With the early English sun rising, exuding its dull, orange color, the blue hues of the sky began to make themselves known. Vincent, although his body was reluctant, began to stir awake. The incoming rays of the outside light annoyingly shined in his eyes. He attempted to turn over in order to avoid seeing them, but as he did, he hit the wall that his bed was shoved up against. Accepting the fact that the world itself wanted him up, he slowly sat up and rubbed his eyes completely awake.

When he looked around the room, however blurry his vision seemed to be, he noticed that there wasn’t anyone around. He was sure that everyone had stayed in this room. Hell, he even shared a bed with Fang…at least he thought he did—his brain always had a hard time functioning in the morning.

Eventually, he managed to muster up enough energy to make his way downstairs in his boxers. He had to push some of his bed-head hair aside in order to see the steps, but he did manage to navigate his way to the cafe. When he got there, he saw that it was all hustle and bustle. Most of the seats were full and Tom, along with one another worker, were quickly preparing and delivering orders. The scent in the air was a mixture of all those orders—both coffee-wise and pastry-wise—and it was exciting Vincent’s stomach.

Quickly, Vincent tried to find an empty table to sit at in order for him to buy something. Luckily, he saw that someone had just gotten up from their seat in order to head to the restroom, leaving their borderline empty cup there. Effortlessly, he threw the cup away and made himself at home. He then waited for someone to come to him and ask for his order.

The person who did eventually service him was the other worker, not Tom. She was a younger woman, probably around the age of nineteen or so, and she had vibrant, red hair. Her face was full of freckles, which highlighted her oceanic eyes, and her smile was constantly as high as it could go. She was bubbly through and through. When she arrived at Vincent’s table, her eyes recoiled a little bit as she looked at him, but then she went right back to her happy-go-lucky demeanor.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. Each word she spoke seemed to jump and skip about to its own rhythm.

“Uhhhhh,” Vincent said, trying to wake up his brain enough to communicate, “let me…” He then stretched his arms in the air and sighed. “Let me get a black coffee, I guess.”

“Anything else for you?”

“Nah.”

Well alright then,” she said, making her way back towards the counter.

Within a few minutes, Vincent’s order was delivered to him, along with a receipt for his order. He sipped the drink and just stared around him. He noticed that people often gave him a weird look before going back to minding their own business.

Why are these weird, British people looking at me? he thought. It then dawned on him when he took his second sip. Oh shit, they must know I’m American.

Just as he began to stand up and attempt to make his way out of the cafe in a panic, he felt a hand touch his shoulder. With eyes wide, he turned around.

“What are you doing?” Zander asked, letting go of Vincent's shoulder

“Ordering a coffee,” Vincent flatly replied.

Zander grabbed his head and sighed. “I refuse to believe that genetic evolution allowed someone like you to be born.” He then chuckled to himself. “Go upstairs and get dressed. I’ll pay for the coffee—I bet you even forgot that you don’t have any money.”

Vincent looked down at himself and then at the fact that he had no wallet, no cash, and literally nothing else on him. He silently nodded and made his way back upstairs, where he put on a black, metal band t-shirt and shorts. He returned downstairs, where he met back up with Zander, who led him to where the rest of the group was. The group reunited right outside of the cafe and started to make their way towards Archard’s place.

Both Fang and Zander led the way, seeing as they both knew the way there. Fang knew it because they said that they had been there many times in the past, and Zander knew it because he claimed to have memorized it when they went there the day before. Regardless, it took them about an hour of walking to make it there. Distance-wise, the trek was only a 10 minute walk, but because they had to walk a very specific way in order to ensure nobody was following them, their arrival time increased.

Eventually, they found themselves in front of a similar, tucked away set of buildings. Fang knocked on the outside door and the group waited for about a minute before anyone came to answer. When someone did, it was Lawrence who opened the door.

“Oh, hello again,” Lawrence said. “Are you back to talk to Archard?”

“We are,” Fang answered.

The group was then let in and through the house the same way as they were yesterday. However, at least to Vincent, there wasn’t as much anticipation or mystery in the air. Walking through that house wasn’t a comfortable experience, but it felt a bit more familiar to him. Within a few moments, they had arrived in front of Archard’s door, to which Lawrence knocked in a very specific way. After a few seconds, Archard’s voice could be heard from the other side. “Come in,” he said.

Witn that, they each made their way inside. The room looked almost the same as it did the day before, however, the morning light gave the place a fresher, more distinct feeling to it. Perhaps that’s the power in seeing things from a different angle or with the right lighting. That being said, the one thing that remained unchanged was the man sitting at his desk. Like an immovable monument of the past, he sat still in his chair, and kept the same, slightly happier-than-neutral expression on his face. He gestured for Vincent and the others to take a seat on the four chairs that were arranged in front of his desk.

“I’m assuming you’ve all come here after reaching a consensus?” Archard asked.

Taking a seat, Fang replied, “We have.”

“And what is your answer?” the godfather asked.

“You better believe we’re gonna help ya out,” Vincent answered, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the desk.

“Fantastic!” Archard exclaimed, clapping his hands together. His eyes then looked past the group, towards the door. “Lawrence,” he called out, “go get Siegella—I have a job for her.”

“So what’s the job?” Vincent asked.

“Yes, I was very curious about what it would be,” Zander added.

Archard then looked back at Zander and then at Vincent. “Just a simple check-in job, nothing too difficult or dangerous.”

“And what does that entail?” Zander followed up.

“All you have to do is check in on some of the other family members that haven’t responded to me in a bit,” Archard answered. “It’s a pretty standard job that I typically leave with the street-level people.”

“So why aren’t you doing that now?” Zander asked.

“Are you always this full of questions?” Archard asked with a slight laugh.

“When I’m questioning things, yes,” Zander responded.

Archard began to reply, but just as he did, there was a knock at the door. This one was distinct like the one Lawrence gave, but slightly different.

“Ah, come in, Sieglla,” Archard said.

The door opened and a familiar woman stepped through it. The tall, dark, muscular, and stoic form of Sieglla entered the room and continued to stand near the back.

Archard coughed and then continued to speak. “As I was saying,” he said, “this is a simple job. Since you might not be familiar with the city and where exactly the safe places are, I’m sending one of my most capable family members with you.”

Siegella simply nodded.

“So,” he continued, “I’m going to need you to go to this address.” He then showed everyone in the room something that was written on a piece of paper before burning it with a lighter. Vincent didn’t really pay attention to what was on the paper—he was starting to doze off.

“If there aren’t any questions, Siegella will escort you out of the house and to the desired location,” Archard stated.

Zander started to speak up, but Vincent shut him down pretty quickly—he was tired of all the talking. After a few seconds of silence, the group was led outside by the stone-faced woman. She continued to walk, even when they reached the outside, and she never once looked back to see if the group was following her. That, combined with her long, almost militaristic strides, forced the group to run for a few seconds in order to catch up with her.

A few minutes into their journey, Vincent walked up to next her and asked, “So what’s it like to be in the mob?”

She shot a quick glance at him before going back to looking in front of her. She continued to walk without saying a single word.

“C’mon,” Vincent prodded with a smile.

She stopped. Looking at Vincent with unamusement plastered all across her face, she said, “This is not a game.” Her voice was thick and had an accent, but Vincent couldn’t quite place it. To him, it just sounded like it came from Africa. “And do not speak about Libra anymore, especially since we’re getting close to the border.”

“Alright,” Vincent said, dejectedly.

“Wait,” Zander spoke up, “we’re going to the border?” There was an obvious hint of worry in his voice. “I thought the east side was extremely dangerous.”

“It is,” Siegella answered, “but we’re not crossing it. Our destination is just before it.”

“Alright then,” Zander said, a bit more relaxed. “By the way, where is that accent from? I’m having a hard time placing it.”

“Kenya,” Fang instantly answered. “That’s where she was born. She came to England about—”

“Fang, stop,” Siegella demanded. “I don’t like talking about my past.”

“Oh, right, sorry,” Fang said.

The group then turned down a few alleyways, and maneuvered their way through those twisting spaces. Occasionally, they would enter what seemed like a random building, just to walk out of it through the front door.

“Why do we have to walk everywhere? Isn’t Europe and whatnot famous for actually having trains and crap?” Vincent asked.

Opening a door and looking around, Siegella answered, “Most of the trains stopped running when the government left.” She then motioned for the rest of the group to follow her. “But there is one that started working again, thanks to Archard.”

“I see,” Vincent said.

The group then found themselves standing in the middle of an open market square. The midday sun was dead set on heating up the area, and every stone was glistening brightly. The space itself was open and surrounded by 3 and 4 story tall buildings that followed the one road that ran through it. In the middle of the elongated sidewalk, there was a small clock tower, decorated in simple colors.

Simplicity was the word that would best describe the scenery. Even the sparse groups of bushes that lined the left side of the square were neat and organized, and surprisingly green. While there weren't any people in the immediate vicinity, there wasn’t necessarily an empty feeling to the space. It felt oddly calm…but with a layer of subdued tension that hid beneath it all.

And that’s when it was heard.

It sounded like a low gong that was struck in the middle of a hollow valley, reverberating off of the walls and off of itself, causing the single tone to multiply and shift into something new. It had a layer of jagged crunch to it, not unlike bones snapping, but if that sound originated from the throat of an unfathomable beast. Not only that, but over top of all of those low, bassier sounds that shook the ground, there was a whistling, banshee-like shrill that sent arctic shivers down the spine of every living thing that could hear it. All of these wrapped together formed the single roar that filled the air. It was unlike any sound that Vincent had ever heard.

Before he could even wonder what nightmarish thing could’ve made such a sound, the question was answered. Exploding out of one of the buildings directly opposite of him, standing at least 30 feet tall, was the source. Stones were scattered and the entire structural integrity of the building instantly collapsed around the beast. Dozens of bodies were sent flying out of the building, landing on the pavement with a wet thud, much like a soaked rag against stone. One of those bodies was crushed like a grape under the massive feet of the creature.

The longer Vincent looked at the monster, the more alien it became. Its entire base structure was like that of a twisted bull. But if someone looked at it for more than a second, they would see how wrong they were. Its feet were a cross between claws, a bull’s hooves, and a human hand. They wouldn’t just press against the ground, they actively strangled it…and this beast had four of them. The skin of the creature was leathery-brown and pulled unthinkably tight against its bulging, exaggerated muscles—there wasn’t an ounce of fat on it. Its mouth was wide, containing almost a hundred perfectly flat teeth that could crush a car. Atop its head sat four terrifying horns. The front horns curved back like the crown of a lich king, while the back horns spiraled forwards like a double helix that was cut in half. As Vincent’s eyes moved towards the back of the behemoth, he saw that it had a swishing tail with a spike at the end. It was a nightmare made real.

Vincent looked back at the rest of the group and saw each of their souls leave their bodies—even Siegella was wide-eyed and sweating. Eliot was on the verge of passing out, Zander was keeping him propped up and standing while hyperventilating, and Fang was violently shaking.

“What the fuck is that!?” Vincent yelled at Siegella.

“Shit,” Siegella said, eyes completely fixed on the monster, “why now?” She then looked at Vincent and said, “That…is the Terragong.”

The same, soul-piercing roar bellowed out of the creature and it stomped the ground one time, causing a mini-earthquake to start within the vicinity. In response to the danger, Vincent started to lower himself into a colder place.

“NO! STOP!” Vincent heard Sieglla yell from behind him. “Don’t try and fight it!”

“How did you…” Vincent started to ask.

“We need to run. NOW!” she exclaimed.

“But I have powers—I can fight it!” Vincent protested.

“No you can’t,” she countered. “We have to run.”

“But—”

“NOW!”

Vincent tried with all his might not to go fight the beast, but he wanted to. He felt the homing headache form in his mind, needling the inside of his skull in the direction of the Terragong—which only made him want to fight it more. He wanted to protect his friends, and the only way he knew how to do that was fight. But when he looked back and saw his friends running away with Siegella, he finally managed to convince himself to give up the fight.

Panickedly, the group followed Siegella down the nearest alleyway. As they did, the roar of the Terragong never got quieter. Every so often, those rumbling shrieks would pierce Vincent’s ears, causing his head to throb in pain. Just as he was focusing on the pain, he heard the distant, muffled sounds of gunfire.

Eventually, they arrived at a dead end. There were no doors, no windows, and no signs of life. There was only a pile of trash in the back corner and a sewer grate to the left.

“What now?” Vincent asked.

The ground rumbled.

“Follow me,” Siegella responded.

A few more distant gunshots went off back in the direction they came.

“Where?” Vincent asked. “There’s literally nowhere to go.”

Without speaking, Siegella bent down and grabbed the sewer grate. As she pulled on it, her back and arm muscles flexed, expanding to impressive proportions. After a few seconds, the bars came free and the path was opened.

With that, each of the friends descended into the dark, dank, imposing sewers below.