The Artic Circle

Micheal Boon was a regular at the Howling Trench. Every Friday, no earliar than six and no later than six-ten, Boon came in to drink the same amount of the same brand. He was punctual and polite, never raising a ruckus, never indulging, no matter how high or low he felt. He was the kind of man who came to work on time, smiled at those around him, and was completely honest.

Which is why it was no surprise that his favorite cup-a blue glass with a chip on the rim- was being openly displayed and stuffed with bronze, silver, and gold. Micheal Boon would smile no more, and his friends truly greived at his death. But the one time Micheal's honesty was truly needed, it was nowhere to be seen or heard. After all, dead men tell no tales.

And even if they did, it would be difficult when your lungs, as well as your entrails, had been tore from their enclosure of flesh and bone and thrown across the ice in a dazzling (and sickening) collage of red, pink, and tan.

Jonah Swift went past the collection at the Trench, dropping in a silver before slumping down on a seat at the bar, right next the Micheal's spot. The bar was mostly quiet, save for the ever screaming wind outside. The television was muted, the flashing screen adding flashs of stimulating color to add the atmosphere of fear, tension, grief, and disbelief.

Jonah sighed as he picked at a piece of fired penguin, shaking his neck fur of any snow that had not melted upon impact with the warm air of the bar. His polar bear trait was a mandatory requirement for Artic whale fishers, granting them extra strength, speed, and relative protection from the cold. Micheal had been a whale fisher too. His patches of his fur had been found all arond him, tinged darkk red.

Jonah shuddered and gratefully took a drink the bartender provided. He'd been part of the rescue crew that had found the body. How many times had they told the curious fisher not to wander from the group...?

Whatever had torn Micheal apart was something never seen before. People had reported a large dark shape in the storms, and heard a wailing shriek that had mingling with Micheals alternating yells of battle and for help, before tthey turned into screams of agony.

The bar door suddenly opened, sending in a punishing gust of cold. Heavy boots thumped across the floor, slow and deliberate, before they stopped at the bar. There was a pause, and then a slight squeak as the customer sat down.

Right in Micheal's seat.

Jonah stiffened as the stranger leaned forward and signaled for the bartender. The bar, already relatively quiet was completely silent. Jonah could feel stares boring in his general direction.

He looked at the stranger out of the corner of his eye. The man was well built under his black and blue cloak. His guantlets were black and silver, and his boots were the same color Jonah saw when he glanced down.

This guy was a stranger obviously, and for some reason, Jonah's temper rose at that. Who did this guy think he was, sitting in a man's seat who, no doubt, was better than he could ever hope to be?

Jonah released a low snarl, and when the bartender set down a small glass of beer in fron of the stranger, Jonah reached over and snatched in with a clawed hand.

"What are you serving this guy for?" he snarled at the bartender who looked away. "He could the one who killed Micheal!"

The other occupants of the bar shifted slightly at his words. Jonah turned in his seat, to look at the stranger who was still looking straight ahead. He hadn't reacted to Jonah's theft and Jonah couldn't see his face, which made the whaler even madder. "Where are ya from anyway?" Jonah took a long drink of his stolen beer.

The stranger did not respond.

Jonah slapped the bar with the flat of his hand, claws clacking against it. "Hey! Hey, I'm talking to you!"

The stranger still did not respond.

Jonah snarled and jumped to his feet, knocking the chair back. It clattered to the floor. "You deaf or something?! Answer me!"

A particularly strong gust shook the bar, and a another sound, unheard by all but one, was carried through the air, and strange, disturbing sound with dark undertones. Murderous undertones.

The stranger stiffened, but Jonah, still ranting, did not notice. "We don't like strangers here, and if you want to keep your deaf block attached to your shoulders, I'd walk right out-urk!"

Jonah's eyes widened as the stranger stood, flung off his cloak, and seized the unfortunate whaler by the throat in a powerful grip in one smooth movement. Struggling to breath, his eyes took in the blue and silver armor the man wore, before they traveled up to the pale face of his captor, raven hair cascading to his shoulders while blue-grey eyes stared at the door.

Jonah tried to speak, but the man cuffed him with his free hand. The cuff, though it looked casual, was hard enough to make Jonah see stars.

"Silence."

There was no sound save Jonah's labored breaths, and the screaming environment outside. After a moment, a man sittiing at a booth, slowly began to stand. "Look, sir-"

The stranger's eyes cut to him. "No!" But it was too late.

An unearthly shreik of triumph split the frigid air, and a clawed metal arm tore through the brick wall. The brave man didn't even have the tinme to scream before all but his decapitated head was pulled through. A terrible crunch was heard. Many swiftly turned green.

An ugly metal face reared through the hole, it's visor glowing brightly, terrible mouth open to roar again. It would have, had a bolt of blue energy not struck it's visor. Instead it released a gurgle of agony.

Jonah was dropped to the floor, hard. When he looked up, he saw the strange thing trying to tunnel into the wall, mandables twitching violently. The only thing stopping it was the constant blue fire that came from pistols held in each of the stranger's hands. When he began to walk towards the creature, never ceasing his heavy fire, the creature seeing him as a threat, tore it's head out of the wall and with a parting wail, disappered into the storm.

"Primus," the stranger swore. Holstering his guns and drawing a broadsword that Jonah had failed to notice for his back, he spoke to the room at large. "Please do not leave this building for a couple of hours at least. I suggest you construct a barricade and arm yourselves. Long range weapons are preferrable. They have sensetive audio receptors," he said nodding to a sonic shotgun hanging on the wall. Forgetting his cloak he strode towards the door.

"Wait," stammered the prone form of Jonah. "Who are you?"

The stranger paused. Reaching into his beat he removed a small purse and tossed it to the bartender. The man caught it and grunted in surprise at the weight of what had to be gold. "For the damages. And the beer." And completely ignoring Jonah's question, he strode of into the storm after the monster, leaving a scared group of people calling for barricade supplies, weapons, and ale.

Yes! This story is not dead! battle scene next chapter!

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