He reached up, webbed fingers hooking the rail as he left the water almost silently. The building's lights glittered in the dark, the slender shape of a shaman briefly visible as it moved across the window, laying the last of the wards. The more mundane protections were his to easily breach in their holy quest, and would be no challenge.
The upstarts thought they could subvert nature. He was here to correct them: break in, break the works and leave a message that none could mistake. The subjects could be taken, held until their true natures showed and their humanity was a distant, unmourned, memory. They may protest, but their transformation was inevitable. They were born to it and would come to love the deep as they were meant to, no matter what they may think they wanted.
His claws cut the wires and the door locks failed. Scaled feet moved with scarce a whisper on the tiled floor. It was too white in here, too bright and clean and the air was too dry. Finish this fast. The others would be getting into position to subdue the subjects for retrieval and correction.
The power died, and the lights. The walls reflected the faint luminescence of his skin, eyes adapted to dark water piercing the gloom easily. A claw sliced through the bolt holding the side door closed and it opened without a creak.
The outer gods smiled on his quest. The chief researcher was in the lab, alone. The chief and leader in this blasphemous attempt to remove the immortal deep from their merely human DNA, as if some pathetic retrovirus could remove the Old Ones' blessing. A perfect opportunity to send a message that would be remembered, that would ensure anyone who dreamed of the deep would be too afraid to reject the call, and any who might consider interfering would know the agonising cost. He crouched, stalked the human as the scientist crouched over the microscope, too engrossed to notice the lights had gone out. And those misguided fools they called subjects wanted to stay part of this ridiculous weak species. No matter; whatever bilge those weak traitors from Y'hnathlei spouted, about choice and free will, it just showed they were too weak to accept their birthright. None regretted joining their new family once the change was complete, few even remembered the mortals they had sprung from.
He was almost upon the man when the crash sounded from below. Those fools had snatched the subjects too early. The scientist stood, turned impossibly fast, as blue eyes widened. He reared up, letting the blasphemer see his claws, awaiting the flinch, the pleas for mercy that he would leave ungranted. Casually he swept a hand across the bench, knocking the equipment to the floor.
There was a pain in his chest. He looked down contemptuously. As if a human's punch could hurt him. The scientist's arm was-
-was buried in his chest to the elbow. As the pain grew worse he lashed out, claws skating through curly hair, shattering as if he had hit a wall. The limb shifted, lifting him from his feet as spikes formed inside his chest. He scales began to flow like water, dissolving into the black tendrils that struck into him. His last sight was blue eyes and a truly sadistic smile as the being devouring him looked towards the cells.
The scientist looked around the lab, at the damage done, and scowled. A cellphone surfaced from his human hand, tentacles helpfully dialling the number as he stalked fluidly towards the only steps to the volunteers' quarters.
"Hi sis. Yeah, I'm going to be late." He paused, listened to the noises from below and smirked. "Don't worry. I'll be having fish."