Reincarnated Cthulhu - Chapter 21

21. Layers of Humanity

As we beheld the shattered skull of the diminutive being before us, disbelief claimed us both.

“Did…did you kill him?” Noel queried, his voice laden with fear. It intrigued me, the chasm of perception between us. It was not his existence as a ghoul that startled me, but rather, the grotesque distortions that led him to resemble a human in such a twisted manner.

Conversely, I found a twisted comfort in the fact that the creature was lifeless. In this moment, I could not discern which of us was on the path of rational judgement. But one thing was clear, one of us was deviating from the bounds of humanity.

“Perhaps. If this is indeed a person.”

“But… it’s not a ghoul.”

“Yes.”

I had never laid eyes upon a ghoul, but from what I knew of such creatures, this being did not fit the mold. The main feature of a ghoul, we were often told, was a dog-like head—a grotesque beastly cranium, consuming a human head whole.

And yet, despite his monstrous disfigurements, he was nothing more than a human to my eyes. I examined the creature more closely, turning its form to see every angle.

In the dimness, I noted the creature’s skin, white as marble or quartz—so pale I could see veins and organ shapes beneath. It was clear he had never experienced sunlight; such exposure would surely burn his delicate skin.

He wore no clothing, his skin too sensitive even for the softest silk. His body was thin, skeletal even, with bone outlines visible through scant muscle. His waist was bent, not unlike a quadruped, and his arms bore odd, O-shaped joints.

Upon prying open his eyelids, his eyes were displayed in all their peculiarity. His irises were fully relaxed, pupils consuming nearly the entire eye. I questioned whether he could perceive anything with such eyes. And despite his bizarre form that made racial distinction meaningless, he didn’t strike me as a native Briton.

To put it simply, he was not of traditional Anglo-Saxon descent. I find it appropriate to label him… a foreigner.

Time seemed to stretch as I examined the creature, as though seeking concrete evidence to prove he was devoid of humanity. Yet the deeper I delved, the more I was compelled to reaffirm his link to our own species.

“There’s nothing more to gain from looking.”

My voice brought Noel back from his stupor. He aided me in standing, his expression vacant. He was clearly still grappling with the notion that we may have killed a man.

To me, this was a comfort. Had he probed deeper, I may have been forced to reveal the true depths of my despair. Indeed, I had been nursing a growing dread ever since we had encountered this pale individual.

Could such a creature exist unless there was a complete severance between the surface and the underground?

If this was indeed a branch of humanity, it seemed improbable that such a transformation could have occurred in one or two generations. The inhabitants of the London underground must have evolved independently over dozens, perhaps hundreds of generations. This brought into question the existence of an exit leading back to the surface.

“Why do you wear such a look?”

“No…it’s nothing. Let’s press on.”

Numerous times, I contemplated advising Noel to turn back, yet I remained silent. We could not come this far only to return empty-handed. Whether I found hope or despair, I needed a concrete discovery. The same was true for Noel. We needed to examine the corpse.

Tunnel after tunnel unfolded before us. We no longer felt the need to inspect their depths. We knew they were catacombs. We marched forward, driven by inertia alone. Downward was the only direction here; our descent was unstoppable.

Although we had deemed them all tunnels, their shapes varied wildly.

I was unaware of the myriad methods for constructing such simple things as tunnels. We observed Roman-style arched tunnels from the beginning, rectangular shortcuts, and circular tunnels reminiscent of sewers. The deeper we went, the less human-like their construction became.

The frequency of tunnels lessened, revealing wider gaps in time. As this occurred, the changes in architectural style became more pronounced. Techniques grew cruder, artistry fell away, leaving behind a primitive aesthetic. Each shift incited a rise of fear within me.

What had begun as a testament to human ambition seemed to morph into something far more blasphemous the deeper we ventured. If these catacombs filled with skulls, this lengthy series of tunnels, constituted a layer of history, then our forebears had paid homage to some malevolent entity. This was its trace.

The tunnels themselves grew increasingly alien, no longer appearing to be constructed for human passage. They were becoming more suitable for larger rodents than men.

“We must go around.”

Noel’s whisper hung in the air.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been circumnavigating for quite some time now. This path, it forms a circle. A very vast circle.”

Gazing upon the path we had trodden, I began to discern the subtle rightward lean of the road. A detail so minute, one could easily overlook it, yet if such a path continues, it is fated to form a circle. And given its scale, it seemed to encapsulate far more than West Norwood Cemetery or merely South London.

“We’re circling all of London….”

I groaned, the realisation hitting me with the force of a scream. The tunnels weren’t under London by chance. They were meticulously crafted, a path designed with precision down to the last inch—a corridor where the floor was mixed with waste and soil, easing their locomotion.

Regardless of the tunnels’ original purpose, the architect had not shrouded any malevolence towards all of London. It became clear that this subspecies of human, which branched off millennia ago, bore no neighbourly love.

We traversed an invisible threshold, entering an underworld wholly separated from the surface.

The unique chill of the underground dissipated, supplanted by an unfamiliar warmth emanating from the ground. Though I knew the still depths of the earth could bear heat, this sensation was more akin to the thermal pulse of a living being.

The heat one feels atop a galloping horse.

“Look, doctor.”

Noel gestured forward. Though we hadn’t yet reached the planet’s core, the path had sprouted a massive fork.

Vast was no overstatement. Unlike the tunnel entrances existing solely on the circle’s outer rim, the opening finally appearing within its interior spanned tens of metres in height, even from a distance.

A considerable walk was required to approach this chasm.

“God above….”

The spectacle beyond was an immense subterranean city.

Every facet of this sight defied logic. Who could predict another civilization flourishing beneath London? They had erected a city without our knowledge, boring tunnels towards the surface.

But that vision was fleeting.

The city, cloaked in darkness, grew hauntingly familiar the longer we observed. The architectural style, all elements, were an identifiable legacy to us. The Colosseum, the Basilica, barrel-vaulted arched bridges, and dry aqueducts…

Realisation dawned.

“It’s Rome, this was Rome.”

Two millennia past, Rome, which held dominion over England, crumbled. They fell victim to the Anglo-Saxon tribe’s invasion, the tribe that once governed England, and subsequently vanished. Londinium, the radiant city they once named, was presumed lost due to the savagery of barbarians.

But Londinium is here!

The remnants of the civilisation that once governed the British Isles lay perfectly preserved within this subterranean vault. Yet despite such an extraordinary archaeological revelation, joy eluded me.

“It was a Roman.”

“What, what do you mean?”

This was no archaeological site. People were still dwelling here.

“The imitation ghoul we encountered earlier was Roman. They didn’t vanish, they’ve been inhabiting this underworld for a thousand years!”

A revelation akin to a nightmare struck me with the force of lightning.

This vast city, capable of accommodating hundreds of thousands, was buried, and its inhabitants entombed alive. Completely severed from the surface, they experienced grotesque deformities after generations of inbreeding.

We treaded towards the city.

Londinium bore no resemblance to a city inhabited by humans. The streets were coated in dried excrement, and the aqueducts flowed with rancid water, akin to the putrid blood oozing from a decomposing corpse. The once blessed city, which harnessed river water and groundwater, had become a breeding ground for filth.

Noel attempted to retch, but having already expelled all his contents, he could only manage a weak heave of stomach acid.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Yes… Yes… You don’t have to tell me….”

Noel, surveying the squalid street, responded feebly.

We could not comprehend the number of lethal germs this putrid environment had cultivated over thousands of years. I lacked the conviction to explain this on the spot, and instead, issued him a stern warning.

Once Londinium was engulfed by the underworld, dread must have commandeered the streets. Wisdom diminished, leaving only hunger and torment to steer the course of a grievous decline over centuries. Most of the structures were shattered from the outside, suggesting that thievery and slaughter were commonplace.

The city lay shrouded in eerie silence. How many could have endured? It was conceivable that the creature we had slain was the last remnant.

“Do you suppose they endeavoured to flee?”

Noel questioned, his gaze drifting back towards the tunnel.

“Over the span of one and a half millennia, they would have sought a route back to the surface. And, and when they finally reached the world above they yearned for, they must have discovered that they were no longer compatible with life on the surface.”

My speculation was imbued with palpable anxiety.

“And, they encountered the gravekeepers and, with their amassed silver… procured sustenance.”

Noel murmured in a troubled voice, seemingly caught between empathy for their pitiful history and repulsion towards their abhorrent dietary habits.

But I knew better. Such occurrences were seldom.

Examining the evidence, the descent of Londinium must have been swift. The majority of the populace was likely entombed alive in this subterranean expanse stretching for kilometres, with no opportunity for escape.

Why then, would the tunnel construction grow more primitive the deeper they went, if they were indeed striving for the surface? The final tunnel, which should have been in its prime state, was erected when the city still operated as Rome.

There was yet another enigma concealed here.

We concurred that to ascend to the surface, we must retrace our steps. However, neither of us was eager to propose a retreat. Noel was still seeking his father, and I clung to a slender thread of hope.

Possibly, I might be harbouring the hope of not discovering Shirley Marie’s body. Maybe I was even yearning to find her horrifically mutilated.

Regardless, we had to proceed.

Blood was seeping from the buildings.

The still-fluid lifeblood coursed into the drains, through the pipes, and onto the streets. Lured by the morbid scent, like flies to decay, we followed it. The basilica. Once a sanctuary where worship alternated between Latin gods and Jesus Christ.

Now it housed a novel malevolent deity.

Upon crossing the basilica’s threshold, we finally comprehended the fate of the missing gravekeepers and miners. The primitive religion they served was likely founded on human sacrifice.

“Father!”

I discerned the body of Ruben Augustine, displayed as a gruesome trophy in their hands. I couldn’t determine if they had dispatched him in such a manner, or if they had performed these atrocities post mortem. Either way, I now understood why all the skeletons bore a darkened hue.

The Romans, startled by Noel’s outburst, turned their heads. They resembled terrified beasts. Noel, driven to the edge, shoved me aside and, seizing a fragment of rubble, lunged at them in frenzied fury.

— Peog! Peog! Peog! Peog!

“Ah! Ah!”

The Romans, subject to the brutal assault, issued cries akin to pleas for mercy. I couldn’t decipher if these bestial sounds originated from them or Noel.

I raked through the ground. The amassed bodies weren’t only gravekeepers and miners. There were older corpses here. So, so….

“Ah!”

Whilst digging through the mound of bodies, I found myself clutching a woman’s head.

“Oh! Oh God! What the hell am I doing!”

In that instant, the earth itself trembled. The flooring sundered apart, and innumerable bodies vanished into the immeasurable obscurity.

“No!”

I seized Noel, teetering on the brink of descending alongside the body of Ruben. He merely stared, his gaze vacant at the unfolding ruin. Swiftly, I clutched at his shoulder, pulling him upright.

“Rise, we must escape!”

I resented my legs for not moving quickly enough. The seismic disturbance remained unabated. The city, once proud and erect, was crumbling at a pace that belied the unstable foundation upon which it had stood.

Noel, in a daze, trudged on, leaning on my steadying form. A wave of heat surged from the chasm beneath the decimated floor, a breath reminiscent of living flame.

The city was disintegrating. Millennia of human advancement tumbling into the abyss. I observed as the very floor of the city submerged, buildings vanishing into the depths. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished. London fell and perished.

Noel persisted in his march, as if ceasing would render him lifeless. I glanced back. The Romans were digging the ground. Our speculation had been entirely misguided.

They did not tunnel upwards, but rather buried their own city beneath the surface. They labored incessantly for thousands of years, only to perish as a result.

We were thrust back through time.

Having passed countless tunnel entrances, we reached our initial point of descent. It dawned upon me that the buried bodies had all vanished, swallowed by the recent seismic catastrophe.

I couldn’t discern whether it was mere happenstance.

Ggang. Ggang.

“Is there someone there?”

A man’s voice echoed from above. It was gruff, carrying the timbre of a laborer.

Ggang. Ggang.

“Help me! I have fallen!”

“I’ll fetch someone!”

“No, no! A ladder, lower a ladder! There should be one nearby!”

I pleaded, cradling Marie’s head. Once we surfaced, Noel silently crumpled, gazing emptily into the void. I attempted to rouse him, to no avail.

Ggang. Ggang.

Eventually, the man returned.

Ggang. Ggang.

“Found a ladder at the crematory!”

In silence, Noel ascended the ladder. My strength sufficed to scale the ladder without assistance, thus I followed once he had reached the surface.

Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang. Ggang.

They were nearing!

“Pull up the ladder!”

“What?”

“Pull it up! With haste!”

Having scrambled onto the surface, as if flung out, I hastily yanked up the ladder. The echo of digging that had reverberated in my ears abruptly ceased.

“Heugh… Heugh….”

“Why, why have you done this?”

I gazed into the basement. There was nought to be seen.

“No… nothing… absolutely nothing.”

“Earlier, your companion left without a word.”

Upon reflection, I realized Noel was nowhere to be seen. He had entirely absented himself from the graveyard. Whether we would meet again was uncertain.

“You are…?”

“I’m a coachman. Arrived with a corpse, found no one about, so ventured in.”

“I see… that’s good. Could you offer me a ride?”

“No, I only ferry the deceased.”

I showed him Marie’s head.

“Perfect! That’s exactly what I require! A corpse! I’ll compensate you handsomely! Onwards!”

Fear flickered in the coachman’s eyes. I shuddered to think what my expression must have been.

⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩ ⏩

Too-duk. Too-duk.

Raindrops pattered onto the hearse’s roof. The coachman repeatedly cast anxious glances my way from his perch on the driver’s seat. But I paid it no mind. This was nothing compared to what lay ahead.

In the distance, the notorious mansion of Arthur Frank loomed.

Lightning illuminated the tempestuous skies as if to condemn our sacrilegious deeds. It struck the mansion’s lightning rod, a symbol of how divine wrath no longer touches mankind.

Humans turn to the devil for what God denies.

All preparations were complete.

Resurrection.

“Forgive me….”

The thought of a madman. And I, the most deranged of all, knew it could be made reality.

(TO BE CONTINUED)