Kthulhu Reich

by Ken Asamatsu

  “We know Germany is preparing for war with the Soviets. However, we are still getting intelligence that Hitler himself hopes to cooperate with Stalin,” was the reason they gave.

  Preparing for a full-scale war with the Soviets on the one hand, while looking to join hands with their absolute leader. . . . Hitler’s worldwide strategy was so fundamentally contradictory that the Imperial Army could make no sense of it.

  And Tatewaki Goto had come to Berlin to plumb those contradictions as best he could.

  “We’re taking you to an office used by the Deutches Ahnenerbe,” Himmler explained, his voice dark beside Goto in the car.

  “We are holding that magus there,” Clara added. “He was an occultist arrested in the Occult Purge of 1934.”8

  “I fail to see what occultists and magi have to do with military intelligence,” Goto said ironically, his mouth twisted.

  “Oh, indeed? And the Führer always speaks of what a deeply spiritual empire Japan is,” the officer in the passenger seat said with contempt.

  “Silence!” Himmler snapped.

  “Occultism is the study of remnants of knowledge once possessed by all of humanity. And sorcery itself is simply a set of techniques to use that knowledge granted only to a tiny number of the wisest.”

  “And do you truly believe all this, your Excellency?” said Goto.

  “Of course. I have pursued occult knowledge since my youth, and I have preserved the works of all the greats in Wewelsburg Castle in Westphalia. . . . Carl Du Prel, Heyse, Guido von List,9 Adolf Lanz,10 Friedrich von Junzt,11 H. P. Blavatsky.”12

  “The greats, indeed. Or rather, I assume so. I’ve never heard any of those names before in my life. My apologies.”

  Himmler ignored Goto’s sarcastic tone and went on.

  “In 1934, I was ordered to carry out a great Occult Purge, and we raided all the secret societies in Germany. We arrested astrologers, magicians, occult scholars and such, and we also gathered a great many grimoires and secret tomes, as well as ceremonial artifacts. We were also able to. . . ahem. . . convince many of the magicians to reveal their secret doctrines and magicians’ incantations.”

  Clara, looking at the two in the rear-view mirror, interrupted. “As a result, we learned that Reichsführer Himmler is the reincarnation of the great Saxon king Heinrich the First.”

  Himmler nodded wordlessly. “Last year, we held a celebration for the King’s Millenary in Quedlinburg, where the grave of Heinrich the First rests, and there completed a ceremony to summon his majesty’s spirit! Now, of course, I am able to summon him with no need of the ceremony.”

  Has he gone completely mad? a voice shouted inside Goto’s head. He’s like that naval teacher Asano who spread the Oomoto cult13 back in the 1920s. . . .

  Meanwhile, Himmler continued his talk of the mysteries.

  “This magus you are to meet this evening is one of the greatest. He evaded us for three years, but we finally succeeded in creating a spiritual net tight enough to capture him. Hmph. It was a difficult thing, taking him. The devils he summoned consumed two of our own magi and seven SS men.”

  At this, Himmler sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a few seconds, almost as if he were offering up a prayer for the lost men.

  “But the sacrifice was worth it. After two months of torture, he has finally revealed to us the location of Thule and confirmed the existence of the mask.”

  “Thule? Mask? Whatever are you talking about? I’m sorry, your Excellency, this is all a bit beyond me.”

  Himmler’s answer was passionate. “Thule14 is the ancient homeland of the Germanic peoples, the true Aryans! It is a paradise, spoken of in Celtic and Germanic myths, a mysterious island that stories say lies in the far northern ocean. However, over time myths and stories become twisted. Long ago, the earth’s axis flipped and what was once north became south! And the south is where Thule now lies. Indeed, it is located in what we now know as Antarctica.”

  He’s lost his mind completely, Goto thought, a chill falling over him. Yet his job was to gather intelligence, so he continued to question him.

  “I see. And the. . . Mask, was it?”

  “It is a religious artifact of pure platinum from an ancient age when we still lived in Thule. Any who wear it are gifted visions that transcend space and time. It is the Mask of Yoth Tlaggon!”15 Heinrich Himmler nearly shouted this last sentence, waving his fists emphatically.

  The gesture was like a caricature of Hitler ending one of his speeches.

  “And what, exactly, do you hope to gain by having me meet this magician?” Goto asked, feigning boredom.

  And then, as in answer to his question, the Mercedes suddenly stopped, throwing Goto forward in his seat. When he’d reseated himself, Clara turned round to face him.

  “You are going to get him out of the hands of the SS. You, and I. Then we are going to move the Mask of Yoth Tlaggon. We must keep it out of the hands of the Nazi beasts!”

  “Clara! You sound like Goebbels when you speak so. Curb your tongue,” Himmler said.

  “Pardon me, your Excellency,” said Clara, bowing to Himmler.

  “As an intelligence officer, I’m sure you’ve caught on.”

  “I think so. We’re to put on a play to find out where the mask is. Then, we get the mask and take care of the magician. Something like that?”

  “Just so.” Clara smiled in pleasure. “I’ve never liked these dramatic farces, but the situation has suddenly changed. The Deputy Führer has learned of the mask and is moving to secure it himself.”

  “Deputy. . . you mean Rudolf Hess?16 So is he also interested in all this. . . occultism business?” Goto asked, surprised. Himmler nodded.

  “Hess is a self-professed practitioner of anthroposophy under the teaching of Rudolf Steiner.17 For such, the mask is the key to understanding the Akashic records,18 the record of all human events.”

  The more I talk to these Nazis, the closer I get to losing grip myself. Goto was having trouble not rolling his eyes in exasperation. But I’m not sure I have any choice but to cooperate for the time being.

  Goto sighed and returned to questioning Himmler. “OK then, what is the name of this wizard I’m to rescue? It might seem a little suspicious if I show up to rescue him not knowing who he is.”

  “Ah, you’re right of course.” Himmler nodded to Goto, and as he spoke drew his Walther PPK and handed it to the Japanese spy.

  “Take this. You might need it. If you should need to kill a few of our SS men, pay no mind. I’ll take care of your mess later. You and Clara will be breaking into the basement of that building to save”—at this, Himmler took a breath—“Klingen Mergelsheim.”

  III The Magus Laughs

  It wasn’t until he alighted from the Mercedes that Goto realized he’d been taken to the west side of Berlin to Wedding, north of the river Spree.

  The area was lined with tenement houses, Berlin’s notorious Mietskaserne, and in the 1920s had been famous as a slum. It had even featured in a popular cabaret play about a young girl who was abducted into a life of misery.

  Of course, under Nazi rule such common thuggery had come to an end, but it was still a district steeped in darkness.

  The building they now stood before seemed wrapped in an even deeper darkness, though.

  What a dismal place. . . . Goto frowned at the three-story building. It wasn’t particularly old, appearing to date from early in the Weimar Republic, and yet for some reason, to Goto’s senses, it had the aura of a medieval castle.

  Why is that? What makes me feel this way? Goto asked himself, eyes narrowed.

  An arched entryway, round pillars, bay windows. . . none of the details were unusual for Berlin. And yet, something about the place was. . . different.

  “It looks twisted, does it not?” Clara said to Goto as she climbed down from the driver’s seat.


  Twisted? That’s it! The building is warped. Goto finally felt satisfied.

  It wasn’t the building as a whole, but small details, lines along it were warped out of true. This gave the building overall an aura of darkness and menace.

  “I suppose it’s the magus’s work. It gets worse every day. I pray for your success, Herr Goto.” Goto turned back when Himmler spoke and found the SS officer now behind the wheel, preparing to drive off.

  “And what do I get in return for the mask?” Goto called out.

  Himmler’s rimless glasses flashed.

  “Do you really think you’re in the position to ask for rewards, Herr Goto?” Clara tittered as she seated a magazine in her Mauser HSS. And then Goto called to Himmler once more.

  “Yes. So what is my reward?”

  Himmler’s expression soured. “I shall tell you all the Führer’s plans with regards to the Soviet Union.”

  “Well then, I will make sure I’m successful.”

  The Mercedes began moving before Goto finished speaking and soon disappeared in the distance.

  Goto was now alone with Clara, and looking once more at the building was startled to find himself afraid.

  There’s a first time for everything. . . .

  His palm on the Walther PPK was damp with sweat, and his back prickled with chills of fear.

  I’ve never felt anything like the aura rolling off this building. . . . It’s like something not of this earth.

  An intelligence operative must be a realist, must distinguish what is real from what is not. And yet, even he could not help the thought. A sensitive person more attuned to the spiritual side of reality would likely be unable to even come near this place.

  “The SS have sealed up the building with wards. I’ll take care of them. As we get closer, if you see black chalk marks on the floor like five- or six-pointed stars, be careful not to step on them. Don’t forget!” Clara said.

  “What happens if I step on them?”

  Clara glanced at Goto, then answered curtly. “You die.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Goto nodded, his face pale.

  “Are you ready? It’s time to go.”

  “Right.”

  When Goto answered, Clara was reaching into her blouse. She drew out a silver pendant of a cross with an oval head: an Egyptian ankh.

  She held it up and drew a five-pointed star in the air.

  “Ur. . . Hagal. . . Peorth. . . .”

  She chanted mysterious words. No, it was less of a chant and more of a subvocalization, a vibration just beyond the edge of hearing.

  What, she can use magic as well?! Goto stared at Clara in astonishment.

  “O runes. . . . Summon forth the will and power within me to break these wards. . . .”

  When he heard this incantation, Goto recalled something about Himmler being a devotee of runes, the mystical writing system of ancient Northern Europe.

  I presume that means Clara is using some kind of ancient Germanic magic, then?!

  Clara’s eyes flashed with a blue light. She broke out running, as if she’d been given a signal, and Goto rushed to follow after.

  Even though the two had to move quietly and carefully, they quickly arrived at the entrance. The six stone steps were lined, as Clara had said, with black chalked five-, six-, and seven-pointed stars, as well as runic inscriptions. This close, that otherworldly aura was so powerful it was hard to breathe.

  Goto felt his heart pounding and goosebumps rising as he shivered in fear. He frowned again as the smell of rotten meat filled his nose. When he looked over, he thought he saw Clara wavering in the air.

  No, it must be a trick of the eye. The two nimbly sprung up the stairs, avoiding the massed symbols.

  At the sixth stair, they felt something stick to their bodies then give way, like a spider’s web. When it broke, the fear and anxiety that had plagued them vanished like smoke.

  “We broke through the wards,” Clara whispered to Goto.

  Yes. . . I felt it. I actually felt it! Goto kept this sentiment to himself as he reached out to test the doorknob. He kept his ears open to any sign of life on the other side of the heavy door as he quietly turned the knob.

  He felt the latch slide out of its notch.

  He gently pushed.

  A greenish light came spilling between the door and frame. It moved almost sluggishly over the stone stairs, creeping like the tentacles of some sea creature as it stretched into the darkness of Wedding.

  “Guards?” Clara asked, and Goto peeked silently through the gap in the door. He frowned.

  There were two SS guards lying on the lobby floor just inside the entrance. Two Bergmann submachine guns lay in nearby pools of blood, which took on an eerie color in the green light.

  “They’re dead,” Goto finally answered.

  “Are you sure?!” Clara said in a strangled whisper, and pushed against the door.

  The knob slipped from Goto’s hand and the door opened wide.

  Clara rushed into the lobby and stooped over the nearest corpse. There was a bloody wound in its chest.

  “A single knife thrust to the heart?” Goto said, coming inside.

  “No.” Clara shook her head.

  “This is a bayonet wound. The army got here ahead of us. They must be Hess’s men!”

  “Whatever the case, we have to hurry downstairs,” Goto said, and held out a hand to help Clara up.

  The woman spy ignored his hand and stood up on her own. She moved quickly, catlike, with her Mauser HSS at the ready, and went left across the lobby. Clearly, the stairs down were in that direction.

  Clara muscled open a door on that side. When she did, a breeze carrying the scent of blood and an old man’s voice wafted out toward them.

  Clara’s face paled at the sound of the voice. “No! The fools! They removed Mergelsheim’s gag!”

  “Is that the magician talking?” Goto asked as he followed Clara.

  “Yes. He’s chanting an invocation to summon demons. We have to stop him!”

  She was through the door before she finished answering.

  The two rushed down the stairs as fast as they could run. As they went deeper, the elderly voice grew louder and more distinct. Goto did not know what language it was speaking, only that it sounded ominous.

  “Iä! Nat, Yoth Tlaggon! Iä! R’lyeh Cthulhu!”

  More SS soldiers were lying around the tenth step down. They didn’t see any knife wounds this time. Instead, the men’s throats had been savagely chewed as if by beasts. Clara raised her gun at the sight.

  “Be careful. His demons are loose.”

  “Demons? You can’t be serious.”

  When Goto gasped this back at Clara, he was answered only by a peal of laughter from below. It was no wheezing elderly chuckle. It was the deep, rich laughter of a man in his prime.

  As the laugh went on, it rose to take on a triumphant tone.

  “Dance, dance my little pets! Dance in the palm of Yoth Tlaggon! Hitler, Hess, Himmler, Haushofer. . . . All shall dance to the pipes of Yoth Tlaggon!”

  “Is that him?” Goto asked in a strained whisper.

  Clara answered through a grimace. “The magus Klingen Mergelsheim.”

  “Wasn’t he supposed to have been tortured to the verge of death?”

  “He’s clearly recovered. He was allowed to speak the Words of Power when some fool removed his gag,” Clara answered grimly, then aimed her Mauser at the bottom of the stairs and fired off a few rounds.

  “Wait! Are you trying to kill him?!”

  “Of course! His gag is off! It’s him or us now.”

  She’s ignoring her orders?! Goto stood dumbfounded, but something more pressing leaped into view. It was small and outlined in orange light. For a moment, he thought it was some kind of bat, and he reflexi
vely threw out a hand to ward it away.

  The creature buried its teeth in his hand.

  “Gaaah!” Gasping at the searing pain, Goto looked at the creature gnawing on his left hand. It had the body of a monkey but with batwings sprouting from its back, and the face of a man. . . . To be more precise, the face of a thin man in his middle years, with a pointed beard and long hair.

  It narrowed its eyes and grinned at him, its teeth still buried in the thick muscle of Goto’s fist.

  “I-Is this one of his demons?!” Goto cried out, then aimed his Walther PPK at the creature’s body.

  It noticed this, and opened its eyes wide in shock. It released his hand and the expression on its face was such a grotesque parody of human surprise that it turned Goto’s stomach.

  “Damned thing!” Goto cried, and pulled the trigger. The stairwell echoed with the report, and the perverse beast exploded in a splash of noisome ichor.

  The laughter from below suddenly stopped.

  They climbed down past the SS corpses and continued onward.

  The room at the bottom of the stairs was shrouded in darkness.

  Clara moved to the wall with sure movements and reached out for the light switch.

  “Give up, it will do no good. This room will remain dark, for such is my will,” said a man from the depths of the darkness, his voice amused.

  Clara grimaced again at the voice and asked, “Was it one of Hess’s men who removed your gag?”

  “Indeed, it was. And I am truly grateful,” the magus answered, laughter coloring his words.

  “Poor simple servants of an ignorant anthroposophist. They came not thirty minutes ago, armed with talismans and guns, and killed the SS men watching me. Then, of course, they were kind enough to remove all my restraints.” The magus laughed again, the cackle of a hyena in the dark.

  Goto pointed his gun at the source of the sound.

  “Do you truly believe you can shoot me in this darkness?” Suddenly, the magus’s voice was right beside Goto’s face, close enough that he could smell the reeking breath.

  “Give up! The darkness belongs to me. All you will achieve with your blundering is to shoot each other.” This time, the voice came from above. . . far, far above.