Necropolis: Book 5: R'lyeh

by Michel Weatherall

  The windowless chamber was sparse and nearly empty. A few chairs and table were its only furniture. The table was covered with candle wax stains. With the amount of lit candles in the room it was more reminiscent of a Roman Catholic church than an Islamic Mosque. A cool breeze from a cave opening in the back of the chamber caused the candle flames to dance gently.

  In the room, patiently waiting, sat a peculiar man with an ancient bound book. He was an ugly man. His complexion pale and clammy. His hair jet black, thin and stringy. His eyes were too far apart and his mouth too wide.

  “Here is our copy of the Tao Xian Ching,” the French-Arabic woman began, “and with it is your fellow student, Riley Smythe.”

  The man smiled at his introduction. The Chinese student did his best to mask his surprise and disgust. The man's smile was anything but warm. His teeth were tiny and his mouth appeared full of them.

  “And this,” the woman continued, motioning towards the Chinese student, “is Mr. Chang.”

  “Luang,” he quickly corrected her while shaking Riley Smythe's hand. His hand was moist and clammy.

  Luang's eyes fell upon the book, his expression one of blank awe. “Is that...?”

  “Yes,” the beautiful blue-eyed brunette answered quickly.

  “May I?” Luang asked, hesitantly reaching for the book.

  “Of course.”

  “Do you know who is attributed with its penmanship?” he asked no one in particular. “Do you know the legends and history that surround this manuscript?”

  The brunette Arab woman took a seat before answering. “Do tell. Please, enlighten us.”

  “Sun Wukong,” he answered excitedly. The woman was studying her manicured nails, either uninterested or not paying attention. The strange Riley Smythe's expression was unreadable. “Who?”

  “Master Sun Wukong,” he repeated. “The Monkey King from the Buddhist tale Journey to the West. He's a legendary and mythical figure.”

  “Really.” Riley's accent was an odd American one. “I don't think he's real.”

  “Please continue, Mr. Luang,” the woman looked up from her nails. “Tell us of the legends that you know of this book.”

  Luang was flipping back and forth through the Tao Xian Ching, reading bits and pieces as he spoke: “The original author of the Tao Xing Ching is rumored to be none other than the legendary Chinese Master, Sun Wukong. An ancient wizard, a Master of a perverted form of Taoism whose primary focus was the achievement of immortality, Master Sun Wukong is credited with discovering its secrets.

  “Historical experts date the manuscript circa 612 AD – 650 AD, and is believed in some occult societies that Master Sun Wukong lives on to this very day in the Himalayas.

  “Whispers from even darker sources hint that Master Sun Wukong is in league with the Himalayan Mi-Go. But of course, none of these rumours can be substantiated.” Both the woman and Riley Smythe exchanged looks.

  Luang frantically searched for a particular passage. “At one point in the Tao Xing Ching, he speaks of the alien-god, Nyarlathotep.

  “The true form of Nyarlathotep – a scion of Azothoth and a deity of the [Outer Chaos] – cannot exist within the boundaries of our organized [Quantisphere] (Universe). The monster-god needs a host: the Nyarlathotep-symbiot.

  “Although the Nyarlathotep-symbiot's body can suffer death, the Symbiot itself cannot die. Physical death triggers its natural ability of [metempsychosis](reincarnation).

  “A native of the [Outer Chaos], the alien facet of the Symbiot drives this unnatural perversion and by its very alien nature, abides by the chaos and randomness of the [Outer Chaos], reincarnating in the nearest vacant Host in either Time or Space. It is therefore theoretically possible for the Symbiot to flow up or down the River of [Time] in a limited matter.

  “Master Wukong's manuscripts are confusing as he describes the god Nyarlathotep, less as an individual but more as an entire species. One, yet infinitely divided.

  “Wukong ascertains that there are three forms of Symbiot and an unprecedented fourth, which is not part of the god-Nyarlathotep-species. It is in the fourth form that Master Sun Wukong's interest lay.” This grabbed the brunette's interest as she turned her undivided attention to Mr. Luang as he read further:

  “The highest form is the Symbiocyst, achieved through the lost process of Symbiosys.

  “All other forms of Symbiots are arrived at through bodily possession, whereas the legendary and coveted Symbiocyst [Hybrid Form] is birthed. This much is recorded. The process is referenced as Symbiosys, but the actual process has been erased from history.

  “The Symbiocyst is fully naturalized to this Ordered Universe. It – both body and soul – are one. It does not need a host body, being born and native to our [Quantisphere] (Universe). It derives its power and value by being separate and distinct from the Nyarlathotep God/Species.

  “Symbiosys is believed to predate Man-kind and finds its origins behind prehistory, possibly by the [Old Ones]. Certain obscure tomes hint that it was these [Old Ones] who (removed/obscured) Symbiosys from all records out of a concerned fear of the 'Scion of Azothoth', a god-entity they called [The Crawling Chaos].

  “All recorded attempts by Man have always ended in failure. Ending with the disfigurement or death of the newborn, or a [Failed-Hybrid] or a Stillborn-Symbiot.

  “Of the many Stillborn-Symbiots recorded in history, many seem to have been accomplished empaths and several have been Gate-Masters but this ability led to all of their demises.

  “No Symbiocysts (Hybrid Forms) are recorded in history. Some believe the Symbiocyst is a fabrication and purely legend.

  “Certain Occult circles whisper that the Biblical character Moses was the only Symbiocyst, but most of these cults have been purged from history as heretics by the Church, and their books burned.

  “Still other obscure Gnostic sects hold that it was Pharaoh who was the only Symbiocyst.”

  “It is a shame my brother died.” Riley broke into Luang's monologue. He was speaking directly to the woman, seemingly ignoring Luang. “He had the gift of Prophecy to my people. He could hear the song of Dagon. He could hear The Call.”

  The young Chinese student looked confused.

  The French-Arabic woman's blue eyes pierced into Riley. “It is a good thing you did not kill my sister.” There was a sense of menace in ther voice. “She is pregnant. Yes, the unborn baby will be our Symbiocyst.”

  “Yeah... 'bout dat. We don't know how this Symbiosys -”

  “Don't concern yourself with that,” she cut him off. “Did you attain The Music of the Spheres in Egypt?” It wasn't really a question but a statement, an accusation.

  Riley sat in silence, glaring at the brunette. “No. Ya know'd I didn't.”

  She turned to the confused China-man. “What I need from you is how to kill it should this Symbiosys procedure fail.”

  “What? What procedure?”Luang asked.

  “What does the Tao Xian Ching say about destroying these Symbiots?”

  Luang turned over a few pages of the manuscript and continued translating:

  “If a [common] Symbiot is slayen in proximity to an opened Gateway to the [Outer Chaos] their ability to reincarnate is put to an end. Lost outside our universe, they resort to their original incorporeal forms, never to be heard of again..

  It is only through the Music of the Spheres that this Gateway may be opened. But the knowledge has been lost by the purging fires of the Church.

  There are dark rumours that persist – despite the Church's attempts to squash these occult groups – that under extremely rare and near unique circumstances, these slayen or lost Symbiots find a sort of half-existence, in the outside Shadowy Chaos.

  If enough powerful emotional ties can be maintained, a “Ghost-of-Sheol” can result. A completely incorporeal creature, a Shadow, little more than an echo of their former selves remains.

  Little remains of any records, all having been burnt from the pages of history, but a fair amount
may be presumed.

  Being a creature of the [Outer Chaos] it is doubtful that they would be restrained to any sense of the normal or mundane as we are. An alien to our Ordered and Structured Universe, a Ghost-of-Sheol is a tainted creature, unbound by our understanding of the constraints, restrictions, and laws of our -”

  -thud-

  Mr. Luang stopped in mid-sentence, his face a mixture of surprise and pain. Riley Smythe had plunged a large bowie knife in his back.

  Mr. Luang gagged and tried to call out, but had no air left in his lungs to speak.

  Riley slowly withdrew the knife, Luang's severed ribs scaping the exitting blade. As the Chinese student again tried to speak, Riley smiled maliciously as he grabbed Luang's hair and craned his head back. He slowly slit his throat, gleeful as the young Chinese student shook and convulsed, slowly and shockingly slipping into death.

  The woman watched with disinterest. Observed as the last spasms of life left Mr. Luang. “Otto Zann has translated The Music of the Spheres,” she added.

  “Ya, I heared.” Riley was cleaning the blood off his knife. “Will he play it?”

  She looked down her nose at Riley, her lips a cruel sneer. “Eventually.”

  “I want him dead.”

  “In time. We need him for now, Mr. Smythe.”

  “And what 'bout yous sister? That bitch shot me and killed my-”

  “You will not lay a finger on Donita,” she stated bluntly as she cut him off. “At least not until the baby is born. This baby will be our Symbiocyst!

  “I need to get back to la biblioteque. If all has gone according to my plans, I've wet my sister's appetite about The Klulu Gnostica.”

  “Your copy isn't a grimoire, yous know,” Riley added confused, his odd American accent thick. “You can't summon nothing with it!”

  “Oh, I know that, but my refusal to allow Otto and Donita a viewing of it has made them curious. They're planning to break into my private collection. They will fall right into my trap.” Alia Moubayed motioned with her eyes at the cave as she continued speaking, “Have you fully prepared the Pagan Temple of Shub-Niggurath below for the ritual?”

  Riley couldn't withhold his gleeful smile. “Oh yes! But there is no instrument for Otto Zann to perform the Music with.”

  “I will have a cello violin delivered from the Château de printemps. Just you prepare yourself for Donita and Otto's arrival.”

  Chapter 8: The Battle of the Four Symbiots, Part II

  Leaman was confused. He found himself standing in the middle of a huge courtyard. At least it reminded him of a courtyard. It was the closest thing he could compare it to. It was more of a massive indent. On three sides towered colossal slimy blocks. He had entered through the bizarre junction of two of the blocks. They were square. Their lines ninety-degrees to the ground. But when Leaman looked back at them, they weren't squares but parallelograms, rhombuses. Somehow their two right-angles crossed high over his head, his entrance point a triangle, an A-frame.

  More strange was his journey here. He remembered traveling down that queer angled bridge. He must has walked easily three hours across that bridge, beneath its ancient and alien archways, beneath the elongated elliptical early morning sun. Across that strange bent ocean.

  He couldn't remember at any point actually exiting that bridge. Nor could he remember properly entering this Necropolis. For as well as his memory served him he should still be on that bridge.

  It was obvious he was not. Laying diagonally through the courtyard he found himself in – for that was the nearest association his memory could make of this enormous slime-coated stone pit – was the bent and rusted hull of the Japanese destroyer, the Yamayuki.

  Its keel flattened on the floor of this strange courtyard, its bleeding rust creating strange and haunting patterns as it mixed and blended with the slime.

  The top deck near flush with the strange blocks that housed this courtyard, the stern of the Yamayuki was lost behind the slimy monolith, its hull cracked and split where this dead city once cradled it.

  Leaman would board the Yamayuki there. That was his entrance point.

  He carefully navigated across the courtyard, trying to avoid the interacting slime and rust, hauntingly near sentient in its meandering and patterning.

  * * *

  Moshe's senses were overwhelmed. He desperately tried to digest the assault that his new surroundings were.

  The initial shock as he moved from the quiet dark of a nighted desert to the bright harsh light of early morning caused him to squint. Once his eyes adjusted to the sight before him his initial shock was dwarfed! There, sprawled before him, in the sane and clear bright light of day was a concave ocean. But by far worse than that – for Moshe recognized it – was the poisonous corpse-city, R'lyeh.

  Not long did Moshe have to contemplate the implications of the risen R'lyeh for he was near deafened! He cupped his hands over his ears as, once again, his senses were overwhelmed by the barrage of his new environment.

  Some sort of white-domed machine roared and screamed as it coughed and spit fire out into the ocean, throwing its fire out at some sort of black swarm surrounding a ship... but a ship without sails! And that was when Moshe began to realize exactly where he was. He too was aboard a sailless ship. He stood upon a floor made entirely of metal. Metal like pharaoh's wickedly curved khopesh sickle-swords.

  This was impossible! his mind raced, his mind tried to reason. Metal cannot float!

  But even the luxury of his own thoughts were drowned out as his mind began to drink in the psychic ether of his strange new surroundings.

  It was alive! More than active! Brimming with energy and sentience! Moshe could sense at least five powerful presences.

  Again his weird mind was flooded, overwhelmed. One of the presences had the same scent of his father, Pharaoh Nyarlathotep. His psychic empathy could sense she was enraged and in enormous pain, her mind nearly crippled and blinded by her tormented suffering.

  Krulgh! It was The Whisperer that was behind it, within her, tainting her mind. Krulgh, last High Priest of the insane blasphemy, Cthulhu; awake and active.

  R'lyeh, risen above the waves. The revelation drowned out the cacophony of sights and sounds and senses. Moshe shockingly realized, this was the end. He absentmindedly whispered, “...this is the End of Days...”

  * * *

  There was simply too much activity for Dante to hold the Gatesphere open. It collapsed within seconds of the strange dark man's arrival, and with its collapse the portal and the Remnant-Marie disappeared with it.

  Clearly the foreign robed black man was confused, shocked, overwhelmed... Dante didn't know which for sure. Did it matter?

  The ship deck was a chaotic hive of activity. Sailors scrambled. Fires burned rampant. There was severely damaged sections of the USS Curtis Wilbur. The ship was beginning to list to its starboard side, certainly taking on water from the Amber-symbiot's assault. The warship's remaining automatic cannon and weapons systems spraying death over the warped horizon at the Shoggoth swarm surrounding the distant USS Antietam.

  And in the middle of the mayhem, the black foreign man whispered, “זה הסוף של ימים". Although Dante couldn't understand his foreign language, in his mind he heard his thoughts clearly: “...this is the End of Days...”

  Dante hesitantly reached his hand out and held the stranger's hand. “My... my friend, Tamara... she has drawn Amber away,” Dante spoke quietly, his voice drowned out by all the noise and commotion but knowing the man would hear his thoughts. “We need to help the men get off the ship. We need to get them to safety.”