V M [Unmaking] The Nausicaa Incident

[Morene Fellon]

“We aren’t alone,” Iris grimaced, a stark contrast to demeanour only moments before Cho sealed the entire group shut in this dark corridor.

Obviously, hun, Morene thought to herself as she looked past Iris and glazed her eyes over the strange symbol on the crumbling walls. Only visible due to the small light of a torch, each and every one of the fashionably late resistance fighters thankful for their keen senses, be it augmented robotics, superhuman biology or seismic radars.

The knochten’s helmet collapsed, air hissing in the nearly pitch black tunnel loud enough to echo, plates sliding to the back of her head. Immediately, a ghostly cold breeze ran through her hair, forcing her to blink. The knight-errant walked forwards, looking down the branching pathway. She placed a gauntleted palm upon the android’s shoulder, moving past her, as if telling Iris to let her lead for a while.

“Hm?” Iris tilted her head. “Do you see something, Morene?”

The huntress didn’t respond yet. Neither Iris nor Cho could see Morene’s eyes losing moisture as she stared forward intently, lowering her head as the tiny hairs on her neck stood up. Her mouth was open slightly, and as the knochten lowered her head, Iris could tell she was listening. To what, she didn’t know, but as Cho opened his mouth to speak, the android looked over and nodded. The earthbender gulped, stepping back for a moment as the carnal thrashing of the unmaking outside faded into the distance.

Morene couldn’t hear anything. Not yet. She was lost in thought; this all happened so fast that she didn’t have any time to register the scale of what was going on, and only a few feet into these tunnels did she realize why the visitant spirits beckoned her to this city that soared only hours ago. It’s all gone now. This is a planetary conflict.

Looking up again, Morene attempted to read the symbol on the wall. Nothing came to her, except the tiny bit of intelligent and much-too-revealing information that one of those creatures threatened her squadron with. You only push yourselves deeper into our throat; this was a nest of sorts, and all of these symbols spoke to her of some sort of prophecy aeons ago. She knew that was only a guess, and she didn’t care if her hunch was wrong, it didn’t matter.

She raised her armored hand upwards as she looked down, snapping her finger with a particular clanking sound. The echo travelled through the tunnels long enough for Morene to deduce that there weren’t any other immediate branching paths beyond the two presented to them. Her mind wandered again, remembering the exact moment before she dropped hot into the bleeding heart of the City of Hope. A shattered lob of rock now sinking perilously into the oceans of Opealon, the remains of what used to be Nausicaa mapped out inside of Morene’s head. Outside, one of the few remaining buildings was a holy site built of stern concrete and readily defensible. If Morene had wanted to assist in a productive manner, she knew she’d have to reach there somehow. Still, the only way out now was through these tunnels dripping with mildew and caked in thick dust.

Iris began to get antsy. “Morene?” The android repeated.

The knochten looked behind her, gesturing to Cho this time. The earthbender walked forward after murmuring to himself, clearly anxious about this deathly situation. Morene requested him a favor as she wrapped her helmet back over her head.

“Dear, can you take a moment and sense these walls? Try to scout ahead, I mean?”

“O-oh, yeah,” Cho stuttered back, pressing his hands up against the cold stone in front of him. He didn’t forget he could do such a thing, no, but he was admittedly anxious that any movement would get him and his friends surrounded. The boy didn’t know the parademons smelt fear instead. Iris decided to be quiet now, letting these two do their work.

Closing his eyes, Cho concentrated into feeling the veins of this forsaken island, listening to its whispers far more deeply than Morene could on her instincts. A moment passed before the boy took as deep of a breath as he could without inhaling the foreign substances in the air.

“It’s... long, and there’s a lot of movement, on this side, the right… There’s some bigger spaces though, but all of them seem to be the… same size, I think?”

Iris nodded. “We go left, then?”

“Aye,” Morene agreed. A shaky breath left Cho’s chest as she continued to speak. “The ideal is a nice flank, but we just need a path of least resistance to escape these halls for now. We need to be hasty.”

With that, the huntress walked forwards, thinking about summoning her explosive energy weapon, but the rational side of her brain immediately dismissed that thought. These tunnels were barely keeping up as it is, so her sword would have to do. Even in a claustrophobic space such as this, her blade still had the freedom to move vertically, more than enough mobility to generate the momentum needed to make waste of whatever disgusting unmaking fiend decides to show up.

It didn’t take long for that to happen. A pair of fluttering wings made themselves extremely apparent as the group jogged on deep into the left side of the fork. Most of the creatures had poured into the city already, but similar to a beehive, there was always a soldier or two standing guard. The knight-errant turned her head, taking the lead in front of her comrades as she spoke to them.

“I’ll make this quick.”

Morene raised her sword, lowering it again to the side of her hip, ready to cut. Red eyes of parademon scum glistened in the distance of the tunnel as they lunged forwards, coming into view to the three resistance fighters. Immediately, the demons screeched as they closed in to claw at Morene, Cho only a few paces behind as Iris found herself all the way at the back. They couldn’t do much but let the knochten perform her technique, watching while squared up just in case the second one tried to focus on them.

It didn’t, though. Both Morene and the unmade duo had intention to bulldoze their way through their enemies one by one. As Morene lifted her blade into a cut, the frontmost parademon had already lost in that regard. It voided her first underhand slice, the vibrating blade singing in the dark corridor as it hit nothing, but as soon as the demon flew back in, its wrist was immediately graced with the tip of her sword coming back around to swing again, cleaving through its arm and into it’s jaw, putting it out of commission.

The huntress drew a breath, preparing for the impact of the other fiend to drive their claws into her armor, which she realized moments ago was enough to penetrate. She tried to avoid it’s deadly claws by stepping back with complete control, stomping her foot down in an impressive display of balance. As she did, something fell directly on top of the demon whose eyes were trained on hers. She heard a loud crash.

Morene had a brief moment of confusion before she realized what was going on, now looking over at the fiendish creature whose body was instantly crushed as if it was trapped in a hydraulic press. Her immediate thought was that the tunnel was collapsing under the pressure, but then she realized nothing around them was crashing down. She looked back at Cho, whose hands were outstretched and lungs were trying to catch enough oxygen to focus on the fight ahead. Morene nodded.

“Good,” she praised. Iris raised her hands in dismay, now recovering after reeling back from the impact.

“Man, you two are making me feel like an anchor!” The android whined as the earthbender retracted the pillar of stone.

“You’ll get your time,” Morene chuckled, trying her best to stay motivated in this dire circumstance. She spoke sternly then, resting the blade of her greatsword on her pauldron, pommel in hand. “Let’s keep going, forsooth.”

The crew expected something that resembled a break from the action now, but the circumstance did not call for it. The unmaking would not falter, and the forces that tore Nausicaa to its knees would not let them rest. As the three ran forwards, the tunnel was illuminated by a sudden surge of pale blue light. They couldn’t see the source of it, but the immediate heat wave that Morene recognized as the sound of an exploding jet of fire spoke of obvious danger ahead, halting their steps. The group turned their heads to face each other briefly.

“Yeah?!” Iris exclaimed, waiting for input, mostly from the knight-errant taking charge for now.

“Only way to go from here is forward,” Morene enunciated, gesturing to both of them to follow her as they trudged towards the origin of the purifying flame.

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Tobias sat at the lip of the tunnel, his legs dangling into the abyss as he choked back the bile stinging the back of his throat. He wanted to venture beneath Nausicaa, to go help out the others fighting to push back Darkseid, but he just couldn’t. His last few shreds of bravado had been stripped away by that voice in his head. The knight was no expert of the eldritch, but he knew that this was something beyond him. Whatever that voice had been, it didn’t feel to be on the same level as Gal’skap, but he was sure it was leagues above him. Above the others who were currently braving the depths below? Maybe, maybe not. But above him? Certainly.

“What am I doing here?” He choked out, running his free hand through his hair, the other gripped around his sword so tight that his knuckles were turning white. The cultist tried to take deep breaths to ease the nausea rising in his gut while he did his best to rationalise his next move.

“Lady Alva never should have sent me. Anyone else would have been better.” Tobias groaned. The smart thing to do would be to just head back. Get her to send someone else. But… it was far too late for that. He didn’t know how much time Nausicaa had left, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be enough. The self-loathing psion’s hunched body contorted even further as he dropped his sword and held his head in his hands, grinding his teeth. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?”

Unceremoniously, the cultist lurched forward and gagged, almost emptying his stomach into the void below. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but grimace as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“Look at me… Lady Alva really put her faith in me.” He sighed before pausing, a somber mood taking over him. She put her faith in him. Just as she always did, despite his protests. And if he let her down this time... if he turned tail, even despite the impossible odds, it would be her that would need to bear the burden. The knight-errant took a deep breath, shakily rising to his feet and taking up his sword once more. He may have been a coward and a fool, but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“My Lady…” Tobias said quietly, a faint aura of violet energy crackling along his body as he turned 180 degrees and spread his arms wide. A few of the onlookers couldn’t help but take notice, glancing over with confused expressions but not saying anything yet. “I will make you proud.”

With that, he plunged backwards off of the cliff and into the abyss, hearing a couple of shocked gasps as he dropped out of sight, the last light of the tunnel’s entrance quickly fading as he surrendered himself to the depths. The flickering psi around him began to slow his fall just enough for him to redirect himself and grab a handhold. It would have probably been more sensible to simply climb down from the start, but he wasn’t about to give himself the opportunity to second-guess his decision.

“Ah… you’ve really done it this time.” The psion sighed to himself, scrambling for the next foothold down. Regardless, he was down there now. The hardest part was over. Now all he needed to do was climb down the dark cave into the uncharted depths and face the ancient evil that lay within… Tobias frowned to himself. Now that he thought about it, that agony was probably the easy part. Maybe he should… glancing back up and not seeing even a hint of light, he shook his head. “No, no… don’t think about it. Just keep going.”

 

[Arbiter]

ARTUR plunged deeper into the ground, his drills nearing him closer and closer to where he supposed Iris had run off to.

When, at last, he broke through the considerable surface layer and into a tunnel, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. He'd drilled down pretty far, but if his readings were correct, there still seemed to be a substantial amount of Nausicaa below him. What in the world lied beneath?

He didn't have too long to find out before the sound of footfalls just down the tunnel and the light of a phone flashlight distracted him. He hid behind a nearby rock, wanting to see the newcomers before he decided how to handle them.

"Do you really think this is the way out?" an unfamiliar voice pinged through the tunnel. Not Iris.

"It's the only option we've got -- feels like we're going up," another one said.

"Mommy, Daddy," a small child's voice squeaked, "I wanna go home."

"I know, son," the father comforted as best he could.

ARTUR peeked out as a lost family, stumbling through the tunnel by phone-light, clearly brought into this tunnel against their will, entered view. He paused for a moment to determine how to proceed.

ARTUR has rolled a 2 and stumbled upon a lost Nausicaan family. Innocent civilians in the truest sense.

 

[Arbiter]

The Living waited. And waited. And waited.

And then it saw him: clambering down nervously, blue robes billowing in the gentle breeze blowing through the cavern.

Tobias reached the bottom cautiously, entering a weirdly large cavern that almost seemed... carved out with extreme purpose. On one side, several tunnels led to... well, wherever they would lead. On the other, a... wait a second.

Was that a door? Or... a set of them? Double doors?

Should I go in? the cultist thought.

The Living had other plans.

The Living rolled a 4. Each dice roll was assigned to someone in the caves that it might find, and 4 was Tobias.

Tobias was going to receive a roll, but since the Living found him I opted to let him discover some creepy doors instead.

 

[Jim Raynor]

“Kill us? But you barely know us!” Michelangelo said, swinging his nunchukus.

“I get the feelin’ they ain’t much for socialisin’, Mikey,” Raphael said.

“One, two, three, four, five...” Dr. McNinja muttered, pointing his finger at the cultists one by one. “One each?” he asked, looking at the turtles.

Donatello spun his bo staff like a windmill and snapped it still beneath his arm, leaning backwards and extending his free arm. “It won’t be much of a fight.”

“Careful guys,” Leonardo said, arming himself with his blades. “We don’t know what these people are capable of.”

“They’re just a bunch of rubes in robes!” Raphael said. “They ain’t seen the force of four ninja turtles workin’ together before!”

Dr. McNinja glared at Raphael pointedly. “Ahem.”

“Oh, right. Four ninja turtles and a... human ninja doctor.”

“Damn straight!” McNinja said. (How dare they forget him!?)

The cultists shuffled forward. Four of them made a line, blocking access to the fifth behind them. They reached into their indigo robes and withdrew a weapon each; swords, axes, maces and the like. The fifth, however, stood motionless, their face shrouded by the hood of their robe.

“Looks like that cultist in the back might be the leader,” Donatello noted. “The others seemed poised to protect them.”

“The leader, huh?” Raphael said. “I call shotgun!”

“Raph, wait!” Leonardo called out, but as usual, his words went unheeded.

The red clad turtle sprinted for the cultist line, whirling his sais in his hands. With a grin, he planted both feet and jumped, sailing over the defensive blockade.

The cultist leader thrust out their hands, suffused in a violet glow. That same glow enveloped Raphael and held him fast in mid-air.

“What the – I can’t move!”

“Whoa, real magic!” Michelangelo said. “Use it on me next! I want to float!”

The cultist leader made a motion with his hands and Raphael catapulted backwards straight into Michelangelo. They fell to the floor in a tumble of limbs.

“Ow!” Michelangelo said, rubbing his neck. “I don’t know what’s harder – Raph’s shell or his head!”

Raphael ignored the jibe, climbing to his feet with a grimace. “How ‘bout you fight me without the magic, huh weakling?”

“That brother of yours has some anger management issues, huh?” Dr. McNinja said to Leonardo.

Leonardo smiled. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The blue masked turtle turned his attention to the battlefield. The cultists ran forward in a line, brandishing their weapons, while the leader still hung in the back, perhaps readying another spell.

Leonardo wanted to eliminate the leader as a priority; it seemed they were the only one utilising magic. Unfortunately, Raphael’s hotheadedness meant a co-ordinated attack would be difficult, especially while reinforced by four other homicidal acolytes. If Raphael could keep himself alive, though, he would make an excellent distraction.

“OK guys,” Leonardo said to his remaining two brothers and McNinja, as Raphael charged headlong towards the leader again, “we don’t want the cultist head honcho throwing around spells for long. We need to deal with the minions quickly and back up Raph as soon as possible. We’ll pair up and focus one at a time. It’ll make the fights faster. Donnie, Mikey – you two stick together. Doctor, you’re with me.”

“Uh, problem,” Dr. McNinja said. “Pairing up means two of the cultists will be unaccounted for. Bit of an oversight.”

“I know. We’ll have to be aware of that. But teaming up against a single target will make the fights shorter, and get us to Raph’s side faster.”

Dr. McNinja shrugged. “All right. But if one of those cultists turns you into a frog or something, I can’t fix that. I’m not that good of a doctor.”

The two teams separated. Michelangelo and Donatello ran in the opposite direction, drawing two of the cultists away. As Raphael flew backwards through the air again, Leonardo and Dr. McNinja approached the remaining two.

“OK, if you can knock back the one on the right, I’ll engage the other,” Leonardo said as they sprinted. “Then when you’ve got some breathing room, you come in for the fatal blow.”

“Simple, but effective,” Dr. McNinja stated, readying his grappling hook. “No wonder you’re the leader of the bunch.”

Dr. McNinja hurled his grappling hook upwards. It wrapped around a sturdy stalactite and the ninja physician swung through the air, planting a powerful double kick into the cultist’s chest, sending them sprawling, their mace clanging on the ground.

Leonardo was one on one with the other acolyte of darkness. They stepped forward, swinging a chipped axe. Leonardo ducked and weaved, waiting for Dr. McNinja to arrive, but that sharpened edge was getting close to intersecting with his skin. He parried a blow with his ninjaken, and threw up his blades in a cross shape as the next attack came down as a heavy overhead blow.

The cultist, despite their apparently slim physique beneath the robe, pressed down with formidable strength. The worn edge of the axe was centimetres away from splitting his face... and suddenly the enemy weapon went limp and clinked on the ground.

Dr. McNinja stood over the fallen body, the blade of his sword red. “I cut that a bit close.”

“Oh doc, that was awful,” Leonardo said.

“Nobody appreciates the power of a good one-liner,” Dr. McNinja said.

Their attention diverted to the remaining cultist, holding their mace. The death of their colleague seemed to make them re-evaluate the fight for a moment, but soon their devotion to their cult must have overtaken their senses and they charged forward.

Leonardo ran forward and bounded high into the air, somersaulting over the cultist and landing behind them in a dramatic crouch.

“Pfft, anyone can do that,” Dr. McNinja remarked.

The cultist, obviously unexperienced with battle, didn’t know who to face. Leonardo and Dr. McNinja advanced from opposite sides, creating a pincer attack. Two sets of blades cleaved through the violet robes and their last foe collapsed.

Leonardo turned to his brothers. Michelangelo slammed his nunchukus against their last cultist and Donatello poked him in the stomach with his bo staff, lifting him up and crashing him into the ground. The cultist didn’t get up.

Raphael, however, was rather occupied.

“Hey! Get me down from here!” he shouted. Tendrils of purple energy writhed from beneath the cultist leader’s sleeves, wrapping around Raphael like tentacles and holding him high in the air. He stabbed at them with his sais but the pointed tips went through them like air.

“I guess Raph did his job,” Donatello said as he and Michelangelo rejoined them.

“Oh, that’s gross,” Dr. McNinja said.

“Yeah, we should probably help him,” Michelangelo said.

The four ninjas charged forward, ready to defeat the last of the cultists.

 

[The Living]

Patience.

It was a trait that the slime had managed to learn with the limited sentience that it had achieved. A small but crucial trait that rewards those who wait, those that feign weakness or ineptitude before striking true. Though it could not strike well without moving its entire body, the trap it had laid quickly bore fruit.

Or more accurately, fresh meat.

Tobias arrived at the cross section and hesitated upon seeing the grossly decorated cavern. Just the smell of it tickled his stomach in the worst way possible, and he could only imagine that the jellied floor was going to stick to him no matter how he went about it. It almost seemed as if one of the unmaking creatures exploded their guts all over the place.

With a grimace, he held a sleeve to his mouth and nose, narrowing his eyes in disgust as he traveled over the slimy intersection,feeling the substance stick to the bottom of his footwear. It was absolutely atrocious, and for a moment he considered that perhaps this wasn’t the best way to go about this mission. He did deserve it for heading out by himself, however.

Unfortunately, his self-pity was cut short, not by some interloper that would instead provide encouragement, but a sudden collapse of the tunnel that struck him dumbfounded as he found himself nearly swimming in toxic goo. Teeth scraped against his back before he found himself spat out onto the nearby wall, gasping for air.

“Gal’skap bless me, what I have gotten myself into,” he coughed as he faced his opponent. It seemed that the layer of gunk was not some putrid leftovers, but an entirely new type of unmade monster.

The toxic ooze sputtered and hissed, taunting its prey. Even without it speaking words, the man could easily assume that this pile of snot rot was going to try to eat him. He didn’t remember planning a brunch at this hour, in fact, he hated brunch. Who even goes out for brunch?

Shoving the distracting thoughts out of his head, he dove to the side as the slime lurched forward and slapped against the wall, spreading out like one would picture nuclear waste in a cartoon. It was impressive, but all the while still the most wretched thing Tobias had laid eyes upon.

There would be no room for this creature in the domain of Gal’skap.

Without a second thought, the cultist lunged forward and drove his blade into the creature, yelling in effort as it sliced through its terrible mouthed form…

...and embedded itself in it.

The unmade slime recoiled but did not let go, aggressively pulling at the blade and threatening to wrench it from his grasp as it bit down and clenched around it. Before he could take another tug against it, the slime pounced forward again and swallowed his arm, searing his flesh with its caustic touch. Tobias tensed and failed to pull himself away as he stepped onto more of its gelatinous body.

“My Lady,” the psion began, taking a deep breath. “Though I don’t believe myself fit for the task you have assigned to me...”

Tobias reached forward as energy glowed brightly from his hand, forcing the slime off of his shoulder.

“I will not perish here in this forsaken tomb!”

His voice thundered through the cavern as the slime was shoved off both him and his blade, holding his visceral psionic grip until he flung it across the room like a rejected booger.

Tobias stood firm as he caught his breath, watching as the creature seemed to rearrange itself and look back at him with a gaping maw. An aura that he felt to the core began to emerge from the slime, draining him and pulling him though time, as if its very presence was withering away.

So this is the power that the unmaking are granted.

The slime ballooned and gave a shriek of a hiss, irritated at its prey’s audacity to simply toss it aside. There was some offense to the psionic power that the cultist in front of it held, and it despised that power. Once it had a chance to feast on their corpse, they would find a way to revoke whatever ability that it seemed to be so weak to. It would continue to learn and adapt, as it always has.

“Gal’skap guides my hand, monster. What guides you?” Tobias asked rhetorically.

The slime stopped for a moment, causing Tobias to stare in confusion as it seemed to breathe in and settle on a smile, before twisting and opening its vile mouth.

“Entropy.”

“Despair.”

“Power.”

Tobias stared shock-eyes at the creature, hardly believing the raspy, guttural voice that it had heard. He could not be sure if the slime could normally communicate in such a way, or if its presence so close to whatever hive the unmaking came from allowed it to move in that way. In either case, it sent a chill up his spine as the slime stretched in horrid ways, struggling to simulate speech.

“There is no room for your Gal’skap at the end of time. Just as there is no room for you.”

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Fantastic. Even the living glob of snot was taunting him. Tobias couldn’t help but snort at its taunts though. Being around at the end of time was one of Gal’skap’s selling points. All slime no substance, he supposed.

“Guess you don’t have much of a brain in there, huh?” The psion tutted, reaching up with his free hand and tearing the corroded remains of his sleeve free. Beneath the ruined fabric, his arm looked like a mess, though only part of the damage had come about due to the blob’s hunger. Half a dozen long, winding scars corkscrewed up the knight’s arm, mingling with the messy, runny patches of semi-dissolved flesh. “Suppose I can’t be too surprised. A smart sentient blob of phlegm would probably have some self-awareness and wouldn’t be rushing out to introduce itself.”

The goo paused for a moment. It wasn’t surprised, per se, and certainly not affected by his response, it’s behaviour was more analytical. His reaction had clearly not been what it had predicted, and it seemed to be figuring out exactly why.

“Well… I might be getting a little bold here. I’m still scared shitless, of course.” Tobias admitted, grinning in spite of himself. As he spoke, pinpricks of light began to form at the head of each of his scars, six tiny sparks of amethyst shining like a little constellation. Wincing slightly, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his stance, bringing his right foot back and taking his sword in both arms, holding it steady over his right shoulder. “But that’s the thing. I’m always scared shitless.”

The Living, deciding that it wasn’t going to get anything more out of any further conversation, squelched inwards with a wet slap not unlike a particularly moist and noisy smacking of lips, preparing to hurl itself towards its prey. The knight-errant grimaced at the sound as he readied himself, the sparks on his arm crackling excitedly in anticipation. That noise was one of Lady Alva’s least favourites. In fact, the entire creature before him was one that she would consider incredibly distasteful. As if blasphemy wasn’t enough of a crime…

The cultist was snapped back to attention by the retching squelch of the goop hurling itself towards him. In response, the psionic sparks roared into lightning, shooting down his arm, following the trails that they had blazed many times before and opening his old scars with the smell and sound of searing flesh. He grit his teeth for just a moment before forcing himself to open his mouth, calling out to his god.

“Oh Gal’skap, witness my offering. This meaningless flesh, I give it up to you.” He chanted, feeling the psionic power flowing through him and towards his blade. “I reject this form, the falsehood that is existence. All of my faith, I put it in you! GAL’SKAP!”

With that, Tobias began to bring his blade down in a brutal vertical swing, the sparks of eldritch power reaching the hilt of the sword just in time. As he swung his weapon, violet lightning shot down its length in an instant before exploding from its tip, arcing to either side of the blade and moving to form a massive ring that traced the trajectory of his swing. A beat later, the circuit completed and, with a keening whir, the ring bristled with teeth as it took the form of a gigantic hollow saw blade, leaving just enough space for the knight to duck into.

The sound of entropic goop meeting razor sharp psionic energy was bizarre and somewhat unpleasant, a high-pitched hiss not totally removed from steam hissing through a tiny hole, but the smell was far worse, no scent that a mortal had any business sniffing. Unfortunately, the warrior had but a moment to contemplate the odour before he realised, far too late, that the Living was much smarter than he had given it credit for.

His slash had bisected its form cleanly, as he had anticipated, but it had shifted its mass off to one side, leaving it mostly intact as it landed behind him, already orienting itself for another lunge.

“Shit.” Tobias gasped, hurling himself to the side as it fired itself straight at his head like the world’s grossest (and largest. And deadliest) spitball. “Can’t let it get my head. Or my legs. Or my arms.”

The psion grunted as he hit the ground hard, biting back a yelp of pain as he realised that he hadn’t completely managed to clear the slime’s path. With a flick of the wrist, he tore the tiny remnants of the blob that clung to his now considerably droopier ear. “Ha… ha…” He panted. “Now that I’m thinking about it, letting it get my torso doesn’t sound great either.”

Rolling to his feet, his hand lowered to Alva’s sword for just a moment, his fingers brushing the hilt of the precious heirloom. The warrior figured that it at least had a chance to end the fight then and there and he couldn’t realistically see any other way to actually kill the blob, but he didn’t want to tarnish the irreplaceable blade by using it against the foul thing before him. Plus, what if it didn’t end the fight? If Lady Alva herself were using it, then he was sure that…

Tobias stopped himself, feeling despair rising in his chest once more. That was so like him. Even when he was fighting against a talking glob of snot that was trying to eat him, he managed to feel sorry for himself. Still, that glob did seem to be sentient. At least his self-loathing might be of use for one.

“Hey, you said you’re guided by despair before, yeah?” The knight-errant asked, his now-open scars igniting with psionic energy once more. This time, however, they remained alight, burning constantly into his arm instead of simply rushing down its length. The Living did not respond, but paused its assault, if only for a moment, ever so slightly curious if it’s prey was about to collapse to its knees. It certainly wouldn’t reject an easy meal after the trouble it had been through. “You ever felt it yourself?”

Hissing lightly, the concentrated Unmaking brushed aside the pointless line of questioning before an odd sensation overtook it. For reasons beyond its comprehension, a feeling that no matter what it did, it simply couldn’t overcome the being before it descended over its alien mind. Tobias watched the sludge fall still for a moment, twitching as it processed the new experience. He had the feeling that it wouldn’t keep the creature long, knowing that some great, slimy evil wouldn’t be held by his pathetic self-doubt for more than a few moments, no matter how crushing it felt to him. He had to do this quickly.

“Phew… witness the crushing weight of the unknowable future. Feel what I feel, suffer as I suffer.” The cultist chanted quickly, his arm lighting up light a beacon of violet energy as he drew out as much power as he could, doing his best to hold the Living for as long as possible. “Be consumed by dread and fall to me! ‘The Fool of Dreadridge!’”

Even as he incanted, the goop could feel the bonds of the spell slipping as quickly as he strengthened them. The balance between knowing that it could easily devour the prey before it and knowing that it simply couldn’t teetered back and forth, even as Tobias let out a tired gasp and turned to leave, sending one glance back at the Living with an exhausted grin.

“Despair is pretty rough, huh? Feels like you’re about to be eaten alive.”

With that, a massive pair of psionic jaws snapped shut around the blob right as it broke the spell and moved to lunge at the knight once more, the goo disappearing between them with a wet “squelch”. Clutching his arm, burning pain still shooting up each of his scars, Tobias turned tail and ran, fairly certain that his ability to affect the goop’s foreign mind had been pushed to its limit. He took the opportunity to cast his gaze back once more as he fled, glancing back just in time to see the jaws vanish and drop the mostly still intact Living to the floor.

By the time it had recovered the few lost bits of mass and regained its bearings, the blob’s prey had made its escape, all thanks to the irritating sensation that had been thrust upon it, if only for a few moments. The ooze let out a frustrated hiss at its prey slipping its entropic grasp. For now...

 

[Dr. McNinja]

“I got it!” Doc chirped in response.

Dr. McNinja made a whooping noise as he tumbled forward, sword flashing in the dim light that crawled into the cave from the surface. With the impossible agility that Doc had built for decades, he started spinning as he catapulted through the air. His movements were fluid enough that his body seemed to be swimming more than leaping. His torso was moving in a perfectly calculated arc, and his limbs were the dance of phantoms all huggin around his body. It was an entrancing performance as he stayed in the air for what seemed like years, spinning and tumbling at angles previously unheard of.

A magic tentacle snatched him out of the air.

“Doc!” Mikey yelled, “You okay?”

Dr. McNinja grunted in response, “THEY ARE VERY GRABBY”

“Thanks for the save, Doc,” Raphael sighed before the purple tentacle squeezed him harder.

The spectral limb binding Doc was wrapping around his legs and crawling their way up his body. They started wrapping around his abs, crushing them as best they could. His pants started getting damp, but Doc knew for a fact that he wasn’t urinating.

“THEY’RE ALSO REALLY WET” Doc exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, Doc!” Michelangelo said, “We’re coming to save you!”

Michelangelo sprinted forward. As a tentacle reached for him, Mikey jumped off the ground to the side. He dodged a second tentacle as he kicked off the wall, tumbling in the air, nunchucks whirling.

Now that was a distraction. In the meantime, Donatello and Leonardo had split off, hoping to catch the cultist in another pincer movement. Their brother in orange was already getting wrapped up by another spectral tentacle, but Donatello was now charging in while Leo crept up from behind.

In one smooth movement, the cultist spun his arms. The tentacles holding Mikey and Raph moved accordingly, slamming into both Donatello and Leo. All four turtles grunted, as two more tentacles lifted up

“Are these your finest warriors?” the cultist cackled, “Lord Darkseid shouldn’t even have to waste time you pathetic weaklings. He will be… displeased when he learns my brothers fell so easily.”

“That’ll be the least of your problems when I’m through with you!” Raphael snarled.
“You irritate me,” the cultist replied.

“Why are they wet?” Doc whined, staring pitifully at the mage, “Are you making them wet on purpose? Was that necessary?”

“You also irritate me,” the magical cultist snarled. The tentacle holding Dr. McNinja suddenly started gripping tightly. Doc gasped as the air in his lungs started getting squeezed out. The turtles started grunting as well, presumably suffering under the effects of the spell.

Dr. McNinja studied the room for a solution. Apparently, just stabbing the tentacle wasn’t really an option, and the cultist had an uncanny sense of what was going on. But apparently easily angered.

Doc looked up. Oh yeah! He never got to unspool his cable from that stalactite.

“So how are you doing this?” Doc bantered, “Daddy Darkseid gave you an octopus ghost or something?”

The cultist scowled, and Doc felt his tentacle tighten even harder. “Do not speak his name in vain.”

The turtles all looked at Doc curiously. Dr. McNinja chuckled, feeling his ribs start to crack, then gave the other ninjas a pleading glance. Thankfully, Mikey caught on quickly.

“Whoa, dude, no need to get all touchy about it,” Michelangelo cackled, “I mean, you’re already getting touchy, aren’t you?”

Leonardo seemed to understand. “Isn’t he already being really touchy? I mean, this is less scary and just kinda.. weird.”

Donatello nodded. “And, I must say… -ngh- the tentacle motif is starting to get redundant. Does Darkseid not know how to gift his followers other magics?”

“I don’t think he’s even -hrngh- all that strong, boys,” Raphael continued, “God, this is embarrassing.”

The cultist’s eyes were on the verge of popping out. “Shut up!”

“I mean, you could shut us up any time with that tentacle, no?” Doc shrugged, trying to play off his intense pain, “Are you into getting roasted by teenagers?”

“I said SHUT UP.”

“Uh huh, whatever you say,” McNinja continued, “But now we know that Darkseid is apparently into some really weird shit. You do this to him at night?”

“Enough!” the cultist roared, and the tentacle holding Doc twisted until his head was pointed at the ground. With a furious gesture, the cultist slammed Doc headfirst into the ground with his magic.

“YOU. WILL. BE. SILENCED.”

Each word was accented by a savage slam into the ground. The turtles glanced at each other nervously. Though their binds were a little looser, now that the cultist was focusing so much on Doc, their shock was keeping them from struggling too hard. The cultist breathed deeply, either trying to cool down from his fury, or because he was out of breath from the exertion of his magic.

“You don’t seem so chatty anymore, freaks,” the cultist cackled, wiping drool from his mouth.

Mikey grinned uncomfortably. “Dude, is he drooling?”

The cultist, unamused, slammed Michelangelo into the wall behind him. The other turtles grit their teeth in anger at watching their brother get hurt.

“Anyone else?” the cultist said.

“Ooh, can I have a go?”

The cultist turned around, lightly surprised. Dr. McNinja was grinning back at him, still upside down and hanging from the spectral tentacle that bound him. Blood was spilling down his face and into his eyes, but the doctor stared back unphased.

“You truly are persistent,” the cultist cackled, “I will end your miserable existe- Wait, what is that in your mouth?”

Dr. McNinja had something in his mouth. Well, to be more accurate, his teeth were gripping onto something over the mask. Upon closer examination, the cultist realized that it was the cable which Doc was whipping around earlier.

“How the hell did you get that?” the cultist wondered out loud, noting Doc’s bound hands.

After a pause, Doc smiled triumphantly.

“MIMJA TRICKSH”

Doc yanked his head to the side. The cable jerked taut, and the cultist followed where it was going with concern. He saw where the cable was tied to a stalactite, which was already cracking from having to support Doc’s weight earlier. The cultist tried to guard himself with a tentacle with a yelp as the sharp rock buckled clean off the ceiling. But it was too little, too late. The heavy stalactite crashed on top of the cultist’s head, instantly knocking the mage out cold. All five of the ninjas landed on their feet. Doc started stretching his pummeled body with a groan.

“Ah, well-placed ceiling ornaments,” Doc mused, “May you always fall on arrogant villains who think they’ve already won.”

“Nice work, Doc,” Leo said.

“I thought you were gonna go into a coma or something,” Mikey said with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, I was,” Doc said, “After enough of those, you start waking up from them pretty quickly.”

The other four turtles stared at Dr. McNinja with equal parts awe, skepticism and concern. Doc reached into his coat and pulled out some sort of spray bottle, walking towards Michelangelo.

“I didn’t think you were gonna keep riling him up, Mikey,” Doc said, shaking the bottle, “Here, this is amphibian flesh spray. It’ll help seal up the cut in your head, and maybe replace any blood you lost.”

“As if he had any in the first place,” Raphael snarked.

“Wait,” Donatello said, “Why do you have amphibian flesh spray?”

“Because life is crazy?!” Doc shouted back as he pocketed the spray.

“You got something for yourself?” Leo said, his eyes laid on the blood-drenched eye opening of Doc’s mask.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Doc chirped back.

Dr. McNinja lifted his mask slightly without revealing his face. A torrent of blood and other… solid bits spilled out, spattering on the cave floor. The turtles looked at the puddle on the floor in disgust.

“Okay, fine,” Doc sighed, “I’ll take an ibuprofen. But I’m gonna have to swallow it dry, which will hurt my throat, and you’re going to have to live with that guilt.”

Dr. McNinja sighed and lifted his mask again, dropping a single pill into his mouth as he marched further into the tunnel. Leo rolled his eyes and gestured at his brothers, and they followed the doctor deeper into the ground.

 

[Lilith]

Slosh. Slosh. Slosh. A prodigious pair of pale legs waded through the drowned corridor. All power and life had vanished from the once proud building, now sparsely illuminated by occasional glimpses of light peeking past sooty, broken glass panes. This tragic work of architecture had a purpose, once. Who could still know, from the fragments that lingered?

Lilith mused at the blood-stained battle-scarred walls. Such an unfathomable amount of death to occur in such a short time. It filled her with inspiration to surpass the mass fatalities. She trudged past a bloated corpse as she slowly caught up to the group (minus one) she'd tagged along with.

After a swim, a horizontal walk, and a dive into a ruined concrete structure to avoid attracting attention, she arrived at the floor the pair was holed up in. Tracking was a non-issue—she'd never forget Amalia's haunted aura. The three were now one story below the roof, all having learned that staying out in the open led to nothing but trouble.



"Shhh, wait up, something is heading this way," warned the older female.

"N-no way, this can't be happening…" whimpered a younger, frightened voice.

Juno huddled together with Amalia behind a knocked over table, which lay about the dilapidated mall. Her parental instincts kicked in, holding the child close, calming their panicked breathing.

Heavy steps echoed across the stained floor, each weighty thump closer, and closer than the last. Every beat reverberated in Amalia's hollow chest, the unsettling, uneven sound ringing where her heart should have been.

Then it stopped, right in front of the spirit host. Her shaky, wavering hand reached for her recently acquired knife, woeful that it had to be used so soon. A set of fingers grabbed the edge of the flimsy barrier, and Amalia spared no time defending herself. She clutched the handle of her knife and slammed the blade down on the unknown enemy.

A splash of red decorated the metal. Amalia shirked back, trembling, mortified.

Why? Why couldn't it have been anyone, anything else?

"Ow. You have a funny way of greeting people, brat." Lilith raised her wrist and licked at the wound, which filled itself shortly after.

"Stay away from her!" butted in Juno, placing herself between.

"What's got you all bothered? I just came here to check in on my two newest friends." The giantess tilted her head in mock confusion.

"We are not friends."

"Daww, Juno, you're breaking my—"

"Also could you put some damn clothes on?!" Juno hastily blocked the teen's eyes.

"Huh?" She looked downwards. "Oh. Can't really do much about that. Ah well, judging from the brat's face they're already scarred for life. You two, er… get used to it. Or don't."

"Her name is Amalia." The fae huffed in frustration. "Don't you have any more of those bandage things?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm a busy woman, I don't have time to get dressed."

She sneered. "Fine. Tell us why you're really here."

"I merely wanted to see how you two were doing, what you all have been up to, honest. I know you missed me, Juno."

"We don't want anything to do with you."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Lucky for you, my destination is elsewhere. I doubt there are many people left in central Nausicaa."

That should've been the end of the conversation, but something was nagging in the back of Juno's mind. "Where are you going, exactly?"

"Hmhm, I'm glad you asked." Lilith moved to a more open area below a shattered sunroof, using the tip of her finger as a paintbrush to dig a map into the tiled floor.

Amalia tried to see what was going on, but Juno prevented exposure to such indecent imagery.

"So this circle is where we are, and this circle is the big floating island. This is the center, and this big X is our current location. As you can see, we veered left from our original course, but hey, not every voyage makes its expected landfall. We didn't see too many people, so my guess is that they're all clustered together at the edge closest to the City of Hope. Soo, if I go to the right…" she drew an arrow connecting the two points, "the base must be somewhere around here. Oh, and there's Godzilla." She marked a 'G' on the map.

"What's Godzilla?" inquired Juno.

"The giant lizard creature out there. At least I'm pretty sure that's what it's called. Looks like the one where I'm from. Except, y'know, it's real. Anyways… that's where I'm going."

"And you're going there because…?"

"That's where I can help the most people, obviously. Shame you won't get to be there, though. But, you can keep an eye out for the news. I'm sure you'll see me there~"

Juno tried to hide the revulsion forming on her face. "Right. Great. Can you leave us alone now?"

"I understand, you need your space. Don't worry." Lilith pressed up uncomfortably close. "We'll see each other again. Very soon."

No. This time she had to take a stand. Juno forced them to back off with a valiant shove.

Lilith mouthed the word 'Oh', looking very pleased with herself. "This was exciting, but I'll be heading out now. Byeee~"



Juno waited until the rotten woman was out of sight to breathe a sigh of relief. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think so, yeah," peeped Amalia.



Toying with the purple broad was fun, but higher value game beckoned the hunt. Their brief encounter was just the appetizer before the main course. She'd return to the prey, in due time.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

“General, get that lady outta here,” Arthur gruffed, his voice a rough contrast to the high-pitched chattering of the insectoid beasts swarming all around them, the sawed-off shotgun clutched between his fingers alight with bewitching, shivering tongues of icy blue flame. A deafening CRACK-BOOM rang out, and a horrendous, shrill shriek followed— one of the creatures dropping from the ceiling and shrivelling into a charred pile of chitinous ash as it struck the ground. “I’ll hold ‘em off!”

Ezrihel’s green eyes flashed with fiendish delight, his rapier scything through the air in an arc of elegant crimson light, severing the wings of a nearby parademon from between its shoulders with a brutally efficient slash. The General chuckled, stabbing the earthbound creature through the heart before it could even think to rise again. ‘You can stow your savior complex for later, Morgan. I won’t leave you down here to get overwhelmed by our foe’s greater numbers. And aside from that, the fun has only just begun!’

In between shots, the outlaw glanced up at the ceiling like he thought he might find some kind of divine assistance up there. As per usual, he was disappointed.

“I think you and I have very different ideas about what ‘fun’ means, General,” the man drawled. Contrary to his words, however, a vicious grin split his face as another demon plummeted from above, shrieking and wailing as it spiralled downward like a comet wreathed in silvery fire.

It lived for a few moments longer, clawed fingertips digging into the ground as it made to scramble upright, only for Althaus to leap upon its back with his elegant, heeled boots digging into the poor sap’s spine— his blade easily piercing its throat in a spray of acidic green blood.

The General looked up, flicking his golden hair out of his face with a practiced head motion that seemed almost perfectly choreographed to show off just how damn pretty he was. Were it not for the heat of battle roaring around them, anyhow, rubble and gunfire and blood forming a cacophony of sheer sensation that arrested the mind and senses alike.

‘You’ll have to forgive me, then, Morgan,’ the andromedan stated primly, his smooth voice resonating inside Arthur’s skull. ‘I believe you will find that many things about me are… ‘different,’ by your reckoning.’

For a moment, Arthur contemplated just how he’d gotten himself into this situation. There was the matter of seeking Kopaka, sure, but he’d never imagined himself fighting alongside someone like Althaus. Someone with a commanding presence that didn’t seem erected simply to hide some inner madness, some devastating insecurity that Arthur couldn’t even begin to guess at. Someone who, simply put, outclassed him in nearly every way possible.

Well. The difference in their looks, the former outlaw could understand; he was of a rougher sort, coarse and ugly right down to his core… damaged goods, some would say, thought Arthur’d knock their teeth right out if they had the guts to say it. Althaus, on the other hand, was grace incarnate. It almost seemed like he was dancing rather than fighting. He’d never seen nothing like it— and truly hoped he’d live long enough to see more.

But he was allowing his mind to wander. There were still a couple of the locust-like creatures seething across the cavernous walls in a wave of bristling, blade-like wings, and countless other abominations besides appearing to harass them from various angles. Some of the things seemed to be plants, others looked distinctly dog-like, and yet more appeared to have once been people, now twisted, mangled, and bleeding dark violet corruption as they barreled forth to impede their descent into the tunnels.

Arthur raised his shotgun from behind a chunk of someone’s once-beautiful suburban home, poised to take another one of those red-eyed devils out, when something occurred to him with a devastating and sudden clarity.

‘General,’ he thought pointedly, for the first time attempting to broach the telepathic connection Althaus had created between them.

‘What is it, Morgan?’ Ezrihel demanded, sounding harried. Glancing over at him, Arthur could see that the General was very focused on defending the catatonic Swift’s position, his rapier moving in a blaze of trailing crimson as the Unmade came within range.

Arthur hesitated, but pressed the issue. ’Where’d that big ol’ tentacle get off to, huh?’

All of the corrupted creatures around him neutralized for the moment, General Althaus went briefly stone-still. ’P’thaeyl, scan the area—!’

A deep, soul-penetrating rumble shook the narrow subterranean pocket of air they’d found themselves cornered in. Fragments of concrete and broken asphalt hailed down from above, leaving bruises and cuts in their wake. Amid the chaos, a gigantic tentacled arm erupted from the unnameable murk below with a volcanic flourish of dust and debris, sweeping both the cowboy and the andromedan off their feet.

In a blur of brown, Arthur went tumbling down, down into the dark, landing somewhere further down the tunnel in a jumbled heap.

With a cough and a muted groan, the man attempted to sit up, wiping a smear of blood from a steadily-weeping cut on his cheek. Dust crackled in his lungs, the poisonous corruption in the air causing him to choke. Yet still he soldiered on, forcing himself up onto his hands and knees.

He couldn’t hear anymore sounds of combat coming from further up the tunnel. No, not anymore. Instead, there was a profound, bone-chilling silence.

‘General,’ Arthur thought, a desperate, whining pitch rising to the forefront of his brain, like the aftermath of a gunshot too close to his ear. He became distantly aware that his ears were wet, coppery-smelling blood pooling inside and spilling down the sides of his neck. ‘Althaus! You alright up there?’

No answer. Arthur looked around for his 1887 Winchester, finding a fat lot of nothing in the sudden pitch black surrounding him. Instead, his fumbling hands grasped onto something else— something lightweight and roughened with age, made of fine strips of leather. What in the…?

The man brought the object closer to his face, briefly unconcerned by the silent world shuddering around him, the vibrations of distant impacts forcing him to steady himself against a slick, craggy wall of stone in the dark. Although he couldn’t see it through the uncertain fog of shadows swirling around him, Arthur understood what it was in seconds, and immediately swore under his breath. It was that damn bridle that Jack feller’d gifted to him… not useful at all, at least not in a situation like this.

Still, even as the man managed to rise to his feet, he kept a stubborn hold on the bridle. He couldn’t have rightly said just why he did it, but he did.

Turning his thoughts back to his current situation, Arthur again attempted to make use of that telepathic ventriloquist nonsense the General was about. ’General. Can you hear me?’

A response was not forthcoming. He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant. Arthur grit his teeth, attempting to feel his way back up towards where the powerful quakes and vibrations were coming from, and promptly found himself caught up against a rock wall. No, not a rock wall— a pile of boulders. It seemed that the roof of this place had caved in behind him, effectively trapping himself in a separate part of the tunnel from Althaus and the others.

Arthur’s breathing took on a harsher quality, rasping against his throat like a dog panting on a hot summer’s day.

“Shit,” he spat with great feeling, stumbling backward, nearly tripping over his own boots. Couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, and now he could scarcely get a damned breath in, the claustrophobic press of the walls around him seeming to tighten in an iron vice-grip around his chest. “Althaus!’

The man shook his head, pressing his fingernails hard into his palms in an attempt to ground himself. He weren’t scared of the dark none, not by a long shot, but he didn’t know if he could defend himself if one of those things found him down here. He needed to find a solution to that particular problem, and fast.

Fumbling in his pockets, Arthur came up with a box of matches, blindly striking one in the dark and praying like hell that he didn’t singe his own fingers off. The tiny flame lit up like a beacon, banishing the persistent shadows and sending a weak golden-yellow glow bouncing off the rock walls sealing him in on all sides.

The trapped outlaw looked ‘round with a sinking feeling in his chest, a furrow of concern creasing his forehead as another distant impact sent several plumes of dust gusting down from the jagged roof hanging low over his head.

Surely the General wouldn’t leave him to rot. Might have trouble finding him, though. Best make a lot of noise.

Sticking the tail end of the match between his teeth, Arthur jammed his fingers into both sides of his mouth, disregarding the sour-tasting bits of grit and blood that slid against the sides of his tongue, and unleashed the loudest whistle he could. Felt a bit silly doing it, especially when he couldn’t hear a lick of noise, but at least it was better’n doing nothing.

There was a long pause where absolutely nothing happened. About ten seconds, if that. Arthur grumbled low in the back of his throat, shifting from foot to foot, and went to whistle again— and promptly leapt nearly sixteen feet into the air in surprise when something bumped insistently against the small of his back, a warm pair of big, velvet-soft lips chewing at the back of his noggin.

The man spun around, nearly colliding with the goddamned horse that had magically appeared in the cavern with him. The match went spluttering out from between his teeth, the flame miraculously staying lit even as it landed between the horse’s powerful front hooves. Arthur merely gaped, hands thrown out behind himself to brace against the wall.

“What in the hell…?” Arthur breathed out, and was promptly startled by the sound of his own voice. Huh, seemed his hearing had come back. Convenient timing.

A warm huff of breath puffed over his face as the horse snorted at him, her hooves clicking loudly against the uneven ground as she stirred in the enclosed space. Her big brown eyes stared placidly back at him, wet and shining with keen intelligence. A real beauty of a Morgan mare, with a chestnut coat and flaxen mane. Not just any horse, neither, but his horse, the horse that he’d had before— when—

Helplessly, Arthur looked down at the bridle in his hands… and blinked in surprise as it crumbled to ash in his grasp, black soot passing between his fingers like sand. He looked up again, refocusing on his horse—Radish, he’d called her, one of the best damn horses he’d ever had—and startled as the bridle reformed around her skull, the headpiece, throatlatch, cheek straps and noseband all falling miraculously into place. A shiny yellow medallion glinted at the center of her forehead, fitting perfectly into the brown leather of the brow band.

“I’ll be damned,” Arthur breathed, and reached out to touch. Something painful stung at his eyes when the velveteen softness of Radish’s muzzle pressed against his knuckles; she lipped at his fingers, an affectionate snort leaving her as her tail swished in the air, her head bobbing up and down in greeting.

Without thinking much of it, and no longer overly concerned about being inside a collapsed tunnel, Arthur allowed his hand to stray upward, brushing some of her mane out from her face. In a moment of distraction, his expression open and wondering, Arthur’s fingers brushed over the strange medallion.

The outlaw’s world abruptly burst into flame.

Arthur has used 1 application of Focus to activate his Relic, the Radish. 1/3 Focus used.

 

[V]

"Beautiful...is it not?" the masked man murmured, as he stood at edge of the roof. The last crumbling dregs of the wall, merely a precious few square feet at one corner, were more like lone a spire rising up out of the rubble below than anything resembling a defined structure any longer. "Seeing it from afar, and through the observing screens didn't do it justice. This, however..." And his arms spread wide, the dust and smoke billowing around from the destruction curling up around his gaunt, crimson-clad frame. "...this...is art. It's all so...so gripping, all so real."

His voice lifted into a musical, ringing chuckle, as his arms slowly lowered down to his sides, and his masked gaze dropped to the stone beneath his feet. "Don't you think so, as well, gentlemen?"

Arrayed about and around him, many of his 'associates' could be seen. One of them clung desperately to the crumbling edges of his leader's perch, his raw and bloodied fingers showing through the shredded gloves of his work jumpsuit. Another lay below, transfixed and impaled to the wall's remains with the spines of some mammoth sea creature mutated beyond its waterbound origins. A half dozen more were laid out below, sprawled and broken among the detritus and rubble, little more than corpses and set dressing when taken alongside the countlessly more innumerable corpses and remains around them. The warped and mangled flora and fauna of the island and sea, the demented cultists and monsters of the unmade arbiter, and even scores of civilians who hadn't been fortunate enough to survive and escape.

"Y-Yes, sir," the surviving carnivale employee gasped, his words coming up alongside a choked gasp that spattered the bricks with an equal volume of spit and blood. "It...it's...amazing..."

"Yes...it truly is magnificent. It has been an honor to have you all accompany me here on this little visit." The Man in Red lifted a gloved hand up to the brim of his hat, swiping his fingertips along it and flicking away the gathering of ash and dust and blood. "Now, however...I think it is time we depart." His musical little laugh sounded again, as he lifted his gaze to the horizon again. "Things are about to take a very...interesting turn, can you feel it? And we shouldn't stand around here and miss out."

He took one step forward, and pitched himself off the side of his crumbling perch, as the failing stonework finally gave up altogether. A cascading shower of rubble and dust went thundering down, the noise just one more jumbled string of notes lost among the messy, awful, discordant symphony playing on the island.

The dying worker was buried under the tiny avalanche of debris, as the Man in Red himself alighted lightly and soundlessly upon it.

His normally pristine suit had been tattered and ruffled, worn through and shredded in places, covered in stains of soot and ash and blood and who knew what else. He had suffered his fair share of scratches and scrapes, and been injured by these awful monstrosities. Even his trademark mask had been cracked, the splintering lines running up from below and left of its chin to the right eye. And yet it somehow did nothing to mar the flawless appearance and mannerisms the man put forth, as he leaped forward and shot through the chaos and fire and destruction of the crumbling island.

Every step carried him the length of ten, every movement was done so lazily as if no effort at all were expended but had been practiced and memorized a thousand times over, his eyes never wavered from straight ahead but he seemed aware of all about him as he went.

"The real show is just beginning...and its stage doesn't lie on what's left of the surface," he all but sang aloud as he hurled himself in a spinning leap through a cloud of unmade abominations. He alighted on the back of a large monster that might have once been a seabird of some kind, and with a gesture as simple as swiping his hand he severed its head, and sprang off of it with a high-flying leap.

One hand holding his hat in place as he performed a midair tumble and cartwheel, and his opposing hand shot out to grasp one of the 'leaders' of this entire mess — the so-called 'Parademons' — by its face with a vice-tight grip, his spindly fingers closing about the monster's gray flesh like a bear trap.

"I can't possibly go to such a grand event alone," the Man in Red chortled. A swift twist, and he planted a kick with the toe of one shoe directly into the base of the grappled demon's wing, eliciting a noise almost beyond his hearing and a smattering of vile, angry screeching and curses as they both began to plummet from the air.

"It is fortunate then, that I have found such excellent company to guide me to the final stage," the showman cackled, as he and the parademon crashed down into one of the holes in the crumbling island, vanishing into the darkness below with only the ringing, sing-song noise of the deranged performer's laughter and the enraged shrieking of the wounded demon echoing behind them.

 

[V]

Pitiful.

Though the inner workings of King of Monsters' mind weren't advanced enough to form such a cohesive and single thought, that was the overwhelming impression it gave off all the same. These things here, these unmade creatures...little more than pitiful, useless annoyances.

They might have been able to wound the great titan enough to draw blood, but it was still injured and tired from previous exertions. At full strength, they would have been barely more worthy of notice than ordinary humans. The same regard that a human might pay to a lone mosquito or fly. Utterly inconsequential alone, and merely a bothersome nuisance when in such great numbers.

An earth-shaking roar ripped out from the colossal lizard-thing's jaws along with a blistering torrent of blue-white fire that tore a swathe through the ground and what remained of the island and city upon it. Errant sand and dust in the air turned to sparkling flecks of glass, and the air was set to shimmering and wavering from the heat and filled with the cries and shrieks of the wounded creatures plaguing the island as they burned and crumbled to ash under the nuclear onslaught.

A single sweep of Godzilla's mighty claws tore an entire building — or what was left of it — free from the ground, and flying several city blocks through the air, splattering dozens of mutated beasts with the stonework before it crashed down to the ground again. A lash of the massive, seemingly ponderous tail of the great beast sent huge plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the air as it virtually crushed and swept an entire chunk of landscape away, leaving only bloodied and stained flat ground in its wake.

For all its fury and seemingly mindless rampaging, however...the king of mounters was no fool. It was slow work for it to plod its way through the increasingly-ruined city toward its target, but its progress was inevitable. Nothing here thus far had been able to do more than slow it down for a matter of moments.

It had felt something. Something alien and foreign and oppressively powerful, for a fleeting moment. The same kind of sickening, unearthly presence that had stirred it from its long, fitful slumber beneath the waves. And somehow, it knew where it must go. It had seen the worst of the things attacking this island, the biggest and most powerful threat as it tore the landmass from the sky and briefly emerged here and there across the rapidly-crumbling island.

And more than that, it had seen where they had retreated to when they vanished.

Below.

There was something beneath the ground of the island. Something unnatural, that should not be. All that Godzilla knew was that it was a fragment of what it had been woken up to fight against, and that was all it needed. It was no hero, or benevolent figure or savior. It wasn't going to needlessly slaughter or destroy the hapless inhabitants of this island or the ones who had come from elsewhere to 'save' them — as long as they stayed out its way, at least — but it wasn't going to save them either. It was here for reasons beyond anything so pointless. It was here for the sole fact that something like this sickening presence also threatened its own well-being if left unchecked.

It only needed to find a suitable place...that it could break through, and get down to whatever lurked below. There was too much in the way everywhere it looked, though. Too many buildings, too many people, too many monsters. Not enough room to bring its full fury and might to bear and smash through the ground to get at what it was after.

....and then it happened.

As the kaiju's frustrations were vented upon swatting at a parademon harassing it with a cloud of other airborne monstrosities, the ground beneath it trembled and quaked. And then it cracked and split open. The sudden movement made the colossal beast lose its footing momentarily, with a surprised shrieking yelp, and then its world went crazy.

The same tentacles it had seen before, or ones like them, came lashing out of the yawning blackness below. Whipping and flailing and grasping wildly, they struck out at and grappled the titanic behemoth, eliciting a roar of profound fury and disbelief. Blue light sparkled and crackled along its spines again, racing up and along its back as its fury and power mounted...but too late.

Slowly, but surely, the immense titan's bulk and strength were overpowered as more and more of the flailing appendages came writhing out of the void, until they finally succeeded in their task. A single last mighty heave, and the form of Godzilla was toppled over, crashing to the ground with an earth-shaking impact and sending even more of the ground collapsing into the abyss below as the kaiju itself went tumbling down alongside it, a plume of its atomic fire belching into the sky overhead before it vanished altogether.

It might have been a fall of only a second, or one of several hours. The mighty titan's head was spinning as it righted itself, and let its boiling fury loose in the form of an earth-shaking roar, sending debris and bits of loose stone tumbling down from the tunnel roof overhead. Claws and teeth lashed out, pulverizing anything within its reach as it fought desperately to free itself from the grasp of the tendrils and tentacles which had ensnared it.

For a fleeting moment, it briefly wondered...were they bigger, now?

Then it turned its focus elsewhere. No matter how it had happened...it was here now.

Right where it wanted to be.

 

[Ridley]

Ridley felt alive. It was something about this new battle - not the fresh smell of blood, for he’d had that before,nor was it the familiar feeling of his wings unfurled, flying through the streets like an unstoppable wrecking ball.

It was something subtle he’d missed, as a violet set of talons grabbed a quartet of struggling cultists, giving them a few glorious seconds to regret and fear before they were lifted into the sky, before being dropped on the gaggle of crazed cultists and monsters below.

It had to do with the rush he gained as he sliced through another tentacle with the tip of his tailblade, causing the monstrous appendage to seethe in agony and retreat to the depths whence it came.

Ridley hadn’t felt it during his time in the carnival, or in the deserts before, slaughtering anything from the beasts of the wild to the parasites locked within the vaults, and had only seen a glimpse within his misbegotten adventures within Karim.

The familiarity was older, hearkening back to a time before metroids, before Zebes. Something he’d been filled with as his pirates raided the federation.

Yes, As Ridley dove forward, Slashing for a parademon that only narrowly escaped his grasp, a grin crept across his features as the emotion crystallized:

It was knowing that every single casualty he caused, every single droplet of blood he bathed in, was being seen by a higher power, an authority set to be above him.

As he bit through a fishman, rending his body in twain, he knew this was one less pawn for Darkseid to manipulate, one less shadow for his power to hide within. It was the intimate knowledge that he was right now manipulating the fate of kingdoms and nations and duchies and the ones in charge were powerless to do anything to stop him!

A flight of Parademons flew from the skies with spears in hands, ready to pin him, and Ridley opened his maw to face the assault with plasma.

Powerless?

The psychic shock, the familiar feeling, the overpowering consciousness flowing through him threw Ridley’s wings off. The Dragon’s wings seized up, and the Purple dinosaur found himself plummeting into the waiting wood and stone of the nearest residence.

You of gathered here know better, traitor. I am power.

The Dragon pulled himself from the rubble, with a maw viciously cut up and with pink-ish bruises forming. The Parademons dove for the fallen reptile with a vicious set of grins and glittering spears aloft.


You should have learned your place before, fool. Now, Kneel before Darkseid!.

The Response given was a throaty, reptilian snarl, one that lead into a laugh.

The dragon gave a grin that refused to fade, even as laser fire cut through his body. “Darkseid.” The Dragon spat in the common tongue, and a trio of parademons dove in from the sides, flanking the space pirate as their brethren laid cover fire.

The laser fire had left burns across Ridley’s body, but he’d felt greater sting from the rifles of the helldivers, the plasma of the hunter. These were not creatures of will, but savage instinct. Mindless peons.

Plasma blasted out, cutting one of the parademons out of the sky before he reached ridley, but the other two struck with their polearms, one catching Ridley across the side. The Dragon slashed for the third, and the Parademon gave a screech of triumph as the blade’s tip pierced cleanly through the Dragon’s palm.

The Space Pirate’s grin broadened as it closed into a fist, yanking the Parademon closer - close enough for the snarling creature to see the gleam in his eye before his head was bitten off his shoulders.

The last parademon saw fit to fly off, seeing the slaughter, just as Ridley’s eyes shifted to him.

Ridley’s tail lashed out with a sonic boom, and the tail cleanly sliced the leg from the parademon.

The titanic alien straightened, as his wings unfurled, sending him hurtling towards the now-scrambling formation of parademons. Blood spurted from his wounds, and the Dragon threw himself into a corkscrew, sending the high-temperature liquid in all directions. Ridley was quick to follow up with blasts of plasma, a maddened glee across his features.

“You of all should know the vastness of my fury, the might of my challenge, the power of my wings!” Ridley spat. “I am coming for you, Fallen Arbiter, and one day you will kneel before me!” the Dragon spat.

The Parademons were quick to form up, chasing the Space Dragon down with their own aerial formation, and Ridley’s eyes were quick to turn, noticing the one he’d charred earlier already getting back up. “I’ll start by cleaning up your vaunted parademons imp by misbegotten imp!”

 

[Ridley]

Chara had seen quite a few new things over the course of this battle, but as she stood in the ruins of a more literally broken home, it all felt somewhat… distant, as she stood before a trio of corpses.

Two had been her parents, familiar figures, if coated in doubts.

The thought was almost laughable. They had abused her for the crime of having magic, treated her as a nuisance, something to be locked away with the hard liquor and the tacky furniture when company appeared.

She had hated them, and yet, when she had come to Opealon, now completely alone, to face the unmade threat, she still wanted to see them.

Sometimes, the thought had been to save them, she was relatively certain. Other moments, she was likely motivated by another piece of herself, the one that wanted to laugh as they got… what they deserved.

Staring at their bodies, cradling a child not much younger than six, she was certain she hadn’t really wanted either. She just wanted to know how they were doing, if the Courtenay estate had changed, what kind of things they’d invested in, what sort of good - or bad - they did now, and whether a few years of separation had actually done anything to change their opinion of her.

The thought gave way to a slight sniffing, as the teenager kneeled down, seeing a little, blonde creature with well-manicured hair, and lanky features.

She had the same brown eyes Chara did, though they lacked any sort of glimmer, any sort of shine or detail…

Chara had a sister. She had learned this today.

Chara had a sister. She had learned this today.

She wondered if… if they had treated her any better. If she’d had the gift of magic or not, or if that had ever really mattered to her parents. Maybe they’d treated her badly, and Chara could have saved her, if she’d just been a bit faster. They could have talked about it, and She could have rescued her little sister from that if she’d ever really thought about it. Or, maybe she’d fit in, maybe her parents had learned from how they’d treated their eldest, and her leaving had at least resulted in one innocent child earning a happy life.

Chara kneeled down for long enough to close three eyes, getting down to one knee.

“...Guess we’ll have to talk about that once I’m finished this SAVE, huh?” She’d ask them, laying them down. There was no time for a burial, and certainly, on a sinking island, breaking apart at the seams, there was something fitting about it. A torrent of questions, lost to the depths.

Chara took a deep breath, reaching up to a rainbow scarf with a sigh. She needed to focus on what she had left - finding him, and saving him.

“Please… Let me go!”

“For Darkseid! For Darkseid! For Darkseid!” Chara heard the chanting, frowning as she quietly shifted positions from the floor to what remained of - what appears to be a nearby frozen yogurt store’s roof.

Chara held back a growl of annoyance as she saw what seemed to be some sort of procession.

A blonde child, Short and curly hair. He can’t have been more than eight, wearing a rather silly striped shirt… almost reminded her of a friend she used to know.

“With this strike, and the soul of a child, we shall buy our passage! With his blood, we will ascend past the common man, and sit in Lord Darkseid’s court!” The leader commanded, one of many wearing dark robes with the omega symbol woven into the back.

Chara scoffed, waiting just a moment to evaluate the situation. The Boy was bound by a relatively simple rope, but the cultist had a pair of men moving him to… a literal guillotine.
The cynic in her immediately scoffed. Went for the classical execution tool for rich sleazebags, and still chose to go for a child, instead? Cowards and uncreative.

A knife was pulled from the innards of Chara’s emerald hoodie, as the rainbow scarf was pulled to her face.

Checking the group’s stats, the Mage saw clearly the problems.

CULTIST LEADER ATK 7 DEF 3
Attack potency is high, fire magic specialist.
Overconfident and getting on in years. Vulnerable to sneak attacks.

With a move as quick as lightning, Chara flew through the code of this world, right behind the 1’s and 0’s she saw as his real form, and normalcy returned to the world just in time for her to see the blood dripping from her blade as she stabbed into the back of his coat.

“So tell me…” Chara asked with a grin, digging the knife in while using his body to hide her clearly from the rest of the cultists.

She used the opportunity to appear quickly behind one of the bodyguards, slashing for the back of his throat as the gasping man fell forward in a spray of blood. “Don’t you think Darkseid of all people’d prefer someone with a little more bite to them? I could always play the part.”

The Cultists were mostly in disarray, especially as the child’s sudden screaming added to the chaos, but the second guard was still in enough control of his wits to pull a gun on the Eldest Dreemurr sibling, and focus like this meant she couldn’t really teleport out of the way. Instead, she threw her knife with accuracy she had cheated to possess, and left him screaming with a blade lodged firmly through his cheek. “Or is that a little too much to ask for you guys?”

In a flash, the blade was back where it belonged, in Chara’s hoodie pocket, and she leaned down to the kid, cutting his bonds in a flash. The look of terror on the child’s face was… understandable, to say the least, and Chara became keenly aware of the bone-chilling smile plastered across her face. Damnit. She couldn’t get the kid out if he was screaming and unwilling to move, but…

An idea occurred to her, and Chara pulled up the rainbow scarf. “Ha ha! Fear not! A hero of justice, Comradery, and generally amazing stuff has come to save the day! I am Togore Dreemurr, sidekick of the world’s best hero!” He managed to say, forcing a cheerful tone. “Now, listen, I want you to get running - fast as you can - towards that sign, and then take your first left. You’ll see some tents run by some nice people, and they’ll take care of you, okay?” Chara will ask insistently, doing her best interpretation of her best friend.

“O-o-okay. Are you going to…”

“These guys?!” She’ll ask cheerfully. “C’mon, I got this. Now go.” Chara would insist, before standing straight up.

The cultists had, luckily, been in quite a bit of disarray, and as the kid hopped off, she noticed their focus was purely on her. What’s more, the cultist leader had actually… survived.

Not good.

The group formed a circle around her. “You have power. If we were to hold you until Darkseid’s forces gained a hold of you, unmade you, caused you to become a true addition to his forces, then we would truly earn his favor.” The Cultist leader boomed, orating with true insanity in his voice. “Togore, this is all as Darkseid has planned! He has done this to christen you our sacrifice!”

Chara gave a grin, as the cultist’s squared up around her. Something about them taking a circle like this reminded her so much of private school, the jeers and hoots, the hollers, the… ahh, yes. How fitting.

“I am not Togore.” Chara would say with a smile, eyes now blood red as she tapped into her magic. She wasn’t used to using Fire Magic, so she’d have to see if her meager supplies would last, as she held up a hand and focused her energy. “Not to you, anyways. For that child, I could pretend to be a pale imitation of what a real hero looks like.” She’d explain, standing straight as the cultist’s approached.

The leader looked in surprise, energy crackling from his fingertips as he summoned forth his own magic, and Chara gave an ear to ear grin in response. “But for you? I am Chara.”

A small ball of flame lit in front of the Eldest Dreemurr’s, obscuring her features as her eyes red glow brightened. “the Demon that comes when you call it’s name!”

 

[Amalia Eckern]

Amalia and Juneberry arrived at the church, just in time to see half of it shear away and sink into the caverns below the island. Crowds of survivors were ushered outside of the structurally unsound building by teams of soldiers. Amalia could feel her heart beating in her throat. The entire island was shaking more violently by the minute. Thoughts of a sinkhole opening up beneath the survivors and swallowing them whole plagued Amalia’s mind. She scanned the crowd, trying to recognize any familiar faces, but it was no use.

“Okay,” Juno said, placing a hand on Amalia’s shoulder, “Looks like they’re evacuating civilians, we need to get you in there.”

“I’m not leaving,” Amalia said, breaking away from Juno, “Not without my parents!”

“Wait, kid!” Juno said, chasing after her, “Is that why you’re here?”

Amalia pulled her hood up over her head. She didn’t have the mental real estate to play twenty questions. Every tectonic shift sent a spike of anxiety into her core. Screams invaded her ears and every last shadowy crevice threatened to unleash the depths of hell upon her. Lilith’s imposing frame crystallized in her mind, as did her melting through mutants like butter. No, nope, nope, positive thoughts - her parents were already here and waiting to be evacuated. Except, maybe they weren’t. Hell, even if they were, how would she even know? More and more bodies congealed together, herded along by the soldiers. Amalia stopped. She fought back tears. This was hopeless.

“Amalia,” Erin’s voice whispered into her ear, “Release me and I shall hunt down your progenitors.”

“Erin…” Amalia muttered.

“I’ll make them suffer for having hurt you,” Erin continued, “I’ll feast on their livers.”

At this Amalia’s hair grew pale and Erin materialized from the strands of her hair. The dog-sized raven sat perched on her shoulder for a moment before hopping down. She paced back and forth, pecking at the ground and surveying the area. Juneberry walked up besides them, keeping a wary eye on the raven.

“Another friend of yours?” Juno asked.

Amalia nodded, “This is Erin - Erin, this is Juno, she’s... nice.”

Erin looked at Juneberry for a moment before returning to her preening. Amalia crouched down in front of the raven, grabbing her attention.

“Erin, listen, I need your help,” She said, “You remember what my parents look like, right?”

“How could I forget such loathsome beings?”

“I need your help finding them, please,” Amalia continued, “...and don’t hurt them… I need to talk to them.”

The bird spirit seemed agitated. It ruffled its feathers and continued pacing and pecking at invisible insects.

“Fine, I’ll do as you request,” Erin said, “But, if they hurt you again I’ll gouge out their eyes.”

With that the raven took flight, soaring over the crowd of evacuees looking for Amalia’s parents. Amalia nibbled the tip of her thumb. Maybe Erin was right, maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up in a ball and just forget all of this was happening. A distant explosion rocked the island and she stumbled, but Juno caught her just in time.

“Thanks…” Amalia muttered.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Juno asked, her voice adopting a certain severity, “Your parents live here?”

Lived seemed a more appropriate term. Amalia shied away. This wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s problem but hers. She wished she was invisible.

“Yeah…” Amalia answered, “They uhm… I used to live here too, but, well…”

She trailed off, nervously playing with her hair. Would they even want to see her anymore?

“We’ll find them, Kid, don’t worry,” Juneberry reassured her, “I promise.”

Amalia nodded.

AMALIA, YOUR PROGENITORS ARE NOT HERE.

Amalia winced as Erin’s voice screeched inside of her skull.

Inside voice Erin.

WE ARE OUTSIDE, AMALIA.

Erin swooped by overhead, heading towards a different part of the city.

Where are you going?

YOUR CHILDHOOD HOME, IF YOUR PARENTS ARE NOT HERE THEY ARE EITHER DEAD OR HIDING OUT THERE.

Oh. Well, that was reassuring. Amalia looked at the huddled mass of evacuees one last time before turning away and walking after Erin.

“Where are you going?” Juneberry asked.

“Going to find my parents,” She answered, “They aren’t here.”

“I’m coming with you.”

For a moment Amalia didn’t respond. She wasn’t really sure how to. She had grown used to doing things on her own. It wasn’t that the residents of the wharf hated her or anything, but none of them would have put their own necks on the line for her. For the first time since returning to Nausicaa, Amalia smiled.

“Thanks Juno,” She said quietly, “For everything…”

--

Amalia and Juneberry garnered a few looks of disapproval as they made their way back into the city. But ultimately, the military cordone around the evacuation zone was more concerned with taking in new arrivals than they were stopping anyone from leaving. Amalia kind of wished that they had. Between the giant-ass lizard stomping around the city and the mutants prowling the streets every last corner hid danger. Images of Lilith and her acidic skin crystallized in Amalia’s mind. She lurked in every last dark shadow, ready to leap out and dissolve them at a moment’s notice. Amalia swallowed hard, Lilith was on their side - right?

Fortunately the two of them were able to move through the city relatively unnoticed. With Erin’s bird’s eye point of view they were able to avoid most obvious hazards, and anything less than obvious? Well, they ran really fucking fast. Still, it seemed as if most of the unmade gravitated towards more obvious threats. Amalia and Juneberry, while not completely defenseless, were most certainly not threats to Darkseid’s invading force.

After a few hours of traveling they finally came upon Amalia’s childhood home. Rather, they came upon what remained, and what remained was just a giant hole in the ground. In that moment her memories seemed to become less real. It was almost as if she had never existed in the first place. As if all of the suffering and joy that she had experienced in that house was swallowed up along with it. She fell to her knees. Her parents were gone. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t even find the energy to do that. Instead she just sat there and stared at the gaping maw.

“I’m sorry, Kid,” Juno muttered.

Erin swooped down and landed at the mouth of the cavern. She hopped back and forth for a few moments before turning to Amalia and Juno.

“This is not a pit,” Erin said aloud.

When Amalia didn’t answer the bird spirit flew over to them.

“Amalia, on our way here I saw multiple holes in the island,” Erin explained, “Soldiers were escorting people out of them.”

Juno spoke up, “So there are people down there?”

“Or the corpses of people,” Erin answered, “Drawn and quartered by the forces of Darkseid, force to--”

“Erin!” Amalia shouted, “I don’t want to… think about that.”

“Why are you so worried for your progenitors?” Erin asked, “They’ve done nothing but betray your love for them. They should be swallowing coals for their transgressions.”

“Because… look,” She trailed off before standing up, “I’m going after them.”

“What? You mean into the tunnel?” Juno asked, “Kid, we have no idea what’s down there.”

It was a stupid and foolish thought. Amalia, on some level, knew this. However, she also knew that if she let this loose thread unresolved it would eventually unravel what little bit of life she had left. She had to know why. Why would they say they loved her and in the same breath turn her over to the anti-paranormal division?

“Erin, come on,” Amalia said, walking towards the hole, “Let’s find something for you to sharpen your talons on.”

“This is a stupid idea,” Juneberry said, “But, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go down there alone, Kid.”

And so the three of them descended into the abyss below.

 

[Beatrix III]

The redhead clambered to the top edge of the crater their spacecraft had left in the ground. Peeking her head above the wall of compacted dirt she spied the situation around them. The island had been dragged into the ocean from above and was sinking. Various swarms of unmaking forces moved around them which made the blood mage grin eagerly. She turned and slid down the embankment back to her compatriots.

“We’re effectively surrounded. The smoke from the crash is covering our presence for now.” Beatrix turned to face Jaina whose eyes were lit up with bluish-purple flames. “What do you see, blondie?”

“There are several different parties attempting to assist.” Jaina’s expression was serious as she examined the ground beneath them as if looking beyond the dirt she was standing on. “There are caverns running through this chunk of island.” Her eyes moved to their northeast. “There is a large force of unmaking swarming towards a large crumbling building that appears to contain civilians.”

Proudmoore blinked and released her magic, meeting the gaze of her lover. “We need to distract that bulk force and let the other rescuers move around relatively unburdened. We look to be a bit late so it’s our best move for right now.”

“Can confirm. There’s a sizable force moving past us.” Seventeen was leaning against the crater edge with a pair of binoculars he had absconded from somewhere.

Jaina reached into her bag and pulled out a military spec radio. Switching it on she set it to ‘scan’ and connected an earpiece which she then slipped into her right ear. Various conversations poured in from over the radio.

“Roy is here? Isn’t that who fire bitch worked for?” Beatrix said, tightening her belt.

“Who cares. Let’s just put down some fucking hurt, shall we? Try not to get stabbed.” Seventeen said, sliding back down the embankment.

In a brilliant display of blue and white orbs, the trio disappeared from the crater and into the middle of a battalion of unmaking forces.

“Steady…” Beatrix muttered under her breath as she drew both of her elven blades.

Jaina was the opening salvo. Slamming her staff into the ground she fired off three arcane barrages from her outstretched hand. The dancing projectiles struck their targets and blew them apart with violent blue and pink explosions. This drew the attention of the rest of the forces who, upon turning to face who had shot at them were able to witness Beatrix disembowel a cultist with extreme prejudice. As his blood spilled onto the ground the Mistress’ eyes lit up. As if the blood mage was taunting all those looking at her.

It worked.

The sizable force of unmaking soldiers rerouted their march and began charging towards their new foe.

 

[Android XVII]

Opealon.

Oh-peal-on?

Oppy-lon?

Seventeen had tried for approximately six hours to get an answer to the simple question of ‘what the fuck is this place called’, but neither of his female compatriots could agree on how to pronounce the name of the water world.

And because of that?

There was a real possibility that Seventeen was going to get shivved and bleed out on a damp sidewalk in a place whose name he couldn’t even say. Since he wasn’t the soldier of some faraway imperialist nation, the cyborg really didn’t feel like dying, but the amassed horde of unmade nasties and their cultist retainers were making it really hard for him to make a simple payday.

Ducking beneath an errant swing, Seventeen hooked the Power Sword into the equally erratic man’s gut and promptly popped open his gut.

Any other time, the cybernetic warrior likely would have at least been able to take a moment to chuckle at the maniac’s wide-eyed expression and subsequent struggle to hold in the wash of blood and internal organs, but another lunatic crashed into the sell-sword before the first pitter-patters were given time to further muddy the damp, uneven pavement.

Crashing backwards onto the right side of his hip and his matching shoulder, Seventeen twisted his lithe frame to avoid an elbow strike. With a swift retaliatory strike, the machine-hybrid sent the cultist sprawling sideways into a growing puddle of muddy water. Once he was back to a vertical position, the raven-haired warrior glanced down at his pants and scowled. “These were probably my good leather trousers,” he replied as he lifted a free hand and conjured an orb of ki. As the cultist sat up off the ground, Seventeen flicked his wrist and sent the combustive sphere through his adversary’s ribcage in a dazzling display of gore that was lost on its culprit, who had shed his overcoat to the sidewalk.

“This is just awful,” Seventeen groaned before turning and grabbing an outstretched arm before its knuckles met his face. “Fuck off, I’m trying to have a moment,” the hilt of the Power Sword smashed the cultist’s cheek. A moment later, a burst of energy sheered away said countenance before it could properly start to bruise.

“Something new, please,” Seventeen muttered as he snapped his fingers and swapped out his medieval clothes. In their place, he found himself in a pair of form-fitting (for water aversion!) shorts and a sleeveless top. The waterlogged boots were gone, and in their place, a fantastic pair of water-resistant sandals. “This simultaneously feels like the best and worst attire,” Seventeen remarked as he reached down to his belt and grabbed the walkie-talkie that had been sputtering for the last few moments.

“Steve where the FUCK are you?”

Before he answered, Seventeen took a moment to set the tip of the Power Sword onto the skull of the writhing cultist. “… you didn’t say ‘over’ … Over.” He spoke as he leaned on the makeshift cane and gradually put the concussed maniac out of their misery.

“Where the fuck are you, you ass hole… Over.”

Seventeen, who hadn’t really had a chance to enjoy much of the scenary since he’d been caught up in an explosion and flung a way from his companions, glanced around at his surroundings. “A street? I guess there’s a lot of water everywhere. Does that help?”

Beatrix, her voice rife with derision, rasped through the hail of static on the shortrange communicator. “Get your skinny ass back to the LZ! There’s a giant, winged monstrosity that Blondie and I could use a hand with.”

With a frown, Seventeen started to hum softly. In the distance, his eyes spotted a massive pillar of fire that seemed to cleave through the thin layer of fog that had started to settle over the quieter parts of the partially submerged landmass.

“Seventeen?”

“Oh, were you done talking? Over.”

“Fuck you… Over and out.”

“Pass,” Seventeen replied as he vanished in a swirl of white and blue light particles.

***​

The crumbling nature of the landmass had complicated the evacuation procedure, but even with their sergeant indisposed, two of her most disgruntled soldiers found themselves working double-time despite the fact that water levels appeared to be somewhat stable for the moment.

Separated on opposing ends of what had once been a park the size of your average city block, those two hapless soldiers barked to one another through radios. “Axlé, this situation is FUBAR. The choppers can’t take off with these fucking winged monstrosities in the air. Please tell me that you packed the heavy ordinance before the Sarge dragged us off to this damp piece.”

Although only separated from his fellow PFC by an eighth of a mile, the distance between the two privates could have been quadruple that, given the pair of parademons that prowled the park. “Of course I did, Steve” Axlé barked over the comm. “It’s with the lander… y’know, the fucking thing we left half a klick north of here when the Sarge got swallowed up by the groud?” With a scowl, PFC Axlé dropped the comm, popped up from his cover, and sprayed a quick burst of suppressing fire at the entrenched cultists behind a collapsed fig tree. Sliding down behind the front of the little ranger’s station, he looked back at the three families he was sheltering and offered them a halfhearted smile. “Just keep your heads down, okay? Everything will work out.”

“Everything is FUCKED!” Steve’s voice screeched through the comm before Axlé could twist the volume knob. “We’re talking virgin nun trapped in a prison for several days level of fucked.”

Axlé grimaced. “Stop referencing horror films as allegories to how shitty the situation is.”

After a moment of white noise, the response that came was a little crestfallen. “You didn’t like my Camp Crystal Lake analogy when we got stranded in the park?”

“I prefer when we’re the heroes and not the murder victims in the analogy, Steve!”

“It’s not my fault you didn’t bring the fifty-cal!”

“I’m guarding civvies!”

There was a moment of silence before the response came. “Hey, I’m… you never know when our flanks might be attacked!”

“Get to the fucking chopper and get the big gun,” Axlé shouted as bursts of plasma scrapped the ground a few feet in front of his position. “I don’t trust these mercs to help us, and I you’re the only one left in comm range who is close enough.”

“Can we rock, paper, scissors?”

Axlé shook his head as he sprayed some suppressing fire. “Just go get the VI-Percolator before I get swarmed by cultists or divebombed by one of these devil’s rejects.”

“Hey! I caught that!”

“Just get the VI-Per!”

 

[Kopaka]

Decay is in your nature, Kopaka. I have seen it.

Every time you arrive somewhere, you leap gladly into the tempest to fight as if you were a flaming fire.

You fall on the readied lances at each turn, and they drink your pain. Even I would be remiss to make light of such decadent fury.

But inside you, there lives a much more withering storm. Inside you, doubt has hollowed you through and left you standing like a mountain worn thin from the greed of your own pride. Ever hungry for purpose, for duty.

How long before you crumble, and give into certainty? How long before you must face that question you flee from with such self-assured conviction?

The Toa of Ice. The edifice of pensive sacrimilitude.

Like ice, you remain unchanging unless contradicted by outside force, whereupon you become brittle.

I am Darkseid. I am Death. I am the final resonating note of all worlds, and no frost you may conjure is so cold so as to escape -

"Enough!" Kopaka roared. The toa swiped his hands impotently in the air, immediately sending a rattling film of ice crawling along the walls and floor. Mickey yelped and jumped in fright, before holding his chest and glancing with worried compassion towards the biomech.

"He's in your head too, huh buddy?" Mickey frowned. Kopaka nodded softly before drawing in a shuddering breath. The icy warrior shook a bolus of anxiety off of his frozen shoulders before continuing his investigations. The Toa and the mouse had been inspecting what they could glean from the ruined edifices surrounding them. It was clear that a cult to the Unmaking had been active beneath Nausicaa a long time before the first vestiges of Darkseid had manifested in the common era. The implications were dour, and the more they investigated, the more intrusive the Fallen Arbiter had become.

The sundered skymote, now almost fully flooded, rumbled again in the wake of some unfathomable catastrophe. Kopaka and Mickey caught their balance against the engraved walls of the current chamber. Darkseid's mocking entreaties would have to wait.

"We must hasten our exit from these tombs. I fear that the only people we may yet be able to save is eachother." Kopaka droned.

"Aw. It's kinda sweet when you put it like that-" Mickey cooed. Another wave of pitching and tectonic uproar shattered the entire room in a single blast of crumbling stone. It was all Kopaka could do to conjure an ablative shield of blue ice, cocooning himself and his ally as they fell along with the sudden landslide.

Everything was percussion and tumult for some time, before their suffocating coffin came to a crumbling halt.

The glacial egg shattered instantly, and the two warriors fell out of it in a fit of heaving, thirsty breath. Something large and extremely angry shifted next to them; it was the kaiju again.

"This girl...really needs take it easy with the stomping. Oof!" Mickey grunted, stumbling slightly. Something didn't feel quite right in his left leg. The mouse glanced up at Kopaka, who in turn was staring up at the apparent skylight within this cavernous chamber. It looked like some kind of weird...C shape. Oh wait! They must be sideways to it - it was that weird symbol Darkseid put on the parademons and stuff.

"Out of the frying pan, into the fryer, eh bud?" Mickey swallowed.

"Heat-based humor perturbs me." Kopaka said flatly.

"Whoops, sorry!"

There was no further time for banter. Snaking, lumbricoid tentacles began gushing out of the cavernous wounds cut into the massive chasm. Despite the Omega-shaped skylight, everything was cast in a chiaroscuro shadow. Gloaming, purple specters seemed to writhe in every darkened corner. The slithering multitudes of the Unmade began skittering towards them from yet-darker crevices. Among them were screeching amalgamations of vibrant wildlife, cackling babes, and the very earth itself. Tumors of malignant apathy boiled out of their vacant, howling eyes as they advanced. Formless as wraiths, as real as the hills, they flooded forth.

Mickey swallowed and shook his head. These used to be people.

"Kopaka I...I don't like it."

The Toa nodded, and began spinning his shield into position.

"That is the appropriate response." he murmured. The Kopaka did something that Mickey had never seen before.

The Toa of Ice issued a battle cry. Kopaka roared into the fray, belting out a howling refrain at maximum volume. The typhoon sized lizard that occupied that same, sepulchral nadir responded with an even louder chorus. Everything became blue fire and raging ice, all crackling and blinding with primordial rancor...

Kopaka is spending 1 of 2 Focus to fight against whatever nonsense is about to happen.

 

[Arbiter]

The Nausicaa Incident, Act III -- Part One
Mickey Mouse, Kopaka, Dr. McNinja, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo,
Donatello, Tobias, Ridley, Sergeant Swift, Ezrihel, Ruedlen, ???​

“Father Comstock,” the boy called, poking his head in to the leader’s office. “Father Comstock, a message for you.”

The white-bearded man hadn’t moved from his seat. For hours now he’d watched as an entire chunk of his city had been ripped from his fingers, and now sunk into the clutches of the ocean. Or whatever evil had hidden down there, anyway. It was embarrassing.

When the Father didn’t respond, the boy pressed forward as boldly as he could manage. This news… this was urgent. The Father needed to know.

“Sir,” he continued, “sir, the readings that we’ve been getting… they’re quite abnormal, sir. At first we thought it might just be the combination of all the various warriors responding to the distress call, but… well, sir, to be frank, they seem more concentrated than that.”

Comstock looked up. “Concentrated, eh, son? How so?”

“As in,” the boy explained, “centered around one or two figures.”

“Hmph,” Comstock scoffed.

Readings like that could only really mean one thing, as far as Comstock was concerned. Power that magnanimous wasn’t wielded by your run-of-the-mill warrior or wizard or kaiju or mouse. Power like that… well, it required experience. Hundreds or thousands of years’ worth. He sighed.

“Now Davy comes out to play, eh?”

***

Mickey Mouse watched as Kopaka dove into the horde of unmade creatures. He steeled himself for a second, looking at their half-tunnel, half-hallway surroundings and searching anywhere for a quick exit.

Kneel. He felt his body move without his consent as the words echoed inside his noggin, his knees slamming into the mud. Unmade wretches dashed for him, lifting their infernal claws to try to sweep him up and finish the job that Darkseid had clearly set out for them: kill the mouse who’d messed up his plans on Nos’talgia.

Not today, pal.

The keyblade split in two, forming into two small laser guns as Mickey Mouse pushed past the Fallen Arbiter’s influence and broke back into a standing position. His feet landed on the muddy ground with a plop, and he lifted the Double Arrowguns, squeezing the trigger and firing a bunch of rounds into the meat of the cabal of unmade.

“Watch it, mouse,” Kopaka shouted, bursting out of a group of unmade.

“You watch it, pal!” Mickey shouted. “Swingin’ that ice sword like there ain’t nobody here!”

“This cavern is too small, and there are too many of them,” Kopaka surmised.

“So you’re saying… run?!”

“I am saying run. Yes.”

They ran.

***

As Dr. McNinja led the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles through the caverns, they started to become less a cavern and more a… corridor. Gradually, as they walked, the quintet of ninjas began to notice the dirt fading away in favor of marble flooring and glorious walls. The art on them was mostly ocean-centric; murals of waves and the like. Altogether inoffensive, stuff the Doc sort of expected to see all over the place here.

He had heard some rumors on his trip here that the Skylanders and the ocean dwellers didn’t actually get along that well, though, which put some wrinkles in this. He didn’t want to think too hard about it — he was, after all, still bleeding all over most of his face beneath his mask — but it didn’t quite fit that a structure of this kind lodged beneath a suburb of the City of Hope would have such grandiose sea-centric imagery.

And what kind of structure was this, anyway?!

“That’s a big ol’ door,” Michaelangelo said as the group slowed to a stop just before a huge, hulking set of wooden double doors.

“Yep,” Leonardo nodded, crossing his arms, “very observant, Mikey.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Mikey shrugged, placing his hands on his hips. “How are we supposed to open it?”

Bam!

Creaaaaaak.

Dr. McNinja had kicked the door. Not too hard, not too soft, but just right… and it had swung open rather easily. No fancy locks here.

…why wasn’t it locked? Was somebody already here?

Just inside, the architecture shifted even more drastically. All of a sudden, the marble designs got more and more extravagant, and it became clear to each of the ninja that they had stumbled upon some sort of… temple? The group couldn’t help but splinter a bit as they looked around, some oohs and ahhs echoing throughout the chamber as they gazed at all the mysterious — but glorious — artwork surrounding them. Leonardo was gazing at a particularly impressive painting of a man with squid tentacles for a beard when he heard McNinja call him from the central mural.

“Leo,” the doctor shouted. “This look like our guy?”

Leonardo turned around and felt a chill run down his spine as he gazed up at the huge, expansive painting McNinja was looking at. There, just above the doctor’s head, was a huge portrait of what must’ve been a very, very evil person. The ninja turtle crossed the temple foyer to stand beside his new medical friend.

“I’d say that’s a pretty solid guess, Doc.”

Spoiler

***

Tobias slammed the door behind him, then turned and continued his sprint. He barely even noticed that his footfalls were now colliding with marble instead of dirt — he simply had to get away from whatever that monster was. The huge snot glob that seemed to content to have him for actual lunch. Was it still lunchtime? How long had he been on this island? How long has he been fighting that thing?

“Halt.”

The cultist skidded to a stop as he stared down the prickly, frozen sword now aimed precisely for his throat. The sight that laid before him was, well… strange. The sword was held aloft by an icy robot, flanked by… a mouse?!

“Koppy,” the mouse squeaked, “he’s got blue robes on. I told ya sometimes those fellas — Darkseid’s fellas — they got blue robes. Or purple. I can’t remember.”

“Which is it?” Kopaka snarled, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Maybe indigo?” Mickey scratched his head.

Tobias took advantage of the pair’s distraction and slid his sword from its sheath with a shinnnnk, batting Kopaka’s blade out of the way in one fluid motion. He took two steps forward, closing the gap between him and the Toa and preparing to place his own blade against the robot’s neck, when suddenly he felt a surprisingly strong yank on his robes.

He looked back to find the anthropomorphic mouse standing on the tail of his cloak, one gloved fist poised to pull him down entirely. Mickey tugged, and as quickly as Tobias had gotten the advantage, he fell. He crumpled to the floor, the diminutive creature hopping up onto his chest before he could even think to try and get back on his feet.

“Tell us Darkseid’s plans, pal!” Mickey Mouse growled, kneeling on the cultist’s chest and placing his keyblade against the man’s throat. “Or… uh… else!”

“You’ve never threatened anyone before, have you?” Tobias scowled.

“Not often!”

Suddenly, the floor beneath the pair began to sink. Kopaka glanced down to see that his would-be ally and their potential enemy were lying on a large, circular piece of stone that seemed to press into the ground like a big button… and opened a door just off to his right.

“Mouse,” he hummed, pointing.

Mickey and Tobias looked up.

“Oh, geez.”

***

Up on the surface, Ridley carved through another parademon with ease. The space dragon may be maimed and bruised, but you wouldn’t guess that by his demeanor; he continued to slice his way through Darkseid’s forces, determined to show the Fallen Arbiter who the true power in the Crossroads was.

Thank goodness, too, that the island had stopped sinking. If the thing was still moving, the pirate might’ve found it more difficult to lock on to his targets.

He thought perhaps he’d spoken too soon when the island suddenly began to shake beneath his talons. He paused for a second, digging into the marble floor and trying to hold his position. He glanced up towards the source of the disturbance -- was it the huge dinosaur again?

No… Godzilla seemed to have disappeared, for the moment… but it seemed that just a few miles over, a gigantic ship had appeared seemingly from nowhere, and had braved the parademon-infested waters to crash up against the surface.

Ridley quirked a reptilian brow. “And who is this?”

***

“He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming.”

“I don’t care who’s coming, move!”

Ezrihel gave Sergeant Swift the gentlest shove he could, pushing her through a nearby doorway and into the next room. The unmade bug-people on their tail sprinted towards them before coming to a sudden stop just before the threshold.

General Althaus looked back. What the hell?

The unmade creatures panted, catching their breath. They stared daggers at Ezrihel and his two companions, but didn’t dare follow -- something kept them out. The Andromedan stood upright, relaxing his battle stance, and eyed them curiously. Why didn’t they dare come into this room? He didn’t have time to ask -- as if they would answer -- as suddenly a great stone door slid into place between him and his enemies, separating them permanently.

He staggered back, feeling truly tired for one of the first times in a long time, and then turned around, taking in his surroundings. They seemed to have moved out of the tunnels and into… a temple?

Curious.

Sergeant Swift seemed less curious, and more terrified. She’d collapsed to her knees on the ground where Ezrihel had left her, and now pointed straight ahead to another doorway.

“What’s the pointing about, girl?” the blonde-haired man asked, crouching next to her. He let his gaze following the pointing, and tried to discern if there was anything special about this door. Upon further inspection, it seemed to be laden with all sorts of markings, curious hieroglyphs that for all his worldliness, Ezrihel couldn’t hope to identify. But he had enough experience with places like this one -- places that felt like this one, anyway -- to know that they weren’t just decoration. Even just running his fingers across the unfamiliar letters, he could tell they told a story.

“Yer correct,” a voice oozed from behind him.

The angel whipped around, slicing the air with his rapier. The slight glow of red energy dissipated to reveal a man standing before him -- or, perhaps, not a man?

The figure that leaned against the opposing wall stood tall, dressed in pirate’s garb, but with a face that had been mutated and twisted into something altogether monstrous. Squid-like tentacles slithered out from his chin like a beard, and beady black eyes stared Ezrihel down with some interest.

“...who are you?” the blonde asked, though somewhere deep inside, he felt like perhaps he already knew.

“Me?” the squid-faced man chuckled. “I’m Davy Jones. I’m the Arbiter of this world.”

 

[Arbiter]

The Nausicaa Incident, Act III -- Part Two
Dr. McNinja, Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, Donatello, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, Iris Severity, Morene Fellon,
Cho, Ezrihel, Sergeant Swift, Ruedlen, Davy Jones (!!!), Tobias, Mickey Mouse, Kopaka, The Living, Godzilla​

“Wonder what happens if we touch it,” Michelangelo shrugged.

“Probably nothing good,” McNinja replied. He reached out and pressed his hand against the mural.

Sure enough, the wall began to shift and move, different bricks sliding in and out of place as if responding to McNinja’s gentle touch. The five ninja watched in awe as, before their eyes, the entire wall seemed to disappear and form into another doorway. A few steps inside revealed that they’d broken through to some sort of central antechamber, circular in shape and verifiably huge.

“This is rad,” Raphael said, awestruck.

“Totally awesome,” Mikey echoed.

“And concerning,” a voice chimed in from behind them. The quintet spun around, whipping their weapons out, but Roy Mustang simply held up his hands as a sign of peace. Off his left shoulder, Riza Hawkeye also shouldered her weapon.

“Who are you?” Leonardo stepped forward, not fully convinced.

“Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang, of Cevanti,” he introduced himself. “And you are… not unmade, from my experience.”

“You’re right we aren’t!” Mikey shouted, almost offended.

“Good,” Hawkeye sighed, “then we’re on the same side.”

“This your girlfriend?” McNinja asked, genuinely. Mustang simply bristled.

The lieutenant colonel pushed past the ninja, making his way to the center of the room. It seemed almost ceremonial — like a place where many rituals had been performed. It also seemed decidedly old, and not just by decades. No; hundreds, maybe thousands of years old. Where were they? And why had they all been brought here? Was this some sort of trap?

***

The Water Temple extended throughout the entire breadth of Nausicaa’s underground. Anyone who braved the tunnels or the cracks in Nausicaa’s pavement would eventually find it — and for Iris Severity, Morene Fellon, and Cho, that meant finding something altogether even more curious.

The trio had found evidence of this place’s complexity before most of the other groups simply because they’d landed the closest to it. The slew of parademons they’d run into had been difficult enough, but as Morene led her fellows to the source of the mysterious blue flame, the tunnel itself began to cave in.

“Cho!” she called.

“I’m on it!” the Earthbender shouted, pressing his hand against the nearest wall and splitting it in twain. Iris tumbled in first, then Morene, then Cho himself as the group did their best to escape the oncoming rockslide. They stumbled into the strange room and fell on top of each other, slamming into the marble floor with a resounding ‘ouch’.

Morene was the first back onto her feet, wasting no time preparing her sword just in case any of the parademons had escaped into the wall with them. To their luck, it seemed they’d made it into the room alone.

“Morene, Iris,” Cho piped up. “Look.”

The knight errant turned around to see a huge statue before them, with a small stone table sitting in front of it.

The statue rose high above their heads — a man, blessed with a circlet crown and beautiful, if slightly messy, shoulder-length hair. He had a gentle smile juxtaposed against sharp features, and a tunic befitting a king. Situated on the table before him were six shards of a sword, including one still connected to a long, silver handle wrapped in black cloth.

Morene felt… drawn to it, a weapon unlike any she’d seen before. She took a few steps towards it and could simply feel the energy pulsing — it was almost as if the entire room was filled with it.

“This… this is…”

“…immensely powerful,” Iris finished, focusing her sensors on it. “And incredibly old.”

“Watch who yer callin’ old, missy.”

The trio spun around to see that a door on the other end of the chamber had opened to reveal none other than Davy Jones. The squid-faced man led a blonde Andromedan — Ezrihel — as well as Sergeant Swift, draped over a supportive Ruedlen.

“The name’s Jones,” the pirate continued, “Davy Jones. Arbiter of Opealon.”

Cho balked. “Arbiter?!”

“I said the same thing,” Ezrihel shrugged, stepping forward. He leaned over a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of the weapon behind Morene. “What am I looking at, Captain Jones?”

“That there,” Davy sighed, “that sword… it belonged to me friend. That there’s Narsil.”

He choked up.

“That there… is Aragorn’s sword.”

***

“Ar-a-who?”

“Aragorn,” Tobias repeated, closing the book.

“I’ve never heard of anybody with that name,” Mickey frowned. “Not in this universe, anyway.”

Kopaka stood nearby, still observing their surroundings. The doorway that they’d accidentally opened led them into a library of sorts, filled with old tomes and tablets the likes of which Kopaka had little interest in. The mouse and the cultist, however, had taken an immediate fascination with the collections, zeroing in one that laid open on a table.

The Toa would admit it was strange a book lied open in the middle of this abandoned temple. All signs pointed to this place having been empty for hundreds of years at the very least, but every once in a while, they stumbled upon something that made it seem like someone had been here… recently? Which didn’t make any logical sense. From what it looked like, this temple had been hidden beneath Nausicaa for a while now, with no feasible way inside until the earth had literally begun to split apart.

Mickey noted the Toa’s expression. What the heckskies was going on here?

“This says Aragorn was an… Arbiter?”

The mouse king blinked. “No way.”

Kopaka whirred towards them. “That does not line up with the Crossroads’ historical records.”

“There’s only nine Arbiters, right?” Mickey asked, although he was pretty sure the Bionicle and the Gal’skap cultist knew about as much as he did. “One for each of the planets and then… Karl Jak.” The mouse’s expression soured a bit as he remembered that somehow, the purple-suited executive had found a way to harness the Arbiters’ power.

Wait a goshdarn second--

The mouse didn’t have that second, however, as suddenly piles of books started crashing down upon them. An entire bookshelf tipped over as one of the walls of the library burst open, and a huge glob of disgusting goo flew into the room.

“Ew!” he shouted, scrambling back to avoid the oncoming onslaught of historical tomes.

“Not this thing again,” Tobias sneered, dodging books and drawing his sword.

“You know this guy?!” Mickey called out.

Kopaka, too, leapt out of the way of a rain of novellas. The Toa looked up as the Living slimed its way into what must’ve been its upright position and rumbled at the trio. So this was one of Darkseid’s thralls, too, then? He supposed the Fallen Arbiter had all kinds of creatures at his disposal.

Mickey Mouse stared up at the snot blob, drawing his keyblade. His eyes flitted up to the structures above the Living, watching as cracks began to snake through the walls. He felt his stomach seize up ever-so-slightly as he realized that, perhaps, this temple wasn’t strong enough to withstand whatever punishment it was being put through with who knows how many adventurers venturing down into it. But there wasn’t any time to think about all that, now -- they had a glob of unmaking to put down, and fast!

CRASH.

The mouse glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes went wide.

The dinosaur from the surface lumbered through the opposite wall, clambering into view and setting its sights on the snot blob.

Godzilla growled low.

“Is that thing with us?” Tobias asked.

“Dunno,” Mickey replied, “but it doesn’t look like it’s with that fella!”

Godzilla roared, loud, pressing forward and launching itself into the Living, swiping at the creature with its claws. The huge blob flew into a wall, crashing into it and sending another bookshelf splintering in a bunch of directions. The walls, too, seemed to shiver and shake more and more with every passing moment.

“The structural integrity of this room is dangerously low,” Kopaka whirred.

“Yea, fella, I don’t know what that means, but I think this place is falling apart!”