244 My SI Stash #44 - An Obligatory Worm Self Insert by Unseen Lurker (Worm)

-SI in to Worm with a bloody Necronomicon, thankfully not the same Necronomicon from Ash Vs Evil Dead~ Chaotic Evil MC taking advantage of the better Book of the Dead!

Sypnosis: ???

Rated: ???

Words: 21K

Posted on: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/an-obligatory-worm-self-insert-worm-cthulhu-mythos.645781/ (Unseen Lurker)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1-3 (exceptional)

Frank awoke with a jolt, the concrete he laid upon offered little comfort as he stood with a groan. He was in an alley, but that couldn't be right, the shitty little town he lived in barely had two buildings close enough. He rubbed the grime out of his eyes, and groped around for his glasses, eventually finding them in his jeans, slipping them on he finally got a good look around.

It was the most stereotypical alleyway he could ever have conceived of and up above the tall buildings was a brilliant blue sky. He hadn't the faintest clue how he got here, the last thing he could remember was going out on a walk, or something, the past few hours were a little fuzzy. Had he been kidnapped or something? Almost as if to answer his question a heavy tome landed at his feet with a thud.

"What in the fuck?!" He exclaimed. But after a moment's hesitation, he bent down and picked up the strangely colored book.

'Necronomicon,' it read. Just beneath the gold emblazoned title was a note pinned to the distressingly textured cover. Written upon a thick parchment it read, 'Transported to a realm not thine own, with but two gifts and only a note to guide thee. Thou hast been granted an opened mind and a tome of great knowledge. The Queen Administrator shall fail, defeat the Warrior's shade and thine fate shall be revealed. Be forewarned displaced one, should thee fail in thine quest, death shall be a kindness.'

"What." The note was absorbed into the book's disturbingly textured cover. He blinked, the shock quickly wore away as he mulled over the note's words. He had a sneaking suspicion as to what was happening, and he was going to get an answer. The brown-haired man strolled out of the alleyway onto the mostly vacant sidewalk and walked up to a poor looking fellow leaning up against an abandoned storefront.

"Legend or Eidolon?" He asked.

"Psh, Alexandria's where it's at man, she's got an ass you could bounce a dime off," responded the scruffy-looking man with a chuckle.

"...Right, thanks," said Frank. He walked away without another word. All around him he saw a dense cityscape, off into the distance he could see a bay, leading out into the Atlantic, and right smack dab in the middle of it was an oil rig, enshrouded by a hazy energy field. The realization hit him like a hammer, and Frank couldn't decide between screaming out of fanboyish glee or gut-wrenching horror.

He leaned up against a building on the sidewalk, shaking lightly and nearly hyperventilating. Frank slowly leaned up against the wall and slide down it, eyes wide and mind racing the possibilities thrumming through his mind at a mile a minute. He was in Worm and had the Necronomicon, he was in fucking Worm and had the fucking Necronomicon. Frank chuckled lightly, and then it swiftly grew into deep belly-aching laughter.

After a moment, he collected himself, standing up he straightened his ruffled dull grey jacket, with a face filled with determination and heart full of terror he set out.

Chapter 2

The first order of business for any aspiring super person was to find a base of operations. Which was why Frank was strolling through a rundown neighborhood as he slowly stroked the cover of his new favorite book.

Judging by the distinct lack of swastikas and oriental people, in addition to the vast amount of shady looking poor people, he had to assume he was in or around the Merchant's turf, which was probably for the best, all things considered.

Frank slowly wandered the streets, looking through the run-down neighborhood after run-down neighborhood, attempting to find an abandoned house that hopefully wouldn't cave in on him. After nearly an hour of searching, he found just the right place, a tiny, shitty looking house surrounded by other, tiny, shitty looking houses.

It was a small one-floor abode, the paint was largely chipped away, the lawn overgrown and the windows mostly shattered, it was perfect. Frank walked along the overgrown brickwork leading up to the front door, idly kicking detritus out of the way. He pulled out his only weapon, a tiny, dull pocket knife. When he reached the entrance he walked over to an empty window frame and peered inside, it looked vacant, but who knew what horrors could be hiding inside. He climbed through the window frame as quietly as he could.

Frank's search of the largely barren home was uneventful and brief, the small one-bedroom home was inhabited with nothing but several rat carcasses, a small mountain of ancient used syringes, and a few badly worn pieces of furniture.

Frank plopped down on a cushionless couch that was the sole occupant of the living room and set the fleshy tome on his lap. Before him lay a book filled with untold horrors awaiting to be unleashed, a book filled with more eldritch knowledge than could even be conceived of by mortal man. His task was nigh insurmountable, and this was the tool given to him to accomplish it. Frank pondered his options for a long while, what he was willing to do to survive, what he was willing to do to win. He came to his resolution with a grimace, and a tinge of excitement, after all, Worm was all about doing the wrong things for the right reasons.

But before he set out on his quest there was one more thing he had to do. Frank held the book up by the back cover so that the pages at the end would fall to the front, they did, and then they continued to fall. He held it in that position for over a minute as pages continued to fall, the size of the book never changing. He chuckled. Frank stared at the book for a while longer, fear gripping his heart, preventing him from taking the first step.

He let out a quiet sight, with a determination born of a fear of another sort and an immense curiosity, he opened the Necronomicon. The language it was written in was of a strange sort, while appearing to just be random gibberish on the page, it somehow directly communicated the raw intent of the words into his mind. The first page was a preface of sorts, it stated that this 'Necronomicon' (as it's actual name was physically unpronounceable by humans) was a kind of compilation of all 'relevant' knowledge in the entire multiverse. Thank whatever random omnipotent being gave him this version, as the actual Necronomicon would have been fucking useless.

He turned the page, it was a table of contents.

'ROB is being so kind,' he thought.

As he read through the table of contents he realized something that should have been rather obvious. Not only was this tome a source of immense arcane lore, but technological knowledge as well. As he continued to read he also noticed that there were no page numbers. He pondered this issue for a moment if ROB was being so kind already… He thought of Shoggoths and turned the page, on it was a detailed entry on the biology and creation process of Shoggoths.

Before he really dived into it, he wanted to confirm a niggling suspicion he had. Turning to a page on directed energy weapons, he briefly skimmed it. Unlike tinker tech, the technology in this was completely genuine, no hyperdimensional fuckery here, just honest to tentacle covered god technology. Hopefully magic would be a bit easier to learn.

Turning to the introductory page on magic, he read over it, and it was actually fairly simple at its core. Magic was a lot like flexing a hidden muscle that you never knew you had. It was your connection to the very universe, something that most mortals never realized was there.

The first 'spell' the book stated a practitioner of magic should learn was a simple focusing exercise. Continuing with the muscle analogy, it was a lot like lifting weights, magical weights. It took him a couple of minutes to figure it out, but it was surprisingly easy. He continued the focusing exercise for a long while until he felt that he'd mostly gotten the hang of it.

He eagerly turned the page, now that he was a fully qualified wizard, it was time to learn some real magic!

Chapter 3

A/N: I'm grabbing most of the spells from the Call of Cthulhu Spell Grimoire (with some liberal modifications). You can find a free complete PDF online if you care to look it up.

The sun was rising, he hadn't even noticed the sunset in the first place. He closed the Necronomicon with a satisfying snap and stretched as he stood up, then immediately rushed outback as his bladder screamed for release.

After finishing his business he went into the kitchen and attempted to turn on the sink's faucet, nothing came out, while he hadn't expected the water to be on in this abandoned shithole, it was worth a shot. Unfortunately, he had yet to discover the secrets of immortality, so he still had to eat and drink, among all those other things those pesky mortals had to deal with. He needed to get money and food somehow, and he didn't have his wallet on him, so what other option was there but to go out and murder random Merchants and steal their stuff. In addition to some other things, of course.

Fortunately, during his binge reading session, he'd managed to learn one actual spell, plus a few other fun things. The spell allowed him to conjure an invisible, extendable, and exceedingly sharp razor out of thin air. It was basically Jack Slash's more obvious power, but better. And if Jack Slash could go head to head with the mightiest heroes, while murdering scores of people, obviously he could too.

​

But first, he'd need a few things, some clothing to better blend in and something to carry his stuff around in. He'd ended up stealing his disguise from a probably dead homeless person he'd found behind an abandoned store, which consisted of a brown jacket that was filthier than dirt, a beanie that smelled like it'd came out of a grease pit, and a bandanna that actually didn't smell or look that bad. His second item appeared in the form of a backpack that was made almost entirely of duct tape, which he'd found next to a homeless person that probably wasn't dead. Within the backpack he stored his precious Necronomicon, it was far more convenient than stuffing it under his shirt as he had been.

Finally, Frank began his hunt and did so for nearly three hours before he found his mark. It was an isolated group of shady looking guys leaned up against a wall quietly talking to each other. Logically, they had to be drug dealers working for the Merchants, and if not, oh well.

"Hey, you guys got any drugs?" Frank asked as he approached them. They stared at him, varying looks of incredulity on their faces.

"Fuck off?" Said the one in the center.

"Go to the Merchants if you want your fix, freak," said the one on the left.

"Well, fancy you should say that," Frank said with a laugh. He conjured and swung his invisible blade, neatly decapitating the one in the middle, and nearly decapitating the one on the right. The one on the left tried to run, but with a neat flick of his wrist his prey fell to the ground, his Achilles tendons cut, and with a few quick slashes, his final target perished.

He walked up to the corpses with a casual stroll and dragged them into the dead-end of the alleyway they had been standing outside of. The alleyway was as filthy and cluttered as most other alleys were in Brockton Bay, but luckily for him, this one was a bit different, with a decently large alcove at the very end of it, which would hopefully obscure his upcoming sorcery from the wandering eye.

Several minutes later he had finished dragging the last corpse into the alley, he walked back out, looking at the large pool of blood and obvious drag marks in the concrete, he hoped nobody would be stupid enough to interfere.

Frank plopped down next to the pile of corpses, cracking open the Necronomicon he flipped to the page with the ritual on it, he reread it once more to assuage his paranoia.

He stripped the corpses of their clothing and valuables, stowing them in his backpack. Frank conjured his spectral razor once more, it doubled as an effective ritual blade. He began to flay one of the dead men, slowly but surely, he cut away the flesh with his ethereal blade, the process was surprisingly quick, taking only a few minutes. He repeated this process twice more, neatly stacking the flayed strips of flesh on top of each other. Once completed, he picked up the Necronomicon in his off-hand and placed his right hand on top of the stack. Frank read the accursed words slowly but surely, only five minutes passed and the ritual was complete, a blob of alabaster Flesh was now where the strips of skin were, he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, he wasn't finished yet.

Frank laid the Necronomicon on the ground off to the side, he'd need it as a guide for this ritual as well. He rubbed his fingers around on the flayed body, smearing as much blood as he could on them and crawled back to a portion of the alcove that wasn't already drenched in blood. With painstaking slowness he drew out the runes copied from the Necronomicon on the ground, it took nearly an hour to do so.

Once he finished quadruple checking the circle, he couldn't help but let out a nervous breath Frank picked up the blob of Flesh and gingerly placed it in the proper position in front of the circle, and then stripped off every article of clothing, placing them next to his backpack.

As carefully as he could he eased himself down inside of the circle on his knees, he began to chant, the same alien phrase, over and over, for nearly a minute nothing happened, but slowly and surely the Flesh that laid before him swept up into the air as if by some invisible current, it encircled Frank, spinning slowly around him. It drifted closer and closer to him as if by a gentle breeze, and then it flowed on top of him, the pale Flesh merging with his own.

It was agonizing, and it wasn't supposed to be, properly performed this ritual was supposed to be painless. Normally if he were subject this level of raw bleeding agony, he would be a screaming wreck writhing about on the ground, but it seemed the paralyzing effect of the ritual had taken effect, locking his body into place and preventing even a twinge. It continued like this for several more minutes before the ritual finally finished, and it took several more minutes for the paralysis to wear off. When he could finally move, he bonelessly collapsed to the ground, every motion felt like sandpaper grinding into his flesh.

Minutes passed before he could work up the energy to stand. Frank inspected his Flesh as he hobbled to his pile of clothing, he looked emaciated now, the Flesh absorbing most of his body fat in the bonding process. His skin was far too pale, far too smooth, almost like porcelain, he knew it would get better in time, but it would never look like a human's again. He was also completely bald, he really hoped he could grow his hair back.

The pain had largely faded as he slipped on the last of his clothing. Frank looked over to the bodies, there was one more ritual that he should have performed, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Then again, it was barely even worth being called a ritual, all he'd have to do was say a few words and… The bile rose up in his throat, later, he would do it later. Frank hurried out of the alley, he quickly checked the men's wallets, combined they had around fifty dollars, a surprising haul for such an impoverished area. At least he could afford food now.