by Lee Isserow
The tanks fired their shells, special forces fired their automatic weapons, and none of them were any more than an inconvenience to the beasts. They had dealt with impacts via their kin, they had lived through assaults that inflicted much more damage upon them. And before the mundane troops knew what was happening, the ungodly monsters were upon them.
They ate heartily, and as they ate their fill, their brethren were also filled. Hunger far and wide within their family was sated by those that ate in Washington.
The creatures were so distracted by their feast that they did not feel the impending flash of teleportation. Nor did they notice suddenly being surrounded by hundred of armed and trained magickians.
Tali's call went out across the troops: bladed weapons were no longer useful. If a shell or bullet could do no damage then even an enchanted blade might have trouble cutting into their flesh, let alone be able to put them down.
She orchestrated a series of long-range attacks, combinations of shadow and ice, then sound and fire, wind and earth. The creatures were culled, and a small modicum of victory was felt across the collective. But Tali was all too aware that they were running out of adepts, running out of elements. As she glanced at the map, she swallowed hard over a lump in her throat. They were going to have to get more creative with their attacks if they were going to have any chance of defeating their enemy from the deep.
*
Philadelphia was the next location, and this time there was no feast to distract the creatures. Tali had the teams teleport a block away from where the beasts were stalking the streets. Unlike any of the previous places they had been, this group was sticking together, they practically huddled as they walked.
“Let's give them a warm welcome. . .” she ordered.
Hundreds of flames arced across Logan Square, each exploding on the fiends' hides. They let out gurgles and grunts, but did not seem overly perturbed by the attack―after all, they had experienced fire before, and were quite accustomed to it.
“Go again,”
Another barrage of fire arced out, whilst ground troops ran towards the creatures, wielding flames that they shot as they neared the beasts. The magickians grouped together, combining their intent and their blazing attacks.
The creatures let out screams, and huddled together all the more as their flesh began to sear. They dropped their bodies, as if falling to their knees from the pain as their skin melted.
The fire troops got closer, their flames got hotter. But somewhere under the roar of the blaze the screams stopped. Smoke adepts cleared the way to see whether the cries had ceased because of death, or for some other reason. . . And it was certainly some other reason.
Tentacles lashed out and send two whole groups of magickians flying. The beasts were not dead, not even injured―not any more. . . They had been fused together by the heat of the flames, and now several of them had become one hulking great monster, some twenty metres tall and wide. It rose up and roared through close to fifty mouths.
“More mouths for the stabbing. . .” Tali cried.
The ground troops took her order to heart. Six of them held the thing in a cylindrical barrier to keep it upright, whilst the others tore the trees from the park, turning them into long steaks. A light adept took the lead and blinded each of the creature's eyes. Whilst it was momentarily distracted, the others waited until its mouths opened to roar again, and send the steaks deep into each of its throats. The wood tore straight through its guts, and nailed the damn thing to the ground below.
It wasn't exactly what Tali had intended, but it had worked. . . And that's how they needed to continue if they were going to win―using their castings and adepts in combinations they had never thought of before.
Her joy at the small victory wasn't to last, as she caught sight of a news feed coming in from Paris. It was practically a riot, hordes of people running through streets. They were so desperate, so afraid, that they were knocking one another down, stamping on and clambering over their neighbour in order to get away from the horrors that chased them.
The rest of the United States would have to wait, she decided. Priorities had to change, lives had to be saved. Paris was now their next stop.
32
An ocean of tears
The light was brighter and hotter than anything Shaman Kahgo had ever experienced, it was as if he had blinked directly into a sun. And even though his eyes were closed, it still felt as though the light was burning each of his retinas, searing them, boiling the very fluids in each of his eyeballs. Although the type of pain had changed, there was still no molecule of his body that was not in agony. If anything, the pain was getting worse.
He had not yet got so desperate as to wish for death, but if this continued, he could not imagine lasting much longer without begging the universe, praying to every deity to just strike him down rather than this torment continue for an eternity.
And then, just as it reached a crescendo, after what felt like thousands upon thousands upon thousands of years of perpetual torture, Shaman Kahgo was no longer in the light. And he was no longer in pain.
He found himself surrounded by darkness. With trepidation, he opened his eyes, but discovered that he could not see. Nor, he realised, could he feel.
His skin was numb from the eternal agony, his lungs empty, his every iota feeling as though it were battered or bruised.
All he knew, was that he was drowning.
After so long in the abyss, his lungs were not accustomed to breathing in water. . . and this was water, earthly water, not the water of Janai'ngo's sphere. . . After aeons in the black, and aeons in pain, he was finally back in the Natural World.
He threw everything he had into using his lungs once again, tried with all his might to adjust, to recall how he used to breathe in water. Then, he realised that his entire body felt alien to him. It had been so long―or at least felt like it was so long―whilst he was traversing between the realms, that he had forgotten how to use his body as he once did when this was his home.
The first breath was a revelation, an incredible and holy experience that made him feel as though he had died and transcended into some perfect dream state.
With his second breath, he realised just how exhausting the first had been. Gaining control of his body had taken everything he had. . . He lacked the strength to move, let alone swim anywhere, or work out where the hell in the Natural World he had actually arrived.
His eyelids were heavy. His thoughts were slow. And soon, he found himself drifting with the current, and drifting off into a deep slumber.
With his last thought he begged the universe, the Fates, anyone or anything that might be listening. . . All he wanted was to survive, just long enough to be able to save the realm from the scourge that had come upon the land, and then he would gladly let his life end.
He neither heard nor felt a response to his plea, and allowed the exhaustion to do its will to him. He had never felt more alone in all his life, never felt more helpless. And as the darkness consumed him, Shaman Kahgo felt the desperate, frantic tears shed from his eyes, each to be lost in an ocean of tears, shed by those much larger and greater, that had come before him.
33
Damage control
PARIS, FRANCE
A mass mesmerisation had to be cast to quell the population of the seventh district of Paris. As soon as it was enacted, the riot came to an instantaneous end.
Thousands of formerly-terrified people stopped dead in their tracks, and the beasts that had been chowing down on the stragglers and injured stopped their actions too. The mesmerisation itself had no effect on them, but it certainly made them suspicious. After all, they had experienced the demise of their brethren in Washington, they knew that feeding was when they were at their weakest. Their gaze shot around, looking for any signs of an impending teleport. There was none. They sniffed the air, attempted to seek out the blood of magickians that may be encroaching upon their position. It too came up naught. And yet, the population o
f the city just stood there, as if they were sacrificial lambs bound to an alter.
The gelatinous bodies of the creatures twitched as they felt movement somewhere off in the distance. Still, there was no sign of attack. The movement was at the front of the group of standing snacks. It was slow, orderly, that much could be felt in the subtle vibrations coming along the ground. They were walking, slowly, one step at a time, all at the same time. Then more vibrations joined them, a second line of steps. The entire group was walking out of the area at a uniform pace. A third row joined them, then a fourth. The fifth row paused only to help some that had been injured get to their feet, and then they too walked at the same beat as the others.
The tenticular brutes glanced at one another, none of them willing to take any action, they could feel eyes on them―not eyes in the realm, but eyes that were staring from somewhere in the ether. They could not see who it was, but they could feel its gaze moving around them.
*
Tali moved her view through the scrying pool around the scene. Their eyes were following her from every angle she manoeuvred to. They were transfixed, and obviously suspicious as to why they had yet to be attacked. And that was exactly how she wanted their prey to be. . .
*
The Paris basin was overflowing. It had been for close to fifteen minutes, but everybody in the seventh district was too preoccupied to notice. Those across the water at the eighth and sixteenth districts might have sounded the alarm―but the water was not overflowing on their side of the river.
The waters of the Seine climbed up the bank of the river and washed through the streets, past the Eiffel Tower, towards the Champ de Mars. It tricked softly and steadily, sunk into the grass as and when possible and continued its journey underground so as to avoid detection. The mud was becoming a thick, dark swamp, but those that controlled the water hoped that the beasts they intended to take down would continue to be so distracted by Tali and the mesmerised locals that they would not notice.
It was almost time, they were almost upon them, and with one great swell of intent from each of the magickians that stood on the other side of the river, the water launched itself from the ground.
A great fluid serpent exploded up from under the park, its back caked with a mane of grass and mud. Its molecules shifted, liquid water would do no damage to these fiends, they were born in water, the currents were their playthings. The gargantuan snake split at the neck, becoming two, then three colossal heads. Each of them barrelled towards the creatures, their speed timed so that all three would land their blows at exactly the same moment―a second too soon, or too late, would result in the others gaining an immunity to the assault. There was one chance to get this right, and none of the magickians that commanded the tremendous invertebrate were going to make another mistake.
As the snake's heads came to the skin of their targets, they branched off, in an instant each head turned into a thousand spears of ice. Within each spear, a fire burned. Within each fire, shadows danced. It was a three-pronged attack within a thousand prongs, and all they needed was for one to cut through the slimy beasts' skin.
The impacts sounded out across the district. Water roaring, ice crashing, fire burning, and finally. . . monster screaming.
Each of them went down with a fight, they thrashed and desperately tried to attack that which attacked them. But there was nothing to attack. The shadows within the fire within the ice whipped through their bodies like a blender, cutting up their internal organs.
And soon, there was no sound in the seventh district, the waters stood over their victims to confirm that they were indeed dead, then slunk back towards the river. The weaponised Seine was returned to its natural state, and once again a small modicum of victory was felt by all that had a hand in puppeteering it.
But to Isaiah Faith, it did not feel like a victory, not truly. Tali called in with a status update of the world stage. There was panic across the globe, just like Paris―worse than Paris. He growled under his breath. Once again, they were going to be too bloody late, people would have already been killed, and despite his intentions, all they were doing was damage control. . . just like the Circle had done for generations previous.
They needed to get ahead of this damn thing. But he couldn't for the life of him work out how the hell they were going to do that. . .
34
Too many lives lost
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
The waters of the Atlantic had been turbulent for some time, but the Circle were somewhat indisposed, and remained unaware. After all, there were other events going on that required attention, and turbulent waters were hardly anything to be concerned about when almost every city across the globe was in some state of panic.
But still, the movement in the Atlantic continued, great waves lashed across the surface, created in response to the thrashing of mighty tentacles far below, at the very depths of the ocean. Tentacles large enough to cause great tidal waves that pummelled the coasts that were within their reach.
It had been treading water ever since its brothers came upon the land. Waiting for its master to sound out the call, for it to be given permission to launch itself from the dark depths of its home.
As Paris was lost, the very waters used against its kin, it let out a mighty roar that echoed out through the seas. Its master agreed with the displeasure conveyed. As much as its fallen brethren would live on within each and every one of them, there had been too many lives lost.
Now it was time to rise, to declare itself unto the world, and lead their army to victory.
35
Same, and yet different
After the success at Paris, Tali was reinvigorated. She and Faith agreed to split the troops in two, sending half to Lagos, and the other half to Karachi. The same tactics they used in France would be put into effect―albeit same, and yet different. . .
Mesmerisation of the populace would be the first step, but this time they would make them run in an orderly fashion, getting them out of the danger zone without the panic that was presently resulting in injuries and deaths of their fellow man.
Then, the resources present at each location would be weaponised. In Lagos, the girders were pulled from the university buildings, and used to shape a gigantic metal automaton some fifty feet tall. It walked on great concrete feet, constructed from the foundations, had a chest of brick, and claws of glass upon each of its steel fingers.
In Karachi, the silt from under the Chinna Creek rose from the basin and took the form of a gargantuan monster of mud and rocks, with deep, hollow eye sockets, and a mouth of razor-sharp teeth formed of diamonds that had been created by exerting massive amounts of pressure on all the creatures and plant-life that resided within the waters.
The attacks these two giants were to make would be similar in nature, but if they were timed correctly, there was hope that they could take the creatures down without resorting to combining elements again.
The automaton slammed its fists into the bodies of the beasts, throwing hundreds of tons of pressure into their guts. But a physical assault alone was not going to put them down. . .
In Karachi, they managed to grab hold of the fiends in their silt-monster's great hands, and lift the writhing things from the ground. But the magickians there were discovering that the pressure applied by the muddy fists were also not enough to cause damage. They made their creation hold tight to the monsters in its grasp and bring its hands up to its gaping mouth, tearing into it with the diamond teeth, ripping each of the beasts to shreds.
Tali told the Lagos team about the success in Karachi, and they instructed their automaton to claw at their foes. The glass drew blood―but the musculature beneath the skin was reinforced by the experience with the silt-monster, and the mighty metal man could not claw deep. Even the wounds seemed to heal faster than any they had made at other locations. Another change of tack was required. They held the beasts to the ground with the steel fists, and applied all the pressure they could to the damn thi
ngs. They resisted, attempted to squirm free, but still the gigantic figure of steel held them in place. The ground beneath their bodies cracked, but it still did not seem to break the skin, let alone their bones, despite the intense force laid upon the beasts.
Something else needed to be added. Faith's instructions sounded out across the group. They were going to turn up the heat. . . the damn things might be able to put up with pressure, but pressure and heat might be enough to kill the bastards.
The girders of the fists began to turn red, then orange, then yellow, as the magickians sent their intent, making the metal hotter and hotter. Steam began to rise from the creatures' seared skin, but still they fought the pressure. The yellow glow became brighter and brighter, until it was shining a bright and vivid white. Squeals sounded out from under the metal man's fists, accompanied by groans and grunts, but they were still fighting, still not even close to dying. . .
The ground beneath them was melting, tar slicking around their midnight black bodies. But as much as they struggled for freedom, it could not escape the pressure put upon them.
A pop rang out, as one of their eyes exploded, sending yellow goop splattering across the molten road. Then another, and another, and finally the entire thing exploded under the pressure and heat of the automaton's grasp. This was followed by a second explosion, and then a third.
A shiver went down Tali's spine as she watched it play out. The death of the first should have precluded the death of the others, at least by what they had seen thus far. . . and yet it hadn't.
This was a victory that felt different to the others that had come before it. As much as these beasts from the deep could reinforce their skin from physical assault and pressure, the heat from the girders had boiled them alive from the inside out, and as much as they had tried to fight it, they could not survive. . .
