the Tempest

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Normally, you could not pay the sky-people of Opealon enough to touch the ocean. So much so that it was a point of fact that they poured a significant amount of their own money to get as far away from that nasty ionic sea-sludge as possible.

Juneberry was sky-people, and Juneberry was touching the ocean. You didn’t even need to pay her anything.

The barf-worthy tides were shoring up a small fortune for Juneberry in scrap metal. Sure, the junkyard she had by the shack was alright, but something something “legitimate sea glass” and something something “risked my left wing for this” was a good enough tag to slap on her tinkered items to make them cost just a few extra bucks. Good enough for Juno.

Today, though. Today was not good for Juno.

Today it was raining.

As if she’d somehow collectively spat in the goblet of every blasted cloud-demon on the waters, the sky was flooding down like Heaven itself had decided to take a dump on the entirety of Opealon. The gated cities above might be comfortably nestled in the clouds, but Juneberry, spitting out her own hair, could only scream.

“Stars - and-n -d J-Jove and bleedin-” Through chattering teeth, profanity after profanity gargled out like she was a much younger, more hoarse and more purple sailor. It was so cold. Still, Juneberry kept her fingers locked tight around her precious cargo, the barely-rusted, clipped metal of a discarded propeller. Bunch of good that was doing her - a crosswind buffeted her wildly, and Juno yelped as she had to dodge another stray jagged peak. They were just shivving out of the water, like the most vengeful shishkabobs in the Crossroads, and for some reason they were aching for faerie-meat.

The problem, to be honest, wasn’t the rain. She could take her soaked jacket, the numbness of her fingers, the claps of thunder that made her ears flatten to her head. The problem was that it wasn’t rain.

With each mouthful she gulped down in between curses, Juneberry was becoming acutely aware that the rain was salty. Which means it wasn’t coming from clouds above. It meant that there was an ocean below that was turning itself upside-down. Some dark fog passed through her jacket, and Juneberry felt her fingers jump - the propeller, nearly plummeting down into the impossible depths. She could feel the call of it, the void, the nothingness aching for her to let her wings and her heart stop their fluttering. Fall. Darkness. Nothing. She could sense it, the way her wings creaked and groaned. The gears in the saltwater. The plant that powered it, the battering of the wind. Juneberry's arms trembled, and she hugged the propeller to her chest. It was so cold. She could feel the edge cut into her arm.

The words of the tentacled man rang in her ears. A storm the people of Opealon can’t outlast.

Junberry gritted her teeth, something hot and angry flaring to life inside her chest. Kill her? Kill her, over one stupid idiot piece of scrap metal she probably could’ve just dug out of the junkyard and lied about to her customers for? No. She was going to get home, and she was going to make her first million out of this.

“Yeah, whatever!” she shouted, over the gale and wind. “Pricks!”

And it was then - in some divine comedy - that her wings decided to give out.
 

Zack Fair

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Eventually the adrenaline from his explosive arrival into the Crossroads wore off.

Once Zack calmed down a little, he was forced to face a harsh reality: he was drifting alone in the ocean, with no help in sight. There was no land, no other ships, nothing. He had been sailing with others, but they were out of sight. Had they been killed, or sunk? It didn’t matter, because hours upon hours passed, and there was no sign of them.

He held his hand forward at once point, attempting to summon a simple apple from the nothingness. Normally it was an absurd idea, but he’d gotten used to such self sustenance in the world before. After a minute of concentration, he realized that power was now gone. He’d have to catch a fish the old fashioned way if he wanted to eat. Just the same, most of his equipment was damaged from its submersion and impact during the large battle that brought him to this realm. He would have to work on all of that later, and he just counted himself fortunate that his most important piece of gear, the massive Buster Sword, was unharmed as always.

Zack had to admit he was grateful when the sun went down. He was laying on the remnants of a vessel that had once dominated these seas, but now it’s only remarkable feature was the lack of shade. As the sun set, and Zack was without any other option, he laid back on the floating remains and dozed off. Still, his dreams were filled with worry. What happened to Caira and her friends? What was this Darkseid that he had seen visions of? Would it even matter if he was stranded in the middle of an endless ocean?

Despite his racing thoughts, Zack slept like a rock. As soon as his eyes closed he was out harder than he had been in a long time, irregardless of the saltwater leaking through the wood to hit him every now and again. What did cause him to stir was the waves beginning to slowly pick up. Zack opened his eyes with a grunt, rubbing in confusion as his consciousness returned to him. It would have been nice if a traveling boat had passed by and scooped him up, but he didn’t appear to be so lucky in this world. There was nothing but more trash floating with him, though he thought he saw a structure not too far in the distance.

Seeing any kind of distance was becoming difficult, and as Zack shook himself awake and stood up it was clear why. The waves were increasing, the wind was howling, and a massive storm was brewing. Rain blinded him, and lightning cracked against the ocean, serving as a stern reminder that the ex-SOLDIER preferred to walk through life with a massive metal object strapped to his back. This could get a little rough.

Zack hopped to a larger piece of debris that floated nearby. It was devoid of shelter but there looked to be a partially assembled motor on it. If he could get that thing working maybe that would be enough to get him the hell out of here. Yet, as he ran towards the metal motor, lightning struck down and caused a fiery explosion. Zack was thrown backwards as the waves rushed outward, and he recovered to his feet as fast as he could.

All was not lost, Zack realized as he jumped from the wreckage. A wooden door had ripped free of the wreckage, and rode the tidal wave that the storm created. Zack landed on the object and balanced himself ever so slightly. He wasn’t much of a surfer, but what better time to learn?

He rode the makeshift surfboard towards the wharf ahead of him, now visible even in the intense rain. It wouldn’t be the most grand entrance, but that just meant he had nowhere to go but up.
 
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