She smiled wryly. “Please, tell me more.”
It hovered in the air before her, its monstrosity difficult for human words to convey. An elephantine trunk hung loosely from its face, the skin mottled and covered with open sores. Its eyes were like two dark pits of stygian darkness, lit only by tiny pinpricks of malevolent red-tinted light.
The Mother of Pus knelt before it, keeping her eyes downcast. It had said nothing since manifesting in her quarters but its distaste for her was almost palpable. At first, she had feared that it had come to dispose of her as punishment for her failures but now she knew that this was the equivalent of a psychological beat-down, with the strange entity serving dual roles of punisher and counselor. Images were flooding through her mind, showing her the fates that would await her if she continued to falter in her duties but simultaneously she experienced the euphoria of total victory, of a universe that was nothing but chaos and pain, the ultimate triumph for her kind.
“I won’t fail you again,” she whispered.
Another wave of pain washed over her, reducing her to a shivering mass in its wake. She could sense its psychic accusations and had no ready reply for them. She had surrounded herself with human liars and malcontents. She had allowed preening fools like Hitler to strut about as if he held true power and, worse yet, she had given a monstrosity like Mr. Death a place of honor in her court. Though she couldn’t prove it, she was positive that Death had played a part in The Peregrine’s escape. It had all seemed too convenient and, with Mr. Death missing now, his guilt seemed to have been confirmed.
She rose to her feet, realizing that their “conversation” was nearing its end. Still without looking at her master, she asked, “When I find The Peregrine and his friends, should I kill them? Or would you want me to turn them over to you?”
The reply was so powerful that she nearly tumbled back to the floor. It resonated inside of her skull, echoing so loudly that it seemed to be imprinted on the back of her eyelids, pulsing at her like a neon sign every time she closed her eyes:
KILL THEM.
Slowly nodding, she whispered, “And so it shall be done.”
The Sovereign City Harbor had once been part of the beating heart of the city. Criminals and lowlifes had dominated its landscape, to be sure, but it was also the quickest way to reach The Heart of Fortune, the massive floating casino that had belonged to Fortune McCall. Like so many others, McCall and his associates were now dead, their bodies lying on the ocean floor along with the splintered remains of the boat they had once called home.
Lazarus Gray found it ironic that he almost missed the not-too-distant days when this area had been home to mobsters and thieves. That was far preferable to what lay along the waters these days… horrible half-human, half-fish creatures that had been dubbed Deep Ones. Cultists who worshiped the beasts were plentiful as well, keeping the Deep Ones well-stocked in both food and female flesh. The male Deep Ones had an almost insatiable desire to breed, not only with their own females but with human.
The three heroes crouched low, hiding behind several large crates, eyeing their prize: a 1930 motor yacht with the name The Glass Throne emblazoned along the side. The unusually named boat had been the property of Theodore Groseclose, the erstwhile publisher of The Sovereign Gazette. Though rarely used, the showpiece boat was well-known in the area and Groseclose occasionally posed with it in promotional photographs.
The thin line that was Gray’s lips grew even more taut when he thought of The Dark Gentleman, Theodore’s son. Another life lost in the nightmare of this new world.
Several figures moved across the deck of The Glass Throne: cultists, dressed in crimson and black. They were on alert, frightened by the news they’d heard regarding the botched execution. All of them brandished firearms and Lazarus could tell that their trigger fingers could accurately be described as “itchy.”
“No sign of any Deep Ones,” Gravedigger whispered, her voice sounding muffled by her mask. “If all we have to deal with are cultists, this could go really smoothly.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” The Peregrine replied. He held The Knife of Elohim in his right hand. The blade was shining with gold-colored light. “There’s plenty of evil around here. Too much for just those kooks on the deck.”
Lazarus pointed out to the dark waters. “There.”
The Peregrine spotted it then, a thick tentacle that broke the surface of the water and then slid back down into the murky depths. “A good old-fashioned Kraken?”
“Whatever it is, we’ll kill it,” Gravedigger said. She raised her wrist-mounted crossbow, a bolt sliding automatically in place from the apparatus attached to her forearm. It was an ingenious device and The Peregrine had wondered briefly if he should try and add something similar to his own arsenal. “I’m going to take out the men on deck.”
Lazarus nodded, knowing with full certainty that she would kill each of them with unerring accuracy. Indeed, the first bolt whistled through the air and landed directly in the side of her target’s skull. Even as the next bolt slid into place, she was taking aim and firing. Over the next few seconds, she fired four more times, each time leaving a body that tumbled to the deck.
All three of them bolted from their hiding places, sprinting towards the gangplank that led onto the yacht. By the time they arrived on the boat, another cultist had stepped out from the bowels of the ship. The Peregrine pointed his pistol and pulled the trigger, spraying the man’s brains into the air. The sound of the gunshot brought more men to the upper deck but they found themselves confronted by three well-trained fighters who had nothing to lose.
While Gravedigger routinely killed her foes, both Lazarus and The Peregrine usually tried to avoid this. Under these circumstances — and knowing full well that if they succeeded, all of this would be undone — the two of them were more willing to commit acts that they normally would not.
As such, Lazarus spared no hesitation in ending the lives of those he confronted.
He had just killed one of the last of the cultists when he felt something strong and heavy wrap itself around his ankle. He looked down just as he was being yanked into the air.
The Kraken had struck!
“Lazarus!” Gravedigger cried out. She leapt into the air, drawing her sword as she did so. Unfortunately, the Kraken’s tentacle was too high for her to strike and she was fearful of accidentally hitting her friend. She landed in a crouch, a string of obscenities escaping her tightly drawn lips.
The Peregrine ran to the edge of the deck and looked down as the Kraken emerged somewhat from the waters. It was drawing Lazarus down towards its beak-like mouth and The Peregrine took quick aim. His gun fired specially modified bullets of his own design. Though miniaturized so that he could fire a hundred before he needed to reload, each packed enough punch to bring down an elephant. He thought it made up for him not having thought of Gravedigger’s crossbow design.
Leaden death slammed into the Kraken and the waters quickly turned red. It didn’t have the intended effect, however, as it spurred the creature to submerge completely, dragging Lazarus kicking into the depths.
Gravedigger started to dive in after them but The Peregrine stopped her short.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Lazarus is going to die!”
“He wouldn’t want you dying with him! None of us can do this alone and if it means sacrificing one of us so that two can continue, that’s what we have to do!”