Jacob's Squall

== Part 1 ==
William quietly slipped past the front desk of the Chicago Public Police. Behind him, gusts of wind swept up a veritable cloud of dust and detritus through the city streets, coupled occasionally with a small flurry of snow. Despite his swift and certain movement, he was certain it would only be a matter of time before the officers present noticed he was neither using the restroom or meeting with the personnel he had researched prior to name drop.
He floated down the hallways, taking extra care to slide through the walls soundlessly whenever footsteps approached. His Farsight caught vague glimpses of the item he desired; in the field of black, a hazy white outline began to make itself known among the bare and bleak offices lined with desks and paperwork. A portfolio made itself known.
As he approached the archival room, William slipped through the door seamlessly and began rummaging through several rusted cabinets: they appeared to be a list of discontinued cases dating back at least a few decades, some from neighboring cities and jurisdictions. As if the obvious disregard the storage area was kept in wasn’t enough, a few black spiders skittered out from the back of the drawer.
Severe and disproportionately bizarre weather in Skokie. Dismissed as mass panic. 
A rash of suicides near the Southside. Reported as unremarkable.
A slew of disappearances in Mandela County. That one had been hastily stuffed at the bottom of the cabinet drawer, apparently.
He set his sights on a coroner’s sheet located underneath a pile of yellowed folders, where his Farsight seemed to glow brightest, and lifted it out with some resistance from the neighboring mountain of paperwork and staplers. As William scanned the sheet, a worried crease grew along his brow. Certainly, the problems in this city would only grow worse and worse unless he concluded research on the unfortunate individuals listed in the document. And the growing record of bizarre homicides wouldn’t just stay in the city - not by a long shot. 
Behind Will, the door to the abandoned office slammed open, followed by startled yells and demands to get down on the ground. At first, he reacted to the rather unprompted slew of gunfire with resigned frustration: after all, humans are good at destroying (or trying to destroy) things they don’t understand. But after realizing that the sheet was at risk, and that the lawmen were keen to keep it confined here, he quickly stowed the sheet away in his long coat while bullets roared through his frame harmlessly. 
William slipped wordlessly through the floor and away to some adjacent access tunnel, much to the surprise of the young lawman, who ended up collapsing against the doorframe after witnessing the unsettling motion, as footsteps pounded closer to the commotion.
----
The months passed in excruciatingly slow crawl, snow turning the streets of my city once again a filthy, pale tone. Tacky, plastic decorations popped up and fell, glimpses of frost spattered against cracked windows, and my beard started to grow just a bit faster so that my scarves became unbearably itchy. William left me once again in silence, while I struggled to finish my remaining semester’s worth of schoolwork with the enthusiasm of a corpse. I didn’t doubt he was off making preparations and observing things unknown to me in his usual fashion, though part of me worried that the increased police activity around the city might’ve been due to something he indirectly did or was involved with. Not very fair of me to assume so, when it was established that there was probably worse than a nosy ghost man skulking around the streets. 
To kill time properly, I started spending time practicing to kill. I went on a few “camping trips” with Fraea, as she liked to call them. Two cucui in the sewers, one renegade witch posing as a food truck operator, and a bunch of gibbering wights infesting some abandoned apartments. My cannon was notching quite a count by the end of the week. For being so slow to reload and having a kick liable to blow an arm off, I was getting incrementally better at managing the drawbacks and ending fights in two shots minimum, three max.
And yet I was still struggling. More often than not, I found myself barely surviving by the skin of my teeth in a long-winded hunt. Those cucui things in particular could be brutal; if not for Fraea’s intervention, I’d have some new holes punctuating my vital organs. On one occasion, this thing called a Philistine - I think that's what they’re called, living statues that throw hands like you wouldn’t believe - almost crushed my head like a grape. That's when it really hit me. Despite all my anger at the injustice of the world, at myself for being too kind, at other people for hurting me continually, I still wasn’t taking myself seriously. Not enough to make a positive change. I let myself stew in those mistakes to the point I really did notice that this all felt like an elaborate suicide attempt. 
And you may ask yourself, well, what WERE you expecting to do? Will asked me that too.
“I’m expecting something to change,” I’d said. Guess I got what I wanted.
He knocked unexpectedly on my front door one brisk day, a rarity for him. Thankfully I didn’t have to explain to my family who this stranger was as they were all at work. It would’ve led to an even more complex series of lies I didn’t feel like adding to the list. 
Will would go on to show me a coroner’s sheet filled with the most grotesque and ominous descriptions of a body one could find. People twisted into pretzels, dismembered, melted beyond all recognition and found scattered throughout the city like broken toys. And it had been going on for way longer than I was comfortable to admit. Clearly the killer or killers had their pattern. It was almost unrecognizable at first, but seeing where each unfortunate individual disappeared coupled with the time gaps between each killing or disappearance painted a subtle and familiar piece on the layout of Chicago. When one joined the image with that tattoo witch’s assertion that she woke up passed out along the river side, it seemed that the killer was stationed somewhere between Millennium Park and West Loop Gate, covering at least a handful of city blocks. William was dead serious about combing every inch of that space, and I was uneasy about the amount of ground we’d have to cover. 
But I was also enraged. Furious not only about the ferocity and dehumanizing nature of the attacks, but that the police were actively working to hide these crimes because ignorance was simply better for them. If even shoddy gumshoes like me and Will could triangulate this guy’s position so well, I could only attribute the lack of investigation as willing ignorance. I felt angry at myself too for being so wrapped up in my own bullshit that I failed to pay attention to the world around me. After all, that could’ve been my family and friends in that disgusting medical sheet. To me, this was a reflection of the apathy and disinterest I felt towards changing myself. I wanted to get away from all that.
I implored Will to call in a Hunter platoon, anyone who could offer some help. But he simply shook his head, explaining that most Hunters were busy cleaning up the sudden uptick in monsters that were appearing within various abandoned areas. At most, we could maybe call in Fraea who was busy supplying recruits with Abyssal-smith'd weapons. Not to mention, Hunters aren’t exactly friendly with wraithkin, even the nice ones. I was terrified, but determined: if it was just one guy, we could probably take him on. More than one guy? Then it may be a problem. 
It kind of reminded me of this one time when I was a kid, maybe about 11 or 12. I’d been walking home from school late one night, when I came across a tall, intimidating looking man arguing VERY loudly with a mother who had her kid there too. Their cars were parked haphazardly, and as I rounded behind a tree it didn’t seem like their yelling was abating. I held my breath. It occurred to me that this tall guy could easily kill me, never mind the very scared-looking mother and daughter standing there in the middle of a dark Logan Square street. I’d never fought anyone before, never raised a fist, never even so much as bared my teeth to anyone else. So why was I clutching some shitty little flip phone that I couldn’t even see the numerals for 9-1-1 on, thinking it could solve anything? I rounded back around the corner, without thinking, and held up my phone. I raised my voice shakily and said “I’ve called the cops, y-you guys need to go.” The dude screamed something unfriendly at me, hopped in his car, and peeled off into the night. The mother yelled something as well, sounding equally upset. All I could say then was the most meekly practical thing, “go home, please.”
There are times I think about how little has changed since then. I’m just a scared little boy who makes hair trigger decisions because I feel the need to ‘do what's right’, because no matter who fucked up, someone has to be there to do what's best. There is no right or wrong, just what’s best.
----
We combed the streets for days after our meet up, methodically breaking into derelict apartments and peppering bizarre questions at local homeless folks to ill effect. With each portion of the city explored, I felt both pangs of disappointment and rising stress. At some point I again ludicrously turned towards the idea of asking CPD to help us track this guy down. All the obstacles of finding a killer were mounting with diminishing returns in progress. Finally, on one cold and miserable day, we stopped by the Buckingham Fountain near Millennium Park. Me and Will leaned against the iron fence, savoring the bitter air that skipped over the dead pool.
“This is quite a puzzle. I feel we could’ve found a lead by now…but we haven’t even ran into any ink witches as of late,” Will sighed. 
“They might all be in hiding,” I responded. Or maybe someone overheard us snooping and word got around. This guy could be across state lines by now, for all we know.”
I studied the rusted, green fountain. In the cold of fall, it was shut down for maintenance and seasonal changes. But there was still a layer of filthy water skimming the surface, which I found odd. In the dead center was a patch of rusted metal that was darker than the rest, contrasting clearly with the light reflecting from the puddles. Without much thought, I hopped the fence to study it closer. At that time, there weren’t cops crawling the park like there is nowadays.
As I sloshed closer, I noted that the rusted patch was looking more rectangular than I previously thought, and not an irregular shape. I inched past the lifeless seahorse statues, mouths open in apparent shock.
Will called out, “we can play in puddles later, Jake. I say we head home and try again tomorrow.”
But I wasn’t paying attention. I was toeing something hard - a hinge, it felt like - with my boot. I reached down to lift it, but realized it wasn’t budging. In my mind’s ear I heard something, a mewling cry, begging for a phrase to be spoken aloud. Something was telling me to call out as far as I could. In my head, I returned the call. Next thing I knew, there was a screech of old metal moving, and gravity shoved me deep into a tunnel of dampness and muck with droplets of water falling with me. I didn’t even have time to cry out, I just heard Will shouting an expletive before I slammed my head into something hard and consciousness left me.
----
I woke up sometime later with a throbbing headache and aching back. I wanted to believe the red glow bleeding outside my eyelids was my alarm clock telling me to wake up, but then I realized I didn’t even have one.
As I tried to stand, a stab of hurt went through my skull. Reaching up, I felt my head - no blood, but a very tender and very swollen bump told me all I needed to know. Through tears and blistering light, I placed a hand on the wall. It was mortar and brick, but incredibly damp. Feeling around until the blurriness faded, I realized I was inside some sort of tunnel with ancient, electric lamps lining the darkness every dozen feet or so. Feeling along for what felt like eternity, I finally found a metal wire that led to a switch in the wall. I flicked it and studied my hands as light restored vision; my fingers were filthy and covered in layers of filth. 
The tunnel was not unlike the unused substations where wight infestations occurred frequently. But even those showed signs of equipment usage and their subsequent abandonment. This tunnel looked like it was never even finished to begin with. The drain that dropped me into this spot didn’t have a grate. The electric lamps lining the walls were little more than bulbs sticking haphazardly out of their sockets. At many points the cement rose and fell awkwardly, and some heft of stone jutted out at painful angles. Whoever made this place hadn’t bothered with a floor plan.
Realizing William was somewhere far away, I made my way forward. From here on out, I was on my own. I wandered the labyrinthian layout for maybe 20 minutes, hoping to find an incline that led upward. There was no telling how deep I was, but seeing how much water was leaking from the low ceiling and mossy bricks, I had to be at least directly below Buckingham. Either that, or I somehow had tumbled under Lake Michigan. At several junctions, the lights lit up enough that I realized there were train tracks half buried in the gravel, splintering into three other paths. I chose the rightmost one on gut instinct alone.
Then, I heard something that sent a hand to my holster. I pointed the ZOS down the filthy tunnel and tried flashing my phone light into the chamber within. It led into an open, rectangular room, about 50 feet in length. Lining the room were doors of misshapen metal, and from one of them was a low pulsating sound amidst sickly, slow dripping. Here, I saw that there had once been signs of habitation. Amidst the discarded McDonald’s wrappers, filthy clothes, and plastic tarps, very obvious mounds of excrement lay tucked away in the corner, out of reach of my phone’s light but not my nose, unfortunately. Whether or not the owners were still around, one could only speculate.
As I inched closer, I considered calling out, before realizing I could be dealing with another case of wights lingering about. Those little bastards have a way of sneaking up on you, even though they don’t have any intelligence on their own. They react quite viscerally to motion, even voice vibrations. Summoning up what little courage I had left, I downed some ibuprofen in my jacket pocket and inched the rusted door open. The pulsating noise quickened for a brief second before dimming and disappearing. As my own heart throbbed in my ears, I silently counted each beat before slamming open the door with my offhand.
Inside, my phone illuminated a pitch black room who’s stench rivaled the one outside. As I crept inward, my light rested upon a blank face staring out at me from the void. It cried out in anguish, apparently blinded, and I focused on it with the cannon.
“Don’t hurt me-! Please, d-don’t,” the figure squeaked. Hard to tell if it was a man or woman. 
“It's fine, I’m…I’m lost too. Who are you?” I tentatively called out. I splayed my hand out and lowered the cannon.
“I can’t remember. My head…it hurts so much. I’ve seen a lot of stuff down here. Too much, way too much. Lots of hurting.” At this, the head drifted further back into the darkness, just out of reach of my full light. For whatever reason, they were avoiding letting too much of themselves be shone upon. “Are the demons all gone??”
“Uh, demons? I haven’t seen anything.”
“Not here. Other rooms. Every night. They’d torture me. Torture everyone here. Horrible noises, every n-night. Pain, blood, other things, everywhere.” The face began breathing hard. A moist ripple echoed through the room. “Don’t go in there. Some of them are still awake, some of them can hear us.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can get you out of here. Just come here, I won’t hurt you,” I insisted, edging closer.
“GET BACK, PLEASE, DON’T LOOK AT M - “
Something exploded from over my shoulder. There was a brief instant within the blinding flash where I saw the room illuminate. The face lingering in the dark suddenly expanded, filling my vision, showing me a grotesque ball of flesh expanded to cartoonish-levels of size. I saw jets of ink exploding from every orifice, blanketing the walls and my boots with the viscous stuff, before the head shriveled into nothing, leaving the room ringing. As I turned around to face the interloper, I was greeted by his horrible disc eyes.
==Part 2==
William had found me. In his hand he held a great pen stave, larger than a spear. “Vexation. That eyebloat was way too close for comfort,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “You alright?”
“DUDE! What the…where's your trigger discipline, you just shot an innocent!” I blustered.
“Oh Jake. That thing has long since been dead. Eyebloats prey on your reason before trying to steal your body. Look at it.” I glanced at the rotten thing on the ground. It resembled a giant, fleshy eye, with multiple, spidery legs made of melting ink descending from the core of the being. A single tendril lay draped across my shoe. “It's probably killed anyone else who may be down here.”
“Fuck me. You got here fast, how’d you find me?”
“I tracked you as you fell down. You fell for at least 30ish meters; I was worried at first I wouldn’t have enough juice to phase halfway down here, most of the surrounding ceiling and walls are solid concrete. We’re somewhere very far below the city, even further than the other, walled-off substations we’ve been in. Doesn’t appear on any maps either, as far as I’m aware.”
I let out a shaky breath. “That thing said there's something else down here. More killers, potentially. Should we call in backup?”
Will smiled widely, standing to the side. In the doorframe illuminated by a belt lantern was the small but confident figure of Fraea. She wasn’t dressed in the filthy clothes of her usual industry. This time, she was wearing cargo pants and combat boots with a tank top, showing off her surprisingly muscular arms. On her back, several weapon handles loomed over her shoulder, ending in a combination of axes and longswords. 
“No need, I already had the cavalry on standby if anything happened.”
“Well la-dee-da. Hey shorty.”
“Save the banter for later,” Fraea grunted, pushing her shades into her wild hair. “I can hear something in the other rooms.”
“I wonder how long these tunnels have existed. I’ve never seen them on any floor plans,” Will reiterated. “Our ink witches must have been bunking here for some time.”
I reloaded and we all shuffled back into the main hall. Across from us, a shuffling horror of unknown shape scraped against the rusted door from the other side: its paint job was markedly redder, more filthy than the rest. With myself taking center point, Fraea on my left and Will at the right, we braced at the door. All of us collectively let out a breath, and on cue I kicked the door inward while the other two rushed inward pointedly. Whatever had been moving about had withdrawn from the door. Between us and the thing, a series of velvet and blue curtains, stains aplenty, overlapped in such a way to mute the little orange glow coming from about ten feet in. Pillows, candles, and long-burnt sage carried an awful scent towards me - sex mixed with blood.
“Step aside, I’ve been aching to do some ass-whooping for a bit,” Fraea asserted, and drawing a blade, slashed through the curtains. Will stepped forward as well, meaning to aim at the shadow, when a bony protuberance launched forward. It swung around violently, catching on Fraea’s blade and pushing her against the wall with a hefty slam. With a yell, Will manifested Bolt many times, launching a barrage of puncturing projectiles at whatever lay hidden within the room. Turning my attention towards Fraea, I focused fire on the thinnest portion of the disgusting appendage holding her in place. When the sinewy form finally snapped in half, I heard a screech of pain laced with pleasure, and the horror withdrew once more. In a split second I recognized the gurgling sound emanating towards us, and realized this thing was about to spit at us.
“Watch it!” I yelled. As we ducked back under the remaining curtains, a filthy spray of reddish-brown spattered against what little cloth remained, leaving only smoldering wet lumps on the floor. 
“It’s blood burns,” I heard Will bark. “Together, with caution!”
Me and Will returned fire at center mass, getting a better sight of the monster now the curtains were removed. This thing was not unlike anything I’d seen prior, yet somehow its impact was not lost upon my inundated brain. Laying in a crouched position was something akin to a humanoid. But the anatomy, the size, all of it was wrong. All along the visible back and shoulders, grasping hands dug their nails into the flesh, lining its silhouette with red. The mouth lay open in an O of obvious ecstasy, while the yellowed eyes rolled backward through cupped and chipped nails. Though tentatively female, instead of breasts lay scorched mounds of rotting flesh, burnt at the tips. With its one existing right arm, it caressed its wounds, blood splattering out at even intervals - its left arm looped backwards over the shoulder, melting into its backside at the wrist. The bony protrusion that had attacked us earlier extended from the fetid gorge that occupied this thing’s waist area, still wildly flailing about. It looked up at us and laughed, gesturing at us to join.
Without hesitation Fraea launched forward, planting a hatchet first into the thing’s skull, and ending it with a clean cut to the neck. For a moment, its empty eyes rolled forward, landing on me. They might have been blue, once.
“Criminy. How many shots was that?” I gasped. 
“I…I feel as though its decrepit state is what helped us speed along death. All good, Fray?”
“Yuh.”
We crouched over the beast, observing our surroundings. Judging from the generally more well-kept state of the room, it appeared to be some sort of den of debauchery. Broken needles and discarded clothing lay under rotting pillows. Visible claw marks tainted with blood could be seen even on the concrete walls. On the floor, what remained of the head rapidly began to decompose unnaturally in the thin light. “Pitiful thing must have been tortured for months prior to us being here. I can only hope whatever was left of them shut down after a time,” Will said quietly.
I gently nudged the head with my shoe tip, flinching when a sudden glint of light hit the floor behind the smoldering skull. Planted in what was left of the now desiccated remains was the unmistakable glint of gold and bronze. A fountain.
“Well, now we know where the rest of the witches went,” I offered confidently. William didn’t seem to hear me, he was frowning as he inspected the fountain closer.
Fraea abruptly pulled up next to me, swerving her eyes around the room before she saw what Will was doing. Despite not having eyebrows or pupils, I could instantly read the sudden concern and shock on her face as she moved towards him. “Buddy, I say we try leaving for now and maybe returning when we’re a little more prepared.”
Despite her corralling, Will wouldn’t budge. Instead I heard him sigh: “Fray, remember when you said you needed to scavenge more raw material for that weapon I desired? About halfway into last year? You kept putting it off, I recall.”
“Yeah? What about it.”
Will rose to his feet and pointed his stave at Fraea, who didn’t so much as flinch. “Were you stalling because you were too busy making these crowns, or perhaps you truly did run out, as with the former?”
I stood to the side, the blood in my hands going numb. For a second I considered pointing my cannon at someone, but realized I didn’t know who I’d choose. “...Will, slow down man. What are you saying?”
The two stayed locked. “She knows. I recognize the flourishes in Fraea’s craftsmanship. This fountain remnant has her signature marks inside the bladed flute shaft, where not many would think to look.” At this, he kicked the crown towards her, specks of rotten blood hitting the concrete. 
Fraea looked up slowly, dismayed. “...Why do you care what happens to these people anyway, huh Will? There’s some massive, massive shit coming down the road, and at this point it would be cruel not to give everyone a fighting chance. So what if I made a bad call? And who the hell are you to be the judge on that?”
“Who commissioned these from you? And how many did you make? We both know nobody commissioned you to make these.”
“I - it was just one person, one. A mother. I thought I could help her. But I don’t know how they managed to copy my design so easily,” Fraea tried to explain.
“It looks to me like they reverse engineered your design, some time after that human probably was inducted into the group. Bloody idiots, the lot of you. You helped them aid a wanted murderer!” Will barked.
“Oh, shut the fuck up. As if this city wasn’t already plagued by filth on both sides. Like I said, the coming war is unavoidable, and I need to take risks on making new friends if I can live in relative peace. And again, I ask you, buddy, who are you to lecture me on right and wrong? After what you did to - “
“Don’t.”
“ - Demagot. He wanted to help the humans too, teach them a better way.”
“He was blind to the damage they’d cause.”
“You killed him without a second glance, and I shut up about it because you’ve done a few good things in the time we’ve known each other. But now that Jake’s here, I can’t let it sit anymore.”
I stood up straight. “Wait. What is she talking about? You murdered someone? What do I have to do with that.” 
“Jake. You have to listen for a moment.”
“We can deal with what she did afterwards, but please tell me what she’s talking about.”
“...”
Fraea spoke up on his behalf. “You have it in you, kiddo. You reek of ink.”
My mouth fell open. For a second you could hear the rumble of the city above. Then the anger came, frothy and painful.
“You knew this entire time? When did - why didn’t you say anything.” Will shifted uncomfortably. And then it clicked for me. It seemed like everyone was having their epiphanies at the same time tonight. “The whole Heaven’s Grove fiasco, the hallucinations, not checking up on me for days. Were you hoping I’d die, you prick?!” I advanced towards him, fists clenched. I really was gonna hit him this time. Part of me even hoped the gestating mystic force inside me would rupture outward and destroy him on the spot.
“No, I was testing you. I knew from the moment you reacted to the pen’s wound that the Abyss was fermenting within. But it could’ve ended in disaster for both of us had I enabled you to start using it, so I waited and watched for a while. That's all. I promise I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”
“Oh my God. You really are insane. And racist, apparently.” I was pacing now, tugging at my hair while Fraea watched impassively. “Not all humans are fucking evil. I thought I was losing it and imagining the things haunting me.”
Will looked away. “You haven’t been to many other worlds. This world has more risk potential than I’m willing to overlook, and I refuse to feel bad for trying to do what’s best for it. Do you not remember the betrayal of Aniloss? But for what it's worth, I am sorry I kept you in the dark. You’re not a bad guy.”
I was trembling and felt like crying. But that would have to come later. “...Y’know what, let’s just deal with this after we get out of here. Assuming you guys don’t try to kill each other or me before we do.” Silently the two agreed with this, with Will solemnly withdrawing his weapon while Fraea continued to blankly frown. Maybe Will was right and I was the only emotionally volatile person in the room - I mean these guys seemed way too casual with cooperating one minute then being enemies the next. I was the one who apparently didn’t get the bigger picture. 
Before we could advance to the next hall, there was a tremor followed by what felt like an immense gust of howling wind. Metallic groans and a feeling of motion gripped the entire room, as the walls and ceiling behind us melted into blackness, propelling us into a long hallway. As we lurched forward, collecting ourselves into a triangle, a large room visible in the distance began to slide towards us at tremendous speeds. As the room slid past and under our feet, the various ancient lights flickered on and presented a brand new hellish vista.
“Welcome, my audience. I thought I’d remove the rest of your tiresome journey for you. Down here, it's easy to lose track of all time.”
His voice echoed down from atop a bloody pile of skulls and discarded fountains, all bearing the same general design but shoddier in design the further up they flowed. Seated in a chair fused from various skeletal remains, legs spread in a comfortable V, sat that wretched man. Gaunt, pale, with ragged lips and bruised eyes which suggested no more than 30 minutes of sleep a day. His smock was adorned with various dyes, both organic and artificial. Atop his head there was a great mass of pulsating, climbing ink: it coated every wall and crack, seeping into various vents and pipes and flushing the chamber with the sounds of perpetual water flow. 
“You. Painter,” Will growled. “What have you done to this city?”
The man shifted one cheek to his palm, smiling. I can still see the glint from his yellowed teeth. “Why, nothing yet my nosy friend. You’ll have to forgive my current torpor - as I’ve been stuck here sustaining myself on the newly witnessed cosmos, I find my thoughts and motions a bit sluggish. But make no mistake, I’m almost ready to return to the surface.” At this, a bulge of hideous ink made its way into the ceiling, to be stored in some unseen space.
Fraea let out a raspy groan and unhooked two hand axes. “William, somethin’s wrong with this guy. His aura…it tastes metallic, bitter.”
William brandished his own pen stave, and I, my ZOS cannon. I noticed myself that this man’s entire outline was foggy, flickering in and out of focus. Beyond the placid smirk permanently plastered on his face, I sensed an uneasy orb of dangerous intent emanating from him. The guy irradiated so much hate, that it was like he was leaving a smudge on reality itself.
“If I had to take a guess, these cultist’s fountains were of such poor craft that they didn’t filter ink very far from this homeworld. It caused a cascade once he - “
“Absorbed it all, yes,” the Painted Man interrupted. “I must ask though, how did you find me? Not even the greater law knows of these dungeons.”
“Truth be told, most of it was guess work and a ton of luck. But they say encromancers attract each other like magnets, so I guess it was only a matter of time before someone lit the way to you.” Will glanced between me and the painter. “You’re a monster. All those bodies you left in your wake. How many victims have you accumulated? Hundreds?”
The Painted Man rolled his bloodshot eyes. “Ohh, please don’t be so droll, Mr. Specter. Of course I’m aware some souls were perhaps more worthy of nuanced judgment. Yet, for the sake of art, and for the sake of the world’s growth, I saw no other alternative but to experiment and expand my repertoire. Are you not at least happy I disposed of THIS filth I sit upon?” He tapped the fountains beneath with one foot, sneering and spitting to the side. “I thought these magicians may have been pioneers of their own craft, yet day after day, I suffered their attempts to prove themselves worthy adherents to my will. Yet all they can do is chase pleasures of the disgusting flesh which I use as my medium. Animals, the lot of them. I have no such illusions, not anymore.”
He clenched a bony hand. “I intend to flood this place with my will, bottom to top, until it overruns this city. Stagnation is the true enemy to human evolution, and I intend to birth truth from the ever-changing waters of conflict. Oh yes, this may be my greatest piece yet!”
I felt rooted to the spot, unclear if I had what it took to shoot at a human for the first time. Will saw me falter, and motioned me closer. “You and Fraea distract him. I’ll get close enough to try severing his connection to the ink flow. We can do this.”
I remembered my family, thought about how afraid Will was of me: the only thing I could think of was proving I wasn’t a threat to the people I care about, even if they hated the mistakes I’ve made.
I shook myself and stepped forward. “Hey asshole, we’re putting you in the ground now, alright? Hope that won’t inconvenience you.”
The Painted Man fixed me with a humored gaze. “A brazen one, aren’t you?” 
I thought about my mom and how much unconditional support she gave me. My dad, and how hard he tried despite the damages done to us all. My sibling, who was going through a repeat of everything I’ve been through. My former lovers, chased away by neglect.
I pulled ZOS’ trigger. The shot flashed and bent around the bastard’s head, flashing into sparks against the opposite wall. The Painter scowled at me and raised a finger - something massive and shadowed rose from behind him, mirroring his motion. “You’ll learn someday, young master. I can hear it pulsing through your veins even now. You’re destined to kill everyone who stands your way.”
Fraea launched forward, intercepting the ink mass. It crashed into her repeatedly, blocking and trading blows as if made of metal itself. The rest came naturally; I slowly strafed the Painter, firing careful shots at his head and torso. Each shot would be deflected quite spectacularly. It was impressive seeing just how autonomously the ink moved to redirect the projectiles, an otherworldly extension of his body.
As me and Fraea dueled on, I saw William launch forward, a Sigil manifesting over his head. Sever. A razor thin hand swept at the Painted Man’s scalp, passing through it quickly before he could move from his seat. We all glanced upward as the mass parted for a brief second, showing off a glint of moon-gray scalp behind the flow. There was no fountain there. In a split second the shadow behind the painter launched a skeletal fist directly into William’s gut, sending him flying to the opposite end of the room in a spray of ink.
“Will, did you get ‘em?!” Fraea shouted as she danced between several thorny protrusions. I shot at the pile of crowns next, hoping to perhaps dethrone the man. No chance. 
William glanced at me in slight panic, wiping a stream of ichor from his mouth. “We have a problem: he doesn’t have a fountain!”
The Painter smirked, reveling in the pandemonium. “Thrilling. May Chaos take the world, after all. But before that happens, obstacles to change must be removed…” And he clicked his fingers.
Something unseen rippled through the air, enough to make us stop the attack. I kept shooting and reloading, unaware of what was happening. But Fraea, being the melee expert she was, followed her instincts. She moved quicker than either of us.
She spun around and rocketed herself at Will, arms crossed in an armored tackle. “Don’t - “
There was a jolt of motion, a spatter of ink. And instantaneously, half of Fraea’s pale skull caved inward. I thought at first that she’d survive, being as durable as wraiths are known to be. But then her body collapsed to its knees, wordless, and crumpled into a fine powdery ash as her ink fell to the floor and evaporated. Her falling shades cracked under the bulk of her weapons. Will staggered upwards from the spot he landed at, jaw open.
“F-Fray? Come and get up, you...Jake?”
The Painted Man smiled again and closed his eyes. “So very very close…I welcome you both to witness the birth of a new paradigm. Perhaps I could have held out for longer, but I think this much mass will have to do. It's a shame this won’t be showing up in any galleries, anytime soon.”
The room began to quake. I started to rack my brain with solutions. 
“JAKE, are you listening? We should retreat!”
That certainly was a smarter option. But I also had the Abyss in me. 
“JACOB! WAKE THE HELL UP!”
I’m an encromancer? 
Insight.
I grabbed Will and pulled him close. “Hey. Listen, is it possible to like…teleport this guy into the Abyss??”
“I…maybe not forcibly, not with how much power he’s accrued. What are you thinking?” 
“I need you to trust me. Summon a portal with me, one that can surround most of this complex.”
He looked at me in dismay. “That’s going to be extremely difficult. Do you know how much that would require? I don’t even know if I have that much ink pooled in me. Jake, are you absolutely sure YOU can handle that?”
I gritted my teeth as another tremor threatened to toss us to the floor. I could sense a tidal wave building in the floor beneath us. “I don’t know how much I have in me, but I’m willing to try if it's our only shot. If we fuck this up…well, it was a decent run.”
Will nodded and braced himself. “Imagine this entire complex - the maze, the pipes, the room, everything - enclosed in a semicircle. Bleeding into the floor. A dot on the horizon. Summon your reserves, and imagine it with me - TUNNEL.”
“TUNNEL”. Mind blank, eyes closed, I felt something like cold water enveloping my body, wringing my limbs with cold so great, it felt like I was drowning in an Antarctic river. 
The entire room was blackened. Nothing save for the Painted Man and his undulating throne, me, and William. And summoning every last ounce of courage I had in my aching, screaming body, I roared into the void - 
“HELP US!! WE FOUND HIM! PLEASE HELP!”
There was silence for the longest time. The Painted Man stood, shimmering and standing on the very edge of the tunnel, what little of the material realm was reduced to a small window hovering behind him. Against the backdrop of the Abyss, the reserves of ink he had been hoarding all this time was contrasted by thin, glowing membrane - it was still stuck inside the dungeon somewhere. He let out a chortle of amazement, observing the darkness all around us. Somehow he didn’t seem affected by the blistering cold, whereas I was already beginning to see trails of semi-tangible particles flying off the tips of my splayed fingers. My thoughts became disorganized and I felt my life begin to slip away. 
“Will…I forgot my medallion. I’m being eaten alive out here,” I wheezed.
“I’ll figure something out!”
The Painted Man stepped towards us. “So this is the vista I have been drinking from? Fantastic, simply fantastic. But it appears you, dear boy, were not prepared for the weight of the world you inhabit. A shame. But there will be more of you in the future, when the time co-”
He was cut off by William showering him with a series of concussive blasts, shadowed blades and precise beams of condensed ink. He had regenerated enough to unleash the barrage, and was now displaying his full power - it was terrifying. I’ve never seen a wraith function at full power. It was like something out of a war movie, with myself being a shell shocked soldier.
Nothing was working. The malevolent presence behind the painter continually deflected every single thing William threw at him, the massive bomb he’d created sending out more pulses as the clash went on. As my vision began to blur and my extremities went numb, I prepared for the end.
Then in an instant, we saw the red glow appear. The swarming mass of ropes, towering so high, cradling a white mask. The Tower Wraith emerged from the blackness and surrounded all three of us with highway arms that could reach into the infinite..
WITNESS. THE PACT HAS BEEN DELIVERED. THE ANOMALY WILL BE REMOVED.
Millions of threads surrounded the Painted Man, binding and contorting his limbs backwards painfully. He didn’t react at all, merely studying the Tower God with benign interest.
“What marvels exist out here,” he murmured. “I’ll enjoy harvesting them for ideas.”
BE STILL, CORRUPTER. BE STILL AND -
The Tower Wraith shifted. To my horror, the Painted Man’s aura was biting into the very cords that bound him, turning the red masses a decayed and ruptured shade of magenta. The threads squealed like insects, writhing and then falling into nothing. Could this man seriously kill a god, one he only met mere moments ago!? 
CURSED ONE. I BANISH THEE TO BE DEVOURED BY THE ENDLESS.
To my utter disbelief, the Red Tower pivoted its massive limb and, taking a stance like a shot putter, chucked the murdering bastard straight into the unknown. The last thing I saw on his face was something mixed between confusion and rage. And then he was gone. But the bomb remained behind. The strength with which the god had thrown the painter had severed the connection to the bomb forcibly. And judging from the echoes expanding outward from the entrance of the tunnel, it was ready to burst.
What happened next is something a bit fuzzy. I heard William speaking frantically, shaking me a few times, before apparently conversing with the god. Memories began to float to the surface of my mind: this was it.
“ - anyway to be rid of … still connected??”
“What?! … After all that work … “
“ ... minimal loss … ?”
“ … Fine. Please. Just … “
And then I saw nothing.
----
I awoke several days later in a white hospital bed, surrounded by my family. Judging by the concern in their eyes, I had a LOT of explaining and lies to make up. I thought perhaps that my injuries might’ve been severe judging from how much pain I felt, but I saw nothing on my body that would’ve made me worry - mostly large bruises and a couple scrapes. The taint of the Abyss was mostly gone, but my fingertips still were an unhealthy shade of blue. But while in the middle of fretting, my mother handed me a letter; it was signed by William. He had concocted some bullshit story about a “recreational trip” in which I had fallen severely ill during a hike. In it, he took full responsibility for my sudden illness, and to my shock, sent a couple hundred bucks to help with any medical expenses I might need. Despite the prying from my mom, I stuck to his story as closely as I could, dismissing further questions with a desire to rest. 
It felt good to see them again. There was even a part of me willing to totally forgive Will right then and there, but that would not come until a few more months had passed.
Later that evening, I turned on the hospital television. The thought of what had occurred deep within those dungeons hadn’t struck with me until I recognized I was alone in that dark, and terror seized my chest. But eventually, mental rest became my primary objective and I dismissed the fear enough to be able to turn on the hospital television. I flicked through the channels idly, until a recurring news ticker caught my eye.
HAS ISSUED A STATE OF EMERGENCY FOR THE ENTIRETY OF BELDAM COUNTY. GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS HAVE YET TO DECLASSIFY THE FULL EXTENT OF THE EMERGENCY - 
Beldam? I’ve traveled to a few different states, but that was certainly not a location I’d have thought to exist in America. 
SOURCES SUGGEST AN EXPLOSION OF MASSIVE SCALE CAUSED A CHAIN REACTION IN THE -
Oh no.
WITH MASSIVE PROPERTY DAMAGE, AND A SIGNIFICANT PORTION OF THE POPULATION STILL -
Oh hell no.
Suddenly the last line of Will’s correspondence came into light: “To Jake; I’m sorry for the choices that led to what happened, but it was all I could manage after everything was said and done. Let’s hope that our efforts pay off. Swift recovery, see you soon - “
I flicked the TV off. I guess there really wasn’t any running away from what happened. For better or for worse. From that moment onward, there would only be a steeper and steeper climb to become stronger, just like the Painted Man implied. Whether I’d end up self-destructing or finally having the strength to save people was up for debate. For now, the only thing I could trust was a dreamless sleep.
…Yeah, right.
That night, as I was finally able to rest my eyes, a figure walked up to my bedside curtain. I don’t know how they got in - I heard no doors open, not a breeze from the nearby window. Even the few staff awake at this hour didn’t seem to notice. This guy was VERY good. They didn’t so much as breathe, let alone move an inch as they stood waiting by my bedside. Instead of my usual fear, I felt curiosity and a sort of compulsion to reach out.
“Hullo?”
Silently, the shadow of an arm separated from the main body and reached forward to part the curtain. A long, slender wrist clad in black flicked its shrunken fingers forward, holding a black card between index and middle. It did not respond, instead holding the card steadily parallel to my bed. I reached up gently and held it up to the lamplight:
Attention, watcher.
Due to recent developments, you have been selected to participate in the emancipation and preservation of human life in the face of a growing hostile, paranormal force. 
We will supply you with the tools necessary to overcome these forces. Rewards will be granted upon successful hunts, and are open to negotiation. 
Stipulations: 
*No one but you, the addressee, shall make known or insinuate the existence of occult/supernatural/anomalous phenomenon.
*You shall not use your provided tools or skill sets to commit any level of Federal, global, or metaphysical crime - you will become subject to termination.
*You have been, and will continue to be, watched.
To confirm, please digest this message. Amnestic wipe will be provided if you refuse.
Salutem Prudentiae
.
.
.
Ahh boy. I always gotta' do things the hard way. But honestly, life would be pretty boring if you could make the most optimal choice every single time, right? I made sure not a shred of that note remained. And with it disappeared my old, worn-out seat in reality.
What I’d give to have a dreamless sleep.
----
As recorded within The Estate
Category:Monsters
Category:Gods
Category:Dismemberment
Category:Mental Illness
Category:William See