A Sentinel's Request
A short story prompted by https://ironage.media/prompt/the-warden.html
Skeev licked his lips. He had never seen anything like this. Something bizarre. Otherworldly. Life reaffirming and simultaneously soul-shuddering. His stomach roiled, but he also smiled for the first time in years.
Months earlier he was sailing across the great eastern sea, after being press-ganged into the crew of The Ill Will, a large former warship packed with criminals. Skeev did not expect much of this newfound occupation. He expected to die.
The fights in the hold were furious. Most that lasted more than one match eventually fell, brutally. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to fight again.
On his second night on the ship, he had to fight. His opponent, a giant of man from Cleemsway, named Tik was the reigning champion.
When the match started, Skeev remembered the streets of Pithrin. Strike first. Hurt first. Run. Skeev had climbed Tik before he knew his small quarry had teeth. Skeev ripped out the large man’s right eye and shoved it in his mouth. Three chews and he swallowed it.
Tik fell screaming. Only a quarter of the conscripts cheered. Halfheartedly. They had seen men bludgeoned to death with blunt objects, chopped in half, and fed half alive to sharks, but they had yet to see that.
It had been three months since that fight, and although Skeev did not have any friends, no one bothered him. Tik stayed on the other side of the ship, coincidentally.
Life on the ship was hard, but stable, unlike the streets. Skeev was able to eat at least once a day, and sometimes twice. Occasionally, the men were able to spear a shark or dolphin, yielding a veritable feast for the entire crew.
The Captain was rarely seen. He rarely ate. When he was present on deck, the probability of violence was high. He did not tolerate incompetence or shirking of duties. Most of those that failed fed the sharks that trailed the Ill Will.
Every Satural evening, at least when Skeev remembered to count days, the Captain, a tall bald man with dark eyes, would stare into the setting sun, hat in hand. Some of these nights, Skeev could have sworn a black fog radiated off of the Captain's scalp, but he never inquired with other crew members.
He took great care to stay out of the Captain's view and invisible from notice. He cleaned the deck, tied the lines, and killed rats in the hold. Day after day. No complaints. He ate his meals in silence.
After some of the matches, the crew would relax with some grog, and Skeev would join them occasionally. Only once did a crew member get too rowdy. The Captain, being somehow disturbed in his quarters, promptly shot that man and threw the corpse overboard. The sharks fought over that one.
All they ever did was head west, into the setting sun. Straight west. When storms hit, the ship stayed true, as the Captain held the wheel. It was like he alone could withstand the turmoil of the sea.
In the last week, they saw it. A speck of land on the horizon. It grew larger each day, and actually blocked out the evening sun, and then the afternoon sun. The Captain stared into the rising island, which was a mountain larger than anything ever conceived, seemingly barren of all vegetation. Rocky and unassailable. It reached the heavens.
The entire crew could see it now - the black fog steadily billowed out of the Captain's head and his eyes had turned completely black. None dared ask though. The Captain was always deep in thought on the stern. Staring.
As they approached an inlet that seemed to go straight into the base of the mountain, they were attacked.
The creatures shot out of the water, and landed with scaled feet on the deck, brandishing tridents. Skeev had never seen anything like them before. They seemed to have the skin of sharks, a mix of striped blue and white, echoed by rows of sharp teeth. He almost stood in wonder forever until one hurled a golden trident right into Lurm's head. When it pulled the chain attached to the end of the handle, Lurm's head ripped from his shoulders. The men starting screaming.
Skeev bolted. He had prepared for this. He did not expect monsters from the deep, but a mutinous and murderous crew. In the very back of the hold, Skeev had removed pallets and barrels to create a small but secure stowaway's hole. He slid down the ladder and made his way to protection. The beasts would have to sink the ship to take him.
Above, the sounds of struggle drummed on the deck. Men were falling, but so were the beasts. Occasionally trident forks and swords perforated the deck, signaling impaled fighters. It got louder the closer he got to the hole, near the stern of the ship. The Captain was fighting above. Furiously.
Around a bend, there was a large opening was in the stores. The men would occasionally play Royals down here in secret. The Captain had not yet dissuaded the gambling. Not much further and Skeev could hide and wait out the storm.
The deck cracked and fell through right in front of him.
A beast larger than the others fell with the Captain on top of him, fog boiling off his head.
The larger beast was different. More muscular. A great shark given arms and legs somehow. It threw the Captain off of its bulk launching him over Skeev. Somehow during his short painful journey, the Captain looked Skeev right in the eyes.
Blast. No hiding now.
The hulking beast rose to its scaled feet. It shook off the Captains sword, a deadly blade of Cleemsteel lodged in the gills of the Shark. Blood was leaking out, but it did not reflect any hint of pain.
The launched blade careened into a bulkhead, embedded at least two feet. It was a wonder the Captain lived, let alone had injured this monster.
The Shark charged. Skeev leapt to the right and climbed up the netting, He clung to the ceiling as the shark barrelled, perturbed that a small crab was not crushed by its stomping.
The Captain emerged, smoke billowing behind him. Skeev realized, or accepted, that the Captain was something else. More than a man.
He launched into the gut of the Shark. Everyone involved uttered a collective oof.
The Captain knocked the Shark into the area hiding Skeev's stowaway hole, destroying it. Skeev moaned despite himself, still clinging to the ceiling in horror.
"Skeev! My sword! Now!" The Captain bellowed from the belly of the Shark, somehow pinning the beast to the inner stern of the ship.
Skeev took as long as he could, contemplating an escape, eyes darting in vain. The battle on the deck was not going well.
"Skeev?!"
He saw no way out. If he survived this through cowardice, these fishmen would roast him in some undersea spit within the hour.
Skeev dropped and ran to the lodged sword. He grabbed the handle, ignoring the fact he had never touched something so ornate. So…beyond his station.
The Shark began eating the Captain, feet first. "Skeev…the Sword!"
He planted his foot and heaved with every muscle in his form. The dislodged blade flew backward, spiraling. The Captain, trying to crawl out of the Shark's mouth, caught the rotating blade at the hilt.
The mouth closed, chomping. Grinding. chewing.
The shark turned its massive head and eyed Skeev's lizardy form, hiding in the shadow.
Blast, I knew I'd die.
The Shark charged, its maw opening. It opened enough to swallow a dozen Skeevs. An entire extended family of Skeevs.
As the layered teeth in a gigantic maw rapidly approached, Skeev saw the Captain's sword puncture the Shark's forehead from the inside.
In slow motion, the silver metal tip rotated, spiraling through the beast, oscillating as it went. Skeev closed his eyes and heard a cacophony splatter around him.
When he opened his eyes, he was standing just outside the neck of the Shark, guts sloshing up his legs. The Captain stood triumphant, spiraled beast entrails surrounding him as well. Inexplicable giant legs lay prone behind him. The black fog billowed, almost mimicking a captain's hat, hiding his bald head.
"To the deck, Skeev!" ordered the Captain.
Once above, the sounds of a fight coming to a close emanated around the deck. The men had rallied somehow, and had cornered the last five fishmen near the plank. They were encircled.
Skeev realized the crew now shared the Captain's affliction of black fog, dozens of heads roiling with smoke.
The cornered beasts kept taking pot shots, stabbing here, rending there. The injured men did not react. They seemed…invulnerable.
"Brothers! Draw side arms!" Shouted the Captain.
Dozens of pistols were drawn on command.
"Aim." In perfect unison the crew aimed their weapons. The presumed leader of the creatures threw his trident directly at the Captain. It buried in his chest, sticking out perpendicularly. Before the chain could be yanked, the Captain seemingly unperturbed by his impalement ordered, "Fire!"
Skeev had seen many men die in his short, brutal life. He had seen many shot. A handful of times, when he procured a stolen iron in the streets, he had delivered death to unsuspecting shopowners so he could eat for another day. Never had he seen firearms work like this.
The black smoke enveloped each outstretched arm, swallowing the weapons. When they fired, it was the sound of cannons. No, explosives. Bombs. The fishmen exploded, viscera propelled off the deck with tremendous force, rocketing into the evening shorewater. The section of deck wall behind them was obliterated. Skeev was dumbstruck.
"Good job, Brother Skeev," said the Captain as he placed a large hand on Skeev's shoulder.
He felt the burning sensation erupt at the touch. Before he could scream, the black fog buzzed from his inflamed shoulder and enveloped his head, pouring into his mouth, eyes, and ears. The taste was like the smell of brimstone. He kept trying to howl through the ordeal, but nothing came from his throat. His vision darkened and he lost consciousness for a moment.
When he opened his eyes, everything was darkened, slightly obscured by a violet sheen. The crew members all had an ethereal candle flame floating above their heads. The flame was violet as well. Skeev could not turn his head to see the Captain. He heard a sound, like wet meat being rent behind him. The Captain threw the chained trident over the crew and into the sea, from whence it came. Apparently, the Captain was immune to trident impalement as well.
"All right, Brothers. Good work. We are near the end, but it will get worse before then. Prep the cannons. Tonight we kill a Sentinel!"
The crew erupted in unison, yelling in orgasmic agreement. Skeev realized he had joined them. His actions were not his own. He was merely an observer riding in the vessel that used to be his. They were enthralled to the dark will of the Captain.
Skeev was compelled to head to a cannon deck. Dozens of cannons were already being loaded by the bloody fog boiled crew. Their eyes were black and their faces blank. Skeev assumed he looked the same. He was stacking cannonballs next to the nearest cannon.
In a way, it was refreshing. The work was getting done, without a thought. Everything felt numb, not unlike when he had too much grog or his leg fell asleep from dozing uncomfortably in the streets.
It was also horrifying. If only he had made it to his stowaway hole, he may have been spared this nightmare. Perhaps the Captain would have fallen against the Shark, and none of these hapless fools would be zombies. If only.
Skeev began realizing that poor Lurm's decapitated corpse was the most lucky of all of them.
Dark powers, sea monsters, a mysterious island, and…a Sentinel?
What was a blasted Sentinel?
The men worked furiously as their exhaustion was completely non-existent. The crew also seemed to have grown in strength. A job that would take three men, only seemed to require one now. This was confirmed when Skeev lifted and moved a cannon by himself. The gunpowder, cannon poles, and balls were all prepared with pinpoint care. Skeev imagined this was reflected on the other decks. Fifty guns on each side. If a firearm became a cannon when fueled by the black fog, what would a cannon become? Skeev did not want to be near these primed devils when they went off. He would probably go deaf, if he were lucky, despite this newfound demonic strength.
The crew, compelled by some otherworldly will, returned to the deck as The Captain addressed them, "Brothers!" Only now did Skeev realize the Captain was calling them by that more friendly and familiar term, instead of "Rats," "Sea Dogs," and "Refuse" as he did in the prior months. Skeev missed those words. They reminded him of the streets.
The Captain continued. "The Great adventure begins as it comes to an end. Your sacrifice will be remembered by the true rulers of this realm. Your demise will be celebrated into eternity."
The crew, Skeev included, cheered in glorious rapture. What was happening, why it was happening, and where they were going, Skeev could not say. All he knew was that he was right, he was going to die.
As the sun rose, The Ill Will approached a sheer rock wall in the island's impossibly large mountain. The crew were at their stations, manning masts and cannons. Skeev, now on the deck manning a sail line, saw the ship approach the wall at a steady speed. He attempted to wince when he expected the stern to collide with the wall, signaling the first stage of capsizing and drowning. However, Skeev did not seea collapse. Instead, the black fog, now infusing the ship, seemed to open the wall, as if invisible monstrous hands pulled open the ribs of a slaughtered animal. The ship passed through. Once on the other side, the portal created by the fog closed.
Skeev looked into the center of the mountain. What he saw made him lick his lips.
In the center, sitting atop what looked like a ruined building, among a once great ruined city, sat a massive creature. Above was an open sky, with light pouring in. This sky seemed bright ,but it looked as if storm clouds were beginning to form.
The first feature that came into view was the beast's wings, massive and scaled, as was its tail, coiled around the ancient structure on which it made its throne. Its body, not unlike a man's, was armored in gold. Unlike a man, its taloned feet clutched the edge of the throne. Its head, also armored, seemed to mimic the face of a hawk, but it was hard to tell what sat behind the mask. In its right hand was a great spear, as ornate and golden as its armor. This, even Skeev knew in his slow and uneducated mind, was the Sentinel.
Skeev realized upon looking at this being that it was of massive size. Its weapon alone was several times longer than The Ill Will. No wonder The Captain required the black fog to fell such a beast. If the thing dared to stand and flap its wings, the ship would be obliterated.
"Draw up broadside, and hold your fire, Brothers!" Bellowed the Captain. Why he felt it necessary to order the crew, seemingly knowing his orders before they were spoken, Skeev could not say.
Just then, along the inner walls of the mountain, more portals opened. Other ships were entering. Although many were far off, Skeev could tell they were of a different type than The Ill Will, from different nations. Some looked so bizarre, he wasn't even sure men manned them. A fleet of ships powered by black fog. Maybe, Skeev thought, that would be enough.
The Sentinel seemed deep in meditation. It did not open its eyes as the ships began encircling. The clouds above were growing darker and started to swirl. To boil. Like the fog.
The wind picked up, rocking the ships in the water that surrounded the ruined city. The Captain projected his needless orders, "Hold, Brothers. We must wait for the moment!"
The sky, impossibly existing inside of an impossible mountain, grew dark. It spun like a great sea storm, its center darker than the rest. A great cracking sound erupted from the center. Skeev did not know why he thought it, but it sounded like the breaking of worlds. Did the fog impart some deeper knowledge into the men?
The Sentinel opened its eyes. That act alone was almost as shocking as the storm swirling above.
The great beast looked up as it stood up, wings rising. When it flapped those great appendages, a shockwave blasted throughout the mountain. Before it hit The Ill Will, the ship was encompassed by a cloud of fog, seemingly protected from the blast of air. The fog sustained for a few moments, and then receded. Skeev saw the Sentinel rocketing upward straight toward the center of the storm, aiming its great spear to strike. It was, somehow, miles away. Everything had changed, the cavity of the mountain was even greater than before. What was this place?
Fog erupted from the center of the storm downward toward the Sentinel. Before it reached its quarry, the fog began to form into hands. Claws. Dozens of them, then hundreds. They reached for the great flying beast. It slashed its spear.
Fog hands were cleaved, and arced lightning burst from the wounds. A great howl of what Skeev could only guess was pain erupted from above. The Beast slashed again. More demonic howls. More lightning. It was a tempest greater than anything he had ever seen. Or wanted to see. The Sentinel was going to win this fight.
The hands reformed into one large manacle, and grabbed the Sentinel holding it completely. The fog drove the creature down, back to its throne.
When it crashed back first, a shockwave blasted throughout the chamber. The fleet, again, enveloped itself in fog for protection against the deadly wave of air.
When the fog receded, the Captain ordered, "Fire!"
All the ships in the haphazard fleet, let loose, black fog fueling their charged projectiles. Great jets of fire erupted from the cannons, dozens of times longer and larger than they should have been. The Sentinel was already standing, seemingly undamaged from the black hand's counter stroke, and was getting ready to fly again. The unholy cannon fire hit it, hundreds of shells landing true, each erupting into a great explosion on impact. The blasts were humongous, and the fire they created sucked in the air of the chamber. Mast flags changed direction in unison, indicating the prevailing winds violently being pulled toward the explosions. A great cloud of fire formed on the throne, the Sentinel seemingly destroyed.
Minutes passed and smoke filled the chamber flowing from the throne. The hole at the top of the chamber roiled, waiting for confirmation on the Sentinel's destruction.
The smoke cleared when the wings beat, blasting the Sentinel back towards its enemy. The Ill Will was enveloped again in protective fog to save it from the wave of crushing air.
When the fog cleared, Skeev could see that a third of the fleet were apparently caught unaware, crushed under the shockwave from the scaled wings, capsizing. Hulls shattered. If the wing thrust did that to the ships made of strong tempered wood, Skeev did not want to know what the men on those doomed vessels were transformed into. Despite trying not to dwell on it, jelly was the only word that came to mind.
The Captain could not see the destruction or he did not care. "All right, Brothers! Bring the guns up! We need to aim high!"
Above, the Sentinel was warring against the storm, this time keeping its distance and moving fast. The spear itself could launch lightning upward, each arc blasting ethereal manacles made of fog. The thing, or things, in the storm above howled in agony. If the Sentinel decided to train its wrath on the ships below, they would not last a minute. Skeev knew if it merely flew over them closely, the force of the winds alone would scuttle the fleet totally. To it, they were nuisances, fog or no fog.
Skeev still stood holding the mast line, his default job unneeded during this battle. Looking around, his purpled vision saw the crew members, his "brothers," emerge from below, individuals alone carrying cannons while others hauled sacks of powder and shot. Once situated, a man in each team aimed his cannon like a mortar, the others loading the guns, the Captain said, "Aim."
They waited. Above another large arm formed from behind the flying defender. And another. They reached out and caught the Sentinel unaware. Once the creature was splayed with its arms and legs outstretched, the Captain yelled "Fire!"
Shots launched from the remaining ships simultaneously. The distance to their target was far, but most landed true. An explosion erupted overhead enveloping their vision. Skeev thought he would go blind this time.
The Sentinel fell. Somehow the black fog had opened its armor or exposed some other weakness. The fog-fueled explosions had harmed it and destroyed the black manacles that were restraining it. It crashed into the throne, sending another shockwave. This time the ships were ready for it.
When their shields receded, the Fleet let loose from the deck, lobbing destruction onto the creature. This time, they did not wait to see if they had felled it. Every shot on deck was used, the throne was completely enveloped with fire. It was disintegrating, turning into rubble beneath the onslaught. The Sentinel was not visible.
Moments passed. Smoke had filled the chamber. Skeev should be hacking out his guts, but the control of the fog would not let him be human. The rubble of the throne shifted. And then exploded. Crushed masonry flew every direction. A handful of ships were hit and scuttled.
Part of Skeev, a small part, realized the wrongness of this assault. Despite the assaults, the type of destruction that could level entire coastal cities, and the fight with the beastly fog above, the Sentinel stood again.
From above, Skeev saw a gold twinkle and realized that the roiling fog held the spear. The fog formed the shape of a massive cannon around the spear, obscuring it completely. With a massive explosion, it launched the projectile at its quarry. The Sentinel had time to shift just enough to the left to avoid impalement. Its own spear took its right wing, pinning it to the ground. Lighting shot of the wound, burning the wing. The protective mask on the Sentinel's face fell off. It screamed, the sound of an eagle's cry.
Skeev felt a tear roll down his face. He did not want to be here. But what choice did he have? He was forced into this service, and now could not even control his body. Through the eye that teared, his vision had cleared, no longer filled with a violet sheen. The combination of the two images in his mind gave him an instant headache. Despite this, he looked at the great beast they were compelled to kill. It looked back.
Its eyes became a burning yellow, like the sun, and bored into him through the great distance across the water.
Skeev. Skeevarian Ikrene.
His vision had cleared, the dual suns of the Sentinel's eyes stared at him. Yet, he could not move. Nothing moved. The waves were still yet trapped in the motion they entered a moment before. Time had frozen, except for the pulsating eyes of the injured defender.
Skeevarian. Do you hear me?
Skeev could not speak. His mouth trapped gaping. But he could think.
Yes. That is my name. What is this? What are you?
There is not much time. The Lichfiend is breaching the plane. I need your help.
Lich…fiend. What is that?
It is one of many things that seeks to own this realm. All realms. It controls your…brothers. My charge is to protect this plane. My only charge.
Why…why didn't you just destroy us?
I am not allowed to attack the beings on this side, even in my defense. Usually it does not matter, but the Fiend has seeped in somehow. Into the minds of men, controlling them, driving them with a dark purpose. You have seen it. You have felt it.
Why me? How can I help you?
You are wicked man, Skeevarian, your heart tainted by hard life. Thief. Murderer. Coward. And yet, you know this is wrong. You know that despite everything, letting the Fiend in will make your life in the streets look comfortable by comparison.
I am just a man. A bad man…I…
Your tears, Skeev. There is something pure still buried under the detritus. It is where my true power comes from and it is where yours can as well. There must always be a defender, a Sentinel at the gate.
Skeev wanted to cry more. He did not understand this. It was too big. The starving cold streets of home were better than this. He looked up. The Lichfiend was moving, albeit slowly. It was descending, increasing with size with every foot gained, a large fog that was steadily filling the chamber.
I ask again, Skeevarian. Will you help me?
Y…yes. I will. What do you need?
You will have a fraction of my strength. It…it should be enough. You will be able to take care of your brothers. I will be free to repel the Fiend.
With that, time returned, the makeshift fleet of disparate vessels began rocking again. The Fiend descended quickly. The Captain ordered, "Men, we need more shot! Load whatever we have, shoes, belts, silverware. The Sentinel dies today!"
Skeev, now! Your brothers are lost. The Fiend has them. Fight!
Skeev looked around the ship, and he realized he was now taller than the rest of the crew. Mere moments before, he was one of the smallest on The Ill Will. The crew worked steadily loading whatever loose objects they could grab at hand, ignoring him completely. One of the makeshift mortar crews was about to fire, tinder ablaze. Skeev charged the team and kicked.
His right foot, now bare having erupted from his boot, smacked the cannon. It flipped upside down and erupted right into the belly of The Ill Will.
The pointblank explosion incinerated the mortar crew as great fogged fire enveloped Skeev. The Ill Will began to lurch, mortally wounded by the blast.
Your work is not yet done, Skeevarian. Finish it!
As the flames around him receded, Skeev could see the Sentinel remove the spear from its wing in the distance. Lightning sparked from the wound. The Sentinel screeched toward the storm. Other ships launched their makeshift shots, but missed as the Sentinel took back to the air.
The Captain, from the helm of his dead ship, trained his pistol on Skeev and fired. It hurt, but as great as it was, it felt more like a sunburn. The unaware crew caught in the blast died instantly.
"We have a traitor among us, Brothers! Kill him!"
The crew swarmed him, blades in hand. Instinctively he kicked. Men went flying overboard. Their blades were vainly lodged in his skin, now thicker, somehow. He swatted the steel away. He was, yet, even taller. Larger.
One of the crews trained a cannon on him and fired. He leapt off the sinking ship, into the water. He needed a weapon, something large, something strong.
The anchor.
Under the hull he reached for it, hanging by a long chain. He pulled until the end of the chain caught. He wrenched it loose, breaking something else in the dead ship. Sinking into the cold water, he wrapped the chains around his left hand, carrying the great anchor in his right.
With a single thrust of his legs, he launched out of the water back onto what was left of the deck. He truly was stronger. Greater than what he was before. Something more.
The Captain howled, now disturbed and desperate. "Kill it! Kill it now!" Skeev swung the anchor in a arc. Some men were merely knocked overboard, but most of the men caught in its path were cut in half, guts dumping on the ruined deck, now near the waterline. The Captain trained his pistol on Skeev again. Skeev threw the anchor directly at the gun.
When he fired, most of the explosion reflected off the anchor, the makeshift weapon somehow infused with Skeev's newfound resilience. The Captain screamed as he was turned to ash, his dark mission at its end. The Ill Will would soon follow its Captain.
Skeev eyed the nearest vessel, similar to his former prison, but from some other nation. Different flags and accoutrements. It did not matter. He jumped.
As he landed, he swung the great chain, and sliced the ship perfectly in half. He hit the water. More work to be done. And that is how it went. Skeev would launch from each deck, scuttling the next nearest ship, the mostly human beings onboard usually too blinded with their purpose to realize their time had come. Occasionally, they would fight, to no avail.
When jumping between his quarry, Skeev looked above at the maelstrom. The Sentinel was taking it to the Lichfiend. Spear slashing, lightning thundering. Each attack pushed back the fog. It flew slower, but still fast.
The last few ships finally noticed the closer threat among them, and began firing on Skeev. Most shots missed exploding in the distance. One took him in the air and he fell back into the waves.
Below the water, he realized swimming was safer and more efficient. Like a great hunter from beneath he began rending the hulls of the hapless vessels, gutting them with the anchor, one after one. Men and things like men leapt from the ships. He cracked the last hull, and burst from the water.
Instinctively, he headed toward the ruined throne. It felt right to him even in its broken state. He looked above.
The Lichfiend was almost pushed back. Almost defeated. The Sentinel aimed it's spear and let loose. The lighting encompassed the breach, burning Skeev's eyes. And then, an explosion. Skeev turned. On the shore near some wrecked ships a cannon team had managed to survive, weapon in tow, and fire. The Sentinel was recovering but dazed. The Fiend struck back. Skeev leapt toward the crew in vengeance.
Foggy black wisps formed a thin spear above and shot directly into the Sentinel's wounded wing. From that minor purchase, it rent the wing, tearing it from the body of the Sentinel. For the second time, the Sentinel fell.
Skeev landed on the cannon, his great legs crushing it. The crew scattered, but he took at least two with the anchor. It would have to do.
He leapt back to the rubbled throne, atop which the Sentinel was sprawled. He looked at him with those glowing eyes, freezing time again.
Skeevarian. You did well. Thank you.
Not well enough it seems, what do you need of me?
We have to close the breach. But I cannot reach it. Not without help. We have to share the power.
The eyes burned bright and Skeev could feel it, a torrent burning from inside. It hurt, but he did not mind.
Skeev opened his eyes. The ruined throne looked like a toppled chair, the wrecked ships, toys. His clothes were gone, hair growing out of his limbs covering most of the skin. He had become something else, something primordial.
"You will need to throw me." The Sentinel was getting to its feet visibly in pain. Its mouth moved and somehow Skeev could understand it. An ancient language. He felt it in his bones.
The fog of the Fiend had began its advance again, this time more slowly, sensing its newfound lack of allies on this side.
"If we jump together, I can use you to get leverage, and…" it breathed heavily, "...I may able to get close enough."
"I…understand. I think." It was not too long ago that words like leverage were beyond Skeev, but he understood now. At least he did in this ancient tongue.
"To work, then." Skeev wrapped a massive hairy ape arm around the Sentinel on its bad side. It was smaller now, maybe half its original size. Had it really ceded that much power to the former street urchin?
They both looked up, massive legs cracking the ground, and launched in unison, weapons in tow.
"Will you stand, Skeevarian?" It yelled over the rush of wind as they propelled upward.
"What?"
"Will you stand for this side, against such things? Will you take this charge? Answer, now!"
"I…" he looked above, ancient truths filling his enlarged brain, seeping in from somewhere else. He understood. The Sentinel. The Lichfiend. Pawns in a larger war. An eternal war. There was more to life than the streets, starvation, theft, and murder. Much more. "What choice do I have?"
Almost smiling with its gargantuan beak, the Sentinel responded, "I will take that as a yes, Skeevarian." With that the great reptilian bird kicked off of its partner launching further upward as Skeev fell back to ground. Skeev looked to the sky.
Spear in hand, the Sentinel launched toward the eye of the fog. With a final flap of its remaining wing, it flew into the storm above, disappearing.
From the center, a great blast of electricity grew. And grew. It's blue light illuminated the cavern, boiling off the fog where it touched. A howl emanated from above. The Fiend was in pain.
The ball of lightning at the center exploded as Skeev crashed back first into the dead city, a wave of air blasting from the crater.
For a moment, the storm was gone. Clear. Skeev could only see the top of the inside of a great mountain for a moment. Then a blue sky with white clouds. It was over.
Skeev climbed to his feet, anchor chain still wrapped around his massive hand. It had grown in proportion to his body as well, including the anchor tied to it. He looked up and knew the Sentinel was gone. The first thing that believed in him his whole life, that gave him a chance, and it was gone. He would tear up again if this gigantic violent form had any capacity for such dalliances, but it seemed void of them.
He realized something was still wrong. He saw a cloud near the edge of the impossible sky, a dark one. It looked back and dropped.
This must have been how the Lichfiend got into the world in the first place. A stowaway after battling the Sentinel. Skeev leapt.
The cloud landed and formed into a mass of black tar. With speed not unlike his own, it charged the nearest wall. Skeev knew that it could exit this place the same way he entered. He also knew, instinctively, that he could never leave the mountain. It was here and now or this thing would come back with more weapons, more fallen men, and make another attempt to have this world. No - this side. He would not let it happen.
From his jump, he raised the anchor and swung it down to where the mass was heading, chain following it. As it went, he saw the lightning start arcing of the metal, more and more as it descended, accelerating faster than it should. Like him, the Anchor had become something else. Something more. It crashed inton the black mass, as Skeev landed on his feet. An eruption of electricity scarred the broken city, blinding him.
The mass was gone. Obliterated. It was done.
Good form brother!
What?
He was startled. The word "brother" had a different connotation in these last few hours. Or days. How long had it been?
We mourn the lost one, great Jaqil, Lord of the skies. But we celebrate your acceptance of his request.
He looked around, the sound was everywhere and nowhere.
Peer deeper, brother. Further.
He did as they said, and his view changed. He could see through the mountain island. Beyond it. Beyond the sea. Beyond the continents, to the edges of this - this side?
There were other islands out there. Other mountains. Other points of entry to the beyond. Other…Sentinels.
You can see us. And we you. You have joined the Brethren of Sentinels, charged with protecting this side from the things of the other. Welcome, Skeevarian, master of sea, great ape of the anchor.
Part of him wanted to protest, to backpedal, to escape. But…for what? There was nothing out there for him. How could he return to the streets, even if he could, knowing it what he now knew, let alone as a such a creature?
How…do you manage it? The isolation? The duty?
Together. We cannot help one another directly. But we can speak. It passes the days. And the years. The eons. Your sense of time will change. The dreaming will take you to other places. Jaqil was asleep for some time before today. Before your ascension.
Skeev would have to accept it. The reality, the horrors, and his charge. He would have to be more than a thieving murderer pressed into service on a ship bound to help destroy this side. More than a man. He would have to be a Sentinel.
I feel…tired.
Sleep, young one. You did well.
Skeev traversed the ruined city, dragging his massive feet as he began yawning. He would have to ask his new brothers about this place. What it was. Where they came from. Yes, there were many questions. It would pass the time. Better than starving. Better than stealing.
He approached the destroyed throne, and sat upon the rubble, burying the massive anchor to his right so it would not move during his slumber. He looked up again, and saw the impossible sky as a clear blue. No clouds. Skeevarian the Sentinel closed his eyes. He knew despite his exhaustion that he would wake should something knock on this side, demanding entry. Should it be foolish enough to make the attempt, he would be here. Waiting. Defending.
A long watch against the dark had begun.
Tiklan awoke on the shore of the island, aching all over. He could not remember what happened. They were winning something. They had won. Then, the beast, the traitor was among them. His missing eye ached as he spit up sea water.
Somehow, he was outside of the mountain, on the other side of the island. The sun was setting. He stared into it. Black fog boiled off of his skull. He would have to get a ship. No - a fleet. More weapons. An army to land on the shore. More. The Fiend needed more.
A ship was on the horizion. Tik smiled as he built a signal fire, even easier to see in the evening. Yes. He would be back.