There are twenty-eight galaxies readily accessible to the queer metallic-light envelopes of the Nug Soth, and in each galaxy, there are innumerable stars and innumerable worlds, some dead and some teeming with life, a great deal of which could be considered sentient. Even more, there are those creatures that walk in the spaces in between worlds, unbound to any one planet or star or galaxy. These are unique entities, whose very presence warps the fabric of space and time, corrupts the laws of physics and drives lesser minds to madness. These Great Old Ones, singular beings bearing no relationship to each other save their immense power, are akin to gods, and even their casual visits to primitive cultures have been known to warp and contaminate the minds of those who have glimpsed them. Many of the older races have developed the proper technologies, wards and sigils to hide their home worlds from the curious sensory apparatus of these wandering titans. Others have invented ways to redirect or discourage the approaching juggernauts, though in this it might be said that some are like unto the size of small planets or moons, while others are no bigger than a man. Fewer still are no larger than an insect but possessed of such powers to make cities crumble before their shrieks. Legend says that there are even creatures that have no dimension whatsoever and are composed of pure mathematics or exist hidden in the recesses of spoken or even written language. They exist, and they walk through space serene and terrible, and thankful are the worlds that have avoided them. There are other races, other worlds that have not been so fortunate, which have fallen under the shadow of such creatures. Indeed, on Yaddith where the Nug Soth raised their metallic cities, there was buried deep within the heart of the planet the primordial prison of the thing known as Thaquallah, an amorphous and terrible creation of the enigmatic Q’Hrell. Its very nature meant that it could not be killed and so was forever imprisoned within an impenetrable moon-lens. Monstrously fecund, she had given birth to all matter of creatures some of which now formed the Yaddithian ecology. Preeminent of these spawn were the squamous and rugose Nug Soth, and their constant bane, the titanic vermiform Dholes, or as they were known before the Jh’sosti’s Reformation of Language, the Bholes. It was these cyclopean burrowers, and their terrifying appetites that drove the Nug Soth to search for ways in which to bind their noxious cousins. The emissaries of Yaddith travelled the universe in search of answers, but to little avail. It was true that effective means of eradication had been discovered, but such methods did as much injury to the Nug Soth as to their intended targets. This in itself was a clue, part of the Riddle of Thaqqualah, a conundrum that the Wizard Zkauba had answered, and in doing so had been driven mad.
It was thus that I Randolph Carter, a human consciousness displaced both in time and space did come to dominate Zkauba’s body and did travel the universe seeking answers. On the surface, my mission was to find a solution to the Dholes, but thanks to Zkauba I knew the truth–that there was no solution—and that the fates of both Nug Soth and Dholes were inexorably linked. Instead, I used my time to search for a way home, back to Earth, my Earth, of the Twentieth Century, for not only was I countless light years away from my home, I had also been cast back eons in time. All this had been accomplished through the Hyperborean artifact known as the Silver Key, an object that possessed immense power, to travel through time and space, and even transform Zkauba’s semi-insectile body into that of my own human form. Yet all these abilities and more were lost to me, I had forgotten the incantation that activated the key and thus was only able to access the most rudimentary of the key’s capabilities. Still, I was not without hope. The universe was large, its minds wondrous and diverse, somewhere in the accumulated knowledge of the universe there must exist some solution to my dilemma, some way home. So as Zkauba I wandered the universe, searching for an answer, searching for a way home.
It was to trans-galactic Stronti that I journeyed, a planet I had been to before, but only when Zkauba himself had been in control. Then, I had been only able to wonder in awe at the sights I glimpsed through his multiplex of eyes, but now I was in control, and the decadent science-philosophies of Stronti seemed as good as any other place to start. Stronti is called trans-galactic for it resides in no galaxy at all. It is extraneous to the accessible twenty-eight, falling within what is known as the Empty Quarter, a vast dark gap between the fifth and twelfth galaxies. In the Empty Quarter stars were rare and planets even rarer, and those that existed hung lonely and lonesome amidst the emptiness of the void. Stronti stood on the edge of that volume of space, sunless, one side tidally locked so that it was constantly bathed in the weak and distant light of the fifth galaxy, while it’s other side, called Shonhi, was only bathed in the light of the twelfth galaxy. There was neither day nor night on the queer half worlds of Stronti and Shonhi, only a deep impenetrable night with the dim light of distant, miniscule galaxies to break the endless darkness.
When Zkauba had visited before the entry to Stronti had been a crowded, bustling port with vessels from dozens of worlds carrying visitors from across the known universe. Stronti had been like that, a crossroads for travelers both near and far. It didn’t have much to offer in the way of natural beauty or high art, but the travelers still came. It was a waypoint between worlds, between galaxies, between where they had come from and where they were going, and that perhaps was enough. It had been enough to attract the On, a curious species not unlike the sea anemones one finds in tidal basins along the rocky New England coast. Unlike those strange little polyps, the On were neither shy nor cold, but rather quite gregarious. At least they had been, twenty years ago.
Now, two decades later, I approached the planet Stronti and found the space around it devoid of other ships. Approaching closer, I saw that some great planetary cataclysm had occurred. Almost the entire world had been enveloped in a planet-spanning ocean, not of water but rather of some black, viscous fluid. My sensors suggested it was made of organic molecules and was not unlike raw petroleum. There was still a city on the planet, and a port, but my attempts to contact some sort of authority went unanswered. Reluctantly, I drifted down through the atmosphere and following the memories held in Zkauba’s brain manually landed my ship in the shattered aerodrome of what had once been a luxurious transportation hub.
It was a singular facility, once grandiose that had long since fallen into a state of disrepair and decay. The towering columns with their immense flourishes had long since crumbled into titanic shards of rusting steel and piles of dust. The semi-crystalline iris aerodrome had shattered, and proper environmental control was no longer possible. Thus, the great terminus provided no shelter from the storm that had enveloped the dying metropolis. The wind whipped and howled around my cloak and even though my armor was strong enough to protect me from the void itself, I still imagined the cold and wet being driven in through the joints and couplings. It wasn’t until I forced my way through the tatters of a woven fabric door that I felt at ease enough to disengage my helmet and let my own senses take in an unfiltered view of the world.
Zkauba’s seven eyes saw more than any man ever could, and as I walked those decrepit halls I could see the details of the craftsmanship, the quality of the work, and their flaws. I could also see the age, the eons of neglect and what toll they had wrought. What I could not see were any of the guards, agents, or petty bureaucrats that had been present when last Zkauba and I visited. Indeed, it seemed that the entire facility had been abandoned, and yet I had been contacted while in orbit and given very exacting and authoritative instructions for my approach and landing. It was odd, damnably odd.
The walk through those great concourses, which had once teemed with the sound of life and commerce but now were eerily empty, was disquieting. It wasn’t just that they were abandoned, but rather that the abandonment seemed so complete. Even vermin and the feral descendants of pets were absent. It was as if centuries earlier all life had simply been wiped away. Except there was still power. The lights still glowed, though admittedly some had been shattered, and others flickered casting ominous shadows. It was enough to make me put my helmet back on and power up my armor and weapons.
It was just then, with my senses amplified that I heard the scream and the built in display indicated the direction of origin. Having no other options to pursue I turned in the proper direction, withdrew my chainsword, and let Zkauba’s four legs carry me at nearly a full gallop. I left the concourse with its shattered glass, cracked planters, and crumbling frescoes behind and launched myself like Nessus assaulting Hercules, into a plaza of concrete and steel outside. But to my surprise and perhaps disappointment, there was no hulking brute to slay, there was no damsel in distress to rescue, but rather just a diminutive member of the On whose garb marked her as a sub-director for transportation and immigration. She was in essence, a customs official, and her cry was apparently in response to dropping what appeared to be a literal tower of documents, which had been caught in the wind of the storm and was now blowing about the plaza.
The native was like most of her species, not unlike an anemone in appearance, with a thick body supported by eight stubby legs arranged in a circle around the base. A pair of large manipulating appendages sprouted from just above the crown and were topped with three squat digits that seemed adequate to the tasks required of it. Finer manipulators sprouted from beneath the ring of eyes and above the mouth, and I presumed had originally evolved to aid in feeding. Along the midsection of the creature was a belt adorned with rings and colorful pieces of fabric that helped to identify her station. For some reason, it reminded me of the caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland, and I half expected it to pull out a pipe and began a solipsistic debate. Instead, she casual waved at me and then went about trying to gather the myriad of forms that she had lost control of.
As I walked toward her, she sighed, a strange bubbling sound, and greeted me respectfully. “Have you come to pay your respects? You are almost too late.” She looked around at the derelict city. “All the other dignitaries have departed, as has most of the population. Only I, and my cohorts, remain puttering about, closing the doors and windows so to speak.”
I bent and picked up a few pieces of paper. “Minister, I’m sorry I’m not sure I understand. I have come to consult the College of T’ssea, I have a conundrum they may be able to help solve.”
She paused from her activity and seemed to regard me with those strange, unpupiled eyes. “Under Minister, but that doesn’t matter anymore. My name is Gribfri en Trofs, call me Gribfri. As for the College of T’ssea they have disbanded, retired like the rest of the world.” She looked at me again and I sensed a bit of sadness in her. “I doubt very much that they could help you a bastard child of the Q’Hrell.”
I stood back in near shock at her words. “What did you say—the Q’Hrell?” She was speaking of the Progenitors, the strange and enigmatic creatures that hung at the edge of things. They were ancient and unfathomable, all but inaccessible. They drifted through space across vast distances. No one knew where they came from, only that they were amongst the most elder of species and should be approached with respect, and a modicum of caution.
She grabbed at some more documents and shoved them haphazardly into a pile beneath one arm. “You are of the Nug Soth, one of many spawn of Thaqqualah, on to which some bestow the honorific the Black Goat with a Thousand Young. Thaqqualah was once a Shoggoth, a simple slave of the Q’Hrell until they experimented on her, and made something more, something terrible—something even they were afraid of. You are their child, unplanned, unwanted, and abandoned, but still their child.” She paused and seemed thoughtful. “Have you considered that such a position might be enviable?”
I gathered the last of her papers and handed them to her. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Your progenitors, your forebears, have abandoned you, yes you suffer because of it, but have you considered that your suffering might be increased if they took more of an active interest? They aren’t exactly known as benevolent. “She began walking away, and I with nothing else to do followed. “Imagine yourselves as servitors, would your cities be as grand, your art so emotive, and your education so enlightening? Or would all that be subverted in service to the Q’Hrell? It could be even worse; your very biology could betray you. There are some species who will forever be indebted to the creatures that spawned them.”
Though theoretical, it was an interesting proposition, and one that I was not sure that I was qualified to ponder. After all, my identity as one of the Nug Soth was essentially a ruse. I looked like one of them, I spoke their language, I followed their customs and used their technology, but despite all of that, I was only doing my best to imitate them, my mind was that of a man and was wholly incapable of properly contextualizing the issue. Though I must admit there were analogs in human culture from which I could draw, but once again it seemed I was not qualified to ponder the question, I was a child of privilege and was unprepared to ponder servitude, save only in the most abstract sense. For a moment I regretted such limitations in my education, but then realized what that would entail and was grateful that by a simple quirk of fate I had been denied such experiences.
We walked down a great road, and once again I was struck by the deplorable state of things. The windows on either side of us were nearly all shattered, and the shards left on the streets and walkways to be weathered down into sand and dust. The thoroughfare itself was pockmarked by potholes and cracks that created a bleak landscape. In other places plants would take root in such crevices and slowly grow, breaking down the artificial landscape, but here in the dim light of distant galaxies there were only queer species of fungi. They were monstrous things in horrific colors. Mushrooms with purple veins and yellow gills bloomed next to blood red smuts and fields of velvety green morels. Inevitably, the conversation turned to the decay that surrounded us.
Gribfri made a non-committal sound. “There is a time for all things. We recognized centuries ago that a transition was approaching and that we would soon be no more. As we focused on that, we let the physical trappings of our great civilization fall to ruin.” She harrumphed. “Ironic is it not, the very things we valued the most we simply abandoned, because we came to realize that in the face of the inevitable, they were simply worthless. If only … ” She let the thought go unfinished.
It was then that I caught sight of another of her species had joined us in our journey, and then a moment later another. They poured out of alleyways and side streets until we had a small parade of her species following us, marching forward on their legs in a weird whirling fashion. All of them bore insignia of similar rank and I mentioned it to Gribfi.
“We minor bureaucrats were needed here to process the last of the forms and checklists. We are closing down our world, one must expect a bit of bureaucracy. Who better to handle it than us?” There was a murmuring sound of general agreement from the parade of looping administrators.
We marched on and in time reached what could only be described as a kind of great quay that jutted into the vast black ocean that had enveloped most of the world. As the rest of On marched forward Gribfi stopped and gently pulled me aside and performed a small ritual of departure.
“I am sorry we could not help you solve your problem Thaquallahan. Perhaps one day, we shall re-emerge and again grace the universe with our presence. Until then, I must bid you farewell. This is where we part company.”
I watched as she joined the rest of her fellow bureaucrats as they waddled down the stone dock. I thought perhaps that a ship or some other sort of vessel would appear to transport them, and wondered what make of craft could make way in such filthy waters. It was then and only then that I took my first look at the vast inky waves that undulated beneath the howling winds. It was not water at all, but rather reminded me of some kind of thick gelatin that didn’t flow at all, but rather quivered and quaked as the wind blew against it. It was semi-transparent and I could see inside of it vast complexes of radiating structures, small glistening orbs and masses of convoluted tissue that seemed to pulse and throb inside that awful translucent jelly.
I looked back toward where the On had walked just as something dark, swift and cyclopean rose up and in an instant seized one of the clumsy polyps and ripped its head off. The lower section quivered for a moment and then collapsed as the fluids that were both its blood and hydrostatic skeleton flooded out onto the stone. No sooner had one such tentacled monster retreated than another appeared and in swift and terrible action one of the other On was decapitated. Through it all, the On seemed unable to react, almost overwhelmed by the speed and ferocity of the attacks.
But I was not so entranced, and without thinking I drew my chainsword and leapt down the length of quay engaging the monsters that emerged from those corrupted pus-like waters. A single stroke of my weapon and three of the tendrils were dispatched, while a fourth impacted on a shield of extra-dimensional energy that I erected using the Sigil of Kilw. It took supreme effort for my upper arms to wield a weapon while my lower appendages crafted the spell, for my human mind had difficulty managing more than two arms, but here I was in luck for there was in Zkauba’s body a bit of muscle memory, and it was well-practiced in the art of attacking and defending at the same time. As the obscene length of flash battered against my protections, I felt an overwhelming sense of confidence and struck out with my blade bisecting yet another monstrosity.
I was not prepared for the severed lengths of flesh to hit the surface of that corrupted ocean and merely dissolve into it. Nor was I ready for the two polypus bodies that struck me from behind screaming in anger. I fell to the ground, and it only took me a second to recover, but in that scant moment the two On that had attacked me were themselves destroyed. A single massive tentacle had reached out of the sea and cut them in two. I watched it happen, and as their soft bodies exploded it seemed to me that they had wanted it—that they were waiting for it. In the tiny fraction of time as the sweeping arm approached them, they seemed to take on a kind of universal reverence or piety.
Confused, I staggered to my feet and looked toward Gribfi stood. “You must not interfere; this is the way of things. Your species has its secrets, and we have ours.” As she spoke another pair of her compatriots were slaughtered, and from the ocean a dozen more tentacles rose up and turned to menace me.
I assumed a battle stance and charged my shields to full. “It’s like some damned Lernean Hydra!” I yelled.
I hadn’t expected Gribfli to understand that, but she made a strange squealing sound and then spoke in excited tones. “Yesyesyes. That is a fair analogy!”
It was then that I remembered that both she and I were not speaking the same language, and it was not likely that we ever could speak the same language, but rather we were both dependent on active translators, mine in my armor, and hers somewhere in her vest. Either one had deemed it necessary to provide a kind of synopsis of the myth I had referenced, likely drawn from my very mind without me even knowing it.
“But we are not the monster, we are simply we. We are the Hydra, and it is us. We are like you Thaquallahan, our species has multiple states of being. For millions of years we have existed in our larval stage, accumulating mass and knowledge, preparing for the future, for this our transformation!”
“But it’s killing you!” I shouted in frustration.
“No,” whispered Gribfli, “it is simply adding our brains to its own. It’s making us immortal!”
And then without any fanfare or discussion Under Minister Gribfri en Trofs, the last of the On, was engulfed by a tentacle, her internal fluid crushed out of her, and her head dragged down into that horrible, polluted ocean that wasn’t an ocean at all, but rather some vast communal brain. It was as if the entire population of the planet had become one organism, on life form, one mind—a mind that was now speaking to me.
I fell to my knees in agony. I knew that it was whispering, but it was whispering with a billion voices and that was too much for my prosaic mind to handle. In a panic I summoned my ship to rescue me, knowing that I would never be able to outrun the thing that was now rising up around me. There were thousands upon thousands of tentacles rising up around me, and on each tentacle a whispering mouth that begged and pleaded and incessantly cajoled.
I don’t know how I resisted. Perhaps it was the fact that I was already one mind inhabiting a body that was not my own. Perhaps it was because I was able to draw support from the entrenched mind of Zkauba himself, perhaps a human mind was simply too alien and too resistant to the demands of the On. Regardless, when my ship finally arrived, its gleaning body of hardened light was a welcomed sight, and I didn’t so much as run inside, but rather stumbled, and collapsed, setting a dangerously blind course away from that terrible place at a velocity that was a hazard not only to myself and the ship, but to the very fabric of the universe.
It was only when I was safely beyond the reach of those voices that I allowed myself to relax and reflect back on the words that had been whispered to me, the promises made, the position offered. I had named them they said. Never before had they had a name, for they hadn’t needed one, but I had named them “Hydra” and in exploring that myth they had become fascinated, not only with the name and the creature, but also with the very concept of alien influences. It had only taken moments, but in the vast collective mind that was now referring to itself as Hydra, a metonymic ideology if there ever was one, the concept had run rampant and had been embraced whole heartedly. Their biology had driven them to become something terrifying. The concentration of so many minds, so much knowledge, so much sentience into a single body had driven them mad, and with that madness had come something else. Space itself was warping beneath the weight of such a monstrosity. The On had become something akin to the Great Old Ones that stalked the stars, and I had provided to them a name which they had embraced. As a reward they wanted me to be as they were, and they whispered to me in a thousand voices.
“join us. join us. join us.”
But I refused. I refused and with all the magics and science at my disposal I fled, employing eldritch wards and primordial sigils to guard my wake. Through space I fled, the titanic mass that called itself Hydra boiling out of the planet and literally clawing against the gravitic bonds exerted by the planet. They climbed out of the gravity well of Stronti, and with tentacles ripping through the fabric of space itself tried to reach me and drag me back. The fact that they couldn’t, that my pitiful magics kept them at bay seemed to enrage them.
“We shall find you.” Their voices hissed and burned, for they weren’t voices at all, but some kind of telepathy, my mind embattled with the awful seething neural shrieks of countless individuals that spoke as one. “You cannot hide from us. Time and space are meaningless to us now. Millions of years, across the vastness of the universe we shall hunt you, we shall find you.”
It was then that it uttered the phrase that caused me to recoil in terror and speed my light envelop back toward Yaddith, back where I was at least marginally safe amongst those who might still defend me. But the horror still clawed at my mind and the most dangerous of implications.
“Earth is no refuge for you Randolph Carter, we will come for you. We will come for you and yours and devour you all. You will be one with us!”
It knew my name! That alien abomination that festers in the deepest, darkest reaches of space between galaxies knew my name!
More importantly, it knew where I was from.
And it won’t ever forget. I don’t think it can ever forget.
The Hydra is coming, slowly but surely it will swim and crawl and climb through the darkness of the universe. It may take millions of years, but Hydra will come. I’m sure of it. It is inevitable. It is coming after me. It will come to Earth, and it will destroy everything it finds there. Millions of years before we have even evolved, and I’ve sealed our fate. I’ve doomed the entire human race.
I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.