The Cult of Mu

"Who told me? Why the voices told me. You don't hear them? Oh I know, that's cliché. It's what everyone says when they want to appear 'crazy' eh? But no, seriously, there are voices. Kind of like a deep murmuring in a strange language that my brain somehow interprets as 'go to Pork Oaks and kill this man' or 'go to Sharkshead and steal this item'. Odd, eh? That it would be that specific and not just something like 'murder Bill' has been something of a distressing revelation for me. Who are these voices? Why do they want the overflux capacitor? Why do they sound like they're mumbling underwater? How do I know what they're saying? It's as if there's something inside me that's foreign and strange to me. Ever have that feeling? Of course you haven't." Eugene held up a hand, then put it down on the book.

"Feels nice, eh? They have a library full of them. I'll show it to you sometime. I've read many a book in there, I 'ave. Gee, where did the cockney accent come from? Oh, and now it's gone. Goodbye little accent. Or, would that be a dialect? I hope it wasn't offended. Maybe it was a time traveling dialect and it was offended before I said that, that's why it left. Oh, the book! Where'd you get that? You're not supposed to have that! You're especially not supposed to read the passages on page two! Well, not out loud, not now at least. I didn't bring my slicker." Eugene grabbed the lapels of his jacket.

One of the gang members came over and sat down next to the Eye. "What the boss is trying to say, or maybe not to say, is that you're going to awaken a portal here. There's a creature you're going to summon, that will open a special portal through which a great champion will come. This champion is supposed to be a creature of the sea, like the others. Creeps me out, but then I like being on the winning side in times like these."

That's about when the door opened and the sheriff's deputy came walking in. "Afternoon, law abiding citizens." Everyone gave Darren a wide berth, and no one made any sudden moves. No one, except for Eugene.

"You'll never take me alive, copper!" With that Eugene snatched the table salt off of the bar and sprinkled it on his head and spun round in his chair chanting "Auntie Emm, Auntie Emm!"

Darren simply walked over to where the Eye was sitting and pulled up a chair. He reached down and turned down his radio. "So, you're new in town. Heard you went over and fenced some stuff at the curiosity shop." Darren leaned back in his chair. "What exactly were you thinking there?"

When Eugene mentioned voices, Dennis began the buildup of a low chuckle. It started way back in his throat, and stumbled forward, becoming louder. Eugene went on, and it wasn't until about after he started wondering where Dennis had gotten the book he'd handed him that the laugh had grown and was audible throughout the shack. It matched the shack, it fitted the shack, it bounced around inside the bowed wooden walls as if it belonged in that shack.

The Little Shack of Horrors.

"Voices!" Dennis suddenly said aloud, not apropos of where Eugene's minion was in explaining his boss' little diatribe. "I love the voices! The w-"

At that point, the deputy walked in.

The moment, despite its trappings of madness, was a stomach-drop from murder. Dennis went cold inside. There was enough of a lack of action by the scummy thugs to put Dennis even farther on alert than he'd already been. The booze was burning away from his consciousness as the uniformed man approached, wading through the assembly of madmen like he owned the place. Dennis understood, this was a dirty cop, dirty in a way that made an abattoir worker look like a flower girl.

Nonetheless, his presence was like a pail of thrown water. Dennis tensed. He was panicking in a quiet manner, because the Eye was totally silent and Dennis was feeling lost without it's constant egging on to cause death. He needed that encouragement right now.

Eugene's ridiculous display clinched it: this was a house of madness, alright.

He felt small, as he'd done many times before September, a skinny runt surrounded by big hulking powerhouses.

But, wait.. he'd survived September.

His jaw clenched.

OK, kids. I can play madman, too.

"I was thinking that the money flow in the fish tank isn't enough. I was thinking, dammit I need new clothes. Nice clothes, not standard gray lame polyester." He watched the deputy blanch with annoyance at reference to his own wear. "I was thinking that the stuff I find laying around me, it might be worth something to someone." He tilted his head, and his jaw clenched; his cheeks stood out like he had a walnut stuffed in each. "Is my stuff worth more to you? Because, you know, I can just bring it right to you, cut out the middle-man." Cut out, in a bad way; he might be paying a visit back to that shop some time soon. A final visit. "'Cause there's more stuff. I see a lot of stuff you wouldn't believe..."

His head hung tilted in the air before the deputy; the darkness of the green welding goggles lay flat on his face. Something seemed to be trying to leak its way out from under the edges. Nobody else inside the little shack was moving.

"Do you wanna see what I see?"

The boathouse was dark, and looked abandoned. The Cranstons didn't answer when sheriff Tanner knocked so he just went round back to the boathouse uninvited. When the door just swung open, he pulled his flashlight and nudged it the rest of the way forward. His hand didn't go to his pistol instinctively. Tanner found that odd enough that when he thought about it, he put his hand there, almost forcing himself to ignore the feeling of peace and belonging that washed over him when he walked inside.

The boathouse was actually an indoor dock, with a big garage style door that went down to the waterline. It butted right up against the rock face, with a door that led to a storage area between the boathouse and the rock itself. That door was ajar. Tanner stepped into the boathouse, pausing when he felt something beneath his shoe. There was a spent casing on the wood. He picked it up between his index finger and thumb on his right hand. The casing was still hot, and there were more of them. Five in all. They were the same caliber he used, and immediately he thought Darren might be in there, in trouble.

He called out, but there was no answer. He drew his pistol and went to take it off of safety, but it was already there. He walked toward the door in the back of the boathouse. Once his light illuminated the inside he could see that the storage area had some water skis, some netting, some floatation devices and a tunnel into the rock that stretched on as far as he could see.

The rest of the stuff in the storage area didn't make any difference all of a sudden. He found himself walking down the sandy tunnel in the darkness, his pistol at the ready and his flashlight illuminating the way in front of him. Some sixty feet down the tunnel, it opened up into a chamber from which you could hear the waves breaking on the rocks. There was an odd, green lichen that gave off enough light that he could see.

There were also two torches near the center of the cave, on either side of a large table. There were bookshelves behind the table. Two large, stone ramps worked their way up toward the top of the cave, with several openings in the rock along the way. A large book lay open on the table, facing him. He cautiously approached, stepping slowly into the sand as if to test that it would hold his weight.

"Don't!" Tanner spun round toward the entrance to the cave, his weapon brought to bear on an empty archway. Tunnel as far as the eye could see, no place for whoever said that to hide. The oddest thing was that the voice sounded familiar. WAS Darren here? "Darren!" His voice echoed off the cave walls but ultimately was unanswered.

He turned back toward the book, taking several more steps, until he could almost make out the symbols. They looked like the symbols he'd seen in Leaf's house. He read the first line like he were reading English. "You are he."

He repeated the line out loud as he stopped right above the book, with his flashlight hitting the pages. The paper reacted by starting to brown almost immediately. Tanner turned his flashlight off and put it in his belt, opting to use the ambient light of the torches and the lichen. Under that light, the ink seemed to stand out as if it were raised. The words almost seemed to glow.

"Would you like to learn how to read it?" Tanner's pistol fell to the floor. His legs went weak and he grabbed the table for support. The symbols on the page began to move of their own accord, as if they were writhing and spinning on the page. A strange darkness moved over him and he could hear speaking in another language.

He became suddenly aware that there were corpses in the room with him. Their fetid stench nearly overpowered him. He could also feel the presence of an unearthly cold surrounding him and inhabiting the cavern as if it filled it entirely.

Tanner's head was over the table, his face looking down into the book as the symbols twisted and writhed in some black ink that looked as if it may have been vomited forth by some great kraken. The inhuman words reached off of the parchment toward him, and as his strength failed him, he slowly lowered himself toward the book.

"Time to show the book what you know. What did the Old One tell you that day?" The voice brought back memories of Adam Venderson's remains staked to a rock in the ocean. That sickening smell returned and he opened his mouth to expel everything he'd eaten that morning, but nothing came out.

The sheriff felt vulnerable with his mouth open over the book. He just wanted whatever was going to come out to just come out. When it did, he wished it didn't. The overpowering smell of rotten fish filled the air as white, black, grey, milky white tentacles, fish, muscles and things he just couldn't identify came spilling out into the book. The pages eagerly accepted the refuse, as if they were just an illusion over a garbage can. It just kept coming up, and the sheriff could feel the strain taking its toll on his muscles.

When at last the regurgitation stopped, the sheriff collapsed to his knees, still holding the table. He could see the scaly leg of some kind of humanoid standing next to him. He could still smell, and now taste, the rotten fish and the dead flesh of humans. He could hear the tormented wails of tortured souls. He let go of the table and reached for his pistol.

"Ah, I see. Very good. You've done your job very well. You can go." As the voice spoke, he felt a strange splashing of liquid on the back of his neck and could suddenly move again. He stood quickly, taking in the cave around him. The book was turning pages without the creature touching it, as if it were trying to say something, and the creature was listening intently.

Three people, well, bodies, were in the room. They started shuffling toward him in the cloths they died or were buried in. He fired a round from his nine millimeter and backed toward the tunnel. A puff of dust was kicked up by the round, but they didn't stop. "No, no, no," the sheriff staggered back toward the cave entrance.

Suddenly he was passed by another person wearing a sheriff's jacket and holding a flashlight. A terrible fear arose in him that he was seeing himself headed toward the table. He couldn't help himself, he cried out "Don't!" The figure turned back toward him, and confirmed his fears. His heart froze solid and his legs began to fail him again. Tanner turned toward the tunnel and ran as fast as he could. He stumbled and pushed himself along the walls. He thought about the casings in the boathouse.

He resigned himself to not fire his weapon, to run instead. It was all important to him that he not fulfill the circle of time. If what he was seeing was time folding in on itself, he could surely break the evil spell or curse or whatever the hell had him in its grips if he just didn't fire his weapon.

When he reached the shed, he pulled himself through with both hands, suddenly noticing his weapon was in his holster and it was snapped. He couldn't hear shuffling down the tunnel anymore, and when he heard the door to the boathouse open, he thought everything might have been better. He thought that the nightmare was over and his psychosis had given him a respite so he could operate in the real world for a little bit.

The medieval helmet of an ancient warrior sat on the head of a skeletal figure, who's eyes burned with red light that seared his soul and tore at his resolve. The figure entered and drew forth a sword made of bone and ghostly light. Tanner unsnapped his holster and pulled free his pistol. He turned away, trying to steel himself, to stiffen his resolve not to fire.

Then, down the corridor to his right he could hear a terrible howl. As he looked, he could see the same burning eyes in a ghostly apparition flying out of the tunnel at him, shrieking. He closed his eyes. His breathing became nearly hyperventilating. He could feel the sweat on his face and soaking his clothes. He couldn't hear anything but his heartbeat and the shrieking. And then his instincts took over.

He raised his pistol and fired one shot down the tunnel, just to make sure it wasn't some sheet and flashlight. He then turned and fired six shots at the warrior, causing it to reel backward and fall on the slippery wood.

Tanner didn't have his pistol when he got to his H2. He turned and looked behind him. On the path to the boathouse, his pistol was just lying there. He scrambled back for it, scooping it up and shoving it into his holster. Once he was inside his vehicle, he got on the radio.

Darren leaned away from the table and looked around. "Look, this is a nice community of nice people, and you can't go fencing stuff that you 'found lying around'. People will start to get the impression that their stuff isn't safe, and that will cause all kinds of fuss. Fuss, isn't what this town needs right now. Calm is what this town needs right now. There's been a murder here recently, a little boy, maybe you heard."

Dennis had relaxed, but just a little. This was a 'don't cause no trouble talk', or was turning into one. "No, I hadn't heard," the goggled man replied, sounding unusually cool about such a tragedy, "Look, the crap I just sold isn't the kind of thing the old widows and drunken fishermen around here have laying around on their moss-covered family credenzas. It came from a subterranean hideout, belonging to the Circle of Thorns." He waited sourly for a response to that.

"Be that as it may… you make people nervous and my job is to make things go smoothly here." The deputy looked around the room to find Eugene dabbing bits of salt in his eyes to make them water. "I'm all sad clown about the little boy. Did he die horribly?"

Darren looked back to the stranger. "As to what you asked me earlier… no, I don't think I ever want to see what you see. But I'll tell you this, if you keep-"

"Darren! Darren, come in!" The sheriff's voice was loud enough to break through the banter.

"Yeah, sheriff, I'm at the dive Louis calls his- Eungh!" The knife blade penetrated deep into Darren's right shoulder from the front, as one of Eugene's henchmen lunged into him from the side, swinging his arm around to stab him. The blow knocked him over in his chair and Eugene was on his feet in an instant. So was Dennis; his hand flew to his goggles, ready to lift them in an instant.

"STOP! You fool! I didn't order you to kill him! Over there! All of you, into the corner at once. NOW! You do nothing, you say nothing, you just stand facing the wall." [passive mode] Eugene knelt down next to the deputy as the radio continued to blare on.

"Darren?!" The sheriff's voice could be heard over the radio, but Darren was busy grabbing his shoulder and going into shock. Dennis was bouncing on the balls of his feet, blood pumping with adrenalin, the voice of the Eye absent, teeth clenched, wondering what a row it would cause when this room was found, filled with dead men, and only one of them easily explainable....

Eugene looked at the wound and realized that it was likely going to be fatal. "Fools! You tried to ruin everything!"

"But boss, he was-"

"Shuttup!" Eugene summoned up his magical strength and targeted a man sitting in the dingy little drinking shack as he tried to get up and run. Dark fog erupted from the man's skin and crept along the floor, finally soaking into Darren. The man fell crumpled to the ground.

When the madman displayed his power, Dennis hesitated. It had simply never occurred to him that this might be a clutch of mutants or power-gangers, rather
than just another collection of the island's worst dregs. He'd been self-assured of being able to simply wipe them all out if it became convenient or worrisome; now, the entire stage had changed. And there was a cop dieing here, and his prints were all over the glass, all over the table... and, at least Eugene, was a meta....

Eugene grabbed the deputy and helped him up from behind. He called out to the minion that still held the blade. "Come here." As the minion complied and was only a few feet away on the wooden floor, near the makeshift bar, Eugene used Darren's hand to pull free the deputy's pistol and fire three shots into his minion's chest. The gang member looked shocked, before falling to the ground. Eugene made sure the walkie extension mic was keyed when the shots were fired.

"There, you just shot that man in self defense after he stabbed you nearly fatally. How do you feel?" Eugene cocked his head so he wasn't talking directly into Darren's ear.

"Feel sick, everything's hazy still. Ears ringing." Darren tried to get his feet under him.

"That's wonderful." With that, Eugene put his heel behind Darren's and pitched him into a nearby plank of wood laid over a barrel, and it smashed apart and then rolled away, respectively. Darren was out. He turned to Louis, who ran the little clubhouse from hell, and walked over to the bar.

Eugene leaned across the bar and said, "what just happened here?"

"The guy stabbed him, then you did something with the darkness and then you held him up and-"

"Wrong."

"Um, nothing?"

Eugene looked disgusted. "The sheriff and an aid car are going to be here any minute. You'll still be here. Nothing is your story? Seriously, and they call me crazy." Eugene waved his hands in the air for emphasis. "You saw the whole thing. The deputy there was questioning that man and this other man stabbed him. The deputy stumbled to his feet, and fired back, apparently killing his attacker. The excitement was too much for that old timer, who ran for the door and seemingly keeled over from a heart attack. Got it?"

"Not really."

"Well you'd better get it, and soon, or you may just have a heart attack as well."

"Actually, it's startin' to clear up for me some." Louis forced a smile.

When the gang leader said, "You'll still be here," Dennis was already gagging the distance to the door and the speed he thought he could muster to it. But Eugene looked at him as if to say, "You coming," and Dennis took a last look at the two sprawled figures before following without a sound.

Tanner was on his way, lights and sirens through town. He reloaded his pistol and pulled his shotgun from its case in the back.

As he walked in, the first thing he did was look around at the scene.

"What the hell happened here?" The sheriff asked, to no one in particular.

In an alley a few blocks away, Dennis was keeping up with the Eugene. At least someone had grabbed the book.

"I missed my boat," the goggle wearer was saying, "gonna stay in town for the night."

"Of course you are. Wouldn't want to miss the fun. We have a place," the large gang member offered.

"So.. we doing this ritual or what?" Dennis was already considering staying on the island to see through what Eugene had spoken of. He had the money, and no real ties to the Lacerta, as far as being on some time schedule was concerned. He felt suddenly, despite or, perhaps because of, going through the little bloody drama at the shack, that his dreams of being his own new man were finally crystallizing somehow. This wasn't some flunky's mission given to him by the murmurs of the Lacerta's gods; he'd stumbled onto this himself, hadn't he? Well, perhaps not; Eugene was one of them, sure as that old man back in the shack was stone cold dead. Had he been contacted because they were working for the same... cult?

"Oh, you in a hurry? Got someplace to go? Soon. Very very very soon. Almost now-" Eugene paused to hold his hand up as if waiting for a noise. "But not quite yet." He resumed walking and headed toward one of the only inns in Whitedock.

"The nice lady will see to your needs, should you have any. Just don't make trouble, we've already stabbed a deputy today." Eugene started up the path to the nice looking inn.

"Pssh, [censored]", was Dennis' response. As he hustled up the limestone walkway, he fixed the collar on the new tan oilcloth longcoat he'd gotten in town. He had a clean new shirt, and knee-length combat boots with badass laces all up the front that he'd found in a used clothing store. He felt like he needed a long hot shower.

Inside, Eugene showed him to the woman at the counter. That she was incredibly ordinary and middle aged made Dennis grin. He was given a room key, and glanced at the small bar that ran along the wall next to the lady's front desk. Unlike Louis' this looked like a mirror image, but one that had been built and polished and cared for for at least a full generation of owners and the users they'd known for years. Unlike Louis', yeah; at Louis', it looked like people got their souls sucked out and had fake heart attacks about once a week or so. And whoever was left at the bar at the time ate the bodies.

"Got any food? I'll take it, even if it's microwaved chicken fingers."

"I could make you some spaghetti, to go with the chicken. Um, fingers," the woman said meekly after a short pause.

"Sure," Dennis replied, going to the bar and grabbing one of the amber whiskey bottles by leaning across the bar surface. As he passed the inn keeper, he laid two twenty-dollar bills in front of her, and kept going.

As they climbed the stairs, he tried asking Eugene for the tome to have in his room overnight, but the gang leader looked at him flatly, and kept going, book in hand. Dennis just held up his hands in mock surrender. No need to cause trouble, when it was about to begin for someone else and Dennis would be helping.

He showered, ate, drank, and went to sleep. He never heard from the Eye, not once.

Darren was out of the doc's place within a couple hours and reporting back to duty. The sheriff was cruising around, looking for the stranger that whole time. He was wrestling with what he was going to do when he found the stranger, but luckily for him, he never did.

At one point, Tanner stopped his police vehicle near Sam's old garage, that closed down two years ago. He stepped out and went behind the garage and collapsed. He'd seen it in movies, people so racked with fear or pain or overcome by emotions that they just ball up. So he did it, but it didn't help. And so he just sat there for a few minutes, with it not helping, before he finally got up and got back in the H2.

There was no escape from the duality of his new life. There was no avoiding or evading the fact that things were changing forever. The question was how was he going to deal with it. He moved out of Paragon to avoid super powered bad guys, and now they were somehow intertwined with him, or maybe he brought them with him, if only in his head.

He drove home. There would be time to think of this later, now he needed some rest in a comfortable place. He just hoped the town didn't need a sheriff for a while.

"The ritual is moving ahead quickly," the Avatar said.

Yes. He has fallen in with the cell that the tome was given to. Sooner than expected, the Deep Ones will be able to feed.

"It is as you say," the towering Lacerta inclined his head. "But, how will your Vessel survive?"

The body is resilient enough, with my help. I will keep it intact for you to retrieve.

"I will send a boat, to be ready." Considering what was coming, the Avatar was skeptical but, kept this to himself. Could any human really survive...?

The mercenary group may be the best to man it, in case any of the townsfolk do escape. And, if the Deep Ones cannot keep their hunger totally in check.. It left the end of that unsaid.

"Yes, Eye of Mu." So, then, the Eye was also uncertain the ritual would be as spectacular or, perhaps not as controllable, as they hoped. The Avatar filed this away. Perhaps he should accompany the boat, to see it happen for himself?

What of the other research I commanded?

"The Circle's library did not contain the Libram of Faustus as we had hoped, but a clue to its whereabouts may have been found in their papers. However, I am loathe to send resources after it until after Whitedock.."

If I am not separated from this human host soon, the prediction will be manifest and the connection will become dangerous to break. My liberation should be one of your top priorities!

"The Vessel seems to be cooperative, though," the Avatar mused, "he did well infiltrating Arachnos for us. We would not have intercepted the orichalcum shipment without the intelligence he provided.."

Spawn! Do not dissemble! I must be freed from this fleshy shell, in all haste.

"We do not have a gem of sufficient size and purity to house you," the Avatar began cautiously, "and as was said, to create a blank living avatar will take us decades. By that time.."

I am aware of the time constraints. If I am not liberated by the next full moon, further efforts will be fruitless, unless..

"Unless the Tome of Faustus holds more than we know."

There was silence between them for a moment. Then obtaining it to discover what it holds just became far more important to you, the Eye pronounced, in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

"But, Great Eye of Mu, I am commanded to direct all attention to Whitedock, until it is finished. The dig continues only because the human miners can operate without our direct supervision for short times."

The silence came again, and with it, the chamber filled with the malice and impatience of the Eye, despite the lack of its physical presence. In the miasma of its malice, the Avatar stood, maintaining his composure. In the end, though, he dipped his head.

The silence went on, as the malice departed suddenly, and the Avatar stood, alone.

He turned and departed the Chamber of Visions, leaving the scrying pool and its now uninhabited waters splashing like a quiet comfort. The Lacerta leader was at a quandary: the Eye of Mu was becoming more demanding in it's communions with him while it's Vessel was away, and the Avatar already had his duties. The Eye was becoming more insistent and threatened to get in the way of what the Dark God had already commanded. The Eye was not the God, but it was powerful and perilous in its own right.

With more on his plate than he wanted, the Avatar of Mu returned to the rocky surface of the island, to breathe a bit of the salt air and clear his head for what was to come. It had all gotten a bit more complicated.

((alright, I'll write more))

The Avatar floated silently to the podium where he would speak to initiates and acolytes alike. He concentrated for a moment. Seconds later he lifted his head from his penitent stare at the podium and spoke, seemingly to no one. "I require that you lead an effort to find the Tome of Faustus."

"As always, I live to serve the Dark God and his avatar." The voice came from the shadows of the back of the room. "My minions and I will infiltrate the catacombs of the trespassers in search of the tome."

"Recently there were papers recovered in an attempt to find it. The Eye suggests that they will be usefull. You will need to use worshipers for this. Initiates, there may be casualties."

"Understood, my master." Dragon-Emperor nodded from the darkness and headed toward the library, where the papers would be kept.

Tanner laid his head down on his pillow for half a second when he heard Darren turn the page on a book. Immediately confused and alarmed, he started, nearly spilling his coffee cup off of his desk.

He was not in his room, he was in the sheriff's office. He was in his clothes, sitting in his chair. His coffee was steaming, and it was another dark, rainy night. He looked at Darren with befuddlement and alarm on his face.

"Sorry, I was trying not to wake you. I know it's been a long day, for me too." Darren raised up his arm which was still in a sling. The strap of the sling covered the actual wound, but because there was no blood stain, the sheriff surmised that he had changed uniforms. His comment suggested that it was the evening of the same day.

"No no no, I just… I thought I was… This is going to sound strange, but I thought I was at home. I must have had a dream, a real vivid dream about going home, taking my clothes off and going to bed. Then I woke up here." Tanner put his feet on the floor and slowly stood up.

"I've had that before. Just a real strong dream that I was doing something and then waking up thinking I was doing it, or that it happened. Freaks me out every time." Darren smiled as he picked up his report clipboard and used it to make a space on his desk for all the papers.

The sheriff ran his fingers over his face and through his hair in an effort to wake himself up. Then he took a sip of his coffee and made a face. "Man, I sure don't make any better coffee when I'm asleep." They both chuckled softly, then Tanner noticed a letter on his desk. "Hey, looks like this was wired in."

Tanner ripped open the envelope and took a look at the page of information inside. "Says here that they can't find your birth records at the hospital."

"Odd," remarked Darren, not looking up. "I'll go down there tomorrow and get it straightened out. Right now I want to go find that strange welder. I still have some questions to ask him."

"You want me to come with?" Tanner offered, half hoping to be turned down.

Darren smiled. "Oh hell, Mike, if I thought he was dangerous I wouldn't go like this. But I think he might know why that guy stabbed me."

"You think there's a connection?" The sheriff's metaphorical ears perked up.

"I think he might know something, but I don't think there's a direct connection. You know, one of those 'he doesn't know he holds the clues but I'm such an awesome detective I get him to tell me what's going on when he doesn't know himself' kind of deals". Darren raised an eyebrow in amazement as his own skills.

"Did you just use the word 'awesome', in a sentence?" Tanner shook his head. "I fell asleep in 2007 and woke up in the eighties."

Darren's face went blank. "It's not 2007." Tanner shot him a look that took a few seconds to burn off his outer venire.

"Don't [censored] with an old man, that's not nice." The sheriff, walked over to the sink and dumped out his coffee.

"Oh, come on. Hey, if you're still up, you can tell me what happened at the boathouse when I get back." Darren picked up his radio and slid it onto his belt with his off hand and made for the door.

"Right, right. Just call me if it looks crazy at all."

"Ten four. Get some rest." With that, Darren was gone into the rainy night.

[[And why wouldn't you want to? ]]

Dennis stalked through the soaking rain like he owned the town. After a breakfast of toasted Eggos and at least an eighth of what had been left in the whiskey bottle, he was feeling pretty good about himself. Confident, full of purpose, invulnerable. The sheeting water ran over him and it didn't bother him in the slightest now. Before, he would have been fussing over his hair in a metrosexual way, and thoroughly uncomfortable at the penetrating dampness and the chill. Now, though, his experience with drowning on his trip to see the Leviathan had burned out yet another long-held foible of his: a distaste for water and the ocean. Dennis was an incapable swimmer, and hated being in rain, except, now, it simply wasn't so bad. He wondered if he weren't becoming more reptilian thanks to his Fate, absorbing odd characteristics from the Lacerta with whom he'd fallen in, picking up their traits thanks to the Eye.

Nobody crossed his path as he walked with determination along the drenched main street, heading back toward the pawn shop on it's lonely side street. A few cars passed dully by him in the rain.

Dennis was pissed, and somebody was going to pay. This town would be a non-issue very very soon, and he intended to start the apocalypse a wee bit early for someone.

The bell over Bobby Gunn's door tinkled, and a gust of moist air flowed inside. The proprietor came out from his back room, having just slapped a book shut, laying it down on a pile of others so his personal Superadyne stash would not be found in case the Sheriff had come back to annoy him with more questions. He folded his sleeve down and sniffed, making his way back into the store proper.

And froze. The weird guy with the welding goggles was there, standing rather imperiously in the center of the customer area, dripping water into a wide pool on the floor. He'd gotten himself a nice oilskin longcoat and some other clothes with the money Bobby had given him, the store owner mused, but what really addled Bobby was that his .357 was several steps away, hidden in its spot under the counter.

"Can I help ya," Bobby began nervously, making steps toward where the gun lay.

The stranger didn't talk, he just kind of stood there, and Bobby actually sighed in relief as he made it to the counter top, laying his hands on it in casual indifference but actually jonesing to grab the gun just beneath, and thrust it at the guy through the bars that protected his area. He was safe now, the gun was right near his crotch, all he needed to do was grab it and point, and shoot, just like the Gunslinger in that Stephen King tale, kill with the mind...

"You talk too much, buddy." The stranger's voice cut through the patter of the rain like a knife. There was so much indifferent malice in it that Bobby's blood ran cold, colder than it ever had messing with Rage or Superadyne or anything else. "You talked to someone, and the sheriff came looking for me. Or, I mean, his deputy did." The guy's fists were clenching, but he stood there, not making any other moves. His complete lack of action unnerved Bobby even more than him lunging at the cage would have. Bobby Gunn forgot all pretense and reached for the gun, fumbling it for a second before bringing the huge revolver up and holding it with two hands, his bloodstream racing with his tiny jab of 'dyne, pointing through the bars at the guy. The stability of the two-handed grip, imitating what he'd seen on TV a thousand times, helped keep his hands from shaking. The 'dyne was making him feel like if he held the gun too firmly, it would snap in his grip.

"Get the hell out of here!" he kept the quaver out of his shout, mostly.

"You know, it's funny," the guy in the welder's goggles was saying, "the deputy, he's in on it. I know! Surprised ain't the word, you could have knocked me over with a feather." Darren? Gunn thought will alarm, In on what? Nonetheless this pronouncement and it's unknown meaning worked at Bobby almost to the point of distraction. There were so many things going on in this sleepy town to be in on, but Bobby, one of the most involved people in town, had never suspected...

"Hey," the stranger's blurt broke the shop owner's revelry, "is there anyone in town you know really well? You know, an old grandma or some tart you're banging? You really shoulda called them this morning, said hello." At this, the shop owner clicked back the hammer of the huge black gun. but it didn't bring any solace. The guy still wasn't moving, he was just standing there.

"You just shut the [censored] up and get the [censored] out of here! Or I'm gonna blow your head off!" Bobby wasn't maintaining his shooter's calm very well. The guy's placidness was just too much for him to bear.

"Blow my head off? Hm, I wonder how that would feel."

Bobby showed him.

The .357 thundered in the small shop. The muzzle flash lit the scene briefly, as Dennis' jaw was blasted away and he was spun around to his right by the impact. He gave a kind of gurgled shriek as half his face came off, splattering across the shelves behind him, and Bobby, his shooter, yelped in alarm at what he'd done. Dennis' impact on the floor included some odd material from the shelf and sounded awful and loud to Bobby. But the shop owner did the smart thing, he stood there, in a shaking panic with the gun still at the ready. the shop was really quiet for a few seconds, until real thunder rocked the area and lit the street outside the foggy windows.

A cyclical mewling sound was coming from the stranger, and Bobby strained to look downward from where he stood, but his view was blocked by the safety bars and the counter. That is, until the stranger stood upright.

The agony in Dennis' jaw was incredible, but in the scale of things for him, almost mundane. He reached up to shove the raw meat of the two halves of his lurid dangling jaw together, hoping to help the healing process along and make the pain stop. To see this happen, to watch the shattered bone and flesh meld back together, to see the swollen tongue flopping in open air and then, covered right back up, was too much for Bobby. The barrel of the gun dipped for a second.

The goggled man said wetly, "[censored]! That really did hurt, nice one dude." His lips were flecked with blood, and his teeth clenched. "Glad I ate before I came here."

Bobby made some formless sounds of shock, until Dennis raised his hands abruptly, as if he were surrendering, and went on, "I give up! But hey! Wanna see a neat trick?"

Bobby, feeling safe several yards back from the bars and holding a primed weapon, didn't answer.

With just a fingertip, Dennis began lifting his goggles.

"Wanna see, what I see?"

The storm outside was ramping up, and leaden sheets of water were blanketing the town beneath closing peals of thunder and staccato flashes. The forlorn shriek from Bobby Gunn's shop went largely unheard, even as a squad car drove by and the cry faded down to a simple, last breath..

Thunder pealed through the night sky and the windows lit up with lightning. Tanner reflexively grabbed for his pistol, almost as if he heard a shot in the distance, but it was just the rain. Still, he felt incredibly uneasy. He decided to go check on Darren.

Out in his H2, he called in on the radio. "Dispatch five oh four, this is Whitedock one, can you give me a position on Whitedock two?"

"Whitedock two is at the mill storage, Whitedock one, did you want me to try to raise him?" The dispatchers voice crackled back interrupting the steady beat of rain on the windows and roof.

"No, that's alright, I have it." On the Paragon PD, you didn't call someone who you feel might be in trouble. The call would only tip off the bad guy, you're already on your way to him. So he drove out to the mill, which was shut down for remodeling and retooling into a small furniture factory. There were six cars parked out in front of the warehouse, one of them was marked "Sheriff's Department".

"What the…" Every instinct he had was tingling that something was wrong. He killed the lights and slipped into neutral, killing the engine and rolling into the parking lot toward the darkest corner of the mill itself. There were machines lined up outside the factory, waiting to be installed, and he parked behind a line of them, got out and fetched the shotgun from his H2.

As quickly as possible, he darted across the lit areas and came up against the side of the warehouse. Tanner slid along the wall, as noiselessly as possible, until he heard voices inside. He looked over the six cars and saw Cranston's car, Brian Venderson's truck, a car he didn't recognize, and Alice Whistler who ran the neighborhood watch along with Mike Rooney who ran the merchant's guild in town. The recently vacated mill warehouse was not the usual meeting place of either the merchant's guild or the town watch.

"…not sure at all. Not everyone has a signet. I suppose I could just hand them out." Tanner didn't recognize the voice.

"Not yet, don't want to risk losing someone for some reason and not being able to get the signet back." That was Darren.

"You think that Mike is suspicious?" That was Mike Rooney.

"After the boathouse? Or the blasted incident at the sheriff's station? If you ask me, we'll be lucky if we don't foul up the ritual at this rate. There may be no reward at all for this." Brian Venderson's voice sounded strained, worried and stressed.

"The boathouse was necessary, I keep telling you. It wasn't my idea. You can take it up with the damned Avatar if you want, but I don't want to end up one of his walking dead, or worse yet, food for them. You tell him you don't like it." Cranston sounded cranky as usual, but the words were so sinister in context, that it went way beyond cranky. It was madness that they were planning.

"Look, it's just a matter of timing. This thing is supposed to happen tomorrow night, and you'll all get the rewards promised you. We just have to keep all the key players safe until then." Darren's voice again. "I've been through this before, as long as we're on the right side, everything will go just fine. You just don't want to be on the wrong side. So let's stop bickering and start doing what we need to…"

"Oh hey! Do you like surprises?" The voice Tanner didn't recognize interrupted Darren. "It's starting. Isn't that a lovely surprise?"

"What do you mean?" Darren's voice again.

"The vessel has taken a life. We have completed the first step. I can hear the voices telling me that the ritual is begun." The voice mused happily. "I love surprises."

"Damn it! Pass out the signets, everyone meet at the town square with everything we need. I'm going to get the sheriff." Darren's words completely confused Tanner.

"Get me? Get me for what? Oh, get me how?" He slid three shells off of the side of the shotgun and pushed them into the pipe with his thumb quietly as the doors to the warehouse opened and people got into their cars and drove toward the center of town.

"Eugene, go get the vessel and bring him to the site. No one else gets hurt." Darren slapped the leather coat wearing bald guy on the shoulder. Eugene stepped into the car driven by a large goon and sped away. Then Darren picked up his mic and Tanner turned his radio volume down even further.

"Sheriff, come in. Sheriff it's important." Darren stood at the door of his escalade, keying his shoulder mic.

"Yeah, important. Like what my deputy and several members of the town are doing meeting in the middle of nowhere to discuss a ritual and someone being killed." Tanner jacked a round into the shotgun.

"Oh crap." Darren raised his hand that wasn't in a sling. "Wow, I just don't see any way this doesn't look bad. Look, Mike, before you shoot me, I need your help."

"Yeah, Darren, I'm here for you, buddy." Tanner slid the butt of the shotgun into his shoulder and leaned forward as he started to squeeze the trigger.

"No, really. I'm serious. If you only overheard part of the conversation you don’t understand how dangerous this is going to get or who's on what side." Darren slowly turned around, taking his pistol out of his holster with two fingers from his off hand and dropping it on the ground.

"You're going to tell me though, cause we're partners." Mike Tanner's eyes narrowed, looking for any signs of trickery.

"Mike, I'm not wearing a vest. I can't with the shoulder injury. Could you please… I mean, do you mind… Or, or you could just keep the shotgun pointed at me." Darren hazarded a smile then just put his hand on the door. "Mike, we are partners. I understand completely why this looks bad. Truth be told that's why only the six of us who've seen what we've seen are talking about it at all. Frankly, with the way you've been feeling lately and with how jumpy you've been, I didn't want to bring you in on this because, well, because I didn't have any concrete proof of the crazy stuff I think I'm witnessing."

"What are you talking about?" Mike took his finger off the trigger and put it on the trigger guard.

"The dead rising from the grave, giant ships on the waves at night, creatures that I've never seen before. I know, I know it sounds insane which is why I didn't talk to anyone about it. But then Mike Rooney came to me, and then Brian and before you knew it there were a few of us all seeing and hearing the same thing. So maybe we're all crazy, but I was just on my way to get you.."

"Yeah, what did that mean?" Tanner gestured with the shotgun to emphasize the question.

"Oh god, Mike, are you that far gone?" Darren held up his hand and stood motionless for what seemed like ten minutes. Finally, the sheriff lowered the shotgun. "It meant I was coming to get you. It's going down now, whatever it is, it's going down now and we need you at the center of town. We're partners, just like you said and just like we were yesterday and the last year and before that. Nothing has much changed in that way. I swear, you're not going to come to any harm at my hands, alright?"

"These things you've seen, I think I've seen some similar stuff recently." Mike lowered the shotgun completely and started walking around to the passenger side of the Escalade. "You drive."

"I'm going to get my…"

"Just get your gun and let's go."

"Jesus, you scared the crap out of me. I was coming to you to make some sense out of this insanity and you started acting crazier than I thought I was." Darren holstered his weapon and started his vehicle.

"Yeah, it's been a hell of a week. I'm not certain the craziness is over, but I'm sure I want to see what's behind this crap." Tanner closed his door, laying the shotgun over his lap.

"Here, take this. From what we read in some of the old tomes like the ones Leaf had, these signets will protect you from certain types of evil creatures." There was a moment of silence, and some staring. "What? Look I thought we were past that 'this sounds crazy' thing. Do you want to be eaten by some creature or not?"

The sheriff took the signet and put it in his pocket.

"Good enough, just keep it with you." Darren placed his in his pocket as well and pulled out toward the center of the city, where Eugene was trying desperately to get the vessel before the ritual passed over them and they lost their optimal time.

Above, not that anyone could see save if they were looking straight up just when the lightning flashed, but there was a huge vortex forming over Whitedock. Wind and rain kept buffeting the small town, but the dark clouds were spiraling above them.

"DO YOU WANT TO BE EATEN BY SOME CREATURES, OR NOT!"

The shout startled Dennis awake. He shrieked for a second, an embarrassing shriek. Like a little girl, and he glanced around, realizing he was standing in the indented doorway of a coffee shop in the center of Whitedock's signature town. People were looking at him. he unfolded arms almost asleep with pins and needles.

He had been walking along the beach, down the packed dull sand toward crashing waves. It was still raining [in the dream], and the water felt like silk. He was almost laying in bed, the rain was so comfortable on his skin. But fresh wind rode up in his face, and he was walking into it, and the gray choppy sea wearing at the land, at land that would soon die, looked like a place he wanted to be.

The gray humps of the waves suddenly looked more solid as he came on, and he realized, there were creatures there, swimming along up into the shallows, their lower extremities humping along furiously and propelling them like they had rocket packs. He was reminded of Animal Channel footage of killer whales, running up close to the beach with their bellies sliding in the sand to grab young seals in their ivory-tusked jaws. Only the tall right-angle fins were above the sea, placid water suddenly erupting in toothy hungry death amid the small, sympathetically cute seals.

These humped things were similar in appearance and as Dennis felt [in his dream], similar in purpose. Their skin was definitely reminiscent of the orcas, dark and covered in a living sheen that didn't depend on the water. Their heads were like misplaced grouper heads, with distended jaws full of deep-sea carnivore dagger teeth. As they clawed their way erect, bursting from rising surf on two muscled legs, Dennis realized their hands were weird. They had big, fleshy, square meaty palms, but their fingers were simple needles, wait, actually, fins as the watcher saw more clearly, with fin material webbed between them. With thumbs, like a human. But they clenched spasmodically, like fingers, just the same, as the horde rushed up the beach.

As they closed, Dennis heard the shout, and it was the voice of the Eye, "Do you want to be eaten by some creatures, or not?" And it woke him, to where he was.

The sky had been dark for two days, so he couldn't tell what time it was. But he felt a calling, a need to find Eugene. He needed to see the bald head bobbing along through the crowd toward him. Then, he would feel better.

With this, Dennis became abruptly aware that the Eye was there, sitting quietly. Watching.

"Hey," he said aloud, "what are you doing? Where the [censored] have you been? What-"

We must find the Initiate, the Eye said, The moon is down, it is almost time to begin. Go.

Dennis found a path popping up in his mind. Suddenly no longer alone, he walked off the curb, and away, hands in his pockets.

"You've started early, and the pieces were not in place yet." Eugene stepped boldly from the shadows, his men with him. What could be anger played across his oddly shaped features, culminating in a wicked grin once they'd run through the gambit. "Delightful! I wish I'd thought of it myself! Hurry hurry, says the Avatar. You know how he gets. Or wait, maybe you don't know. But you look like you do, yes, I see that look on your face, and in your goggles."

Eugene quickly led Dennis away, toward the old well at the heart of Whitedock. The well had been compromised by seawater long ago, and wasn't much used except for wishing. There was probably a million dollars in pennies at the bottom, or perhaps washed out to sea. The inscription dedicated the well to the first sailors to settle on the island and try to make a trading post out of it. The plaque said that Drentcliff was occupied by an indigenous population not too friendly to outsiders when first discovered.

What it didn't say was that the catastrophe that befell Drentcliff took with it the last of the full blooded indigenous people. Now their blood was mixed, and less powerful. More would be needed. Of course this is just fine with the hungry ones.

On the Rogue Isles, the local security forces and even Arachnos noticed a sharp drop in coral creature presence. Mako himself noticed that his seabound creatures seemed to be streaming southeast, though he could resist the urge, because of how he came about, as opposed to them. The tide lowered an inch, but no one noticed that.

When the Escalade pulled into the town center, the others were gathered in a loose circle around the well, with Dennis standing uneasily in the center. Their backs were to the sheriff. Darren looked over at Mike, "how do you want to play this?"

"No advice?" Tanner cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

"You don't trust me exactly yet, not that I blame you at all. Any advice might seem like leading. I told you what I think. I think they're psychos that want to end the world. Unlike most psychos, however, they seem to be able to do some real damage on that scale, though, admittedly, I haven't seen them end the world yet." The deputy shrugged.

"We arrest them, if they look dangerous, we shoot them." Tanner removed the safety from his shotgun and then unsnapped his holster. Darren followed suit, grabbing his shotgun from the back and racking a round, then sliding in another from the reload strap on the stock.

Once they exited the vehicle and started toward the gathering, the Eye turned on Dennis. "I need you to do what your kind does best, cry out in pain!" With that, he wracked Dennis's body with agony, tearing at his mind in such a way that it felt like he were being burned alive. Simultaneously he lifted him in the air and made a dark light emanate from him.

"Stop! Freeze!" Tanner shouted out as they approached with their weapons trained on the cloaked figures. Darren had discarded his sling in the rain as they approached, now placing the shotgun butt almost directly against his shoulder wound.

Alice didn't turn, she just said in a low voice, "You're late. We were expecting you earlier." Then she went back to chanting.

"Place your hands on your heads and get on your knees!" Tanner shouted in his best command voice.

Rooney flipped a few fingers out from his cloak at Darren and the shotgun fell to the stone in front of him. BOOM! Mike Clooney's body fell forward as blood ran into the cobbled streets and poured toward the well, dripping down into the sea through a tiny drain around the base.

"Darren!" Tanner jacked another shotgun round as Darren seemed to snap out of it and reach for his pistol. In an instant he had his weapon trained on Cranston.

"D, do what the sheriff says!" He was obviously shaking.

"Darren are you alright? Are you hit?" Tanner kept switching his view from his deputy to the four remaining cloaked figures around the Eye, who was still levitating over the well and now twisting slowly.

"I don't know that you can count on me Sheriff." Darren took a step back and used his left hand to wipe the rain away from his eyes.

"You can't stop us!" Brian Venderson spun about with malice in his eyes and a small dagger in his hand. BOOM! He fell backward out of a cloud of blood and onto the side of the well, where he slumped into a sitting position and began breathing laboriously as the metal dagger clanked on the cobblestones. Another round was racked, and another plastic shell casing clattered at his feet, barely audible over the rain. The sea air was briefly permeated by the smell of gunpowder and blood, before the sea smell rushed in again.

"Don't move, unless I tell you!" Darren lowered his pistol and hooked his left thumb into his gunbelt.

The eye urged Dennis to cry out once more.

Cranston turned deliberately toward the sheriff, and the barrel of the shotgun turned toward him as Venderson sat dying up against the well.

"You think that thing scares me?" Cranston's face was twisted with rage and hatred. He'd never seen this side of him before. He knew the old man was trying to scare him, and it was working. Two people just went down from shotgun blasts at near point blank range, and here this old man was staring him right in the smoking barrel, unflinching. The blood was pooling up and draining into the tiny drains around the well, visible in the light of the streetlamps, even through the darkness.

Cranston stepped forward, and there was a strike of lightning on the church tower. Thunder tore through the sound of rain and breathing and when the steady rhythm of the rain fell upon them once more, the end of Tanner's barrel was adorned with a trail of smoke, and Cranston's cloak was turning dark in spots.

Cranston snarled and moved his foot forward again. Tanner cocked and fired his shotgun again, and the old man toppled backward onto the lip near Rooney, his blood mingling with that already flowing into the well.

Tanner racked again, as Karen Cranston turned to face him. She drew forth a dagger and took one step. Mike Tanner stopped being a sheriff, and started being a terrified man. He took a step back. He couldn't shoot her. "Karen, please god, no."

He pulled up the shotgun to try to bash her with it, and possibly knock the knife away, but as he lunged at her she sidestepped with incredible speed for a woman in her early seventies, and buried the knife to the hilt in his side. Tanner cried out, and Darren fired two shots that shattered on the cobblestones near them.

The sheriff's instincts took over. He'd been wounded and now another officer was firing his weapon. He pulled back and fired one shot into her chest. She turned, and staggered toward her husband and fell on him. Alice was the last figure to turn.

"Sheriff? Look out!" Darren's concern turned to him pointing his weapon at Alice, who was now drawing a knife and stepping toward him. One last rack, one last shot and Alice fell over the bodies of the others. His shotgun empty and smoldering, the sheriff grabbed his side and hissed through his teeth.

"Is it bad?" Darren asked.

"I'll live. That was some [censored] up [censored]. You didn't tell me they were involved directly. And how do we get the civilian down?" When Tanner turned to Darren, he saw the expression and demeanor change.

"Oh, that would be just one sacrifice away. I'm sorry, by the way, I didn't mean for her to stab you like that. Seriously, whatever else you think of me, I really am your friend." Darren was holding his pistol loosely in his right hand, as he walked toward the Eye.

"[censored]. So you ARE in on it? You're going to do this, this thing!?" Lightning slashed through the sky overhead and the sheriff could see the vortex forming in the sky for a brief second.

Darren stopped by the well, and turned to face the sheriff. "Why not?"

"You're a deputy."

"Just a job." He shrugged.

"They trusted you!"

"Like sheep." Darren spat.

"They're your people!"

"I was born in Drentcliff." As rage filled Darren's eyes, sheriff Tanner dropped his shotgun and pulled his pistol in one motion. Gunfire erupted between the two of them as lightning filled the sky. Flashes in the dark town square could be seen from the houses around the shops, were they not battening down for a squall.

Darren sat down on the edge of the well and dropped his weapon on the cobblestones.

Tanner held his chest, where the two bullets struck him, checking to see if either had penetrated the vest.

"I used… hollow points… sub sonic…" Darren pulled a magazine from his belt and tossed it toward him. Tanner didn't even look down, his pistol was trailing smoke through his sight picture now. A second later, he finally got it.

Tanner lowered his pistol. "It wasn't me, was it? It was always going to be you. That's why no vest. I'm somehow a centerpiece in your sick little show."

"I am the harbinger of the champion, I am the gateway of the old ones, I am the Eye of Mu!" Dennis's mouth was moving but it wasn't his voice. Red lightning was lancing out at the fallen bodies and forming a halo around him.

Tanner let four shots fly at the Eye, but they had no effect. Darren had one eyebrow raised when he looked back at his deputy. Standing there, in the rain, they shared a moment of understanding that Tanner knew it was futile, but he had to try. They even shared a moment of knowing that it was in Tanner's nature, and that this was perhaps why he was chosen. Finally, Darren spoke.

"You'd better… get going. Gonna get, ugly. Go home…. Wait… don't go outside." Darren's breathing was coming harder as dark stains spread across his uniform. When the sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out the sigil, then threw it to the ground, he held up his hand. "Don't…", but then fell backward into the well. Or did he deliberately lean back into the well?

Tanner stood there a moment, contemplating all this when the lightning struck the bodies and shot down into the well. The town square became bright red twice in two seconds. Then the bodies began to move, and it became clear to him again. Alice's body twitched and started to push itself up from the ground. He fired four shots into it, but there was no blood, just a white substance. The empty magazine hit the stones and he reloaded. That's why Darren wasn't here. That's why he leaned back into the well. He wasn't lying, he really was concerned about him.

Now the sigil was underneath Alice, or whatever Alice had become. And whatever Alice had become was moving toward him. His covered the distance across the cobblestones to the Escalade in seconds.

"Think, think! Can't go home. Darren expected me to have the sigil." The truck started tearing away and driving out of the square. He could see figures in the darkness moving toward the square, and he turned on his flashers and rolled down the window as he got close to them. "Go back inside! Board up your homes, or if you have a boat…"

Tanner stopped when he saw the face of the dead turn toward him. Behind him a large, reptilian creature that he had seen before, carrying a very evil looking wand. They weren't there to investigate the noise, they were there to celebrate the destruction of Whitedock. Tanner rolled up the window as the undead vomited an acidic substance on the door. There was a CRASH, into the back of the car, as something had slammed into it from the direction of the well. Metal creaked and glass broke as whatever it was began tearing through the back of the Escalade to get to Tanner.

The tires spun on the stones for a second until the vehicle was on its way and gone. Whatever it was fell off onto the stones just before he got to solid road. The rain and the wind now audible clearly through the back of the Escalade, he slipped and slid up the dark road with his lights flashing and his brights on. He could see something rising high above Whitedock out of the sea. At first, it looked as if the sea itself were coming up to swallow the island whole, but after a couple more flashes he could see it was an enormous, coral claw, some six hundred feet extended above sea level and still rising, like huge spires into the dark sky.

The truck skidded to a stop in front of Leaf's place. Tanner was in the back in a second, grabbing the first aid bag and then up to the front door and in. He slammed the door behind him and threw the bag on the floor. Once the door was secured, he unzipped the bag and started tearing open pressure bandages for his knife wound. Once his body armor was off, he could see the bruises, but noted that his armor did stop the rounds. He also put his armor back on when he had bandaged himself. Then he rechecked his pistol, as he sat on the floor, his back to the door, with the world coming to an end outside.

Back at the well, the Eye was doing his job. The portal opened to a world that the Avatar had never seen before. The screams of the tortured souls and the cries of the unfortunate poured through like a single wail of agony, as red lightning lanced into the nearby buildings, starting fires and blowing apart brick and boards and shattering glass.

The Champion of Mu stepped forth and knelt before the Avatar. "I have come to this world to serve the old ones."

The Avatar's expressionless, reptilian face bore no trace of his excitement. "Welcome Champion. Welcome."

The ocean rose around the island, as the spires of coral stretched high into the sky. Each was topped with a brilliant light, like a lighthouse, that would have been visible from a fair distance off, were it not for the typhoon like conditions. Each of the five spires, seemed to close together as they towered over Whitedock, as if crushing it in some evil grip.

Tanner could hear the alarm of Leaf's neighbors as the first few waves of water hit the outside of the houses. It became readily apparent that it was far too late to warn them or try to help them. He had been selfish. He had opted for survival, half afraid that any attempt by him to save anyone would result in his own death as well. As it was, he lacked the protection of the sigil. He'd seen things in Paragon that had proven to him beyond a doubt that these things really do matter.

He could hear the rescue mounting outside. Boats were being lashed together, neighbors were being rescued from their houses. Then there was screaming. Not the kind of screaming of a small girl falling into the ocean and people trying to rescue her, but the sounds of an animal attack.

The sounds continued for a while, far too long for Tanner's taste, and he thought of opening the half submerged door to try to help, when they stopped abruptly. He could tell from the silence that followed, and the screams seconds later, that whatever attacked the little girl had completely stunned the others into silence. There was only one voice in the background screaming "help her!". Probably, that was the mother.

Now there was pandemonium, as people's voices came from all directions around the house. They were simultaneously trying to assist each other and escape from the ocean and unknown horrors eating them.

The crashing sound of the ocean swelling over the house brought a welcome silence. Then the house began to creak under the strain of it all. Tanner pushed himself up and walked down the hallway at best speed. He shuffled down the steps and into the basement, closing the door behind him as he went. The floor grate had not flooded, despite his initial predictions. It was for this reason that he believed Leaf had anticipated the complete submergence of the house. He had used whatever means at his disposal to make the house as water and air tight as possible. However, there would quickly come a point where the whole house would come crashing down under the weight of the water.

That’s why Tanner was down there. He found the air tank and underwater light. He put on an inflatable jacket and took the raft and slung it over his back. His pistol went away into his holster, snapped into place as he took the spear gun. He was looking for a second flare when he heard the water start coming through the grate.

The sheriff remembered the hole he thought he put in the house with his pistol, thinking that everything could have been changed by one panicky moment. It stopped, though, just after filling the basement with an inch of saltwater. He moved to the grate to see if it could be opened and used as an escape hatch, should the house fall.
The grate had been locked down by four padlocks. A quick search did not turn up the keys in the immediate area. He did find some keys on the wall, but as he was trying the first one, he noticed Leaf had soldered the locks shut. "Why would you do that, old man?"

Tanner knelt there, getting wet and cold as the water flowed back into the bubbling grate. "Did you think people would be here? Did you want to protect yourself from using the grate in a moment of panic?" The sheriff grabbed a hammer from the tool bench and began smashing one of the locks. He hammered away for minutes until he finally got it to break off. The sounds of banging carried through the ocean beneath the grate and eventually attracted some attention.

The sheriff had just stared working on the second lock when he got some help. The head of a creature slammed into the grate from the other side, bending it in the middle and lifting it up slightly on the side without a lock. Tanner could see tentacles and a smooth head with a ridge as the water foamed around the grate. Mike jumped back and dropped the hammer, pulling his pistol free from its holster. The frothing and flailing stopped momentarily, as whatever it was looked out from its new grate helmet toward Tanner with a single, black eye. The creature was almost entirely white, except for that one eye.

Tanner fired three shots into the grate and the creature, causing it to roar as it tore more violently at the grate. As rounds fired off, and casings bounced off of shelves and boxes to come to a rest on the seawater dampened concrete near him, the sheriff did his best to remain calm. The instant the second lock was ripped off, that changed. He holstered his gun mentally counting four rounds left, and then prepped the spear gun.

A single, white arm came through the two bent sides and began bending the metal out of the way. The third lock snapped under the strain, as Tanner had taken up a new firing position on the bottom step. When the torso of the creature emerged from the once more overflowing grate, he let fly with his spear, striking it in the chest. The creature roared again and began pulling itself out of the grate. Tanner fled up the stairs, shutting the basement door and putting a chair against it.

As he reloaded the spear gun, he heard another huge creak throughout the house. He suspected that more water just covered the house. He could see water now seeping in everywhere. It trickled, then poured down the steps and had begun to bleed through the walls and cover the floor. He moved toward the converted family room, in the light of the emergency generator that evidently still functioned downstairs. The house continued to complain about its new environment.

As he reached the entryway to the living room, he heard something tearing at the front door. Then he heard a loud series of bangs from what would be the kitchen, followed by the sound of water pouring in. He knew the water carried with it some unspeakable horror, like the one locked in the basement. He slammed the door to the family room shut, locking it into place and hoping that the weather stripping would hold.

A roar came from the hall, and then there was something pounding and clawing at the door. He held up the spear gun, aware of how futile it might be, and how silly he'd feel if he were to panic and try to shoot through the door with such a thing. Sound was changing in the hall, and he was assuming this was because the air was being replaced by ocean. Soon it was a muted roar, that almost sounded like an angry sea. The pounding remained loud, until a single, powerful blow hit the door, and water began to spray in from the outline. Tanner was already knee deep in water and terrified.

The sheriff ran to the last door, opening and closing it behind him through the water. The tiny room that held all the information Leaf had accumulated had escaped flooding until the door was open, then the water came in and covered the floor, floating pages and academic debris to the top. The locks in this room were amazing, and he used them all, every one.

The house creaked and shifted again, and he heard a thump from somewhere else in the house, and the lights went out. The battery powered lights in this room were blue, he wasn't certain why.

The house moaned its inarticulate complaint about the water through its walls at Tanner, who cared deeply for the pain the house was suffering. The smashing of the family room door continued as water poured into the room, and in the tiny sewing room that the sheriff was hold up in, water seeped in through the ceiling, but not the walls or doors.

Tanner laughed. "You forgot about the ceiling old man. Damn good try though." He noticed he was shivering and stuttering slightly. There was a crash from the family room, and then the sound of pressure against that wall and door. There was no place left to go.

He could hear the clawing start on the door to the hall and the door to the family room at the same time. Water was now falling from the ceiling like rain, and had risen to near his waist. He set the spear gun on the desk nearby and started looking through everything for something useful. "You must have had a weapon or something. You planned for all of this, you must have known this might happen." Then he found it. A thirty eight revolver. Upon inspecting the weapon, he noticed it has a single round in the cylinder. "Aw [censored]. You did plan for this."

He stuffed the revolver inside his vest where it was snug against him and turned with the spear gun to face the two doors, best he could. The water had risen to chest level, and he began frantically glancing around the room, looking for anything else, anything he missed. He was open to any option at this point, spells of protection, sacred chicken foot, witch doctor head, but he was hoping for something obvious. What he found was an extra string to the overhead light.

At first he dismissed it. It's an old light, and they used to do odd things like that in the past, especially with custom built furniture. Then there was a creak from the ceiling, and Tanner knew that it was over. A huge piece came crashing in, bringing a steady stream of water, but not a huge hole, because that would have filled the room in seconds. Then the debris floated to the top. It was an air tank, attached to something in the ceiling by a black hose. The door to the family room came ajar with one solid punch, spraying seawater everywhere, but Tanner already had the mouthpiece in his mouth, and was ready to be submerged. He didn't want to be eaten however. He reached up, and grabbed both strings to the lamp and yanked as hard as he could. The sound of air rushing out filled his ears, then the sounds of creaking got so intense, he wondered how the house could make such a noise without falling apart. Then it did.

Tanner was completely submerged when the lamp shot up, dragging him by his left hand, as his right was fumbling for the spear gun. He was carried up through the wreckage of the second floor and through the roof into a completely black ocean. There was no light, there was only the muted sounds of creatures he'd never seen or heard of before. And as he rose toward the surface, he could feel them all around him.

His muscles and his stomach began to cramp, and his ears popped. He tried to move around, to try to shake it off, but the feeling only got worse. Then, the floatation device suddenly changed course. With the spear gun tethered to his wrist, he grabbed the underwater light, shining it in front of him. He found that he was being drug away by some large sea creature, that had grabbed the huge, rubber floater that Leaf had constructed. As he shined the light around in other directions, he could see the corpses of the town of Whitedock, mostly gnawed on, being devoured by these half men, half sea creature beasts. He turned off the light, and let go of the floatation device, instead opting to use his jacket. He used the light again to see if anything had noticed him, and found it had.

One such creature was still following him from the house. As best he could, he took aim with the spear gun and fired at it. Then he started tying the raft to his waist with the tow cord. The light tumbled from his hand, and he didn't see the effect of the spear gun on the creature, but as something brushed by him, his vest and the cable keeping the light on were sliced into.

He panicked and inflated the raft. He was yanked upward toward the lightning and the eerie blue lights at the top of the coral spires. He tried to reload the spear gun, but gave up under the conditions and instead pulled free his knife. It was seconds before he was to reach the surface when the creature caught him, grabbing and clawing at him from the darkness. He stabbed and pushed and kicked with all he had, but the creature had claws.

He could feel the sting of the creature's bite, right through his body armor, and he felt himself start to go numb. He punched some more, stabbing with his knife, which he had taken off of a Hellion years ago. The light was getting close, but the darkness overtook him before he broke the surface.

Crazy Eugene laughed with delight and glee as the ocean swelled up around them. The Avatar and everyone near him, completely dry somehow, while the town drowned and was ravaged by the children of the old ones. The thugs with Eugene began to panic.

"Boss, what's going on? How we gonna get out of here?" The biggest of them was obviously terrified.

"Get out? Oh no. Not today. You're not going to get out. We're all going to die! The only difference is that later, I'll be standing over your corpse wondering why I ever let you join my crew. AHAHAHAHAHA!" BANG!

Eugene's head turned left sharply and one eyeball bulged out of its socket as he fell to the ground. Then the ocean rushed in, and the thugs were drowned.

The Avatar stepped forward to the Eye. "You have served your purpose well, the ancient gods are pleased. I have already begun fulfilling your request. We can now turn all our attention to your needs. First, we must be someplace besides here."

With that, the Avatar used his magic to contact Force Tech, who began transporting all parties back to the temple from the submerged ruins of Whitedock. When Eugene was revived, he looked around and giggled. And then he giggled some more.

When the converging beams of power let Dennis go, he remained in the air, he could tell, under his own power. Another conduit had been opened in his neural pathways, and he could see it; it kept him aloft, and as the spirit of the Eye seemed a bit quiet [despite the irresistible resurgence it had hit him with merely moments ago], Dennis powered up the pathway himself. It was a good thing, too, as the ground around the well suddenly became swamped. Despite this being the highest tuft of ground in the general area, the foaming water that was covering the town had reached them here. The well wall was breached, and gave up its fight with a faint whuff. Strangely enough, the guy who'd been shot and had fallen in, that deputy from the ramshackle bar, had not floated to the surface with it.

Dennis wondered what had become of him. In the meantime, the Avatar had floated upward too, with a faint look of disgust on his reptilian features. The gang members with Eugene had begun freaking out, and with good cause; this was like the Perfect Storm, except on land. The land they happened to be standing on.

For whatever reason, Dennis felt the rage generated by the Eye taking him over subside; he was too fascinated by watching what was going on around him. It was too huge, monumental, a catastrophe that was so large it simply grabbed and held him, and immediately echoes of the Towers bobbed up to tinge the edges of his intake.

An entire house was charging up the road they'd come by, riding the incoming fatal tide, knocking the edges off buildings which had remained in place framing the street. The contact had been too much and the two walls had collapsed, creating a gate of sorts further damming any path back down.

A gunshot rang out below him. One of the gang members had blasted Eugene in the head. As the leader's corpse fell into the water to crown itself with a huge circle of chum, Dennis wondered if, like sharks, the scent would attract the Deep Ones.

The Avatar said something to him, but Dennis didn't really connect the dots. Once the Lacerta had left the ground the spell that had kept their circle of land almost dry was gone completely, as if someone had lifted an inverted cup from the bottom of a tub.

By now Dennis was fifty feet above where the land should have been, and he had his answer: pouring over the hillocks and tilted roofs with the water came the pale children. There was a horrible sound that came with them, growing when each one breached and lowering as they sunk again, a guttural sucking sound, and it caused panic in the thugs treading water below him. Several of them looked up at him pleadingly, grasping the air with hands, screaming for the floating man to help them, lift them up, but the pale forms swept over the scene. Like a pod of orcas crashing into one of seals, the slick forms curved up and over, and each man disappeared, sometimes leaving behind a clasping desperate hand in the air for a brief moment before being yanked under with such force that whitecaps flopped upward briefly behind them. Dennis knew somehow, that this scene was being played out all over the island.

Dennis could feel the Eye inside him, sunken and hidden again, reveling in this culmination and what was being seen.

The Avatar was below Dennis and slightly to the right. A vast upwelling of water flowed beneath them, a seiche wave humped across the island. Dennis had to rise a bit to keep ahead of it. The Avatar was talking to him but Dennis' attention was caught by a thrashing in the water, a Deep One grappling with a human.

Dennis was pissed, angry that the Eye had used him against his will once more. He felt particularly petulant. So he turned from the Avatar while the Lacerta was making his no-doubt grand pronouncement, and lifted his goggles.

The Deep One had it's wide muzzle buried in the waistline of some hapless sap. Dennis stared at him, and the lifeless dark bugged out eyes swiveled.

Fire filled the Deep One's head. The sensation of burning alive came to it, and instinctive alarm gave voice to its awful clogged-throat shriek and it dove. The human it had been gnawing on upended at the force of his attacker's departure. The man did a dead-man's float, bobbing there with his eyes open and unblinking, being washed over by gore-filled water. Dennis smiled. It looked like the deputy lacky had come up after all, for he could see the town's drab police uniform on the man below, stained dark where the huge shark-bite imprint had been left behind. "Good luck with the water, buddy," Dennis muttered, likely not heard over the sound around him. He was inwardly smug; he'd affected one of the Lacerta's minions. Something he thought the Eye would prevent. He filed this exciting information away for later.

By then, Dennis was grinning his petulant little grin and the Avatar's minions grabbed him from the air and reformed his molecules hundreds of nautical miles away.

There was a deep tranquility to death. It was something he hadn't expected. He spoke with his family, he slept in his bed, he even married that girl he let slip through his fingers in Paragon. He visited his funeral, a state event that no one participated, seeing as everyone he knew was dead. All good things come to an end, however.

Tanner was drowning. He woke up with a start, splashing around violently, terrified. He found the raft next to him in the ocean, and hauled himself into it. His legs and arms heavy, his torso, heavier still, he heaved himself out of the water with epic difficulties. Through sheer will, he expelled water he had taken into his lungs. He lay there, under the sun, shivering, until he passed out once more.

When he came to again, he was being hauled out of the ocean by a Coast Guard cutter. People were talking calmly. There were shouts, but they weren't hurried or desperate, just trying to be heard over a distance. The PA system was talking about him, he was pretty sure.

"Get him on the deck, get him to the gurney."

"Looks like blood, check for wounds."

"Where's the corpsman? Is he over there with the other one still? Get him over here, this one is worse off."

"Get his side arm. Watch his head. Watch his head."

Arms moved all around him and he felt his gun belt being slid off. "Wait, wait!" He began pushing gently on the arms around him. Then he turned violently left, and threw up on the deck. They tried to put him on the gurney but he refused. "Where's the doctor."

"This way sir, I'll help you." And with that, the fussing stopped, and one young man threw Tanner's right arm over his shoulder and started walking him toward a field of bodies covered with plastic on the deck of the ship. He knew what they were. He looked around at the reactions of the others. Military people weren't like other people. If anyone else were standing in a field of bodies, they'd be shocked, horrified, maybe unable to go on. Everyone was doing their job, and you had to look hard to see how it was wearing on them, especially when they were in motion.

They sat him down next to a door and handed him some bottled water. "Sir, I'm going to need you to start sipping on this very slowly. I know you're probably thirsty, but I need you to go slow. Do you understand me?"

"Tell the CMO that we have another survivor."

And he sat there, the waves going by, looking out at an ocean of wreckage, until he finally saw Whitedock, or what was left of it. The library, church, part of Leaf's house, not much else visible from that distance.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?"

"Sheriff Mike Tanner."

"Sheriff Tanner, are you injured?"

"I think I was attacked by some kind of creature in the ocean." Tanner knew exactly what attacked him, but in the daylight, it didn't seem real. Looking at this man who was all about what he could see, touch and hear, it seemed folly to try to explain."

"Sir. What happened to the town?"

"It was betrayed…" Tanner let the words just hang there for a moment. He felt them slide out of him like the evil he had seen there. He wanted to get free of it, to move past it and leave it behind him. Still, he realized that what he said may have been pithy and poetic, but it did no good to the young man half kneeling in front of him. So he made eye contact and finished his sentence. "… by the ocean. It just swallowed the whole thing."

The young man gave a glance back over his shoulder. "Sit tight, the doctor is on his way. We're going to take care of you."

Time passed and the doctor came by wanting to examine him. Tanner refused at first. "Give me just a moment." They started helping him out of his jacket and body armor. That's when they brought the other survivor over.

Wrapped in an orange blanket, a young boy was being led over to the sheriff. A young woman in uniform was guiding him, reassuring him all the way. "Thought you could use a friendly face."

Out from the blanket, the face of Jacob Roth stared at him, devoid of emotion. In one instant he saw Darren Wall, the man grown up. He saw another town of people he'd come to want to protect, not just because of his job but because they were good people. He saw dark meetings in abandoned warehouses and secret unions with people who held hearts so dark they could blot out the sun.

They removed his body armor, and something heavy fell in his lap. Without taking his eyes from the boy, he fished the revolver out of his lap, and stood in one motion. The CMO rushed to restrain Tanner, after seeing the extent of the bite beneath his armor, but he was shouldered aside.

As Tanner raised the revolver to the boy's forehead, the woman escorting him noticed, and tried to react, but there was no time for that. Jacob hissed defiantly at Tanner, as the young boy's pupils went wide enough to envelop his whole visible eye, making it black. A single shot rang out. The boy fell, lifeless to the deck. Tanner was wrestled down, screaming about demons, sea creatures and evil.

The next day, he was transported off the ship and put into the custody of the Paragon Police Department, who immediately transported him to Bell hospital. After that, he would be institutionalized, for the rest of his days.

As they took him off the dock, Leaf Johnson watched. After they loaded him into the ambulance, Leaf walked away, with a pocked full of feed for the pigeons, and a book about starting your own garden in the city.

Outside of the VG, I wasn't aware anyone was actually reading this.

[[It's nice, though. ]]

I've read a little. From time to time.

"Who are you?" Jack Milo stood from behind his desk, in the warehouse district of Sharkshead, sliding the chair across the wooden floor behind him. Two, large men in overcoats had entered his office, and he could tell from the desk light and the light on the pole outside, that they were massive, unmerciful types. "you're making a real mistake coming here."

"Now, why is it Tony, dat everyone always says something like that?" The first big bruiser stood a little to his right, to allow the second to flank him, and present an intimidating wall of thug to the warehouse manager. "I mean, we got in da car, we drove down here, we busted the back door, we walked up the steps. Do dey think that we is gonna just go 'oh, yeah, we didn't mean to be here, dis IS a mistake', and walk out?"

Tony started snickering, then put his mean face back on. "I dunno, Mike, I dunno."

Jack reached into his desk drawer, quickly snatching something up as both thugs pulled pistols and aimed them at him with an audible "clack" that only rang through the tiny warehouse office because of the absolute lack of competing sound. "Gentlemen." Jack held up the coin he had taken from the drawer. "Please, remain calm."

Mike slipped his pistol back into his jacket. "Oh, it isn't that we weren't calm dere, Mr. Milo, it's dat we was going to blow you away. I don't think either of us was going to get to excited about it."

"What is this about?" Jack raised one of his graying eyebrows in interest, looking over the men with fedoras and trench coats covering their relatively nice suits. He, just for a moment, envied them their uniform of fashion, him wearing clothing much closer to a college professor than an established business man. That was all going to change in the near future, though.

"It seems dat Vito Marcone doesn't take lightly to you borrowing money and not paying it back. It seems dat you told the runner you wouldn't be making de first payment, or any payments. Of course, Tony here says, 'dat don't sound smart, surely a smart looking guy like Jack wouldn't say dat'. So Vito asks us nicely to come down and see if you're out of your mind or not."

Jack breathed in deeply, and a look of regret and resignation crossed his face. "Oh, I see. Vito didn't get the message I sent him. Unfortunate. Probably just crossed in the mail."

Mike smiled and looked back at Tony. "Yeah, probably just crossed in the mail. So if you wanna give me da package, I'll make sure he gets your apology too." Mike held his hand out expectantly.

"Oh, no, no, no, you don't understand." As Jack shook his head, Mike's hand retracted and his face registered confusion. Jack continued, "I'm not going to be handing any of that money back."

Mike sighed. "Look, Jack, I don't want to do anything dats gonna be painful for you, just like you don't want me to do anything dats gonna be painful for you, so why don't you…"

"Take your best shot you pansy." Jack's words were spoken with clarity and conviction, despite the fact that Mike was twice his size and thirty years younger.

Outside of the warehouse it was quiet and relatively peaceful by the dock. The only sounds were that of the center of the city in the distance, and the water lapping up against the concrete. The silence, the window, Jack's ribs, all shattered simultaneously as Jack went flying down to the pavement a story below. The coin clutched in his hand, however, remained unbloodied.

Mike leaned out the window and fired a round into Jack's back, right below his left shoulder. Jack didn't feel it, though, as he was unconscious. He came to as the two thugs were walking out of the office and heading down the stairs to, presumably, finish the job. He looked at the coin with his good eye, blood dripping from the right side of his face. "Figures," he said, pushing the coin up against his bloodied face and feeling the tingle of magic activate. He started crawling toward the water.

Tony and Mike walked out after him, taking their time. Their shoes crunched the broken glass beneath their weight as they easily caught up to Jack.

"I'm just saying, it's a quiet night. Someone's bound to hear dis." Tony shrugged his shoulders, trying to indicate he wasn't invested in the conversation past just making small talk.

"So what if dey do? Who cares? What are you afraid of, Scrapyarders?" Mike crouched down and leaned his right hand on his knee. He still held the pistol in his right hand. "Hey, Jack, in case you didn't get Vito's message, he's a little displeased with your answer dere, and would like me to convey his… um…"

"Disappointment," Tony offered.

Mike smiled up at him. "Dis is why I bring you along over Mario." Mike smacked Jack on the leg lightly with the barrel of his gun while pointing back over his shoulder to Tony. "You see dis? Dis is what I'm talking about. Not only does he have my back with weapons, but with words. Dat's the mark of a good partner."

"Right." Jack's breath was raspy and uneven, forced at times as he scraped along the concrete, pulling himself within mere feet of the drop off into the water.

Mike stood up and looked back at Tony, indicating Jack with his pistol. Tony shrugged. "Maybe he's gonna grow gills."

Mike laughed. "You gonna grow gills Jack? Is dat what you're gonna do?" Mike looked back to Tony and laughed, then turned back to Jack and aimed. "Let me help you out, I'll give you a blowhole." Another flash emanated from the dock area, and another shot rang out. The fabric of Jack's corduroy jacked released some dust around where the bullet struck. Jack arched his back and started breathing very strangely. His left hand, previously outstretched, pulled back along his side, and then slid forward until it could reach no further. The coin rolled from his hand and off the edge, making a splash into the water.

"Make a wish, Jack. Make a wish." Five more bullets slammed into Jack's body from Mike's gun as the goon taunted him. Tony and Mike laughed for a bit afterward, then Mike put his pistol back in his holster. "Come on, let's get going."

As they turned away and started to walk back to their Lincoln, Tony shrugged, "you wanna just leave im dere?"

"Yeah, it'll be good for morale, when they come back. Besides, it's not like dere's cops here. Dat's what I love about dis place." Mike smiled.

Behind them, something reached out of the water and pulled Jack's body in with a splash. Both goons spun instantly. They looked at each other, and not seeing Jack's body, they both pulled their pistols. As they ran back toward the water, Mike was pulling a new magazine from his pocket and reloading.

"Dere is no way he pulled himself into the water." Tony stared over the edge in disbelief.

"No, no way. I put like seven rounds in him. Even if he did, dere's no way he's gonna survive. Dat water is cold and dirty." Mike agreed, and they stared into the water in silence for a second.

Mike spoke first. "Still, if Vito don't see a body… go get the flashlight from da car."

Before Tony could move, something broke the surface of the water, sending a spray up that splashed over the two goons. They both recoiled instinctively, but came back in an aggressive stance, ready to fire. Standing there before them, was an eight foot tall, black and red reptilian. His head was crowned with horns that started black and ended in deep crimson. He wore some kind of vestment, long ago ripped to shreds by battle and elements, that now clung loosely to his torso. He bore the magical tattoos of the Mu priesthood and he was currently crackling with the red lightning of the ancient Orenbregan magic.

There were more flashes on the dock, at intermittent intervals from both Tony and Mike as they backed up and fired. Champion of Mu shrugged off the barrage, then instantly closed the distance with Tony, putting a palm firmly in his chest and releasing a bolt of energy strong enough to stop his heart and send him flying backward into the dustbin.

Mike furiously reloaded his pistol again, determined to make a go of it, as he walked backward. Champion drew summoned up his energy and leaped high into the air. Bullets slammed into his charged armor, exploding and rolling off of his scales in smoldering fragments. When he landed it was as if lightning had struck Mike, with a baseball bat. The concussive force, combined with the muscle rending bolt of electricity threw Mike into the side of the warehouse so hard that he knocked free the sheet metal shingle that he landed on and then fell lifeless to the ground. His pistol never left his clenched hand, even when the last traces of crimson electricity caused his body to spasm as it rippled over him.

Champion unfurled his smoldering wings and watched the red lightning dance down them, before turning seaward and taking flight.

"You just don't understand. That's all, you just don't understand." Tony grimaced. He was used to hearing this kind of talk, but in a pleading tone, not a condescending tone. When you have someone tied to a chair, and you're holding a ten pound hammer in your hand, usually there's more pleading. "Oh, I don't know why I bothered coming here," Eugene breathed out in resignation.

This comment drew laughter from Mario and Vinnie, and the little guy, Carl, in the back of the warehouse office. Eugene shook his head. Normally he'd put his hands to his face in a situation like this, but he was tied to a chair and about to be tortured.

Tony smacked the hammer into one of his meaty hands and began to talk. "Look, youz, if you don't start answerin de questions, I'm gonna start smashin you up."

"Oh, I have to warn you, I sing polkas when I'm being tortured. It just sort of relieves the tension." Eugene made eye contact for a brief moment with Tony, to let him know he was serious.

"You get tortured a lot?" Tony asked out of genuine curiosity.

"Oh yeah. Hacksaws, blowtorches, super powers, heck some even try to read my mind… poor girl. I wonder how she's doing?" As Eugene drifted off into ponderous wonderment, Tony looked back at Mario and Vinnie and smiled. With one loud "smack", Tony broke every bone in Eugene's foot.

Crazy Eugene inhaled sharply at the pain and paused for a second. The room went quiet. Then Eugene let out a terrible noise. "There's a garden, WHAT a garden! Where happy faces bloom there! And there's never any room for a worry or a goom!" It was a polka.

Tony's face contorted with confusion and amusement. This time, when he looked back at Vinnie and Mario, there was only shock. Eugene swung his head from side to side while singing, to keep tempo. Tony smashed down on the other foot, then the shin, then the knee, but Eugene kept singing. Mario started to tap his foot a little bit, but Vinnie grabbed him by the arm and shook his head.

"What, it's kind of catchy," Mario whispered.

Tony looked back at them. "You guys want some too?"

"We're sorry Tony. Don't disturb the man when he's working Mario." The last was accompanied by a chastising smack on the arm.

Mario looked remorseful. "I'm sorry, Tony. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Tony's anger had gotten the better of him. He turned toward Eugene and started to shout. "Shut up! Shut up already!" With one solid smack of the hammer against Eugene's head, the chair fell over.

"Oh, we're going to get right to it now!" Eugene sounded excited as he broke into the fourth chorus.

Tony began pounding him on the head with the hammer, until blood sprayed up and covered his face with tiny dots. Finally it was silent. The two thugs outside quietly settled up their bet by exchanging a twenty. Then the room went completely black. The two guards lifted their Tommy guns toward the door into the warehouse office.

There were shouts of alarm, then a call for quiet from Tony. Then red light, like lightning, danced through the room behind the smoked glass. One guard dropped his Tommy gun and ran. The other took two steps back. "Tony!? Mario?!" There were the sounds of screams inside, and breaking furniture. Then a single shot lit up the smoked glass and put a hole in the window of the office door. There were more screams. Terrible, high pitched screams inside the office, until finally there was nothing but silence, and the red electricity.

The guard opened up with his gun, shattering the glass with thirty rounds of forty five caliber ammo. Casings began piling up on the floor to his right as smoke started to trail from the barrel and the ejection port. The smoked glass shattered and came raining down as pictures fell from the wall, and pencils and papers exploded off of the desk and cabinets.

Huge, smoldering wings carried Champion through the remainder of the window, smashing wood framework to splinters as his red and black body came flying out into the guard.

From the car, the other guard could hear the screams, as the energy coursed through his companion, burning him from the inside out. Tires squealed down mostly empty streets in Port Oaks, as the thug raced away from the scene, and toward the relative safety of the mob boss headquarters.

Eugene walked out of the warehouse office, rubbing his wrists. Three thugs, one of them holding a hacksaw, stood behind him. "I just don't think we're getting through to these guys. Maybe I should look meaner."

Champion dropped the charred corpse he was holding and turned back to him. "When do I get a real challenge?"

Eugene quirked an eyebrow. "Soon, my very tall and pointy friend. Very soon indeed."

Mako held the Freak Tank by the leg over the pool of sharks he kept in his lair. "Disappointing." The Tank screamed as he splashed into the pool and the sharks began tearing at him, pulling off his mechanical parts to get to the fleshy bits. A red light came on near Mako, and he turned his mostly Shark head toward the screen on the wall.

Lord Recluse himself was talking to him. Lots of talking. It all boiled down to Sharkhead isle was experiencing a disturbance that required Mako's personal attention. Mako ended the screaming of the Freakshow Tank himself, on his way out to the caverns.

When Mako arrived, he found scrapyarders standing outside of the tunnels near the Pit. The whole island was experiencing tiny tremors every now and again. He rose out of the water and entered the caves as people pointed and stared. No one calls Mako unless someone is seriously going to get torn apart.

The first thing he encountered were Arachnos guards. Slaughtered. Maybe thirty of them, the caves were painted in their blood. Then the machines. They were in pieces throughout the caves. Some scrapyarder bodies were among them, as if they were trying to fight them off. Some of the Scrapyarders had a strange mark on their chest, just below the neck that looked like an octopus.

In the first, large chamber, he found the Coralax intermingled with Arachnos troops. Biting, stabbing and shooting, the Coralax Hybrids were not giving ground to the Arachnos assault, and several Arachnos soldiers were walking away with wounds and poison that they would likely not survive.

"Captain, we've tried to breach their defenses. I sent in a commando team through one of the breaks in their lines, but I haven't heard back from them. They went down that tunnel there!" The Arachnos soldier reported to Mako, who sneered and pushed past him toward the tunnel indicated.

With one hop he leaped over the lines and disappeared into the tunnel. He was not pursued. The darkness was familiar to him. The caves smelled of the ocean and of blood. When the cave was mostly filled with water, he slipped into the dark ocean and sped along the now coral walls. He emerged to find a flare in a dank cavern. The coral reflected the red light. There were three Arachnos commandos there. One dead, his entrails sprawling toward the only other exit. One holding his arm and shivering on the floor, and one just sitting on an outcropping of rock.

"Report." He stood in front of the commando who was sitting. The commando looked up at him, but said nothing. "Report!" He repeated himself, yelling at the commando.

"They're impossible. Merulina. Merulina. They can't exist." Mako took a step back, then turned toward the tunnel. He found the others, slashed to ribbons and being fed upon by creatures that looked like they hadn't seen shallow water in millennia. He eyed them for a moment, before being confident he could move past them without being attacked. They shambled about, sucking the marrow from the dead commando's bones and snapping their gear with their powerful teeth. The hallway reeked of their fetid smell. Captain Mako was not daunted, but he was well aware of the limitations of his human counterparts.

He pushed on until he heard the sound of rushing water and chanting. When he arrived at the mouth of the cave, he saw the Coralax Hybrids ringing the outside of the massive cavern and the opposing wall was constructed of the parted lips and teeth of the Leviathan.

Virtae swayed in the pools of water that had collected in the caverns as they chanted in a mystical language. Up near the top, strange reptilian creatures were offering a mob figure to the jaws of the Leviathan.

Near him, a human woman, bearing the same octopus like mark stepped forward surrounded by her droid slaves. "Ah, Captain Mako, so glad you could make it. You're just in time. We even saved you a seat."

"Arachnos sent me to stop you." Mako's posture changed, expecting a fight, but the nearby Coralax parted instead.

Professor Eviella smiled at him. "Now why on Earth, would you want to do that?" She looked back at the sacrifice in progress. The Avatar of Mu crushing the young thug against the Leviathan's teeth, the dark red blood looking for an opening. "You're about to get a huge promotion."

Above, Sharkhead Isle began to tremble. Small quakes at first, then growing in size. Soon, it became one solid quake. Pipes began to burst, and fall away. Every villain capable of flight quickly took to the air. Arbiters called for assistance over the radio. The ferry made its way away from the dock, and several small submarines closed their hatches and pushed off.

Large pipes broke away from their restraints and came crashing down. The alarm in the Pit was sounding and Scrapyarders were quickly moving out to find higher ground. One or two buildings collapsed. The Black Market closed it's doors and started heading toward the dock. Arachnos flyers were dispatched to pick up troops stranded inside the fortress. Cracks began appearing in the ground.

Below, Mako stood next to the Avatar of Mu. "You're really going to awaken it?"

"Oh yes. And then we will feed it." The Avatar looked over at Mako, who smiled a toothy smile.

The tankers detached themselves from the docks and made their best efforts to get away from the island. The waves were already dangerous. One tanker came smashing back into the dock and started taking on water. A crane fell, smashing the bow of the ship under the waves temporarily, and that was to be the end of it.

The ferry dock was crowded with those seeking refuge. Parts of the cemetery were falling into the ocean. Buildings were now collapsing, and the smoke stacks were in going down in freefall mode. Waves crashed up onto the shore higher than they'd seen in any storm.

Down below, water began flooding the caves. The Arachnos troops tried to get out, but most were drowned or eaten by the creatures that were flooding in to see the Leviathan come to life. Soon, the chamber that housed the Avatar and Mako was completely submerged, and Professor Eviella and Overstrike were wearing their breathing gear. The rest of the Cult of Mu were unaffected by the lack of air. They actually preferred the water.

As the Leviathan began shaking free of its sedentary prison, the Avatar instructed all the weaker members to leave for safer ground. The underwater cave had become unstable. Were it not for the field generated by Force Tech, they would have been crushed by falling rocks.

With one powerful push, the Leviathan lifted its head, and the Island of Sharkhead was sundered. Water poured in, and people fell into the icy depths. The Leviathan's head rose sharply, sending debris flying in all directions. There was no fighting it, there was only getting away. Countless lives were lost in the trench that was now the center of the island, as the Leviathan devoured villains and victims alike, to gather its strength. As the creature crawled up onto what remained of the land, it scooped entire buildings into its mouth, chewing through them for anything nutritious. Once it had ate its fill, it disappeared back beneath the waves, leaving the small series of islands that were to be the marker of where Sharkhead once stood above the ocean.