CHAPTER EIGHTEEN- THE GATHERING STORM

  Sunday 5th August, 2018- SAN DOMINGO, STATE OF WILLOW, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  (4:44 PM)

  The sun hung low in the sky, casting a dying orange glow over San Domingo Bay. The ocean waves, dark and rhythmic, crashed onto the shore, leaving foamy white scars against the sand. In the distance, the massive steel hulks of Division X’s three aircraft carriers hovered ominously on the horizon like beasts waiting to devour the unwary. The air smelled of salt and impending rain, with the stormy clouds rolling in from the Gulf of Mexico, painting the world in muted greys and blues.

  On the beach, Dan Russell stood, his eyes fixed on the distant carriers, whispering to a young Latino man draped in a green hooded jumper. The man was Dani Moreno, barely 18-years-old, with dark brown eyes that seemed too old for his youthful face. He wore black denim jeans that clung to his lanky frame as he shifted uncomfortably under Dan’s gaze.

  “Are the boats ready?”, Dan asked in a low, gravelly voice, the wind tugging at his salt-and-pepper hair.

  Dani nodded, his eyes darting nervously between the boats anchored farther down the bay. “Yeah, man. Long as the cash flows, my Misfits’ll be ready. You get in, you get out, and we get our money. Simple as that”.

  Dan grunted, his brow furrowed, “Let’s hope it stays that simple”.

  Nearby, James Sanchez plucked at the strings of his weathered guitar, singing a playful Mexican tune, his voice light and mocking. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he sang to Kaitlyn Park, who sat cross-legged in the sand, her attention divided between the waves and the man serenading her.

  “?Qué pasa, querida? No te resistas al encanto de mi canción... — What’s the matter, my dear? Don’t resist the charm of my song...)”, James crooned with a grin in Mexican Spanish, strumming the guitar with deliberate flair.

  Kaitlyn glanced at him from under her wide-brimmed ranger’s hat, her lips twitching upward, though she feigned disinterest. “Save your charm for someone who cares, James”, she muttered, though her eyes betrayed a hint of amusement.

  Perched alone on a jagged boulder, Lilly Lou watched the scene in silence. Her ebony black hair caught the dying sunlight, and her eyes— dark brown, deep and unblinking, were fixed on the horizon. The weight of their mission pressed down on her like the building storm clouds above. She pulled her leather jacket tighter around her frame as the wind picked up, biting through the evening air.

  Then, the low rumble of an engine approached. A classic red sedan pulled up, its tires crunching softly against the sandy gravel. The doors opened, and out stepped Claire and The Artist, both dressed for the occasion. Claire’s classic goth attire and jewelry contrasted sharply with The Artist’s more practical and muted attire. Together, they moved with purpose, their presence commanding the attention of the group as they approached.

  “Finally decided to join us?”, Dan said, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to suggest impatience.

  Claire smirked, “I figured we’d make an entrance”. She looked around at the others, her eyes lingering on James, who was still strumming his guitar, and then on Kaitlyn, whose quiet presence had already become familiar. “Before we proceed with anything... there’s something you all need to know”, she said.

  James arched an eyebrow, his guitar falling silent as he leaned back, arms crossed. “Here we go...Claire with Blair”, he remarked, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

  “Shut it, James!”, Claire snapped, though her eyes glinted with amusement before turning serious again. She took a deep breath, and her voice lowered, “I’ve been keeping some things from you. And it’s time you knew the truth”.

  The wind howled in response, swirling sand at their feet as Claire began to speak, her words laden with the weight of secrets long hidden. She told them everything. Her involvement with The Cult of Blair, the manipulations of The Order of Dawn and her growing suspicions about the Red Society’s true motives. As she spoke, the team stood still, their expressions shifting from curiosity to grim realization.

  “So”, Dan said after a moment, his tone thoughtful, “The Order of Dawn and the Red Society...both playing their games. And you’re stuck in the middle”.

  “I always have been”, Claire admitted, “But this time...it’s different. There are too many moving pieces, too many eyes watching. Haggins Hopkins isn’t telling us everything, and I believe Rei Hajime’s keeping an even tighter leash on him than we know”.

  Matt, who had been listening quietly with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, spoke for the first time, “You’re saying we’re being watched?”.

  “More than that”, Claire replied, “I think we’re being manipulated. The Red Society is using us…using all of you. And I suspect they’ve been planning to use us for a long time”.

  The Artist, who had remained silent through Claire’s confession, felt a cold chill run through their spine. Their mind raced, filled with conflicting thoughts, questions and a sudden surge of anger. The truth of their parents, their involvement with the Cult of Blair, and now... the Red Society’s manipulation. It was almost too much to process.

  Lilly, sensing the turmoil in The Artist, quietly moved to their side. She placed a comforting hand on their shoulder, her voice soft but firm, “I know this can’t be easy. But we’ll find the truth. We’ll stop whatever...this thing is. Whatever The Willow, Kaitonchukwu or whatever they call it... we will stop it”.

  The Artist nodded, though their heart felt heavy. “We have to”, they whispered, “For my parents, wherever they are”.

  Dan cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the moment of quiet. “Claire, I think we’ve all heard enough for now. We’ll deal with the Red Society and their dirty tricks later. First, we need to infiltrate those Division X carriers and get the intel we need”.

  Claire nodded, though the weight of her confession still hung in the air like the storm clouds overhead.

  The tension remained thick as the group dispersed, preparing for the mission ahead. But the unspoken words between them. The doubts, the fears, the unanswered questions— lingered; casting long shadows over the beach as the night crept in.

  (7:01 PM)

  Dan Russell stood at the edge of the gathering, his broad shoulders tense as the wind swept across the beach, whipping up tendrils of sand. The crashing waves of San Domingo Bay seemed to echo the gravity of the moment, the growing storm above mirroring the uncertainty in the air. The shadow of Division X’s aircraft carriers loomed ominously in the distance, their massive forms just visible against the dimming horizon. The team gathered closer, eyes fixed on Dan as he prepared to speak.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Listen up!”, Dan’s voice cut through the sound of the waves like a sharp blade, commanding attention. His gaze swept over the group, settling on each member for a brief moment— The Artist, Matt Turner, Lilly Lou, James Sanchez, Kaitlyn Park and Claire Sinclair. All now attuned to the seriousness of their upcoming mission.

  He motioned toward a pair of sleek, low-profile boats anchored at the water’s edge. “Dani Moreno has come through for us”, he began, nodding toward the young man who stood near the boats, keeping a low profile, “These two Merryberg RHIBs are built for speed and stealth. They’ll get us close enough to the carriers without raising suspicion”.

  The boats were small, nimble vessels, each with room for four, their black hulls blending seamlessly with the darkening waters. Their design was sleek and predatory, built for cutting through waves with barely a whisper.

  “We’re splitting into two teams”, Dan continued, folding his arms, “Team Alpha will consist of The Artist, Matt and Kaitlyn. Their target is the largest carrier— the USS Jackson. That ship holds the bulk of Division X’s firepower and intelligence. If there’s something we can use against The Cult of Blair or any other potential threat, it’s on that ship”.

  Matt stepped forward, his face as cold and serious as ever, “I’ll coordinate both teams through the commlink devices. We’ve got a secure channel, so no one outside of us should be able to listen in. We’ll stay in contact the whole time, and if anything goes sideways, we regroup immediately. No heroics”.

  The tension thickened as Dan continued. “Team Beta”, he said, his eyes shifting to Lilly, Claire, James and himself, “We’re hitting the USS Kimble. It’s the second largest of the three carriers, and from what we know, it’s the key to accessing the other ships. If the Jackson holds the firepower, the Kimble holds the intel we need. Claire, Lilly, James and I will handle the infiltration”.

  Dan pressed on, “Once we’re inside, we find the databanks, copy whatever we can and get the hell out before Division X realizes we’ve even set foot on their precious carriers”.

  The Artist stepped forward, their eyes scanning the boats and the looming carriers. “Claire and I will use magick to cloak the boats from their sensors. If we’re lucky, we’ll be invisible to them the whole way in. But just in case, I’ve brewed up invisibility potions for everyone”, they said while holding up a pouch filled with small vials, the clear liquid inside shimmering faintly, “These will mask our presence when we’re on the ships”.

  The team eyed the potions, their trust in The Artist’s abilities evident in their silence, but The Artist’s expression remained cautious.

  “Don’t get too comfortable”, The Artist warned, their voice serious, “Division X isn’t just another paramilitary outfit. They specialize in the supernatural. Weaponizing it. Manipulating it. I’ve heard rumors they have countermeasures...things that can disrupt our magick. If that happens, we need to be ready to switch to Plan B”.

  Dan gave a grim nod, his eyes flicking to Dani, who was standing a few feet away, quietly observing the scene.

  “If we get what we need and everything goes smoothly, Dani and his Misfits will make sure we and the boats disappear. But if shit hits the fan...”, he trailed off, his tone darkening as the wind picked up again, “…I hope Dani and his Dissidents will be ready for a fight. They know how to create enough chaos to buy us time to escape”.

  There was a murmur of agreement among the group, though the weight of what they were about to do sat heavily on their shoulders. It was clear to everyone present that this wasn’t just another operation— it was a dangerous gamble. One where the stakes could not be higher.

  “Is everyone clear on the plan?”, Dan asked, his voice steady but his eyes intense, daring anyone to voice doubts.

  Matt nodded, his gaze steely, “Crystal”.

  Kaitlyn adjusted the brim of her hat, her hand resting lightly on the holster at her hip, “We’re ready”.

  Lilly remained seated on the boulder, her eyes watching the boats thoughtfully, but she nodded in agreement, her resolve clear.

  The Artist glanced at Claire, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the briefing. Claire caught their eye and offered a small nod. Whatever was left unsaid between them, it could wait until after the mission.

  Dan clapped his hands together, the finality of the gesture punctuating the plan, “Alright, we move at 9:00 (PM) sharp. Get some rest, and then we make our move. Remember to stay sharp, focused and alive”.

  As the team dispersed, the tension in the air remained thick. The gathering storm above mirrored the one brewing within each of them, and with Division X looming on the horizon, the line between success and disaster had never been thinner.

  The Artist cast one last glance at the carriers in the distance, a quiet determination settling in their chest.

  Whatever awaited them on those ships— truths, secrets or dangers. The Artist and their friends were ready to face whatever horrors Willow would throw at them next. Together.

  EPILOGUE

  The darkness clung to the air, thick and oppressive, as if the shadows themselves had weight. Droplets of water echoed in the silence, their slow rhythm a haunting soundtrack in the desolate space. Rats scurried through the gloom, their tiny claws scraping against the damp stone floors, but even they seemed to shrink back as something far more ominous approached.

  A faint, sickly light filtered through the cracks in the ceiling, though its source was indistinguishable— neither the warmth of the sun nor the cold glow of the moon. It was as if the light itself didn’t belong to this world, as if it was a remnant of something far older, something far darker.

  Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, reverberated through the chamber. They belonged to a creature that towered at 7-Feet tall, its form a grotesque fusion of decaying flesh and black rotting vines. The air around it was putrid, thick with the stench of death and rot, so foul that even the smallest of critters were silenced by its presence. Each step it took seemed to drain the life from the very air, leaving only dread in its wake.

  The being stopped in its tracks, kneeling in front of something unseen, something hidden in the deep shadow that clung to the farthest corners of the room. Its voice, raspy and unnatural, broke the silence, the guttural tones of Hollowspeak echoing through the chamber.

  “?? ????? ?? ?? ???? ??? ????? ?? ????? ?? ???????? ????? ??????? ??? ?????? ??? ??? ???? — My Queen, it is done. The spawn of James of Faubourg Saint-Germain has fallen for our ruse”, it hissed, its vine-covered form trembling as if in reverence.

  For a moment, the chamber remained silent, the darkness itself seeming to pulse in anticipation. Then a voice, low and powerful, rumbled from the depths of the shadows. It was as though the very air quivered beneath its bellowing authority. The voice was so large, so ancient, that it felt as if it could crush entire worlds with its weight.

  ‘???? ???? ?? ??????? ??? ???? ???? ???? ???? ??? ???? ??? ???? ?? ???? ???? ?? ????????? — Well done, my servant. Now they will fall into our hand, and soon my rise will be inevitable”, it replied in Hollowspeak.

  The towering figure knelt deeper, its rotting vines stretching across the stone floor like the roots of a dying tree. It spoke again in Hollowspeak, its voice tinged with both fear and reverence, “???????? ???? ???? ??? ?? ???? ?? ?????? — Mistakes were made, but I will do better”.

  The darkness shifted, swirling around the unseen being that commanded the room. Its voice emerged once again, colder this time, more threatening.

  “??? ???? ??????? ??? ??? ?????? ??????? ????? ???? ?? ??? ???????? — You must, Absalom, for The Willow demands nothing else of her children”, it replied in Hollowspeak.

  The creature, now identified as Absalom, bowed its head lower, vines curling tighter around its decaying form as if trying to shield itself from the overwhelming presence in the darkness.

  ‘???? ?????? ???????? ??? ?????? ???? ????? ??? ?? ???? ????? ?? ?? ??? ???????? ?? ??? ???? ?? ?????? ???? — This Artist everyone now speaks of will bring you to full glory. As it was foretold in the days of Nathan Noir”, Absalom rasped in Hollowspeak, desperation creeping into its voice.

  The silence hung heavy for a long, agonizing moment, before the voice in the darkness spoke again, this time with finality.

  “?? ?? ????? ?? ??????? ?? ?? ????? — As it shall, my Absalom. As it shall”, The Willow replied in Hollowspeak.

  The air in the chamber seemed to constrict, the darkness growing thicker, more suffocating. Absalom remained kneeling, silent now, as the unseen presence in the shadows withdrew, its overwhelming power lingering like a storm on the verge of breaking.

  And with that, the silence returned. The faint light flickered, and the echo of dripping water resumed its slow, steady beat, as if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath their feet.

  THE END