Thank you all so very much who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story. You're the best and you better believe it. That said, let's carry on with this party.
Disclaimer: I don't own Azur Lane or any other properties I make references to.
"There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range."
-Howard Phillips Lovecraft
Chapter 23: The Looking Glass Part 1
Following Las Vegas's announcement, Nashville had a comment that summed up what just about everyone felt at the moment, "You know, Commander. Sometimes you pull off tricks that make me think that you might actually be magical. It kinda scares me."
"Would you be upset if I said, 'Abracadabra,' on occasion?" joked Las Vegas with his characteristic joking smile.
Nashville had to smile at the light humor, but before she responded, Cheshire beat her to the punch with, "Wow! You're sooooo~ smart, Calico Jack!" With that as her only warning, she approached and bent over to give the still sitting man a big hug. However, that initial show of being her normal self was a farce. In reality, Cheshire was still quite distressed over the occurrences of the past few minutes. But she managed to keep any further threats of tears in check. She didn't like to show that type of emotion among the present crowd. But when she was bent over with her lips near to his ear from the hug, she whispered so quietly that he almost missed it, "I'm so happy that you're okay, Owner. I was super scared for you."
He had of course, returned the gesture because it is custom among humans to return a hug when given one, and besides, Cheshire was his friend. But when she called him, "Owner," he once again found his thoughts slip into the gutter just like had happened when he first met the PR heavy cruiser. But as the alternative of making a fool of himself he decided to latch onto the words of her second sentence. He replied so that everyone could hear, "See? What did I tell you? All okay." With that, the embrace broke off.
For her part, Nashville was able to quickly fight off her spike of jealousy with the same empathy that occurred when Cheshire had given Nashville her new hairbow. Nashville knew that even though she had to consider Cheshire her greatest rival for Las Vegas's affections, it wasn't fair on her part to insist that Cheshire stop caring for him. But it still bothered her that she didn't know for sure how much Cheshire cared for her commander. Did Cheshire love him like she loved him? She'd have to find out some way or another. But that would come later, because right now she had to ask, "So, uh, why are you trying to get into the cell phone of one of the people that just tried to kill you?" She paused momentarily but spoke again before Las Vegas answered, "Better question. Is it more important than getting you to a doctor?"
"I think that I found a way to fix the problem that we were talking about earlier. You know, keep us from having to do things the arduous way," said the codebreaker vaguely.
Nashville got a bad feeling about what she just heard. "And you'll be able to get all you need from the phone, right?"
Las Vegas was combing through the text messages and the call logs. There were no messages on the phone. And the text messages were pretty vague at best, it seemed that there were protocols in place to keep the Heralds from attracting attention over cell phone traffic. He looked at the contacts. There were only three contacts. And they were labeled, "No. 1," "No. 2," and "No. 3." He had a feeling that at least two of those were the other cell phones on the table beside him. That left the third cell phone unaccounted for. Las Vegas's logic told him that this was a sign of an unaccounted-for duo of cultists, or the phone was in the possession of a director for the cultists—some sort of leadership. Intuition told him that the latter was the case. If he was important enough for a cult's ire, then he felt like he could count on a cult to send everything they had, so this made the latter more plausible. Other than the contact, the phone was rather clean of incriminating evidence of anything, much less information about Siren super weapons. He finally said to Nashville, "I'm afraid not."
Nashville didn't respond, so that let him go back to his thoughts. Okay, so they had a cultist's phone ripe for the using and they didn't know what they could use it for. Las Vegas thought of one last place to check. The cell-phone's GPS had been turned off, but he had no way to verify if it was always like that. So, he checked the map application on the device. The map history had been frozen, and it was tuned to the setting that would erase any searched maps the moment the application is closed.
But this is where the previous owner of the cell phone had made a grave mistake. There is a function that limits the map application, but there is another setting like it elsewhere. In a cell phone, there is a difference between, "Map History," located in the app and, "Location History," which is buried in the privacy settings of the device. Finally, a time when Las Vegas was grateful for the increasingly Orwellian nature of companies/governments with technology. But whatever the case may be, the cultist who had the phone before had not disabled the location history. Las Vegas could tell where the phone and it's cultist owner had been. With this information, Las Vegas and Nashville could sniff out whatever God-forsaken hole the Heralds of the Deep crawl out of to prowl the streets of London. He got a look at the address that was most frequented. Bingo. That has to be the place—his gut told him it was the Heralds' hideout.
But what would they want to do with this information? Las Vegas considered the options. Doing nothing with it was rejected swiftly. He could pass the tip on to law enforcement or even the military. No, that would be too slow if they wanted to benefit from this slip-up on the Heralds' part. Besides, the less people privy to anything the better and the military was still occupied with the cleanup from a battle the day before with the police tending to an antsy populace. He arrived at the craziest possibility. He could take this into his own hands. Well, his, Nashville's, and a few others'. They'd have to be let in on the secret of what's going on—at least in part—tonight. Regardless, he had to assume that the Heralds of the Deep will learn from their mistakes. They failed this time in killing him, but if they can slink off into the night then they will get smarter and stronger then they try again at their convenience. But if they are stopped tonight, before they expect anything to happen, and their goons are already out of the picture without their knowing…Well…The answer was obvious. It was time to smoke the Heralds out of their hideout and find out what they know about the super weapons, and with any luck, find out what their whole shtick is. And as a bonus, the threat gets eliminated.
But there was a final hurdle to this decision. Did he really want to go through with this? He was technically injured, but Belfast had said a few moments ago that the wound wasn't bad enough to get in the way of anything and the pain wasn't anything that he couldn't fight through for a short period. Then he recalled the terror he had felt before the fight broke out in the restroom. He was scared of dying and equally distasteful of killing. But here he was not dead and with a few dead bodies to his name. Was he prepared to risk death again and add more dead people to his name—non-existent as that name may be to him anymore? Would he do this for humanity and all the other things he held dear? The answer was clear.
Las Vegas hadn't said anything for a few minutes and that was starting to concern Nashville. But then something happened that filled her with dread. She watched as Las Vegas's facial expression turned to one of iron determination. He had made a decision to do something in a time when the best course of action is to regroup and then make a plan, especially right after he's been wounded. With distress apparent in her tone, she asked him, "So, uh…Did you get what we wanted from the phone?"
Nashville wasn't going to like this. But Las Vegas had gotten good results from her so far by being up-front about things. So, he'll do it again this time. He looked to her direction slowly but before he could open his mouth she repeated, "You did get something from the phone, right?"
He said, "I found location information. I have what I'm pretty sure is their hideout. Oh. And I also found out that they've been waiting right next to your hull all day long. We should get a few from here to help and then take care of this. You know that they have what we need, and that we can't trust anyone else to take care of this. And the threat needs to be eliminated before they catch wind of us being on to them."
At first, Nashville made a facial expression that looked kind of like a fish. Understanding how premeditated this was made her uncomfortable and as the seconds wore on, she felt her anger begin to wax hot. She clenched her teeth. These sons-of-bitches tried to kill her commander. Nobody gets to hurt her commander and then get away with it. She had to take care of this, and The Heralds of the Deep will remember this day. Long will they sorely regret the day that they tried to take away the most important thing to her.
As it turns out, Las Vegas was wrong about Nashville not liking this tid-bit of information along with his intention to take care of the threat themselves. She was completely fine with it, but there was another problem. One that she rapidly solved.
Without warning Nashville reached out and snatched the phone from Las Vegas's hand. She glanced at it to see that there was an address listed for what had to be the Heralds' hideout. Good thing he didn't put the phone to sleep, or she'd be up the river without a paddle because she still didn't know the code to unlock it.
Las Vegas's determination vanished and he became visibly confused and taken aback with how Nashville was acting right now. He began to ask, "Nashville, what are you—"
He didn't get to finish that when Nashville interrupted him. Her tone had the edge of aggression and left no room for compromise, "I'm going to take a few from here to go and take care of this. What you are going to do is wait for me to get back."
Her tone of voice silenced the man while she was speaking. He had never had Nashville talk to him like this before. "But—" he began, before being cut off again.
"No, 'buts,'" ordered Nashville. "You are wounded and are going to stay here while I take care of this." The iron in Nashville's tone and expression showed that she was in command of this conversation. Before he could object Nashville redirected her tone to others who were onlooking in shock, "Belfast. I could really use your help right now. This is important, more than just to me." Belfast nodded without hesitation because her intuition told her that this hole was much, much deeper than she initially thought. Nashville looked to Cheshire. "Cheshire. I think that you have a stake in this just like I do, and I think you're trustworthy enough for this." Cheshire was suddenly possessed of a seriousness seldom seen from her when she nodded like Belfast. She also wanted to get some payback for what had been done to her owner. Nashville turned to a third character, and this was a strategic decision on her part. "Sheffield. I'm expecting there to be trouble. We could really use a gun for what's about to happen." Sheffield nodded for the same reason as Belfast.
But a new problem arose, Nashville knew her commander well enough to know that he simply won't be content to sit around while she's off doing whatever it takes to destroy this group of The Heralds of the Deep. She needed to find someone to keep him put. She didn't trust anyone of the Royal Court, their native desire to follow their duties are too easy to manipulate. She ruled out any of the maids for the same reason. She arrived at what seemed like the best decision to her, and she had to look into the crowd to find the ship girl in mind. "Javelin," she said, with a somewhat cooled down tone, "I need you to keep an eye one him for me. Can you do that for me? Please?"
Javelin hadn't expected to be singled out in this occasion, so she somewhat fearfully squeaked out, "O-o-okay. I can do that for you." With this acceptance, she stepped forward out of the crowd to assume a position next to Calico Jack.
"Thank you," replied Nashville. She looked back towards the small fleet that she had chosen and then said, "Okay then. Let's get this over with. I'll explain what's going on before we get there." Nashville grabbed the coat that she had hanging on the back of her chair, and she led Belfast, Cheshire, and Sheffield towards the exit of the pub. She didn't say any sort of goodbye to her commander, believing that her will to carry through with this plan would falter if she looked at him. He was still too shocked by what he felt was a betrayal to say anything to her.
As Nashville left the building, she noticed that it was starting to rain.
XXXXXXXX
Now it was Las Vegas's turn to have an expression like a fish. But then something odd happened to him. He considered himself a patient man—as far as his fellow man is concerned—but right now, he was angry at Nashville. He thought that they were a team. Just earlier that day at lunch, she had promised him that they were a team no matter what. So, it was just talk. An empty promise—a lie. Because this wasn't teamwork. Did she not hear when Belfast had said that he was unimpeded by the injury? He stewed in his anger for a few seconds. But then, he was able to employ a talent of his that has paid off ever since he was just a kid growing up with siblings. He took a deep breath and calmed himself down.
Maybe he was being unreasonable here. He did also say earlier that he wouldn't take her into combat with her hull in it's present state of repair. But then again, it's not like he would ever consider leaving Nashville behind while he completed the mission with some other ship girl. There wasn't any other ship girl on Earth that he thought that he could do this with. No. There wasn't any other ship girl on Earth that he wanted to do this with. But here it was, she had left him behind. He felt betrayed, and that made him feel more vulnerable than when he was up against any Siren fleet, or any eldritch abomination of Siren construction, or the cult that worshipped those monstrosities. Never before had he felt so alone.
Well, he had to go after her. Because if he didn't and just waited to voice his displeasure for when she got back, she'd still get it in her head that she can get away with leaving him behind when she thought it prudent. And besides, while she is superhuman, without her rigging she's vulnerable to whatever it is that the remaining cultists have armed themselves with. He had a feeling to expect assault rifles and the like if these ones are armed like unto the cultists in Miami based on what Agent Johnson had told him. Another gun—namely his—would be a huge asset.
This was a peculiar conflict in the codebreaker who normally approached his problems as clinically as he could. Logically, he had every reason to believe that Nashville can take care of herself, but the emotional part of himself was going insane at the slightest possibility of something going wrong and him not being present to prevent it.
Well, first things first. He needed to retrieve his knife from where he had dropped it before he accidentally aimed at Nashville. He stood up and said to Javelin, "I'm just going to get my knife from where I dropped it." He didn't hear Javelin respond as he began to walk numbly for the restroom. He passed the corpses of the cultists as he went, fortunately he was able to retain his numbness as he entered the restroom, so he wasn't disturbed by his own morbid handiwork. Sure enough, there was his knife right beside where George's corpse was laying. It was unsurprisingly covered in blood, so as a practical man, he found a practical solution and walked over to the sink and began to rinse it off. The deed was done in a few seconds, and he turned around to the door to see Javelin looking on, she was obviously perturbed, yet she held it together for the most part. Las Vegas saw that close quarters combat is the exception, not the rule, among ship girls.
Okay, now with all his tools about his person, he just had to find a way to convince Javelin to let him go. Or maybe, she could come along? He wasn't sure if he could count on Javelin to keep it together given the circumstances. They were up against people with a history of human sacrifice. To be honest, Las Vegas was expecting the inside of any hideout of The Heralds of the Deep to be akin to the set of a slasher film—only with real blood and gore instead of fake stand-ins. He was willing to brave this horror for his duty to humanity, but given the circumstances, he would do it more to back up Nashville. Because he had to recognize that at the end of the day, Nashville was pretty much all he had that was really important to him.
He left the restroom of the pub to return back to where he was sitting before to retrieve his bomber jacket and backpack. He picked up Giovanni on the way there. As he was walking Queen Elizabeth asked quizzically, "Well, Calico Jack, what are you going to do now?"
He resisted the urge to say something sarcastic that would be needlessly disrespectful and instead said, "I intend to go through with what I was suggesting before my companion took off."
He had reached his seat by the time he finished that sentence, so he took his jacket and put it on, the sleeves were long enough to cover up his bandages and when he zipped it up, it was tight enough around his neck to keep water from running in from the rain that had started outside. He slipped the magazine out of Giovanni and counted up nine rounds left in the magazine, and he pulled the slide back slightly to confirm that there was a tenth round in the chamber. He still had seventy shots before he was virtually useless. He wasn't worried about running out, rather he was grateful he grabbed two extra magazines before leaving Nashville's hull. He put Giovanni in his holster, and he patted his pockets to confirm the other things he had on his person before this fiasco.
He looked back from the direction he came, and he saw the facial expression of Javelin, who had followed him but said nothing. She was doing her absolute best to put on a determined expression that showed that she wouldn't just let him walk away. Well, he couldn't really think of anything to say to her, and he ultimately decided that he would avoid taking Javelin with if he could. So, he turned around towards the exit and began to walk, leaving behind the rest of the ship girls of the Royal Navy. He intended to go alone, figuring that enough people would be let in on the secrets thanks to Nashville. He got about halfway there when a few quick and light footsteps were taken and he looked over his shoulder to see who it was, he didn't see anyone obviously moved…except, where was Javelin? He looked to the door again and there she was. She was indeed fast and light on her feet. But whatever the case, Javelin wouldn't let him just walk out.
He opened his mouth to say something to try and persuade her to move but was beaten when Queen Elizabeth spoke loudly so that she could be sure that he heard. She said somewhat accusingly, "What are you Calico Jack? Do you think that you're a hero? Or do you just have a death wish?"
He turned around to Queen Elizabeth and he spared a glance to the crowd of ship girls who had now taken to sitting wherever they were before. But all were looking at him silently, and as much as he hated being put on the spot, he had places to be. He tried to get a read on how Queen Elizabeth felt on the subject, and her straight face kept the truth of the matter hidden from him. Nevertheless, he said what came naturally to him, "I'll leave heroism for heroes, and death for the dead. I just want to back up my friend and get the job done."
"Javelin," ordered Queen Elizabeth. And then before he could react, Javelin gave a solid backhand to where the cut on his arm is. He recoiled that arm and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. Wow, that hurt like the dickens. He shot Javelin a look that made her recoil a bit and she whispered out an apology. He stretched his fingers a bit and checked that he could still move his hand normally while he gently massaged where his wound had been agitated. Normally, Queen Elizabeth would ask a follow up question to the man, but she held her tongue to see how he would react to her ordered provocation. Less than five minutes ago was the first time she had seen him angry for any reason, and that was contrary to what she thought of him doing in such a situation. Would he be reckless out of anger, or would he hold true to the man she thought him to be? Because she would take it up with Supreme Commander Roscoe himself to resist Calico Jack's demands for cooperation if he proved to be dominated by emotional recklessness in a pinch. There was no way in hell she would trust any of her subjects with those "somethings" to a man who can't keep it together. This was a test to see if Calico Jack could overcome himself.
He took another deep breath and calmed himself down from any sort of anger. He looked back towards Javelin, and he said softly, "It's okay. I'm sorry for giving you a look." Javelin was surprised by this, and Queen Elizabeth was pleased. He then gave a brief, yet mirthless chuckle as he met Queen Elizabeth's gaze and said, "It's quite funny when I think about it. I only have two things left in this world. I have Nashville, and I have a mission. Even my own name has slipped through my fingers. And neither of those last two things can be found here. But still…" He stopped himself for a second before asking, "Is it wrong to fight for all that I have left?" With that question asked he scanned the faces of the sitting crowd. Most averted their eyes but those who met his looks silently said that he was in the right.
Queen Elizabeth met his eyes with her own but said nothing immediately. Initially, she really didn't know her position on this issue. She saw the desires of both parties, having been made aware of what had happened with Hood's conversation with Nashville and having just had Calico Jack's feelings made clear to her. She had a question before she decided on a side. "I don't think that your desires are misplaced. I've a sense of the issue from when Nashville left, but tell me, how important is this task to make you so ready to risk your life for it, especially to make you willing to go alone?"
"It's related to what we spoke of on Nashville's bridge today."
Queen Elizabeth understood the importance now. Then she spent a few seconds to connect the dots between a hit squad and the Siren "somethings" in her mind but before she could confront Calico Jack with her conclusion, Javelin inserted herself with, "But Miss Nashville asked me to keep you here for her."
The man in question turned to Javelin and said, "She actually asked you to keep an eye on me. Not keep me in the same place."
"That's not what she meant," pointed out Javelin to counter Calico Jack's point.
"No…I suppose not," admitted the man. He continued, "But I have to do this. There are a few reasons why, but I've pretty much already listed them. I can even see that you agree with me. So, I'm going. But you have a choice here. You can stop doing as she asked, and I'll handle the brunt of anything she might say and do after the fact." He stopped momentarily to swallow his pride on this issue. He was fixed on ditching Javelin as he left the restroom but hearing Queen Elizabeth's comment on him going alone made him think a bit more on bringing Javelin along, because a logical part of him now recognized that going alone was quite foolish. "Or you can keep an eye on me by coming along." Then he leaned in a bit and whispered to the destroyer girl, "But, for the sake of helping you make that decision; we are up against a cult of Siren worshippers that have a history of human sacrifice. It's more complex but that's the gist of it. I'm expecting pretty stiff resistance and it's likely we'll be wading in gore at some point—not to mention whatever demented cult paraphernalia they have. And in my defense, I had no idea they would be this big of a threat ten minutes ago." This was tipping his hand a bit to Javelin, but he figured that it was okay because she was still pretty ignorant of any superweapons.
Javelin had gone pale just a bit at his watered-down explanation. Her heart wanted to let him go and fight for what was important to him. He's just like her in that regard. But now, fear of what he had just explained combined with her fear of any sort of retribution of Nashville's should she let Calico Jack go made her want to hold him back. But she had to give one final appeal to try and convince him to stay, "But aren't you scared?"
"I am scared. But that's no excuse to shirk this task. It's no reason to abandon the things important to me. Fear has no place in the equation of what has to be done." But he smiled a bit to try and make Javelin more comfortable. He then said, "Besides. In spite of all that has happened, or what might happen, I don't remember the commanding officer giving the order to abandon ship."
Javelin smiled at that, and she slowly returned to a more chipper mood. Witnessing his loyalty to his friend and cause along with his steadfastness in the face of adversity inspired the destroyer. She decided what she wanted to do. "I'll let you go, Calico Jack. But Laffey asked me to take care of you in her letter, so I'll go with you! Let's work hard together!"
He smiled wider and said, "I didn't realize I made an impression on Laffey, but let's work hard then. I promise to do all in my power to make sure that you make it through. But I have to know, do you know how to fight? Like in close quarters?"
Javelin held her right hand to the side a bit and suddenly the miniature wisdom cubes that showed rigging materializing appeared from her palm, but instead of becoming rigging, they coalesced into a longer form in her grasp. As soon as they appeared, they consolidated into a spear. "I have a javelin!" she declared proudly.
"First of all, that was really cool," amazed Calico Jack aloud. "Second of all, doesn't your hull disappear to become rigging like this?"
"Not for small stuff like this," answered Javelin. Then she willed her weapon to disperse, and it did so, returning from whence it came as the mini-wisdom cubes into her palm.
"I'd say that ability is quite 'handy' huh?" he said with a joking smile. Javelin got the pun and smile along. "But anyway, time is wasting away. We should get going."
"Maybe we should take some others with us," recommended Javelin.
He thought for a moment to consider this and then he admitted, "That actually might be a good idea." Calico Jack then looked back to the crowd, and he was able to select who he wanted to take along quickly. He offered, "Duke of York, Sirius, the task at hand is related to what you've both requested of me. If you come along, I'll give a more complete explanation, but it also means that I will indeed be fulfilling your requests when that time comes. However, all of this is at the price of it being totally secret and for your ears only." He looked back at Javelin and concluded, "That last part about secrets and taking you along for that other thing that they had requested—so, participation in a particularly dangerous mission—applies to you too. Are you still interested?"
Javelin nodded after only a moment's thought. He turned to see Duke of York and Sirius rise from their seats. Duke of York spoke as she approached, "For the cause of good, I pledge unto thee, my fellow knight, my sword and my cannons."
He smiled and said, "In return I pledge to not waste or mislead such aid."
The four of them had gotten next to each other when Sirius said her piece, "I vow to meet all expectations you set for me, my honorable master." Just like she had thought earlier, she found it comfortable to call him, "honorable master."
"'Honorable master,' huh? I'll try my hardest to remain worthy of that high esteem. But I'm glad to have you along."
Queen Elizabeth then mentioned something else important, "I don't suppose that you expect me to explain to police what happened when they eventually arrive?"
Calico Jack scratched the back of his neck a bit before he replied, "Well, I guess so long as secret things stay secret, I would owe Your Majesty a favor. Notwithstanding the fact you ordered Javelin to hit me."
The prospect of being owed a favor pleased the teenage-looking monarch greatly who declared, "My apologies for the order, I will compensate you appropriately. But I agree to receiving a favor when it suits me. Good luck storming the castle."
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I look forward to seeing you again soon," said the codebreaker.
After that, short goodbyes were given between those leaving and those remaining and Calico Jack apologized for being the reason that the party got ruined. General consensus was to give the baddies an extra punch or two for ruining the occasion.
Business concluded, the four of them left the pub. Calico Jack fired up Mr. Bond, and he inputted the address that he memorized before Nashville took the phone from his hand. The joke was on her in that regard. He's memorized dozens upon dozens of mathematical theorems. A measly address is nothing compared to those. They went on their way to an address in Whitechapel, out into the summer rain of London and into the old hunting grounds of the infamous serial killer, Jack the Ripper.
But the rain would be the least of their problems tonight. The Deep was stirring, and darkness was conspiring against them.
XXXXXXXX
Nashville's explanation of the purpose and current progress of Operation Rumor Mill was sporadic at best to her present companions. It had to be like that, or average Londoners might get a bit too curious for their own good. Belfast, Cheshire, and Sheffield kept their questions to themselves as Nashville was painting the picture of what was going. She had to give a condensed version because as it turns out, the address that she was navigating to was only about ten minutes of walking from the pub. It wasn't lost on Nashville that the location they were going to was about a nautical mile north from where she had berthed. That's the right distance and direction from a few days ago when her huff-duff picked up that one strange transmission.
But as they neared their destination Nashville managed to finish up her explanation and she bade her fleet-mates to speak with, "And that's about it. Y'all's got any questions or anything like that?"
Belfast and Sheffield understood what had been explained and as much as they would have loved to give an extended commentary, they were able to corroborate after a shared look that they could save any sort of extended conversation for later. Belfast spoke for the maids, "Not at the moment, but we would certainly like to speak with Calico Jack once the opportunity arises."
"Yeah, I bet that he'll want to talk to you too about that after we're done here," said Nashville. Then she looked over to Cheshire to see how the cat-like cruiser was handling this information. "Hey, Cheshire," voiced Nashville to get her friend's attention. Cheshire snapped her gaze from ahead of them to meet Nashville's now concerned look. "Are you okay? You were spacing out there."
Cheshire was now even more fearful for the life of her owner. His job was to fight actual sea-monsters and somehow win with only a shoestring amount of official support. She knew her owner to be capable of truly amazing things, and that view was enforced with what Nashville had just explained about the operation that he's in charge of, but she was scared that there might one day come a challenge that he can't overcome. What then? Would he somehow survive and become a man that she wouldn't want as her owner? Or would he give it his all even if it would cost him his life and leave her alone? Cheshire didn't want to choose which was worse. But then as she was pondering the man himself a newfound desire came to her, so she replied, "I don't know if I'm okay… But you wouldn't happen to know Calico Jack's actual name? Do you?" Because he was technically anonymous, Cheshire hoped for some level of intimacy of being able to know his name, even if she can't call him by it.
Nashville would have loved to have that same intimacy with her commander. But the cold hard truth was that not even she knew his name. Despite the duo's guessing games on occasion, Nashville has yet to find out Las Vegas's true name. But…is a name really all that important? Wasn't it that Shakespeare guy that said something about roses by any other name smelling as sweet? Nashville only crossed a few steps before she decided to disagree with Shakespeare this time and place importance in finding out Las Vegas's name. She said to Cheshire, "I'm sorry, but I don't know his actual name. I started calling him Las Vegas the first time I met him."
"Oh," said Cheshire dejectedly. She really wanted to know, but now she had to get back to the task at hand. She might not know his name, but she was scared for his well-being nonetheless, so she would do all in her power to help him fight his battles. She would stand firm and hold the line even if those battles were up against a bunch of crazy people that sacrifice innocent sailors for gods that she was pretty sure don't even care about humanity. However, her concentration was broken with another question. She asked, "Do we know what these people even want?"
One of the most famous quotes from cosmic horror writer Howard Phillips Lovecraft reads, "The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown." Right now, that unknown was filling Nashville with dread that she couldn't properly describe. In all her experiences—including the battle against Lusca in the Bahamas—she had at least some inkling of an idea of what she was up against. But not now. "I don't know what these people want," she admitted fearfully. "And we don't know about what they're capable of neither, so we'd best expect nasty surprises."
That last part touched on what made The Heralds of the Deep so threatening to her. In a time when she felt secure, The Heralds of the Deep had managed to surprise her and nearly kill her commander. Not even the Sirens have succeeded in that so far—at least to her knowledge. Nashville hated surprises, but there was nothing she could do about this except go in blind because she felt like it was too late to retreat backwards to get a plan together. Because she knew that if she were to face Las Vegas right now, she wouldn't be able to do this same stunt again, he'd find some way to convince her to take him along even though he's wounded and not capable of the same feats as a ship girl is. His obvious skill with a pistol be damned, taking him into a place like where she's going was a risk that she wasn't willing to make. It seemed that she was comfortable with taking him along only if he has her armor plating to hide behind.
The three Royals responded to the affirmative as they rounded what was supposed to be the last corner onto the street that the address was listed on. Nashville saw a street that was eerily devoid of people and only had intermittent lighting. No matter. It was time to start going over a plan of attack. What Nashville had settled on was a multi-phase plan. The first thing that they had to do was cover the exits of the building. That is to say, cover the main entrance and block any sort of back entrance. With that in place they had to make sure that this place is indeed a hideout for The Heralds of the Deep. Assuming that's the case they storm the place, taking one floor at a time using speed to prevent any sort of organized resistance or give the enemy the advantage of range for using guns more effectively. Even though the main objective is to take out the enemy, a close runner up is to capture any sort of intelligence. They would be willing to take prisoners if anyone surrenders.
Nashville checked the map and verified that a three-story apartment building part of the way down the block was their destination and she observed that it had an alley that went on one side of the building. She said to her fleet mates, "There's the place. Let's get into this alley right here and discuss a plan." She was referring to an alley conveniently placed a few buildings up the street. The four of them ducked into the shadows out of sight and then Nashville filled the others on the plan. No obvious flaws were found with the plan, but Belfast had some comments to offer about tactics of clearing a building with most of the fleet relying on empty-handed combat. They had to make sure to keep some distance from each other and make sure not to congregate in a single room lest a single burst from an assault rifle or a single grenade take them all out. It would also keep the enemy guessing as to how many assailants they were dealing with. They worked out some of the finer details when Nashville asked, "Okay. Y'all ready for this?" Nods were her response, so she gave the go-ahead with, "Let's get going then."
The four women exited the alley and walked down the street trying to act natural by feigning idle conversation to try and fool any look-outs—if there were any. To try and seal the deal, both Nashville and Cheshire did their very best to look obviously drunk, so they stumbled a bit and avoided walking in completely straight lines. To further the farse, Belfast even did a part to support Nashville as they walked. They got a good look of the building as they passed it. The front entrance was exactly on the level of the sidewalk, and it had enough windows on each side of the door to hint towards single apartments on either side of an entrance corridor. This same layout seemed to be constant for all three stories.
Little did they know that the farse worked. On the middle story, a man with an assault rifle that was looking through the slits in a curtain saw a group of casually dressed women that seemed to have been enjoying their night. The cultist immediately recognized that they were incredibly sexy. His fixation on cleavage prevented him from counting how many there were. He'd have to find some time to himself later so that he could celebrate his luck of being able to behold such fine specimens, but right now he had a job to do. He'd make sure that they don't do anything stupid. Namely, bother the Holy House. He saw one of them, one with teal streaks in her black hair double over. It looked like she needed to vomit. He was right, or so he thought. She rushed into the alley beside the Holy House and her companions followed her. He listened carefully and he confirmed that he was hearing retching. He stopped paying them attention because he figured that once teal-streaks was done, the women would either go back the way they had come, or they'd use the alley to go all the way to the next street over.
Cheshire finished her fake retching in a few seconds and then all four of them stood straight to move on with the next part of the plan—finding any back exits. As it turned out, the alley was a straight shot all the way through the buildings to the next street where a few people crossed their view, but other than those passing glimpses they saw what seemed to be an unoccupied alley. There were a few places that looked like they would be occupied by vagrants but luckily, these tenants of the street were absent, probably to find more suitable places to shelter from the steady drizzle of rain. They found that there was a single exit on the side of their suspicious building and the fleet took a moment to decide if it was better to block the door or divide the fleet to storm both entrances. Given the fact that they didn't know what they were up against, they decided that they would consolidate their forces for a single point of entry to avoid anyone getting overwhelmed and then split up from there after the opening seconds.
A quick inspection found the perfect method to render the entrance unpassable for any normal human. Nashville would call their impromptu barricade a, "dumpster," while the Royals would call it a "skip," but names didn't matter for the item. A dumpster by any other name would smell as foul. Nevertheless, a little push showed that there was no way a single human, or even a group of humans could shift it's massive weight. To avoid having to make a ruckus by sliding it two of them posted on one side and two on the other. Together, the four superhuman women lifted the container from the ground a few inches and carefully moved it a few feet to be squarely in front of their back exit. It was now unpassable to the door that opened outwards. They were lucky that they had been able to pull this off silently because the two men guarding the side entrance right on the other side of the door were none the wiser.
"Okay, time for phase two," ordered Nashville. It had been agreed that Nashville would lead this raid. Even though she hadn't done this before, her seniority in Operation Rumor Mill coupled with Belfast's intuition in Nashville's leadership abilities permitted the light cruiser to assume control. The four women reached the entrance of the alley that would lead them back onto the street the entered from. The four of them left for the front door. Now was the time to find out if this was the place. They remained close to the wall as they made for the door to avoid being noticed by any lookouts on the second story who couldn't look straight down on account of closed windows. The plan was that after a sharp knock on the door, they'd be able to ask anyone who answered if this was the place, then by gauging on any sort of reaction, they'll be able to confirm or deny the truth of the matter. Assuming that this was the place, Cheshire—who was the strongest of the four on account of being a PR ship girl—would kick in the door and then Sheffield would use her pistol to clear the immediate vicinity of cultists while the four of them poured inside and then separated to clear the building floor by floor.
Nashville posted on one side of the door behind Cheshire and Sheffield with Belfast behind her on the other. The Union light cruiser asked, "Ready?"
Sheffield reach behind her torso but under the jacket that she was wearing to put her hand on the grip of her Hi-Power. She pulled it out from her concealed holster and quietly racked the slide to chamber a round from it's thirteen-round magazine. She confirmed that she had her four extra magazines of ammunition in concealed pockets inside her jacket. Then she looked back to Nashville, and she decided that speaking would be better for communication instead of nodding. She gave her status by saying softly, "Ready."
Cheshire balled her hands into fists with audible cracking in her knuckles. "For my owner," she thought to herself. Then she whispered over her shoulder, "Ready to beat some baddies."
Belfast was the fastest to get ready, yet the last to reply. She simply nodded her head and muttered, "Ready when you are."
"Great. Let's get this over with," whispered back Nashville. It had been decided that since Nashville knew the most about The Heralds of the Deep, she would know the easiest based on how they reacted if this was the place or not. So, she balled one of her fists, stepped in front of Cheshire, and banged on the door.
Only a few seconds passed when a raspy woman's voice answered through the still closed door, "Who is it?"
Nashville ignored the question and said, "We're looking for someone. Maybe you can help us?"
The woman asserted, "Whoever you're looking for, they aren't here. Now get out of here." But that wasn't all the woman was thinking about. Deciding to let Nashville do the talking was a brilliant move in this situation. Her accent not only made it abundantly clear that she isn't from the UK, but that she was from the Eagle Union. These days in the UK, one has more chance of seeing the Loch Ness Monster than someone from the Eagle Union. This was suspicious to the guarding cultist because they had been on the lookout for a particular duo from the Eagle Union. Such an action made the guard start to panic from the thought that their enemies had found their holy house. But that was impossible. Was it?
Since the windowless door remained closed, Nashville didn't have any sort of facial expressions to go on, so she decided to throw caution to the wind and straight up ask, "We're looking for The Heralds of the Deep. We have a bone to pick with them."
The four women heard a loud gasp on the other side of the door and then they heard the mechanical sound of the charging handle of an assault rifle being pulled backwards. All could confirm that this was the place. So, without further ado, Nashville stepped back to get out of Cheshire's way, and Cheshire stepped forward. She lifted one of her legs to give a mighty kick to the door right in it's center. This defied conventional wisdom of kicking near the doorknob because Cheshire was anticipating taking out the guard with the door from this kick.
The predominantly steel door that had five locks and an extra hinge buckled under the might of the PR heavy cruiser. The locks ripped out of the steel doorframe and the hinges likewise separated from their normal place. The door which weighed in at a whopping 200 pounds (or approximately ninety kilograms) flew right in the face of the guard who had goofed in her duty by gasping and loudly racking her rifle in panic. The guard wasn't killed nevertheless she flew backwards a few feet with the door solidly pinning her down. But her seconds were limited as Cheshire leaned back to her side of the entrance and Sheffield leaned out to give the pinned guard a third eye socket with her pistol. The woman died to Sheffield's shot instantly.
Sheffield was able to see that the woman had not been guarding the front entrance alone. To one side, and only about two yards from where she had been shot was two men. One of them was slightly hunched over and in the beginnings of a scream of pain for a reason that Sheffield couldn't identify at a glance. What had happened was a piece of a locking mechanism had flown right into his eye, but this had made him vulnerable for a few seconds. His friend was unscathed though, but Sheffield had a huge advantage over the cultist as he was reacting. The man had in his possession a surplus Royal Army L85A1. Notorious reliability of the weapon aside, this particular rifle had an unintended flaw endemic to the design that Sheffield was going to take advantage of. To pull the charging handle of his bullpup rifle back, he had to take his right hand off the pistol grip, so it would take him a moment to re-acquire his grasp and then get to aiming. But meanwhile, Sheffield was already ready to fire her pistol. The man was felled with a head shot and his partner followed a moment later.
Immediately following the multiple gunshots that had announced the presence of intruders there was a shout that came from a location that Sheffield couldn't pin-point inside the building. "To arms!" was the call. In the few seconds it would take for more armed cultists to show up, Sheffield led the way inside the building.
Like Belfast had recommended, the fleet split up and while Belfast and Sheffield went left with Belfast going through an open door and Sheffield with her gun pointed down the entrance hallway to wait for more cultists, Nashville and Cheshire went right where Cheshire busted open a closed door and led the way inside.
Inside the room on the left, Belfast saw what looked like a chapel of sorts. A glance showed it was presently unoccupied. But the place of perverted worship was quite unlike anything she had before witnessed. Shouts and screams from across the hallway didn't distract her from the large symbol that was stained red was carved onto the floor and another on the ceiling. Chairs were arranged circularly around a short table maybe only two feet around. Atop this table was a few papers and vials of what looked like blood. But it was quite unlike blood when she picked up the vial to give it a shake. It seemed more like a gel in consistency than actual blood, yet the color was unmistakable. Normally, Belfast would stash anything important looking into her cleavage, but something told her that she did not want the blood-sludge on her if the vial should break. She quickly folded the paper and stuffed that into her bra instead. She then heard Sheffield begin to fire her pistol a few more times as she took cover in the doorframe.
Only then did the cultists begin to get opportunities to fire back. Howls of maniacal laughter permeated the air between long untrained bursts of fully automatic gunfire.
While Belfast had been doing her thing, Sheffield got a good look of the inside of the bottom floor of the hide-out. The building was only three apartments deep with one on each side of a main corridor that had stairs at the back leading up to the second floor. The interior could have been considered spartan, so long as one ignored all the iconography that made no sense to any sane person looking at them. The most prominent among the dozens of the symbols was highlighted by large half-melted candles. As one would expect from an evil-lair, the lighting was sparse with light bulbs that were past their prime and muffled with thick coats of dust. The maid was not pleased with how filthy the place was. Then after a moment's inspection, cultists began to pour from the seams. From the last room on each side, a small hallway leading to what must be the side entrance, and from the stairs leading upwards came swaths of men and a few women that all looked emaciated. While not all of them, a notable portion had decided to adorn themselves with tattoos that seemed of similar style to what stained the walls. But none of those details really mattered because almost all of them were armed with assault rifles. Sheffield managed to kill one and wound two others before she had to duck back into cover to avoid all the shots coming her way. This was going to take a while.
But a few seconds earlier, Cheshire burst open the first door on the right and charged inside ready to rip and tear. She was met with a half-naked and fully tattooed cultist right in front of her that clearly hadn't been prepared for the door in front of him to explode from some woman's kick. He had managed to arm himself and had even shielded his face from any debris from the splintered door.
Cheshire fought like, well, a cat. So, she pounced on the man and pinned him to the ground. Had it been her owner, she would have simply hugged him and hummed pleasantly. But this was a man who would have killed her owner if given the chance, so the cultist wouldn't get to have such nice treatment from the cat-like cruiser woman. Normal cats either claw or bite their prey, so it was a bit of a departure from nature in the fact that Cheshire had every intention of caving his skull in with her fist. And that was well within her capabilities. Stradling his waist she lifted her fist up and it snapped downwards, turning his face into a crater, and literally smashing his brain with his own skull. He died instantly.
The beginnings of a scream of fear caught Cheshire's attention to her left, deeper into the room that had been linked with the adjacent apartment. Rows of filthy cots showed what was a barracks. Part of the way down the room, a man was raising his rifle to begin firing at Cheshire, but Nashville had skirted the wall of the room to take advantage of this particular cultist's fear induced tunnel vision. He began to scream fearfully as he was taking his aim, but it was too late, and Nashville was already upon him. She knocked his rifle aside and then she delivered a single body-shot punch right into his sternum, cracking it and deforming his ribcage enough to put pressure on his heart to the point it started to constrict blood flow. He dropped instantly and a few sucking breathes would mark his final moments.
"D-D-D-DEMONS!" screamed a final cultist that neither ship girl had noticed. This final cultist was near the door of what would have been the second apartment, had the wall between the first and the second not been taken down. Given his distance from the ship girls, he managed to raise his rifle and he went to town on his trigger, filling the room with bullets. Cheshire rolled off her corpse to avoid the burst while Nashville quickly ducked to the side a step or two. As she rolled off the corpse, Cheshire took up her victim's assault rifle, but instead of shouldering it and firing, she took a hold of the front and when she completed the roll, she flung it to the final cultist. She missed him, but it made him dodge nonetheless and he stopped firing long enough for Nashville to close the distance and snap his neck with a hook punch.
That scream about demons set things in motion that would have truly dire consequences. As is the case with most religions, The Heralds of the Deep had developed their own set of folklore. But since the religion was still fairly young there had only been time to develop a few stories. One of these was based in a rumor among the lower ranks of the cult. It goes that there are demons that come in the shape of beautiful women that in reality have the power to tear a man limb from limb. It was believed that these demons would be the final enemies bested by their gods. This shout has somehow managed to carry out into the hallway over the gunfire to reach the ears of a cultist who had posted on the landing of the staircase beside a few of his brethren. He ceased firing and fled up the stairs. He rapidly passed the middle floor and arrived at the top-floor attic. He found just who he was looking for quickly and dark red robes denoted a man as the priest of this branch. The priest looked positively furious. He spoke with all the potency of the most noxious venoms, "Report, brother. What's happening?"
The messenger panted out, "We're under attack by demons. On the infinite depths, I swear it. They've already taken half the first floor and they've killed at least ten already. We must flee, or they'll kill us all."
The priest didn't respond immediately. He was considering the best course of action. Too bad that asking a man with dubious sanity to make rational decisions isn't going to happen. His mind snapped to go through with what the purpose of the London Branch had been the whole time—trigger humanity's ascension—at least in this portion of the world. As one of the oldest branches on earth, this one was prepared to play it's role in The Deep Seer's final plan to save humanity from itself and the Sirens. They were only waiting on The Deep Seer's signal to join the rest of the branches around the world when the time was right. But The Deep Seer had directed him to do all in his power to hold the line when he first became the priest of this branch. So, with heavy heart, the priest decided that he would take on the momentous duty of being the bulwark against the storm until the rest of the world could join them in ascension. He chuckled darkly at the fact that their hand had been forced yet he was quivering with excited anticipation of what would come. He gave the cultist in front of him final directions. "Gather one final prophet for sacrifice. The time for our salvation has come. Go with haste. I will prepare the ritual."
The cultist left the top-floor attic with a big smile on his face to gather a prophet from the middle floor cell they were held in. On the top floor, the priest first roused four of the most enlightened brethren of this branch from their unnatural slumber. Given that they were awake now, they understood exactly what time it was. They left their chambers to go to the largest room in the attic. The priest then proceeded to his own chamber. One of his greatest duties was to stand vigilant over two final cultists in their own unnatural slumber. With infernal words chanted into an abyssal spell that are best left unspoken and not understood, he broke them from their rest. Despite the cacophony of gunfire below them, the priest spared moments to embrace his greatest friends. He was honored to be able to ascend with them as his aides. They left to make way for the ritual chamber.
Once he was alone, the priest bent over a loose floorboard in a corner of his chamber to take out a bundle. It was covered in satin fabric, probably the cleanest thing in the whole Holy House, and it was the size that he could carry the catalyst of the coming ritual in one hand, but he handled the object with reverence. This…was a gift from their gods. Their avenue to salvation. He left for the ritual room as well with the bundle in hand.
He came into the ritual room himself and got about to inspecting the place. The room itself was about ten yards square and made from a few apartments and the hallway all combined into one. The symbol of their faith was scrawled into the floor and the ceiling. This placement was symbolic of the deep and the heavens, respectively. In the center of the symbol was the raised alter upon which the prophet was to be sacrificed. This alter was symbolic of the Earth while the prophet was the scapegoat for humanity—shouldering the burden of saving the many at the cost of their own life. But then the priest made certain that in the corner of the room was a final alter. This alter was smaller, yet taller and it would stand above the prophet on it's own four legs once they were strapped down. This was the place upon which the catalyst would be placed. The first four cultists were already garbed in thick black robes and were kneeling in their positions around the symbol. These four heroes were representative of the four cardinal directions, or the four corners of the Earth, to show that all life would be saved. The priest's aides had donned white robes that were also remarkably clean. The first one would be the representative of the deep itself—from which The Heralds of the Deep derived their wisdom and power. The second one was the representative from the heavens, who would give their consent and blessing for what is to happen.
Finally, the brother that the priest had ordered to retrieve a prophet had returned with the final piece. The prophet seemed to be a man in his mid-thirties, and he was screaming his head off for help that wouldn't come for him. He understood exactly what was going on and he struggled with his might to save himself, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. The priest went to assist the one hum-drum cultist in the room by saying, "Here brother, let me help you." Together, they wrangled the man to be sacrificed onto the alter and they bound him with thick cords of leather so that he couldn't move. To stop his screaming the priest brought his fist down in a hammer-fist strike to induce unconsciousness. The sacrifice didn't have to be aware from here on out. They just needed fresh eyes, a heart, and blood for what was to come. The priest directed the cultist, "Hold the line. We only need a few minutes, and then victory and salvation will come." The cultist left in a hurry to give the news to his fellows downstairs who were still fighting.
The catalyst's altar was put in it's place above the prophet and the priest started to undo the fastenings on the catalyst's bundle. When the bundle was undone, an ethereal blue glow filled the ritual chamber.
The Heralds of the Deep had a wisdom cube.
Being careful to use the bundle as a buffer between the wisdom cube and his hand, the priest placed it on the altar above the prophet. "Let us begin," said the priest.
A few seconds passed and the priest plus the four cardinal direction cultists involved pulled out ceremonial daggers from under their robes. Guided by an unseen, yet very real, and very evil force they began to chant at the same time in that nonsensical language of theirs. The priest wasted no time as he brought his dagger and began the job of fishing the sacrifice's eyes out of their sockets. The prophet naturally awoke and began to howl in pain, but his bindings held firm and he couldn't move for anything. His fate was unfortunately sealed. The eyes were placed on the wisdom cubes's altar. Then the priest raised his dagger skyward and let it fall into the prophet's chest. Carefully, yet adeptly, the prophet's still-beating heart was harvested, and it too was placed on the wisdom cube's altar. The prophet died, but this was not all. The priest stepped back as he stretched one arm to the heavens, and his other to the depths. His aids raised or lowered their arms for their respective representation. The chanting grew in intensity and at it's peak, from the prophet's body, his blood began to drain and pool as if guided by something. Of it's own inertia it began to pile drops of blood upon drops of blood to climb towards the wisdom cube. The bloody tower finally reached the wisdom cube alter and it covered the wisdom cube to congeal into the gel-like blood that Belfast had seen a few floors down. Then the four cardinal directions raised their own knives and in unison, they slit their own throats and willingly fell forward giving up their lives and blood for the cause. Their already gelled blood—courtesy of the sacrifices up to this point—coalesced into a mass that slowly climbed up the legs of the wisdom cube altar.
Once the extra blood added to that of the prophet's in coating the wisdom cube, it's normally blue glow became stained into an angry scarlet through the putrid and constantly shifting sludge that coated it's surface and stuck to it. Now, the white-robed cultists placed their hands on the shoulders of the priest to support him as they chanted together. Three voices, normally discordant, became united in harmony. Their will sharpened and thanks to the successful ritual, they began to influence the wisdom cube.
Mist began to pool in the ritual chamber. Then the three mad people willed that mist to expand outwards. That mist expanded rapidly. First the Holy House was covered. Then the street, then the adjacent ones. In seconds the mist charged forth to cover large swaths of London. And on it went. This mist was well on it's way to start conquering outside of London for it was destined to cover this portion of the planet.
Guided by the will of the priest and his two aids as the stand-ins for the depths and the heavens something that was supposed to be impossible was happening.
A mirror sea was opening in London.
The very laws of reality were now subject to the will of The Heralds of the Deep. Now, conditions could be fostered to allow humanity to become greater than it has been, or ever would be without the assistance of The Heralds of the Deep.
All over London, innocent people were beginning to be exposed to their greatest horrors. Horrors that were as real as they were. There was no running. No hiding. Most lacked the will to change their fates, for now at least. The strong will adapt, and the weak will perish. London's streets were beginning to fill with the blood of her people.
The mirror sea extended but suddenly it met a resistance that made the breaths of the cultists hitch in their throats. Their new reality wasn't extending any further than the streets of London. As it turned out, this ritual was like pushing a huge boulder uphill for the three cultists. So, the slightest provocation or resistance to that boulder could ruin or stall this. This unforeseen obstacle…It was…It was as if there was a fourth person in the ritual. And this person was resisting what was going on.
This phenomenon was because of a peculiar attribute to this mirror sea that The Heralds of the Deep didn't foresee. This possibility had even evaded the thoughts and visions of The Deep Seer. If it had been of Siren origin, nothing on Earth could have resisted it's existence in any measure, but since it was of human origin, that meant that this mirror sea behaved with a different set of rules and weaknesses to reflect the limits and weaknesses of man. Because man has not mastered himself, he is unfit to rule absolutely as god over his own bubble of reality. Let godhood go to the one who has mastered himself.
The ritual depended on being conducted in secrecy. Nobody could know what was going on, or a particularly strong will could force the figurative boulder into a stalemate. The priest knew of the demons, but he had been forbidden by The Deep Seer to confirm their existence to the lower ranks of their religion, but he didn't have to take steps to quash stories of them. He understood that these demons were warships of old given flesh that were born of the wisdom cubes. But because they were born from the wisdom cubes, they couldn't force their will upon the mysterious objects. It couldn't be the demons. A human had to be resisting the ritual. And the priest knew exactly who it was.
"The Magician approaches," he growled.
Wow it's been a while. I have a few things that I want to talk with you about, but I think it's best to let you know what's happened over this past month. So, I found a full-time job and that has replaced motivation to write with fatigue. That fact has slowed my uploads to a stand-still. But here's a chapter for you. As I'm sure you will notice, this is the first cliff-hanger that I've ever left you on and it's a tough decision that leads me to do this to you. At this moment, I'm only about half-way through the ideas that I would like to convey about this topic in my story. Therefore, I can either give you something after making you wait more than a month for an upload, or I can make you wait two months for an extra-long chapter that covers everything. After some back and forth, I've decided to violate my own rule about avoiding cliff-hangers. I'll try to avoid these if I can in the future. Well, unless there is something so epic going on that it needs more than one chapter to cover fully in the detail that satisfies me. But that's a problem for future me. I expect to only have the job I'm in for another two months or so, so that will definitely impact uploads, but I definitely intend to be smarter with my time to get stuff out sooner. Let me tell you, the wait isn't hard for only you. But I'm sorry that it took this long to get anything out. On that note, if you have any questions about the status of this story, please refer to my profile page. I'll let you know about it's status there.
Nevertheless, onto story points. I've literally been planning this chapter ever since I got Las Vegas knighted a few chapters back. The funny thing is that I literally planned the knighting and then the trial to be throwaway sections originally, and I was thinking of saving Nashville's realization until later but that's not how it worked out. So, I thought that I'd have the pub brawl and then this hideout skirmish a long time ago. No matter. I'm satisfied with what I've written. But I do look forward into going into the hunt for the next superweapon finally. Oh, and that segment about location history versus map history on your cell phone. That's absolutely accurate, at least on android devices. I don't know about other cell phone operating systems but be aware of the fact that a lot of data is being taken from you without your knowledge or consent. Do with that what you will. But what do you think? I like how things are finally starting to heat up with The Heralds of the Deep. I really look forward to going even deeper into what's up with them in the upcoming arcs. But again, that's for the future. Whatever the case may be, there are comments that need some responses.
Hi, DearUncleHermit. I'm glad that you liked the chapter and that the fight was easy to follow. I try to be inspired by the cinematography of the better action movies. You know; the ones that actually show the action instead of just having shaky cam and editing that is honestly disorienting? But yeah, that celebration was cut in it's prime. I'm glad that you mentioned being able to see, "the other side." I include those sections to avoid actions that make no sense for the reader because they're too jarring in their arrival. For example, what is the impact of a creepy man without context? There are tons of creepy people in the world, so it needs some explaining to show why any particular creepy guy is actually a superweapon in disguise. And in the context of how a reader and a story interacts, giving background of what the villains are doing to the hero makes it smoother to read and an overarching story that's easier to follow. Oh, yeah. About the Sirens and established canon. As much as I could do the lazy thing and say, "It's my story I'll do what I want," I have something else in mind. Let me explain. I've only been a part of the Azur Lane fandom since the Dreamwaker's Butterfly event. So, there's a lot of story that I've missed. I've missed enough that I've gone, "Story? Lol, what's that? I'll just make my own." So, I'll admit that my handling of lore isn't the best, but since it has finally gotten to this point, I've decided that the next time I have a segment with the Sirens, I'll do some sort of hand-wavy explanation to bring them back in line with canon. I've never played EvE online, so I'll take your word about that, but about that final point about machine learning. The Sirens still aren't taking Las Vegas seriously enough to try and predict him. But I intend to change that soon.
Hey there, Zander22122. That reference if from the first Alien vs. Predator movie. But since we're on the topic, there are tons of other references that I make that aren't necessarily dialogue. I've made a Lord of the Rings reference or two, a few to Metal Gear Solid, I made one about A Christmas Story, I almost quoted a verse from the bible word for word in the segment that follows Mordred a while back, I also seem to recall making a Doom reference earlier this chapter. That, "No I don't think I will," made me smile as I saw it appear on my screen. Where would a 90's cartoon be without some sort of catchphrase? But I'll admit that most 90's cartoons are ever so slightly outside of the realm of my consciousness. You make a good point about the long paragraphs though. I'll try to avoid these from now on. That is, unless I'm doing it for an effect. Like for the confusion Nashville was feeling while she was describing her history and feelings for Las Vegas with Hood.
It's good to see you, Touhoufanatic. The bathroom brawl was from an oddly practical question. Where can men expect to have some privacy from women? The bathroom. You are absolutely right about things getting busy. We're definitely rolling into the final stages of this arc.
Hello, TiiPssY. I'm glad that you liked the chapter. As humorous as it would be to let Roon interrogate a cultist, I have reason to believe that any interrogation would rapidly turn into mutilation. So, we'll have to wait and see what happens if something like that happens or not. I'm sorry for the long wait, I hope that the wait was worth it.
Greetings, HeronLsL. I love the cute sections too. That is why I include them after all, but please don't die. I'd rather have you here. That psychological impact of the evening's events will certainly be something to play with in the future. At the moment the question I'm tackling isn't, "Will this affect Las Vegas?" it's, "How much will this affect Las Vegas?" You're right about things growing bloodier, but we'll see how Roscoe handles these events. I'm sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter; I hope that this one was up to snuff. I also hope that RNG finally let you get the ships you desired before the event ended.
What's up, Northreach? It makes me feel like I have succeeded as an author to be able to make you feel something while the characters are in peril. It means that the characters in my mind are worth caring for, and that validation really makes me smile. It's also awesome to be compared to big time movie productions. Thanks for that. Ever since I heard the story of Wild Bill Hickok's last gunfight a few months ago, I knew that I had to include that somewhere, and I'm glad that I did. It was awesome to write and thrilling to read by the sounds of it. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for this chapter.
Hi, SomeRand0m. It was definitely fun to write about how Nashville is handling this development. And this is new to her, so I'm trying to show her learning about her own feelings now that she's been sent on the right path by Hood. Hood reported to Queen Elizabeth, but I don't intend for any intervention to happen further from the Royal Court on this matter. Well, possibilities with Cheshire in the future notwithstanding. I have no shame in admitting that I'm a tits guy, but I'm also greedy because I also ask, "Is it too much to ask for both?" But I can't definitively say which for Las Vegas. I might have a gag about that later on in the story. I'm not so sure anymore, but since I compared Nashville's form to that of Honolulu when the Brooklyn sisters' photos were being shown in the first chapter of this arc, it's a too late to change my mind on the matter. So, she's Honolulu's size. Aaron is dead, so I'd see that he wasn't lucky. Your reaction to the fight scene and the aside made me laugh pretty good when I first read it. But I'm glad that you enjoyed it. And thank you for your kind words. I didn't have the presence of mind to build Shinano back then, because I was brand new to the Azur Lane fandom and I just wanted to build Enterprise at the time. Whoops. But I never got Vittorio Veneto despite all my building so there's that. I absolutely intend to feature Boise at some point. On a side note, because I have some family that live there, "Boise," is pronounced, "Boy-zee." I don't know if that's been a question for you, but there you go. It took some time for Boise's design to grow on me, but I've come to like it. But I would be lying if I said I wouldn't have preferred her to look more like the other Brooklyn sisters. But her bunny skin was amazing. My job as an author is to get you to question that plot armor. We'll see how well I do with that as the story progresses. It's sooooo funny that you mention the cliff hanger. Well, here I am. I'm now absolutely guilty of it. There's no denying that I finished this chapter on a cliff hanger. But I did give an explanation at the beginning of these author's notes, so please read that. Nevertheless, I'm sorry for the cliffhanger. I'll definitely avoid the yandere route for Nashville. But it will be something when Prinz Eugen or Atago or worse, Littorio, show up. I'm glad that you liked the last chapter, I hope that this one was good too. Sorry again about cliffhangers.
Greetings, Guest 2856. Every single time you write a review, it takes me aback and makes my day to hear how much you like this story. Thank you for being here. It's so easy to spend ten minutes doing something else, so I'm honored that you spend them here. And speaking about honor. Being your favorite author is another one. Again, thank you. I'm glad that you mentioned the mental resilience though. That's something that gets glossed over in so many stories. We may play video games in which we mercilessly slaughter bad guys or what have you, but I think it takes a special kind of sicko to not feel anything after killing someone. At all times, I've tried to keep my MC inside the realm of possibility so his reaction is par for the course. Thanks for appreciating the details that I like to go into. You're pretty awesome yourself. I wish you the best as well.
Thanks for the review, Guest. Yep, that's right. Sabaton's 7734 is the song I was referring to. That's one of my favorites from them.
It's nice to meet you, LieutenantRecon. I'm glad that you caught the Sabaton reference. It's common to have Bismarck references in this fandom, but why stop there? But I'm sorry that I can't answer your other question. Saying if it's a multi-pairing or not will rob the story of a lot of it's drama. And I want to avoid that if I can.
Hey there, Guest. Yes, Smithers is gone. At least in any sort of significant role. He might be mentioned or even appear for a moment. But he's not going to hurt anyone. I'll try to keep doing what I've been doing.
Hi, playerultima. It's nice to have you here again for having caught up. I start my chapters with the question, "What do I think would be cool?" Then from there it literally feels like they write themselves as one thought flows into another. I guess I'm lucky in that regard. It's nice to see that the part where Nashville is getting ready and the gunslinger moment was satisfying. Again, I'm glad to have you here. Congrats on your date, I hope it went well (or that it goes well). Thanks for the well wishes.
It's nice to meet you, LightTrain. I totally see where you're coming from about the harems and multi-pairings. This fandom is absolutely full of them (outside of smaller fluff-fics). I do have future plans for Cheshire, but I can't definitively say anything about the possibilities of a harem because saying one thing really robs the story of the drama. But whatever happens about romantic outcomes, I probably won't have Cheshire tag along for the long term. Let me explain why. There are so many different ship girls to choose from that I would like to give as many as possible a chance to have the limelight and having a growing roster of constant companions gets in the way of that. Furthermore, a larger fleet is the reason that Operation Argonautica failed. But again, I do have future plans for Cheshire, so she isn't just going to disappear when the heroes go to the next destination. I like her character too much to just abandon her by the wayside. I'm probably going to have similar things happen in other arcs, but I'm not decided yet. But I will say that I intend to start portraying other sorts of relationships aside from romantic ones as the story wears on. For example, a father-daughter relationship as opposed to lovers. Now I think that would be an interesting departure from Azur Lane fanfic norms.
Wow, it's late where I am. It's a good thing that my shift starts later in the day than usual, but I'm still going to get some sleep. But there is one last thing. This story just passed 20000 views and that's awesome. Thank you all so much for your support. But that's all I have to say. Take care friends. If you are having a bad day I hope it gets better and if you are having a good day I hope it gets even better.