It had been on the verge of impossible to smuggle it in. Arthur Moss' grey eyes were haggard after nearly a day without sleep. He had had to guard his water-tight crate all through the train rides to Sunnydale. Why the Deep Master wanted to go to a place far from the sea Arthur Moss knew not. But he did not need to, for service to his gods was holy for its own sake.
He slit the throat of the mover. Nobody could know. Blood gushed from the bleeding neck, painted the bearded man's whole chest crimson. With a look of contempt, Arthur kicked the mover's corpse by the roadside and continued on. Within the hour, he was on the edge of the town of Sunnydale. Trying to stay away awake, he drank another can of Red Bull. It was the fifth he had drunk in the past twenty-four hours. Faith is what is demanded, faith is what is rewarded, he reminded himself. Throwing the can out of the open window, he blinked rapidly.
As he drove into town, the full moon provided a dim light, along with the lights from the few houses of nightlife located in this town. But, as an adherent of the Deep, Arthur Moss had no desire to see a town named for the sunlight during the day. Sweat dripped from his matted brown hair, making his brow glisten. And he could feel it. It.
There was some weird blanket of chaotic energies that encircled the Deep-forsaken town like a malignant cloak. Perhaps—perhaps this was why the Masters wanted to invade? Arthur Moss smiled manically.
Faith is what is demanded, faith is what is rewarded.
Trust in the Deep.
Trust in the Deep.
Trust in the Deep.