Drown Another Day Read online

  I was more worried about the harm his own teeth were capable of causing. Lifting me up, the enormous fish man placed me upon his head. I grabbed on to the bio-luminescent stalk growing out of his skull and hung on for dear life as the Dagonian began to slowly ascend to the surface.

  “Well, I’m sure I ought to suffice as entertainment on the way to the way up,” Gloucester spoke cheerily. “Plenty of stories about my little ones to tell. My youngest minnow in particular is quite a handful. Why, just last week she got her fins onto this volleyball I mentioned earlier. It’d washed down from some Human shore and…”

  It was going to be a long way up.

  Chapter 43

  My waterlogged leather shoes splotched on the deck of the aircraft carrier USS Massachusetts. The gigantic Gloucester had been ever so kind as to bring me right to the Naval fleet, and judging by the number of scurrying soldiers and Hybrids, something big was happening.

  Good. I was soaked, I was beaten up, and most importantly I was pissed.

  Two Hybrids waiting by the door to the bridge halted me. “And just where do you think you’re going? Only officers are allowed past this point.”

  “He a civilian or something?” muttered the other.

  Must be how they separate the Mundane troops from the guys who are in on the Supernatural secret. I didn’t have the time or patience to play along.

  “Listen. I just spent the last hour of my life listening to a very large and very proud fish tell me about his favorite great great granddaughter, so I’m going to start saying names until the door opens. Gloucester. Marsh. Ashwell. Hybrids. Outsider…”

  The Hybrids looked terribly surprised. “You’re Charles Locke.”

  The door opened wide. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to look at me as I limped in. They appeared to be halfway through a briefing. A fancy state of the art board in the center of the room flashed with a map of the surrounding region. The atmosphere was dark. Everyone was wearing a grimace.

  “Pardon the puddles,” I said nonchalantly, taking off my soaked shirt and sitting to patch up my wounded leg.

  “Charles,” called out Ashwell. “You made it out alive. Excellent.”

  “Squidmask. Good to see you and George alive and well.”

  Admiral Marsh, in full military uniform, barked out an orders to a pair of deckhands then turned to face me.

  “I’ve heard we have you to thank for the success of our mission.”

  “I just happened to be present when it went down. Turns out Cyclopes are poor guards for something fragile. Nice ace you have up your sleeve, by the way.”

  “I take it you’ve met Gloucester, then,” Marsh replied.

  I nodded.

  “Good. Mr. Locke, we’re going to disengage and make back for safe waters. Thank you for everything.”

  I paused. “You’re leaving?”

  The air got a little bit thicker. I could almost hear the murmurs of discontent.

  “Yes,” Marsh said. “With our main objective achieved we’re going to use the Auxiliaries to act as a rear guard while we retreat out of the Mediterranean and make for friendlier waters. We’re in your debt, Charles Locke. I want you to know that.”

  Leave now? We had them on the run. It’s been nothing but a string of crippling defeats for the Olympians. No wonder the rest of the officers looked miserable. They were probably itching to stay and sort out their ancient foes.

  “Tennessee whiskey?” spoke a beautiful woman with a thick sing-songy accent. She was dressed in medic attire and set a shot of the hard liquor down in from of me.

  “My savior,” I said, downing it in a single go. “You’re certain you don’t want to stay, admiral?”

  Slowly, Jeremiah Marsh shook his head. “We’ve accomplished our mission. There’s nothing else for us here.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  Marsh blinked in surprise. His fish like features settling into a frown.

  “You have everything to gain by staying,” I went on. “The Olympians put up a hell of a fight against you. Pulled out all the tricks in the book to stop you. That’s put them in a real dangerous position.”

  “What do you mean?” Marsh asked.

  Ashwell coughed into his fist. “I think I understand. We have reports that the Olympians serving under Neptune have betrayed their close allies in Nine Towers. Many sorcerers and warlocks have been caught or mercilessly killed. The organization Charles belongs to is likely in complete disarray at the moment.”

  The admiral nodded in understanding.

  “Neptune has allied with an extremely powerful being. I’ve had the displeasure of meeting it once before, and it means business. Death, destruction, chaos. You’ve heard of what happened in Cancun. Maybe Japan too? That’s all this ‘Angel of Death’s’ handiwork,” I said.

  “So you’re trying to tell me that if we Dagonians were to swoop in, save Nine Towers, and put an end to this Angel’s rampage…”

  I smiled wide. “Nine Towers would be forever indebted and surely team up with the formerly ally-less Dagonians. Hell, every last Supernatural the world over will hear how the scary fish monsters stopped an insanely powerful rogue Angel and selflessly saved the whole goddamn world.”

  Murmurs filled the room. The officers, all pale in skin, hairless and fish like, stared at their admiral. The sudden blaring of an alarm nearly startled me out of my skin.

  “Proximity alert. Report,” Marsh called out.

  “The radar is picking up movement underwater,” spoke up a technician on the bridge. “Scouts are already en route to--”

  “No need,” Marsh replied.

  “Sir?”

  “It’s them,” Marsh said, before leaning over the map display in the center of the room.

  “We’re already in the Adriatic Sea, Marsh,” Ashwell said.

  “I see that. Best guess on their base of operations?” he asked.

  “Lastovsko, Croatia. Island designated as a nature reserve. Uninhabited,” said another technician. “Just eight nautical miles to it.”

  “Sounds about right. Adjust trajectory. Form up. Weapons out.”

  There was a moment of confusion before, as one, the officers on the bridge roared in agreement and rushed to battle stations with euphoric glee. It was a bit gurgly and a little bit soppy and wet, but it was impossible not to get caught up in the cheer.

  I hadn’t realized until that second just how well poised I’d become. Last time I fought the Angel of Death it was just me an Itabimori, but suddenly?

  Now we had a fleet with modern firepower. Now there was an army of battle hardened fish men practically shimmering with zeal. Now there was a Gloucester!

  “Quite the animal magnetism you’ve got there, Charles, I’ve never seen the Dagonians so riled up,” said Ashwell.

  I couldn’t help but grin. Who says I’m bad at making friends?

  “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter 44

  “Main screen on. Do we have visual?” spoke the Admiral.

  I watched the feed as it panned between several under water cameras. Beneath the USS Massachusetts a small army of Supernaturals had deployed. Squadrons (or did they prefer to be called school?) of Hybrids in scuba gear and brandishing piercing weaponry got into position, pure blooded Dagonians lurked behind the main lines, and all the gear that American tax payer money could afford lay at their disposal.

  This was getting hot and heavy. I’d only ever participated in one battle with so many participants before, and I was riding a Godzilla sized skeleton at the time. I felt slightly more on the front lines this time around.

  “Admiral? You should take a look at this,” spoke up a female Hybrid from the deck. “My drone’s got a name brand for you.”

  The screen that the techie was pointing at was broadcast from a camera high up in the air. Surveillance drone for sure. I recognized the ‘name brand’ who they caught on the home video immediately.

  Mouth open, screaming commands to scrambling
Mermen from atop dry land, Hector ordered around the Olympians from a hill high up off the coast of the nature reserve.

  And just behind him, like a grim Gothic statue, stood the Angel of Death.

  I sucked in a breath, “That’s the command group alright. They must not have been expecting us to counter attack seeing how far up in the field they moved their big shots.”

  “Damn right,” replied Admiral Marsh. “This is a rare and enticing opportunity to go on a little head hunting. Volunteers for a strike team, step forth.”

  “I cannot,” Ashwell said. “George has yet to recover from our scuffle with the Cyclopes. I’m just a particularly well read civilian without his aide.”

  I stood up from my chair, testing my newly bandaged calf.

  “I’ve unfinished business with the Angel. I’ll go,” I declared.

  Marsh perked a thin eyebrow. “You’re wounded.”

  “You’ll die if you don’t rest,” the medic girl chided, Tennessee accent loud and clear.

  “I’ll get some rest when I’m dead. Put me in, coach.”

  Marsh smiled wryly, shrugging his shoulders again. “Our pleasure to have you along then, Charles Locke. You’re on in five.”

  *

  “Look at them go,” said one of the fish men.

  He was sitting beside me, intently watching a small water proof video pad. It was streaming footage of the underwater engagement.

  Almost taking up the whole screen, Mermen and Dagonians fought fang and claw in brutal hand to hand combat. It takes a lot of money and a lot of effort to make a gun that works underwater. No wonder both sides decided to stick with good old fashioned medieval warfare.

  The Mermen had grouped up into a solid phalanx, an underwater parody of the Greek land formation. In bronze armor and with spears, I watched as a tide of Dagonians crashed into them, pure bloods spear heading the charge.

  The water turned a shade redder as the combatants collided. Spears stabbed and Dagonians pushed to break past their ranks and splinter the formation. It was a total deadlock. The slain and the dying fell away from the main melee.

  The sharks gathered for their feast.

  “This isn’t looking good. All these bastards need to do is hold us off until their reinforcements arrive. Then they turn us into fish sticks,” I said.

  Another canned sardine, watching intently over my shoulder shook his head, “We have reinforcements coming as well.”

  “Landfall in ten seconds.”

  I braced myself to hit the ground running, a pistol in hand and my trusty wand in the other. I felt the bump of the boat strike the rocky shore and I used the momentum to jump up and land on the coast.

  The Hybrids along side me were no slouches either. In fact they were poised to out pace me. I guess fish men training in the art of modern combat was as ‘special’ as Special Forces could possibly get.

  Like clockwork the supporting squad members dropped down and prepped their rifles against the top ridge, letting loose a one part surprise to two part death spelling salvo of disciplined fire.

  The Merman brass were caught unprepared. Hector’s hasty decision to move to the front of the battlefield, expecting the Dagonians to continue falling back, proved a fatal mistake for many fancily garbed subordinates.

  “Incoming,” said one of the canned sardines.

  The Dagonian right beside me had everything above his shoulders vaporized as a blast of scalding water struck him head on. I cursed, ducking down and firing off my pistol in response. A lucky shot struck the Merman mage responsible for the scalding water in the palm of his hand, eliciting a shriek of pain and a hasty retreat behind a large boulder.

  “Close quarters!” cried out a deep Hybrid voice. The rear guard of the Olympian forces had reached us, and the hand to hand battle started in earnest.

  Time seemed to slow down. Reality slowed and ebbed and flowed engulfed. I vaguely recall parrying a spear tipped in bright coral with my wand sword. Shooting a robed Merman in the gut, and watching another Hybrid get pincushioned by daggers coming from all sides.

  “Line is breaking” and “Total disarray” reached my ear, but I couldn’t tell over the roar of battle who said it about which side.

  I was too focused on the baleful gaze of the Angel of Death Ebony sword stuck in the thick brown earth. Sharp claws, more like the talons of a vulture than a Human’s hands, rested upon the hilt of the blade. Serene and uncaring, it watched the battle unfold.

  And in front of it stood Hector, beard bristling with fury.

  “Overreaching your own abilities. Scrambling when the tide turns against you. The reasons for which I have thought this alliance wise are thinning, Son of Neptune,” spoke the Angel in it’s groaning metal voice.

  “This attack is a meaningless gesture, I and my Father both assure you. The last desperate charge of a spent race ripe for slaughter. I’ll kill these ones myself. I swear it.”

  “That’s some tough talk coming from the guy who thought sending Cyclopes to guard an aquarium was a good idea,” I called above the din.

  Hector whirled to face me, his sea blue eyes lit up in rage. “Charles Locke. Here you are at the center of everything that’s going wrong. Again and again. What is it about you? We’ve killed mages far above your rank with ease. Slaughtered sorcerers a thousand years ahead of you in talent and skill like sheep! How are you still alive?!”

  “Would you believe ‘by the power of friendship’?” I asked. “There’s a lot of Nine Towers blood on your hands Hector. And I don’t think even you have enough water to wash it off with. Let’s dance.”

  Chapter 45

  Historically speaking, most battles that have been fought were woefully one sided slaughters. The same tends to be true of one on one duels. Fair fights don’t exist. If you’re unarmed they’ll have a knife. Or a gun. Or twenty friends to stomp on you while you’re down. That’s why it’s rare to face down an opponent without any real trickery, guile, or cunning involved in the setting up of the fight.

  This, however, was going to be pretty close to a fair match. If you ignore the fact that he was the son of a Greek God and I was a half-step above a vanilla flavored Human.

  Hector channeled his magical might inwards, his flesh already bronze covered marble by the time he threw himself into a ground shaking sprint right at me.

  I fired off the last rounds in my pistol at him before leaping out of the way at the last moment. Same shit different day. His invulnerable flesh was just as strong as I remembered it. That meant that I had zero ways to actually harm him.

  Another pass. Hector swung his fist at me with the strength and weight of a cannonball. Faster and faster, he threw himself at me until he had me on my heels. Seeing a golden opportunity, the Son of Neptune, leaped at me arms spread.

  If I get caught in a bear hug that gym rat’s muscle would have my insides out where they don’t belong in a swift and fatal platonic embrace. I dug my feet into the muddy dirt and threw myself left with all my strength.

  “Shit,” I swore.

  Hector faked me out. Instead of committing to the grapple, he pounced upon my awkward dodge, fist poised. With an almighty smash, he brought it down for the killing blow.

  Dust and dirt clods flew from the force of the blow. The look of maddened victory however, slowly melted from Hector’s face. Replaced with a look of confusion.

  “I knew it. Even though you changed your skin to bronze and marble, it’s still enchanted. Still magical.”

  At the last possible second, I’d conjured up a violet shield. It reflected magic indiscriminately. What I’d just learned was that enchanted weapons, flesh, and objects were affected by it too. I made a mental note to test any future crack pot theories in a safer environment.

  Flipping my legs up and pushing my hands forth, I launched myself back to my feet a good distance away from the demigod.

  “Just a matter of time until you’re caught. All you can do is stall, sorcerer,” Hector called. “I know all your tri
cks.”

  “And I know yours. If I can’t break a can open, then I just need to get a better knife.”

  Drawing my hand over my wand sword, I pushed all of my will and meager magical power into it. Slowly, the sharpened blade molded in my hand. I dulled the edge, lengthened it, and willed the tip into a needle’s point.

  “Wand-rapier,” I said.

  “Parlor tricks,” spat Hector, rushing towards me full tilt. “Your sharpened tip doesn’t mean a thing compared to my sculpted muscles.”

  He was right of course. My first hit plinked weakly off of his bronze skin. So did my second and third. But while I was striking him again and again, Hector couldn’t get near me at all.

  My flighty stance needed no physical commitment or closeness in order to strike. Dodge, dip in, stab, step away. It infuriated the Son of Neptune more and more with every missed fist and calculated stab I stuck into him.

  It was on my seventh strike that the bronze flesh was pierced through. The pure white of marble peeked past the chink I’d carved into his six pack.

  Around the same time, my spree of harm avoidance finally ran out of steam. Grasping a fist full of dirt and stone, Hector, flung it at me with all his might. I was pelted with welt inducing bits of stone and blinding dust.

  Before I could recover, his shining bronze shoulder connected with my chest in a sickening crunch, leaving me in a senseless heap. The next thing I felt was his sandalled foot crushed down on my chest.

  “Like I said, warlock. Meaningless. How bad does it hurt? Hmm? It sounds like I broke your entire rib cage. Maybe shattered your diaphragm. Hurt to breathe?” Hector asked cruelly.

  I gripped my wand-rapier tight, tossing him a cocky grin. “Only two ribs. Maybe a third cracked if your lucky. Rookie numbers, Hector.”

  The bearded demigod sneered at me. “Your allies lie dead and dying at my feet. The rear guard has shored it’s defenses to resemble that of a tortoise. Face it. Cutting off this snake’s head is out of your reach. All you could ever hope to do was delay the inevitable.”