Deep lines of flickering shadow cut across the deck as a purple star burned on the horizon. It split the sky in two, as a billowing vortex blackened everything above it. Those of us hiding in the shadows made plans as we stared into the unknown.

“So, what do we know?” Said Captain Smith.

I gripped the railing as my head leaned over the side of the ship. The heavy wind tugged at my jacket and swept through my hair as I peered into the distance. Beneath the vortex of black clouds, a thin violet mist spread out from the light and had crept slowly towards us. I could feel the eldritch energy like a cold shiver up my spine.

“We’ve called back most of our outposts,” Said Pat, “and reinforcements have been sent out to support the bridge team. All scavengers and scouts have been recalled and the patrol along the wall has been doubled.”

“I don’t like the idea of calling back all of our eyes,” Tiller added. “We don’t know what is out there.”

“I agree,” said Pat, “But keeping them out there is too dangerous. We’ve had reports of increased monster aggression, and the bridge team has been under attack by a constant flood of low-level combatants. We believe they are fleeing. From what, is the question that terrifies me.”

“We could blow the bridge,” said a man with a British accent.

He walked to the center of the crowd, pausing to look around. He made contact with each of us giving a tight-lipped smile under a pencil-thin mustache. He was short and middle-aged, with a thick accent and an even thicker stomach.

“We get rid of the bridge,” he continued, “and then we move, get as far away as possible.”

“That’s not a good idea,” said Catayla jumping into the conversation for the first time. “You’ll never make it out of the quarantine. Not alive. I need a team to accompany me back across the bridge. Once I have made contact with my superiors, we find out what went wrong, and then we retreat back to a safe staging area.”

“You still haven’t had any luck contacting your people?” Captain Smith asked.

“No,” she said, slowly shaking her head. “I should be able to contact any Peacekeepers on the planet, or even receive messages from off-world. I haven’t received any scheduled communications, and my messages are not acknowledged. I also haven’t received any of the normal bulletins from off-world. We’ve been completely cut off.”

“Can’t we take the ship…” asked a slender woman with brown hair.

“Think no one tried that?” Said the captain. “Something big is out there, it’ll smash us to pieces as soon as we leave the harbor. Seen it happen and it ain’t pretty. Smaller boats could move upriver, but we don’t have enough to get everyone to safety.”

“The rivers will be the most dangerous,” Catayla said.

The crowd began arguing. There seemed to be an even split in opinion between destroying the bridge and supporting Catayla’s proposal. Many were already calling for us to retreat to the west, or to try to fight our way north towards the Naval Weapons Station. That fit my plans. I hadn’t told anyone, but I was planning to set off alone towards the Navy Base as soon as I finished training with Catayla, and maybe gained a few more levels.

Now the blue-scaled scout asked us to go in the opposite direction and to risk our lives in the process.

“I’ll go,” I said.

The crowd briefly paused their argument to look towards me. None of the looks seemed too friendly. Even Catayla looked at me with cold eyes.

“That’s brave but hardly relevant,” said the British man. “Should we put our lives at risk while you galivant around on some merry chase? It’s suicide out there.”

“Shut up for a minute, Thurber,” said the captain. “Catayla, can you get through that fog? How many men would you need?”

“The fog will likely be dangerous for anyone without a high Might and mental resistance. If it is concentrated eldritch energy, as I suspect, then it will corrupt both the mind and body. I’ll take six with me, no more, and they’ll have to be able to keep up.”

“I think I can protect us from the mist," I said. "But I’ll need help. I can manipulate eldritch energy to a small extent, but my range and control haven’t progressed very far.”

“What kind of help?” asked the captain.

“A skill,” I said. “Tiller’s notes mentioned a skill that allows the user to augment the abilities of others. Song of something or other.”

“Song of the Triumphant, yeah,” Said Tiller. “No way she’s going with you, though.” Tiller crossed his arms while shaking his head.

“This ain’t no democracy, kid,” said Captain Smith. “I’ll decide if we go, and who’s going. Someone has a problem with it they can get my boot on the way out.”

“It’s Rachel Pickman,” said Tiller.

“Wait,” said Pat, “Pickman, as in Senator Pickman?” asked Pat.

“His only child, the apple of his eye,” confirmed Tiller.

“Well, shit,” she said “I really don’t see that happening, Captain. Her dad’s a real jackass. Thinks he’s still in charge. She’s not too much better, spoiled and sheltered her whole life. Not someone we can trust with a mission like this.”

No one tried to argue after that. We just stood silently, waiting for the Captain to answer. I looked down at the cracked panels of the wooden deck, sighing at the futility of it all. East or west, it hardly mattered. Either way, I was rushing towards my death.

I’d have been better staying there and getting drunk on moonshine with Millard and his boys.

“Alright,” said Captain Smith. “I’ve made up my mind. We’re giving Catayla her team. Pat, I want you to handpick the best we’ve got. Combat types with experience, pick those with at least a few points in Intellect.”

“Thank you, Captain,” said Catayla.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said,” Once you’re across the river we blow the bridge and hope for the best. You’ll be on your own from there.”

Catayla dropped her eyes as she regarded Captain Smith, before giving a grunt of approval and shaking her head.

“Good,” he said, breaking away from Catayla’s gaze. “Tiller!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take three men and get Senator Pickman and his daughter.”

Tiller hesitated for a moment, but only briefly. “Yes, sir. I’ll get them immediately.”

***

“No, absolutely not.”

The senator could have been stock footage of a middle-aged businessman. He had a strong chin with high cheekbones. His jet-black hair was suspiciously only gray in the temples. Somehow, he had managed to still be wearing a suit, perfectly pressed and tailored. He even had one of those tacky flag-pins that all politicians were mandated to wear. His only concession to the end of the world was going without a tie.

“I’m not arguing with you, Dad.”

Rachel Pickman had her father’s classical good looks, including his high cheekbones, blue eyes, and black hair. That was where the similarities stopped. Rather than a business suit, she wore ripped jeans and a black leather jacket with spiked studs and only one sleeve. Her hair was shaved on one side and long on top, and she had pulled it back into a tight ponytail with blue highlights.

“If I can help, I’m going to do my part. Isn’t that what you always taught me?”

“I’ve always supported your rebelliousness, to an extent, but this isn’t the same as getting a girlfriend and starting a punk band. This has real consequences. The life and death kind. I’ve already lost your mother, I can’t…”

The senator began to cry, and if his daughter's skill wasn’t so useful to me I would have ended it there. Instead, I watched as a daughter said goodbye to her father. I envied her chance to do so.

“Enough,” said the captain. “I’m not going to force you to go, but you’re a grown woman and this is your choice. We’ve told you why we need you, and what we’re up against. Just give us a yes or a no. I’ve got shit to do and watching your old man blubber is making me queasy.”

“I’m coming,” she said.

The father and daughter continued to argue, but it was clear from the look on the man’s face that he knew that he had lost. His rage eventually gave into pleading, until he finally surrendered with a visible slump. He seemed to age ten years at that moment.

The senator took his daughter into his arms. His tears eventually turned into words of support and love. I wondered what my own family was doing. Would they approve of my actions, or fear for my life and beg me to stay? Would I listen?

To know that I’d have to find them which wasn’t going to happen if I hid behind walls while others did all the work. If I was going to do something, anything that mattered, I would need strength. I’d learned one important lesson from the shit-storm that had spread over the world: No power comes without a price.

I needed to grow stronger, but I could only think of two ways to do so quickly. I could risk forging a class, or ... the Dark Companion. I had yet to summon it. Instead, I let it take up free real estate in my head. Time for the freeloader to pay rent.

I left the captain and his team, letting them take care of the details. I already knew we were leaving as soon as the sun was up. It seemed silly to wait for dawn when night had been rendered meaningless by the pillar of light that burned as bright as the noonday sun. Still, people needed rest and time to prepare.

I walked back to my small room, avoiding the pleading glances I saw along the way. Everyone was lost. The chaos had become too much and they craved answers. My strange arrival had created rumors of my connections to the aliens and had given me an air of mystery. In reality, I was just as confused as any of them.

Besides, I knew answers weren’t what they needed. What they really craved was for someone to step forward and say, “everything is going to be okay. I’ve got this.”

Maybe someone knew what to do, but I didn’t. I sighed as I stepped into my small quarters and locked the door. The room was just as empty and gray as usual, but the floor had picked up a layer of dust that I hadn’t gotten around to cleaning. My small bed was folded back against the wall leaving me just enough room to sit down in the center of the floor.

“Companion! Fisher Man!”

I called out to it, literally. I didn’t hold back, not caring who could hear me. When nothing happened, I visualized the island of broken memory. I willed it to appear as I called out once more.

“Fisher …” I screamed.

Black smoke that crackled with red energy began to swirl around me. It slowly condensed into a small sphere, appearing right in front of me.

The ball pulsed as it spoke, “Gus, my boy. I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

I reached out with the Eldritch Manipulation skill and I squeezed the energy as strongly as I could. “You will never use that voice again! Do you understand?”

“Oh, perhaps this one then?” The voice was deep and scratchy, like a thousand nails on a blackboard. It reverberated through my skull and shook my teeth. My eyes watered, as salty tears mixed with two lines of blood flowing from my nose.

“Gah,” I screamed as I reached out once more with my skill. The ball began to compress as I squeezed. My muscles tensed, and I could feel my grip slipping but I refused to let go. If this thing was going to share my mind, I would be the dominant personality. Or I would be destroyed in the attempt.

“Fine,” said a deep and soothing voice, “You never did have a sense of humor. I’ve seen your whole life, you know? All your memories, your dreams … and I must say — Gus is a dull boy.”

“Then you know what I want?”

“Of course,” the sphere said. “But will you pay the price?”