The Hunt: Symbiosys

by Michel Weatherall

  The Hunt: Symbiosys

  by Michel Weatherall

  The Hunt: Symbiosys© Michel Weatherall 2015

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Published by Broken Keys Publishing

  brokenkeypublishing@gmail.com

  Front cover, “Major W. Austen Wadsworth, MFH, Riding Devilkin”, 1915 by Richard Newton, Jr. (1874-1951)

  Photos on back cover by Nigel Tate

  “Creeping Death”, written by James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett and Cliff Burton. Courtesy of Creeping Death Music © 1984. All rights reserved.

  Published September 2015

  Second Printing

  Title font used on final page (xxii Arabian Onenightstand) provided with permission and courtesy of Lecter Johnson

  www.dafont.com/doubletwo-studios.d1527

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9948189-3-5 (print)

  ISBN: 978-0-9948189-2-8 (digital)

  Printed and bound in Canada

  Dedicated to my Uncle,

  Jack Sayers.

  Truly an inspiration in the face of adversity.

  You are an unsung hero to me.

  Prologue

  Stonehenge,

  Wiltshire, England,

  June 27th, 1992.

  2:10 am:

  ...Otto had just sprang back onto his feet. Lorne's psychic assault hadn't broken his grip on Marie Gibbons! Otto glared with feral eyes at Lorne from beneath angry gray brows!

  Marie felt the Otto/Nyarlathotep-Symbiot's final telekinetic attack upon her physical body! And then... nothingness. Her body had broken down into atoms and scattered....!

  * * *

  Tokyo, Japan

  June 27th, 1992

  Shantigra Takahara lived in Tokyo and was Executive Head of Finance. Her brother, Hiromitsu Takahara, was the Chief Executive Officer. The Company's major interests were in Bionics. Bionics for the future goals of Cybernetics!

  She believed that a segue from Bionics into Cybernetics would one day benefit the world greatly!

  She also knew that the world's governments would, in all likelihood, not allow such ambition to go unchecked or unmonitored.

  Ah, but there was very little to be concerned about now. They were years, indeed decades from their goals, and that was an optimistic point of view!

  Shantigra knew that even the first primitive cybernetics would be decades in the future. She had long ago accepted the fact that she, herself, would more than likely, never see it happen in her lifetime.

  Shantigra Takahara had worked all day. It was a hot and humid Tuesday in Tokyo. It had been hot and humid all last week. By the end of her day it had began to rain. A light drizzle. But it was long overdue. Only now, at day's end, was the heat and humidity finally subsiding!

  She was caught in downtown Tokyo traffic. The traffic jam was as thick as this bloody humidity was! Her day was hell and now this! All she wanted to do was get to the flat and take a lovely bath. To relax. Listen to the radio maybe! And that was exactly what she did.

  * * *

  Shantigra Takahara lay in her bathtub. The bubbles covered her and she couldn't help but feel like a great bubbly blanket was laid over her. The bubbles seemed to keep the water warmer. The scent of the bubble-bath filled the washroom. She closed her eyes and listened to the radio. The news reporter's words seemed to slur into a strange language. She was falling sleep. She fell into that twilight world of semi-consciousness. It was so comfortable! Little did she know that she would never exit.

  Shantigra had turned in the tub, twisting her hips to get more comfortable when her ankle caught the radio's cord and pulled it into the warm sudsy water.

  The apartment's lights and power flickered for only a moment before the power went out. She was electrocuted. She died instantly.

  Shantigra's brown eyes bulged and stared blankly at the bath's ceramic ceiling, and as she sunk beneath the bubbly waters her eyes didn't close.

  The apartment was silent. Only the light drizzle could be heard on her balcony from outside.

  Then...

  ...Her body convulsed and thrashed beneath the water! Her arms flailed out of the water, one arm smashing into the ceramic wall, cracking tiles with a dull snap sound. Her elbow split! Her head shot out of the bubbles and she coughed and gagged, spitting up warm, soapy water. Her eyes were again filled with life, but of an intelligence not of Shantigra Takahara's!

  Marie Gibbons scanned the room to and fro with terror. Bubbles gently and warmly cascaded from her neck, over her breasts, onto her belly, and down her silky legs.

  The last thing Marie remembered was being at Stonehenge... with her husband, Lorne, and that god-awful gray skinned man! But...

  Her thoughts were broken as she noticed the submerged radio... still plugged in! Quickly, with near inhuman speed, her tanned hand leapt to the wall socket and tugged the plug out. Only afterwards did she realize that the power was out.

  She stood holding the plug. She remembered her husband, Lorne S. Gibbons. Of how he was in a Filipino's body when he rescued her from Nyarlathotep's Prison-Universe. Of how he had switched bodies when he had died. All this knowledge she had received from Lorne when she touched his hand; when she had grasped his hand in the Prison-Universe; all telepathically. She began to understand. She had been reincarnated. That this person, this – she suddenly became aware of her now multimind, and someone else's memories – Shantigra Takahara, had died in the tub. That she had entered her body.

  She stood still in the bathtub, deep in thought. The bubbles on her slim oriental body had all washed away now.

  Marie looked down at her new body; at her small, firm, tanned breasts and dark brown nipples; at her smooth belly and the black pubic hair beneath; at her boy-like hips and legs. So smooth... if she didn't know any better she would have believed she was wearing silk stockings... but of course she wasn't.

  She sat down into the warm soapy water. Lorne would find her, wouldn't he?

  Chapter 1:The Baying of the Hounds

  Boston Public Library,

  Boston, Massachusetts,

  U.S.A., 1993

  Tim Paupst had spent all afternoon combing the Boston Public Library, searching for various books – certain specific books. It was now early evening. The setting sun's dappled light gave the library an overall orange hue. It cast long shadows.

  Timothy sat by himself with a set of headphones on. He was listening to Metallica's Creeping Death. Tim found the thundering music formed a background for his thoughts – something like white noise. It helped him concentrate, though few others could appreciate it.

  Scattered before him were a number of books, but three in particular were laid open: "John Wesley's Biblical Explanatory Notes", "The Fungi of Yuggoth", and a New Living Translation copy of the Bible.

  Timothy was reading from chapter 21, entitled Nyarlathotep, from "The Fungi of Yuggoth":

  “Throngs pressed around, frantic for his commands,

  But leaving, could not tell what they had heard;

  While through the nations spread the awestruck word

  That wild beasts followed him and licked his hands.

  “Soon from the sea a noxious birth began;

  Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold;

  The ground was cleft, and mad auroras r
olled

  Down on the quaking citadels of man.

  Then, crushing what he chanced to mould in play,

  The idiot Chaos blew Earth's dust away.”

  While he read Metallica blared away on his headphones, Hetfield barking out the lyrics:

  “Slaves! Hebrews born to serve, to the pharaoh!”

  He continued reading,

  "And at the last from Inner Egypt came the strange dark One to whom the fellahs bowed;

  Silent and lean and cryptically proud.

  And wrapped in fabrics red as sunset flame."

  "Nyarlathotep? That's Egyptian. Was Nyarlathotep a Pharaoh?" Tim thought.

  "... Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos..." Tim's thoughts wandered.

  He picked up the copy of the bible and thumbed through, searching for a particular passage.

  The music played on as he searched.

  There! He found it!! Exodus 12:23, "For the Lord will pass through the land and strike down the Egyptians. But when he sees the blood on the top and sides of the doorframe, the Lord will pass over your home. He will not permit the Destroyer to enter and strike down your firstborn."

  As he read the passage, the music continued:

  “I, rule the midnight air, the destroyer.”

  "The Destroyer?" he thought, quickly picking up his copy of John Wesley's Explanatory Notes, and referencing Exodus 12:23.

  "The Destroyer - The destroying angel, whether this was a good or an evil angel, we have not light to determine," it read.

  [music]

  “So let it be written

  “So let it be done

  “To kill the first born pharaoh's son

  “I'm creeping death!”

  The Crawling Chaos. Creeping Death? Pharaoh Nyarlathotep? Could Nyarlathotep be the Angel of Death? Could that make him the Hand of God?

  If Nyarlathotep was a pharaoh from ancient Egypt, if he – it, Tim corrected himself – there was nothing human about Nyarlathotep – if It was around thousands of years ago, how powerful must it be? After all, didn’t Lorne say we didn’t understand how powerful the Otto-Nyarlathotep-Symbiot was? Why should we believe it was destroyed?

  Lorne had said the Nadia-Symbiot was weakened because of its duo-existence. Didn’t Lorne suffer from the same thing? Hadn’t he existed as both Mr. Samuel and Senor Sanchez-Vasquez simultaneously?

  Couldn’t any one of the alien Symbiots evolve, over time, to become Nyarlathotep? Aren’t they all the same creature? That was one of the speculations Professor Neilson held, wasn’t it?

  We know Lorne reincarnated at least twice in Senor Sanchez-Vasquez and Mr. Samuel. How can Professor Neilson be so damned sure he didn’t survive the final confrontation?

  There only needs to be one in our world to pose a threat. Only one.

  Tim needed to speak with the Professor. He needed to speak with him now.

  Timothy's face went pale as the possible implications sank in. He didn't bother replacing the books. He simply bolted upright and dashed out of the library.

  * * *

  Professor Neilson tossed and turned in his sleep. He was nightmaring...

  He was walking through an abandoned graveyard. Or was it a necropolis?

  It stretched from gray horizon to gray horizon. Yes, it was a necropolis. Nothing less.

  Necropolis: Greek: City of the Dead, Neilson's academic background defined.

  Everything was covered with a sick black soil. But under this blanket of earth were outlines, shapes. It appeared as if this was some city's downtown core. But the giant skyscrapers and high-rises had fallen, toppled over, leaving an alien landscape of tiered and leveled graves. It reminded Neilson of the tiered vineyards of Europe, except they didn't grow vines or grapes here. Hardly. It would appear that they grew corpses. Although nothing moved nor budged, he could sense a stirring from beneath the monstrous cemetery.

  He walked through a post holocaust world. There was no mistaking it. A possible future? He prayed not. Hadn't the threat of Nyarlathotep been overcome? Hadn't Lorne S. Gibbons destroyed any chances of ever reopening the Gateway again? Neilson began to review the possibilities of opening the Gateway:

  Erich Zann, but he's dead. His son, Otto Zann, also dead. Nadia de LaFountaine – dead. Lorne S. Gibbons' tapes and recordings; all destroyed. Lorne himself? Gone. Banished into Nyarlathotep's Prison-Universe. No, there was no way in the world to open the Gateway again.

  Neilson tried to convince himself that this was not a precognition of the future, only a nightmare. But like all nightmares, things only ever get worse.

  He noticed formless shadows dancing and running about. Dashing from tombstone to tombstone. Incorporeal. Whispering. They seemed distracted; preoccupied with something. There were four... no, five... no, six! There were six of them, and they were paying no attention to Neilson... Like they couldn't even see him. Like he was invisible. And maybe he was. In this Necropolis, why should the dead see the living?

  A sudden gust of rot-tainted wind brought Neilson's mind back to where he was. He became aware of a movement. Not the six shadow's movements, but of the stirring he had sensed earlier. He faced a sudden movement in the black soil. A bulging; a rising! A tombstone quivered, fell over, and rolled across the rising mound of blackened earth.

  Neilson's eyes gawked with horror but he could not tear them off the body that exhumed itself!

  A light rain began. Cold and clammy. The rain only helped to make the undead thing more visible. A storm was coming. Neilson knew he was caught in the throngs of nightmare, but could do nothing to effect his awakening.

  The undead corpse was now completely freed of the black muddy soil and fully visible! It was that of his deceased friend Michael Richardson! The man was clad in his immaculate suit. Impossible, Neilson thought, seeing that Richardson had only just risen from beneath the ground. The gaunt faced Michael smiled at Neilson. Not a malicious smile. A warm smile. One of love and affection.

  Neilson suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion. He felt his terror abate and tears began rising in his eyes. Richardson was a close associate for nearly twenty years, but more-so, he was a close and personal friend... until the final confrontation when be became absorbed into Lorne's multimind and blasted out of this universe. Emotional tears of both joy and sorrow streamed down Neilson's cheeks.

  “Michael?” he could not control his voice as he sobbed. “- oh God, Michael?... I'm sorry.” He fell into weeping.

  Richardson smiled warmly. He tenderly reached out his hand and lay it upon Neilson's shoulder. He did this action so gently that one could have mistaken it for a touch of a lover had they not known the close friendship between the two men.

  “Shh,” he soothed. “Howard, it's alright.” His voice was angelic. It made Neilson all the more emotional and hurt.

  “I...I brought you into this!” Howard wept, “Don't you see? I brought you to your grave! I'm responsible for your death!” His voice cracked with his final statement. He fell onto his knees in the mud and pressed his face onto Richardson's feet, weeping in his guilt.

  Michael reached down and brought Neilson back to his feet. “Howard, I'm not dead,” he said. “I'm a part of Lorne's multimind now. And he isn't in the Prison-Universe!”

  “W-what...?” Neilson wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “Howard!” Richardson seemed to become less gentle suddenly. Almost panicked. “Howard, listen! I'm not dead. Lorne is still here! Still on Earth! I'm not sure how, but he survived – we survived the assault upon Nyarlathotep! As far as I can guess, Otto's body was destroyed and Nyarlathotep was knocked through the Gate, but at the same time the Gate-sphere was blown out of existence from the impact. Lorne's multimind was thrown clear somehow. He – we,” he corrected himself, “We reincarnated again!”