Post by oberonfrost on Jun 1, 2012 1:02:46 GMT -5
Interstate 55S, Louisiana- February 15, 2012
It was night outside the barren truck compartment where Arthur and his fellow escapees had stowed away. Arthur sat, awake, his back to the metal wall. The others, Mary Pat, Charlie and Sylvia, laid strewn about the floorboards, captives of slumber at long last. Arthur cherished the few hours each night he could be awake without the constant repetitive thrum in his head. ::Ocean.:: He almost dreaded the word.
The medications from the sanitarium were wearing off and Arthur was finally able to think more clearly. He still couldn’t piece together the fragments from the last eighteen days. He was still confused as to what was going on with the visions he had experienced earlier. Arthur wondered, in these silent moments, alone at night, who or what his companions really were.
He bashed the back of his head gently against the wall, hoping the jolt would somehow knock his thoughts loose. There was something he was missing, he could feel it in his gut. Arthur’s instincts as a fighter screamed that if there was a problem it could be solved with a punch. But there was no one to punch, not opposing player to shove into the glass and knock toothless.
“Yer doin’ it wrong.”
Arthur’s focus snapped back to the narrow space he shared with the others. Sylvia was sitting up, her knees pulled up to her chin. She rocked gently with the motion of truck as it barreled down the highway. Her eyes were wide, like saucer-sized blue puddles. “What did you.. Did you say something?” Arthur stammered out. It felt strange to be using his throat and tongue to make words again after so long in silence.
“Yer doin’ it wrong,” Sylvia repeated, rocking more quickly.
Arthur crawled across the floor on hands and knees, careful to avoid their two sleeping companions. “What, Sylvia?” he asked, shifting to sit cross legged at he side. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Yer doin’ it wrong. All of it. The whole thing. Well, half of it. But the important half, that’s the half you ain’t gettin’ right.”
Arthur stared at her in silence for a moment. She wasn’t looking at him. Sylvia stared straight ahead, rocking with each bump and jostle of the big rig. “I don’t understand,” he said finally, clearly frustrated. Here it was, a clue. Finally someone was actually telling him something about what was going on and he didn’t understand a word of it.
“Obviously,” Sylvia said flatly.
The Royal City of Atlantis- February 15, 2012
The Sea King, Orm of Atlantis, sat upright in bed. The chamber was dark, like much of the palace at this time of night. The disturbance that had wrested him from his royal slumber was not in the bedroom, instead it played at the edges of his mind. Orm could feel the telepathic pressure, like someone squeezing his brain in their fist. It was the entity he knew only as Voice trying to contact him. She was the more powerful telepath of the two, and Orm knew that if he didn’t soon allow he entry into his thoughts, she was more than likely, and capable of forcing her way inside.
::It is late at night, harlot. What do you want?:: Orm said sternly as he opened his mind to his familiar tormentor.
::The fourth and mightiest travels to herald the coming of the King,:: Voice said, her voice triumphant in Orm’s head. ::A blessed union of sea and sand is on the horizon, Majesty. All you have wrought, will prove for naught!::
Voice’s presence in his mind dissipated before Orm could begin to formulate a response. Cryptic mumbo jumbo from an invisible stalker in the middle of the night. Orm ran his hands through his hair and let himself float gently to the spongy mattress beneath him. “Sometimes, it does not pay to be king,” he said to himself as he rolled onto his side and attempted to find sleep once more.
King’s Island, Tasmania
Arthur had drifted off to sleep, still confused about Sylvia was trying to tell him. He’d awoke in another vision. He was on an island, nothing more than a rocky crag rising up out of the crystal blue ocean surrounded by sand really. There were a few sparse trees and clumps of scrub brush, but mostly the island was desolate.
Across the white sandy beach he could make out Sylvia standing near the lapping incoming waves, letting them wash over her bare feet. There was a dreadful music in the air. It was the most beautiful sound Arthur had ever heard, and yet the most terrifying. It was like every love song played together, perfectly pitched and harmonious. Despite the desire to find the source, Arthur sensed a sinister hunger hiding behind the languid notes of the song.
Then he spotted it, about halfway to the horizon live. Standing against the bright blue of the sky was a sailing ship, like the kind Arthur had seen in pirate movies. A lifeboat had been launched from its sides, filled with men rowing like mad to get to shore. Others could be seen, little more than specks from this distance, jumping from the sides of the ship and swimming for the beach.
At first he thought there must be some emergency forcing the men to abandon the ship and seek shelter at the nearest patch of dry land. As the first man reached the sandy coast, Arthur realized what was really going on.
The men had been drawn by the song that surrounded them here. They were clamoring to reach the beach. Some were shoved out of the small rowboat. Others, swimming held others under the waves to delay them and reach the shore first.
::Are ya gonna do it wrong again?:: Sylvia’s voice asked inside Arthur’s mind.
Arthur’s eyes darted back to where she stood. The sailors weren’t just rushing to shore, they were rushing toward Sylvia. It was then Arthur realized that the young blond girl was the source of the haunting melody drifting across the wind. He mouth was open, though motionless, and the sound poured out of her, unbroken, as though she never needed to breath.
As the first man came within arms reach, the skin covering Sylvia’s chest cavity peeled away and her rib cage opened. A mass of writhing tentacles poured out, reaching for the oncoming sailors. A mouth full of three sets of jagged teeth gnashed at the center of the tentacle mass, hungry to the flesh of the sailors rushing to become its meal.
The first man was shoved into the maw of the creature hiding within Sylvia’s torso. The razor-like teeth cut him to ribbons as the tentacles pushing him further inside. The cutlass that was strapped to his side landed in the sand with a dull thud, forgotten.
Arthur watched disgusted and horrified as Sylvia devoured the man head first. His instincts kicked in, as a fighter he finally had something to hit. He rushed Sylvia and the growing crowd of men entwined in the squirming feelers. He tackled her roughly, and they fell to the sand together.
The jolt was nothing more than a momentary distraction, if that. The twisting bunch of limbs continued their busy work of feeding eager men into the creatures mouth. Sylvia’s song hadn’t even missed a beat, though the impact had nearly knocked the wind from Arthur’s lungs. ::Stop this!:: he screamed inside her head, even as his hand reached behind him, seeking the sailor’s forgotten blade.
::Yer doin’ better,:: Sylvia’s said telepathically, even as the captivating music continued to emanate from her throat.
Arthur’s fingers closed around the sword’s hilt, and he brought it to his side. He had never used a sword before, though it felt oddly comfortable in his hand, the same way a hockey stick had growing up. ::Don’t make me do this,:: he thought at Sylvia, even as another sailor vanished into the hungry mouth.
The girl made no reply as two more men tugged on the tentacles holding them, begging to be the next course. Without another word, Arthur stood and raised the cutlass over his head. In a single, brutal downward slice, he slashed over a good portion of the wiggling appendages. Again and again he slashed at the creature’s limbs, until they were none left.
The remnants still writhed in the sand, their seeping blood mixing with the sand to create a dark red muddy paste. He lowered the blade and wiped the sweat from his brow, thinking the task finished. As Arthur breathed a relieved sigh, another man ran past him, dripping salt water as passed. Arthur tried to reach out and grab him, but was too late. The man leapt into the air and dove into the mouth of the creature, sliced apart as he slid between the rows of teeth.
Rage clouded his vision. Arthur looked down at Sylvia, lying in the sand unfazed by his brutal assault only moments ago. Other sailors were still coming in from the sea, enthusiastic about being devoured by the creature inside young girl. Though he still didn’t understand what was going on, he understood how he could stop it.
A guttural scream welled up from Arthur’s throat as he raised the cutlass again, and brought it down with all his strength. The cut through Sylvia’s neck was clean. The last thing he remembered seeing before everything turned to black was her head spinning, separate from her body, on the white sand, big blue eyes locked open and staring out to sea.
Outside Riverton, Wyoming- February 25, 2012
The sun had been up for a few hours before Garth stretched his arms and climbed to his feet. He had done his fair share of camping growing up, but he could never get used to sleeping on the ground. His whole body hurt just a bit as he crossed the small clearing where he and Mera had made camp for the night.
Imp was tethered to nearby tree by a long rope. Garth patted her shoulder as he approached from the side, grabbing a couple sugar cubes from the saddle bag handing at her side. He held them out to her in his palms and let her lick the sweetness from his hand.
As the horse finished licking up her treat, Garth caught Mera stirring out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face her as he eyes opened and the two gazed at each other for a long, tense moment. Mera looked away and rose to meet him. “We should ride,” she said striding toward Garth and Imp. “No doubt you have questions. I will explain everything on the way.
Garth didn’t argue as he untied the rope. He was honestly a little afraid of the red-haired woman he was traveling with. Last night she’d slain half a dozen men to protect him, after fighting her own sister into submission. Garth had seen her transform raindrops into weapons capable of wounding and killing. Without a word he leapt into Imp’s saddle and then helped Mera to climb on behind him, before spurring the horse forward.
They rode in silence a while, along the roadside as sparse morning traffic whizzed by. Sometime later, Mera spoke up. “You were born in the royal city of Atlantis,” she began.
Garth pulled the reins gently and slowed Imp to a trot.
“The current ruler, Orm, the usurper, outlawed the practice of magic in the kingdom when he took power more than twenty years ago. Many, however, are born with magical talent. Orm has those children disposed of at birth. You are one of the lucky ones. Under the sea, we refer to you and other like you as Surfacetorn. Babies born with the gift of magic, smuggled to the surface so that they might live,” Mera explained.
“While Orm has outlawed magic, he keeps a cabal of mystics at his beck and call. In recent years they have begun to discern the locations of you Surfacetorn. He has dispatched bounty hunters to kill each of you, and bring proof of the death back to Atlantis.
“My sister, Hila, though she calls herself Siren now,” Mera continued, “is one of Orm’s trusted lieutenants and leads the hunt for the Surfacetorn. She has committed the considerable resources of our noble house to Orm’s cause. Our father is ill, and though I am the eldest daughter, my sister has control of our holding, since my opinions do not match those of the crown. House Xebel lies disgraced in my eyes.”
Another long moment of silence followed before she went on. “You were the first Surfacetorn we in the resistance were able to find. The other’s my sister and her men have hunted have not survived. We need you to help us overthrow Orm’s regime and free the people of Atlantis from his tyranny Garth. The magic you possess may be what wins the conflict for us, and brings my people… our people, back from the depths of despair.”
Garth listened intently as Mera continued, but could no longer keep from interrupting the tale. “Assuming what you say is true,” he started, thinking it a safe assumption considering what had happened last night, “I still don’t have magic powers, lady. I’m real thankful you saved me from your sister and her buddies, but I don’t know about all this magical ocean hooey you’re talkin’ about.”
“I understand it is a lot to take in, especially when one has been sheltered so far from the embrace of the waves. I assure you Garth, every word is true. Your magic will be unlocked once we reach the ocean and you will help us to free the slaves of Atlantis and ensure that no more babies are slaughtered only for being born.”
New Orleans, Louisiana- February 15, 2012
::I guess ya can do it right, huh?:: Sylvia thought at Arthur as he opened his eyes. He was back in the truck, no longer trapped in the gruesome vision he’d shared with Sylvia before.
::He sure did kill you good!:: Charlie sounded almost ecstatic as he joined in.
::Too bad he didn’t drown you,:: Mary Pat Emerson’s thoughts felt like a coming storm.
::You know that wouldn’t have worked,:: Charlie corrected woman, who sat cross legged toying with the stuffed rabbit she carried with her.
The truck stopped and the engine turned off. The doors at the back flew open and fresh air poured inside. The four stowaways turned and peered out the portal in unison. There was a forklift, loaded down with pallets stacked with boxes of fresh fish and seafood, ready to load up the empty truck for its next run.
Arthur’s companion’s panicked and rushed for the open door, spilling out in a tangle of arms and legs, crashing atop one another as they landed en masse on the gritty asphalt outside. Arthur followed more slowly, and could hear the truck’s driver and forklift operator yelling back and forth at each other about their unexpected presence inside the truck.
They were on the docks, and for the first time in his life Arthur saw the ocean for real. He stood for a moment, silent as his companions tried to untangle themselves from one another, taking it all in. The vastness of it beyond the shore, how it went on forever until you just couldn’t see any more made his heart race. It was almost like falling in love for the first time all over again.
Suddenly, there was a rush of water rising from the surface of the sea. The pillar rose, like an erupting geyser, hundreds of feet into the air. The pillar began to twist and move in ways water should not be able to. It turned into a roiling serpentine shape, as long as an aircraft carrier and twice as tall. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the impossible sight. The truck driver and the forklift operator forgot all about they stowaways as they gazed out over the pier. Arthur’s companions, still tangled up together on the ground, ceased their struggles and watched as the great twisting pillar of water solidified into a vast dragon, shimmering cerulean like the ocean’s surface.
“Arthur Curry,” the dragon said aloud, naming him for everyone within miles to hear, “I am Leviathan. This is your final test. Are you truly the man who will rule the Seven Seas?” As Leviathan spoke his head descended to meet Arthur eye-to-eye.
With the eighteen wheeler behind him, and the dragon’s head, which was just as large as the fish truck, in front of him Arthur felt less than insignificant. He tried to stammer out a response, but could find no words.
Leviathan chuckled, its laugh deep and loud enough it shook anything not nailed down for a half-mile. “Best me in combat, would-be-king, or this city and everything in it will perish beneath my rising tide.”
It was night outside the barren truck compartment where Arthur and his fellow escapees had stowed away. Arthur sat, awake, his back to the metal wall. The others, Mary Pat, Charlie and Sylvia, laid strewn about the floorboards, captives of slumber at long last. Arthur cherished the few hours each night he could be awake without the constant repetitive thrum in his head. ::Ocean.:: He almost dreaded the word.
The medications from the sanitarium were wearing off and Arthur was finally able to think more clearly. He still couldn’t piece together the fragments from the last eighteen days. He was still confused as to what was going on with the visions he had experienced earlier. Arthur wondered, in these silent moments, alone at night, who or what his companions really were.
He bashed the back of his head gently against the wall, hoping the jolt would somehow knock his thoughts loose. There was something he was missing, he could feel it in his gut. Arthur’s instincts as a fighter screamed that if there was a problem it could be solved with a punch. But there was no one to punch, not opposing player to shove into the glass and knock toothless.
“Yer doin’ it wrong.”
Arthur’s focus snapped back to the narrow space he shared with the others. Sylvia was sitting up, her knees pulled up to her chin. She rocked gently with the motion of truck as it barreled down the highway. Her eyes were wide, like saucer-sized blue puddles. “What did you.. Did you say something?” Arthur stammered out. It felt strange to be using his throat and tongue to make words again after so long in silence.
“Yer doin’ it wrong,” Sylvia repeated, rocking more quickly.
Arthur crawled across the floor on hands and knees, careful to avoid their two sleeping companions. “What, Sylvia?” he asked, shifting to sit cross legged at he side. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Yer doin’ it wrong. All of it. The whole thing. Well, half of it. But the important half, that’s the half you ain’t gettin’ right.”
Arthur stared at her in silence for a moment. She wasn’t looking at him. Sylvia stared straight ahead, rocking with each bump and jostle of the big rig. “I don’t understand,” he said finally, clearly frustrated. Here it was, a clue. Finally someone was actually telling him something about what was going on and he didn’t understand a word of it.
“Obviously,” Sylvia said flatly.
The Royal City of Atlantis- February 15, 2012
The Sea King, Orm of Atlantis, sat upright in bed. The chamber was dark, like much of the palace at this time of night. The disturbance that had wrested him from his royal slumber was not in the bedroom, instead it played at the edges of his mind. Orm could feel the telepathic pressure, like someone squeezing his brain in their fist. It was the entity he knew only as Voice trying to contact him. She was the more powerful telepath of the two, and Orm knew that if he didn’t soon allow he entry into his thoughts, she was more than likely, and capable of forcing her way inside.
::It is late at night, harlot. What do you want?:: Orm said sternly as he opened his mind to his familiar tormentor.
::The fourth and mightiest travels to herald the coming of the King,:: Voice said, her voice triumphant in Orm’s head. ::A blessed union of sea and sand is on the horizon, Majesty. All you have wrought, will prove for naught!::
Voice’s presence in his mind dissipated before Orm could begin to formulate a response. Cryptic mumbo jumbo from an invisible stalker in the middle of the night. Orm ran his hands through his hair and let himself float gently to the spongy mattress beneath him. “Sometimes, it does not pay to be king,” he said to himself as he rolled onto his side and attempted to find sleep once more.
King’s Island, Tasmania
Arthur had drifted off to sleep, still confused about Sylvia was trying to tell him. He’d awoke in another vision. He was on an island, nothing more than a rocky crag rising up out of the crystal blue ocean surrounded by sand really. There were a few sparse trees and clumps of scrub brush, but mostly the island was desolate.
Across the white sandy beach he could make out Sylvia standing near the lapping incoming waves, letting them wash over her bare feet. There was a dreadful music in the air. It was the most beautiful sound Arthur had ever heard, and yet the most terrifying. It was like every love song played together, perfectly pitched and harmonious. Despite the desire to find the source, Arthur sensed a sinister hunger hiding behind the languid notes of the song.
Then he spotted it, about halfway to the horizon live. Standing against the bright blue of the sky was a sailing ship, like the kind Arthur had seen in pirate movies. A lifeboat had been launched from its sides, filled with men rowing like mad to get to shore. Others could be seen, little more than specks from this distance, jumping from the sides of the ship and swimming for the beach.
At first he thought there must be some emergency forcing the men to abandon the ship and seek shelter at the nearest patch of dry land. As the first man reached the sandy coast, Arthur realized what was really going on.
The men had been drawn by the song that surrounded them here. They were clamoring to reach the beach. Some were shoved out of the small rowboat. Others, swimming held others under the waves to delay them and reach the shore first.
::Are ya gonna do it wrong again?:: Sylvia’s voice asked inside Arthur’s mind.
Arthur’s eyes darted back to where she stood. The sailors weren’t just rushing to shore, they were rushing toward Sylvia. It was then Arthur realized that the young blond girl was the source of the haunting melody drifting across the wind. He mouth was open, though motionless, and the sound poured out of her, unbroken, as though she never needed to breath.
As the first man came within arms reach, the skin covering Sylvia’s chest cavity peeled away and her rib cage opened. A mass of writhing tentacles poured out, reaching for the oncoming sailors. A mouth full of three sets of jagged teeth gnashed at the center of the tentacle mass, hungry to the flesh of the sailors rushing to become its meal.
The first man was shoved into the maw of the creature hiding within Sylvia’s torso. The razor-like teeth cut him to ribbons as the tentacles pushing him further inside. The cutlass that was strapped to his side landed in the sand with a dull thud, forgotten.
Arthur watched disgusted and horrified as Sylvia devoured the man head first. His instincts kicked in, as a fighter he finally had something to hit. He rushed Sylvia and the growing crowd of men entwined in the squirming feelers. He tackled her roughly, and they fell to the sand together.
The jolt was nothing more than a momentary distraction, if that. The twisting bunch of limbs continued their busy work of feeding eager men into the creatures mouth. Sylvia’s song hadn’t even missed a beat, though the impact had nearly knocked the wind from Arthur’s lungs. ::Stop this!:: he screamed inside her head, even as his hand reached behind him, seeking the sailor’s forgotten blade.
::Yer doin’ better,:: Sylvia’s said telepathically, even as the captivating music continued to emanate from her throat.
Arthur’s fingers closed around the sword’s hilt, and he brought it to his side. He had never used a sword before, though it felt oddly comfortable in his hand, the same way a hockey stick had growing up. ::Don’t make me do this,:: he thought at Sylvia, even as another sailor vanished into the hungry mouth.
The girl made no reply as two more men tugged on the tentacles holding them, begging to be the next course. Without another word, Arthur stood and raised the cutlass over his head. In a single, brutal downward slice, he slashed over a good portion of the wiggling appendages. Again and again he slashed at the creature’s limbs, until they were none left.
The remnants still writhed in the sand, their seeping blood mixing with the sand to create a dark red muddy paste. He lowered the blade and wiped the sweat from his brow, thinking the task finished. As Arthur breathed a relieved sigh, another man ran past him, dripping salt water as passed. Arthur tried to reach out and grab him, but was too late. The man leapt into the air and dove into the mouth of the creature, sliced apart as he slid between the rows of teeth.
Rage clouded his vision. Arthur looked down at Sylvia, lying in the sand unfazed by his brutal assault only moments ago. Other sailors were still coming in from the sea, enthusiastic about being devoured by the creature inside young girl. Though he still didn’t understand what was going on, he understood how he could stop it.
A guttural scream welled up from Arthur’s throat as he raised the cutlass again, and brought it down with all his strength. The cut through Sylvia’s neck was clean. The last thing he remembered seeing before everything turned to black was her head spinning, separate from her body, on the white sand, big blue eyes locked open and staring out to sea.
Outside Riverton, Wyoming- February 25, 2012
The sun had been up for a few hours before Garth stretched his arms and climbed to his feet. He had done his fair share of camping growing up, but he could never get used to sleeping on the ground. His whole body hurt just a bit as he crossed the small clearing where he and Mera had made camp for the night.
Imp was tethered to nearby tree by a long rope. Garth patted her shoulder as he approached from the side, grabbing a couple sugar cubes from the saddle bag handing at her side. He held them out to her in his palms and let her lick the sweetness from his hand.
As the horse finished licking up her treat, Garth caught Mera stirring out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face her as he eyes opened and the two gazed at each other for a long, tense moment. Mera looked away and rose to meet him. “We should ride,” she said striding toward Garth and Imp. “No doubt you have questions. I will explain everything on the way.
Garth didn’t argue as he untied the rope. He was honestly a little afraid of the red-haired woman he was traveling with. Last night she’d slain half a dozen men to protect him, after fighting her own sister into submission. Garth had seen her transform raindrops into weapons capable of wounding and killing. Without a word he leapt into Imp’s saddle and then helped Mera to climb on behind him, before spurring the horse forward.
They rode in silence a while, along the roadside as sparse morning traffic whizzed by. Sometime later, Mera spoke up. “You were born in the royal city of Atlantis,” she began.
Garth pulled the reins gently and slowed Imp to a trot.
“The current ruler, Orm, the usurper, outlawed the practice of magic in the kingdom when he took power more than twenty years ago. Many, however, are born with magical talent. Orm has those children disposed of at birth. You are one of the lucky ones. Under the sea, we refer to you and other like you as Surfacetorn. Babies born with the gift of magic, smuggled to the surface so that they might live,” Mera explained.
“While Orm has outlawed magic, he keeps a cabal of mystics at his beck and call. In recent years they have begun to discern the locations of you Surfacetorn. He has dispatched bounty hunters to kill each of you, and bring proof of the death back to Atlantis.
“My sister, Hila, though she calls herself Siren now,” Mera continued, “is one of Orm’s trusted lieutenants and leads the hunt for the Surfacetorn. She has committed the considerable resources of our noble house to Orm’s cause. Our father is ill, and though I am the eldest daughter, my sister has control of our holding, since my opinions do not match those of the crown. House Xebel lies disgraced in my eyes.”
Another long moment of silence followed before she went on. “You were the first Surfacetorn we in the resistance were able to find. The other’s my sister and her men have hunted have not survived. We need you to help us overthrow Orm’s regime and free the people of Atlantis from his tyranny Garth. The magic you possess may be what wins the conflict for us, and brings my people… our people, back from the depths of despair.”
Garth listened intently as Mera continued, but could no longer keep from interrupting the tale. “Assuming what you say is true,” he started, thinking it a safe assumption considering what had happened last night, “I still don’t have magic powers, lady. I’m real thankful you saved me from your sister and her buddies, but I don’t know about all this magical ocean hooey you’re talkin’ about.”
“I understand it is a lot to take in, especially when one has been sheltered so far from the embrace of the waves. I assure you Garth, every word is true. Your magic will be unlocked once we reach the ocean and you will help us to free the slaves of Atlantis and ensure that no more babies are slaughtered only for being born.”
New Orleans, Louisiana- February 15, 2012
::I guess ya can do it right, huh?:: Sylvia thought at Arthur as he opened his eyes. He was back in the truck, no longer trapped in the gruesome vision he’d shared with Sylvia before.
::He sure did kill you good!:: Charlie sounded almost ecstatic as he joined in.
::Too bad he didn’t drown you,:: Mary Pat Emerson’s thoughts felt like a coming storm.
::You know that wouldn’t have worked,:: Charlie corrected woman, who sat cross legged toying with the stuffed rabbit she carried with her.
The truck stopped and the engine turned off. The doors at the back flew open and fresh air poured inside. The four stowaways turned and peered out the portal in unison. There was a forklift, loaded down with pallets stacked with boxes of fresh fish and seafood, ready to load up the empty truck for its next run.
Arthur’s companion’s panicked and rushed for the open door, spilling out in a tangle of arms and legs, crashing atop one another as they landed en masse on the gritty asphalt outside. Arthur followed more slowly, and could hear the truck’s driver and forklift operator yelling back and forth at each other about their unexpected presence inside the truck.
They were on the docks, and for the first time in his life Arthur saw the ocean for real. He stood for a moment, silent as his companions tried to untangle themselves from one another, taking it all in. The vastness of it beyond the shore, how it went on forever until you just couldn’t see any more made his heart race. It was almost like falling in love for the first time all over again.
Suddenly, there was a rush of water rising from the surface of the sea. The pillar rose, like an erupting geyser, hundreds of feet into the air. The pillar began to twist and move in ways water should not be able to. It turned into a roiling serpentine shape, as long as an aircraft carrier and twice as tall. Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the impossible sight. The truck driver and the forklift operator forgot all about they stowaways as they gazed out over the pier. Arthur’s companions, still tangled up together on the ground, ceased their struggles and watched as the great twisting pillar of water solidified into a vast dragon, shimmering cerulean like the ocean’s surface.
“Arthur Curry,” the dragon said aloud, naming him for everyone within miles to hear, “I am Leviathan. This is your final test. Are you truly the man who will rule the Seven Seas?” As Leviathan spoke his head descended to meet Arthur eye-to-eye.
With the eighteen wheeler behind him, and the dragon’s head, which was just as large as the fish truck, in front of him Arthur felt less than insignificant. He tried to stammer out a response, but could find no words.
Leviathan chuckled, its laugh deep and loud enough it shook anything not nailed down for a half-mile. “Best me in combat, would-be-king, or this city and everything in it will perish beneath my rising tide.”