here is my second amphibia fanfic of Marcy father was cthulhu
hope you all will enjoy
5 years ago Marcy Wu sat at her desk, her eyes glued to the textbook, the words blurring into an indistinguishable blob of ink. She sighed, her breath misting the glasses that perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. Her mother's call to dinner echoed through the hallway, a reminder that the real world waited for her outside her room, a world that didn't involve ancient cosmic horrors or the complexities of algebra.
Marcy's hair was a wild mess of black and green, the latter color a subtle nod to her lineage that she had no control over. Her mother had insisted on it, claiming it was a sign of their unique bond. But to Marcy, it was just another way she stood out in a school where fitting in was already an uphill battle. The smell of something spicy and alien wafted in from the kitchen, a reminder that not every aspect of her home life was like the other kids'.
The walls of her room were adorned with posters of her favorite rock bands, but they couldn't hide the faint traces of something ancient and otherworldly that seemed to pulse just beneath the surface. It was there in the way the shadows danced in the corners, in the whispers that only she could hear when the house was quiet. Her mother had painted over the ancient symbols so many times, but they always found a way to bleed through, a persistent reminder of what lay dormant in her blood.
Her mother's footsteps grew louder, the clacking of her heels on the hardwood floor a stark contrast to the slithering sound that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Marcy's heart raced. It wasn't that she was afraid; it was more that she was tired of pretending she didn't know the truth. She closed her book with a snap and pushed her chair back, the legs scraping against the floor. It was time to face the nightly ritual she had been avoiding.
In the kitchen, her mother was busy stirring a pot that bubbled with a stew that defied the laws of terrestrial cuisine. Tendrils of steam reached out like spectral fingers, carrying with them the scent of brine and something darker, something that spoke of the abyssal depths. Marcy took a deep breath, trying to focus on the familiar warmth rather than the alien odor that seemed to claw at her nostrils. Her mother looked up, her eyes shimmering with a hint of the cosmic.
"Marcy," she said, her voice a melodic purr that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the house, "you're not going to like what I have to tell you."
Marcy swallowed hard. She had always known her mother was different, but the whispers she heard from the shadows had become more insistent, more demanding. They spoke of her heritage, of a lineage that was not just unique but terrifying. Her mother set the spoon down and turned to face her, her human façade slipping away to reveal the creature beneath, the creature that was her true form.
"You're the daughter of Cthulhu," she said, her tentacles unfurling from her back like a dark, writhing cloak. "And it's time you learned about your true nature."
Marcy felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead as she stared at the being that had raised her. Her mother's face was still the same, but now it was framed by a monstrous visage that seemed to swallow the light around it. She knew what this meant. Her life was about to change forever.
"Mom," she whispered, her voice trembling, "What does this mean for me?"
Her mother's expression softened, the tentacles retreating slightly. "It means you have a destiny, Marcy. A power that is both a gift and a curse. You will be the bridge between worlds, the one who can control the Elder Things."
Marcy's thoughts raced. Elder Things? Destiny? This was not what she had signed up for when she had wished for something more exciting than algebra homework. But as she looked into her mother's eyes, she saw something there that she had never seen before: fear.
"There are those who would seek to use your power for their own ends," her mother continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You must be careful. Train hard, learn the ancient ways, and always remember who you truly are."
Marcy nodded, feeling the weight of the revelation settle heavily on her shoulders. She had so many questions, but they could wait. For now, she had a dinner to eat, a mother to understand, and a destiny to embrace. Or at least, to start to understand.
Marcy Wu was a giant library in another dimension reading Harry Potter and the sorcerer stone.
Then her mother arrives asking her daughter that her father would like a word from her
Marcy said she be there in a few She put the book back in the shelf asking herself the humans with tiny brains have such a interesting idea's for a storytelling
Marcy walk outside the library to the throne room were Cthulhu was sitting there and an army of his waiting for orders
weeks, and Marcy found herself drawn to the whispers of the shadows more and more. Her mother taught her the ancient rituals and languages, the incantations that could wake the slumbering Elder Things. They practiced in the basement, a space that had always felt eerie but now held a palpable sense of power. The air grew thick with the scent of sea salt and the echoes of alien chants, and Marcy felt something within her stirring, something that had been dormant for too long.
One night, as they were finishing up a particularly complex ceremony, the ground beneath them trembled. A crack appeared in the concrete floor, spiderwebbing outwards, and from it emerged a figure that was both terrifying and majestic. It was her father, Cthulhu, his form a monstrous amalgamation of man and octopus, his eyes blazing with an eldritch fire that seemed to pierce her very soul.
"Marcy," he boomed, his voice resonating through the room, "I have come to you with a task of the utmost importance. You must find a wife among the humans of this world. Only then can we begin the great invasion and claim this planet as our own."
Marcy stumbled back, her heart racing. She had known her heritage was otherworldly, but this? This was beyond anything she could have imagined. She looked at her mother, who nodded solemnly. This was her destiny, laid out before her in stark reality.
With a deep breath, she steeled herself and asked the question that had been burning in her mind. "How am I supposed to do that?"
Cthulhu leaned in, his tentacles curling around her mother protectively. "Look for one with the mark," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "One who carries the blood of the ancients within her. Only she can stand by your side and birth the new generation of our kind."
Marcy felt a cold chill run down her spine. This was not the life she had envisioned for herself. But as she gazed into the fiery eyes of her father, she knew there was no turning back. Her destiny was intertwined with his, and the fate of two worlds rested on her shoulders.
The next day at school, Marcy couldn't help but look at her classmates differently. Every face held the potential to be the key to her destiny, the one who could unlock the gates to an unspeakable future. She saw them in a new light, wondering which of them could carry the burden she now bore.
The whispers grew louder, guiding her, pushing her towards the one she sought. It was like a siren's call, inescapable and all-consuming. As she walked through the hallways, she felt the eyes of the shadows on her, urging her forward. And when she finally saw her, she knew. The girl with the hint of purple in her hair and the strange, knowing smile—she was the one.
Marcy approached her with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Hi," she said, her voice shaking slightly, "I'm Marcy. I think we need to talk."
The girl looked up, her eyes flashing with a hint of the ancient. "I've been waiting for you," she replied, her voice a soft echo of the cosmos.
The story of Marcy Wu and her destined quest had only just begun, the threads of fate winding tighter with every step she took towards the girl who would either be her salvation or her doom.
Marcy packed her school bag, her thoughts swirling like the tumultuous depths of the ocean she had just left behind. Her father's words echoed in her mind—find a wife among the humans, one with the ancient blood. The task seemed insurmountable, but she knew she had to try. She closed her eyes, picturing the ideal candidate: someone who could understand her, who could love her despite the monstrous lineage that pulsed through her veins. Someone who loved books as much as she did, someone who could appreciate the beauty in the macabre, the cosmic poetry of her existence.
The sun was setting as she walked out of the ocean, the salty water of her home evaporating off her skin to reveal her human form. The beach was empty, save for the seagulls squawking their final goodbyes to the day. The horizon was a canvas of purples and blues, a stark contrast to the deep greens and blacks she was accustomed to. She took a moment to appreciate the simple beauty of it all, knowing that her life was about to become anything but simple.
As she approached the boardwalk, the smell of humanity washed over her—coffee, perfume, and the faint hint of fear that seemed to cling to the air whenever she was near. She scanned the faces of the people passing by, looking for the girl with the purple-tinted hair. The whispers grew more insistent, tugging at her consciousness like the tide. And then she saw her—sitting on a bench, a book open in her lap, lost in a world of words.
Marcy felt a jolt of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness. This was it. She took a deep breath, the crisp evening air filling her lungs as she approached. The girl looked up, her eyes meeting Marcy's, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The whispers fell silent, and all that remained was the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore.
"Hi," Marcy said, trying to keep her voice steady, "I noticed you like reading. Do you have any favorites?"
The girl looked at her with a smile that was both curious and knowing. "As a matter of fact, I do," she said, closing the book to reveal a title that sent a shiver down Marcy's spine: "The Call of Cthulhu."
Marcy felt the universe tilt on its axis. Could it be? Had she found her soulmate, the one who could understand the dark secrets she held? The girl looked up at her, her eyes filled with a light that was both human and something far, far older.
"I've read it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I've always wondered if it was just a story."
Marcy took a seat beside her, feeling the weight of her destiny settle into place. "Let me tell you," she began, "about the time I read it in the original language."
Anne's eyes widened. "The original?"
Marcy nodded. "My mother taught me the ancient tongue. It's... different when you read it that way."
For eleven uninterrupted minutes, they talked about the nuances of Lovecraft's work, the hidden meanings, and the beauty of the madness it contained. Marcy felt a kinship with Anne that she had never felt with anyone else. But their conversation was abruptly interrupted when a hunky guy, all muscles and smug grins, threw a beach ball with the precision of a homing missile, striking Anne square in the forehead and knocking her off the bench.
"Oops," he chuckled, sauntering over. "Books are boring, anyway." He leaned down to help Anne up, his eyes lingering on Marcy. "You, on the other hand," he said, brushing the sand off Anne's shirt, "are anything but."
Marcy's heart skipped a beat as the guy looked her up and down, his smile growing predatory. "How about you ditch the bookworm and come hang out with me?"
Anne looked up at him, dazed, but before she could answer, Marcy felt a surge of anger—and something else. Something ancient and powerful. The whispers grew to a roar, demanding justice for the insult to her kind. Without thinking, she reached out with her mind, her tentacles extending from her back, and wrapped around the guy's neck. She squeezed, feeling his human form crumple like paper beneath her grip. His eyes bulged, and his face turned a sickly shade of blue before his body went limp.
When the whispers subsided, she looked down to find the guy gone. In his place was a pile of seaweed, twisted into the shape of a human. She had killed him, and no one had seen. But she had revealed herself to Anne. What would she say?
Anne blinked, rubbing her forehead. "Where'd he go?" she asked, her voice groggy.
Marcy took a deep breath, willing her tentacles to retreat. "He... said he was sorry," she lied, her voice strained. "He didn't mean to hit you with the ball."
Anne looked around, confusion etched on her features. "Oh," she murmured, clearly not quite herself. "Well, that's good, I guess."
Marcy helped her up, her heart racing. She had never killed a human before. She had never shown her true form to anyone outside her family. But there was something about Anne that made her feel safe, like she could tell her everything.
In town, a 16-year-old girl named Sasha listened intently to the words of the priest. She had been chosen by the Church of God to seek out and destroy the monster that walked among them, the creature that could pass for human. Her eyes gleamed with the fervor of the righteous as she nodded, accepting her mission without question.
The priest handed her a dagger, the blade inscribed with sacred symbols. "You are our hope," he intoned. "Do not fail us."
Sasha took the weapon, her hand trembling slightly. She had heard the whispers too, the same whispers that had led Marcy to her destiny. But Sasha's whispers spoke of holy wrath and divine retribution.
As she set out into the night, the moon casting eerie shadows across her path, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt. What if the creature she sought was more than she could handle? What if it was smarter, stronger, more cunning than she could ever imagine?
The whispers grew louder as she approached the boardwalk, guiding her towards the very bench where Marcy and Anne had sat just moments before. The scent of brine and decay lingered in the air, a trail left by the creature she had been sent to destroy. Sasha gripped the dagger tightly, her heart pounding in her chest.
The battle lines had been drawn, and neither Marcy nor Sasha could have guessed the depth of the forces that would soon be arrayed against them. For Marcy, the path ahead was one of love and destiny. For Sasha, it was one of faith and vengeance. And somewhere in the shadows, the Elder Things stirred, watching the dance of fate unfold