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Description

Tyche
I felt it long before Buck got the boat in close, like a sharp, static charge in the air that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Stop here,” I instructed, and he quietly piloted the boat alongside a small, muddy island. It didn’t look like much, until you realized that it hadn’t even existed less than a year ago; now there were patches of swamp grass, flowers, even trees. This level of growth couldn’t be natural, even in the semi-tropical climate of the Louisiana swamplands.
“Dis a ways from where I stop las’ time,” Buck noted.
“Don’t wait up,” I told him, “I’ll make my own way back.”
He looked skeptical. It was nice to know that some men still wanted to be chivalrous. I smiled at him and heard his heart skip a beat. “This is hero business,” I said, “no sense in both of us getting killed. Either I’ll make it back, or what’s out there will be too much for me… in which case, no offense, but a normal person— you— don’t wanna be anywhere near harm’s way.”
He frowned and started to speak, but I cut him off. “No,” I said, “just… no.”
He sighed. “A’right, cher. You be careful, though. Dese bad waters.”
I gave him a crooked grin that I didn’t really feel. I knew these were bad waters. I could smell it in the air and taste it in the electric tingle on my tongue.
“You give ol’ Buck de call when you get back, too,” he growled and I nodded. He scowled one more time, exceptionally fiercely, then turned his flat-bottomed boat and sputtered away into the mid-afternoon gloom.
I’m a whole lot better at giving orders than taking them. If I was inclined to be careful, I should never have put on the mask.
I was, I guessed, based on what my senses were telling me, no more than a mile from where Anne had vanished. Most of it, I thought, I could cover on relatively solid ground. Swamp, yes, but dirt and mud more than water. The last bit, though, maybe a quarter mile, there would be no land to set foot on.
I had gone maybe a thousand feet when I felt it. I’m not sure I can describe it; think of it like this: imagine you’d put foam earplugs in your ears and closed your eyes. Now, imagine jumping off a high diving board. That instant of weightlessness, of timelessness, was similar to the feeling I was having. It was as if all of my senses turned off together.
After a moment, I realized that I wasn’t completely blind— my regular, normal senses all appeared to be still functioning, although to a much weaker extent than I was used to— but all of my enhanced perceptions appeared to have shut off.
I stumbled and half-turned.
Something wrapped around my ankles and slithered up to bind my legs together and I went over, hard. Instinct broke my fall, but whatever had me had already pulled me out over the water.
I yelled, a sound of surprise and consternation, and reached for the stunnade on my belt. As I twisted, I saw an enormous, impossibly large eye and a beak large enough to cut me in half. It couldn’t possibly live in these waters, but there it was.
I armed the stunnade and heaved, and the monster, with a quickness that seemed more feline than ichthyoid, snatched the projectile out of the air and popped it into its mouth.
If I’d had the time, I would’ve grinned. Sea monster or not, faerie or not, it was still completely unprepared for the terminal case of heartburn the exploding stunnade generated in its belly. It shrieked, a noise that seemed to fill my head on both a physical and an emotional level, full of hate, outrage, and pain. It thrashed wildly, releasing me as it sought to escape the sudden, unexpected assault.
Unfortunately for me, it flicked me high into the air as it retreated, and I got a bird’s-eye view of the heavy roots that were waiting to break my fall just below the water's surface as I came down on them face-first.
I tucked as well as I could and brought my arms up to protect my face, but I still slammed down with ringing force. Worse, though the impact hadn’t broken my skin and I didn't lose consciousness, I was feeling something that I couldn’t recall experiencing in decades: pain.
I struggled to the shore, feeling how sluggish my body had become from the battering I’d gotten. As I pulled myself to my feet, a small face appeared in the underbrush near the shore.
It was round and wrinkly, like old leather, and its skin was a shiny blue-black. It had beady, luminous eyes and narrow slits where its nose ought to be, and its wide mouth drew back in an enormous grin, revealing huge, pointed, teeth.
By itself, it wouldn’t have been all that alarming, but it was joined almost immediately, first by two more, than by another half-dozen. Then there were too many for me to count, and they crashed down on me like a wave of pygmy bodies, each intent on grabbing me and latching onto my flesh with their jaws.
I went over, buried in a wave of the ravenous creatures. As I went down, I felt them dragging me back towards the water. I struggled to keep my head up against the press of bodies, but a hard root jutting out of the ground intercepted my skull and I lost all sense of direction.
A moment later, I hit the water again and the inky, black swamp swallowed me and the frenzied bodies in a froth that vanished moments later without a ripple.

**************************************************************************************************

And... cut!

Scene!

Roll credits!

So, I hope nobody had any near-future plans for Tyche or Network. Or, y'know, long term plans. 'Cause, well, it doesn't look like they're going to be available.

Tyche, Buck "Badger" Rogers, and Network all belong to and cannot be used without permission.

The goblin-piranhas were invented by me and brought to life by , who also provided the artwork for this piece- thanks, LQ!

A First Small Apocalypse transpired in and involved characters intimately linked with that setting's .
The previous part can be found here:
The beginning can be found here:

Description

Tyche
I felt it long before Buck got the boat in close, like a sharp, static charge in the air that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Stop here,” I instructed, and he quietly piloted the boat alongside a small, muddy island. It didn’t look like much, until you realized that it hadn’t even existed less than a year ago; now there were patches of swamp grass, flowers, even trees. This level of growth couldn’t be natural, even in the semi-tropical climate of the Louisiana swamplands.
“Dis a ways from where I stop las’ time,” Buck noted.
“Don’t wait up,” I told him, “I’ll make my own way back.”
He looked skeptical. It was nice to know that some men still wanted to be chivalrous. I smiled at him and heard his heart skip a beat. “This is hero business,” I said, “no sense in both of us getting killed. Either I’ll make it back, or what’s out there will be too much for me… in which case, no offense, but a normal person— you— don’t wanna be anywhere near harm’s way.”
He frowned and started to speak, but I cut him off. “No,” I said, “just… no.”
He sighed. “A’right, cher. You be careful, though. Dese bad waters.”
I gave him a crooked grin that I didn’t really feel. I knew these were bad waters. I could smell it in the air and taste it in the electric tingle on my tongue.
“You give ol’ Buck de call when you get back, too,” he growled and I nodded. He scowled one more time, exceptionally fiercely, then turned his flat-bottomed boat and sputtered away into the mid-afternoon gloom.
I’m a whole lot better at giving orders than taking them. If I was inclined to be careful, I should never have put on the mask.
I was, I guessed, based on what my senses were telling me, no more than a mile from where Anne had vanished. Most of it, I thought, I could cover on relatively solid ground. Swamp, yes, but dirt and mud more than water. The last bit, though, maybe a quarter mile, there would be no land to set foot on.
I had gone maybe a thousand feet when I felt it. I’m not sure I can describe it; think of it like this: imagine you’d put foam earplugs in your ears and closed your eyes. Now, imagine jumping off a high diving board. That instant of weightlessness, of timelessness, was similar to the feeling I was having. It was as if all of my senses turned off together.
After a moment, I realized that I wasn’t completely blind— my regular, normal senses all appeared to be still functioning, although to a much weaker extent than I was used to— but all of my enhanced perceptions appeared to have shut off.
I stumbled and half-turned.
Something wrapped around my ankles and slithered up to bind my legs together and I went over, hard. Instinct broke my fall, but whatever had me had already pulled me out over the water.
I yelled, a sound of surprise and consternation, and reached for the stunnade on my belt. As I twisted, I saw an enormous, impossibly large eye and a beak large enough to cut me in half. It couldn’t possibly live in these waters, but there it was.
I armed the stunnade and heaved, and the monster, with a quickness that seemed more feline than ichthyoid, snatched the projectile out of the air and popped it into its mouth.
If I’d had the time, I would’ve grinned. Sea monster or not, faerie or not, it was still completely unprepared for the terminal case of heartburn the exploding stunnade generated in its belly. It shrieked, a noise that seemed to fill my head on both a physical and an emotional level, full of hate, outrage, and pain. It thrashed wildly, releasing me as it sought to escape the sudden, unexpected assault.
Unfortunately for me, it flicked me high into the air as it retreated, and I got a bird’s-eye view of the heavy roots that were waiting to break my fall just below the water's surface as I came down on them face-first.
I tucked as well as I could and brought my arms up to protect my face, but I still slammed down with ringing force. Worse, though the impact hadn’t broken my skin and I didn't lose consciousness, I was feeling something that I couldn’t recall experiencing in decades: pain.
I struggled to the shore, feeling how sluggish my body had become from the battering I’d gotten. As I pulled myself to my feet, a small face appeared in the underbrush near the shore.
It was round and wrinkly, like old leather, and its skin was a shiny blue-black. It had beady, luminous eyes and narrow slits where its nose ought to be, and its wide mouth drew back in an enormous grin, revealing huge, pointed, teeth.
By itself, it wouldn’t have been all that alarming, but it was joined almost immediately, first by two more, than by another half-dozen. Then there were too many for me to count, and they crashed down on me like a wave of pygmy bodies, each intent on grabbing me and latching onto my flesh with their jaws.
I went over, buried in a wave of the ravenous creatures. As I went down, I felt them dragging me back towards the water. I struggled to keep my head up against the press of bodies, but a hard root jutting out of the ground intercepted my skull and I lost all sense of direction.
A moment later, I hit the water again and the inky, black swamp swallowed me and the frenzied bodies in a froth that vanished moments later without a ripple.

**************************************************************************************************

And... cut!

Scene!

Roll credits!

So, I hope nobody had any near-future plans for Tyche or Network. Or, y'know, long term plans. 'Cause, well, it doesn't look like they're going to be available.

Tyche, Buck "Badger" Rogers, and Network all belong to and cannot be used without permission.

The goblin-piranhas were invented by me and brought to life by , who also provided the artwork for this piece- thanks, LQ!

A First Small Apocalypse transpired in and involved characters intimately linked with that setting's .
The previous part can be found here:
The beginning can be found here: