The Forbidden Resurrection
Stick to the script
Reyna stood over the body, her hands gripping the ceremonial dagger. The words came naturally to her despite the language being long dead.
"Zisnu Verathun, fortash Y'thala, Azalthorath fhtan!"
The body beneath the sheet in front of her stirred.
Reyna sighed and lowered the dagger.
"I need you to stay still, Mark."
"I'm sorry, but I need to breathe, don't I? Besides, you must admit this is a little creepy."
"Relax, it's not like you'll be under the sheet. I really want this last scene to be perfect. You know how important this is to me."
Mark sat up, pulling the flower-print sheet from his face.
"Reyna, you know I'll always support you, but you've gotta take a break. I mean, look at yourself; you look like you're on death's door."
He stood up and placed his hands on Reyna's shoulders, gently turning her to the mirror on the opposite wall of her trailer. He was right. Her skin was pale and ashy. Thick shadows hung beneath her eyes. Her hair, normally shining and vibrant, sat erratic atop her head.
"I hear what you're saying, but this is Zariel Voss we're talking about. She's the next big director in horror!"
Mark shook his head. "You and Zariel are the only people who say that, Reyna."
"I'm serious! I have a feeling about this film. Something about it, I don't know, really resonates with me."
"I understand that, but I'm not going to sit by while you kill yourself."
Reyna turned away from the mirror. Her reflection looked foreign to her.
"We're filming the last scene today. Once that's done, we’ll go on a vacation or something. Sound good?"
Mark planted a kiss on Reyna's cheek.
"I'll take it. I’m sorry, I just worry about you.”
Reyna smiled and pulled her husband close. She buried her head in his shoulder and sighed.
“I appreciate you. I’m sorry; I don’t know why this particular project has taken so much out of me.”
Reyna stepped back and Marked kissed her forehead.
“It’s perfectly fine, babe; it’s not easy being an eldritch god after all. It takes a lot of work, a lot of souls, and, uh, a lot of work? I don’t know; I haven’t read the whole script. I was waiting for the finished product.”
Reyna laughed. “It’s fine, I understand the sentiment. Thanks again.”
Mark nodded. “I'm going to get some air. Do you need anything?"
Reyna shook her head. "I'm just going to go over the scene one more time. I'll catch up with you in a bit."
Mark nodded as he swung the trailer door open. He climbed down the metal steps and turned to look back at the door. A sheet of paper flapped in the breeze. ZAL'YTHRA, it read, with Reyna's name printed beneath it.
Mark started making his way to the film set nearby. The last scene was set in a cemetery—specifically, the script called for an unmarked tombstone beset by overgrown grass and dead leaves.
Mark watched the other film crew members rush by around him. He’d always thought they looked dedicated, but today, they were different. They were excited.
Probably just eager to be done with it, he thought to himself.
In the distance, surrounded by lighting equipment and camera rigs, was a grave that matched that exact description. They didn’t need to build a set; it was already there.
"Mark, right?" a voice asked.
Mark turned around and saw the film's director standing behind him. Like his wife, Zariel looked like she would collapse from exhaustion at any moment.
"Zariel, yes, hi. I was just helping Reyna with her lines for the final scene."
Zariel nodded. "Good, I'm glad to hear it. This last scene is incredibly important."
Mark feigned a smile. "Trust me, she's told me the same thing multiple times."
Zariel's eyes couldn't seem to stand still. She was looking anywhere but at Mark. It made him uneasy.
"Could I speak to you in my trailer for a moment? There's something I need to ask you."
"Oh, I'm sure you're busy; I don't want to intrude."
Zariel's eyes finally landed on him. Her gaze tore right through him. He froze, paralyzed.
"I promise it won't take long. Right this way, please,” she said.
Her words overrode his impulses like a computer virus in his brain. He followed Zariel to her trailer without another word. He stepped through the door, his eyes scanning the dark interior. All of the curtains were drawn across the windows.
The air was moist, with a scent of sweetness and rot. He immediately wanted to leave, but his body refused to obey.
Zariel walked past him. She leaned over and clicked the switch on a nearby lamp. A warm light illuminated the table against the right wall of her trailer. Glass jars, each filled with a murky liquid, were arranged across the surface.
"You know, Mark, you're quite astute for a parasite."
Mark's heart felt like it was going to explode. A growl escaped his lips as he tried to will his feet to move.
"It's no use trying, darling; you're in my web now."
Zariel picked up one of the jars and unscrewed the lid.
“Lucky for me, I still have enough strength to control you like this. I really must thank your wife; she has been such a helpful source of strength, though I know it takes a toll on her.
She set the jar down on the table and reached in with both hands, exhaling as she pulled a human heart out of the liquid. It glistened in the light as she held it with a relieved smile.
"Such disgusting forms you humans have—defenseless, fragile sacks of flesh. From the moment you're born, you begin to rot. Destined only for death. Pathetic."
She held the organ in one hand as she unbuttoned her sweater. The folds of clothing fell away. Her skin was a pale gray, stretched thin like canvas. Maggots crawled in and out of tiny holes across the surface.
She buried her hand into the center of her chest, ripping through the layers as if they were tissue paper. Mark watched as she plucked out her own heart and threw it onto the ground.
"It seems like I replaced this one just yesterday, but they go bad so quickly. Terrible design, really."
From within the void of her chest, a group of black tentacles slithered out of her body. They flicked at the air as if tasting the scent before moving with renewed purpose toward the dripping organ in her hand.
The tentacles curled around the heart and furiously pulled their prize back into her chest.
A wave of rejuvenation washed over Zariel’s body. The maggots fell from her chest as the skin took on a youthful glow. She smiled as she buttoned up her sweater.
"I loathe having to occupy a body like this. I would have preferred to take your wife’s instead, but the ritual will soon be complete, and the real work can begin. Such a shame you won't be there to see it.”
Zariel picked up a syringe from the table.
"Take pride in the fact that your body will be used for a greater purpose. You will make a fine vessel for Him.”
Mark fought with every fiber of his being to scream, to cry out, to do anything, but he was defenseless as the needle slipped into his neck, and everything went black.
Nearby, Reyna was still in her trailer, desperately trying to enter her character's mind. She set the ceremonial dagger on the counter, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. A whisper reached her ears:
Return to me, my love.
She looked down at the dagger. In the script, it was known as the Abyssal Blade, carved from the bones of an eldritch monstrosity. It held a piece of his essence and often whispered to the main character in the film. It wasn’t the first time she thought she’d heard a voice coming from it.
Reyna shook her head. "I'm seriously going crazy."
She stifled a gasp as she heard a knock on her trailer door.
"Filming starts in five!" a voice said.
"Thank you!"
She picked up the dagger and walked out of her trailer. The air outside was perfectly still. A restless anxiety built up in her mind and spread to her body as she approached the film set.
"You can do this," she whispered, "you've got this."
In front of the grave was a metal gurney. The corpse prop sat on top with a sheet covering it. Reyna recalled the last scene, as her character Zal'ythra fled from the hospital with a fresh corpse to use in her dark ritual.
Reyna's curiosity took hold, and she reached out to peek beneath the sheet.
"There's my star!"
She pulled her hand back and smiled as she saw Zariah approaching the set. She looked amazing. Like she had just returned from an all-inclusive vacation. Reyna wondered how she did it.
"Hey, Zariel! I'm here and ready to knock out this last scene."
Zariel smiled. "You're going to do great." She turned to the crew assembled around the set.
"You have all done a fantastic job bringing this story to life, and I could not be more grateful. What do you say? Are you ready to finish Oblivion's Embrace?"
The crew cheered. Reyna clapped awkwardly as she held the ceremonial dagger. Everyone took their places, and Reyna stood with the dagger poised above the body.
"And action!"
Reyna looked down at the unmarked tombstone and smiled.
"They tried to keep me from you. They tore you apart and spread the pieces across epochs, but it was all for naught. I knew I could bring you back. All I needed was a single piece of your infinite form.”
Reyna raised the dagger above her head.
"Zisnu Verathun, fortash Y'thala, Azulthorath fhtan!"
A rush of pure desire shot through Reyna's body like lightning. She felt an insatiable hunger and anticipation for her love.
"I, Zal'ythra, bearer of the cosmos, hereby call you home!" Reyna screamed, thrusting the blade down into the body in front of her.
It slid into the flesh with ease. A rush of warm blood began to soak through the fabric beneath her hands.
"Azalthorath, father of chaos, return to me!"
A sudden gust rushed past Reyna, nearly knocking her off balance. She clutched the dagger tightly as the wind tore the sheet of the body in front of her.
Her husband, Mark lay on the gurney before her, his face contorted into fear and pain. Before Reyna could react, everything stopped.
The wind ceased. The leaves it carried sat perfectly still in the air around her. She couldn't even feel her heartbeat.
"And when he arrives, even time will stop to witness the return of its father," Zariel said.
She walked over to the opposite side of the gurney, looking down at Mark's body. She ran a hand gently across his cheek.
"It's all going according to plan, my darling."
She looked up and locked eyes with Reyna.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Finish the scene!"
Reyna pulled the dagger from Mark's body, and time resumed. Her hands moved against her will, turning the dagger toward her chest.
Reyna saw the crew members fall to their knees all around the set. They began chanting in a strange language that seemed to shake the air around her.
Reyna plunged the dagger into her chest. Zariel’s body collapsed as a black sludge rose out of it in a thick, glistening column.
It shot toward her, and she watched as the viscous liquid curled around the blade in her chest and flowed into the wound like water spiraling down a drain.
In the blink of an eye, all that Reyna ever was and all she could be was erased from the universe.
Zal'ythra settled quickly into her new body. She pulled the dagger from her chest and looked down at the body on the gurney.
Its eyes and mouth shot open, sending three beams of brilliant white light into the cloudy sky above. The body levitated off the gurney, its hands and feet dangling beneath it as a thunderous crack shook the ground beneath Zal'ythra's feet.
It fell back onto the gurney, its gaze turning to Zal'ythra.
"My love. My kindred spirit, do my eyes deceive me?"
She ran forward and embraced her cosmic soulmate. Azalthorath climbed off the gurney. The chanting people circled around them went silent and laid their heads against the ground.
"How is this possible?" he asked.
"They thought they could hide you from me and cast your infinite form across the Sprawl, but they were wrong. I tore through countless worlds. Leapt from one Nexus to another until I found a piece of you.”
Azalthorath pressed his hand against Zal'ythra's cheek.
“And so you have.”
Zal’Ythra shed a tear as her hands pressed into her husband’s chest.
“Now, we can take back what is rightfully ours. These parasites will no longer desecrate the worlds we once called home. Our children will soon be free.”
Azalthorath nodded. "I am ready to begin, my love."
Zal'ythra walked to the edge of the set and picked up the clapperboard. With all eyes on her, she slapped it shut with a loud crack and smiled.
"That's a wrap!"
Welcome to the Synaptic Sprawl
The Synaptic Sprawl is a connected horror mythos that spans across multiple stories (and series) written by Bradley Ramsey. Find other stories set in this vast multiverse below:
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The importance of being earnest.