Dennis noted the Lacerta's posture of submission; he doubted it was honest, but rather from necessity; he had gotten his goggles back, but hadn't put them on yet. He understood that the Eye would not allow him to kill one of the reptile men, not without a huge internal fight. Dennis simply wasn't ready for that kind of thing, not yet anyway. Indeed, he was seriously considering making some kind of overture to try and establish some cooperation between he and it, beyond what was already in place. Such thoughts filtered through the shared link, and he could sense the skepticism and emotinal detachment it generated.
"Gee, I wonder when would be a good time to call them and ask," he muttered caustically at the towering man-lizard. Here was this creature, built to kill and to eat things like him, averting its eyes like a pet dog in trouble. It wasn't pleased about it's discomfort, but... It could scythe him open in a heartbeat... but no, wait, would that even matter? Aside from the inconvenience of the feeling of pain, Dennis realized the Eye was confirming such torture would matter little, save putting him through the agony; his body would be made whole again rather instantly.
Dennis' cockiness shot up a notch at that one.
"No time like the present," he muttered. He stepped over to the circle, raised his arms in what he imagined was a sufficiently wizard-ish pose, and asked with a bit of a drawl, "I'm here, Dark Gods, what can I do to serve you today?"
Denniss mind and the eyes mind left regular space instantly. They floated in a black void beneath the oceans of many planets simultaneously. They could feel the presence of creatures swimming in a panic past them, suddenly completely terrified at finding themselves not where they were moments ago. They could feel the presence of the Old Ones washing over them, like a scouring tide and accompanied by the horrid screams of billions of creatures being devoured at once.
Low, rumbling voices spoke of cold, calculated and specific plans involving Arachnos and gaining power for the cult locally as if they were laying out secrets of the universe. The words werent in English and the Eye wasnt in the translating mood, but the symbiotic relationship served to get most of the purpose across. He was to infiltrate Arachnos, gain power and prestige and use it to leverage the Cage Consortium to push the workers to continue their project.
When the ordeal was over, he was left standing on the platform once more.
"Whoo!" Dennis was wavering slightly on his feet. Now that his own psyche was aggressively active, any similar experience caused by an outsider only elated him; it gave him a deeper glimpse of the pathways, the possibilities. More than any other power, psionic abilities were like a classroom; even if something overwhelmed you, it left an echo that could be examined later, and if the will were strong enough, imitated as a dojo student imitates his master.
He stumbled down to the floor before stabilizing. His face was manic.
"OK. I gotta head into Mercy, or maybe Aeon City, and look around for guys in black uniforms. Arachnos, I gotta get me an in on them, greenskin." He sniffed. "And I think I need a better wardrobe. This place is [censored] for fashion."
Dennis looked down from the towering walls of Fort Cerebus. The blighted ghetto spread out as far as he could see below; a miasma of human smells wafted up over the black walls of the Arachnos stronghold and clogged his nostrils.
"We have Longbow agents trying to sneak in through our air ducts and access tunnels-"
"You got air intakes down there?" Dennis interrupted the Arachnos Huntsman.
Through his faceless helmet, the Wolfspider soldier glared at this worm. "And we want them flushed out." His tone was imperial and stern. He did not like this new recruit, panned out of the scum when the steamer came in from that island where the big dig was going on. Another scab miner, unable to hack even digging holes in the ground, come to try his hand at being a paramount soldier in Lord Recluse's glorious army. Huntsman Teller hoped the Darwinian proving grounds below would take care of him; if this ugly loner killed a few Longbow agents before they shot him, so much the better.
Huntsman Teller didn't really care, either way.
To show his scorn he gave Dennis a shove with his powered club, a weapon of rank [unignited, alas, he thought] toward the dark service elevator that lead down from the aerie to the street level.
The erzats flunkie's dirty mining boots clumped onto the floor grating; the metal grid allowed a view down into dark depths. Dennis' face was blank as he stared back at the Arachnos contact, wondering if he should pull his goggles up and show the guy the light.
He is needed, for now, the Eye advised quietly, and Dennis remained as he was.
The Huntsman slid the accordian gate fast behind Dennis and with some relief, locked it sent him on his way down. Into Hell, he thought snidely to himself.
The upwelling of foul air carressed Dennis as he slid down through the shaft. Vertiguous feelings followed; he didn't think he'd look at elevators calmly ever again. The Eye was amused. The rattling cage settled abruptly at the bottom, and the doors opposite the way he'd entered hissed open. Dennis cautiously peered out into the access tunnel, dank and lit with yellow emercency light boxes. Dripping water pooled on grimy metal flooring.
Dennis had several ideas to try on this proving ground, and went looking for victims. On the boatride over to Mercy Island, he had taken lessons from the Eye over how to interpret the echoes of mental patterns he'd been exposed to thusfar with his new, open psyche. Channeling the flow of experiential malice and fear and agony, Dennis had formed gateways through which he'd expel shaped force, some gentle and seductive, some a bit more heavy-handed and direct. Naturally though, thusfar he'd only been able to hold the gates open and look through; no-one on the journey had provided any fodder on which to try and actually let loose to see what exactly would happen. People travelling to these islands knew better than to wind up alone with someone else traversing the same seaway.
The Eye seemed just as eager to experiment.
[[Long, I know, but I got on a roll 
]]
"Almost got it, almost got it." The repetative sound of a ratchet could be heard as Longbow Guardian Pellias unwound the last heavy bolt holding on the access plate. According to their stolen papers, behind this panel was another smaller duct system. Lined with Romex and large conduits, it would lead them up and into the Arachnos fort above.
The bolts were all frozen in place by rust, and were eighteen inches long, so things were taking time.
"Time's something we're in short supply of," Longbow Sergeant Manns whispered with prospicience, adjusting his polished red-and-white helmet as he looked around. "If there are any alarm wires attached to the backside of the plate, we may tip off the spiders before we can get deep enough to throw off pursuit."
"Shouldn't be. Schematics say it's clear," Pellias muttered as she coaxed the final inches of screw from the wall. "There, got it," she gave a grunt of triumph as the final bolt dropped clanging to the floor. She was disappointed though, as the freed plate remained staunchly in place even without visible support. "Crap, must be welded closed by buildup, sir, sorry. Mike, hand me the crowbar, would you?" She turned to Guardian Michael Biggs, who hadn't responded, as a chill seemed to pass over her shoulders.
"Did you feel that?" her Sergeant hissed, looking away and around them.
Pellias had her own puzzle though; Mike had been looming over them the whole time she'd been working on the plate, but he stood in place now with his head down, chin almost touching his chest. His eyes were clearly closed; he was dead asleep on his feet.
"Mike, what the hell," Sandra Pellias swore as she reached out to start her fellow awake, but she never got the chance.
"Look out!" the Sergeant shouted as a grubby figure stepped out from one the the tangles of conduit, lurid red light streaming from his eyes. As the cones of light fell upon them, Manns shuddered again as a more potent, focused chill dropped on his mind. This time, the desire to sleep was greater than he could bear; the Longbow lieutenant was abruptly unconscious on his feet, swaying impotantly like Biggs beside him.
Agent Pellias cleared her sidearm and rose to a shooter's stance, but the nightmare eyes were swerving towards her. She cleared leather as panic kicked her into overdrive, and fired a shot that burst through the intruder's thigh. She saw him go down to one knee, a grimace on his face, but the angry red eyes rose back up to her. A red nimbus surrounded his head and a conical dart of power formed at his forehead; it rocketed out at her and burst in her face, and she felt the physical impact along with a horrible clawing sensation inside her brain. As she staggered, a second more diffuse feeling came. The new attack was more mental than physical. Rapid fire glimpses of being flayed alive, of being burned, falling, of being dismembered, battered at her consciousness, and the Longbow agent half-fell against the grimy wall of tubes, grasping at the sides of her helmet, mewling in fear and agony. She was being forcefed snippets of death, and as each piece got through, her rebelling psyche screamed. She couldn't focus.
Another physical blast struck her head, then another. She was thrown against the lumpy wall as around her, her comrades swayed somnambulantly. The illusory pictures of death were driving deeper; she was dieing, and her support was doing nothing; they were unaware. She slumped with a whimper, blood streaming from her nose and tear ducts.
Biggs was next, dragged from a completely unaware unconsciousness with a two-pronged blast to the face. He came awake but had already been gripped by the slideshow of agony. Deaths cardflipped across his mind's eye [and this metaphor is what Dennis was in fact trying, his evil glee growing as the mnemonics the Eye of Mu had suggested were indeed working as desired, the entity piggybacking on the assault and relishing the helplessness of the foe]. The hero's response was sluggish, and his spasming hand could not find his holster. Beside him, his Sergeant waited in line without reply.
Though surprised and hindered, Biggs managed to slump to the floor where the group's long arm had been put. He managed to grasp and activate the pilot on his flame thrower, but the incessant parade of horror across his mind was being supported by a sudden assault of darts detonating all over his face and head. His helmet fragmented. He was knocked off balance, and sprawled across the cold floor. A final blast kicked his head to one side and he ceased moving forever.
Sergeant Manns came aware, shaking off the illusions just as Biggs died. "[censored] you!" he shouted in his commanding baritone. With the reflexes of a Longbow commander he assessed his situation in a single sweeping glance and lunged for the active flamer. A shuddering chill passed over him as a grasping try for his psyche failed. From a secure crouch he triggered the flamethrower and turned it on his attacker.
Lurid red light in the tunnel was replaced by roaring yellow. A cone of liquid fire deluged Dennis from the front, and he lit up, a living torch. His mental assault was checkmated as he burned, his mouth drawing open in an animal shriek.
Manns kept the weapon cone on his foe as the lone figure staggered to one side. "Yes! Burn you [censored]!" he crowed in triumph.
Dennis was reliving his initial experience inside the tower, dieing ablaze. His consciousness had been through this before, and as it had then, the Eye of Mu was holding him, cradling his body, even as searing air flowed down into his lungs, as flesh began sloughing off his face and arms, as his hair evaporated.
You wil not perish in this. You will live. You will go on. With merciless calm the Eye of Mu reknit Dennis' flesh. His regenerating nerve endings sang new waves of agony. It was awful and almost counterproductive, unceasing as it had been before. Destroy him. Focus the pain and return it. Step closer to him. Embrace his mind and consume it. Without pity th Eye had taken command of Dennis' failing body, and with puppet steps it walked into the cone of fire, toward the Longbow Sergeant.
"What the hell! By all that's holy!" Mann had never seen a human withstand this kind of punishment before, even among the mutated cursed environs of Mercy Island. Longbow groups included a flamer because this weapon pretty much equalised any situation. If it wasn't a giant robot, a flamethrower could pretty much put down anything stalking this part of the archipelago. Most things in the archepelago knew what a flamethrower looked like and tended to run before the thing spouted it's brand of death.
From within the raging conflagration the red searchlight eyes had opened again and were zeroing in on him even as the horrid matchstick was stalking closer to him. "Oh God! Die you son of a [censored]! Die!"
The jet of fire ran out as the living torch stepped with a yard of the Longbow agent. He was trying to reprime the flamer when Dennis reached toward him. With a tearing moan power bridged the gap between the men, humming from Dennis' outstretched hands and pouring into the hero. Manns vibrated as his nerves were flooded with baneful energy. The beam seemed to reverse itself and Manns felt his strength leech out of him. The smouldering attacker stood taller, his features, withered by relentless flame, flowed like wax back into shape. His skull face smoothed over with flesh, his exposed teeth still gnashing even as perfect lips crawled back into place around them. The impossibility of it held the Longbow agent pinned in place even as the searchlight eyes fixed him on the end of that pin.
The smouldering man stood motionless as what he'd just experienced was forcefed back into Longbow Sergeant Mann's mind. The tunnel was filled with a long, hopeless baritone shriek that rebounded down it's length. When the echoes died, there were no further sounds for Mann to make.
Then, it was Dennis' turn to gasp aloud. He was completely spent, and it was his turn to fall to the side against the wall. The agony had been unspeakable, and prolonged far past what any human could experience and remain conscious. Dennis gave random bleates of sound, formless animal noises as his mind echoed once again with such ordeal.
His clothes were nearly gone, and smoked, the rags still smoldering and harming regenerating skin. The tunnel was obscured by the ordure of his own cooking, but he was alive. And he saw that the other three were most definitely dead. The first thing he managed to coherently choke out, was a manic laugh.
His formless noises settled down into words. "Yeah! I got you, you [censored], I got you. Look.. not a mark on 'em."
Well done, the Eye cooed.
"That's not [censored] funny," Dennis growled.
The irony of possible word play was lost on his symbiant. You have learned well. Shapes to make them sleep, shapes to make them unable to act, shapes to damage their flesh. All as you burned. You are growing, Vessel. Arise. We have more work to do. More of this is to come.
Dennis was hyperventillating, but he managed to search the fallen Longbow. The male who'd put up the least resistance was more or less his size; soon, Dennis was wearing Longbow colors to replace his burned rags. He also grabbed one sidearm and about thirty rounds of ammo. The flamer was out of fuel and useless or that would have gone too. By the time he'd dressed he was once again whole. As if he had never been burned alive. Again.
Overstrike stood on the hill with four of her droids, their power signatures about a tenth of max. I freakin hate this. This is just plain stupid. Were going to get killed. She looked over at the Lacerta who had been standing there with her. Her station had earned her a certain amount of candor with those she served.
Death is nothing, success is everything. The Avatar has power over life and death, even his own. Wrath swayed as if in a trance. His red and black scales hidden only slightly by his priestly robe. Flame stood next to him, a fiery red and also garbed in the priestly robes of the cult. Slayer, green and dark, with his reptilian wings and sharp claws lurked nearby in his priestly robes. It was quite a sight, were there anyone to see it.
Insidious showed up amongst them in a flash from the Lacerta teleporter. The hybrid regarded the rest of the group with reverence and a submissive bow followed. When the Avatar arrived, Slayer began going over the plan. There was a vault which held enchantment spells and secret technology that the Circle of Thorns had gathered. This was to be the target.
Im confused why were going in underpowered. Overstrike was one of the few who dared look the Avatar in the eye who was not Lacerta.
The mission must not attract a great deal of attention. This must happen without Arachnoss knowledge and without the trespassers (read: Circle of Thorns) becoming aware, or they will increase the guard on the vault that we are after.
Legioness of Flame knelt on one knee, her tall and muscled form mostly visible, with nearly Roman style armor scattered across her, revealing much of her beauty. Her long, black hair hung down past her face as she waited for the order to rise. Once given, her body ignited, signaling that though she was bound by the Avatars order to limit the use of her power, even if death were upon her, she was going to put all her available strength into completion of this mission. The reason does not matter, we are to serve. Death is not important.
Overstrike nodded and muttered under her breath, cultists, no profit in it. She longed for Professor Eviella to come keep her company on this fools errand.
The Legacy Chain held the first part of the clue in a building in the center of Cap Au Diablo. Boy were they surprised to see reptilians and humans boiling in. Their primary guard were in that building, unbeknownst to Mu. The fighting was hard and fast, with many powerful artifacts unleashing magical death on the Cult of Mu. Several of the attackers were killed in the fray, but either by the hand of the Flame of Mu or the Avatar himself, they stood again.
We cannot kill them, they get right back up! Cried one of the Legacy Chain wizards.
We must protect the charms! Another cried.
But it was no use. The first information and components were gathered. Of course, there was a problem with that. It pointed to where much of the information was turned over to Longbow. This would require a second raid, with an increased chance that they would be aware, as information from the first almost certainly was leaked already.
Meanwhile, Longbow was made aware, and rallied extra troops to their base to defend against immanent attack.
Commander Rider ordered his QRF to suit up. Lieutenants, brief your men, we have an unknown threat approaching. It could be one of those bands of villains, so I want combat loadouts. We arent going to have long after we hear the first siren.
It was one fatal corridor that the big battle would take place in. On the second floor down into the complex, one small group of Longbow held the doorway. Steady men, weve lost the front and it looks like theyre on their way here.
Laser fire and gunfire erupted from the Longbow squad as they spotted zombies and bots coming around the corner. The Cult of Mu engaged them heavily and quickly brought them down. Poison weakened them, slowing them in airborne clouds as they were bunched up behind cover. Legioness of Flame broke bones and burned flesh with her fiery aura. Wrath twisted darkness around them that was burned through by Overstrikes bots as they rained laserbolts of death on Longbows head. Insidious smashed and tossed agents and wardens alike about like rag dolls.
Slayer and Flame grabbed the technician and made directly for the machine upstairs. Once upstairs, they were met by a huge force of Longbow waiting, and cut down under heavy fire.
Back in the corridor, Commander Rider ordered twenty more men into the fray. The battle raged on, bullets slamming into reptilian flesh and drawing a milky white substance that must have passed for blood. Longbow agents littered the floor, their faces burned, twisted with terror or smashed beyond recognition. The Avatar literally sucked the souls out of the wounded Longbow to heal his own wounds. Finally, however, the living Longbow pushed them back. The Avatar and Insidious the only ones alive, they fell back to the elevators and went back up a level.
But the Longbow onslaught continued, and finally overwhelmed Insidious near the elevators. With no one between him and the attacking Longbow, the ten remaining agents pummeled the Avatar until his body gave out and he fell to the deck.
Clear! Were clear here! Warden Michaels reloaded her rifle. The flamer operator leaned against the wall, panting and several of the riflemen tended to their downed comrades.
Weve got wounded! Carlton is still alive! Jennings and Adisu are alive as well. Cried one of the Eagles.
What the heck are these things? A rifleman toed the corpse of Insidious.
Then the lights went out, and the emergency lighting kicked in. The Dark Gods power returned to his vessel, and the wounds disappeared.
Where did they go? The flamer stood from the wall, noticing the corpses of their enemies were gone.
Michaels, report! The commanders voice was strained over the com.
Uh. We have
a problem. Smith, Trexler, Jackson, get the wounded
CONTACT! The sound of gunfire erupted over the com.
Commander Rider turned toward his flamer in the emergency lighting and said, Burn the bodies.
The flamer saluted then turned and froze. Sir
One look confirmed what he had suspected, there were only Longbow on the ground. Tell the medics the area isnt secure. Call for another QRF.
Over there! Use the elevators for cov-augh! The com was briefly alive with screams then nothing. They could hear the muffled sound of gunfire coming through the elevator, then silence.
Rider had only ten men left at the bottom of the elevator, most were wounded. He himself was shaky from some kind of venom and felt a strange chill from the dark magics that had ripped at his soul. When the elevator doors opened, three Longbow stepped out and shambled toward his men. Fire! But it was too late. By the time they realized what was happening, the contents of the other two elevators had emptied into the chamber, and the battle was lost.
Rider never ran, he never called a retreat, he stood there, brass hitting the deck next to his feet and screamed with hatred and terror, until he was washed in flame and darkness. When the corridor was quiet once more, the Avatar spoke. We proceed.
Cease what you are doing.
"What? Why?" The Eye of Mu had spoken with such certainty and force that Dennis paused immediately. He was lingering around an isolated strongpoint of Longbow heroes about a half mile from the base of Fort Cerebus, lurking and trying to figure out of he could time their patrol schedules to slip into the little bunker and try killing the handful of soldiers in there. He already had nearly a dozen Longbow shields collected to turn over to the Huntsman after this foray, his third, and he wanted to go for twenty. He'd get extra cash for a score that high, Teller had said. The stolen uniform had gotten him in close more than once.
There was a moment of silence, and then: The Cult of Mu are conducting a raid as we speak. We are required to act as a diversion. We must travel to Cap Au Diable and await orders.
"Huh? Where are you getting this, who are you talking to?" Dennis was perplexed.
Inside his mind, the Eye was smug; Dennis had not heard the Avatar's telepathic conversation with the Eye. The Avatar is in Cap Au Diable. Make haste.
"What? Aw, goddammit, sure, whatever." Dennis pulled back from the edge of the corner and headed away from the shantytown.
"What about my clothes," Dennis said aloud as he sprinted across the rubble.
There was quiet for a moment. But it was merely the Eye, pondering. We will need alternative garments, but the Longbow uniform may yet come in handy. I suggest we acquire an Arachnos uniform as well.
Dennis scowled as he ran. "Great." They were headed back the way they'd come, toward Cerebus and the helipad they had there for the Arachnos flyers.
When the elevator came up, the Arachnos men Huntsman Teller had left guarding it nearly shot the lone figure in it to pieces, for he was in the red and white of a Longbow agent still, but since his helmet was off, they realized it was the guy Teller had sent down there a few times now. They gave him a good hassle as usual but sent him forward.
Teller was unhappily surprised at the number of Longbow badges that were turned over to him and the total Dennis was accumulating. However, he had to give the little runt some credit; there were three Warden badges in among them this trip. With his usual gruff demeanor he handed over some cash and a few odd stims, then kicked Dennis out of his office. Less than ten minutes later he answered a call, and found out that the two elevator guards at the service lift that led outside had been killed, and one had been stripped of his uniform. By the time the electronics were checked and it was found that the elevator had not descended, a general alert had already gone out that there may be Longbow infiltrators. But Dennis had by then changed, and with the red-and-whites folded under one arm in a paper bag, he got on board the next flyer to Cap Au Diable dressed in spiffy Arachnos blacks and was gone.
Cap Au Diable was a far cry from Mercy Island for Dennis.
The rabble of Mercy, including even the Longbow and corrupt RIPs, were spread thin there, and traveled in small groups. Here on the outskirts of Aeon City, bigger fish were swimming, and in bigger schools.
Dennis shied away from the Jet-pack-equipped Gooldbrickers and the large masses of protesting Luddites, only learning these names from passersby while he asked for directions. Other than this, there were Arachnos patrols everywhere in the concreted sections of the island, but since he wore matching colors he slipped by them.
Wait, enter this building. Dennis eyed the tall skyscraper in front of the large outdoor square featuring a huge moving sculpture of an atom. "Hm, atomic weight of 8, and the electron shells are wrong. Hope he was a good artist, 'cause he ain't no scientist," he observed. Inside the offices, the Eye guided him to one of the quatermasters stationed there. Dennis showed him a stolen ID, then made some purchases as the Eye quietly guided him.
He then made his way to an observation deck atop the sky scraper. Up there, the Eye guided Dennis in the application of the powders, salves, and trinkets he'd just bought. There. We are now slightly enervated. An extra boost to our power. We must perpare for the mission coming.
Dennis did some internal poking and did, indeed, feel the boost in the levels of his powers. It was because of this that he did no notice the Mu Striker hovering toward him from around the corner of the platform.
"Hold, soldier," it said, and the sudden voice intrusion nearly made Dennis squeak. "What is your assignment, why are you up here?"
"What! Er, I mean, what did you say.. sir?" Dennis realized he was still in uniform.
"Identify yourself immediately." The Striker floated closer, a red nimbus appearing over its head. Inside him, the Eye was hissing in loathing.
Abomination! Arachnos has stolen our crystals technology and used it in perverse experiments to boost their followers mind powers! We must destroy this one!
"Um, but, what about our mission?" Dennis replied.
"'Our' mission? What are you talking about? Identify yourself! Comply or I will slay you!" The Striker had answered, because Dennis was losing track of when he was answering the Eye aloud and when he was thinking at it.
Dennis licked his lips, his mouth sour with the taste of the powders he'd imbibed; they reminded him of the stuff they tossed on throw-up back in grade school.
"Hold on, I wasn't talking to you," Dennis began. The Striker responded with a corruscating blast that stunned him and threw him back, hard.
He got his senses back with his body in wracking pain, staring up a the sky and the edge of the building top. He rolled slightly and screamed, realizing the Striker had knocked or shoved him onto the lip of the ballustrade that surrounded the deck. One small roll to his left and Dennis would have dropped off the edge of the building.
"What are you doing? You son of a [censored]!"
Destroy the abomination!
Dennis ripped one hand from his desperate gripping of the stonework and pulled up his goggles. An energy dart appeared at the center of his forehead and speared at the Striker, but the thing's own defenses cast it aside. Another red blast kicked Dennis off his perch; he gave a brief scream but the force was so intense that he was cast over a fatal gap and onto another edge, snagging on a sculpted gargoyle there.
Dangling by his hands, Dennis experienced a little deja vu of the Tower, gazing down all the way to the street below; with fear flooding him and the Eye raging at him to kill, kill!, Dennis focused this fear and hurled it across the gap at the Arachnos horror.
The floating bound-up body shivered; it's mind became grasped in Dennis' attack and it could not focus its mind enough to blast him off the ledge. He then filled the air with darts and concentrated mental blasts, knocking it all around and into the stone of the walls. Its defenses were formidable though, and before Dennis could finish it, it regained its senses enough to form and release a blazing red mind blast of its own.
With a wavering shriek Dennis was torn from his perch and fell.
Accompanied by a piece of masonry, Dennis fell. In his spinning plummet he screamed and screamed, watching the ground rise up toward him very fast. His own mind was gripped by a gibbering terror.
Concentrate! the Eye was demanding, Hover! Hover! Hover...
With a pulping impact only a dozen yards away, Dennis abruptly hung up in the air. His teeth clacked together and his legs snapped downward so hard he sprained both knees. he cried ou in surpise and pain. Some passersby below looked up at the noise; a woman screamed in surprise. Still mewling with the pain, the Eye took over now that it knew Dennis could shape this power, and lowered him to a landing.
Dennis collasped on his bad knees, then yelped as the Eye healed them. Get up. We must move before others investigate. Images of Arachnos torture cells were shown to him; Dennis needed no other impetus. He got up and ran, despite the small crowd standing around him staring.
"Freaking thing almost killed me!" Dennis was more sure the Striker could have crushed him psyonically, though he was actually reacting more to the fall.
Had it caught us before the application of the magic powders, it may have.
"Nice. I need more cash, gotta get me as much of that mojo as I can stand. Gotta be another place to ge 'em, there a black market around here somewhere? There must be.." People looked askance at the man carrying on a loud conversation with himself.
Time enough for that later. We must go that way.. the mission is more important....
It was Warden Myers that arrived with the QRF to support Rider. The regular garrison had already posted guards at the front door and swept the building. They found one catatonic technician and a computer screen blinking Files Deleted, but other than that, they had no idea what was going on.
Myers asked for a location but the best they could do is recount from memory the location scoped out by the Legacy Chain believed to be the Circle of Thorns vault. It was an untimely distraction that pulled Myers men away from chasing after the Cult of Mu. Myers responded to his radio, and moved his men toward the other side of Cap Au Diablo, away from the mountaintop gateway that was currently being used to gain entry to the Circle of Thorns vault.
There was no plan, no discussion, and no special strategy employed on the Circle. Once the Cult of Mu arrived there was just death and flame. Bodies froze in place, were pummeled, burned alive, and robbed of their vital essence left and right. It was a bloody melee. It was blunt force trauma.
Slayer attempted to be stealthy, but the Circle and the Cult were too tied together with magic, and he was easily detected in their structure. As the mages stood around the body of the fallen Slayer, robots and zombies tore into their flanks, followed by Lacerta and their human worshipers. It was an amazing battle, shifting back and forth, both sides taking casualties, but the Cult would not be denied. It took overwhelming force and an impulsive decision by a key player to cause the Cult to be wiped out to the man by Longbow, and that wasnt an option here.
Soon the tunnels leading to the vault were inhabited only by the Cult and corpses, either moving or not. The Avatar opened the door, and ordered the attack on the demon that guarded the vault.
It was covered in flame and some twenty five feet tall. It smashed anything that got near it with its powerful limbs, and fired flame at anyone else in sight. The combined force of the Cult tore into it mercilessly, as zombies exploded in all directions, scattered by the impact of its powerful, misshapen limbs. Droids were torn apart or melted, and others had to be activated and sent into battle. Other Circle of Thorns mages, killed in previous battles, were being raised and sent into combat against their own demon. The Liegioness of Flame and Insidious stood right up against the beast, pummeling it with their full force. Slayer slashed impatiently at the beast, not waiting for a perfect strike. The Lacerta priests unleashed flame, frost and death from a distance. Soon, the beast succumb, and collapsed.
From the vaults were taken artifacts, and these artifacts were quickly secreted away by Slayer in the Temple, while the rest of the Cult of Mu moved toward the distraction keeping Longbow from following them.
As the Avatar flew directly toward the scene of the distraction, he placed one of the artifacts not taken by Slayer on his neck, and faded from view.
Dennis' hand quivered over the lump of silver-steel set in a crown of green crystal. "Are you sure about this?" he asked aloud, to the Eye.
Yes. Do it, the Eye said, imperiously.
Dennis caught the cube of orichalcum between two fingers and lifted it. Once it was freed from the glowing base, an odd burst of sensation erupted; for Dennis, it was as if a blip had burst from the crystal and turned immediately into a flat plane level with his solar plexus that rushed immediately up and out in all directions; he could feel it pass through the top of his head.
"What [expletive deleted] was that?"
An alarm. We are discovered.
"I gotta get out of here," the human groaned. He pocketed the heavy square, and turned. The column of stone he stood atop dominated the huge cavern beneath the city. It towered stories above its base, a moat filled with natural stream outflows. Passages lead outward from it as spokes from a wheel into the Circle base. As he looked for the wooden pathway back down, he heard booted feet rushing up along the boards from below.
"Crap!"
Dennis awoke inside a large oblong of green crystal.
He had taken down 8 of the Circle before they'd pulled him down likewise. The dark spiritual damage the Demon minions were capable of could slow the progress of the Eye's healing of it's vessel. As they crawled erect, both Dennis and the Eye could feel the dampening power of the mystical prison.
We must get out, urged the Eye. It tried very hard not to communicate the incredible twist of Fate it would be for the Circle of Thorns to actually examine it in it's host/symbiont state. Enough leaked through to make Dennis nervous.
"No duh," Dennis growled. He tried a few of his psychic darts; the slim door seemed to be affected. "This is gonna take a while."
***
Several Circle mages raced down the hall, away from where Dennis had been taken, and toward the general vicinity of the main prong of attack. They were winded and beaten up; only one fell Daemon torso flowed through the air after them.
"Who as that," demanded the Death mage.
"I don't know, Master," his Thorn lackey responded, "a human helping the Lecerta? His clothing was tattered, but it suggested Arachnos.. that makes no sense. And, the glowing eyes, his font of power.. what does it mean?"
"He took one of the Spectrals down through psychic combat; not something the uninitiated survive," the Circle mage uttered, with dread and uncertainty. He almost felt respect, but, he was Circle of Thorns; this feeling was overwhelmed by the greed for secrets.
"Perhaps we should alert our superiors," the Thorn offered cautiously.
The Mage raced on, slowing though to peek around corners before proceeding. "Yes, in this case that would be wise, surely. Such a chaotic foe loose in the caverns on our flank, we must divert resources to neutralize him. If he joins with the main Lacerta force, it's one more foe with good offense we need to contend with."
They rounded more corners, crossed more bridges, ducked through corridors. Moving toward the inner areas that had already been exterminated, survivors going back, not realizing they'd been a few hundred yards from the surface, and safety. They were trying to contact dead men. When Lacerta came out from a side passage, the Thorn threw himself in front of his master, blocking the initial attack.
Paralytic darts slammed into the Thorn, freezing him in a stupid looking pose with both of his hands in the air trying to create a barrier of flesh between his master and certain death. The Avatar smashed him aside with a two handed blow, sending the paralyzed Thorn to the ground roughly, where he stopped breathing.
The mage began a spell, but it never made it to his mouth. It stopped at the Avatars hand, which was around his throat and now pressing the back of his favorite head against the wall of rock. Where is the Eye?
The mage knew what the Avatar was looking for, and was having a brief internal dialogue on whether or not he should comply with the request for information when he realized he couldnt. Not only was his state of mind worse than usual, he couldnt breath. Thats when he really started to struggle, he wasnt being interrogated, he was being devoured.
Give me your soul, Death Mage. And with the Avatars words, he could feel darkness rising around him. He could feel the dark magic that the Avatar wielded tearing his vitality from the form hed stolen and devouring it.
Another Thorn came racing around the corner, and the Death Mage was momentarily relieved. It was just a flick of the Avatars hand and Mu lightning lashed out and surrounded the Thorn, creating a cage that prevented him from moving in any way other than the throws of agony. With that, the hope of escape or survival left the Death Mages eyes, and so did any signs of life.
There was a sickening thud as the second Thorns body hit the ground at Slayers feet while the magic that kept him from sight abated momentarily, revealing his green scales and priestly vestments covered in human blood.
Moments later, one of Overstrikes less powerful droids drew the guards into an ambush. Outside of the Eye of Mus cell, a Thorn went running by, chased by a bolt of dark energy from Wrath. Then, the Avatar struck at the door with his full power, and his dark minions assisted with the dark energy he had given them, and the barrier relented.
Unafraid and unaffected by the gaze of the Eye, the Avatar stared at the previously captive prisoner. His own undead returning the red burning gaze, though with far less intensity. Your distraction was helpful. The Dark God still has use of you.
Dennis was getting up from the floor, as the Avatar's attack had blasted him where he'd stood, pounding on the other side of the door to the cell. "I aim to please, chief," he drawled, unsure whether this supernatural champion or whatever he was, would get the sarcasm, and be offended. He was clad in shredded Arachnos blacks, and his Longbow uniform had been lost somewhere.
HIs eyes dropped for a second; he then said aloud, "Haven't you already told him?" He glanced up at the titan reptile, as the latter was turning to other things. "Well, seemed like you probably had. We'll do it later," he ended, glancing around at the animated corpses the Avatar had in tow. He followed the vanguard, asking if the Eye could let him raise similar servants, and being told in the negative. "Whatever," he muttered at one point.
The troop moved with precision, and Dennis went along.
Miliekah watched as they raided the vault from the hills above the portal. He noted the scrolls taken and entered the vault after they left, inspecting the carnage. He noted that the magics that would overwhelm most Arachnos forces completely failed to stop them, or even much slow them down. There was blood everywhere.
Other mages arrived later and he passed them as he was leaving. He stood on the hill outside the portal, surrounded by Thorns and Guardians. One of the Madness mages stepped up next to him. "What are they after?"
"I think I know. I think I know, but I hope I'm wrong." Miliekah teleported into the chantry nearby, some Arachnos mercenaries were raiding through the halls near the Shark'sHead entrance, but he didn't pay it any attention. Later they would go through looking for survivors, it was a constant give and take on the Rogue Isles.
He approached one of his own mages, one who specialized in illusions and asked for a favor.
"You have a purpose with this? An important purpose, I hope, for what you ask you cannot undertake lightly." The mage only received a nod from Miliekah. "Very well." With that he began casting a spell that removed Miliekah from the fabric of the universe, making him unable to affect anything, or be affected. "This will only last so long."
"I shant have need of it for long." Miliekah floated out to an ancient vault, past the guardian demons, and his brothers in the Circle. He waited near the entrance to the vault.
The entrance was a small chamber with steps leading up from a rock floor to a ziggurat with ancient glyphs all over it. There were five of the most powerful Madness mages in the high tower guards watching the vault, though only three were there at any one time.
One of them arched his back and gurgled blood suddenly, as the demons sworn to protect him turned to see a reptile creature withdrawing its claws from the mage's back. One swipe, two swipes more as the mage's magical robes absorbed the brunt of the blows, but still he was mortally wounded.
Then came the missiles, exploding directly in front of the demons even as they launched flame from their hands at Slayer. Black energies streaked from the wraith and Death Knights. Slayer just turned toward the other mages and withdrew his claws into their scaly sheaths as flame and death rained down on the garrison. Mu lightning danced through the group causing demon and human forms to twist and burn and spirits to tremble with the impact.
Eviella laughed cruelly as she hurled a potion of resubstansiation to Slayer. Her gadgets and inventions and potions making her neigh on invincible, she walked through the carnage, occasionally blasting some poor schmuck with her rifle. The Avatar walked near her, breaking Thorn swords with his powerful blows and sending bodies straight to the floor with one strike, or holding them in place with his poisons.
Miliekah was terrified by the display. Arrows, knives, swords, flame, nothing had any effect. It was as if a wave of death were descending on the Circle. As the Circle would gain the upper hand on one combatant, the others would move in to assist, often negating the effects of the spells and simply killing all in that area. For the first time, he wondered if he'd die. He wondered if his soul would not make it back to another form. He saw the Avatar pulling spirits from the air and from bodies being used as vessels. He hoped his magic would be enough to keep him hidden.
When the battle was over, they stepped inside the vault. As the odd assortment passed by, one with glowing eyes stopped and scanned the area near the mage. He quietly leaned behind a rock, hoping to stay out of sight. It worked, he wasn't detected. The group walked into this vault and there was more screaming. This time, a burning mage came staggering out, flailing wildly and screaming. He made it ten feet, before darkness followed him and his screams ended. The sickening stench of burned flesh and spilled blood filled Miliekah's nostrils, along with the odor of Lacerta scales and seawater. Were he not already mad, he would have been gibbering from what he was witnessing.
When the Lacerta and human worshipers exited the vault, they had with them a simple wand. Miliekah's worst fears were realized. He was visible and tangible by the time more powerful mages responded to the battle. He knelt there as they arrived and asked him what did this. When he didn't answer they moved past him. Other mages arrived, "what did this, what did this" over and over again.
"Madness," he finally answered, "they mean to awaken it
" He stared off into space. Even in the rage filled and power hungry haze of his own megalomania, he would never consider doing something such as this. They were assembling what was needed to raise the Leviathan. "
soon."
Nothing helped shake off the sickness like killing. Sword had been doing just that. For the cult, for Arachnos, and sometimes for the enemies of Arachnos, Sword had been sneaking in and removing things that people wanted to hold on to. Like secret documents, powerful artifacts or sometimes important organs.
The names were getting bigger, the guards were getting more numerous with bigger guns, but without smell, sound or visual cue, Sword would slide past and directly to the target.
Thrust! The Soul Mage is impaled on his blade, grimacing as his heart stops beating. The guarding spirit turns to fight, to be met by a series of dark magic powered blows, then to be finished off by a repulsor beam supplied by the technocracy that dissipates the ectoplasmic entity in one shot. It happens like this a lot. With Longbow, there's a point where the running and the shooting happens. Once the first burst slams into Sword and he doesn't bleed, there's usually screaming and running, but the repulsor beam ends that with backbreaking force.
Sword is feeling stronger, more capable. He's regained use of some of his natural body control skills in addition to being able to perform the really necessary strikes. His body has become acclimatized to his surroundings, able to run, jump, heal and recover faster. All in all, it's the best Sword has felt in his life.
And then he lands on a roof. ((this really happened, I'm not making this up)) Three pale skinned human females lacking in heat signature sat on the roof with a large human standing watch. Sword landed to listen in, see if he could find out why they were there. Almost immediately he was detected ((and then warned later not to god mode before I even acted, oh the irony, seriously right after she detects the stalker behind her, I laughed till I cried.)) and instructed to drink saltwater.
"Go drink the water you!" The weakest of them still held a far more powerful aura then he. Though he was taken aback by their open hostility and lack of understanding of reptilians.
"I don't understand." Sword kept his distance, staring at them with his unblinking eyes.
They stood, the three of them, turning to face him with claws and fangs. "Let me drain him," one of them cooed. Sword turned toward that one curiously.
"Killing me is within your power, however, I do not believe you can drain me. You are welcome to try." Sword's hand went to the hilt of his Katana, and his other to the pommel of his newly acquired claymore.
"Get out of my HOME!" As one of them shouted and threatened, Sword stared at her.
"Your kind wishes war with mine?" Sword was genuinely confused by their stomping of their feet and hissing. Was he supposed to be afraid of them?
Seeing no more use in direct confrontation, Sword used his magic to melt into the night and disappear. He was more cautious in his approach the second time and listened in on their conversation, which seemed to be mostly about blood and sex and showering. As he continued to listen, Sword felt he was getting further away from understanding humans, not closer, so he leaped up onto the roof to announce himself again then made his escape into the night once and for all. (I swear to god I almost did the /me puts on his robe and wizard hat)
Leaf's house was boarded up, like he was expecting a storm. Sheriff Tanner got the keys from Mrs. Delany, who was selling the place. As he put the key in the lock he flashed back to her saying, "oddest thing, he didn't care how much he got for it, just wanted it sold quickly." The plastic was sealed over the windows to the house. That would make it a great deal of trouble for an old man like Leaf to unseal later.
"He must have been expecting some storm." Tanner mumbled as he turned the key. There was a hiss when he pulled at the door, but it didn't open immediately. He had to pull for a couple seconds before the weather stripping yielded and the door opened. The air inside smelled of office quality air conditioning and salt water. The place was immaculate.
Tanner stepped in and shut the door behind him. Noting that as soon as the light from the outside was cut off by the door, emergency lighting came on. The hardware store was selling these small emergency lights that detect when its dark and come on automatically. Many old folks kept a couple, but it looked like Leaf had evenly spaced them across the ceiling. That wasn't the only design change Leaf had made.
There were metal poles going from floor to ceiling, about four that the sheriff could see. At first glance it looked as if they belonged there, all neatly worked into the floor and ceiling. The doors were all reinforced as well, with New York style burglar blocks designed to keep people from kicking in your door. Tanner wondered why Leaf thought that he would need to secure interior doors, as he ran his fingers along a maple table in the sitting room.
"An old fashioned sitting room, no television even." Mike Tanner was commenting to himself, but the house groaned back anyway, unaware of the rhetorical nature of the comment, evidently. Mike looked at the windows, boarded up and sealed on the inside as well. There was fresh spackle and caulking on places along the wall as well. Reflexively, he stopped and listened. He could hear something like a hum coming from deeper inside the house.
The floorboards creaked under his weight, and his keys clanked on his leather belt as he moved toward a door at the back of the sitting room. He stopped and listened at the door, but the hum wasn't any louder. He could hear what he thought to be breathing though, faintly and not regular like human breathing, the rhythm was wrong somehow. The sheriff leaned away from the door and pulled his pistol from his holster as quietly as he could. Realizing that there would be no way he was getting through that door if it were locked, he took a couple steps over to the hall door and looked to see if there was another access to that room.
Down the hall there was a door open. He tried to think back to when he came in, and couldn't remember any doors being open except the one to the sitting room. His flashlight was in his other hand without him thinking about it and he was stalking down the hall, gun in front of him and a beam of light illuminating the hall where there was no emergency lighting.
He approached the open door, and peered into the dark room beyond it, then turned back down the hallway. There was a rug that stretched twelve feet down the hall and past this particular door. It wasn't disturbed and showed no signs of passage. Tanner moved to the end of the hall, where another boarded window marked the end of the line. None of the doors were open, but when checked, all were unlocked. There was a stairway in the hall, however, leading to the second story. Tanner shined a light up the steps and saw a couch in the hall at the top of the stairs.
There were several pictures hung along the stairwell and at the top. Tanner thought he saw a lamp behind the couch, and nothing else in the stairwell or hall beyond. Then he heard a creak. The safety was off his weapon with a "snap", and his finger moved from the trigger guard to the trigger. "Hello? Sheriff's department. If there's anyone up there you need to tell me now."
His words echoed off the walls. The creak returned, short and right about where Tanner was pointing his pistol. "Hello?" Tanner took a step forward and shined his light up the stairs, searching for anyone near the top. For whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to set one foot on those stairs. He could feel a presence up the steps. He could see a darkness taking over the light.
The sheriff shook his flashlight, thinking it might be the batteries, and panned it around more, but it just seemed to him the top of the stairs were getting dimmer. As if some approaching element of darkness were swallowing the beam of the flashlight. The creak returned, closer this time. Tanner held his pistol dead center of the stairwell. "Sheriff's department! If you dont want to get shot, I suggest you call out now!"
Silence. Creak. Silence. The sheriff could hear his own breathing and his own heart beating in his ears. Then
"Sheriff!"
BANG! A brass casing landed on the wooden floor, bouncing to a stop at the baseboard with hollow "ting"s along the way.
"The lab report came back and I think you're going to want to see this." Deputy Wall's voice came ringing clearly through the radio on the sheriff's belt.
"God damn it!" The sheriff put his flashlight under his arm for a moment as he turned down his radio then keyed the mic that was located on his left shoulder. "Yeah, Darren, I'm over at Leaf's place right now. Geeze you scared the crap out of me. I just put a hole in the old man's house."
"Oh, sorry. Did you want me to come up and file an ND report?" Darren's comment drew a small smile and look of annoyance from the sheriff.
"I'll file my own report, thank you. And it looks like I'll be up here later to patch a hole."
"Are you alright up there? Did you want me to come up?" Darren sounded unconcerned, but asking to be polite.
"No, I've got it, I'm just letting this be spookier than it is." Tanner shook his head at his own nervousness. "I should be back in about an hour."
"Alright, turn your radio down. I'm afraid after a while you'll start blaming me and I'll be fixing holes." He could hear Darren laughing through the radio.
"Don't worry, deputy, the only hole you'll need to fix is your pie hole, and I've got a lot of spare spackle for that. Tanner out." The flashlight found its way back into the sheriff's hand.
The flashlight made a "click" as the beam died out and it found its way back to his belt. The pistol took longer to get home, tarrying in trepidation of continuing the investigation.
[Nice Av, very nice. Love the atmosphere.]
Dennis rode the passenger elevator up from the warrens of the dig. The run had been productive in more ways than garnering artifacts; Dennis had gathered some items the Lacerta had left behind. Pieces of jade, rune-covered stones, an odd pneumatic armature of some sort. In all, he had about five pounds or so of odds and ends, weird things he'd never seen before but things that shone with silver or gems or unfamiliar technology that he'd grabbed off corpses in the Circle of Thorn complex or the Longbow he'd encountered. He'd surrendered the orichalcum object to Sword of Mu, but.. these things were his. And he intended to make some cash off them.
Whitedock, and Drentcliff. Two communities staked down on the tips of seamounts, nautical miles from Talos Island, Rhode Island. These two out of the way barrel-bottoms were where he was headed. Someone in the mine had said Whitedock had a thriving antique-buying subculture, so Dennis hoped to pawn these curios he now carried in a cast-off toolbox and use the cash to supply himself with better clothes and some booze. Sleepy seaside towns where nobody had any real connection to outside law enforcement and would part with some gelt for the odds and ends he'd brought back from the raid. Sleepy town, sleepy people, sleepy minds, nobody to raise any alarms.
As he passed the last group of dirty miners having lunch near the open mouth into the tunnels, he heard the same worker who'd pushed crates passed him the other day; the guy recognised him, and said to the man beside him, "Dat's the guy. He was down wit de mercs, skinny [censored] white boy. Why de bosses like him. What he do dat dey need? And he got dem eyes, really weird and glowin', bad voodoo dat. Dem eyes is evil, I tell ya."
Demise. That was the first time that name snagged in Dennis psyche. The first time a cool villain name became something for him to even think about. With the monikers taken by the mercs, and stylish Lacerta brood names being bandied all around him, 'Dennis' seemed beyond blase. 'The vessel of the Eye of Mu' was too long, and just didn't come out right.
Demise. Demise, with two eyes.... Demiise?
Yeah. Maybe.
Dennis came off the ferry to Whitedock, sniffing the salt air and rotting algae as he trudged down the rickety wood slats to the shore with the gaggle of miners looking to blow a few bucks in the small local bars. He looked like them, blended with them, but they gave him a wide berth, and he had the goggles on to hide the bloody glow emanating from his face. He asked a struggling elderly woman which way the pawn shop was, and followed where her gnarly finger pointed.
The bell over the door rang in Bobby Gunn's shop. The curio shop smelled of moldy paper and polished metal, with counters of glass harboring jewelry, old wedding rings sold by widowers and lost or hocked football championship bands from several small high schools scattered around the islands.
Bobby looked up from some magazine to see Dennis walk in. The welding goggles he wore struck the shop owner as odd, immediately. Bobby licked suddenly dry lips, h is body flushed with heat, his mind racing with the idea he was being robbed. But the man had a case, and as he closed the shop door it made a settling sound Bobby could easily associate with soft metals all lumped together. The .357 he kept close at hand prominent in his thoughts [though it hadn't been lifted in 3 years, and then only to try cleaning it], he said, "Hi, can I help ya?"
"Yeah." The case came open on the counter. The contents fascinated. "I wanna sell this stuff."
The proprietor paused a brief moment before gesturing for the case to be passed under the bars to his window. Dennis obliged. Bobby poured briefly over the collection of pendants, stones and metal cylinders. "Where did ya get this stuff," he said, voice hovering between a whisper and words muffled by saliva.
"The dig," Dennis replied without pause. "I'm a miner."
Bobby's eyes were still focused inside the case. "Good money there," Bobby asked by rote, his small talk for any customer and his mind on the precious metal laid out before him, and not really taking in anything else at present.
"Only when you pay me for this stuff," the stranger muttered.
Say as little as possible.
"Bobby's eyes came up. "You a welder?"
Yes
"Yeah."
"Three hundred bucks," Bobby announced without preamble. He leaned on an elbow on the counter. His hands were close to jump to the case and grab it, if the deal were done. He wanted to inventory this find as soon as possible, preferably preambled by this miner getting the hell out so he could jump to it.
Dennis paused only for a second. His happy surprise wasn't entirely evident. "Three fifty," he tried.
"Yep. Done" The case was grabbed away behind the low barred window right away. He reached to the unsecuerd strongbox and fished out the money, counting it in the customer's view. "Three fifty, there ya go. If you get any more of this, bring it my way!" he chirped.
Dennis took up the money, his hidden eyes rising up to the manager's face briefly before he turned and slipped out of the door. The bell tinkled his departure.
When the sidewalk outside his store was clear, Bobby Gunn opened the case at his desk and rifled through the treasure there. He took out several objects and laid them aside. Bundling them in a paper bag with some twine, he slid them into one of the hollowed books he kept on a shelf with some tax binders and inventory tallies. In several others was a decent supply of Superdyne ampules, the ones he had for sale.
The rest, he inventoried in those same books, described in detail as if the lighter load had been what he paid for, then, called the sheriff.
Bobby knew a few things about knick knacks. And these weren't knick knacks.
The sheriff moved away from the stairwell and back to the room with the open door. He shined the light inside what appeared to be a sewing room. It was the only room he'd seen so far that looked not entirely cleaned out. There was a full sized standup mirror in the corner, only the glass was missing and two small tables were pushed up against walls in the room. The only window was completely covered with it looked like a steel plate and more sealant. There were books open on the table and notepads with writing all over the exposed pages. There was a drawer open with pens and pencils and office supplies in it.
He walked over to the mirror and examined the parchment that was where one would suspect glass would be. It didn't appear like any paper he'd ever seen, rather a very thin leather with odd discolorations and cryptic symbols. He noticed that the notepad held notes that were similar to the symbols on the parchment and began reading.
"This will be the end of Whitedock. This event will remove all those who are not tainted by the Old Gods, leaving behind nothing but blood and foam. This will not be like Drentcliff."
"What do you mean, old man?" Tanner asked to the air. "What do you mean about Drentcliff?"
He thumbed back a couple of pages until he saw a heading titled "Drentcliff" and skimmed the page. One passage caught his eye.
"The first of them wasn't noticed. It wasn't until it was too late that strangers began showing up. They used the merchant's guild to organize and gather people to the cause, just as I fear they're using the neighborhood watch here. So far I think that Darren is the only one involved, the sheriff seems to dedicated and simple to pull off such a charade."
Tanner scratched his chin at that one, "simple and dedicated, yeah I guess I can't argue." Then he started to think about the implication. The town watch was somehow spreading the influence of an ancient cult? Leaf was really off. Darren couldn't be involved in anything like that, he grew up here. He knew these people. He'd never hurt them.
The rest of the book was a smattering of translations. "I'a Levrith, hail to the Leviathan. Mox eripio Levrith. Soon you will be free. From the ancient tongue to Latin to English is not perfect, but I believe that the original text indicates a desire to raise a great beast from the depths of the ocean. From what I can understand, it almost succeeded, but the beast required too many sacrifices, and only made it close to the surface. His very presence morphs man to sea creature and draws forth the very coral of the ocean as living creatures bent on the destruction of humanity."
Tanner stopped reading. "I've heard of those
they're real." He picked up several of the books and put them under his arm. Then he noticed that a corner of the wallpaper, though new, was loose. He reached over to smooth it back on, but first curiously peeked behind it. There were symbols painted onto the walls.
Noting that, he moved back out into the hallway, where the humming noise was louder. Down the hall to the door that lead to the basement it seemed slightly louder, but once he opened that door, he could hear it clearly. Odd that the basement door would have the same kind of doubled up weather stripping as the front, he noted. Once he arrived at the bottom of the steps, he could hear the engine that was making the humming noise he'd heard muffled by the house. He could also hear the ocean.
It seems leaf was somewhat of a survivalist, though in no way that the sheriff had ever seen. There was no water, no canned goods outside of what one might expect stocked in the basement, and no warm clothing. Instead, there were air tanks, a shark cage and several spear guns. Along with dive lights, a wetsuit and a raft, it appeared that Leaf was convinced his house was going to be washed out into the ocean. Then there was a grate that led out to the ocean itself, carved through the rock to a sea cave below. It was probably an old air shaft later used as a waste chute by the first family to build a house here. Leaf had rigged up some sort of mechanism involving a floater and chain to seal the grate with an iron hatch if, presumably if the water rose to a certain point.
There was an odd, smoky quality to the water that Tanner supposed might be linked to the lack of light beneath the water. As there was only a cave below. His reflection danced on the shifting plane below him and through the grate, which looked newly installed and sturdily built into the rock shaft. "Were you keeping something in or out?"
Bubbles rose to the surface of the water, and Tanner was reminded of the time on the boat instantly. His hand went to his pistol as he stared into the water. Another set of bubbles, Tanner didn't breath as they erupted from the surface, spreading his reflection to the corners of the shaft. His gun was out, pointed at the grate.
CHRREEEEK! The sound filled the room from behind him, causing him to spin around toward the generator. The engine had stopped, apparently running out of gas. "I'm out of this Stephen King funhouse." Tanner holstered his weapon and picked up the books he wanted to take with him.
Upon reaching the top of the steps he opened the door into the hall, then looked left to the stairs that went to the second floor. He just glanced, more because he knew he had to than anything else. He didn't want to, he just knew he had to. He had been dreading looking up those steps since halfway up from the basement. He was afraid he'd see someone standing on the stairs. He had pictured it in his mind and was worried that what he had pictured would come true. He'd come to the top of the basement stairs, look left and there'd be a form silhouetted in the stairwell.
When he got there, he snapped his head left, to prove to himself that there was nothing there. When no silhouette appeared, he started to look away. Then there was a slight glint from the wood on the stairs. Tanner found himself approaching the stairs, setting the books on one of them and pulling his flashlight. Six stairs up from the ground floor there was a tiny pool of liqiud on the stairs. Tanner pulled his pistol and started to look up, to where an infiltrator was holding his sword, poised to strike at Tanner's heart should he take notice of him.
"Whitedock one this is dispatch five oh four." The radio drew the sheriff's attention away, and he retreated two steps down the stairwell to answer it. This gave the infiltrator all the room he needed to get away.
"Go ahead dispatch."
"Sheriff, we have a call from Bobby Gunn's curiosity shop, regarding a suspicious character and maybe some stolen goods. I couldn't get a hold of deputy Wall."
Tanner looked puzzled, "you couldn't raise him on the radio?"
"No sheriff, I tried for about three minutes."
The sheriff shrugged, they're both supposed to be on call twenty four hours a day, but since there's only two of them for the whole community, sometimes things take you away from the radio for more than three minutes. "Well that's why there's two of us. Thanks dispatch."
Following that, he picked up the books and made his way out of Leaf's house, careful to lock up behind him, and uncertain why he was no longer curious about the house or the blood.
Bobby showed the tape to the sheriff. "Look here, he doesn't ever take them goggles off. Sure looks like he's trying to hide something to me. Brought these in." Bobby brought out the tray and showed the sheriff the remainder of the loot. The sheriff picked up a small figurine from the tray. It was of a crocodile looking creature, though without enough detail to fully get the feel for exactly what it was. The figurine felt cold in his hand, but it made him tingle like he had two cups of coffee in a row.
"Thanks, Bobby, if you remember anything else you call it in. I'm going to take this tray for evidence." The sheriff picked up the tray and carried it out of the door.
"Figured you would. Have a good one, sheriff." Bobby waved to Tanner as he turned back to his bookwork. Secretly he smiled on the inside for his find, and couldn't wait for the next special customer to come by so that he could make some more profit off the books. That's when he heard the voice that seemed to be coming from the bundle. "What? Who's there?"
Bobby moved to where the secret stash was kept, thinking he'd mistakenly put a cell phone or something in it. But what he had put there, was power. More power than Bobby Gunn was prepared to deal with.
On the street outside, Dennis was walking, head down through the town. That's when he saw Eugene. Black leather jacket, bald head, wild look in his eyes. As Dennis stopped, he noticed Eugene was not alone. There were some thugs loitering around, waiting for him.
"You don't fit in
no, no, not around here. So many nice people." Eugene made a motion as if he were tipping his hat at an old lady passing by. "Nice people. No, you don't belong. Or do you? Maybe you're here for the festival? Yes, you look like it. The festival. Maybe we'll make you the queen of the float! Oh, hey, I made a joke! The queen of the float, floaters, flotilla. Yes, yes, come along. Don't get squirrelly." Eugene turned his wild eye on Dennis as if to issue stern warning, then smiled and walked toward the heart of town, expecting Dennis to follow.
The mark of the cult was on Eugene, in more ways than one.
Darren was sitting in the sheriff's office when Tanner came back. The sheriff walked over to his desk with the books he'd gathered and the box of evidence. "They couldn't raise you on the radio."
Darren raised his left arm and looked down at his radio. "Oh, I thought it was quiet." With a slightly audible 'snap', the radio on his belt came to life. Though there wasn't any chatter to speak of aside from the hourly radio check to make sure the radio was still working.
"Mr. Gunn had a visitor from out of town." The sheriff explained.
Darren cocked an eyebrow from his bodybuilder/writing a report stance. "How
. curious."
Tanner shot back an annoyed glance. "Anyways."
"'Anyways' isn't a word."
"Sorry. Anyway, happy? I went down there and talked to him. Shouldn't be hard to spot, some guy in welding goggles. See if you cant sift through the teaming crowds and find him." The sheriff reached into his desk drawer and pulled out an industrial strength spotlamp.
Deputy Wall stood up and put on his jacket. "Where are you going?"
"Oh, the old man writes about this boathouse by the Cranston's, I'm going to go check it out." Tanner tucked one of the books under his arm.
"You sure you're ready for that?" Darren spoke unconsciously as he was putting his extra magazines into his belt from his desk drawer. Immediately he wished he hadn't said it and that look registered momentarily on his face.
"What do you mean by that crack?" Tanner paused and looked back at him, hefting the spotlamp.
"Nothing, I mean what with the other night, the kid and the prank. You know, and the ND at Leaf's house
I just thought maybe you'd want to relax a bit first. Let me check it out or something." Darren was quite an actor, but he didn't fool Tanner for a moment.
The sheriff smiled. "Aw, isn't that sweet, you're concerned for the old man. I feel like we should have a hug while the music swells. Thanks but I'll be alright. You just watch yourself with this stranger. Try and get a feel for him." The sheriff pointed at Darren with the spotlamp.
Darren smiled. "Yeah, alright you tough old bird. Just don't go overdoing it. If something doesn't seem right you call me. That's why you hired me, remember?"
"I don't know why I hired you. Nothing stupid." The sheriff opened the door as Darren loaded his gun from his desk.
"Nothing stupid." Darren smiled back.
Dennis settled at the lopsided table. He had a shot of whiskey in front of him, which he'd watched Eugene pour, then watched him take a swig from the bottle himself. The liquor probably wasn't poison, but the glass was dirty and Dennis felt his skin crawl. He looked at it with a pinched face as he brought it to his lips and tipped the shot back.
The voice of the Eye had been silent, and wasn't offering any advice.
The 'clubhouse' was typical of a biker hangout or meth/heroin shooting gallery. Small shack on a back alley, reached by a dirty pass-way between the cannery and a dockside warehouse. It could have been airlifted whole from the base of Fort Cerebus and dropped here. A low-watt light bulb hung over the outside of the door, and the interior was lit by similar insufficient lamps. Cig smoke filled the middle layer of air. And Dennis was tense. These guys might seem like psychos, but they were all hulking psychos. There was a palpable air of madness in this little hovel.
Dennis surveyed the ragged group from behind his goggles.
"So? What's this about a festival?"
"What? The what? Oh the festival. Hey, boys he wants to know what the 'festival' is." Eugene snickered and the rest started to laugh. Then Eugene got an annoyed look on his face. "Why are you laughing, you don't know either!" There was silence and a lot of people avoiding eye contact.
"So what were we talking about? Clouds? Oh, no, I remember. In two nights, we're going to have a party. You're the guest of honor. Take good care of you, yes, that's what I'm supposed to do. Big party. Just for you." Eugene locked his lighter in the on position and stabbed in into his burger, pushing it toward Dennis. The rendition of happy birthday that followed sounded as you would imagine a serial killer would sing it if he were chasing you through and underground sewer system with a butcher's knife.
Al, the biggest of the group, walked over to Denise and laid a small book in front of him. "We, um, we is sposed to have you read dis. It tells you about stuff and magic."
Eugene was twirling slowly about in his chair as he used his index fingers to conduct some invisible and mercifully inaudible orchestra. His head swayed back, and he noticed the book and Al's attempt to explain it.
"Thank you dolt, you can run along and see about the rope and chains I asked you to fetch. OH! And don't forget the slinky! It's vital to the ritual!" After Al left, Eugene leaned over toward Dennis without taking his eyes off the door and whispered. "It isn't really, but I accidentally stepped on my nephew's and killed it. I took it to the vet but they said they couldn't do anything for it."
A sad look came across Eugene's face as he turned toward Dennis. "I hope the little tike doesn't notice the difference. Oh, I should have done that myself, what if he comes back with one that has the wrong color fur."
Suddenly Eugene burst into laughter. "Oh, I'm so glad to make a new friend. You don't talk much though. You really should loosen up. Here, have another shot."
Dennis accepted the shot that was slid towards him, but didn't touch it. He was buzzed enough to enjoy it, but not so much that he didn't lose his sense of curiosity. He also didn't want to get so buzzed that these goons could take advantage of him and us him for their ritual. He was also experiencing a subsurface anger; was this lummox calling for a dog to sacrifice? That just didn't sit well with him, in some odd hypocritical way.
He gingerly took the book.
"So, does this book have your ritual in it? Show me the page," he slid it back toward Eugene, though not so far that his fingers left it. Something oddly.. attractive, about the book. It was as if the covering had a textured that his fingers enjoyed. There was no title or other writing on the front to tell him what it was, exactly, just a diagram or sigil, the kind that reminded him of a tattoo some gothic wannabe girl might have.
"And who told you to keep me safe?"
Miliekah looked out at the hallway filled with spirits, mages, behemoths, hoardlings and thorns. He had nearly 100 combatants there, ready to storm the dark hallway. The order was given and the stone moved aside. The spirits sailed into the blackness first, followed by the behemoths and their fiery auras.
They managed to exit the hall and enter a large chamber, much like a reverse pyramid before they had to split up. Several went into a small building that was home to a glowing crystal. Others went up steps and into other hallways. It took a while to find the reason theyd lost this hall.
Sword struck from the darkness, skewering the mage in charge of the small group that broke off down a corridor. As that scream raised their alertness, another scream from a small building. Reports began coming back that they were engaged on the fringes of the group, but no enemy had been spotted. Mages began sending spirits out to find the enemy, but they began slowly disappearing.
The Infiltrators did a good job of keeping the Circle off balance until Force Tech could arrive with re-enforcements. Slayer had suffered several major wounds, but he faded away into the darkness and withdrew from combat. Sword would not have fared as well, were it not for Overstrikes timely intervention. The circle, maddened by the death of their mage leader, swarmed him, and he nearly succumb to his wounds before red beams of death began slicing through the enemy.
A few of the mages noticed that battle had been joined by fire and ice mages, as well as several robots. They turned to try and flee, but Force Tech appeared in their midst and spun with a powerful fist, as well as activating his jamming device, which each of the mages found extremely irritating. Two were stunned, one ran.
The hoardlings tore at Force Tech as he pummeled their mages with his glowing red gloves. As the last went down, Force Tech felt a burst of healing energy from Wrath of Mu keep him from losing consciousness.
Miliekah watched the single, orange robed mage come up the hallway, bleeding from his left side, and his right totally caved in.
What are they? The blue robed mage called out.
They are Orenbregans! The orange robed mage moved toward Miliekah, but the order to reseal the tunnel had already been given.
Most disturbing news. Most disturbing. I will need a few more resources to deal with this. Were leaving. Miliekah turned and walked down a tunnel, flanked by his honor guard of two Behemoth Overlords and Velum.