[[Ah, the old horror awakes from the deeps.. and i meant this thread! Heheh. Will add post this week! /glee ]]
A seagull landed on the portion of a marble cross that extended above the incoming waves. The small recon group of Legacy Chain surveyed the remains of the Ghost Mire.
Why all the Circle? There were survivors in every group that lived here except one. Carver scratched his chin with his left hand. He did everything with his left hand these days, as his right was always holding a spell or a sword. Today it was a sword. Four days ago, that would have been different, but now
Lamient, a powerful mage in his own right, knelt down and picked up a handful of Earth. As he released it in a shower of grains, he could hear the screams of tortured souls. Saul gave a forced laugh behind him. Oh yeah, thats not unnerving or anything. Can we get out of here? Theres nothing here.
The old mage turned over his shoulder. Everything is here. Dont you see what has happened? This isnt a faction war. These creatures are trying to turn back the ages and awaken the Old Gods. This isnt about villains, its about the end of humanity. He looked back at the ground in front of him, wiped off his hands, and stood. What were looking for is in there.
What? In the water? In the ocean? Saul asked, exasperated.
Lamient began wading into the water. You want to save the world from creatures that live in the deepest depths of the ocean, youre going to have to get wet. I hope, it will be the least of our problems today.
Carver turned back to see survivors clustered around one of the remaining towers and the Recluse soldiers who were ignoring them from the battlements. I agree. Our day could be worse.
"Look at those poor bastards," Senior Wolf Spider Enforcer Greed chuckled to the Wolf Spider recruit next to him on the battlement wall, "They're either gonna starve, freeze, or get eaten. What a way to go, huh?" He and the other black-armored soldier were leaning between the exaggerated crenelations to peer down at the pitiful, bedraggled figures, survivors of the initial catastrophe yesterday, clinging for all they were worth to the sea-slick stones at the base of the great Arachnos fortress.
"Yeah," the underling chuckled, "when's high tide?"
"Like I know [censored] about the ocean, what am I, a goddamned garbage boat captain?"
To punctuate his statement of obvious superiority, the Enforcer drew his sidearm, and leaned over the side, one gloved fist clenching firmly at the piping and armor plating of the wall, and took aim at the forlorn figures milling below.
They'd been the target of merciless harassment since the event, when the struggling, luckless few had swum through yards of death, turbulence and chum composed of their former fellow citizens to find this last hope to cling to. Arachnos orders were clear; no-one was to be rescued from the base of the walls, unless they wore Huntsman colors or bore the articulated arms of the Crab or Bane Spider troops. Everyone else was left to rot.
Though it was highly unlikely they'd linger long enough for rot to set in.
The pistol rang, and immediately screams floated up from the small mass of people down below. The shooter chuckled evilly. "Got one! One more to bring in those goddamned fishmen! Wanna bag me one of them!" The Enforcer scanned the rough, ugly waters intently.
"So," his companion opened, "what's the big meeting about tomorrow, anyway? Everyone's gonna be there? Lord Recluse too?"
The Enforcer pulled himself back from the edge. "New orders. We're reorganizing, adapting to the disaster, plus I bet the Lord is pissed that someone might have capped Mako. He's been gone since this started. Heh! I think he's just down there, somewhere, eating." The helmet hid the leer that followed this.
"I bet," the underling said with a bit too much knowing in his voice. "Hope I get a front row seat tomorrow."
The Enforcer was back at the edge. "Like hell you will. You're just a scrub, lucky to be alive. I might sit in the bleachers somewhere, you'll be standing with the other runts and riff raff way at the back. Ooh, looks like something's coming over to poke around the tasty bits!"
There was silence from the underling, until he muttered, "I hate these helmets."
The Enforcer noticed an odd glow bouncing off the edge of his gun, drawing his eyes from the view below, and turned.
The lowly soldier had removed his helmet, quite against protocol, but the breach of orders wasn't what made the superior gasp, it was the intense red beams, bright as tiny suns, emanating from the man's eyes. They rotated as coherent cones of luminous red in the air to saturate the Arachnos soldier's head.
The Enforcer was instantly asleep on his feet. Calmly but quickly, Dennis swapped helmets with the man, then took his cape and insignias, and his gun. Discarding his own cast offs over the edge, he then giggled.
The battered refugees below, clinging as flat to the wall as they could for fear of further torment and to get as far back from the circling dark ominous shape in the water as they could, mewling and howling piteously, were surprised to see the heavy dark cruciform body catapult from the upper wall and come sailing down, down, down, to splash limply into the deep. They gave shouts of alarm, and surprise, but also guttural calls of satisfied revenge as the dark swimming shape in the water humped up over the black uniform, leaving behind violent red foam. Looking back up at its point of origin, there was nothing for them to see, but few asked after the source of their last moment of joy.
Lamient stretched his arms out over the water, and the ocean receded around a crypt door. He was still hip deep in water, but the dark ground under the ocean could be seen, and a Circle Thorn sword was lying in front of the crypt. There was a terrible rushing noise, and water came shooting out of the cracks on the side of the crypt, filling the empty space nearly as fast as Lamients magic could empty it. After a few seconds, the water pressure equalized, and the door swung open. The elderly mage walked out of the hip deep water and into the door of the crypt, down the stairs.
Carver, sword out, followed close behind, while Saul looked around for hidden danger before following. Once they were inside, the door sealed shut magically behind them, and the water crashed down over it, but was unable to find a way in.
The light from their magical items cast an eerie and unnatural glow on the previously submerged chamber. There were destroyed pieces of furniture, broken braziers, and torches rendered useless by soaking them in salt water. No bodies. Carver commented as he used his magic to light the room.
Is that a complaint? That sounded like a complaint. Because this isnt creepy enough as it is. Saul shook his head.
Lamient finished the thought. Where did all the bodies go? The door is closed. Its like they were all devoured. Only bits of cloth and their personal effects are left. The evil that struck this place may still be here. Any clues we find might save our lives. He pushed on further into the cavern.
Water dripped from the walls and the floors still had pools of saltwater collecting on them. There was an eerie noise of the ocean moving through caverns that were not protected by Lamients magic. Several caverns looked the same, with some exceptions. Books destroyed, furniture smashed, and tattered banners and cloth. The cavern was cleared completely, nothing stood against the waters, or what they held.
When they reached the chamber Lamient was looking for, he stopped. There were several smashed portals, but one remained. One remained locked in a dark, swirling mist. Purple and black energy oozed off of it, pooling beneath it and then being pulled up over it. It was then that Lamient realized what he was looking at.
It was also then that he realized they had destroyed his spell. Water was rushing in from above them and on the sides where the cavern joined to caverns still under water. First one, then another of them came through the portal. There was no fighting them. The spells of the Legacy were entirely ineffective. Lamient tried to transport away, but his spell only reached as far as the next cavern where the thundering sound of water could be heard.
Carver fought valiantly, slashing this way and that, falling back to better terrain and using the stone walls to cut down the angles of approach his enemies could use to reach him. He lost track of Saul. The creatures moved with incredible speed, and ignored his blade as if it did no damage to them at all. His spells washed over them. The sound they made was unbearable. The pressure in the cavern was increasing. There was unbelievable pain every time they slashed at him, and his step faltered. His sword clattered against the stone as his leather boots slid on the rock.
Nooooo! He cried out.
No! Another voice spoke. I want this one
alive.
Noooooooo!
As one of the largest built arenas in all of human existence filled with the muttering, milling forms of nearly a hundred thousand beings, Demiise stumped dutifully down a stone set of steps, moving ever closer to the middle areas of the audience who would sit as subjugated silent witnesses to Lord recluse's plans for his power base's survival.
he followed first one group, then another, tailing after highly-ranked [relatively speaking] Arachnos thugs, until he nodded at a pass-checking power-club-bearing officer who let him in, quite contrary to what might have been the man's natural inclination at the scrawny, authoritative figure in almost-fitting black armor who wanted to pass inside the 'velvet ropes' of the Arachnos muster.
"This is Champion flight, two one six, surveying the damage from here it looks like the island was split by some kind of seismic event. Some of the stronghold is still standing, and there's regular flights too and from..." The sound of a loud crash came over the mic, followed by alarms and sirens from the cockpit. "Mayday mayday mayday, Champion two one six is hit. We're hit!"
There was a pause while traffic control requested position information, then the pilot resumed. "We're going down. Champion two one six is going...."
"It just cuts off there, sir. We can only assume that Arachnos is still active in the area." The Longbow officer finished his report.
"Very well, any news from the Legacy Chain? There was talk of discovering who or what was behind the events that took place on Shark's Head." The commander leaned forward in his chair, dragging the voice recording of Champion two one six's last moments to his private folder on his touch screen desk.
"No, sir. They say they lost contact with their people. Missing and presumed dead at this point. They can't spare anyone else to go looking for them. That was the fifth team in five days to disappear." The officer adjusted his stance back to full attention.
"I see. Order all QRF out of the area and declare it a no fly zone. I don't want any more of our pilots flying over someplace we can't get them out of. We're just going to have to face the fact that we're blind there, for the time being." The commander took a sip of coffee. "I appreciate your work on this. There's a spot opening up in Paragon here soon. I'm putting your name in for it."
"Sir, if this is about my wife..." the officer started but was cut off.
"Jim, I'm not going to lie to you and say it isn't. Your wife is a wonderful woman and she's put up with you being out here for two years. Trust me, when you're as old as I am, you'll understand. You're going to Paragon. There's plenty of bad guys there too, you'll just be able to come home to her every night."
"Yes sir." The officer resigned himself.
"You're dismissed." As the officer turned to go, the commander added, "Jim, just make sure you do."
"Sir?"
"Keep coming home to her. I'm on my third marriage. Understood?"
The officer smiled. "Yes, sir." With a salute he left his commander's office and walked down the hall.
"You!" A particularly powerful Blood Widow suddenly appeared out of the crowd in front of Demiise. "You show up here now, on a day like today and didn't think we'd notice?"
There was an uncomfortable pause, Demiise was getting nothing psychic from her at all, it was as if her mind was completely blank. "And look at that uniform, couldn't you find anything that would blend in better? You'd better come with me." She turned and started heading to the security center closest to the point she was standing.
There was nothing for it; Demiise rose and followed after. A lot of helmets turned to watch him. No sense making a scene, with all these trigger happy spider-followers all around him. Surely it would become as much of a feeding frenzy as it was outside the walls, if any trouble were to erupt here.
The Enforcer's sidearm was holstered in the open on his belt, and was confiscated quickly. Keeping his face forward, body mostly hidden by the cape, he followed where he was ordered, soldiers falling in around him.
When they arrived at the security station, the Blood Widow turned and put a different belt on Demiise. "Here, you'll need this. Your standard side arm could get through the Wolf Spider armor but if you're required to take down a Crab, your rounds would simply bounce off. It's non-lethal, Lord Recluse wants the traitors alive. One shot, ONE shot. Since you couldn't be on time for the briefing, you get the abridged version. You will be with Tango group, here's your frequency, arrest and detain is your job, if they get out of line, use your powers to freeze them in place until further detaining units can be summoned. If there's a fight, leave it to the Crabs. You're supposed to blend in, so try to fill out that stupid uniform, we don't have time to get you another and leaving you in your vestments would give you away."
She turned to leave the security stations. "And don't ask me for any help, personally I hate talking to you, the mere stench of your magic is personally offensive."
Dennis hefted the larger gun; the barrel looked like a more threatening shotgun maw, and it weighed a ton. He slipped it awkwardly into its holster, then remembered to say , "Yes, sir," then started messing with the communications settings on his helmet. He hadn't even realized he could key into the chatter he'd been hearing; the first helmets of this type he'd stolen had no such gear, or hadn't appeared to, as they were only activated by command personnel for foot soldiers. But the Enforcers and Spec Ops Arachnos men could participate in the banter.
Now locked out of the security booth, he pressed the helmet's mic button. "Tango, where are we rendezvousing?"
A short time later, he fell in with a small handful of Arachnos misfits. In his cape he seemed the most senior, save for some insignia one of the Crab soldiers wore; also, that one's armor was a slight variation on the dull black the unproven chumps all wore. A second Crab bore only tiny fledgling crab-arms. Dennis had no idea what to make of him, but other than his pubescent robotic armatures, the guy was otherwise huge.
Until the meet-up, the voice of the Eye had been silent. Now, it piped up,
They are apprehensive, it told him almost hungrily, and Demiise could sense it too. He was leering like a hyena inside his face mask. After a few minutes he realized, they were waiting for him to begin things.
Except of course, he'd had no briefing, and had no idea where to go.
So he flapped the cape around behind him and barked, "What are you waiting for! Proceed!" and almost let slip a giggle.
He followed where they led, back down the cement steps, into the arena.
The crowd went wild when Recluse made his appearance, his remaining lieutenants at his side as a show of power and solidarity. They didn't go wild like when a rock band takes the stage, or even an elected official, but more like when a sports team takes the field. There was an earnest involvement in the event. There was also fear and apprehension. Four rows down from where Demiise was stationed, an Arachnos commander sat with his entourage in the stands, cheering for their commander in chief.
When Recluse spoke of victory, he cheered. When Recluse spoke of dedication, he cheered. When recluse spoke of loyalty, he cheered. When Recluse announced that traitors were going to be pulled from the stands, and the arrest team started moving in on him, he panicked. The crowd around surged to get away, and out of the fighting, but with just three blasts, he'd slipped the crude noose the Crab Spiders had set for him and found himself face to face with Demiise, holding a weapon reserved for the Arachnos upper echelon.
Dennis preferred not to be mano-a-mano with anyone, especially a combat trained anyone in padded armor and a powered helmet, but with the gun in his hand and the rising lust seeping from the Eye, he only took a half step back; but he had clumsily drawn the wide-mouthed sidearm, and with the Commander looking right at him with his own gun still smoking, he succumbed to the inquisitiveness about its function and, despite there being several Crab soldiers rising to the traitor's defense, he pulled the trigger.
The kickback was so profound and unexpected that he missed, at a mere three yards. A set of tiny metal bolas blew out of the barrel, trailing a blob of netting and a line that unreeled from beneath the weapon, expanding into a poetic spider-web, and snarling not only the small-armed Crab from his own troop but one of the Commander's Spec Ops entourage as well. Dennis gaped as the net lit up with tesla energy and the two entrapped Arachnos went rigid; the smell rising immediately suggested an amperage quite above the usual amount, to go along with the voltage.
The traitorous suspect, meanwhile, shot Dennis point blank through the liver and rushed passed him with a snarl of triumph and defiance.
The crowd was going wild, some running [since the gun play was now totally indiscriminate], some cheering. Already a phalanx of protective security had flooded the main stage in front of the dark armored leader, whose flexing, hungry armatures still towered over them.
Dennis, slumped half way down to the floor, gasped and laughed simultaneously, clutching the red blood pouring from his smoking stolen uniform. He turned, getting up, unable to muster the strength to lift the huge gun a second time, but he reached out towards the fleeing officer.
The area around his helmet's mouth-guard lit up with crimson leaking from his eyes above it. His fist clenched in the air, and the traitor, busy blasting his way towards the exit, abruptly seized up. His palms went to the sides of his head, his gun clattering away. The crowd, already half out of his way, took the opportunity to flee in earnest now.
The man was gobbling, and at Dennis' whim, he began turning around. Demiise began undoing the chin strap of his confining helmet, and that's when one of the traitorous Commander's loyal Crab soldiers drove one of his cybernetic spikes right through Dennis from behind.
Blood Widows don't carry short blades. Nonetheless, in the melee, there was no one near Demiise and the Crab Spider but a Blood Widow, and there were suddenly two short blades lodged in the Crab Spider, through the weakest portions of armor on the sides of the suit and directly into the heart and spleen. "That's my food! Get your own." The harsh whisper behind the mask betrayed the voice as other than human.
After quickly extracting the limb from Dennis's back, Assassin-Guardian pulled him up over his shoulder and out of the melee. From the outside, it simply looked like a Blood Widow helping a fallen comrade off the battlefield. Though the compassion may seem out of place, the chaos was unbelievable.
Recluse watched from the podium as arrests were made throughout the organization. Innocent, guilty, it made no difference. His goal was fear. He had achieved that.
Assassin-Guardian drug him to a nearby railing looking over the water nearly a hundred feet below. She stood him up against the railing, and looked back at the bedlam. She shook her head inside the concealing helmet. "We need to disappear."
Before Dennis could thank her, or ask her what was going on, she kicked him over the railing. She was immediately intercepted by a Crab Spider working with internal security.
"What are you doing here?"
"Chasing that traitor." She pointed.
When he looked, he saw a melee as the longbow operative had shed much of his disguise and was now fighting to break free and reach the water, figuring that the death defying leap was his best chance. When he glanced back, she was gone, but he had more pressing matters at hand.
A day later, and Dennis was at it again. In another confiscated uniform [another of the Wolf Spider Enforcer jobs, since he'd decided he liked the cape], he was making his way down the long ramp to a dry portion of land outside the fortress. Enough high ground had survived to create an archipelago of dirt between the Arachnos fort and remaining industrial facilities above where the air strip once lay. Arachnos troops were attempting to build a bridge across the open bay now sloshing over lost aircraft, using the strips of land to set their pylons; the lone control tower that sat by itself now in deep water, would likely be converted into a lighthouse.
Recluse had decided to make the best of circumstance and press-gang anyone left alive outside his walls into his organization. Many had required force and coercion; the rest, losers to begin with but some with the spark of opportunism, had agree and were even now being processed into the lower ranks. This made Demiise's job a bit easier; new faces everywhere, too much work and stress to be noticed, the bedlam of raised spirits after yesterday's arena debacle. He could sense how on-edge all the black-clad soldiers were, but at the same time, he moved easily among them, to the base of the ramp, where Crazy Eugene stood, leaning against a pylon, a lit cig dangling in his mouth, even though the Cultist lunatic had never shown the habit before.
"There you are, boss!" the brute announced a bit too loudly, and inside his helmet, Demiise winced; even more so as Eugene slapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. Dennis glanced at the outre looks of the other Arachnos thugs milling about, and tried his best to appear incensed, making a great effort to shove the larger man to one side, hoping beyond hope to maintain some illusion of Arachnos-style strength.
"The freak is the matter with you?" Demiise sniped in annoyance "I got a good thing going here. Don't [censored] it up, Eugene, Christ."
"No no, Eugene's sorry," the greasy-haired maniac said, appearing honestly contrite; it held for a few seconds, at least. Then, he snapped a salute, with the wrong hand, glancing at the still-spying Spider recruits and Crabs working on the bridge supply line. "Sir yes sir!"
Demiise groaned. "That's perfect. OK, look. I saw Assassin-Guardian yesterday, she's still skulking around here somewhere but she ain't contacted me since then. Damn [censored] dumped me off the wall. But anyway, tell the Avatar I should be able to get into the survey office tonight and get the scans of the rock wall above the Pit."
"That was some tasty soup," Eugene chuckled, about the carnage in that part of the dig.
"Yeah," Demiise answered with equal malice,"no crap. Is Sword still on the island?"
"Sword and stone and a hank of bone," Eugene piped.
"Stay with me for a freaking second, would you!" Demiise again tried shaking the man who out-massed him hugely, causing Leon to salute again like a jerky puppet. "I need Sword to be ready tonight! Once I get the surveys I need to get out stat. Friggin' place will probably go off like a firehouse. They got alarms on everything here, even some of the toilets." This made Eugene giggle.
But then he said, "Potties go boom, but it'll be nothing compared to when we dig the bore and raise up the Goat. Oh yes, the Goat, the Goat, the Goat with a thousand young!" He nearly capered, trying to throw up his heavily muscled and inked arms, but again, Demiise held him as best he could.
"Yeah, the Goat. Gonna be blast," and now it was time for Demiise to leer a bit in his own mania. Inside his shared psyche, from far away, there came a third chuckle, one with no humor at all.
It ran on even as Dennis asked, "You coming in? I can get you a uniform, we can grab some free food and [censored] around. Maybe steal some guns?"
"Hey! Who do you take me for!" Eugene suddenly erupted, loud enough to turn heads, "I don't swing that way! Don't need a job that bad! Get away from me!" He shoved Demiise from him, and the oily cackles that filtered from the soldiers around him caused Dennis to hunch a bit lower in is gaudy dressings, glancing around as color flushed his hidden face. He twisted back at Eugene, but the maniac had a smile and a wink for him, muttering "See you tonight, don't be late," and blew him a kiss.
Demiise swept the cape out of the way of his legs, stalking back up the ramp, followed still by the knowing snickers of the workers; in his sociopathy, the momentary embarrassment was completely gone already. Given the look he'd seen in Eugene's eyes, he, too, was snickering.
Sharkhead had only seen half the show, so far.
"Unbelievable." Sword crouched, completely invisible on top of what was left of a hangar.
Assassin-Guardian, also completely invisible knelt nearby. "Distractions. Internal security will be chasing the eye around like a rat in a maze while we perform our tasks. Meanwhile, the eye will do what it needs to in order to uncover the new head of internal security for Shark Head. Then we will do our job. In the meantime, you watch them, and make sure they don't get into too much trouble."
Sword leaped from the roof to a dry patch where he could watch Eugene. "Define... too much", he whispered to himself. There were some days he wished that Consort-Inquisitor were still calling the shots.
Meanwhile, in an Arachnos controlled area of Shark Head. An underground lab suddenly lost power. Doctor Murry fumbled about his lab for his emergency flashlight for a moment, until the red emergency lights came on.
Murry hated the red emergency lights. They remind him of those submarine movies. Since the facility was now entirely submerged, the possibility of water rushing in to crush the life out of him was now a distinct possibility. He kept a sedative on him at all times, in case he suddenly felt a panic attack coming on.
The sedative was in his hand, and then the needle in his arm, in moments. As the warmth spread through his arm and his nerves began to feel the gentle wave of liquid "I don't care" rushing over them, muting them, he found the intercom instead.
"Hello? Hello? This is doctor Murry from lab 12. There seems to be some kind of power outage."
"Stay calm doctor, we're looking into it. Did your backup generators kick in yet?"
"Not... not yet, though the emergency lights-" there was a muffled explosion that resonated through the metal walls. "Dear god, what was that?"
"We're not certain. We're working on it. Stay in your lab doctor and don't open that door." There was a click, and the intercom went dead.
Doctor Murry played with the dials and yelled "hello? hello? hello!" before banging on it once, then holding his hand in pain. He suddenly noticed the emergency flashlight magnetically sealed to the side of the intercom. He took it down and shined it around his lab.
The powered armor he was working on was still in the center of the lab, up on the rigging that held it in place so that he could work on it. Pieces of armor were set on tables nearby, some in complete disrepair, some being used as parts. There was one piece that was very important, on it's own high tech pedestal opposite the powered armor. The power supply.
Another explosion rocked the structure. When doctor Murry held his ear to the metal wall, he could swear he heard water rushing in from the ocean. He looked at the red and white striped door that locked off his lab and prayed that it held.
Murry shined his flashlight around his lab, vainly searching for some other escape route. Then there was an explosion in the corridor outside. He could hear shouts. It sounded like Wolf Spiders and Crab Enforcers and those mystical Mu people, yelling things. He didn't like yelling. Yelling made him nervous.
The yelling turned to screaming. Then shrieking. Then nothing. Then a beaker fell off of the table Murry bumped into to get further away from the door.
Then the intercom crackled to life. Doctor Murry ran to it, knocking over a small stand of tools used for finer work on cybernetic interfaces. When he got to the intercom, he heard the sounds of gunfire, and screams. It was quiet, all except for a single voice, speaking in a tongue he didn't recognize.
He could hear water rushing in over the intercom, and the labored breathing of what he imagined to be a wounded security officer. As the sound persisted, he stepped away from the intercom in horror, holding the flashlight in front of him as if it would protect him from the sounds.
The breathing became more labored, and the sounds of sputtering, as if water were interfering with the security officer's breathing horrified doctor Murry. He didn't want to make that sound.
Another sound came across the intercom. That of a creaking, almost groaning noise. He imagined it was some kind of creature. Then screaming in pain. Horrible terror and agony. It went on and on. Doctor Murry was certain he didn't want to make that sound.
Finally, it cut out. The doctor theorized that the water reached the intercom and burned out the electronics. The sound of water outside his security door could be heard now that the screaming was no longer drowning it out, and he rushed to the red and white striped door, to put his ear against it.
He was certain it was water. He panicked.
Tensions inside the various Arachnos facilities were still running high days after the disaster. Security was very tight, especially since hero groups were taking advantage of gaps in surveillance and making inroads wherever they could. It also didn't help that the seismic results were still not fully known; a number of labs assumed safe had inexplicably flooded, with the loss of all hands and quite a bit of equipment.
It was known that during the hubbub, Interior Security Officer Cook had been summarily executed. Why the head of security should be held accountable for a natural disaster, the low-ranks couldn't figure out, but his public death had been enough to keep the questioning likewise internal. Those higher-up knew this had been far more than natural, and that a scape goat - well, a number of them across departments, actually - had been needed, but some wondered if a change of guard at this crucial moment had been such a good idea in and of itself.
The dangling corpses adorning the walls back at Recluse's Victory kept those questions close to the vest, unvoiced, as well.
So getting into the survey offices right near the point of the disaster on Shark's Head had been no easy task. Light infiltration, a slow accumulation of codes. Deeper infiltration, assumption of identities and duties. A small mishap where an entire guard post had had to be neutralized.
Dennis was getting tired of his Enforcer outfit. He'd never had the training this brand of Arachnos troops went through, so the simple routine of cleaning his armored leathers had been foregone; his outfit was getting sweaty and it was no longer comfortable for him to wear. But it allowed him access to wherever he needed to go, and the Eye woke, or spoke, intermittently these days, but it coaxed him, when he needed it. So, here he was, skulking along the halls of the Moore complex, passing the three-story internment chamber [one of many] and following the twisted hallways looking for the next elevator down. Across his back, hidden by the cape, were a bandoleer of explosive devices Eugene had gotten somewhere, telling Dennis he needed to plant them along the way. One had already been put behind a computer. Three more needed to find a home. And Dennis needed to get past a security checkpoint that included, their info said, bomb sniffers.
The sidearm he carried as part of his disguise was now empty.
The corridor ahead ended in a checkpoint. A tall door-way-looking lighted apparatus stood at the threshold, flanked by augmented guards and arachnid robots.
Dennis stepped back into the shadows.
Dr. Murry backed away from the door. He could hear something that he didn't like. What he didn't like even more was the sudden pounding on the water tight door. He fell over one of the stations and knocked instruments all over the floor. He scrambled toward the suit, climbing up into it and activating the seal.
The suit clamped down and pressed the air against his skin with the pressure. He breathed heavily, as if he'd just climbed a thousand flights of stairs. His eyes watched as the door began to give under whatever was battering it from the other side, and water began spraying into the room.
The sirens could still be heard, and the flashing, rotating lights kept up, even as the water began gushing into the room. Soon he was entirely submerged, and he felt like throwing up. The suit wasn't mobile in the rigging, and wasn't meant for underwater combat anyway. He was literally a dangling piece of meat.
Soon the flashing lights succumbed to the pressure, and with a bright blue flash, each died. All that remained was the lights around his face, which he was desperately trying to remember how to turn off. His fingers fumbled with the buttons near his hand panel and the temperature changed inside his suit, the tracking and guidance system kicked on.
Then the flamethrower kicked on. For a brief second there was an orange light in front of him. He froze.
Then there was darkness. His breathing got more ragged.
The screaming started when the reptilian face looked in through the faceplate. It didn't cease. He could hear speaking in a language he could not understand. He was terrified to think what these creatures were discussing less than two inches outside his suit. He couldn't keep himself from thinking that they were discussing recipes, or who brought the can opener.
He began flailing, using the power assist movement to try to free himself from the rigging. The rigging was, of course, designed to prevent precisely this.
Outside, the conversation was proceeding very differently than presumed. "Where is the Eye?"
"Do not worry, there will be something else for Arachnos to be doing shortly."
Breathing raggedly, Demiise stood surveying the shambles of the guard post.
Even the floating Arachnos psychics were having problems with him. In a sense, since being thrown off the roof by one Dennis had declared an unending war on any of the Mystics, Fortunatas or Night Widows he came across. They were the most dreaded, and thus, the most interesting targets for him now, and his petty vengeance.
The Fortunata assigned to this post had gone down hard. Her body was draped backward over one of the spilled consoles, limbs rigid; her mouth hung open so widely that an indentation could be seen in the reddish fabric pulled taut over her face. She'd been first to fall; almost all the other guards here had been robotic, and they'd been far harder for his mind games, though the largest arachnid had had some kind of brain material grafted somewhere inside it's workings to assist it in its duties, some horrible amalgamation of Arachnos technology and human organic components.
Other than that small boon, he'd had to hammer the things to pieces with telekinetic lances and thrusts.
Untouched amid the chaos, the bomb-sniffer arch stood quietly, beebing and blinking.
"Sorry hun," Dennis cooed, cradling the limp, lolling head of the Fortunata, "You gotta sleep now. Daddy Dennis is gonna leave a little present under the tree, then he's gotta scoot. Heheh." The cackling continued, rising and falling, as Demiise left his next bomb under the console for the bomb-sniffer operator.
His body ached where he'd been shot or pierced through by the Arachnos robots. His leathers were becoming more ratty, and he was getting that itchy feeling again, and was eager to be quit of the suit, but not yet.
He fidgeted with the pen-sized USB disk drive in his pocket as he slunk deeper into the base. The corridor led him to a computer farm room, the one he'd been looking for at last. He strode in among lab technicians and uniformed Enforcers and Spec Ops personnel, looking for a specific workstation label, finding it unused in a far corner. Dennis nodded to an upturned Huntsmaster's face, the real Arachnos lieutenant following the new arrival as the man sat down and began typing.
As he did so, the dark presence in the back of his mind rose again.
"So there you are," he said to the Eye.
Access the information about the latest dig, the other presence in his mind demanded. It's goading at this point was redundant, as Dennis was eager to get this caper over with, and rather proud of himself at getting so deeply behind enemy lines.
"Chill out, I'm on it," Dennis said aloud, and the Huntsman again turned at him, wondering who he was addressing, then, surmising it must be via his helmet comm. "I know what I'm doing." Dennis' hands flew over the keys, sifting through data until he came to the map layouts for one of the Pit side digs. Schematics flashed on the tall, fan-like flatscreen. Technical readouts filled a side window.
There, a salt dome a few hundred feet beneath the lowest tunnel, sounded out with their meager sensors. That is the plug that sits at the top of the bore. Far beneath it, the Goat lies sleeping, the Eye recited, in an odd sing-song, as if picking at a remnant of poetry or prayer. There was something strange in its tone that made Dennis snort in derision, eager to belittle anything that the Eye held with any relevance.
"What's with you guys always sleeping? Bunch of slackers, hah!" his manic laugh was rather awkwardly loud and out of place for the room he was in. "Leviathan sleeping, the Goat is sleeping, do you guys do anything but sleep?"
"Keep yourself quiet, there!" Dennis was abruptly aware of a hulking presence at his left shoulder; the Huntsman had gotten up from his seat. "Keep your voice down! Who are you communicating with? You know there are no comms allowed in this room!"
Dennis also wasn't aware that that was just a ruse. "Uh, sorry sir, I'm just following orders, man." He turned back, trying to obscure the screen with his hunched body and failing miserably given how large the display was, and teh way it was shaped.
The Huntsman tensed, as that wasn't the deference he expected; the screen's contents were an afterthought. Simultaneously, Dennis himself wondered just which of them were supposed to be superior in the Arachnos pecking order; they both had capes. As if to add a final metaphoric nail to someone's coffin, the Huntsman asked, as the Eye began stirring in earnest, "Where is your club, soldier?"
Kill him kill him kill him rang on and on in Dennis' shared mind, and he began turning back around.
His vision turned to stars and pain. He found himself face down on the floor some yards from the computer, a few seconds of consciousness a blank, teeth fragments like Chiclets rattling around in a mouth filled with blood. Glancing up, he saw the Huntsman standing, his assault rifle butt-first, still poised at the end of his strike to the side of Dennis' head. Nearly everyone else in the room had risen from their chairs, looking eagerly on at what promised to be a bloodletting, or possibly hoping to join in.
"Secure the room, we got us a security breach," the Huntsman commanded, and the standing soldiers, feeling that last desire was to be sated, began drawing weapons, as the red-caped Arachnos lieutenant drew a bead on the downed man with his combo-shotgun.
Dennis spat out tooth fragments even as his gums sang as new white tombstones rose in their place. "Yeah, secure the room," the downed man growled with surprising confidence. One of his gloved hands rose from the floor, palm-open; men approaching the armored room door to seal it up so their fun could begin, pulled up as the metal firedoor slammed shut in front of them. The Huntsman spun at the sound of men gasping in surprise; he put two and two together, as his prey appeared to be holding his quivering palm aiming right at the portal.
"Freak!" the Huntsman cried, and there was thunder in the chamber as he blew Demiise's outstretched hand off at the wrist.
Dennis shrieked and rolled under the workstation, blood spewing out across the floor and then up into the air. Technicians scrambled to get out of the way in a place with nowhere to run as the soldiers present began priming clubs or rifles. The Huntsman switched triggers and shot a gas grenade beneath where the assailant had gone, laughing as sickly greenish fumes rose. Any man in the room without a protective Arachnos helmet on began crying out in alarm, coughing and blinded. Some other game soul shot a few rounds through the table top, and they could hear cries as the scrambling man beneath it was hit again.
"Get him!" the Huntsman directed, but as three burly thugs, guns held cavalierly moved towards the computer, the workstation, table and all, flew upward and smashed into them. A gun discharged into the ceiling and at last, someone had the intelligence to push an alarm button.
The room dipped into strobing black as red spinning lights accompanied the klaxon of a security breach. The injured invader, left wrist a blank stump spouting red, rose up, peeling off his hated helmet, and suddenly red light far brighter flooded out into the room. Gunfire erupted towards it, and for a second the red twin cones of lurid bloody light turned away, but them came back up and around.
The shrieking, the gunplay, the barked orders, all quieted, leaving only the buzzing of alarms; every human in the room crowded together on the one side had frozen, hands clapped to their heads, their bodies vibrating in the throws of nightmare. Demiise stood revealed, and the images of death flowed out from him in a miasma more poisonous than the gasses rising at his legs. Men, so entranced they couldn't even choke out a cry, their minds brimming with the invasive sensations of burning, dismemberment, stood where they'd been affected.
Dennis faced them, his good hand now palm-outward, striving to control all the men before him. The gas wasn't even considered, as breathing was, for him, only an inconvenient habit for the most part.
His blasted arm was agony, threatening his concentration, until he aimed that pain down the bore of his horrid mind and out at the soldiers.Some of them even dropped what they held in unconscious response as further amputation entered into the gruel of sensation that trapped them.
Some of the weaker minds succumbed; a number of technicians dropped at the back, being closest to the door and potential escape when trouble had broken out. the poison gas in the room probably hadn't helped their chances. Demiise surveyed the field, felt his inner reserves, and understood he needed to act further. Still straining mentally while trying to walk, he bent, scooping up his severed hand, trying to keep the assault up without the benefit of his somatic gesturing hand. His lost limb felt heavy and gross in its mirror-twin's grip.
Then the Eye acted; the lost flesh began flowing, melding in all its awful interior colors into a shapeless blob that flowed into him; at the same time, a bud appeared to plug the profuse bleeding stump. Smaller, larger, one losing substance for the other; five tiny quivering nubs sprouted, and in no time, a fresh pink hand lay flexing at the end of a ragged crimson sleeve.
Restored, Demiise now bent for the Huntsman's shotgun. He stalked around the room. Picking a soldier at random who was not the Huntsman, he raised the shotgun, placing the barrel next to the hapless man's head.
Soon, the magazine was empty, and he went next for one of the powered clubs.
Only the Huntsman stood now, and he was gibbering a bit, exposed for so long to the influx of memory, stricken but becoming inured to it with time. Demiise's naked, burning face came close to his. Focusing all his attention, and that of the active Eye, on the man, Demiise held him in place, far longer than he could have with the added strain of the others now gone.
"I like your clothes," the assailant hissed, and a giddy child's giggle escaped him. "Oh! Almost forgot why I came," he said abruptly, voice somewhat different, as he drew the flash drive from his pocket and stuck it into a slot on another of the computers. He sat casually as the Huntsman mewled behind him, accessed where he'd been previously, then began copying information.
"Oh hey, and who's the new Security head? Not gonna tell me," he said rhetorically, gauging his hold on the man. "I can find it," he went on, but, annoyed, as if answering to an unheard admonishment.
An image popped up on the screen, and Demiise whistled. "This guy, huh? Interesting," he sneered, then copied that set of files as well.
He popped the flash drive just as the first blaster beam thumped against the secured door. "God dammit," he snarled, rising from the console. He frowned, as the Huntsman had soiled himself in his efforts against a body and mind that clutched itself in an instinctive rictus. "Gonna make this quicker than I'd hoped. Company's coming."
The breach crew outside paused in their welding efforts at an unearthly, quavering howl of agony that came from inside the locked room. It ran on and on, beyond the duration possible from a single inhalation of air, and trailed off weakly, making the remaining silence even more horrible. They redoubled their efforts, and when the door was smashed back, all the bodies strewn beyond brought them up short. Armed men flooded into the room, weapons bristling, but neither they nor the robots bringing up the rear [their grafted bits of human brain sizzling amid electronic filaments], noticed a concealed presence that passed between them and out through the air, above their heads, and down the corridor.
However, such a thing was the last worry on their minds, and not even literally, when the remaining explosives tossed under the tables, went off and tore the innards out of this entire corner of the level in an incredible blast. The intruder alarms in this section quieted at last.
Arbiter Klint was rumored to have been taken away and shot by Arachnos security forces when Recluse did his house cleaning. In truth, he was chosen for the position of security head for Shark Head Isle. He was chosen because he'd backstabbed everyone on his way up, he'd stolen from Arachnos and no one but Recluse and Mako knew how, and he was completely ruthless.
Now he spent his time deep underground, planning the restoration of order to the Shark Head islands. In the room were two other arbiters, Irons and Kessel. It was Klint that was speaking most of the time. Irons and Kessel listened, and they listened well. They were under the impression that there would only be one job opening at the end of this operation, and they both could count to two.
"I want you to start the sweeps today. I want you to deploy the subs and aircraft today. Tell your men that the schedule has been moved up. Watch for any reactions. It is essential that if we have leaks, we find out before we get into the deeper waters." With a wave of his hand, the other two Arbiters stood and left.
He was alone in his bunker, nine layers of armor below the surface. Just like he liked it.
It was all over the island. Operatives took their men out, black hoverships blotted out the sun and drowned out the ocean with their noise. The islands were teaming with black and grey dots, swarming around through buildings and overland. Everyone surrendered, opened fire or bunkered down.
Firefights were short, bitter, and always ended the same way. If a group wanted to keep their territory they had to assure Arachnos that there were no cultists there. They had to appease the bloodlust that follows a defeat of a tyrant on that order of magnitude.
Subs found nothing but debris and bodies under the water. None of the reported creatures, no cultists, no Lacerta, and even Merulina's children were silent and invisible. As the sun went down on the Shark Head Islands, peace was restored, of a sort.
The next day places were a buzz regarding the rigging that was being built between the four islands to house a giant, floating platform. Talk of Lord Recluse's impending visit, and historic speech was already spreading like wildfire. It seemed that several of the Arachnos lieutenants were told that it wasn't a secret, and Recluse wasn't concerned for his own security from some unknown group of vandals.
Klint had laid out the trap with the big capital T on it, and made sure they knew it. Now it was a game of chicken. If he brought the prize, would they play into his hands anyway? Could he out fox them, respond to their play in time, figure out their move before it works?
This was the assignment that would make or break him as an Arachnos leader. This would determine whether he'd be heading security for the islands, and maybe Recluse's personal guard, or tracking down Freakshow for spray painting slogans on bridge overpasses.
Arbiter Kessel wasn't five minutes out of his meeting when Operative Moss was walking next to him toward the awaiting sub. "The sensor reports from all subs and aircraft are here sir, I thought you'd want to see them." He handed over a folder. Just as Kessel cracked the spine and looked, Moss began to speak again. "No contact from the subs, though commanders remind you that biological targets are hard to track through sonar. Aircraft produced nothing, which should be a sign that they're watching us and were expecting the sweeps. Local population reports no contact, though I personally think that this is because they're too stupid to know they're infiltrated. Internal security has isolated four possible leaks, though none of them are confirmed at this time, they may just be incompetent."
Kessel closed the file and stopped reading. "Why do you hand me the file if you're just going to abbreviate it for me?"
They stopped in front of the pressure door and Moss turned to face his superior officer. "Because there's no reason for me to assume you trust me. I could be a spy as well, sir."
"Yes, you could have altered the reports." Kessel narrowed his eyes. As the pressure door opened, they stepped inside and it closed behind them.
"Each report comes from a different source, there are eight sources making up the one folder you have in your hand alone. If I was part of an organization that had infiltrated Arachnos that much, I think it would be game over by now."
Kessel thumbed through the interrogation sheets as the room changed pressure. "Quite right. Have these four executed, just in case."
"Executed instead of quarantined or held? Aren't you afraid of the impact that will have on morale?" Moss didn't show any emotion on his well tanned face.
"No, and I know it may come as a surprise to you but we're not serving Statesman here, we're a decidedly evil entity, and we don't... you put execution orders in the folder?"
Moss pointed to the papers. "They're filled out, you just need to sign here, and initial here."
"You knew I was going to..."
Moss handed him a pen. "Here you go, sir."
As the pressure door opened on the sub side, Kessel signed, never taking his eyes off of Moss, who was staring past him patiently. "If you're a spy, promise me this; during your end game you give me a chance to switch sides."
"Consider it done, sir." Kessel and Moss walked onto the sub.
Kessel gave the order to the sub commander. "Take us to the center of the islands, I want to see how deep this crevace goes."
Operative Moss arrived several hours later at what was to be known as "The Web Throne". Many of the larger pieces were prefabricated in Saint Martial, and the basic framework had been quickly and easily set in place. The structure was not reinforced though, and construction crews were working on this diligently when alarms began going off all over the site.
Moss was in the command shed with two other operatives and Arbitor Clark, who was overseeing the building efforts. The deepest sub on patrol sent out a distress call then stopped responding. A deep water sensor reported a large bubble of air heading toward the surface, followed by an even larger sonar signal.
"The Leviathan!" Operative Moss postulated. "Free the subs, they're helpless tethered to the rig!"
Arbitor Clark was never a military commander, his first thoughts were to efficiency and sound building principals. He was renown for standing up to superiors and insisting his work be given a suitable timetable. His reputation for excellence kept him from execution a number of times. Clark fretted about the integrity of the structure, which would not survive a direct hit if the submarines didn't provide anchoring points. Clark hesitated, and the sonar image grew nearer.
Moss said nothing, while the other Operatives debated the pros and cons of releasing the subs. When the sonar image reached 200 meters, Operative Moss spoke again. "The plan is to keep our only weapons tethered to the structure instead of fight what would destroy it?"
No one could answer that point, and Clark ordered four of the six submarines to untether and dive in an effort to drive away the great beast.
Moss noted that air forces had been neglected during the conversation and suggested they be formed into strafing and bombing configurations at once, which Clark did without hesitation, causing the four black fliers above the platform to speed out in all directions and begin turning back in to strafe the platform area.
The four subs cast off and battened down the hatches to dive. The remaining two braced for impact. Workers ran for shore, and soldiers knelt in place with their hands to their radio ears waiting for orders that never came.
The Leviathon slept soundly in a cave under the ocean floor, however Mako rode a solid wave of energy to the surface followed by a small army of Merulina's children and sea creatures. The wave hit just off center on the underside of the platform with tremendous force, causing the section to buckle and the grid to give way in that area.
The first shockwave tore two mooring lines from one submarine and partially submerged the other, causing two sailors to be washed away. Everyone standing was now not, and those who smartly took a knee were fighting to remain on it and not their face or back.
Mako was surrounded by ghostly giant sea creatures who tore up the platform wherever he walked, and he was striding toward the command tent. The platform swayed back and forth, partially submerging on one side, then rising above the sea moments later as the other side submerged. The creaking of metal and the snapping of cables almost drowned out the screams of terror from the soldiers and workers being swarmed by Coralax and unknown terrible sea creatures.
As Mako reached the tent, the operatives opened fire on him, but with one motion all three were swallowed whole by ghostly sharks and drug down into the depths of the dark water through freshly torn holes in the grating. Mako's eyes never did convey any emotion apart from terrifying apathy, but today Clark could swear they looked maddened, crazed and awash with bloodlust.
Arbiter Clark's death lasted minutes. Mako bit into him, tossing him around in his mouth like a rag doll until he came apart, then stalked over to him and did it again, and again, each time Clark stared up at him, unable to move or even scream after the first few attacks. The terrible, high pitched scream was captured on film though, before the command tent and the rest of the platform was claimed by the sea.
The fliers arrived in time to see the one submarine that couldn't cast off in time being drug down to its doom and Mako's raiding party disappearing into the water. They fired at where Mako used to be, but hit nothing but sea.
Later, the survivors pulled themselves to shore, including two of the three operatives. Operative Turine, who drug Operative Moss from the water and later bled to death from his injuries. Or at least that is what the rescue team reported.
Arbiter Klint sat behind a rather official looking spider shaped table, with the Arachnos symbol proudly displayed on its surface. The walls of the airtight, underwater bunker were bare and undecorated. In the room were six soldiers, Arbiter Kessel and Operative Moss. Klint was going over a report.
After a moment of reading, and without taking his eyes off of the file in front of him, Arbiter Klint spoke. You nearly died, Operative Moss, in this battle against Captain Mako. You should feel fortunate.
Moss was sporting a sling for his left arm, a bandage over the right side of his face and a knee brace. I do not feel fortunate or unfortunate, sir. I merely wish to return to my duties, commander.
This raised an eyebrow with Klint. You faced Mako, and were nearly torn apart and drowned and now you want to return to duty? Arent you the perfect little soldier? I see your record up to a year ago was rather mundane. Then you seemed to develop a sudden interest in bettering yourself. You waged several successful campaigns to pacify Freakshow and Carnival problem causers in the north of Sharkhead, and you showed an increased aptitude for command. Klint paused to allow Moss to respond to the insinuation.
Arbiter Fekkler was instrumental to this change in attitude, commander. Moss did not make eye contact or break his stance of attention.
Ah, I see. You are aware that Fekkler died in a raid by Longbow forces, no doubt. Making your story hard to confirm or deny. Can you tell me how you survived Makos attack, when so many did not? The file hit the table for the first time, and Klints full attention was on Moss.
No sir, the last thing I remember was standing with the other operatives and firing on Mako as he approached, commander. Moss still refused to shift uncomfortably or show any other signs of nervousness.
The team that found you said that you and operative Turine were found washed ashore. They postulated that you were drug out of the water by Turine, who later lost consciousness and bled out. Is this what happened? Klint didnt need to look at the report anymore to recall the details. Arbiter Kessel was trying very hard not to let his own personal suspicions come to light.
I do not have any memory of that, only of what happened after and before, commander.
The medical crew said that your body temperature was dangerously low, your heart rate was barely perceptible and your breathing was shallow and slow, yet when they tried to treat you, you pushed them off and began organizing the rescue in your area, re-establishing communication through the remaining submarine and the fliers to call for further instructions and assistance. Klint nodded. How did you manage to think so clearly after such a close call with death, and in such terrible physical condition?
Operative Moss looked down for a split second, before resuming his gaze at the wall in front of him. I must admit, I my recollection of those events is hazy, commander. I was probably acting on my training only, commander.
Well, arent you just the perfect little Arachnos soldier? Is that what I am looking at, the perfect little Arachnos soldier Kessel? Is this your experience? Klint turned his gaze to the other Arbiter.
Kessel kept his voice free of inflection. Yes, commander. I have experienced nothing but excellence from Operative Moss.
Too bad Fekkler is dead, we could use more of these pep talks. Clarks death is a setback to the operation and the timetable. Kessel, I am putting you in charge of the construction directly. Youre to expect attacks daily, to harass us and slow our progress. Ultimately, the Web Throne should be able to withstand a direct attack from the Leviathan itself. Lord Recluse is keen on handling his own personal security, so you will focus on the security of the structure itself. We are now two days behind in schedule. Luckily, I planned for five days of delay. Mako tipped his hand early, and now we will be prepared for him. Am I understood?
Completely commander! Kessel stood a little straighter.
Fine. And keep an eye on your man Moss here. I think he is a spy. Execute him at the first sign of trouble. Klint pulled another folder from his desk and started to read it as he waved them away. Dismissed.
Moss and Kessel left the briefing room and walked briskly toward the transport. Kessel commented to Moss as they were waiting for the lift, I cannot be bothered to watch you the entire time, so you are to execute yourself the first sign of trouble.
Unsure of whether Kessel was making light of Klint, or whether Klint had been joking and Kessel was just furthering the joke, Moss only replied, understood, sir.
Kessel smiled briefly as he entered the lift.
Stay alert, Wolves. Intel says theyre certain that some of the enemy Coralax retreated to this set of caves. Engage the enemy as soon as you see them, do not wait for my order. Lieutenant Green led the wolf spider platoon into the sea cave near the attack only fifteen minutes after Mako left the scene, hoping to catch retreating enemy forces regrouping and unprepared. He was acting on orders from a higher ranking officer, hoping to impress his superiors with his ruthless efficiency and some bodies of enemy forces.
From where lieutenant Green was standing, he could see six of his men and their flashlights on their weapons lighting the seawater drenched cavern ahead. The tide was still going out, so he figured they had hours before they would have to turn back. However, their scout had not found any tracks to lead them, so they sent three scouts ahead to mark caves that were empty or had more passages. Green could see that the point man had stopped and held up his hand. The column stopped and Green was waved forward.
In the light of the point mans rifle, Green could see one of their scouts, secured by his feet with starfish to the roof of the cavern. He was nearly covered in starfish, the largest on his face, as his body convulsed left and right, as if trying to get free. His hands were bound to his torso by starfish, and his weapon and radio lay on the cavern below, in a small pool of blood and sea water.
Get him down, Green ordered, sending four men sprinting forward with knives at the ready and weapons slung to start prying the starfish from the scout. Two worked on the starfish on the scouts face, prying it off to the sound of the scout screaming in agony and blood pouring from a hole in the scouts face. Keep him quiet!
One wolf spider put his hand over the wounded scouts mouth, but the sound just started coming through the hole in his face, this time spewing blood over the soldiers trying to get him down. By now, more soldiers had moved up to see what was going on. Knives were used to pry and cut the starfish from the scout, and more blood and screaming ensued. Minutes into the procedure, they had removed the starfish, and began bandaging the scout, who had gone into shock, and stopped screaming.
Green ordered the scout be put on a litter and two men would carry him further into the cave to complete the mission. Theyre just Coralax. Everyone just relax. Were trained Arachnos soldiers. We are the scary ones, not them. Greens words did little to calm nerves. He looked back at the one Crab Spider they brought with them, assuring himself that if anything did happen, the armored unit would provide him enough time to escape and tell of his own heroics.
Further on, one of their scouts was crouched at the entrance to a cave. The point man signaled that he had found a scout, and they moved up to the crouching soldier. Wheres Fitzhewn?
Wounded, we have him on a stretcher in the back. What have you got?
About eight Coralax, beyond those stalagmites circling a pool. I think theyre waiting for more to meet them. The scouts report was happy news, and the point man relayed it through hand signals to Green, who moved up to whispering range.
Great, well hit them, take their heads, and pull out and call for extraction. Mission accomplished and we wont be all day about it. You two, stay with Fitzhewn and watch our back, the rest will follow the crab spider into combat with me.
While the lieutenant was giving the battle plan, however, Fitzhewn had awoken to find himself in a very different reality. He could hear eight of his wolf spider comrades encamped over some stalagmites not too far away, and all around him were these lizard like monsters, who had drug him along for a bit and were going to finish eating him. He could feel intense pain from where they had been nibbling on his whole body, and he was terrified of being devoured entirely soon. He could see a box of grenades that they were dragging with them, probably spoils of war from when they overran him and the other scout. He saw no other way out, he wasnt going to be eaten alive like chicken off the bone.
When Fitzhewn thought no one was looking, he rolled off the stretcher and scurried toward the grenade box. He managed to activate three grenades before one of the creatures saw him and raised the alarm. Fanged and clawed the sea creature lunged at him, trying to eat him alive, and Fitzhewn screamed.
To the squad, things were different. Suddenly someone yelled, Fitzhewn, NO! Then, there was an explosion at the rear of their formation, followed shortly by two others. The other grenades didnt detonate, but they did get scattered around the cave. The area they were standing in went entirely dark, and the sound of a blade penetrating armor rang out, as the Crab Spider spat blood on his mic, and went down to one knee. The lieutenant yelled FIRE! which was followed by automatic rifle fire in random directions.
Fire erupted all over the formation, giving the unnatural darkness an eerie flaming silhouette effect, like oil on fire in a thick black cloud. Green and his men were burning, and he needed to escape. He had kept track of the direction they had come, in case he were wounded or disoriented, he would know which way to run, and he lunged for the cave that would take him to freedom. He was struck in the left arm and the stomach by rifle fire from his own men, and something bit him on the right ankle shortly before he stumbled over Fitzhewns bloody and burning corpse.
Green screamed from the flame that was burning through his armor and searing his skin, as he pushed uphill out of the darkness. He was noticeably alight, and rolled in the nearest puddle of seawater to put himself out. The darkness began following him from the screams of his dying men. He scurried up the cavern his rifle dangling from the strap and his left arm useless. Greens breathing was already labored, and pained by the bullet that had ripped into his stomach. His right ankle was swelling, and his left painful from the sprain hed suffered walking over his dead man.
He pushed and scraped and clawed toward the exit to the cavern, the darkness slowly gaining on him. He contemplated for a brief second firing into it, but terror gripped him and he continued scrambling for safety.
Green reached the last bend before he could see the entrance to the cave, and noticed the darkness had crept up to his feet. A clawed, reptilian hand latched on to his boot, as he tried to round the corner into the sunlight. He fell on his face, and began sliding across the slippery stone into the darkness. Green grabbed his pistol with his right hand and fired into the darkness, striking himself in the leg and the foot, but temporarily gaining his freedom. He rolled back over onto his face and scrambled for the light.
Once again, as he rounded the corner, he felt something grab his leg and he screamed in terror. He clutched the cavern wall with all the strength he had in his right arm, and pulled to get away. Claws dug into his ankle and then another claw latched on to his thigh. Green let go of the wall, and pulled a poison grenade from his belt with his right hand. Pulling the pin after setting it to zero seconds, the grenade exploded in his hand, breaking two fingers and sending a cloud of toxic gas throughout the immediate cave area. Green held his breath and scurried away, into the light and seconds later, out of the cave.
The toxin was burning his skin and his eyes, and he didnt stop pushing until he was in the sea water. He forced his eyes open, to wash out the toxin. It was seconds of agony before he regained any vision at all, and that was very blurry. He realized that the water was about the least safe place he could be, and pulled himself to the shore. He activated his emergency beacon, and passed out. It would be days before he would awaken, and until then, he had the nightmares from the strange reptilian toxin injected into his ankles to keep him company in his very lonely and dark slumber.
The Pit had become a deathtrap. Foremen screamed for Scrapyarders to abandon their shafts and duties and flee to high ground. Arachnos soldiers began emergency evacuation procedures as the metal of their fortress began wrenching apart under the power of the Earth shaking. Spiders slipped into the black water, never to be seen again. Soldiers scrambled for higher ground. Mako swam among them in a bloodlust hed not experienced for a very long time.
There were rescue efforts, of course, to minimize damage. At each of these attempts, Lacerta fought to impede or simply destroy the rescue efforts. Flyers came under droid fire and actually had droids landing on them, welding them apart with their lasers while they tried to load Arachnos troops. Cable buckets being used to pull workers from the Pit came under attack from ninjas and mercenaries, often exploding or having cables severed, sending Scrapyarders plummeting into the icy cold waters. Cage consortium guards hurled ropes off of the end of embankments and were rewarded with energy blasts from Technocracy powered weapons.
The Graveyard was the worst. Circle of Thorns mages used their magic and ropes to pull fellow mages from the water as it washed through all but the highest areas of the graveyard, only to find zombies climbing out instead of fellow Thorns. Flame and ice descended on them from all sides. Red lightning and inky power lanced at them from the sky and the water. Each priest took turns orchestrating the death of as many of the Circle as possible. Few survived, and the rescue effort of their brethren was quickly abandoned.
The only happy group seemed to be Merulinas children. The Coralax came to the surface to feed in force. Ships were boarded, people fought, eventually moving away from shore to save themselves, and abandoning survivors on crumbling shores to the merciless deep, and its ravenous inhabitants. Screams and blood filled the water. Those villains that could escape, did so. Those that could not, perished. Reclaimers worked overtime.
Throughout the night, there were more deaths, more feeding, and more raids. It wasnt until morning that the sky was filled with Arachnos flyers, and Recluse re-exerted his will over the quartet of Sharkhead Islands.
The Circle was gone. The Graveyard now mostly submerged, was abandoned to the sea. Cage survived, with a handful of Scrapyarders working hard to build defenses on what was to be called Pit cove. The portion of the dock that remained was filled with the bodies of the Family who had held off attack by staying indoors and shooting anything that moved. One working pier, heavily damaged, was all that remained. The Freakshow, what remained of them, were sole owners of a chunk of land now. Just four, no more, all the rest claimed by the sea. The only bodies were those on land.
Everyone knew what had happened, but no one knew how, except Recluse, who now called furiously for Mako. This call would go unheeded for long periods of time. Mako was full, more full than in a while. Not because he couldnt eat whenever he wanted, but because of how he had eaten. It was a complete indulgence of his shark side. Something hed never experienced before. He would not answer Recluse, in fact, thought of him as a no longer necessary evil. Let him send his representatives into the newborn isles. Let him lose them, one at a time, trying to track him down.
It was in Grandville that Professor Eviella walked proudly into Recluses chambers, no droids in tow. Recluses guards raised weapons toward her, and he waved them down.
I have a message from the Avatar. She said as if she were telling him she were there to pick up dry cleaning.
Recluse sat back in his throne. Go on.
It reads, do I have your attention? She quirked an eyebrow.
Oh, I think my attention could safely be said to be on your group and its activities. You dare- Eviella turned to walk away from him.
Imagine what the Leviathon could do to Grandville. All these tall towers. Now imagine what it could do to Paragon City. We will have suggestions on how you could woo us. I must convey your respects to the Avatar at once.
Recluse snarled behind his mask as she left. He gave an almost imperceptible hand signal to allow her to leave, half hoping that a mistake would be made and he could enjoy the guilty pleasure of watching her die. For now, however, he regarded her as the representative of a powerful tool. The only question is how to control it. In the mean time, war would be expensive, and ultimately useless.
No. He would bide his time. He would learn about this previously ignored faction. He would infiltrate it, crush it, and bring it before him on its knees. Bring me Scirocco, I have work for him regarding a previous subordinate of his.