopus, moist sucking mouths and—worst of all—pale eyes that stare unblinkingly, dozens of them. At least the amount of material in the barrels seems stable—if the volume had shown any sign of increasing I would have had it all poured into the forge there and then.
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