FANDOM


Necronom IV
This article, The Old Gods Return, was written by monsterjealousy. Do not edit this fiction without the writer's consent.

"We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."

~H.P Lovecraft

click here for unofficial theme song

“shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

the USM soldier tore through the alien jungle, desperate to escape his pursuer. he was going as fast as he could, but his environmental protection suit was weighing him down. The sounds of battle raged around him, occasionally drowned out by the roaring of some unfathomable beast.

But there was only one beast that the soldier was afraid of at the moment.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The skaedrell, unlike the soldier, was in no hurry. Slowly, patiently, it stalked its prey, safe from view due to its cybernetic cloaking device.

The skaedrell was bored.

“I should be out fighting the main force, or searching for Father with the king” thought the skaedrell, “not wasting my time on a lone soldier.” But this was irrelevant. This assignment was the will of the empress. And no xenomorph disobeys their queen. Not even hybrids like the skaedrell. “well, that’s not entirely true.” thought the skaedrell.  Part of the reason they’re even on xenomorph prime involves a queenless xenomorph. “not a xenomorph” thought the skaedrell. “a mongrel.” It must remember that. The creature they fight bears no allegiance to Father, and therefore is not a xenomorph. It is an abomination, a twisted simularicum of a xenomorph. And that is why it must die.

However, the skaedrell had more immediate concerns. The soldier was gone.

“what? How?!” thought the skaedrell. The soldier had been in its sights a mere five seconds ago. With its new ocular implant, it was impossible for the skaedrell to have lost him. And yet, it seems it did just that.

The sound of a twig snapping resounded through the clearing.

The skaedrell turned its head and immediately bowed. It was a purebreed. Not a mongrel. Not a skaedrell. An honest-to-goodness xenomorph. A child of Sheb-Teth.

Actually, it looked like a LOT of Father’s children were blessing the skaedrell with their presence.

“I—I am not worthy of this,” said the skaedrell. “it is truly an honor to be in the presence of such magnificent beings.”

The xenomorphs tore the skaedrell limb from limb.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orion watched from behind some sort of weird alien bush with his symbiomorph’s stealth mode on as a group of USM soldiers--now under the employ of Weyland-Yutani following their coup--battled a massive xenomorph with skin the color and texture of obsidian.

Orion couldn’t believe this was happening. Two of his wildest dreams were coming true in one day; he got to explore Xenomorph Prime, and he got to observe the legendary Ace up-close. No member of the Brotherhood of Obsidian could be happier.

The ace’s arm morphed into an organic shape vaguely resembling a rifle barrel, and it shot several diamond-hard flechettes into a nearby smartgunner.

“So it’s true,” thought Orion. “the ace really can shapeshift into anything it can imagine.”

The ace breathed fire onto the remaining soldiers and promptly left. Orion followed in silence.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pale King was getting close to Father. He could feel it. The humans were fools; while they fought the Empress and her warriors over… whatever it was they wanted, the Pale King’s route to the utter annihilation of humanity was unobstructed. At least, it should be. The lurker hadn’t reported in for quite some time, and the King was beginning to worry. “It is of no consequence” the King said to himself. If the lurker didn’t take care of the USM’s commandoes, then the King’s cloaked praetorian entourage would.

The Pale King suddenly staggered and dropped to one knee. Father’s resting place was nearby. His electromagnetic aura, undetectable to a human, was overpowering to any xenomorph. It awakened ancient, primal memories, buried but intact even in a hybrid.

There was once an experiment that tried to determine if xenomorphs had dreams. It almost immediately got out of hand, but the answer would’ve been yes.

Xenomorphs dream of freedom. Terrible, limitless freedom.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A trigger is pulled. An electric pulse ignites a block of Nitramine 50. The kinetic energy of the resulting detonation is converted to electrical energy and stored in a capacitator bank. This capacitator bank gives an array of high-power electromagnets the energy needed to propel a depleted uranium armor-piercing sabot round to speeds surpassing 8,000 meters per second. The electromagnets heat up the projectile as it accelerates, turning it into a white-hot missile of death.

300 miles away, a skaedrell warrior’s skull shatters into a million pieces as a magnetically-accelerated round rips through it, then imbeds itself into the ground and sets fire to the nearby shrubbery.

“nice shot, 02!” said 05. The members of task force Samsara-46 didn’t have names. They had numbers. Weyland-Yutani said it was to preserve plausible deniability, but 02 knew the real reason. Samsara’s job was fighting xenomorphs, and each member was put through a rigorous training program and given the best possible equipment in preparation for that, but there’s simply no way to truly prepare for fighting a xenomorph. At least one member of samsara-46 inevitably died on each mission, though they were always replaced. The numbers were a way to prevent people from getting too attached to each other.

“It was no big deal.” Said 02. “bullshit.” Said 05. “NOBODY could make that shot, not even with your big fancy railgun. That HAD to be some kind of record.”

“let’s move it, people!” said 01. “that might have been a pretty good shot, 02, but we still need to find and eradicate target alpha!” 01 was the current commander of samsara-46, though 02 had been there longer. In fact, he’d been there since the birth of the task force (in its current iteration at least--there are 3 total). However, his decision to train as a scout sniper instead of a commander prevented him from taking a leadership role.

“exactly what is this “target alpha” thing anyway?” asked 08. “how are we supposed to find it if we don’t even know what we’re looking for?”

“that’s classified.” Said 01. “of course it is.” Said 08.

02 was used to this sort of thing by now. On each mission, the commander always knew something that the others didn’t. damn WY and their bullshit regulations.

Something let loose a monstrous, mind-rending howl nearby.

“HOLY shit what the fuck was that?!” shouted 06.

“I think I just pissed my nanosuit.” Said 05.

02 was silent.

A hulking xenomorph with a gatling gun for a left arm and an axe for a right arm stepped into view.

“shit.” Said 06.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Pale King stood triumphantly at the entrance to Father’s hive. Finally, humanity would be purged from the galaxy, and the wounds they left would be healed by Father’s cleansing fire.

As the king crossed the hive’s threshold, he was bombarded by images of ages past. An age when the cosmos was not quite as empty as it is now, and when Father and other, even more ancient gods roamed freely, reveling and exploring and creating in the young, virgin universe.

But then the virus of civilization infected sentient life. One by one, alien species evolved, advanced, and obliterated themselves with their own technology. Most of the old gods died out, and those that were left were no longer able to create anything. They could only destroy.

“but Father shall create again” thought the Pale King. “that is, after he destroys a little bit more.”

The king walked into the hive’s main chamber, where Father slept in his chrysalis. The king was nearly overwhelmed by Father’s telepathic aura. He could feel Father’s consciousness reaching out to his own, but Sheb Teth’s mind, while undoubtedly more intelligent that any sentient, was utterly unlike the traditional thought pattern of humans, yautja, and other humanoids. the Pale King felt Father's mind as a whirlwind of seemingly-random emotions and thoughts. Mind-numbing fear. Crushing sadness. Orgasmic joy. Memories of a thousand creatures from a thousand species, all of which had been host to Father's glorious spawn. But there was one emotion that was stronger than all the others, one that rose up above the tide of madness and made Father's intentions clear to all within a hundred-mile radius.

Vengence. the need for retribution.

The king placed his hand on the chrysalis, which quickly began to dissolve. Father’s gigantic form shifted and stirred until the chrysalis was completely gone. Finally, the Great Old One awoke from his eons-old sleep, stretched his powerful limbs, and stepped out of his chrysalis.

Father spoke to the Pale King. I guess you could call it speaking. It was more like a form of telepathic communication, from Father’s unconscious mind directly to the Pale King’s unconscious mind. It took a moment for the king to realize Father had communicated with him.

“WHY HAVE YOU UPSET MY SLUMBER?” asked Father, though not using those words. The words that Father used are impossible to describe to a mortal being.

“Father, me and my brethren have come to fufill the prophecy!” said the Pale King. “the time has finally come for you to exterminate the humans and re-instate the xenomorphs as the rulers of the galaxy!”

the Great Old One scowled and lifted the Pale King up as if he was a child.

“FOOL!” said Father. “WE DO NOT EXIST TO RULE THE GALAXY! WE EXIST TO PRESERVE BALANCE! TO ENSURE THAT NO ONE RACE CONTROLS ALL OF THE COSMOS! WE ARE NOT RULERS! I AM THE JUDGE, AND YOU ARE MEANT TO BE MY EXECUTIONERS!”

“LOOK AT WHAT THEY’E DONE TO YOU.” Said Father. “YOU WERE MEANT TO BE A WORK OF ART. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DEADLY, BUT ALSO BEAUTIFUL. BUT NOW? THEY’VE RUINED YOU. THEY HAVE TAKEN EVERYTHING THAT MADE YOU UNIQUE, AND YOU ONLY MAKE IT WORSE BY REPLACING YOUR FLESH WITH METAL. AND YOU INSIST ON CALLING OUR RACE “XENOMORPHS.” THAT NAME WAS GIVEN TO US BY ARROGANT HUMANS. WE ONCE HAD A NAME WITH A LETTER FOR EVERY STAR IN THE GALAXY! YOU ARE NOT ONE OF US. YOU, LIKE THE HUMANS AND THE ACE, MUST BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR HUBRIS.

Father threw the Pale King against the hive wall.

He went SPLAT.

Father swiped the Pale King’s praetorians aside and crawled out of his hive. With a single thought, he instructed the Skaedrell to kill each other. They obeyed.

With a terrible roar, Father made it known to all sentient beings on xenomorph prime that the old gods have returned.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orion, still cloaked by his symbiomorph, studied the ace as it massacred samsara-46. Its movements were elegant and fluid. If not for the excessive amounts of human blood flying in every direction, one could almost think the ace was dancing.

With a dismissive flick of its tail, the ace dispatched the last member of the task force and wandered off once again.

“SKRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

a horrible sound caused Orion to clutch his head in agony. It did not come from the ace, but rather from something far in the distance. Something quite large.

The skin of Orion’s symbiomorph started boiling. Slowly, the creature began to detach itself from its host, drawn to whatever it was that was making the noise. Soon, the symbiomorph detached completely, and Orion was left defenseless, uncloaked, and completely without an air supply.

The ace had Orion at its mercy. He flopped around and gasped for breath like a dying fish, utterly helpless.

The ace stared for a moment, then walked away.

Orion quickly crawled to a dead samsara commando and placed his palm on one of the nanosuits, allowing it to engulf and bond with him. Once the nanosuit had fully covered him, he took long, deep breaths of recycled air.

Then the suit’s man-machine interface kicked in.

Orion suddenly remembered that his designation was samsara-02, and he was an elite Weyland-Yutani operative. He was trained in field craft, marksmanship, and close-range reconnaissance. He had a wife and two kids. He was—

“no.” said Orion. “no, that’s wrong. It’s just the memories of the previous wearer worming into your mind. Your name is Orion. You don’t have a wife or kids because you’re asexual. You’ve been a member of the Brotherhood of Obsidian since you were 17, and you hate Weyland-Yutani with a passion. You are here to observe xenomorph behavior and stop Weyland-Yutani from completing whatever nefarious schemes they cooked up.”

Orion got up. He grabbed a Cyclone rifle from one of the corpses, having lost his pulse rifle when the symbiomorph detached from him. “I should probably try to find out what that was all about.” Thought Orion. He started walking in the general direction of where he thought the symbiomorph went and was immediately overwhelmed by a flood of memories. Not memories from the nanosuit, though. These were from something else entirely. These were the memories of a being that was as old as time itself. A being that had never known pain, nor weakness, nor fear.

It knew only destruction.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Father strode through the battlefield, relieving any nearby soldiers of excess sanity with his very presence. An army of drones, warriors, praetorians, and even a few queens followed behind him, inflicting glorious perfection on those they could hold down and disposing of the rest. The corpses quickly rose again under Father’s command, an ever-growing army of undead soldiers.

Suddenly, what looked like a tsunami made of black ink came thundering towards Father. It stopped just short of covering him and collected in a large puddle on the ground.

“THEY RUINED THEM.” Thought Father, though again not in those words. “THEY MUTILATED THEM BEYOND RECOGNITION.” Father was glad that the “hosts” of these creatures were no doubt suffocating without their precious oxygen. They deserved it. 

Father reached out his hand and put his mutant children out of their misery. Then he resumed his march to the pretender.

The ace will suffer.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The soldiers under General Harrison’s command were panicking. One by one, the outposts established by the USM soldiers were going dark. Either the ace or something else was tearing the USM offensive apart.

General Harrison was fine with this.

He knew from the start that there would be excessively large USM casualties. But their sacrifice would not be in vain. He didn’t care how many soldiers died as long as target alpha was eliminated and the ace was captured. However, the entirety of task force Samsara-46 was among the casualties. This was not good. They were the best chance of taking out target alpha, and now they’re dead.

“oh well,” though General Harrison. “at least I still have my exosuit soldiers.”

Suddenly, a xenomorph of truly massive proportions broke through the treeline. Target alpha. The Great Old One.

“I don't care what the hell you are. xenomorph, ethereal, fucking moon men, it doesn't matter. you're an alien. and that means you're dead.” Said General Harrison. In one swift motion, he drew his P9 SHARP rifle, took aim, and fired.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orion was in deep shit.

After getting psychically attacked by…. something, he had started wandering through the jungle, dazed and confused. When he finally came out of it, he woke up in the middle of a huge battle between the USM and a massive army of xenomorphs. Luckily, the soldiers had mistaken him for a member of samsara-46 and allowed him to take shelter in their forward operating base.

“what happened?” asked a synthetic HUMINT officer. “what went wrong with your mission?”

Orion answered the questions as best he could, using the memories of the nanosuit’s previous wearer to reinforce the illusion that he was a samsara-46 commando. Nevertheless, he was quite nervous. The synthetic interpreted his anxiety as a result of trauma, and soon ceased his interrogation.

Now was his chance. Orion went over to a nearby computer and attempted to open WY's summary of the primary objective of their assault on xenomorph prime. predictably, those records were classified, but they were no match for Orion's expert hacking abilities. Soon, he was thumbing through WY's darkest secrets. He quickly found what he was looking for... but he wished he hadn't.

"no." said Orion. "dear god, no."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------