-----The Devout-----
âThe first round has officially begun.â
Gulliver had hardly been paying attention to the Officiators, instead looking off into the distance as he tried to determine which direction the fiendâs smell had been coming from. So it was a surprise to him when the competitors around him started either drawing weapons or trying to sprint away. Only when he heard the first clash of steel on steel did the meaning of the words come to him.
Fortunately, he had been standing on the edge of the crowd, which spared him from the immediate chaos. But it didnât stop one of the competitors from taking a shot at him.
He saw what initially appeared to be steel wheel flying through the air towards him. His gauntlet came up to protect him just in time, and the steel weapon sliced across it. In that moment, he was able to get a better look at what it actually was: four curved blades arrayed in a circle connected together by a central grip. The blades left a scratch across his gauntlet but didnât piece it, and Gulliver was able to knock its trajectory to harmlessly pass by him.
The man who had thrown the strange wheel still had his arm outstretched. His attacker wore all black, down to a black hood and mask which obscured any distinguishing features. Gulliver wasnât sure why the man was just standing there, as if holding a pose, but he didnât want to give him another chance to attack. He drew broadsword â
The sound of the bladed wheel whirling behind him cured his curiosity. He spun, bringing his sword around as he did in a defensive position across his chest and neck as he did. The wheel had somehow come back towards him, and he was just barely about to parry its blades with his sword. When he felt the sword connect with the wheel, he cut down, intending to knock the flying weapon to the ground.
While he succeeded in bashing the wheel away from him, it surprised him by stopping before its descent before hitting the ground, then continuing along its path. It returned to the man who threw it, who caught it in his outstretched hand.
The two glared at each other for a moment. Gulliver estimated that his foe was contemplating whether to toss the bladed wheel again. There was a bit of distance between them, but Gulliver was ready to rush across that gap the moment he tried to toss that wheel.
The masked man must have thought better of it, because he flipped the wheel in his hand, causing the blades to fold together until they appeared to only be a single blade. Then he dashed off further into the grounds. His speed was such that even if Gulliver wanted to chase him, he didnât stand much of a chance of catching up. But he wasnât interested in following the masked man, anyway. Not when he had a more important target to find.
He was able to walk away from the podium without getting attacked again. With how much fighting had broken out among the competitors there, he wasnât sure if he had just gotten lucky, or if the symbol of his order made him an intimidating enough figure that the competitors sought easier target. Either way, he walked to the pier without encountering further difficulties. He kept his sword in his hand just in case.
It was still hard to narrow down the direction of his target. He realized he was wandering blindly, and had no way of knowing if the fiend was even still here or if they had already begun their trip across the sea. It would be tougher to find them on the island â that was a lot of space to cover, and it appeared to be covered in thick foliage.
Gulliver walked closer to the edge of the pier to try and get a better view of the island, to see if he could make out a detail such as likely places boats might land. His eyes were instead drawn to the water, where massive danced just below the surface.
These shadows gave him a disconcerting feeling, so he put a hand to his amulet and chanted the Mantra of the God of Law. His sword began to radiate pure light, giving him a clear view of what laid below. He almost wished it hadnât.
Tentacles, teeth, slimy appendages such as webbed hands, and eyes. A whole mess of eyes. What he taken to be multiple massive sea creatures was one terrifying monstrosity, an absurd mesh of limbs and orifices that his mind struggled to make sense of.
Was it a fiend? No, he didnât sense anything fiendish from it. If anything, the air around here felt cleaner and more pure than it had anywhere else in the tournament grounds. But whatever it was certainly was not natural. The primordial fear that ran down his spine was evidence of that.
He was distracted enough by it he didnât hear the other competitor approach.
âOh, well if it isnât the sniffing pervert.â The muscular lady heâd met near the podium came up beside him. âAre you fancying a swim? Iâd lose the armor first. Probably make you sink.â
Gulliver put himself on guard, but he didnât sense any hostilities from the womanâs body language. He reasoned that if she wanted to attack him, she could have done so while he was distracted. Still, he kept his sword ready, just in case.
âSwimming seems a bad idea in any event,â he replied. âTake a look for yourself.â
While not lowering his guard completely, he held his sword slightly over the water to give her a view of the horrors within.
âThe tournament commission sure knows how to show a lady a good time. Well, I could use the warmup.â She started to stretch out her muscles as if she actually intended to dive into the water with those monsters.
It probably wasnât in Gulliverâs best interest to try and protect one his competitors from taking themselves out, but he still felt a little responsibility to at least try to stop someone from dying such a gruesome death. âI urge you to reconsider what it appears you are thinking about doing. These beasts â if you can even call them that â are likely to tear you limb from limb.â
She seemed unconcerned as she finished her stretches. âThey will probably try. But theyâll find Iâm no damsel in despair. Besides, a good dip in cold water is just what I need to brace myself for the challenge.â
He shrugged. Either she was committed to killing herself or was completely delusional. Either way, he couldnât help her.
âAlright, better get going if I want to make it to the island before morning.â She winked at him. âIf you want to take another sniff, now might be your last chance.â
âI ⦠no, thank you.â
âYour loss.â
With that, she dove off the pier and into the sea. Immediately, there was rumbling as the massive horror reacted to her presence. Gulliver held the swordâs light over the water to get a clearer look as the monster grabbed the woman with a webbed hand and pulled her under. It sunk deeper into the sea, disappearing out of the range illuminated by the sword.
Gulliver sighed. He had tried to warn her.
As he started to walk away, considering whether he should try to find a way across the water or continue his hunt for the fiend, there suddenly came another rumbling. The whole pier felt like it was shaking.
There was an eruption of water as a gargantuan, slimy body burst from the sea. Itâs form towered over even the walls surrounding the tournament grounds, and more of it was still beneath the water. It let out a piercing wail that Gulliver could swear sounded like it was in distress.
Then he spotted her atop it. The muscular lady had some kind of eyestalk clutched in her fists, gripping it so hard that the eye atop it looked like it was about to pop.
With another wail, the creature descended back into the sea. Itâs huge form diving created a sizable wave that came crashing down on the pier, and completely engulfed Gulliver. He had to plant his sword into the wood and hold on to prevent being washed out to sea. When it was all ovend then take its time cooking you âtil youâre nice and crispy.â
âHow, now, thatâs uncalled for. I know youâre sore at me, but thatâs no reason to take it out on my old six-shooter.â
The man growled and began to point the rod towards Clint. Clint lined up his shot and reached for his pistol â
Before either of them could finish, the filthy man appeared beside fellow with the lightning rod, and his arm opened. That was the best word Clint could think of to describe it. From the tip of his middle finger down to his shoulder, the arm split in two. Both halves of the arm revealed multiple sets of jagged, sharp teeth. Something akin to tongue slobbered between the two.
âWhat the fuck?!â the man said as he turned his lightning rod towards the grotesque, bizarre display.
But it was too late. The arm-mouth â for lack of a better word of how to describe it â locked itself around the manâs head and chest. It lifted him into the air, and blood spilled from all the wounds opened up by those wicked teeth. The arm-mouth chomped on its prey, who only struggled a little while longer before falling still. Then he was swallowed completely by it.
The arm closed back together, appearing normal once more. Its victim was nowhere to be seen.
âThatâs a hell of trick you got there,â Clint said, trying not sound like he was on the urge of vomiting.
The dirty man wailed. âItâs not my fault! I didnât want to do it! You have to understand! I donât want it. But it makes me. I can only hold it back for so long, but it gets so hungry. I was barely able to get this far without it coming out to feed.â
Clint hand hovered ever closer to his revolver as he lined up his shot. âThat sounds rough, I reckon. Maybe not as rough as what our friend there just went through. Why donât you take a walk away from here, before your friend gets hungry again.â
âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. But itâs hungry now! After how long I went without feeding it, just eating one isnât enough. It is insisting on eating you! I am sorry! I donât want to!â
His arm opened up, once again revealing those teeth and that disgusting tongue.
Clint took his shot. His aim was true, and he put a bullet right between the freakâs eyes. Blood burst forth, his eyes rolled back, and his head went limp.
But the body didnât drop. Even though the head was laying limp to the side with blood pooling out of a fresh bullet-hole, the body started to move towards him. First slowly, then at a full sprint, that arm-mouth extended towards him.
âOh, that ainât right!â Clint shouted as he emptied the four more rounds from his revolver into that thingâs body.
The bullet holes sprouted across its body, each spewing forth blood, but nothing seeming to slow the freak down. That arm-mouth nearly was onto of him.
With one shot left and no better ideas, Clint fired into that tongue.
Finally, he got some reaction. An inhuman wail resounded from freakish limb as some kind of black ichor spewed forth from the tongue. The mouth closed, returning to the form of a regular arm, and the body wavered on its feet.
âIs it dead?â Clint asked.
âIâm sorryâ¦â The manâs head righted itself, life coming back to his eyes, and the bullet hole between his eyes notably missing. âIt canât die ⦠I canât die. Theyâve tried. They have all tried. It wonât stop. It will only try harder.â
As if to prove his point, the manâs stomach suddenly opened up. The man was split open at the middle, with teeth appearing under his abdomen and over his waist. Two sets of the grotesque tongues slapped around between them.
âAh, youâre kidding me!â
Clint ejected the empty shells from his revolver, but didnât have time to load new ones before the stomach-mouth was upon him. He had to dive out of the way, rolling in a way that was very unpleasant for his shoulder. The freak crashed into the ground next to him, getting a big mouthful of sand. It roared in frustration.
Now what? Even if Clint could load his revolver quick enough, thatâs already proved ineffective. He guessed it was time to bring out the big guns. The bundle of explosives was in the same pocket as before, and he slipped one from the wrapping. And now â
Where was his fucking matches?
The creature came at him again. Reaching into the opposite pocket of his coat, Clint grabbed one of the smoke pellets and tossed it to the ground.
The thick black fume it spewed wasnât the pleasant kind of smoke, like that of a cigar. It was the acrid, bitter smoke of a housefire. Clint coughed and his eyes burned as he got a face full of it. He noted that next time, he needed to toss the pellet somewhere other than directly at his feet. Fortunately, it had the same effect on the freak, who cried and wailed. It lashed out around him, but couldnât seem to find him in the smoke cloud.
Which gave him some time to try and find his fucking matches. Not bottom pocket, not pants pocket, not back pocket. Could it be â
Vestâs breast pocket? Since when did he ever put the matches in the same place twice in a row?
He struck a match and lit the wick on the blasting stick just as the smoke was starting to clear. The freak spotted him and rushed forward, stomach-mouth opened wide.
âIf youâre hungry, have a bite of this,â Clint said, tossing the lit blasting stick into the mouth.
The mouth chomped down on it.
BOOM!
Teeth, blood, and black ichor exploded out in all directions. Clint shielded his face with his hat to keep any of it from getting in his mouth or nose.
The freak looked like a cracked egg now, still split open and leaking all kinds of fluids from the gaping maw filled with shattered teeth, with more damage to his upper body, including a big hole in his chest.
There were screams and cries, some of it coming from the stomach-mouth, some from the hole in the chest, and some from the still human face. They blended together in a disturbing cacophony.
The freakâs body lurched forward, bending so the center of his back was arched up at almost a right angle, and then it began to run on all fours deeper into the cover, still screaming and crying as it went. It crawled up the rockface and disappeared.
Clint wiped as much of the gore off his hat as he could before putting it back on his head. âWhy canât this place be full of normal folk who die when you shoot them?â
Well, at least that thing was gone for now. Hopefully it became someone elseâs problem.
But Clint wasnât about to stick around here in case it decided to come back. He picked the opposite direction of the freak and began to walk up the shoreline, hoping to find a place to hole up for the remainder of the night.
This was a whole new world for him, and he wasn't sure how much he liked it. Hopefully his future opponents would be vulnerable to bullets. Otherwise, Percy was going to have a whole lot more to laugh at him about. Though no amount of drinks were going to be enough to get this night out of his head. Stomach-mouths? A man who could fold others like a napkin with one kick and who shrugged off bullets like they were mosquitos? Him putting his matches in the same pocket twice? What a nightmare of a day.
He pulled out a cigar as he looked for his hiding spot. It took a little bit of the edge of. Not all of it, but some. It was calming. Not like the smoke from that smoke pellet. He wondered if he could get Doc to create a cigar-smoke flavored smoke pellet. Would that be as effective? Maybe not, but it would be a lot more pleasant if he had to use it in closed quarters.
He wondered if anyone was ever going to believe him about this stuff. Even Annie would probably look at him like he lost his mind. Ah, well. That's what made a good story a good story - the fact that it smells like 100% horse manure. arm free and slashed down with it. He cut through something that felt like a mix of flesh and gravel, severing the hold the monstrosity had on and allowing him to swim free. He slung the sword over his shoulder and, with his divine might fueling him, he swam rapidly towards the surface. His lungs were burning, and he could feel his vision already darkening, but he pressed onward, knowing that whatever grabbed him was right behind. He pushed on, against the weight of his armor, against the darkness enveloping him, against the dread that was on his heels.
He surfaced on the muddy bank and took a greedy breath of air before coughing up all the water that had gotten into his lungs. With desperate strides he climbed up the bank, but only made it a few steps before the water behind him erupted once more.
A face with far too many eyes centered around a maw with too many teeth bore down on him. Gulliver reached for his sword, but wasnât sure if he could draw it in time.
Gregosâs rapier pierced through one of those eyes. It burst, spewing a white, pussy liquid. The horror wailed and retreated back into the water.
Neither of the swordsmen wanted to test how long it would be before it returned. They scrambled to the closest surviving supports for the pier and pulled themselves up. Only when they were safely above the water did they take a moment to breathe.
âI appreciate your timely aid,â Gulliver said between panted breaths.
Gregos scoffed. âA Talmien knows how to pay their debts. You saved my life once, so I saved yours. Now I owe you nothing. Whatâs more, we still have something to settle between us.â He stood up straight and held up his rapier.
Gulliver groaned. âDo you still want to do that?â
There was a slow, rhythmic tapping sound along the deck, followed by a woman voice. âCome now, boys. Certainly youâve destroyed enough of the pier.â
An old woman was slowly making their way towards them, leaning on her cane with every step.
âAn observer?â Gulliver ventured.
âShe was on my ferry,â Gregos commented. âI believe sheâs one of the competitors.â
âI am indeed one of this tournamentâs hopefuls,â the old woman said, leaving Gulliver dumbstruck. âAnd while you lads were busy playing around, I was working to find a way to get to the next round. I so happened to find one of the hidden boats, but its captain doesnât want to leave until he has filled all the seats. Of which there happens to be two left. You could go back to trying to kill each other, which might make for a fun show, but would mean that Iâd have to find someone else to fill a seat. And my poor legs are already aching. Be good boys and come along, would you?â
Despite everything that he had just been through, Gulliver was feeling pretty calm. She was right â the important thing was getting to the next round. Thatâs where he would find the fiend he needed to slay.
He looked over to Gregos to ensure that the nobleman was thinking the same thing.
âI suppose I can put this oneâs slights aside if it means having a guaranteed path to the next round,â Gregos said, sheathing his rapier. It sounded as though his anger had finally deflated.
Gulliver nodded to the woman. âLead the way.â
The old woman was true to her word and led them to a hidden boathouse where a small vessel awaited. As Gulliver took his seat, a thought came to his mind: it was kind of strange how quickly they trusted this stranger. If she was truly another competitor, she could have just as easily lured them into a trap. Was it just because she was older, and thus seemed defenseless?
Just as quickly as the thought came, it faded away. As the captain of the boat brought it out to sea, Gulliverâs mind became focused on only one thing:
Somewhere ahead a fiend awaited him. He would not allow it to survive.